Page 90 of The Devil May Care

“You mean the gag,” I say.

He hums. “So crude when you say it like that.”

I do turn now, just enough to catch his expression. Polite. Measured. Unbothered. I’ve seen the same face on diplomats seconds before they order blood spilled. I’m not impressed.

“You let him do it,” I say.

“Did I?”

“You said nothing.”

“I said nothing in public,” he replies smoothly. “You assume silence means consent. I thought you knew me better.”

“I thought I did.”

He gives me a look I can’t decipher. “And now?”

“I’m not sure which game you’re playing.”

“Have you figured out which one you’re in?”

We stare at each other.

The torchlight flickers between us, painting his features in pale gold and deep red. His eyes look older than the rest of him. Tired. Sharp.

Dangerous.

“She doesn’t belong in the trial,” I say carefully.

“She’s already in it,” he replies. “The question now is whether she survives.”

“I won’t let them kill her.”

“No,” Solonar says, with something like regret. “I didn’t think you would.”

He steps closer. Too close. His voice lowers.

“Tell me, Caziel. Is it just about protecting her? Or is it that she’s done something you didn’t expect?”

I say nothing. He smiles. Not kindly.

“She’s not like Isaeth.”

I freeze and his eyes gleam.

“I was there, remember?” he murmurs. “I saw what she meant to you. I saw what it did to you.”

“This is not the same.”

“No,” he says softly. “It’s not. And maybe that’s what frightens you.” The silence between us turns to stone. He tilts his head, gaze unreadable “You may want to consider choosing your side before the flame does it for you. She is human Caziel. Even if you do not stand with your father, you must stand with the realm. We are counting on you and she is an outsider.” He steps back.

His footsteps fade and I’m left with the heavy, burning truth: I don’t know what side he’s on. Not my fathers, but not Kay’s either.

The sky is darkening as I reach the edge of the citadel. A storm brews in the lowlands—heat-lightning over the broken ridges that mark the borders of Crimson. The clouds burn gold from within, pulsing like a heartbeat.The kind of storm that doesn’t just strike. It remembers.

I find the overlook I used to haunt in my first century of grief. Back when I believed mourning was a task that could be completed. The stone here is raw. Cold. The flame does not run beneath it. There is no echo, no whisper of desire or judgment in the earth. That’s why I chose it then. It’s why I come now. I sit with the silence. Let it wrap around me. Let it remind me what I promised.

Isaeth.