Page 125 of The Devil May Care

“Is that—required?”

“It is if you want to see what’s coming.”

I sit on the edge of my cot, and she moves behind me with quick, sure fingers, weaving my hair close to my scalp. Each braid is tight, like Lyra’s, efficient, a soldier’s coil meant to hold. Caziel stands back, silent. I can feel his eyes on me, the weight of his restraint. Sarai doesn’t speak until she fastens the final braid and pins it in place. Then she leans close, breath warm against my temple.

“Whatever you see in there,” she whispers, “do not forget where you are. Who you are.”

The bell peals again. Louder, final. Sarai straightens. Caziel steps back, fists clenched at his sides like he wants to reach for me again, stop this from happening. But he doesn’t.

And I don’t run.

I just tuck the pendant tighter against my skin, square my shoulders and go.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

KAY

The amphitheater yawns open before me; a bowl carved into the red cliffs beyond the citadel. It’s older than anything else I’ve seen here—half-sunken, weather-worn, forgotten by time but not by memory. Crumbling stone pillars rise in uneven rings around the center stage, each tier casting broken shadows that lean long in the dusky light. An archway of black stone claws its way out of the rock, steam curling up out of the dark fissures. Like it slammed down into the ground, the ripples bleeding out into the surrounding space.

I step down, boots echoing off glassy black stone veined with obsidian. Pools of still water collect across the arena floor, too dark to reflect the sky. But they’re not still, not really. They shift like something’s breathing beneath them.

There are people in the stands—Daemari, guards, maybe nobles—but I don’t look. I can’t see their faces. Even if I could, the air is already shimmering with whatever protections twist the truth of what happens here. They’ll see shadows. Glimpses. They won’t see me. Good. I cannot see any of the other contenders. I wonder if they’re already in the Trial. I step up to the archway. Flames stretch upward, engulfing the stone in crackling energy. The air hums once behind me. A shimmer catches my eye. The arena seals shut.

Alright then, I think, clenching my fists.Into the arch. Let’s go.

The flames around the archway pulse, flicker, and then collapse inward like dying stars. When they blaze again, they blaze black. I knowthis color. Caziel gave it to me once. A warning, or maybe a kindness. It washes over the arena like smoke, crawling up my skin and spine and memory.

I step through the arch, and everything goes quiet. I’m on the other side now, same arena, but there’s no staring audience, no hum of conversation, no air; just stillness. Like the world’s taken a breath and forgotten how to let it go.

The stone beneath my boots is wet. The puddle is full of something thicker than water. Darker. I do not look down. A low wind whips through the space, curling around me, squeezing. It is not cold exactly, but hollow. Like it’s been crying for too long and ran out of tears. A memory of grief made real. A shudder wracks my spine. I close my eyes.

I just want to get this over with.

The first whisper comes from the pool at my feet.

“You don’t belong here.”The voice isn’t human. It isn’t even sound. It curls around my spine, threads into my thoughts like it’s always been there. “You’ve already carried too much. Set it down. Rest. No one would even notice.”

No figure. No source. Just the Obsidian Realm itself, slipping its fingers into the places I keep locked up tight. I turn to look behind me and see the archway is gone. The arena goes on for eternity. I move forward. Another voice from another puddle. Then another and another, each one opening up a hint of a memory.

It starts small.

My old college roommate telling me that she was sorry, so sorry, it just happened one time, they didn’t mean for it to...

A slap from my foster mother, sharp and bright across my cheek, why would I assume I was going with them on vacation? They’d need to get permission from the state, and it was too much of a hassle. I should be grateful they took me in at all. They could’ve left me at the group home.

A piece of paper, wet with tears. We regret to inform you…no admittance.

Little cuts. Paper-thin. Familiar. Each one burrows into my skin like it never left.

I keep moving forward, eyes on the arch in the distance. I can’t explain why, but it feels like the right course of action. The air pressestighter. Harder. Whispers seem to reach for me. Thick, dark liquid laps at the toe of my boot.

The air conditioner clicks softly. The radio hums—some old classic rock song my dad insists is good music. My mother’s humming along, off-key. Her hand rests on the center console, thumb tapping the beat against Dad’s wrist where he’s holding the gearshift.

I’m eleven years old. My legs stick to the hot vinyl backseat of my parent’s sedan. I have a book open in my lap, but I’ve read the same sentence four times. I didn’t want to come on this trip. We were supposed to stay home. I was going to build a dragon fort in the living room. But no, we had to go Upstate. To the cabin. No TV. No internet. Nothing but bugs and dumb trails and—

I huff and press my head against the window. It’s hot. The glass burns my temple. I’m missing Jess Constanza’s pool party for this. I’m missing the chance to show off how I can jump of the high dive now. It’s the only thing anyone will talk about for the rest of the summer, and I’m stuck on vacation with my mom and dad.

“Kay,” my mom says gently, not turning around. “It won’t be so bad.”