Firebird

“The defiant spirit that had buoyed me up so many times before repelled any fear of this dragon in our midst. The tether I still held to him didn’t scream of fear at all. Rather, his essence was alluring. Exciting. That inner fire burned through my limbs, guiding my dance like never before.”

In this passage, Malina’s defiance and inner strength emerge clearly as she faces Julian, an imposing Roman centurion, not with fear but with fascination. Her empathic tether reveals not danger but allure, suggesting an instinctive recognition of their fated bond, establishing the theme of The Relationship Between Fate And Free Will. Rather than retreat, Malina channels Julian’s presence into her dance, foreshadowing her resilience and the powerful connection that will shape the story. This moment marks the beginning of a dynamic that blends danger with desire and resistance with destiny.

“‘Fortuna speaks to me sometimes. […] Do you believe that?’ 

Of course I believed the gods and powers unknown spoke to us. I was one of a long line of mystical women who wielded gifts not of this world. My inner spirit spoke to me often. […] 

‘She spoke to me tonight. And I knew you’d need the coin for good fortune one day.’ 

I peered down at the image of Fortuna in my palm, the torchlight glittering on the gold piece. […] ‘We could all use the favor of the gods. I will not shun such a gift if Fortuna has selected me for her favor.’ […] 

‘You are wise as you are beautiful, little firebird.’”

This early exchange between Julian and Malina introduces two key symbols: the aureus and the “firebird,” both tied to the novel’s exploration of fate and free will. The gold coin bearing Fortuna’s image embodies divine intervention and destiny, as Julian claims the goddess guided him to give it to Malina. Both characters acknowledge a belief in mystical forces shaping their lives, yet Malina also asserts her agency by choosing to accept the gift. Julian’s first use of “firebird” hints at Malina’s latent power and foreshadows her future as a symbol of rebellion and transformation.

“‘Lady Fortuna smiles on you, Malina.’ 

Instant rage burned inside my chest as I met his gaze. ‘How can you possibly say that? […] My family is dead by the hands of your people. My adopted clansmen are dead or enslaved, and now I’m to be the body slave to a general of the Roman army. Lady Fortuna hates me.’ […] 

‘You would have died tonight,’ he stated indifferently, ‘had I not intervened. And now you are safe here in my home.’”

This exchange highlights the stark contrast between Julian’s belief in divine favor and Malina’s experience of suffering and loss. While Julian views her survival as evidence of Fortuna’s blessing, Malina rejects the idea that fate has been kind. Her anger reveals how deeply she resents the Roman justification of cruelty as destiny.

“Emotions are powerful, Mina. Listen to me. One day you will not only be able to read them, but you will be able to control them. Change them. That will be your true power. You can bring hope to the hopeless, joy to those in sorrow, and calm to those in peril. […] One day, your gift will turn the tide of war. It will help vanquish the enemy. It will strike fear into the hearts of fierce, dangerous men. […] You, my darling Mina, will hold the world in your thrall. […] You, and your sisters, will save us all.”

Malina’s bunica (grandmother) prophesies a powerful future shaped by Malina’s emotional magic, reinforcing the theme of the relationship between fate and free will. Bunica’s words suggest that Malina and her sisters are destined to play a crucial role in saving others, but their destiny depends on how they use their gifts. As Malina believes her sisters are dead, she begins to doubt both her purpose and her ability to fulfill the prophecy. This moment marks a turning point, as Malina wrestles with despair and the burden of living up to a fate she no longer feels capable of achieving.

“‘Your gaze is too direct. Don’t look a dragon in the eyes. Ever. Do you understand? Remember who you are.’ 

‘I know who I am,’ I snapped back, pride burning the words out of my mouth. […] 

‘No, Malina. […] In Rome, you are no longer one of the beautiful Bihari sisters dancing for crowds under the shadow of your beloved Carpathian Mountains. […] You are no longer the witch who aided the Celts against the Roman legions,’ he said softly. 

‘Who am I, then?’ I asked on a trembling voice. 

‘In Rome, you are no one. A slave. One of many.’”

Malina and Julian reflect on the theme of the morality of power and domination by illustrating how identity is stripped through conquest. Julian’s warning illustrates the brutal social hierarchy in Rome, where even a powerful woman like Malina is reduced to property. His words serve as both a caution and a cruel reminder of how Rome erases individual worth to maintain control. Malina’s defiant response reveals her resistance, but her “trembling” in the next moment also highlights how fragile selfhood becomes under an empire built on subjugation.

“It didn’t matter what I wanted. The gods have their own designs, and Lady Fortuna will not be ignored.”

Julian’s reflection illustrates his deep belief in destiny and the influence of the gods. Unlike Malina, who often wrestles with the idea of free will, Julian accepts that forces beyond his control shape his path. His decision to leave Malina in Dacia reflects his attempt to honor that fate while protecting her, even at a personal cost. It reveals his reverence for divine will and his willingness to sacrifice his desires for her safety.

“Roman generals didn’t shift on the battlefield, not into half-skin or their dragon. It was considered a sign of weakness if they were forced to leave their human form during battle. They weren’t even supposed to get their blade bloody since that was the job of their soldiers.”

Julian’s thoughts reflect the morality of power and domination and expose the hypocrisy within the Roman power structure. Elites use dragon form to justify their domination over others, but they discourage its open display, equating vulnerability with weakness. The ruling class distances itself from the violence it profits from, preserving its image while allowing others to carry out the brutality of conquest. This detachment reinforces a system where domination is sanitized, highlighted by his comment that the generals didn’t even “get their blade[s] bloody,” so distanced are they from the actual battle.

“As I watched her, an inner voice, not my dragon’s, had nudged me to give her the gold coin. Whether it was the gods guiding me or my own intuition, I believed that I owed her for what she’d given me that night. It wasn’t simply a dance, but an unexpected courage to walk my new path. If she could look upon a dragon with such fearlessness, knowing I had the power to kill her and her entire clan, then I could summon the same to face my own future beneath my uncle’s power. That was why I’d paid her with such a precious coin that had been so dear, never knowing it would one day guide her right back to me. I bowed my head and prayed to the gods who would listen that we weren’t both now doomed together.”

This quote intertwines the themes of fate and free will and Resisting Conquest Through Quiet Rebellion. Julian reflects on the pivotal moment Malina inspired him to defy the oppressive path laid out for him, suggesting that her courage planted the seed of rebellion within him. Though he questions whether it was divine intervention or personal choice that led him to act, the result is a conscious step away from submission to power. The aureus becomes both a token of fate and a catalyst for Julian’s eventual revolt against his uncle’s rule.

“I snorted indignantly. ‘And when will Rome have enough? […] Will Rome never stop until the entire world bows at her feet? Enslaved and groveling before the mighty dragons?’ […] That reminded me of Stefanos. […] The law […] demanded any dragon born of a lowborn must be executed at birth. That the Romans could be so callous wasn’t a surprise. It was Caesar’s way of keeping control, not allowing slaves or lowborn freed men or women to have the strength of the dragon. It kept him in power.”

Malina illustrates the theme of the morality of power and domination by highlighting Rome’s use of dragon identity as a tool of control and oppression. Malina critiques the empire’s insatiable hunger for conquest and its brutal caste laws, which kill any dragon born outside the elite. Her anger reflects a deep understanding of how power is maintained through exclusion and fear, ensuring that strength remains in the hands of the ruling class. Rome’s dominance is shown not as noble, but as morally corrupt and sustained by cruelty.

“You kept this coin, because it tied you to me. The gods had bound us together. Your gods, mine, it doesn’t matter. […] I never thought to see you again either. But I’d never forgotten you.”

Julian’s reflection reinforces the theme of the relationship between fate and free will by emphasizing the symbolic power of the aureus and its role in binding him and Malina together. He suggests that their paths were destined to cross again regardless of which gods they follow. By keeping the coin, Malina unconsciously acknowledges the pull of fate, even as she struggles to assert control over her life. This moment highlights the tension between choice and destiny that defines their relationship.

“Our assassinations of Igniculus and his followers would not only free the people of Rome from tyranny but our political positions would also lend credibility and support to us while we formed a new Rome. Or that was what we hoped. For the road in front of us, even after we’d severed the serpent’s head, would be a long and hard one. […] I was well aware that killing Caesar alone would be much like cutting the head off a hydra. There were plenty more to take his place in a heartbeat. We had to take many more down with him, once we could determine who truly supported Igniculus and his tyrannical Rome.”

Julian’s reflection reveals the complexity of rebellion and the moral weight of wielding power to dismantle tyranny. While he hopes the coup will free Rome, he acknowledges that removing Caesar alone is not enough: True change requires uprooting the entire corrupt system. The hydra metaphor emphasizes the danger of half-measures and the persistence of systemic oppression. This moment ties into the themes of resisting conquest through quiet rebellion and the morality of power and domination as Julian grapples with the responsibility of taking power and using it to build something better.

“‘Why do you worship Proserpina and not Pluto?’ […] 

‘Because she rules the underworld.’ […] 

‘No, she doesn’t.’ That wasn’t what I’d always been taught about the Roman gods. 

‘Trust me, […] She does.’

 ‘How does she do this?’ […] 

‘Because she rules her king’s heart. He will do anything for her. Therefore, supreme power is always in her hands. Not his.’”

Malina’s conversation with the priestess challenges traditional gender roles by presenting Proserpina, rather than Pluto, as the true ruler of the underworld. The priestess’s assertion that Proserpina holds power through her influence over Pluto repositions feminine power as subtle but absolute. It reframes dominance not as brute force but as emotional command and relational strength. This exchange ties into the novel’s broader critique of patriarchal systems by highlighting that women, though often oppressed, can still wield transformative power.

“Here, sitting atop Julian’s dragon, I felt free. The tether between us didn’t unravel when he shifted into the beast. Rather, it wound tighter, not a constricting kind of bond, but a firm, unbreakable one. That was the moment I knew the gods meant for me to be bound to Julianus Dakkia. And no matter the evidence to the contrary, that he was the Coldhearted Conqueror, I knew otherwise.”

Malina embraces her bond with Julian, recognizing it as a divine connection rather than a chain of control. Her sense of freedom while riding his dragon signifies a blending of fate and choice. Malina accepts her destiny but on her own terms. The moment also subverts the image of Julian as a ruthless conqueror, showing how love and trust can reveal deeper truths. Malina’s revelation reinforces the theme of the relationship between fate and free will, as Malina consciously chooses to align herself with a destiny she once resisted.

“They appeared so…normal. And yet, in my mind, the Romans had always been monsters. I never imagined them working amiably and laughing together.”

Malina is surprised to see Roman soldiers laughing and interacting amicably with slaves, challenging her belief that all Romans are heartless oppressors. This moment complicates the theme of the morality of power and domination by revealing that individual Romans can show humanity even within an unjust system. It highlights how domination can be both structural and personal and how even those complicit in a brutal empire can behave in ways that defy their roles. This realization forces Malina to confront the moral complexities of power.

“Then he broke the silence. ‘I don’t want to kill them.’ […] 

‘The marauders?’ I asked. 

‘Not any of them. Not the Celts or the Macedonians, the Greeks, the Persians, the Carthaginians. Not the Dacians. […] None of them.’ 

‘But you’re the Conqueror. That’s what you do.’ 

‘Yes. I must. To stay in my uncle’s favor. Because that is the only way I can stay close to him. To maintain access to him.’”

Despite his title as the Coldhearted Conqueror, Julian finally admits to Malina that he does not enjoy conquest or bloodshed. Julian only embraces this role to stay close to Caesar so he can overthrow him one day. This moment reveals the burden of his role and the moral conflict he faces in maintaining his position to stay close to Caesar. His confession illustrates the theme of the morality of power and domination, exposing the cost of playing a part in an oppressive regime to subvert it from within. It also deepens Julian’s character, showing his internal rebellion against the violence expected of him.

“‘I’m your treasure, the gods have said?’ I whispered, wondering, if I spoke it too loudly, if the gods might hear and refute my declaration. But I wasn’t listening to the gods now. […] ‘I care not what they say, for what I feel is all my own. Not forced or given to me by the fates or anyone else. It comes from my own soul.’ The witch inside me may have luxuriated in the maddening desire Julian sparked, but this feeling went deeper than my magic. It was my own will guiding me now, speaking a truth I could no longer hold inside myself. ‘I can finally confess to you, […] that you are my treasure too.’”

Malina illustrates the theme of fate and free will as she actively chooses love on her own terms rather than surrendering to the will of the gods. Although fate and prophecy shape much of her life, she reclaims agency by asserting that her feelings for Julian arise from her own soul. Her declaration represents a turning point, where destiny no longer defines her, and her choices do. Malina affirms her autonomy and inner strength by embracing love as an act of will rather than fate.

“The Rite of Skulls was nothing more than a barbarous ceremony to highlight the cruelty and brutality of the dragon’s reign. Of this emperor’s reign. And I was to be a part of it. […] The whole ceremony was an odd juxtaposition of monstrous and civil. The patricians applauded him like he was receiving a garland around his head at a triumph. In reality, he stood there half-naked, holding a man’s skull that had been dipped in gold, his new prized goblet.”

Malina reflects on the theme of the morality of power and domination by exposing the disturbing blend of savagery and spectacle in Caesar’s rule. The Rite of Skulls, meant to honor conquest, instead reveals the emperor’s grotesque glorification of violence. The audience’s applause reflects a society desensitized to brutality, where ritualized cruelty is mistaken for civilization. Through this imagery, the novel critiques how absolute power can corrupt moral values and transform atrocity into entertainment.

“Because though the plebs don’t have the power of the dragon, they do hold the power of the people. If there is civil unrest among the plebs, he will be blamed and hated. And that sort of hatred bleeds into both classes when we all live and work in the same city.”

Julian explains to Malina why Romans are forbidden from shifting into half-skin: because it is the form in which they have the least control. This highlights the theme of the morality of power and domination, illustrating how even the most powerful must impose limits on themselves to avoid inciting rebellion. The quote also reveals how fragile the social order is: When the plebs grow restless, their anger can ripple upward, threatening those in power. It highlights that domination depends not just on strength, but on managing perception and fear.

“Really, Julian? To be the only one of my village, of my family, to survive that nightmare? I thought perhaps the gods had spared me for a reason. And when I was able to help the Celts in battle, I believed perhaps the gods had set me there for that purpose.’ After all, my bunica had always told me as much. That I could save the people. ‘But then the Celts were defeated.’ […] 

‘You were spared by the gods for a purpose. […] To be my wife. […] To be my partner in this infernal world. To be my helpmate as we crush the Roman Empire and build a new one.’”

This exchange between Malina and Julian directly addresses the theme of the relationship between fate and free will. Malina questions the purpose of her survival, interpreting her past through divine intention, while Julian reframes her fate as intertwined with his own rebellion. Their conversation reflects a shift from individual suffering to a shared destiny, as Julian offers a new purpose rooted in partnership and revolution. This moment also connects to the theme of resisting conquest through quiet rebellion, suggesting that their bond is not just romantic but instrumental in overthrowing a corrupt empire.

“Minerva is a spiteful goddess, […] She thinks herself better than her father, Jupiter, and her uncles, Neptune and Pluto, who declare the rightful order. […] Minerva would give her powers to any she thought could use it against mankind.”

Ciprian reveals his fear and disdain for female power, framing Minerva’s gifts not as justice but as a dangerous rebellion. His belief that Minerva acts out of spite rather than divine wisdom reflects Rome’s broader patriarchal ideology, which seeks to suppress women’s influence and autonomy. This moment highlights the theme of the morality of power and domination, as Ciprian demonizes any force that challenges traditional male authority. It also touches on resisting conquest through quiet rebellion, portraying divine female power as a threat to imperial control.

“The gods gifted us with our power to transform into a creature who could reign over earth and sky. And what have we done with that gift? […] We’ve burned and pillaged and conquered. We’ve enslaved and killed and gorged ourselves on the misery of others, of those too helpless to defend themselves against the strength of dragons. […] Igniculus is no god. Nor is he gifted by them. He is cursed. A twisted, malformed creature who drags our people deeper into the hell he has created.”

Julian challenges the moral foundation of Roman power by framing their dragon gifts as divine blessings corrupted by cruelty and conquest. He urges his allies to see their actions not as justified dominance but as a betrayal of the gods’ intent. Julian calls for accountability and a redefinition of what it means to hold power, positioning revolt as a necessary act of moral restoration.

“‘But I don’t know if that’s the right name for me. I’m not a golden dragon, Julian. Nor can I fly through the air and set men on fire.’ 

‘You think not? […] Since that moment I saw you, flying across that stage, you have been burning inside me ever since. My entire soul is on fire for you, Malina. […] And always will be.’”

Malina and Julian’s conversation deepens the symbolic meaning of the firebird by tying it to identity and emotional power. Malina questions whether she deserves the name, doubting her strength and mythic significance, but Julian reaffirms her impact, not through physical might, but through the emotional and spiritual fire she ignites in him. The exchange illustrates the novel’s exploration of fate and free will, as Malina grapples with who she is versus who she is destined to become.

“You didn’t know that your uncle murdered your father. Well, he arranged for it anyway. Your mother too, and everyone in the house. He couldn’t have a slave-loving brother while creating the empire he wanted.”

This quote marks a critical turning point in Firebird, revealing the full extent of Caesar’s moral corruption and the personal cost of his ambition. By ordering the death of his own brother and sister-in-law, Caesar demonstrates his willingness to destroy even family to preserve a vision of power built on purity and domination. For Julian, this moment confirms the necessity of rebellion, not just for political reform, but also justice, and truth.