Summary: He had always envied her, for her magic, and for her fire. Cold Fire spoilers.

Red Fury

It hurt.

Even before the crackle beneath his feet began, even before he started to become fire-stuff, black ashes on the snow, like tarnish on silver. Even before he died in red fury, it hurt.

The shackles were acid-cold against his wrists, burning from a time in a forge long ago. The snow around him was sun-bright, but it wasn't the glare that made his eyes prickle and cry.

He stood there, on the wood, on splinters that dug into his bare feet (not that it would matter soon – it would all burn up anyway) as they read out his crimes. He couldn't bring himself to care. His insides were so cold not even hell's flames could melt them.

But what hurt most was seeing her in the crowd, copper against the white, and he fancied he could see her magic glowing within her.

A flicker of fire racing up his clothes.

He knew he would die – only a matter of time now – but he wanted to live just a little longer, just a little longer so he could see her face, see the fire burning under dark skin.

He had always envied her, for her magic, and for her fire.

The wood was hot against his feet, and he silently wished he could die of smokeair, ashdust, but the logs prevented it. He looked out into the blue, cold sky, and he could feel the flames rising up beneath him.

There was a boom somewhere beneath his feet.

And for one glorious moment, Bennet Ladradun walked through fire.