Page 109 of The Devil May Care

That gets the smallest smile from him. Barely there, but real. He doesn’t step inside, just lingers at the edge.

“I saw you fight Varo,” he says after a pause. “You didn’t win.”

I blink. “Thanks?” I hadn’t thought I did, but the observation still stings.

“But you didn’t freeze,” he continues. “Not even when he aimed for the brand. That had to hurt.”

I shrug, regretting it instantly when my shoulder screams again. “Guess that’s progress.”

“It is,” he says.

There’s weight in the words. Not quite flattery. More like a marker. We lapse into silence. I study him. I’ve seen him spar, sketch, stare into nothing like he’s building theories in his head. He’s a mystery wrapped in calm, and I can’t tell if that makes him dangerous or just tired.

“Have you done this before?” I ask, finally.

He tilts his head. “The Rite?”

“Yeah.”

“No one competes twice.” He says it with such finality that I straighten a little. “Not in the Rite, but one can receive the Emberbrand from the Flame for many reasons. You do know the Flame tenets, don’t you?”

I froze, halfway through tightening my boots. “Tenets,” I echoed. “Like commandments?”

Outside of my alcove, one of the larger contenders snorts a laugh, probably at my lack of knowledge, but Lyra Iskar shoots him a look sharp enough to draw blood, and he goes quiet. Elira doesn’t even glance at the others.

“Not commandments. Truths. Ten of them. The Flame isn’t law. It is older than that.” He lifts his hand, one ink-stained finger raised, and I bite my lips to stop them from twitching. Ten Commandments. Shouldhave seen that coming. “It crowns.” He lifted another. “It tests.” Another. “It remembers. And it binds.”

I frown, “Binds what?”

This time, Elira’s eyes flick up to mine. They are too pale for comfort, like smoke washed the color right out of them.

“Whatever it chooses. A ruler to the realm. A warrior to a weapon. Two souls to each other.” His voice stayed dry, even. Like it was no more remarkable than naming the stars.

My throat goes tight. I made myself busy with a loose thread at the edge of my blanket.

Elira goes back to his counting. “It translates, when you truly want to understand. Reflects what you will not admit. Creates and consumes in the same breath. Lies to no one.” His hand drops, smudged fingers curling into a fist. “And it always takes its price.”

“That’s nine,” I mutter, before I can stop myself.

A smile ghosts at his mouth. The first I’ve ever seen.

“You’ve been listening.” He closes the book with a thump. The lamplight catches the violet streak in his hair; the black ink smeared at the edge of his jaw. He looks at me in a way that makes the room go quieter than it has any right to be. “The last tenet is the only one that matters.” His voice softens, as though it doesn’t belong to him anymore. “The Flame chooses. Always, but it does not steal.”

The air prickles, hotter than the torches can justify. No one speaks. Even the contender who mocked me before keeps his eyes down. I swallow hard, wishing I hadn’t asked. Wishing I hadn’t listened. Because the way Elira said it, it sounded less like a lesson and more like a sentence. A punishment.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

I don’t not even a little bit, but I don’t want to admit it aloud. I also don’t want to lie. I was warned against it. He studies me for a moment more then flows to his feet, backing toward the curtain.

“You should eat,” he says. “You’ll need it.”

Before I can say thanks—or ask the dozen questions gathering on my tongue—he’s gone. I sit there for a long time after, the silence heavier than before. George purrs beside me, head nudging my leg like none of this is bigger than dinner. But I know better now. The Rite isn’t justblood and steel. It’s secrets. And I just stepped into the middle of all of them.

The main hall isn’t what I expect. It’s loud, but not in an organized way—more like a den that’s too small for the pack inside it. Some contenders are at the long tables, eating and talking, but others sprawl on benches or sit cross-legged on the floor, polishing blades or running whetstones over gauntlets. Someone’s laughter echoes from the far end, sharp and sudden. The air smells like smoke, metal, and something sweet frying in oil.

A buffet line runs along the back wall. The servers are Vesperan. Washed in silver light. Skin like pale marble, hair that catches every color when they move, eyes like rain on glass. For a second I can’t help scanning for Sarai, even though I know she wouldn’t be here. The absence still punches a hole through the noise.

When I reach the end of the line, one of them meets my gaze. His expression is calm but not cold, curious, maybe. I manage a quick, “Thank you,” when he hands me a plate. It earns me the barest flicker of surprise, like he wasn’t expecting me to speak at all. His lips part, but whatever he meant to say dies before it begins. I move away fast, clutching my food like it’s a shield.