Page 64 of The Devil May Care

“I’m human. Not stupid.” I catch the split-second glance they share between them, “Not that stupid. I’ve seen enough bar fights to know what is and isn’t practiced.”

“Well, of course we are fighters.” The woman shrugs. “All Daemari are trained in combat wether they swear to the Guard or not. It is unusual because we are contenders.”

“So?”

She glances at the ring, back at me, eyes wide. “The Rite isn’t a bloodbath. We’re not supposed to kill each other. But we are supposed to prove ourselves. Most contenders train alone. Helps keep strategy secret. It also gives an idea of how we’d lead. Who’s advice we’d value. How credit given.”

“And yet,” I gesture around us.

She nods. “This is new.”

“You don’t say no when the Ember Heir asks for a favor. Right Captain?” the violet-haired man adds.

I blink. “Wait—Caz asked you to help me?”

They both nod. I let that sink in and laugh. They don’t. I hadn’t realized this was a personal thing. I thought we’d been split into some sort of mystical trio by the talking Flame. I didn’t know he—

“Captain,” I say, turning to the woman, suddenly curious. “You’re military?”

“Captain in the Ember Guard,” she confirms. “Fifteen years.”

“See, now that makes sense. You move like your joints came pre-trained.”

She almost smiles. “You talk a lot.”

“I’ve been told.”

She glances at the mage. “Elira doesn’t. So it balances.”

“I assumed he was just quiet because he was plotting how to incinerate me if I flubbed another swing.”

The mage actually smiles. Briefly. “No. I was deciding how to block your fall if you overextended.”

I take another drink. Let the moment settle.

“You know,” I say finally, “some people might be uncomfortable with someone like me being in the Rite.”

“They are,” Elira says. The captain doesn’t deny it.

“But I’m not trying to steal their glory,” I add. “I’m not even sure I want it. I’m just trying not to die.”

“That’s obvious,” the captain says. “But you fight back. And not everyone does.”

I glance toward Caziel again. He hasn’t moved. Still distant, but still listening. I wonder if this is his version of protection—arming me with people instead of words.

I look back at the others.

“You know,” I murmur, “history is made in moments like this. The unprecedented ones. Otherwise, we just keep repeating the same stories.”

Caziel speaks then, from across the room.

“Some people prefer repetition.” His voice is cool, deliberate. “It’s easier than facing the unknown. But that doesn’t make it right.”

And just like that, the lesson is over. Elira gives me a small nod as he leaves, already turning inward like someone switching masks. The captain follows, her gait measured, her braid a blade of its own down her back.

Caziel is gone before I even realize it.

Just—gone.