Chapter Ten #2
“Look, I heard what happened when Goldie took you up. Your fear bled straight into her. No way I’m risking that again. You fly on JC,” he checks his watch again, “or you don’t fly at all.”
My eyes flick between his blue dragon and Ahria, who has now flown over and landed on a small wooden post nearby, the towering Southern Peaks rising behind her while she seems as unimpressed as ever.
“I don't have all day, Bloom,” Lucien folds his arms across his chest. “And you're lucky I'm even agreeing to this, but you’re already distracting Talen too much and if this helps him stop stressing and focus, then it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.”
Squaring my shoulders, I lift my chin at him, ready to push back.
I want to train. I want to get over my fear of heights, but I want to do it with her. But as I watch Ahria ripping the head off a cricket, I know. One wrong move… that’s all it would take and I lose any chance at bonding.
Turning back to Lucien, I let out a long breath. “Okay, I’ll fly on JC.”
Lucien flashes a wide smile and nudges JC from his shoulder.
She launches in a blur of blue wings, climbing hard before her body surges, stretching and expanding midair, then drops back down beside us in her full, colossal form.
The impact kicks through the ground, reverberating up my legs and knocking the air from my lungs.
Fear needles through my veins at the sight of her, at the thought of how high we’re about to go.
Shit. Maybe this is a bad idea. Still, Lucien is already moving, grabbing the ridges of her scales and hauling himself up, and if I stop long enough to think, I know I won’t follow. So I grit my teeth and go after him.
No more than a minute later, we land with a jarring thud. JC’s wings haven’t even settled before I’m sliding down her side, boots scraping uselessly against her rough scales as I drop the last stretch to the ground below.
The impact sends a painful jolt through my knees. I try to pull in a breath but my stomach is already raging, the next contraction hits and I fold over dry-heaving into the dirt.
“Well, at least you lasted longer than with Dave.” Lucien chuckles, stepping up beside me.
Lifting my head, I try to respond. Bad idea. Another surge of nausea hits, harder than the last, and I choke on it, shoulders jerking as I fold forward and brace a hand in the earth.
“Same time tomorrow?” he asks.
I shove my hand out and give him a thumbs up. It's the only thing I can manage as more bile rises, burning the back of my throat.
For the first time today, I'm actually glad I didn’t eat anything.
Lucien lets out a quiet laugh, his boots scuffing up dust as he turns away like that settles it—but then he pauses.
“Hey… uh, sorry I didn’t clock what Beth was planning…
” I risk a glance up, long enough to catch him dragging a hand over the back of his neck.
“When you came back after the Ashvale attack, Talen told me everything. I was supposed to help keep an eye on you… but, yeah… Beth had me pretty distracted...”
I don’t have the energy for this, and I don't want to talk about Beth.
My hand lifts again, a weak flick of the wrist—it’s fine, go—before I drop it back to brace myself against the ground while another wave rolls through me, eyes watering.
He stays for a second longer. Then he gets the message and leaves, his footsteps drifting into the distance.
After another minute of gagging, my guts finally settle enough to sit up, except the moment I push myself upright, it cinches tight again when my attention catches on Ahria.
She’s still perched on the wooden post, wings tucked, head angled—but she’s no longer looking bored. This time, she’s watching, really watching. Taking in every miserable second of me puking my damn guts out.
Fucking great.
After I make it back to camp and wash off all the ash, blood and vomit, I head for the Healer’s Tent and drop heavily into the chair beside Ezzy’s bed. The smell of herbs and damp cloth fills my nose as I draw in a long inhale.
I’m desperate to stay longer, tell her everything that happened today, how badly it all went, but when I start, the healer comes in to change her dressing. She’s hopeful that Ezzy will wake in a few days but is also concerned that her fever has spiked and has to run some tests.
Worried, I offer to stay, to help, but she shakes her head, already working, and says I’ll get in the way.
So I smooth Ezzy’s hair back from her face before turning to give the duck a quick pat, thinking of Finn, then I pick up my things and head over to find Neeve’s wonky tent. Doesn’t take long. She’s right; it’s pretty obvious. Dragging back the canvas, I step inside.
The tent’s darker than I expected. No candles are lit, and it takes my vision a moment to adjust. Then, as the flap falls shut behind me, shapes slowly emerge from the gloom—four basic single beds, two on each side, each with a chair, a basket at the foot, and an upturned crate serving as a side table.
The two nearest beds are free, so I head for the one on the right, dumping the clothes Neeve lent me onto the chair and throwing Talen’s jacket on top.
Ahria, of course, wastes no time flying over, curling up and making herself at home in the soft leather.
I, on the other hand, drop onto the hard mattress, the wooden frame groaning beneath me as I drag a hand over my face.
My knees are scraped raw, my stomach still sore from heaving, my nerves burnt out—though the physical pain is nothing compared to the ache in my chest.
God, she saw everything today.
Every stumble. Every failure. Every moment I wasn’t enough.
Still, just because I failed today doesn’t mean I will tomorrow. I’m not giving up that easily. I can’t. I’ve never felt this before—this pull, this desperate longing to connect. It’s like my Threads have sunk into hers, tangled in so deep I couldn’t pull them free without ripping them apart.
Turning onto my side, I glance down to the foot of the bed, to the chair where Ahria lies curled up in Talen’s jacket, her violet eyes finally closed, and my throat closes, vision blurring as I imagine not bonding with her—
No. I’m not doing that. Not here.
Before Ahria can see, I whip my arm across my face, forcing the tears, the feelings, the weakness, back down.
I’m just tired, that's all. I need to think about something else—anything else that keeps me out of my head.
Sitting up, I reach over for my pack and start digging through it for the last of my mum’s journals—the one with the missing entry—but my hand hits something cold and hard instead.
Closing my fingers around it, I slowly pull free the contraption Talen left for me and place it on the upturned crate beside me.
It’s strange, some kind of candle holder, though it looks more like a folded-up flower. I shove my hand back into my pack for the notebook and pencil he left with it, and my breath catches when I open the first page and see his handwriting.
This is a Letter-threader. It’s an ancient way to communicate. I have the other in my chamber at the Citadel.
They were outlawed after the Treaty, most were destroyed, so handle it with care and keep it hidden.
I don’t expect anything from you, though if you would like to message me, simply follow the instructions on the next page.
· T
P.S. Please let Ahria see the real you. And remember what I said in Ravenscross, find a way to let everything out.
Tracing the words with my thumb, I read it three, perhaps four times. The writing is so elegant—each letter shaped with the same care as one of his sketches. It should calm me, it should feel familiar, yet it doesn’t. Because now, looking at it, I realise I’m not sure I ever knew him at all.
My hand stills against the page.
God, I thought I could avoid this, avoid him, for a bit longer. Avoid thinking about all the things he’s done.
All the things I’ve done.
Maybe I should shove the device under the bed, forget about it, keep things simple and focus on the anger.
Because if I use this… if I write to him, I know I'll start to understand, I'll start to forgive, and then I'll have to look at myself—
Rowan’s face flashes through my mind. Then Finn’s. Ezzy’s. Followed by everyone in Ashvale. Every wrong decision I made. Every choice that led to blood and pain and people I love getting hurt.
I don’t want to go there, not yet. But sitting here staring at his writing, I can’t stop thinking about how much I still don’t understand. And I need to, I need to know, even if it drags up everything else I'm trying to avoid with it.
Letting out a slow, controlled exhale, I turn the page and start following the instructions.
The bed creaks beneath me as I reach forward and gently pull down the first golden petal, careful not to break it.
It doesn’t take much, and the mechanism gives.
The rest follow in sequence. One by one, the petals unfold like a lotus flower blooming and when the last one slips into place with a soft click, the central stem flickers to life and a small, bright flame appears.
It’s… beautiful. Mesmerising. I can’t help staring at it as the glow from the flame catches on the metal and reflects back in soft, shifting gold.
I don’t know what to say, or where to start, but my hand moves anyway, and when I’m done, I lean forward and feed the paper into the fire, watching it catch and burn.
Just tell me something true.
— L