Page 156 of The Devil May Care

He does not finish. He does not have to. Because he means they will remove her. And despite everything, the power, the posturing, theconfidence, I can still hear it in his voice. He is afraid. Not of her strength. Not even of her magic, but of what she represents: The truth. The shift. The possibility that his way is no longer the only way the flame will recognize. Solonar glances toward me. Just once. Like he knows I have caught it too.

My father spins on his heel, returning to the throne, his voice calm again. “The girl will burn. Whether by Rite or rule. Either will suffice.”

And this time, when the flame coils in defiance, no one dares look up.

No one but me.

Solonar finds me in the hallway before I can vanish into the stone.

He is silent at first, walking at my side, hands clasped loosely behind his back. We pass beneath a row of sconces, the flame in each flickering gold-orange—faintly disturbed, the way a predator’s breath stirs the air before the kill.

“I would’ve expected more from you,” he finally says, tone mild. “Silence, when your father calls her an aberration. When others speak of accelerating the Rite. When the council begins to weigh fear over fairness.”

“I’ve spoken before,” I say. “It hasn’t mattered.” Today, too. But acknowledging that truth will not help convince me to do whatever it is he wants.

“Maybe not to them,” he concedes. “But it mattered to me. And it would have mattered to her.”

I stop walking. “Careful, Elder Solonar.”

His eyes gleam with something unreadable. “You are protecting her. Not just in training or theory. You are hiding something.”

I do not answer.

He steps in closer, voice lowering. “You think I did not notice the thread residue after Obsidian? The static that clung to her skin like heat lightning? You gave her one. From Cobalt too, I’d wager. Bold. And stupid.”

Viridian, too.

“I gave her nothing she didn’t earn.”

He sighs, frustrated. “You didn’t even go through the Sovereigns. You know what that means.”

I glare at him. “She is walking through your trials—your fire, your sorrow, your clarity—and doing so without any of the privileges afforded the others. You all want her to fail, but when she does not, you call it a flaw.”

“That’s not the issue,” he replies, too quickly. “You’re drawing attention where it should not be drawn. The flame is already behaving strangely.”

“It sees her,” I say, before I can stop myself. “And she sees it back.”

Solonar studies me. “Is that what this is? You think she’s meant for it?”

I hesitate. The lie comes too easily.

“I don’t know what she’s meant for. Only that if this Rite consumes her, the flame will not be the only thing to rise in protest.”

Solonar exhales. “Your father is unraveling.” I look away. “He’s losing influence with the outer provinces,” Solonar continues. “Whispers of the old manipulations in Cobalt are re-emerging. There are people remembering what they were made to forget. If she continues to succeed, that will accelerate. And if she fails… well, that’s what he’s counting on.”

I want to tell him it is not just politics. That I saw the way the flame curled toward her. That it followed her even after she left the trial. That George—her feline companion, absurd and oddly fearless—sat calmly at the center of the flame’s circle and was not burned. I want to tell him she leaned in to kiss me. That I wanted nothing more than to kiss her back. But I say none of this. Because once said, it becomes real. And if I let it be real, then I cannot protect her the way I need to.

“She’s not ready,” I murmur instead.

“No one ever is,” Solonar says, gently now. “But some of us are willing to become what the realm needs.”

He pauses, watching me carefully. “You could still take the Rite yourself. She does not have to be the only disruption.”

There is only one way I can. And I will not. It would take too much.

“I will not give my father what he wants,” I reply.

“Then figure out whatyouwant, Caziel. Because the rest of us are running out of time to wait.”