Chapter Twelve #3
“That is enough!” Merrin magically amplifies his voice.
“I know you all have your individual opinions on what we should be doing next—and those differences have already started to create friction. That much is clear.” His focus narrows on us and one by one, people sink back into their seats and face forward.
“And it does not help that this camp is much larger than it was. More people means more voices, more disagreement, and far more opportunity for that tension to spread if we leave it unchecked.” Clasping his hands behind his back, he rocks slightly on his feet.
“So, we are going to begin putting some structure into place, starting with assigning roles to help restore a clearer order of things.”
Behind him, in the far corner, I catch Darren straighten, a proud expression settling over his face as Merrin continues.
“Now, the first role will be overseeing the new recruits—getting them settled, and more importantly, trained in Thread work.”
Darren shifts his weight, already shifting forward.
“And I’m very pleased to announce that responsibility will go to our latest Citadel recruit who has volunteered themselves—” Merrin lifts a hand, gesturing toward the back of the tent. toward me. “—Lyra Bloom.”
What the fuck?!
Every head in the tent whips around to face me as my mouth falls open.
“Now, back to your duties. We have a great deal to prepare for. The next briefing will be at the end of the month.” Then without another word, Merrin turns and strides out.
Movement erupts immediately, benches pushing back, boots scuffing on the dry earth, no one dares speak. They all start flowing out in silence but every single one stares at me on the way out. Beside me, Neeve stays seated.
“Neeve, I didn’t volunteer—” The words rush out as I turn to face her. “Maybe it's a mistake, maybe Darren decided he didn't want the role?”
But one glimpse at him tells me it’s not true. He’s still at the front, arms crossed, jaw set and the proud expression he was wearing a second ago is gone, replaced by something much closer to rage. And it’s aimed at me.
Shit.
Neeve doesn't answer, she just sits there looking as shocked as I am.
“I’ll fix this,” I assure her as my focus turns to Talen.
Did he know? Is this what he wanted to talk to me about? But Lucien has already pulled him aside and his back is turned to me.
I want to talk to him, I need to. But Merrin is almost out of sight, and if I don’t stop this now, Darren—hell, the whole camp—will hate me.
“I’ll find Merrin and correct him,” I assure Neeve, already shoving myself to my feet, and before she can reply, I bolt out of the tent after him.
My lungs are heaving as I skid around the corner into the central square, boots slipping in the dust, just in time to catch Merrin swinging himself up into a horse’s saddle.
“Why did you do that?!” I practically hurl the question at him as I close the last stretch between us, stopping at the horse’s side. Heat rolls off it, the smell of soil and leather filling my lungs. “Darren was perfect for that role!”
Merrin settles his weight, adjusting in the saddle before he glares down at me panting below. “Yes. He is. He’s already proven himself. But if he can’t survive disappointment, then he isn’t fit to lead.”
“Then why give it to me?” I demand, lifting my chin, neck straining so I can meet his gaze head on.
“Because I need to know if you can.” The horse stirs beneath him, letting out a low, restless grunt as it paws at the ground. “The Citadel was a test of your potential and your power. This is a test of your leadership.”
Screw him and his games.
“But they’re going to hate me for this,” I shoot back. “For taking it from him. You told them I volunteered!”
“Yes.” He doesn’t even try to deny it. “They will resent you. They will question you. They will wait for you to fail…” His icy blue eyes harden on mine. “And you will stand there and lead them anyway.”
“No. No, I won’t.” My feet stay rooted to the ground, jaw locked as Darren’s reaction flashes through my mind—then Neeve’s. “I’m not taking this from him.”
Merrin kicks once, turning the horse so it squares up to me, and my blood starts to boil, Threads flaring as anger rises.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he counters, a little louder now.
“But you were the one who said you are willing to do whatever it takes. Well, this is what it takes. Leadership is not friendship, my dear. Serrane will not fall because you were fair, or kind, or well-liked. Serrane will fall because we have created the best weapon against him.” The horse stirs below him. “And you are part of that.”
My fists squeeze into balls—but the heat in my blood starts to drain out just as quickly as it came. Because he’s right.
I said I would stay.
I said I would do whatever it took.
I said I wanted to become a weapon to be aimed at Serrane and I'm not a fool. I know I can’t do that alone, I’ll need a whole fucking army.
“Now,” Merrin adds casually, as if the argument is already over, “you can stand here and fight me over something that isn’t going to change…
” He tugs the reins, turning the horse away.
“Or you can go and visit your friend.” He pauses just long enough to glance back over his shoulder. “Ezrelia is awake.”
Ezzy?!