Page 96 of The Devil May Care

The Flame doesn’t move at first. It hovers in the center of the dais—liquid fire in a loosely coiled shape, like it’s asleep. Or judging. Or both. I swallow hard and kneel, like the others did, even though every part of me wants to turn and run. But I don’t. I bow my head, trying not to shake.

I’m not Daemari. I shouldn’t even be here.

The silence deepens and the Flame. It responds. It doesn’t burn theway fire should. It thrums—a heat I feel behind my eyes, in my teeth, deep in the cage of my ribs. The flames slither toward me slowly, tendrils unfurling like smoke in water.

I feel the first lick of it just under my jaw. A flicker of warmth.

I just want this to not be in vain. I can handle pain, death, whatever, but I need this to be for a reason. Please. I can’t have fallen through dimensions to Hell, only to be burned alive now. I didn’t survive losing my parents, a decade in the foster system, and the crushing weight of student loans to go out like this. I have to be worth more than that. Right? Dammit? I want to be. I have to be. I—

It strikes.

Fire drives into my forearms, both at once like whips forged of flame wrapping around my wrists, like chains of nettles with teeth. I bite my tongue hard enough to taste blood, but I don’t scream. I want to. The heat becomes slicing. Thousands of tiny cuts, glowing with fire, carving from the inside out. The flame isn’t just touching me—it’s testing me. Peeling me open like it’s reading every part of who I am. My breath stutters. The crowd blurs. I see Caziel stand—abruptly, violently. His hands are fisted. He’s trying to come forward. Someone grabs him.

He can’t speak.

Oh god, Caz.

He looks pissed. Upset.

I’m dying, I think,this is the actual end of my story, but we could’ve been something. Maybe. Given time. I hope he finds that. I want that for him. I want Sarai to be free. I want—

I hear my own voice. A low moan slipping out from between gritted teeth. My knees wobble. My skin burns and pulses, etched in something deeper than pain. The flame curls tighter around my forearms, then wraps around my spine like a vice. My entire body convulses.

Why isn’t it stopping? It hurts. Fire cutting through skin and muscle and down to bone. I want to claw my arms off. I want it to end. But some part of me—some stubborn, snarling scrap deep inside—will not let go. I will not collapse.

The fire surges once more—and then vanishes. Smoke lifts off my skin. I collapse forward onto my hands, panting, cheek pressed to the hot stone floor. Silence. Then a voice—not the Ember’s, but something deeper. The chamber itself, maybe.

“The Thirteenth is chosen.”

Gasps echo like shattering glass.

I lift my head. My arms glow faintly, the marks curling like living vines down both forearms. I don’t recognize the shape. I don’t understand what it means. But the Elders are staring. The Asmodeus is smiling. And Caziel is still standing like he is contemplating who to murder first.

The flame retracts. The trial is over. And I don’t feel victorious. I feel like something has been taken from me, carved out with heat and pain and need, and something else was put in its place. Something I can’t name yet.

I push myself upright, stumbling as the heat warps the floor under me. My legs barely hold. I keep my eyes trained on the door at the far end and I stumble toward it. One step. Then another. Behind me, the arena whispers like a storm building on the edge of the horizon. The corridor blurs as I walk. The door opens as I near it. My arms are buzzing, my skin too tight, like I’ve been peeled and only barely put back together. My heartbeat is loud in my ears—slow, but wrong.

The moment the heavy stone doors seal behind me, I stumble.

Sarai slips out of the shadows. She grabs my shoulders, but I flinch from the touch. I’m not sure where I end and the fire begins.

“Kay—?” She presses her palms to my cheeks, anchoring me anyway. “You’re burning up,” she whispers, dragging me to a low stone bench like I weigh nothing. “What the hell did they do to you?”

My robes cling to me, soaked through with sweat. I can’t unclench my fists. I try to speak, but nothing comes out. Is this a seizure?

Sarai kneels and reaches for the hem of my sleeve.

I jerk back. “Don’t—!”

Too late.

She peels the fabric back, and we both stare, eyes wide. The marks run from my wrists to my elbows in elegant, branching lines. They look like molten vines, flickering faintly red and gold. The color moves, pulsing like veins with a heartbeat all their own. Fire underneath my very skin. Sarai inhales sharply.

“That’s not normal.” She glances toward the door. “Caziel, the Ember Heir, should see this. He’s the only one who might know—”

“No—” My voice cracks. “They said not to… he can’t—”

But she’s already gone. I close my eyes. Just for a second. My head pounds like the mother of all migraines is seeping into my skull. I’m dying right? Getting Caziel isn’t going to change that. He shouldn’t see me like this. Not when I know how much he cared about keeping me safe. This isn’t his fault. It isn’t and he doesn’t need to see me like this. It would gut him. It would—