Page 66 of The Devil May Care

I stare into my cup. The reflection of the firelight flickers at the surface, dancing against the rim.

“Do you?” I ask.

She pauses, her eyes darting around the perimeter of my room, lighting on every surface like she’s hoping a new topic of conversation “He’s different than most Daemari.”

That’s not a yes, but there’s a weight to her words.

“Have you ever seen the flame choose someone?” I ask softly. “Really choose?”

“Yes.”

“What was it like?”

“Terrifying.”

That’s the first honest thing she’s said all night. I set the cup down, wrapping my arms around my knees.

“You know what the worst part is?” I say. “It’s not the fear. It’s not even the not-knowing.”

“What is it?”

“It’s realizing that no one expects me to make it out of this. That I’m not even supposed to.”

Sarai’s eyes soften. Her hands tighten around her cup, but she doesn’t deny it. She doesn’t lie.

“You’ve seen others try,” I say. “Others who didn’t belong.” She nods. “What happened to them?”

She takes a long breath.

“Crimson does not always welcome change.”

We sit in silence again. This time it’s heavier, not from hostility but from truth. Sarai reaches for the kettle, refills her cup, and changes the subject.

“I used to think the flame was a god,” she says. “That it had a mind. A will.”

“And now?”

“Now I think it’s a mirror.”

I blink. “Like… it reflects you?”

“No. Like it shows people what they already believe.”

That lodges in my ribs like a splinter. I think of the court. Of the banners, the fire, the flame ready to burn me alive or worse—ignore me completely. What will they see? What do I?

“Why are you here, Sarai?”

She tilts her head. “Now?”

“No. I mean… here. In this realm. In this place. You said your people don’t get remembered. Don’t get history.”

She doesn’t answer. Not at first.

“There’s always work that can be done, even if no one will see it or remember. Movement takes time.”

The words linger like the heat of the tea in my throat. Sarai doesn’t say anything as she leaves. She just touches my shoulder, once, and is gone.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN