Chapter Eleven #2
My legs protest as I haul myself out of bed, but I ignore them, pull on some clothes, and head out with Ahria.
Weaving through the tents toward the centre of the camp, a shiver rolls through me. Despite it being summer, the early morning air carries a cold, harsh bite, lifting the hairs on my arms.
Damn, I knew I should have grabbed Talen’s flight jacket. Still, at least being up this early has some perks. I managed to avoid Ahria’s fire alarm for once, and the camp is still relatively quiet—calm enough to almost forget how tense it usually is.
People are constantly coming and going—bonded riders heading out on recon, senior recruits moving in and out on patrol, others arriving for the first time and wandering around looking completely lost.
New Innerlanders seem to turn up every day now, and I’m not sure how many more bodies this camp can hold. But apparently Darren will start training soon and get things more organised.
And I know it’s pointless, but I still find myself scanning each new arrival, in case it’s Finn. When Ezzy wakes, I want to be able to tell her he’s okay—that she’s not alone here. But so far, each time I look it’s only more disappointment.
Wincing, I step over a crate of supplies that hasn’t been moved—turns out climbing the cage to avoid being incinerated by Dave yesterday was not one of my best ideas, and my knees are making sure I don’t forget it.
But I keep moving, boots scuffing against loose stone as I follow Ahria around the next corner toward the Healer’s Tent.
She seems to already know the routine and drifts ahead of me, her green scales catching the morning light for a second before she slips through a narrow gap and disappears inside. I follow, fingers lifting the flap, but then pause.
I’ve visited Ezzy every morning this week before bread baking, and each time her fever has been worse—an infection from the wound.
So I brace myself as I step inside, half-expecting more of the same.
Relief flows through me when instead I walk over and press the back of my hand to her forehead and find that her skin is cooler. Not normal, not yet, but better.
For a few breaths, I stay there, watching her chest rise and fall, but it doesn’t take much for it to start pulling at everything else.
“We’ll find Finn soon,” I mutter, pushing her hair back. “I promise.” Then I step back and head out before the guilt of knowing all this is my fault can settle too deeply.
The smell of yeast and smoke hits me as I approach the Food Tent. I’m about to step inside when the sharp crack of canvas splits through the air.
Whipping my head toward the sound, I catch Magda slipping out of the Combat Tent. I can already see why Talen likes her so much; she's checked in on me every day this week.
Still, there’s something about the way she moves—her shoulders stiff, her gaze flicking around the camp as she smooths down her jacket—that makes me shift back, ducking inside the Food Tent.
I stay there, fingers curled around the canvas, pulling it back just enough to keep watching as she crosses the central square and disappears. A moment later, Merrin steps out of the same tent, seeming just as tense.
Maybe it’s nothing. Or maybe it has to do with the briefing today, but it feels off... Especially for them to be meeting so early in the morning—
The sudden clang of metal behind me makes my heart practically skip a beat. Spinning around, I find bowls scattered across the ground, clattering and spinning in wild arcs. Ahria stands in the middle of the mess, nosing through it all, already chewing on a chunk of meat that’s slipped free.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter through clenched teeth, peering back out into the camp. But the square is empty now, and Merrin is gone. My shoulders drop as I turn back to Ahria in time to watch her swallow a chicken leg whole. “How are you always so hungry? You’re tiny.”
Everything aches as I move, but I gather the bowls anyway and put them away. Then I pull out the dough we made yesterday and start kneading, forcing my arms through each throb and protest.
Neeve should be here soon, though, and I'd welcome the help with the baking—but more than that, I want the distraction. Because without her, the stillness settles in, and my mind goes straight to where I don’t want it to.
Talen’s letters.
Every day this week, I’ve opened the Letter-threader and another one floats free from the flame. I read every single one… and every single day, I don’t reply.
It’s not that I don’t want to. God, I do. Desperately. But if I cross that line—if I let myself accept him, accept what he’s done—then I have to face what I’ve done too.
But maybe it’s time I did—
“Sorry I’m late.”
The voice makes me jump, but the rhythm behind my ribs quickly settles when I look up and see Neeve.
“I had another dream last night,” she huffs, already moving past me to grab a chunk of dough, throwing it onto the bench beside me and getting straight to work. “And then Darren and I had a massive argument about it. Again.”
As she speaks, I glance over, noticing her eyes are red and puffy.
“I mean, I know why he’s worried.” Sniffing, she drags her arm across her face, careful not to catch her gold nose ring.
Her sleeve smears the tears away before she presses back into the dough.
“But still, he won't even talk about it.
Says he wants to wait for my mum and brother to arrive and have the wedding first. And then we can discuss bonding.
But the next Blood Moon won't be until next year, and I can't wait that long.”
“I get it.” I reply, my hands slowing in the bread mix as I give her a sympathetic smile.
“Even after everything you’ve told me about the Ceremony, I still want to, need to, enter.
But Darren does have good reason to worry.
If your dragon doesn't find you, if they aren't compatible or don’t like what they see, if you drink the Vega juice and—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” She waves me off but in a kind and gentle way. “Then they burn me alive. Sacrifice my body as part of their strange ritual. Blah, blah, blah.” Letting out a long sigh, she starts placing the dough in tins.
Watching her work, the tension in her movements, I can’t help the knot forming in my chest.
If someone told me I couldn’t at least try to bond with Ahria, I can’t imagine the pain it would cause. And I’ve grown really fond of Neeve over the past week. Even though she forces me to light the oven fires every morning, she’s still a more calming presence than Reya or Lucien.
Maybe that’s why this hits harder—because she reminds me of myself. Before everything. Or at least the person I wish I could still be. Kind, but brave. Strong, but vulnerable.
“When will they arrive?” I ask, changing the subject as she passes me a tin. “Your family?”
She gives a small, hopeless shrug, not lifting her attention from the table.
“The plan was to bring them here a few months ago. After my dad was taken—Reassigned—we wanted to get them out as soon as possible, but the borders are so controlled now. It’s getting harder and harder to move people. And it doesn’t help that the camp is almost full.”
My fingers falter on the next ball of dough as I think of her dad, and mine too. We’ve spoken about them a lot over the past week, wondering what might have happened to them.
“Darren said Merrin is making plans to move the camp somewhere more permanent and safe.” She goes on as we fill the last tin and start carrying them over to the oven.
“He said then we can find a way to bring them over, and once they are here we can get married—” Her voice trails off as she sniffs back more tears.
“But with all these arguments, I’m starting to wonder if that will ever happen. ”
“Hey, don't say that.” I give her a small nudge. “From what I’ve seen, Darren is desperate to marry you.”
Her mouth curves a little, but not quite a smile.
“I know he’s just on edge, nervous about the briefing later today.
He’s still hoping Merrin will announce him as the lead for the new recruits.
He’s really excited and I know it will help give him some more structure.
A sense of purpose. Since he left the Citadel, he's found it hard to find his place here.
Most of his time is spent going on recon missions to the Northern Peaks, collecting intel.
But often, they fly alone to avoid detection, so he doesn't really feel part of a team—.”
Neeve stiffens beside me as we place the last tin into the oven. I turn and follow her gaze to see Lucien strolling in. He drops down into a chair at one of the far tables and kicks his boots up.
I’ve been training with him every day this week, but always in the afternoons, so I'm surprised he’s here so early, especially considering how tired and grumpy he's been. Since our first flight, I’ve tried to ask more questions, updates from the Citadel, but he only grumbles and shuts me down.
“You okay?” I ask Neeve, noticing how tense her jaw has gotten.
“There’s just something about him that puts me on edge.
” She remarks, turning back to the oven.
“We all want Serrane gone—for the walls to come down—but then what? What happens after that?” Bending down, she starts loading wood into the bottom.
My knees groan as I join her. “I think we need a new system. But Lucien’s more old-school.
He wants to see the monarchy back. And I’ve always had the feeling he wouldn’t think twice about putting a dagger in someone’s back if they got in his way. ”
My attention flicks toward the back of the tent, where Lucien is throwing nuts into the air for JC. Her small blue body sweeping down after them and catching them before they hit the ground.
“Anyway,” Neeve continues, shovelling in more wood. “Not sure how they think the monarchy is going to come back. It’s not like the curse has lifted or anything.”
“The curse?” I ask too quickly.