Chapter Eleven
At first it was just a simple role—follow Merrin’s orders, get close to Serrane and do what was needed.
I thought I could carry it, that as long as I understood why it had to be done, the means would justify the ends... Take a few lives to save thousands.
The first time I had to do it, it was just me. I was about seventeen, and he couldn't have been much older. Serrane was testing me, testing my loyalty, and I stepped up without hesitation.
I’d taken lives before, brutes who deserved it. Those ones are easy. But taking an innocent life… it’s different.
It doesn’t feel the same. It doesn’t leave you the same.
He didn’t drop straight away—that’s the part no one tells you. They don’t simply fall. They stay, they look at you, and you have to stand there and watch it happen. And I saw it. I felt it. Every second dragging out. The way his body fought, the way he wouldn’t go.
And his eyes. The fear in them.
The fear of death, the fear of me...
And as I stood there, watching him take his last breath, something in me broke.
When it came time to do it again, I knew I wouldn’t survive it twice.
Cal was already there, pushing at the edges of my mind. We had only just merged, but I could feel how easily he could take the burden from me if I let him.
So I did—I let go, just enough for him to take control and make the kill instead.
I told myself that if it was him acting through me, then it wasn’t really my guilt to carry, that it was better this way. And it worked.
Or at least, it made it possible to keep going.
Even inside the Veils, inside the Citadel, if I dropped my guard enough he could find a way through. I think, because his Threads are merged with mine, the Veils don’t affect him like they do with JC.
But each time I did, it got easier to step back. Easier to let go and give Cal the power.
I don’t like letting him in. I know what it’s doing—how much ground it gives him. How, over time, the line between where I end and where he begins becomes harder to see.
But the alternative is feeling all of it again.
And I already know I can’t.
— T
Smoke.
Again.
Before I’m even fully awake, my hand is already slapping at the ends of my hair.
“Seriously?!” Blinking, I crush the tiny flame between my fingers and glare down at Ahria, who only puffs up her chest before darting toward the early light peeking through the tent flap.
It can’t be much later than six a.m. Why is she in such a hurry?
Oh. Right.
Bread baking with Neeve.
Her bed is empty, so she must already be there. Reya’s bed is empty too. I could have sworn I heard her come back at some point during the night, but strangely, I never heard her leave again.
Must have slept right through it.
Running a hand down my face, I swing my legs over the side of the bed, groaning as the movement pulls at battered muscles, then shove myself upright.
I’m fucking wrecked, and the bed looks far too tempting to climb back into.
But I only have nine weeks until the Blood Moon Ceremony and if this bond is going to take, if I’m going to find a way to take down Serrane, to make him pay for Ashvale, for Finn, for Rowan, I need to keep moving forward and keep some sense of control.
That way I don’t have to sit with the fear. I don’t have to sit with the guilt, the choices I can’t take back, and I can prove—to Ahria, to myself—that I’m stronger than she thinks I am. That I’m not just a backup plan, that I can be more. That I can be like my mum.
Leaving the Letter-threader and Talen’s note from last night beneath the bed, I grab some clothes and clean up as quickly as I can, before heading after Ahria.
“Hey, Lyra!” Neeve chirps as I step into the Food Tent. Smiling, she drops a large metal bowl onto the table with a loud clang. “Did you sleep better?”
Rolling out my shoulders, I try to hide the wince that follows. “Yeah, thanks.” I actually slept like a log, but I’m still paying for yesterday’s sessions with Dave. “You?”
A blush floods her cheeks. “Uh, not much sleeping, but yeah. It was a good night.”
My brows pinch, but then I remember she spent the night in Darren’s tent, and my confusion turns into a smile.
“Anyway.” She smiles back, far too pleased with herself. “Let me show you what to do, and then we can talk about more important things.” She leans across, passing me the bowl. “Like dragon dreams.”
Nodding, I take it and for the next hour, we knead dough and talk until I’m not sure what’s more tired—my arms or my mouth.
Between all my questions about the camp, what she knows about Serrane, the Census, Blood Moon—and filling her in on the dreams I had about Ahria while giving her a few tips on unknotting her Threads—we completely lose track of time.
Which means Reya is already waiting when I finally step outside with Ahria.
“You’re late.” She snaps. Her stunning grey eyes slice right through me.
“Sorry.” I mutter through clenched teeth, dusting flour from my top. The old me would have told her to go fuck herself, but I'm not Ashvale Lyra anymore, and I've learnt that I'm not going to survive what's coming if I try to face it alone.
“Well, are you ready now?”
Ready to visit my overweight, sausage-loving red buddy with rage issues? No fucking way. But I smile and nod.
“Any updates from the Citadel?" I ask as we leave the camp.
Reya murmurs something under her breath that I don’t catch, so I repeat the question in case she didn’t hear me.
“I said no.” This time, her answer comes out flat and loud, killing the conversation before it can even start.
After that, we spend the rest of the walk to Dave in silence, with nothing but my rising heartbeat to fill it. Each step closer makes it worse, until by the time we reach him, I’m so fucking scared of what’s coming that I don’t even last ten seconds before everything goes black.
Reya is gone when I finally come around, so I hurry back to camp to grab some food before Lucien shows up.
I hope flying will be better, but JC doesn’t even get me off the ground before panic takes over and my lunch makes an unwelcome reappearance.
Still, I get back on and try again. Then again. And again. Until Lucien either has somewhere else to be or has simply had enough of watching me throw up.
After dinner, with every muscle spent, I stagger over to the Healer’s Tent to check on Ezzy, then drag myself back to Neeve’s wonky one and fall onto my bed.
My hand instantly reaches beneath it for the Letter-threader. When I open it, the central stem ignites, and a new note rises from the flame before drifting down into the petals below. I read it, smile, then place it with the others, and fall asleep before the sun has even set.
I hope you’ve had the chance to meet Magda by now. While Merrin was more of a mentor to me growing up, Magda was always the one who felt like family.
Living with the Veirmonts wasn’t easy, but Merrin managed to convince them to let me train with him over the summer months.
They thought it was Citadel training. It wasn’t. Every year, he brought me down here to the Southern Peaks to prepare me for all of this, and it was Magda who used to take care of me during that time.
I remember when I was about five, I’d just started climbing trees, and one day—being the reckless little idiot I was—I went too high, slipped, and broke my arm.
I was more upset about missing training than the pain, and while Merrin argued with the healer about when I could start again, Magda sat beside me all afternoon feeding me cakes and reading stories until I fell asleep.
— T
The next few days, fire follows me everywhere.
Ahria still insists on using it as my personal alarm clock.
Then Neeve, because I made the mistake of admitting my fear, makes me light the ovens before we bake.
After that, Dave the Dick has me flat on my arse in about nine seconds, and by the time I get to flying practice, hauling myself up JC’s side feels like climbing a mountain with broken legs.
And even she is spitting sparks in frustration at my failed take-offs.
By midweek, my body stops trying to fight the pain and just takes it.
Bruises layer over bruises until I can’t tell where one ends and the next begins.
But I keep getting back up, I keep trying as Ahria watches, judges, and on the fifth day, finally something clicks during training with Lucien, and I actually make it into the air.
At first, my grip is so tight my nails sting as they split against JC’s hot scales. Black spots crowd the edges of my vision next, the world tilting, and I’m sure I’m about to pass out—then Lucien reaches over and steadies my hands.
“Don’t freak out on me now, Bloom.” His deep voice breaks through my spiralling panic, grounding me. “Breathe, remember to breathe.”
Behind me, he drags in a deep inhale, and I follow suit. Pulling in a breath. Then another, and another. Forcing my lungs to work until the dizziness eases enough to think.
“That’s it.” He relaxes his grip on mine but stays close. “Now keep your focus forward, look out toward the end of the lake.”
Trusting the calmness in his tone, and the steadiness of his solid frame behind me, I slowly lift my head.
Wind tears past, ripping at my hair as my focus catches on the horizon ahead and for a single, fragile heartbeat, it feels… right. The speed, the power, the sheer freedom of it. And I think maybe I can do this. Maybe I belong here, maybe I can be a rider.
Then my head tilts.
“Don’t look down,” Lucien orders.
I look down.
After that it’s blank.
The dragon warning bell cracks through the tent and I jolt upright, heart lurching into my throat, bracing for a giant fire-breathing lizard to tear through the tent at any moment.
It stops a second later but I stay frozen in the dull morning light, pulse hammering in my ears at the silence that follows.
Then, finally, the all-clear call carries across camp, and the tension drains out of me as I exhale.
God, it’s already been a week, and the bell rings at least once a day, but my body still reacts the same.