Chapter Eight
Darren drops his hand from Neeve, angling toward me—but before he can answer, a tall male recruit comes up behind him and grips his shoulder.
“Hey, Daz—didn’t you hear? They’ve moved the census up.” His voice catches slightly.
Darren’s head jerks up at him. “They fucking what?”
“And they’re locking down the bridges,” the recruit goes on, raking a hand through his black hair.
“They’ve already been slowing people leaving—but now?
Borders are closing properly. No one in, no one out.
You don’t shut borders just to count people.
" He jerks his chin over his shoulder. “I’m going to find Lucien now, apparently he just arrived.”
“Wait—Matterson, I’ll come with you.” Darren picks up his tray and stands, urgency cutting through his voice. “Sorry, ladies—you’ll have to excuse me.” He moves to follow, only to double back and press a quick kiss to Neeve’s forehead before hurrying after Matterson.
“Shit,” Neeve mutters under her breath, already returning to her food. “I mean we knew it was coming, but still, this quickly?”
I hear her words, but they don’t settle—only noise around the one thing still stuck in my mind.
If you don’t bond, the dragons will burn you alive.
A blur of green slides by at the edge of my vision as Ahria swoops down, snatching what’s left from Darren's plate, tearing into it right there on the table. A cold sweat prickles across my skin and suddenly she doesn’t seem so small.
“Hey, I have to go.” Neeve’s voice pulls me back.
“But why don’t you come help me in the mornings?
I volunteer baking the bread, delivering it to the injured.
I can fill you in on the Blood Moon Ceremony—and you can help me with some Thread stuff.
I’m having trouble unknotting, and Talen said you’re a pro. ”
She begins tidying up the plates around us as she continues talking.
“They’re putting Darren in charge of training the new recruits like me, he’s really excited about it—but in the meantime, maybe you could help me?” Glancing to the side, she leans in and drops her voice. “Plus, you can tell me more about your dragon dreams…”
“Oh, uh...” I stumble, not quite sure what to say. I don’t want to cause problems between her and Darren—but I also can’t walk into the Blood Moon blind.
Neeve leans over, nudging my arm lightly. “Please, pretty please. I won’t tell Darren.”
Letting out a short breath, I nod. “Okay, sure.” If I'm going to survive this ceremony, bond with Ahria without being burnt alive, and then take down Serrane, I need to make friends here. There’s no way I'm going to be able to do all that alone.
Neeve leans back, a wide grin spreading across her face as she finishes the last bite on her plate.
“Oh, by the way,” I add. “I need to find someone called Reya... Merrin said she will help me with some fire training.”
“Umm, I saw her this morning—she’s in our tent.” She tenses slightly and her grin drops. “She doesn’t talk to me much, but she’ll probably be in the Combat Tent around this time.” She tilts her head toward the far end of the table. “It’s right behind here.”
“Great, thanks.”
“So—tomorrow? Six a.m.? Bread baking?” she asks, pushing herself up. “I won’t see you later—I’m crashing with Darren’s tonight. His tent-mate is out on patrol.”
“Sounds good. I’m sure Ahria will wake me up on time.”
I shoot the green dragon a thin smile, but she merely huffs, wings flicking once before she launches off the table and darts for the light outside.
Watching her fly off, the smile slips from my face, replaced by that familiar hollow ache—the one that only seems to grow the longer I’m near her, as if she’s carved out a space inside me only she can fill.
Exhaling, I shove back my chair, along with any emotions that will make me appear weak and grab my tray as Neeve does the same.
We fall into step together, carrying them over to the cleaning station.
I set mine down, then take a long drink from the tap beside it.
Nowhere near as satisfying as sausages and bread would have been—but it’ll have to do for now.
From the side I spot Neeve peeling off, her long braid swaying down her back.
“Oh—and hey,” I call after her, wiping my mouth with my hand.
She pauses mid-step, glancing over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for the clothes.”
She shrugs, easily. “Anytime.”
I give her a quick nod, then turn and set off in the opposite direction to try and find Reya.
The Combat Tent is easy to find; I hear it before I see it. Raised voices, the heavy rhythmic thud of bodies hitting the ground and then there’s the smell—musty, sweaty air, thick with heat. Lifting the canvas, I duck inside, and the temperature shifts instantly, humidity clinging to my skin.
Ahria darts ahead, weaving effortlessly between the support poles as she flies toward the back of the space. I follow, pushing deeper into the space. Mats line the ground on either side, filled with recruits training.
Most train hand-to-hand, others with weapons, but only a few are using their Threads—and it’s messy, clumsy, nothing like you’d see in the Citadel.
A groan rolls across from the mat beside me as a body hits the floor with a heavy thud.
Slowing my pace a fraction, I study the recruit as he pushes himself up and continues. He moves fast, blocking his opponent, but I’ve seen better, and before I realise it, I’m already comparing them to him. Talen.
My next inhale snags, and I try to drag my focus back to the fight, but the thought’s already there now, sitting underneath, pulling at other painful memories I don’t want touched. So I shut it down before it can go any further and reach for something easier.
Anger.
He didn’t tell me about the Blood Moon—about the possibility of being burned alive. After everything, he's still deciding what I do and don’t get to know.
My fists curl, nails digging into my palms until my knuckles ache.
Good. I hold onto it. Let that pain spread instead.
Let it take up space until there’s no room left for anything else—because thinking about him means thinking about what happened.
And thinking about what happened means facing the part I played in it.
And I’m not ready for that.
Right now, I need to focus on training. On keeping control. On proving to Ahria I can be strong like my mum—strong enough for her to choose me, and strong enough to take down Serrane.
“You’re fucking crazy, Reya!”
The shout cracks across the tent, and my head lifts, turning toward the mat at the far end where a heavy-built, topless recruit stands opposite a girl in the centre, clutching his arm like it might fall off. Pushing off from where I’m standing, I stroll over.
“I told you to tap out,” Reya fires back.
From the side of the mat, I catch her blowing out a bright orange flame from her palm.
“You nearly burnt my bloody arm off.” His eyes flare wide.
Reya just shrugs and strolls off, leaving the male recruit wincing on the mat. Hissing through his teeth, he rubs his shoulder and follows after her, quickening his pace to close the gap.
“Still seeing you tonight?” he asks in a hopeful tone.
Reya doesn’t look at him as she walks. “Sure. But you know the deal. I win… you’re the one on your knees.”
“Yeah, but you’ve had five years of Citadel training, how are my Threads ever meant to compete with that?” he pants.
“They’re not.”
Stopping beside her, he lets out a short laugh. “Right. So I just keep losing? In here and in bed?”
“Seems that way.”
He shakes his head, but a smile slips through, pulling at the corner of his mouth, before he forces it flat and he leans down, grabs his shirt from the edge of the mat, then strolls off.
I track him for a second, then turn my attention to Reya as she drops into a nearby seat. Kicking her feet up onto the wooden table in front of her, she pulls out a blade and starts picking at her nails. A second later, a small purple dragon drifts over and nestles into her wavy black hair.
It shifts with the movement, slipping over Reya’s shoulders just enough to reveal the fire tattoo inked into her dark, tanned skin beneath. The trail of flames curls down the side of her neck before vanishing beneath her collar and reappearing along her toned arms where her sleeves cut short.
It draws my eye in without meaning to—over the shape of her, the curve of her chest. So full and nothing like mine. She’s older than me too, probably closer to Talen’s age.
Maybe it’s the weapon, or maybe it's the way she looks—but as I step closer, I stiffen. Still, I shake out my hands and force myself forward as I can’t afford to look nervous in front of Ahria.
“Sorry, I’m done for the morning.” She snaps, not even glancing up as I step in front of her. “But feel free to place your bets for the afternoon slot.” She taps the tip of her blade against a sheet of paper with a list of names scrawled across it.
“Oh—no, I’m here because Merrin sent me,” I reply, trying to keep my tone polite. “He said you could help me with some fire training?”
The blade stills in her hand. “No.”
“Sorry… what?”
Her gaze lifts to mine, bright grey eyes stark against her tanned skin, and my pulse stutters as they narrow, cutting straight through me.
“I. Said. No.” She punctuates each word as she drops her feet from the table and stands up. “I’m not doing any training right now and I don’t take orders from Merrin.” Slipping her blade away, she angles away and strides for the exit, her purple dragon lifting from her hair to glide at her side.
Ahria drifts down a second later, landing on the now-empty table and yawns in my direction.
Shit.
If I go after her, I could seem desperate. Weak. But if I don’t—and I never get past this fear of fire—then what? The bond fails, and Ahria burns me alive?
Yeah. Not an option.
Spinning around, I take off after Reya, my lungs working hard as I gain on her. “No—I need this.”
“Not my problem.” She throws the tent flap open and storms out.