Page 174 of The Devil May Care

“To check on the others,” he says, pulling his coat from a nearby chair. “Find out how many contenders made it through. And there is a council meeting I should not avoid.”

I sit up, the sheet pulling against my chest. “Then I’ll head back to the barracks—”

“No.” It’s firm, but not unkind. He crosses to me in three steps, crouches by the edge of the bed. “Stay here. Rest. You’ve done enough for now.”

My mouth opens, ready to argue. He brushes a knuckle down my cheek.

“I will send Sarai. She will bring food; help with anything you need. When I am back, we will prepare for Umbral together.”

There’s something in his voice that I don’t have the words to explain. Not exactly affection. Not just concern. Trust. I nod in agreement, and the tension leaks out of his shoulders. I smile, soft and lazy, and when the door clicks shut behind him, I sink back into his sheets and try to remember how to breathe without him there. For a moment, I just lie in the decadently opulent bed, letting the silence settle. Letting myself feel everything and nothing at once. My body aches in a dozen unfamiliar ways, good aches, grounding ones, but my mind is a blur. It feels a bit like the Viridian trial never really ended. Like I stepped through one illusion and straight into another.

Caziel is real.

The heat of his skin still lingers against mine, and if I close my eyes, I can almost feel the ghost of his hand along my spine. Gentle. Devastating. Gods, I let him see me. All of me. And he still kissed me like I was made of fire, and he wasn’t afraid to burn. I draw in a shaky breath, pressing the heel of my palm to my chest where the pendant throbs faintly against the skin. It is warm against my sternum, threads coiled within it, heavy as a heartbeat. He didn’t say how long he’d be gone. Justthat he needed to check something. He didn’t want me out of his chambers—told me to rest, to let Sarai come to me.

I don’t need to be waited on, but maybe he just wanted someone here. Someone I trusted. Someone who wouldn’t look at me like I was a problem to solve or a contender to fear. I shift under the blankets and let my gaze travel around the room. I’ve been here before, but not like this. Not with the scent of him still on my skin. Not with the weight of what we just shared curled around my spine like a second heartbeat. His chambers are warmer than I remember. Deep red tapestries catch the sunlight through the high slatted windows, and somewhere in the corner, incense burns; faintly spicy, with something resinous beneath. Not overpowering. Homey. Like he wanted this place to be his, even if he never expected to share it.

On the carved table near the hearth, someone’s placed a pitcher of water and two cups. There’s a bowl of fruit I didn’t see last night. Small, thorny red ones I don’t recognize. One of them is half-bitten. A part of me wants to laugh. Did he try to eat and get distracted? Typical.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and sit for a moment, bare toes against warm stone. My body still feels heavy with sleep, or something close to it, but I don’t want to waste this chance. This moment of quiet and safety before the next trial. Before the world gets loud again. A knock sounds, gentle but firm.

I tug the blanket tighter around me and call out, “Yeah?”

The door opens, and Sarai steps through, her braid a glossy whip over one shoulder, expression unreadable. She sees me and stops.

Then her mouth twitches into a small, wry smile. “So. You’re not dead.”

“Not yet,” I mumble.

She walks in like she owns the place and closes the door behind her. In her arms is a folded bundle—fresh clothes, maybe. A new tunic. There’s something comforting in how familiar she feels, like a tether to a version of myself I keep forgetting I used to be.

“And you’re still naked.” she says, setting the bundle down beside me on the bed. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me.”

“I do,” I say, too quickly. Then, softer, “I missed you.”

“I’ve been nearby. Watching when I can. You’ve changed.”

“Not all of it was a choice.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

She sits beside me, careful not to crowd. Steam curls from the clay mug she offers. Morning light spills across the room in soft amber, and for a moment, I forget where I am. It’s too quiet, too warm. Until I shift and feel every bruise the forest left behind.

“I guess I should get up and face the morning,” I croak, voice hoarse.

Sarai glances over her shoulder. “It’s nearly afternoon,” she teases gently. “You needed the sleep.”

I did. I do. And still, it does not feel like it could ever be enough.

“You brought food?” I ask, trying not to sound wild with desperation. I push myself up with a wince.

“Tea too. The spicy kind you like.”

I raise my eyebrows. “The one that smells like fire and burns your throat a little?”

“Exactly. You earned it.”

I limp toward the table, dropping onto the bench as she joins me. My limbs ache in places I didn’t know could ache. My braid is half undone. I can’t tell if my sore muscles are a result of the last trial or a gift from Caziel.