Page 219 of The Devil May Care

Caziel’s hand drifts to the base of my spine. “Don’t mock me. The Flame isn’t subtle when it’s impressed.”

That shouldn’t make me flush, but it does. I roll my eyes, trying not to smile.

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t disappoint your sentient magic fire.”

“Oh, it’s in love with you,” he deadpans.

I snort. “That makes one of us.”

His gaze sharpens—just a flicker. But then he smiles again, easy, warm.

“Not just one.”

My heart stutters, and I don’t know if it’s from the words or the way he’s looking at me when he says them. Before I can respond, he brushes a knuckle along my cheek.

“Come. You need water. Rest.”

“Maybe just a minute,” I admit.

He doesn’t press, just threads his fingers through mine and walks me toward the edge of the arena, where shade and silence wait. His touch is steady. Real. And somehow more intimate than anything we’ve said. When we sit, it’s not on thrones or cushions, but the warm stone of the ruins themselves. But the weight in my chest lightens. A moment of joy. One I didn’t expect. One I’m not sure I deserve. And yet I take it. Another trial is over. Only one remains. Caziel presses a water skin into my hands like it’s sacred. He crouches in front of me, frown carved deep into his brow.

“I have to go,” he says.

My stomach lurches, and I’m suddenly afraid the trial isn’t over. Did I imagine the arch? The Flame?

“Go?”

His hand finds mine. “I need to check on something. It’s nothing dangerous—just politics. I’ll be back before you can miss me.”

I blink. “You mean you chose politics over showing up when I stepped through the gate?”

“I didn’t,” he says softly, brushing his thumb over my knuckles. “That’s why I have to leave now.”

My throat tightens. My eyes burn. “You could’ve missed it. My trial.”

He leans forward until our foreheads touch, just briefly. “I never would’ve forgiven myself.”

There’s a world of meaning in that one breath. Too much for my aching heart to name.

He squeezes my fingers. “Rest. Eat something. I won’t be long.”

I nod, not trusting my voice, and he’s gone.

The barracks are quiet when I return. The sky has shifted into Crimson’s version of dusk soaked in blood-orange light, heavy with heat. Sarai meets me at the gate and gives me a soft, proud nod, but doesn’t ask questions, but she doesn’t have to, she can read me like a book. Inside, the barracks are empty, but the tables are set with food and drink and my stomach protests the amount of time that has passed since my last meal. I

“Guess it’s just us now.”

Varo’s voice pulls me out of the haze. He’s leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, mouth twitching like he’s trying not to grin.

I raise an eyebrow. “Us?”

He tilts his head. “You. Me. The final two.”

The bite of stew turns to ash in my mouth. Lyra, Elira, the others…

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”