Chapter Two #3
Dropping my gaze, I quickly turn my focus elsewhere. “You know it’s only going to make me hate you more tomorrow?”
“I know.” He exhales hard, the optimism in his voice draining out with it, and when I look back up, his smile is gone. “Anyway, we’d better get going.” Stepping forward, he reaches out as if to guide me, his fingers brushing my lower back gently before he pulls away fast, gesturing ahead instead.
Neither of us says anything after that and we turn and start walking around the perimeter of the camp in silence, the moon bright enough to silver the canvas and catch on every line of rope.
It isn’t full, yet it gives enough light as we weave past the backs of the other dark tents.
It’s hard to tell how big the camp is, but the paths are well-worn, and it’s clear it’s been here a while.
Every now and then, I risk a glance up at him. His pace stays easy, jacket slung over one shoulder, the other hand buried in his pocket—but the line of his jaw is tense.
Looking away before he can catch me staring, I focus on my feet instead, on one step and then the next. The steady rhythm, combined with the cool night air, slowly clears the fog in my head, and with each extra step we take, thoughts start clicking back into place.
“If you and Merrin have been doing this all along,” I ask, keeping my voice low as my brows furrow. “Wouldn’t Serrane already know? He’s a Loomreader, isn’t he? One touch and it’s there. He could read everyone’s future?”
“You don’t need to whisper,” Talen replies with a soft chuckle, “you won’t wake anyone up; they can’t hear you.
Sound control, remember?” Tilting my head up to face him, I immediately regret it when he shoots me a small wink and I can only pray the night hides the flush climbing into my cheeks.
“And Loomreading doesn’t really work like that.
” He goes on looking back ahead. “For one, it’s brutally taxing—mentally.
Absorbing that much information, even for someone as powerful as Serrane, comes at a cost. So he chooses carefully when to use it. ”
Beside us, a tent door flaps open. No one steps out. It’s only the wind. Usually, the sudden movement would have me jumping in my boots. Instead, Talen’s control over my emotions holds firm.
“And it’s not prophecy,” he adds, casual as anything and completely unfazed.
“It’s a probability. Possible paths a person’s Threads might take.
And the more control someone has over their magic, the harder that path is to read.
That’s why Rowan could read yours so clearly.
And why Serrane could have.” Glancing over at me, his lips go thin.
“Your Threads were so unstable at first, chaotic. It’s the same reason pulling a Truth String would’ve been so easy on you. ”
My steps falter. “You knew Rowan was a Loomreader?”
“I had my suspicions.” Slowing down, he matches my pace.
“And I saw his letter.” He catches my eyes widening.
“Don’t worry—it’s still there. In your pack.
Along with the one he wrote to Ezzy, and your emotional support animal.
” Boots scuff along the ground as he stops and turns his head to really look at me.
“Do you want to talk about him? Rowan? About what happened?”
Shaking my head, I start walking again. I’m not ready to go there, not yet. The memory is still too raw, too recent. Talen follows and for a few steps, neither of us says anything, and the silence quickly turns awkward. Needing to break it, I change the subject.
“Does it hurt...?” I ask. Talen flicks a glance sideways, one brow arching in question. “I mean, does it hurt when you change—when you become him? Cal?”
For a second, he doesn’t respond, just keeps his focus forward and regret floods in for even asking, but then he shrugs.
“Not really.” His answer comes easy, almost offhand.
“It’s—hard to explain, it’s more the power.
His power. It hits and then… I’m gone.” A breeze stirs the loose waves across his forehead and his hand lifts briefly from his pocket to push them back.
“Well, not totally gone, more like I’m seeing everything through thick glass.
Like a dream. Cal’s always pushing to get into my head but I’ve never been strong enough to really get into his.
So I’m more of a passenger. He lets me come along for the ride. ”
“And he’s here, now, in your head?”
“He’d like to be. It takes effort to keep him quiet outside the Veils.” Turning to me, a faint curve forms at the corner of his mouth. “But no. Right now, it’s only you and me.”
Lantern light catches the gold in his eyes and a sting starts to grow behind my sternum.
All this time, he wasn’t just hiding that he wasn’t one of them—that he was on my side. He was hiding this too, Cal. I know he’s still dulling my emotions, so maybe what I’m feeling isn’t even fully mine. Maybe it’s all softened edges and blurred lines. A careful lie.
Still—
The thought of him carrying all of this alone. The secrets, the burden, the weight of what he is—what he’s done. And maybe I’m supposed to hate him. Maybe I will tomorrow. But right now... I only feel the pain of someone who’s been bleeding and pretending not to show it.
“Is… is your brother here?” I ask carefully.
Talen slows, enough to register and his throat works once before he answers. “No. We can’t always get everyone out in time.”
The words sink in deeper than I expect, like barbed wire slipping under the skin. Before I get the chance to respond, he reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a small brown paper packet, and holds it out toward me.
“Here, the healer’s kept you nourished, but you should eat anyway.”
As I take it, his fingertips briefly graze the scar on my hand, my pulse stutters at the contact. Jerking back quicker than I mean to, I open the bag.
“Honeyberries?” Blinking, my gaze snaps up to his. “Where the hell did you find these? It’s summer.”
He looks far too pleased with himself. “I know a place where they grow all year.”
“All year? That’s not possible.” Not even waiting for his reply, I reach in, pluck one of the purple berries free, and shove it into my mouth.
The familiar and rare taste bursts across my tongue, sour and sweet all at once, reminding me of snow and home as it clears some of the lingering fuzz from my head.
“God, I used to steal these from the Innerland markets any chance I got.”
We keep walking, and I keep eating. Another.
Then another, because the taste is exactly as I remember.
Maybe better. They only showed up for a few short weeks in winter, and even then, the supply was limited.
Growing wild in the Northern Peaks, in dragon country, most foragers didn’t bother; between the altitude and the fire-breathing death, the risk far outweighed the profit.
Still half-lost in the memory, I reach back into the packet for more, only to blink down and find it almost empty. Leaning over, I offer him the last one.
“Oh, no thanks.” Lifting a hand, he shakes his head.
“One bite, and I’m on the floor. Deathly allergic.
Minutes, at most.” I pause, the purple berry still resting in my palm.
“Only Lucien knows. I carry a remedy—a small glass vial, it’s always in my pocket.
But for those who know it’s easy to find, easy to take.
So if someone decided they didn’t like what they saw…
heard.” Pausing, he slides his hand back into his pocket. “It wouldn’t take much.”
His admission comes out so easily, so casually, but the berry feels strangely heavy in my hand, and a flicker of unease slides through me.
For a few steps I think about keeping it, insurance for when everything he’s muted crashes back in tomorrow. I know I’ll want him to pay. To hurt, for what he did. But the thought of him dead—
Talen doesn’t look away, doesn’t reach for it. Instead he holds my gaze as I turn the small purple berry once between my fingers—then bring it to my mouth and eat it.
For a while, we continue strolling in silence, then he pivots and angles us away from the tents toward an open clearing, where the Southern Peaks rise dark against the moonlight beyond.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
Talen doesn’t answer, just smiles—that quiet, unreadable crooked smile of his—and keeps going.
My pace, however, slows as a large shape shifts in the shadows ahead.
Squinting through the darkness, a shiver runs down my spine, and my heart kicks hard against my ribs like it knows before I do what’s coming.
Then I see her, standing bathed in a silver wash, graceful, almost ethereal, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
She’s... she’s beautiful.
Not in any way I can explain—she just is. And more than that, she’s familiar in a way that makes my soul lean forward, like I’ve known her forever and each step closer feels like gravity pulling me in.
“Lyra,” Talen says gently as he stops and turns toward me. “I want to introduce you to Ahria.” My whole body goes still. “She’s—”
“My dragon…” The words leave me before I can stop them.
And something inside me clicks.
Not loud. Not dramatic. But... right. Like a bone sliding back into place after years of grinding wrong. A silent, aching gap I never knew existed sealing over.
Mine.
For one suspended breath, the world narrows to her.
Dark green scales cover her in overlapping plates, fitted tight as armour. And then those eyes—glowing, rimmed in violet—lock on to me like they did in my dreams. Like they never stopped watching.
Taking a step toward her, I lift my hand, reaching out, but her expression changes. Her nostrils flare, her lips pull back, and teeth flash in the silver light.
Then her throat glows.
There’s no time to move.
Fire erupts from her jaws, heat slamming into me as the world around us detonates white-hot.