Chapter Seven
Magda moves fast—her hand clamps around my arm, yanking me backward. Stumbling, my boots catch on a rope, barely keeping my footing as she hauls me into a tent behind us.
“What are you—?!” I gasp.
“Shhh.” She lifts a finger to her lips as Ahria darts in after us, squeezing through the narrow gap just before the canvas door drops shut behind her.
My mouth opens to push back again, but the words stall when my vision adjusts to the darkness, and I realise we’re not alone.
Five others are already crammed into the small space, squeezed in along the edges of the tent, the whites of their eyes stark against the dim light.
No one speaks. No one shifts. Every face is drawn, everybody held rigid, like they’re all bracing for something—something bad.
So I close my mouth and keep still.
Outside, the camp has fallen into complete silence, and inside, the only sounds left are the quiet pull of tense breathing and the heavy thud of my heartbeat. Rising fast and filling my ears.
Slowly, Magda’s grip on my arm loosens. She shifts forward an inch, fingers curling around the canvas as she draws it back just enough to peer out.
“Okay, I think they—”
Jerking back into me, she cuts off as something overhead swallows the light—huge and sweeping, gone in a blink.
Then another follows, lower this time, closer.
Fear spikes through my chest when through the narrow gap of the door I catch the shadow stretching and distorting as it spills over canvas and rope, but when it hits the ground its jagged edges pull into something instantly recognisable. Dragon.
Instinct takes over and I jolt backwards only for my heel to come down hard on someone’s foot behind me. They flinch, a sharp breath hissing through their teeth.
Magda’s head whips around, her eyes flaring wide in warning and she returns her finger to her lips.
Frozen, every muscle locking in place, I swallow the apology down as my pulse continues to climb.
For the next few minutes, she keeps me there, her tall form looming over me while the two dragons circle overhead, the camp plunging into darkness with each pass.
Right when my lungs start to burn from holding too still, too quiet, the light holds steady, and no shadow follows.
“All clear,” someone bellows from outside. “Everyone back to work.”
Magda’s shoulders drop first, the tension bleeding out of her as she finally releases a long, slow exhale. Following suit, I do the same, so does everyone else in the tent, air leaving us in a collective rush.
Soon after Magda moves to the entrance, and a cool breeze drifts in as she lifts the tent door. Ahria slips out first, then the others follow one by one. Magda gives each of them a steady smile when they pass.
“What the hell was that?” I ask, squinting against the light as I step back out into the central square of the camp.
“Serrane’s scouts,” she replies, letting the canvas fall shut behind us.
I frown, nerves still buzzing under my skin. “So you hide in tents and hope that’s enough?”
“No.” She lets out a short laugh, her silver tooth glinting. “That’s just an extra precaution. They’ve been increasing lately and we can’t take any risks. Our temporary Veils do most of the work.”
Confused, I arch a brow, and she nods toward Ahria, who’s already off, gliding back to the Food Tent.
“Dragons constantly need to release their Threads, and one way to do so is by channeling protective Veils through their riders.”
“But why hide if you have Veils?” I press, as we start walking, the smell of fresh bread growing stronger with every step.
“Because we don’t have enough bonded recruits,” she sighs, gesturing loosely around the camp as it spreads in all directions.
“And of those we do have, some are out on recon or patrol. The rest are scattered, which means the Veils are…” Tapping her chin, she searches for the right word.
“Patchy. From above, parts of the camp would still show. But if everyone’s inside, it creates the illusion of something smaller.
Quieter. Merely another Outerland settlement not worth a second look. ”
I nod, trying to take it all in as we stop in front of the Food Tent , where Ahria is perched above the entrance, watching recruits move in and out.
“They don’t protect us from something determined to come in,” Magda adds, pulling the entrance flap aside for me and I realise she’s so tall that she’ll have to duck to get inside. “They simply make us less… interesting.”
Taking a step forward, I turn when I notice she hasn't followed. “You’re not coming?”
“No,” she trails off, already moving away. “I need to check in with the senior leads and make sure nothing went wrong after the pass. I’ll catch up with you later.” She gives my arm a gentle squeeze, then hurries off.
Shit. I never got to ask about my sleeping arrangements.
Talen said they needed to keep the healers’ tent clear, and as I scan the Food Tent , it’s obvious why.
Nearly every table has someone with a sling, a bandaged hand, or bruises darkening their summer sun-kissed skin, and there are at least ten rows of benches stretching across the space, enough to seat fifty people, maybe more.
Most of them are occupied, the clatter of cutlery, bursts of laughter, and the occasional argument flowing between them.
Rubbing at my eyes, I flinch as the noise presses in on me all at once. It’s too busy, too loud, and I’m not in the mood for small talk. For half a second, I consider turning around and heading back to the tent to grab a few more hours of sleep.
Ahria, however, clearly starving, darts past my shoulder to a serving bay stationed along one side of the tent, where a queue inches forward with people collecting their food. The smell hits me properly—cooked meat and warm bread—and a beat later, my stomach gives an impatient twist
Right, sleep later, breakfast first. And after I need to find Reya and get to work on fixing my fear of fire before Blood Moon.
Strolling over, I grab a tray from the stack at the end of the counter and I fall into line behind the others. The queue inches forward, and I follow without thought as my mind drifts, trying to make sense of everything from this morning.
God. All this time, Serrane’s been stealing pure Threads. His sermons, his talk of transcendence, enlightenment, freeing people from their darkness—all lies. Just a sick way to lure people close enough to strip them down and harvest the best parts of them for his weapon.
But why? It makes no sense. He already has so much control, so much power—
“Next.”
Blinking, I jolt forward as a woman behind the counter drops a bread roll and a large serving of sausages onto my plate. I hadn’t even noticed the queue had moved.
She lifts her arm, ready to add more.
“Oh—no, that’s plenty.” I shake my head, forcing a smile. I’m hungry but not that hungry. “Thank you.”
She shrugs, already turning to the person beside me so I step away, scanning the tables until I spot a gap toward the back. Keeping my head down I beeline for it.
I just want to eat in peace, five minutes of quiet to gather my thoughts.
Ahria settles in front of me, claws clicking softly against the wood as I drop my tray down. I’m about to dig in when a warm voice chirps up in front of me.
“So, they fit?”
I glance up as the girl from outside—the one with the long braid who was handing out bread—slides into the seat opposite.
“Sorry—what fits?” I ask.
“The clothes.” She picks up a sausage from her plate and points it at the clothes I’m wearing. “Talen said we’d probably be the same size.”
A flicker of embarrassment slips through and I smooth my hands over the khaki shirt. “Oh—yes… umm, thank you.”
“No worries. I’m Neeve, by the way.”
Her free hand shoots across and I take her in properly—her long mousy brown braid flows over her shoulder, disappearing beneath the table and a gold nose ring catches in the light against her pale skin. Up close I realise she's probably a bit younger than me, but not by much.
I stall for a moment, nervous to take it—but then I remember I’m not in the Citadel any more and she has no reason to kill me. At least I hope. “I’m Lyra.” I reach my hand out to meet hers.
“I know,” she beams, shaking it firmly as a wide smile spreads across her face. “Been waiting for you to wake up. Nice to finally put a voice to the face.”
I mean to return the smile, but when I pull my hand free, something in my neck twinges and I wince.
“You okay?” Neeve asks.
“Yeah.” Digging my fingers into the spot, I try to ease the stiffness. “Just slept bad—the bed was rock solid.”
“I would’ve thought the boss’s bed would be more comfortable than that.” She throws me a wink and digs straight into her food.
“The boss?” My head tilts.
“Talen,” she replies around a mouthful of bread, not looking up. “Merrin might technically be in charge, but we’re all here because of Talen. He’s the one we listen to.”
“Oh—no,” shaking my head, I try to hide the blush creeping into my cheeks. “No. I’m not staying in his tent.”
“Ah, sorry my bad. I thought you two were together. From how he’s been the past few weeks, never leaving your side…
” She lifts a shoulder. “I don’t think he slept.
Definitely didn’t shave. And with him gone from the Citadel for so long—yeah, that would’ve caused some issues.
He’s usually hardly ever here. A day, maybe two, max. ”
“Talen stayed the whole time?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
Neeve nods, shovelling in another sausage.
“No, we aren’t...” What even are we? I don’t know what to say, so I settle for, “it’s complicated. I crashed in the Healer’s Tent last night. Magda was meant to find me a permanent bed today, but she left before I got the chance to ask.”
“Oh, you can stay with me. Two of the more senior recruits who were crashing in my tent got caught up in an ambush last week and never made it back.” Her smile falters for the first time. “So there are two free beds now. It’s easy to find—a few tents down from Talen’s. The wonky one.”
I want to ask more about the ambush, about what happened, but the pain flickering across her face stops me. I only just met her, and the last thing I want is to push too hard. And if the Citadel taught me anything, it’s the value of good friends. So I keep the conversation light for now.
“Okay, thanks. I appreciate that.” I offer her a friendly smile. “But the wonky one?”
“Yeah.” Her lips curve again as she swings her long braid back. “My remaining tent mate had some company over the other night, and I think they got a little distracted.” She tears off a piece of bread. “Good thing I was out.”
I bite back a laugh and reach for a sausage, only for my hand to hit empty space.
“What the—”
They’re gone. All of them.
Frowning, I scan the table, trying to figure out how that’s even possible when my focus lands on Ahria. She’s perched right in the centre, her tiny paws braced wide and her stomach noticeably rounder than before.
My eyes widen as I watch the last piece of meat disappear between her teeth before she swallows with visible effort, licks the grease from her jaw, and lets out a tiny, satisfied puff of smoke.
All of them? She ate all of them? Seriously, there must have been six, how does she even fit them inside—
“Yeah, you’ve got to be quick.”
The voice makes me jump, and I look up to find a tall blonde recruit sliding his tray in beside Neeve. Once he settles, she leans over, and he presses a kiss to her cheek before straightening and turning back to me.
“It’s pretty impressive—they’re like bottomless pits.
” He smiles, shaking his head as he plucks a few sausages from his own plate and sets them down on the table beside it.
A second later, a small brown dragon slips from his pocket and immediately starts to swallow them whole. My mouth hangs open while I watch.
“Oh, Lyra,” Neeve cuts in, “this is my fiancé, Darren.”
Lifting my attention from the dragons, I reach for his hand—but Ahria darts in, her wings tucked and snatching a sausage straight from the brown dragon before launching back into the air.
“Oh god, I'm so sorry.” I apologise as the brown dragon lets out a tiny roar and shoots after her.
“Don’t worry about it,” Darren laughs, taking my hand. “Nex can hold her own.”
His grip is warm, rough against mine, and when I look at him properly, my breath catches because for one strange heartbeat, something about him feels so familiar.
Not fully the same. His skin is more weather-worn, more tanned, and a rough beard shadows his jaw, making him look older, broader.
But his eyes are soft and blue, and when his blond hair catches the light just enough, for a second, it’s not Darren I’m looking at.
It’s Rowan.
Grief punches clean through me and I don't even realise I'm still holding his hand, still staring until Darren coughs.
“So, um… when did you bond?” I mumble awkwardly, dropping his hand quickly and turning my focus to the empty plate in front of me.
“A few years ago now,” Darren replies, splitting his bread open, sliding a sausage inside, and taking a large bite.
“And you?” I look over at Neeve and Darren chokes.
“No. I’m not bonded,” she responds, her lips pulling thin. “Darren won’t let me.”
“It’s not that I won’t let you,” he interrupts, swallowing. “I simply don’t want you to.”
“Same thing.” She angles away from him. “I don’t see why you’re so worried. I’ve already been having dreams.”
“Oh—me too!” The words slip out, and instantly I wish I could take them back when Darren’s head whips in my direction, jaw flexing.
“See?” Neeve huffs, gesturing at me. “Lyra’s been having dreams! It’s not just me, it must be a sign.”
“Yes, but Ahria is here,” Darren bites out, frustration sharpening his voice. “Lyra’s chances of bonding at the Blood Moon Ceremony are much higher. We don’t even know what your dreams mean.” He shakes his head. “The dragon population is small. Bonding is so rare, Neeve.”
Rolling her eyes at him, she crosses her arms. “You did it. And I mean—what’s the worst that could happen?”
Darren lets out a quiet breath, then reaches up, tipping her chin toward him and pressing a brief kiss to her lips. She tries to protest, but it falters against the touch.
“If you don't bond, the dragons will burn you alive.” His thumb brushes her jaw. “And I would rather marry someone who isn't dead.”
The bread slips from my fingers, hitting the table. “Sorry—they what?!”