Chapter 11 #2
If the flame has chosen her… If she’s one of the thirteen… If she must walk the Rite…Then I cannot stand aside. Not again. I will break my vows before I let her blood spill for my father’s cruel game.
I bow my head and whisper, to no one: “It cannot be her.”
But it is.
I know it. I feel it in the marrow of my bones, and I hate the Flame for it.
I cannot ensure my father’s fall if I have to protect her instead.
And I will protect her. I already am. Because I’ve seen this once before.
A life devoured in the name of power. A woman sacrificed for my silence.
And I will not—can not—watch another innocent die for a cause she never asked to carry.
Not again. Not for me, and not for this damn place.
I leave the chamber slowly. One hand against the stone wall to steady my breath.
By the time the door seals shut behind me, I’ve smoothed the edges of my rage into something quieter.
Sharper. More controlled but not gone. It simmers beneath my ribs like the last embers of a blade—cooled enough to hold, but still capable of cutting.
I start down the corridor that winds back toward the citadel’s central stair.
These halls are older than the Rite itself.
Used only by Sovereigns and those who remember what it cost them.
The Ember Chamber isn’t forbidden, but it’s use has been forgotten.
There are those who believe in the Flame, that it marks and gives and chooses, and yet they still think they have no right to its guidance.
I’m so deep in my own thoughts I don’t notice him until I round the final bend. Elder Solonar leans against the carved archway like he owns it. Arms folded. Head tilted. His posture is casual. His timing is not.
“I thought I might find you here,” he says, voice smooth as poured ink.
“I imagine you did,” I reply. I don’t stop walking. He falls into step beside me. Of course he does.
“I take it the Flame was… silent?” he asks.
There’s something in his voice. Not smug. Not sympathetic. Curious.
Hungry.
“You already know it was,” I say.
He shrugs. “I thought perhaps this time it might offer something.”
“It didn’t.”
A beat of silence. Then, softly, “Shame.”
We walk for a moment in quiet. I can feel him watching me from the corner of his eye. Waiting for the crack. I won’t give it to him. Not yet.
“You’re troubled,” he says.
“I’m aware.”
“Would you like to know what troubles me?”
“No.”
He smiles anyway. “She stood in the circle.”
I stop walking. Just for a breath, a falter, nothing more.
“She didn’t do so intentionally. She had no idea what it meant.
” She was led to the platform; the gold circle would have meant nothing to her.
The protective magic might not apply. She’s human.
She came through the wastes. It’s nothing.
When I continue down the hall, Solonar matches me step for step.
“The others saw it too,” he says. “Varo.”
“She isn’t a contender,” I say tightly.
“Isn’t she?” he asks. “She wasn’t cast out.”
“She is unmarked and human.”
“So, the rules may shift. The Flame may react…accordingly.”
That stops me in my tracks. And I hate that it does.
Solonar stays quiet for a moment. He’s good at that—saying nothing until the silence hurts.
Then, gently, “You know… I’ve wondered something.”
I don’t answer. He takes that as permission.
“I wonder if she’s already been chosen.”
I stop walking.
“You’re reaching,” I say.
“Am I?” He steps in front of me; his hands loose at his sides. “She walked through the Wastes untouched. The flame rose when she entered the circle. She hasn’t been marked. Not visibly. But what if the flame has changed its rules?”
“It doesn’t change.”
“No?” His smile is slight. “Or does it bend when it wants something badly enough?”
I grit my teeth. He’s not wrong. That’s what makes this situation both infuriating and dangerous.
“She didn’t come to Crimson on purpose. She thought it was some sort of dream. A hallucination” I say.
Solonar shrugs. “Ignorance has never stopped the flame before.”
“She isn’t trained. She isn’t ready.”
“She wasn’t dead either, but she should be.” He lets that hang for a moment before continuing. “She’s alive. In the court. In the circle. And the Sovereigns are watching her.”
“She’s human.”
His voice softens. “And yet you’re not the only one who couldn’t look away.”
I narrow my eyes. Solonar takes a step closer. Not threatening. Intimate. He lowers his voice like we’re sharing something private.
“Have you looked at her? Truly looked?”
His tone is dangerous now. Velvet-lined with provocation.
I don’t respond.
“She’s not like us,” he murmurs. “Her softness. Her fragility. That trembling defiance.”
He leans in, just enough.
“Perhaps the Brand looks different on her.”
My jaw tightens.
Solonar studies me, head tilted, mock thoughtful.
“Maybe you missed it. Maybe it’s not on her skin.”
A pause.
Then, with a glint in his eye, “Maybe it’s hidden somewhere you haven’t seen.”
The image he conjures—unspoken but vivid—crashes through my defenses like a weapon. My hands curl into fists.
“Careful,” I say. He’s tried this tack before. It left me rattled, but he did not succeed in whatever his provocation intended. Solonar’s smile widens, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He steps back, the heat of him fading like a spell dismissed.
“I only mean to prepare you,” he says, all false innocence. “If she is chosen, there will be no room for… restraint. You’ll have to act.” He looks at me one final time. No amusement now, only calculation. “Or someone else will.”
Then he leaves me alone in the hallway. Surrounded by the weight of what I refused to say.