Chapter Six #2
“I tried.” His stride remains steady. “I went to her, but your father had just been taken, Reassigned, and she wasn’t interested in anything I had to say. You were all that mattered. Keeping you alive—that was the only thing she would fight for.”
“If any of that is true—if you think I’m supposed to be some kind of weapon—” My mouth hardens around the word. “Then why not bring me here straight away?”
“You were raised an Outerlander, my dear. And these...” He gestures to the tents, the people moving through them. “...these are Innerlanders. You spent your whole life learning to hate them. So tell me—would you have come here willingly? Stood beside them. Fought for them. Protected them?”
Following his gaze, I take everything in.
At first, the moving bodies don’t look so different from me—dust-stained clothes, worn boots, hands busy with work.
For a second, they could almost pass for Outerlanders.
But the longer I watch, the more it shows.
It’s in the way they move, easy and unguarded, the way they speak to each other without hesitation.
No distance. No suspicion. Like they belong together.
Innerlanders.
God, the word sits so differently now. A year ago, they would have just been the enemy. The people who took, who hoarded, who didn’t care what it cost the rest of us. But now—
Ezzy’s face flashes first. Then Finn. Rowan. Not so different. Not enemies.
People. Friends.
“No.” My response lands heavier than I want it to. “No, you’re right, I wouldn’t have come.”
Merrin dips his head once, satisfaction settling into his features. It hits wrong and my jaw locks before I can stop it.
“But my friend died.” Each word is barbed, laced with resentment. “The other was taken. And all that time—you were just watching?”
“Yes, well, unfortunately that was not part of the plan.” His voice doesn't waver.
“But it is unfortunately part of life. I put you in the Citadel because it was the one place you could become strongest. While we can do some training here, it is nothing like what you received there. I also needed you to see and experience what we are up against, that life is not so black and white, that things are more grey and complicated than they appear.”
A bitter laugh claws its way up my throat. “I almost died!”
Merrin slows, then stops as the centre of the camp opens up before us.
A wide clearing stretches around a large tent pitched at its heart, with horses tethered along one side and supplies stacked in uneven rows.
The rich scent of sausages drifts from within.
Ahria flies ahead, obviously still hungry.
My stomach turns, but not for the same reason as Merrin pivots to fully face me.
“Sometimes,” he lectures, interlacing his hands in front of him, “things must be broken before they can be rebuilt. And I made sure you were never in any serious danger. After your attempted escape through the tunnels, I asked Talen to keep a close eye on you.”
Since the tunnels? My forehead creases. But Talen said he’d wanted to keep me safe ever since he saw me in the courtyard that first day.
“Why should I even trust you?” Crossing my arms, I glare at him. “What you’ve done is unforgivable.”
“Luckily, unlike Talen, I do not require your forgiveness. However, everything I just told you—about Serrane, about the dragons, about the weapon he is building—is true.”
As the last word leaves his mouth, a tiny golden string floats free from his lips, crossing the short distance between us before sinking into my chest. He watches it land, watches realisation shift across my face, then takes a step back.
“I pushed your mother too far once, and I won’t make that mistake again. So this is your choice now. No bargain. No deal. If you want to leave—”
“No. No, I'm staying.”
My answer lands without hesitation. I’ve already done the maths. I know what it costs, and this decision isn't about Merrin, how I feel about him, what he’s done. It’s about everything else.
“One of Serrane’s dragons killed Rowan, and then he took Finn.
And I know he’s behind the Ashvale attack,” I continue as Merrin stiffens slightly.
“If you’re going after him, then I want to be—need to be—part of that.
” My pulse kicks up, pounding against my neck, but I don’t stop.
“I’ll do whatever it takes. You think I’m a weapon?
Fine. I’ll become one.” Lifting my chin, I square my shoulders. “But only if I’m pointed at him.”
Merrin gives a small nod. “Good, I’m glad that was simpler this time.”
My attention shifts past him to Ahria, who’s currently flicking her tail impatiently outside the Food Tent.
“And I want to enter the Blood Moon Ceremony. Talen said it’s soon. I want to be ready. I want to be strong.” Filling my lungs, I pull in a shaky inhale. “I want to bond.”
“Very well. Talen mentioned your introduction to Ahria was less than smooth. He’s suggested Lucien assist with your flight training and I’ll assign Reya to you—to help with your fear of fire. I hear she has an unconventional but rather effective method.”
“Fine,” I reply as the pressure in my chest eases a fraction, and I draw in a steady breath that fills my lungs with the smell of freshly baked bread.
Tracking the scent, I catch a girl about my age moving just behind him, a long braid swaying down her back as she weaves between people, handing out rolls. She pauses in front of a man who appears old enough to be her father, then smiles and presses one into his palms.
“Is my dad here?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
Merrin doesn’t soften it. “No. He is not.”
Of course not. Stupid to even ask. Still, I open my mouth, already reaching for the next questions—about my mum, the missing journal entry, who else is working with Serrane—but a lean woman cuts in, stepping up beside Merrin with a horse in tow.
She seems just as old as him, but she’s so much taller that she has to bend down to murmur in his ear. Merrin blushes slightly, then straightens and takes the reins.
“I do apologise,” Merrin stammers, turning back to me.
“But you’ll have to excuse me. There is a briefing later this week to update everyone on our current position.
You will be able to ask more then. In the meantime, Magda here will get you settled.
She oversees everything at the camp, so you are in good hands. ”
Before I can respond, he swings into the saddle with impressive ease, angles the horse away, and leaves. In his place, Magda steps forward, her grey hair pulled into a neat bun, her posture stern and disciplined—but there’s an easy kindness in her expression that softens it.
She reaches for me with a smile, revealing a silver tooth that sparkles in the late-morning light, but before I can take her hand, the jarring clang of bells splits the air.
“Incoming!” Someone yells as they sprint past us. “Two from the east—ten seconds out! Everyone inside. Now!”