Page 225 of The Devil May Care

The true flame, he’d called it.

I still don’t know what that means. But the moment I step onto the stone ledge overlooking it, something in me quiets. The thoughts I didn’t realize I was holding—about the Rite, about Caziel, Sarai, Varo, about whatever might be coming next—they slip to the back of my mind like soot in water.

Caziel moves to the edge of the ledge, where a low ring of obsidian encircles the platform. He presses his palm flat against a shallow hollow in the stone. The flame below responds. A curl of brightness winds upward, golden and silent, not fire exactly but light shaped like flame. It dances along the edges of the ring, and then—flickers out. He turns to me.

“Place your hand here,” he says, motioning to a second hollow across from his.

I hesitate, but not from fear. I step forward, place my palm in the stone—warm, humming—and exhale slowly. My fingers settle into grooves I didn’t see until now. A perfect fit. The flame responds again. Not upward this time, but inward, threading a soft glow between our two points of contact. I glance across the ring to him. His eyes are on me.

No.Inme. He can see down to the marrow of my bones. Taste the edge of my thoughts. Something pulls tight in my chest. But it doesn’t hurt.

“What… is this?” I whisper.

I feel dizzy. Not in a bad way. More like everything is too much. The air. The light. Him. He raises his hand. This time, he touches two fingers to the center of my chest. Right where the pendant rests. His eyes close. I want to ask what he’s doing, but my lips don’t move. I follow his lead, shutting out the world around us.

I feel something stirring beneath my skin. Not magic—not quite. It’s gentler than that. Older. It doesn’t demand anything from me. It waits.

Caziel speaks something low in Daemari. The sounds are fluid, full of fire and gravity. I recognize none of the words, but their cadence settles into my bones like a heartbeat.

He pauses. Repeats one phrase. Slower this time, and for some reason I echo it. My mouth forms the sounds like they’ve always belonged to me. His eyes open. I swear they flash with something deeper than fire.

He offers me his hand again. I take it again. And follow him into the center of the flame.

The silence settles like ash, soft and smoldering.I half expect the ground to open or for the flame to answer back. But nothing happens. Just heat. Just quiet. Just him, watching me with something reverent in his eyes—like he’s waiting for me to decide what comes next.

I turn, taking slow steps toward the center of the glowing basin, to where the cracked ground splinters like a starburst. The lava pulses from deep below, not violent, but alive. Breathing. Watching. The true flame. The origin of Crimson. It doesn’t speak. But it sees me.

And gods, that’s somehow worse.

I kneel at the edge of the fissure. Not because I’m told to, not because there’s some rule, but because everything in me knows this is a place where you go to your knees. Where you lower your head, and your pride, and your armor. I stare into the molten gold-red light, feeling it illuminate every corner of me—the messy, cracked, jagged parts I’ve kept hidden even from myself.

All the fear. All thenot-enoughness.All the times I told myself I didn’t belong.

Something breaks open in my chest. The tears come before I can stop them, silent and hot, spilling across my cheeks and into the Flame. I curl my fingers into the stone, pressing my forehead to my hands. I don’t sob. I breathe through it. Shaking with the weight of everything I didn’t know I was holding.

I don’t hear Caziel approach. I just feel him, settling beside me with careful stillness. His palm brushes the back of my neck, grounding. Comforting. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He already knows. His thumb traces a line just beneath my ear. He murmurs something low in Daemari, something I can’t translate. But it settles inside me anyway—like a vow. A benediction. I press my cheek to his shoulder without lifting my head, letting him hold that small piece of me.

A breath, then two, and I whisper, “I thought I had to earn this.”

He turns, brushing his lips to my hairline. “You already have.”

I blink, dazed. It’s not the words that break me—it’s how certain he sounds. Like he’s known for longer than I have. Like he never doubted it, not even for a second. He lets me breathe. Lets me steady. And then, when I’m ready, he offers his hand again.

I slide my palm into his and let him help me stand. My legs wobble, but I don’t fall. His grip is firm and warm and patient. He doesn’t lead me away, just turns slightly, gesturing deeper into the glowing basin.

“There’s more,” he says quietly. The words ripple down my spine.

I look back, just once, at the place I knelt. The place I broke. The place I healed a little, too. I don’t know what this is. But it doesn’t feel like a battle. It feels like a beginning.

The basalt under my feet grows warmer. Not hot. Not yet. But charged. Like the earth is holding its breath beneath us. Caziel stands beside me in silence, his expression unreadable. His glamor still holds, but there’s something in his shoulders—an awareness, a tension—like he’s not sure what happens next either. Like even he’s waiting to see what the Flame decides.

I don’t know what I expected from this place. Not this. It’s… beautiful. In a way I didn’t know fire could be. Smooth stones rim a natural spring, lava pooling in a glowing fissure beyond, light shimmering off obsidian walls like stars trapped in glass. The air smells of minerals and smoke and something sweeter—faint, almost floral. Maybe from the oil Sarai brushed at my collarbone before I left. I hadn’t thought to ask why. Now I feel it, humming faintly beneath my skin.

The wind shifts. Caziel stops.

“I’ll help,” he says, voice low.

It takes me a second to understand what he means. My hands go instinctively to the small buttons at the back of the gown Sarai laced me into—deep crimson silk with open sleeves and an embroidered hem—but I can’t reach. Of course I can’t.