“Of course they do,” I mutter. “Nothing says ‘strong leadership material’ like publicly traumatic theatre.”
His expression sharpens, just for a moment. “It is more than a show. You will be surveilled by the court and the Flame. Every choice you make. Every word you say. Even how you walk into a room.”
“So no pressure.” We both know that has been my reality since… I frown. How did I get here again?
Caziel doesn’t smile, but his eyes soften. “Pressure has already made you into something they don’t know how to define.”
I fall quiet at that. There’s too much in that sentence, and I don’t know how to hold it all.
After a moment, I ask, “Do I get a chaperone for all this? A Rite buddy? A court-appointed friend?” Sarai already said her goodbyes. I imagine Caz’s are coming any minute.
“You get me.”
I blink.
“Every contender is assigned a mentor.” He holds my gaze. “I chose you.”
The words land like a drop of molten metal in my stomach—small, dense, impossibly heavy.
“Youchoseme?”
He nods once. “Before anyone else could. While I still have that right.”
I sit with that a second longer than I should. “Is that a thing you do often? Claim mysterious girls who fall out of the sky and catch on fire?”
His expression doesn’t change. “No.”
My throat tightens, just a little.
“Why?” I ask. “Why me?”
He looks at me like it’s obvious.
“Because you survived what should have broken you,” he says softly. “Because you listened even when the answers were awful. And because you still have not asked for power, even now that you have it.”
I exhale, slow and unsure. “That sounds like a terrible résumé.”
“It’s the only one that matters.”
He does not touch me. He does not move any closer. But I feel it anyway, something binding, quiet, and sure. We’re in this together.
“Alright,” I whisper, pulling the blanket tighter. “Guess I better not embarrass my new mentor.”
His voice drops to something warmer. “Too late for that.”
“Caziel,” I grin, teeth showing. “That was incredibly rude.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
KAY
We walk to the barracks in silence. It isn’t awkward, just the kind of quiet that comes when too much has changed and we’re desperately trying not to acknowledge it. Caziel moves beside me with measured, deliberate steps. His shoulder just ahead of mine. His hands behind his back like a soldier on patrol. He hasn’t looked at me since we left his quarters.
I don’t blame him.
The satchel slung across my chest feels heavier than it should. There’s barely anything in it—just the basics I was told I’d need. A comb. A flask of something that smells vaguely like pine and fire. My blade from Caziel. George trotted ahead for the first few paces, then doubled back and now stalks behind us, his white tail flicking low and slow, eyes narrowing at anyone who stares too long. Theyallstare too long. Caziel assured me he’d be welcome wherever I am. I choose to believe him, mostly because George has significantly better survival skills than I do, but also because I cannot explain the relief that at least someone will be with me.
We pass a few small training courts, sand pits, sparring rings edged in stone and blood. There’s a group working with spears to our left. Two stop mid-thrust when they see me. Caziel’s presence earns them a sharp bow. Mine earns a sneer. I pretend not to notice.
