Chapter 56 #2
“That might be one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me Varo.”
He shrugs, but doesn’t stop petting George. He does, however, sneak him a piece of dried meat from his pocket. George perks up, growling through his chewing, as Varo glances past me and smirks.
Before I can say anything else, the air shifts. Like a magnet snapping into place.
Caziel.
I feel him before I see him—heat brushing the back of my neck, the crackle of restrained power in the space between breaths. Varo turns his head lazily. “Well speak of the devil, look who finally decided to come running. Thought you’d be off brooding in a lava pit somewhere.”
Caziel doesn’t rise to the bait. “Had to check something.”
“Oh?” Varo’s voice drips with innocent malice. “Couldn’t stay away too long, huh? Must be hard, being all… tangled.”
I blink. “What?”
Caziel stiffens, just slightly. Varo doesn’t look at me—he looks at him—with that same knowing smirk.
“Just saying,” Varo drawls, brushing George’s fur from his tunic. “You’ve got a look about you. All circling flame and possessive silences.”
Caziel’s jaw tics. “I’m here for Kay.”
“I bet you are.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, suspicious.
Varo shrugs with exaggerated nonchalance.
“Nothing at all. You two have fun. I’ll be over here, cat-sitting and minding my own damn business.”
George meows and climbs into Varo’s lap like he’s been there forever.
Caziel offers me his hand. “Come with me.”
I take it. Behind me, Varo mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Caziel walks me down the winding corridor in silence, only the faint heat of his hand on the small of my back grounding me. His steps slow when we reach the familiar alcove outside his chambers. Sarai is there, arms crossed and chin tilted, like she’s been expecting me all night.
“I have to check something,” Caz says softly, voice too low for Sarai to hear. “But I’ll come for you soon.”
I frown. “Again?” I don’t mean for the word to come out on a whine, but I’m starting to feel like I’m being passed around like a hot potato. He doesn’t answer. Just tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, kisses my forehead then steps back into the dark.
I turn to Sarai. “You’re in on this, I take it?”
She holds up a folded bundle of cloth—deep red and charcoal black, with shimmering strands of gold threaded through like veins.
“You could say that.”
I blink at the fabric, then at her. “Please tell me this isn’t another surprise trial.”
Sarai snorts. “No. Nothing that dramatic. But he needed and extra set of hands for something and I jumped at the chance.”
I cross my arms. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Her expression flickers, softening. “I wanted to.” I blink again, thrown by the quiet conviction in her voice and she steps closer, pressing the fabric bundle into my arms. “You think I’m here because I’m Vesperan, because I’m used to helping others while trying not to take up space.
But I’m here because I chose to be. I like seeing you like this—alive.
Ready. Stubborn as all hell.” My throat goes tight.
“And if he’s planning what I think he’s planning,” she adds, “then you deserve to be dressed for it.”
I frown. “That makes it sound like I’m being led to the gallows.”
“Would I give you gold stitching for a gallows walk?”
I glance down at the fabric in my hands. “Maybe. You’ve got a dramatic streak.”
She grins. “I’m flattered.”
A beat passes between us, warm and solid.
I gesture vaguely. “This feels like something important.”
Sarai nods. “It is. But not because of a title or a flame or a throne. It’s important because it’s yours.”
I look at the clothing again. Then at her.
“Okay,” I whisper. “But I swear to the damn Flame if you try to braid my hair, I’m kicking you into a lava pit. My scalp needs to breathe.”
Sarai’s grin widens. “I’d like to see you try.”
The room she leads me into is low-lit and quiet, a dome of warm stone and woven glass that filters the flame light into deep crimsons and soft ambers.
It smells like something floral and sharp—like citrus cut with smoke.
A breeze stirs the sheer curtain by the door, and for a moment, I almost forget this place is built from ash and fire. It feels… peaceful.
I cross my arms. “Okay. What am I being dressed for? And don’t say a sacrifice. I’ve had a long day.”
Sarai smirks and sets a bundle down on a velvet bench. “If I wanted to sacrifice you, I’d brush your hair first. The curls get everywhere.”
I make a face, but it breaks into a laugh. “Seriously. I’m not letting you wait on me like some handmaid.”
“You’re not. I’m here for you,” She steps behind a lacquered screen and emerges with a basin of water and cloths. “and I’m his friend, too, Kay. I volunteered. You deserve to feel like yourself before this.”
The implication makes something in my chest tighten. “Before what?”
She just gives me that maddening, knowing look and holds up the garment. It’s simple at first glance, until the flame catches it. Then the thread gleams like molten lava—copper, garnet, gold. An outer robe is draped across her arms, sheer and black, etched with obsidian runes I can’t quite read.
I hesitate. “I don’t look like someone who belongs in that.”
Sarai’s voice softens. “That’s exactly why you do.”
She helps me out of my tunic and into the inner layer. It’s cool at first, then warm, like it remembers the heat of the forge it came from. The collar dips low, the waist drawn in with a woven sash of crimson and smoke-grey. The fabric brushes against my skin like a promise I don’t understand.
As she fastens the outer robe at my shoulders, I glance at the mirror propped in the corner. For a second, I don’t recognize the woman there. Then I do. And I smile.
“You look like fire held together by willpower,” Sarai says with a grin. “Like someone the flame couldn’t burn, so it let you wear it instead.”
“Is that a compliment in Crimson?”
“It is when I say it.” She moves to the table and dips her fingers into a small ceramic bowl, swirling something the color of fresh blood mixed with ash. “This isn’t a spell,” she says, holding the pigment. “It’s for memory.”
“For me to remember?”
“For you to be remembered.”
She presses two fingers just below my collarbone, drawing a line from left to right.
A second line traces across my forehead, light and firm.
Her hands are steady, reverent. The mark tingles faintly, like it knows what’s coming—even if I don’t.
There’s a quiet moment where we just breathe. I shift awkwardly.
“You still haven’t told me where we’re going. No one has.”
“It’s not my place,” she says. “But I think you’ll understand when you get there.”
The silence stretches again, but it’s a soft one. I sit while she braids my hair—not tight like for battle, but loose and low, like the women I saw in the murals on the Emberwatch walls. Like someone being honored, not tested.
“You’re different,” Sarai murmurs. “Not just because you’re human. Because you feel it all. You let yourself.”
I shrug. “Doesn’t make it easy.”
“No. But it makes you strong.”
I meet her eyes in the mirror.
“Are you sure you want to help me? This isn’t… this can’t be what anyone expected.”
Sarai grins. “Good. We needed a little unexpected.”
The door creaks open behind us. I turn—and there he is. Caziel stands in the doorway, framed by warm stone and the dull glow of flame behind him. His gaze lands on me and freezes, unreadable for a second too long. Then he breathes out, like the sight of me knocked something loose in his chest.
His voice is low. “You’re ready.”
I nod. But I don’t move. My pulse stutters. My chest feels too small for the moment stretching between us. Whatever this is… it isn’t just a date. It isn’t just a trial. It’s something fated. Ancient.
Sarai gives my hand a squeeze and leans in. “Go.”
So I do. I step toward him, toward the unknown, and I don’t look back.