Page 176 of The Devil May Care

Sarai nods.

I chew the inside of my cheek, heart thudding a little faster. My fellow contenders flash in my mind. Varo, Lyra, Elira, Nyxen, Kaelen. Each of them watching. Waiting. I don’t even know who made it out of Viridian.

“You should eat,” Sarai says after a beat, quieter now. “You’re not done yet. The Viridian trial shook you. But it didn’t break you.”

I nod again, but I can’t quite let it go. “Is it true the Vesperan believe you fight best when you’re underestimated?”

Sarai smiles, just a little. “No. We fight best when no one sees us coming.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CAZIEL

She is still asleep. I tell myself that is why I have not moved. Why I am lying here like the dying embers of a Flame, watching the slow rise and fall of her breath instead of doing the ten thousand things that need my attention before sunrise, but it is not just that. Something is different. Not in the room. Not in the Realm. Her. Or it is me. Kay is curled into the blankets I pulled up around her hours ago, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other resting lightly over her sternum, right where the pendant lies. As if she is protecting it. Or drawing comfort from it in her sleep. The same way I draw comfort from the sight of her.

Everything feels quieter this morning. The kind of hush that follows a storm but does not promise peace. My body aches with satisfaction, but also with something deeper. A pull in my chest I cannot name. Like the flame is trying to tell me something, but not in words I recognize. I rub at my jaw, resisting the urge to reach for her. Resisting the urge to stay. I do not want to leave. But I cannot ignore the shifting currents. The Rite is moving faster now. The Viridian trial ended less than a full day ago and we have already lost several contenders. The next trial could begin soon, and I need to be prepared. For her. For whatever they throw at us next. And I need to see something.

The Rite markers in the Ember chamber will have shifted by now. They always do. Small changes, subtle flares in the obsidian veins when someone rises in favor or falls behind. They do not reveal everything,but they are a measure of standing. Of possibility. After what she survived, after the forest tried to tempt her with lies and dragged her down into her own doubt, she did not just endure. She fought. Maybe not physically, but weapons are the easiest way to push back.

I saw it in her eyes when she came back through the arch. The uncertainty. The guilt. The stubborn, exhausted fire she does not even know she carries. She still thinks it is luck that has gotten her this far. She does not see what the rest of us are starting to. She may not be Daemari, but she belongs here. She is not just surviving the Rite; she is reshaping it.

I pull on my tunic, fasten the belt at my waist. My tail flicks once, restless. George lifts his head from the end of the bed to glare at me like I am the one disturbing his morning. He is pressed so close to Kay that I cannot tell where one ends and the other begins.

Typical.

“I’ll be back,” I mutter, mostly to myself.

Kay shifts in her sleep, not fully waking. Just a breath of movement, a soft sound in her throat. But it knocks the air from my chest like a blow. She trusts me enough to sleep here. In this room. In my bed. I cannot betray that. George uncurls himself, stretching his paws out as his ears twitch. His yawn shows sharp, white fangs.

“Coming too?” I ask him, and he hops off the bed, planting his rear end on my boot, tail twitching around my ankle. “Stick close,” I say as I wrap my glamor around myself like a worn cloak. There is no turning back. Not anymore.

The corridor smells of ash and oil; freshly polished, freshly scarred. The kind of scent that lingers after too much has burned, too fast to track. George is tucked beneath my cloak, curled along my shoulder like a living scarf, warm and unnervingly quiet. He followed me to the door and down two corridors before I scooped him up. The other contenders are used to George, but that does not mean that majority of the Daemari are. I do not mind the company, but he will be safer out of sight. He does not seem to mind.

I walk fast. Not fast enough to seem evasive, not slow enough to draw attention. The Flame pulses, and I feel the call of it before the hallway even opens. The flame in my chest echoes the one bound in its heart, but I do not get that far.

“Ember Heir. Prince Caziel.” The voice is familiar. Weighted like stones wrapped in silk.

I turn. Elder Rhivus stands tucked into an alcove near one of the rune-scribed columns. Not the most senior, nor the most dangerous. Rhivus listens more than he speaks. And speaks only when he wants something known.

“Elder.” I incline my head, neutral. Not cold. Not warm.

Rhivus does not bow, he never does, but he inclines his head in a nod as he steps forward, smiling like we are co-conspirators.

“How long has it been,” he muses, “since a Rite stirred this much interest from the Vesperan and common caste alike? A real treat for the rest of us, no?”

George lifts his head beneath the cloak. I feel the tiny movement along my shoulder as claws flex against the clasp. Not enough to draw blood. Just enough to warn he is listening.

“Perhaps never,” I answer. “This year’s contenders are strong.”

“Some more so than others,” he murmurs. “But I won’t pretend I’m not enjoying myself.”

He strokes his beard. The gesture looks idle, but he is watching me the way fire watches dry wood. “I imagine you’re pleased with her progress,” he adds. “The human girl.”

My jaw tightens and George shifts. I place a steadying hand along his back beneath the cloak and feel his heartbeat race like a drum.

“She’s earned a small following,” Rhivus continues, “among the servants. The flame-sick. Even a few of the older bloodlines if the rumors are true.”

“She surprises, doesn’t she?” My grin shows my teeth.