Chapter 56
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
KAY
The red haze clears as I step through the archway—and for a breath, I forget how to stand.
The arena comes rushing back all at once.
Sound. Heat. The scent of stone, scorched and ancient.
My boots land on cracked crimson earth, and I brace myself for noise, for judgment, for anything.
But the amphitheater is quiet. Not silent—just holding its breath. Then I hear him.
“Kay.”
Caziel’s voice cuts through the space like a spark catching dry tinder.
My head jerks toward the sound just as he breaks from the sidelines, armor half-buckled, hair slightly undone like he didn’t stop to fix it before running to me.
He’s running. Not striding. Not composed.
He reaches me and stops just short of crashing into my chest, hands lifting like he’s not sure where to touch first—shoulders, arms, face.
“You were gone too long,” he says, voice rough. “I couldn’t feel—”
“I’m okay,” I whisper, even though I’m not sure that’s true. The words come out on instinct.
He cups my face then, callused thumbs brushing just beneath my eyes, searching. I can’t breathe under the weight of that look, like he’s counting every moment I was missing in the lines of my skin.
“I thought you were gone,” he murmurs.
I could lie. I could make it a joke. But I don’t.
“So did I.”
He breathes out shakily, eyes raking over me as if trying to be sure.
“You took… longer than expected.”
“I was chatting,” I say.
“With the trial?”
“With someone inside it.” I touch the pendant unconsciously, surprised when I feel heat still coiled there, gentle and grounding. “She offered to send me home.”
His entire body tightens. I glance up, not smiling—not quite—but something like it.
“I said no.”
Caziel doesn’t answer. But his hand lifts slowly, like he’s asking permission to touch me, and I step into it. His palm grazes my cheek, then my temple, then the edge of my jaw—like he needs to convince himself I’m real.
“What did she say?” he murmurs.
“That it’s not my fight. That I could leave. Go home. Be happy.”
“And?”
I let out a breath. “I told her I found joy in hell.”
He closes his eyes for a beat. Then leans his forehead gently to mine.
“You’re not supposed to say things like that,” he whispers. “You’re supposed to make it easier for me to let you go, sal.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Don’t promise that.”
“I’m not,” I say. “I’m choosing it. That’s different.”
A hum passes between us, not quite flame, not quite magic—but something. Something real. Right. I’m pulled forward into his chest, his arms banding tight around me. The arena vanishes. The trials. The flame. The impossible things I said back there.
“I’m here,” I whisper against the crook of his neck. “I’m here.”
Caziel exhales against my temple like it’s a prayer.
“I don’t know how you do it,” he says eventually, pulling back but keeping a hand at my back. “Every trial, you walk in uncertain. And then you walk out stronger.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve fallen, literally, out of at least one. You meant to say shaken. Cracked. Doubting everything.” I grin.
His mouth quirks. “Even a cracked vessel can hold light.”
I blink. “That sounds suspiciously poetic.”
“It’s Crimson,” he says, half-smile blooming. “We bleed poetry.”
That makes me laugh—soft and choked and stunned that I still can.
I lean into him a little more, grounding myself in the solid heat of his presence, the scent of smoke and something faintly sweet on his skin, like charred cedar.
We’re still in the arena. I know that, people are watching, but I don’t care.
I survived another trial. My chest is still aching from what I almost said in there. What I felt. What I chose not to take.
“You were beautiful,” he says quietly. “In there. I didn’t see it, but I felt it.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You felt me be beautiful?”
Caziel’s hand drifts to the base of my spine. “Don’t mock me. The Flame isn’t subtle when it’s impressed.”
That shouldn’t make me flush, but it does. I roll my eyes, trying not to smile.
“Well, I’m glad I didn’t disappoint your sentient magic fire.”
“Oh, it’s in love with you,” he deadpans.
I snort. “That makes one of us.”
His gaze sharpens—just a flicker. But then he smiles again, easy, warm.
“Not just one.”
My heart stutters, and I don’t know if it’s from the words or the way he’s looking at me when he says them. Before I can respond, he brushes a knuckle along my cheek.
“Come. You need water. Rest.”
“Maybe just a minute,” I admit.
He doesn’t press, just threads his fingers through mine and walks me toward the edge of the arena, where shade and silence wait.
His touch is steady. Real. And somehow more intimate than anything we’ve said.
When we sit, it’s not on thrones or cushions, but the warm stone of the ruins themselves.
But the weight in my chest lightens. A moment of joy.
One I didn’t expect. One I’m not sure I deserve.
And yet I take it. Another trial is over.
Only one remains. Caziel presses a water skin into my hands like it’s sacred.
He crouches in front of me, frown carved deep into his brow.
“I have to go,” he says.
My stomach lurches, and I’m suddenly afraid the trial isn’t over. Did I imagine the arch? The Flame?
“Go?”
His hand finds mine. “I need to check on something. It’s nothing dangerous—just politics. I’ll be back before you can miss me.”
I blink. “You mean you chose politics over showing up when I stepped through the gate?”
“I didn’t,” he says softly, brushing his thumb over my knuckles. “That’s why I have to leave now.”
My throat tightens. My eyes burn. “You could’ve missed it. My trial.”
He leans forward until our foreheads touch, just briefly. “I never would’ve forgiven myself.”
There’s a world of meaning in that one breath. Too much for my aching heart to name.
He squeezes my fingers. “Rest. Eat something. I won’t be long.”
I nod, not trusting my voice, and he’s gone.
The barracks are quiet when I return. The sky has shifted into Crimson’s version of dusk soaked in blood-orange light, heavy with heat.
Sarai meets me at the gate and gives me a soft, proud nod, but doesn’t ask questions, but she doesn’t have to, she can read me like a book.
Inside, the barracks are empty, but the tables are set with food and drink and my stomach protests the amount of time that has passed since my last meal. I
“Guess it’s just us now.”
Varo’s voice pulls me out of the haze. He’s leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, mouth twitching like he’s trying not to grin.
I raise an eyebrow. “Us?”
He tilts his head. “You. Me. The final two.”
The bite of stew turns to ash in my mouth. Lyra, Elira, the others…
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
I stare at him, bowl forgotten in my lap. “When—?”
“While you were off chatting with philosophical ghosts.” His voice is dry, teasing. But there’s an undercurrent of respect there too.
“You’re serious,” I whisper. “It’s down to us.”
“The others took the gift,” He shrugs. “You don’t seem thrilled.”
“I don’t know what I feel.”
“That tracks,” he mutters, then gestures toward the open stone bench beside him. “Come sit. Pretend we’re friends before one of us tries to murder the other in a week.”
I roll my eyes but obey, settling beside him. He smells like ash and leather and something citrusy that reminds me of the training grounds. Of Caz. For a minute, we sit in silence.
“What are you going to do if you win?” I ask, voice quiet.
He glances at me, surprised. “Heavy question.”
“You’ve had longer to think about it than I have.”
Varo shrugs, but there’s tension in his shoulders. “Same thing I’ve always wanted. Fix what’s broken.”
“And if you lose?”
His smirk turns sharp. “Are you offering to crown me in secret?”
I elbow him. “You wish.” But yes, actually, that thought had crossed my mind.
“Not really,” he murmurs, voice softer now.
“I think… if you win, Kay, I could live with that.” The words knock something loose in my chest. I don’t know what to say.
So I just look at him. He meets my gaze, and the sharpness fades into something warmer.
Older. “You’ve changed things. For all of us. ”
“You sure about that?”
“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
“I’m not trying to win.” I say, dropping my spoon into my bowl and pushing both onto the wooden table top.
He cocks a brow. “No?”
“I just want to survive.” I shrug. “Make it out with all my pieces intact. The throne? That’s your mess. Not mine.”
He leans back, studying me. “You’re really not after it?”
“Nope.” I meet his eyes. “You’ve got better reasons than I ever will.”
His lips twitch. “Damn right I do.”
We fall into an easy silence, the kind that tastes earned.
Then Varo breaks it. “Where’s the little beast?”
“George?” I blink.
He shrugs, casual. “Haven’t seen him since before the trial. Thought maybe you lost him again.”
My stomach twists—but before I can panic, a familiar yowl echoes from the hallway. George trots in like he owns the place, tail high, eyes gleaming. He makes a beeline for Varo, leaps onto the bench beside him, and head butts his arm with the force of a small war hammer. Varo doesn’t even flinch.
“Oh my god,” I mutter. “You’ve been watching him for me, haven’t you?”
He shrugs again, too smug. “He needed company. I figured if I die, someone should remember me fondly.” George sprawls across his lap like a decadent emperor. Varo strokes his head once, then eyes me sidelong. “I assume he comes with you if you win?”
I laugh. “He’d throw a fit if I left him behind. Just ask Caz.”
“Well,” Varo says, scratching under George’s chin, “if it all goes to shit and you don’t make it—”
“Rude.”
“—I’ll take care of him.” He meets my gaze, serious now. “I swear.”
My throat goes tight. “Thanks.”
He shrugs. “Someone has to tell your ridiculous cat stories about his idiot human.”