Chapter Thirteen
Air scrapes down my lungs as I race over to Neeve’s wonky tent, pulling back the canvas and bursting inside.
For a breath, I stay frozen there, my chest rising heavy as I scan over Ezzy, making sure it's real, that it's really her, that she's awake.
She’s sitting on the bed across from mine, her short blonde hair brushed back and her sparkly pin fixed neatly in place like nothing’s changed.
But then her eyes—usually so bright and impossibly blue—catch on mine, and my heart breaks when I see how empty they are.
She drops them almost as quickly as they lifted, fixing them on her hands instead.
The duck rests in one hand. Rowan’s letter in the other. Open.
“Ezzy…” I murmur, the bed creaking as I gently lower myself down beside her. “I’m so sorry.”
Merrin said he’d brought her up to speed on everything he told me, and I know how much that must have been. Too much. More than anyone should have to wake up to. I don’t want to overload her any more, not when she already looks like one wrong word might shatter whatever’s keeping her upright.
But I need her to know.
“I tried, Ezzy. I'm so sorry, I tried to help them. I tried to save Rowan, I tried to stop Finn.”
Tears threaten to spill free, but I bite them back as Ahria watches us from the chair at the end of my bed.
Ezzy doesn’t respond. She just keeps her head down.
And god, it guts me. It’s as if I'm reliving everything all over again and the longer she doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, the louder the guilt gets—pressing in on me from every side.
So I keep talking until my throat turns raw and my hands twist so tightly together in my lap that my nails ache. I must have been sitting with her nearly an hour now, words spilling out in uneven bursts, all of them circling the same ugly truth: that it’s all my fault.
“Ezzy, please...” Shifting forward an inch, I go to reach for her—but stop myself halfway, my hands falling back into my lap instead, my palms cold and damp at the same time. “Say something. Yell. Throw something at me. Anything is better than this.”
I thought if I talked to her, if she understood, then maybe some of the weight I’ve been carrying for the past week would finally ease—
“Hey,” Neeve’s head pokes through the canvas flap, her long braid hanging over one shoulder. “Just wanted to check if you're okay?”
My gaze flicks to Ahria, who’s still watching us. I nod, but the lie doesn’t land and Neeve sees straight through it, her expression softening as she tilts her head in a quiet come out here gesture.
“I’ll be back in a minute.” I say to Ezzy.
Holding my breath, I wait for a reply, but when it doesn’t come—when she doesn’t even shift—I exhale and push myself slowly off the bed and slip out to join Neeve.
A cool lake breeze rolls across my face as the tent flap falls shut behind me. I drag it in and let it out heavily, like that will help loosen some of the pressure hanging over me.
It doesn't.
“It takes time,” Neeve sighs, lifting a hand and resting it on my shoulder.
“She’s not only an Innerlander—she’s Citadel-born.
Raised in it, brainwashed by it. Darren was the same.
He wants Serrane gone for what he’s done to his family, but the Citadel…
that’s different. It’s taken him years to let go of everything he was taught to believe—and even now, I’m not sure if he fully has. ”
“No.” I mutter, shaking my head. “It’s more than that.
She won't even look at me.” My focus shifts past Neeve, out to the open plains beyond the edge of camp.
“I know she blames me. For not stopping Finn, for her injury, for Rowan... for all of it.” I swallow, guilt catching in my throat.
“She warned me—over and over at the Citadel—to stop digging... but I didn’t listen. ”
“She’s your friend. I’m sure when she understands it wasn’t your fault.
She will come around.” Neeve tries to reassure me.
“But while we wait, it’s best to keep her busy.
These Citadel folk are so used to following orders, they start falling apart without the routine, without being ordered around.
” She steps into my line of sight so I can’t drift off again.
“I’ll find her some work in the kitchen, okay? ”
I nod. It’s easier than arguing—easier than admitting I don’t believe it will make a difference, easier than admitting I deserve it—the silence, the blame, all of it.
Neeve seems to take that as enough, the corner of her mouth lifting just enough to crease the skin around her gold nose ring. Then she gives my arm a quick squeeze and turns to walk off.
“Oh—hey, Neeve.” I quickly call after her. She slows, her long braid swaying as she glances back. “About Darren, the position... It wasn't me, Merrin—”
“Look, it’s okay.” She cuts in gently, but her smile’s gone now. “Don’t worry about that right now. Let’s get Ezzy settled.” Then before I can respond, she slips around the corner and disappears.
Back in the tent, Ezzy’s lying down facing away from me now. The duck and Rowan’s letter rest beside her on the upturned crate.
Careful not to disturb her, I lower myself onto my mattress opposite as Ahria lets out a low rumble. I glance over to where she’s curling herself up in Talen’s jacket, but my attention quickly falls back to Ezzy.
God, it’s not only Finn and Rowan she’s lost, it’s her family, her home, her little sister, her whole identity.
My chest locks up, breath catching, and a tear lands on the back of my hand before I even register I'm crying.
“Hey Bloom,” My head jerks around to see Lucien peeking through the tent flap. “Time for another ride before I head back?”
Reacting fast, I drag my sleeve across my face and force the ache back down. “Sure... I’ll be out in a minute.”
Lucien nods, disappearing from view, and I lean down, reaching for my pack beneath the bed, but my hand latches around something else instead.
The Letter-threader.
Talen would be back at the Citadel by now and all I have to do is pick it up, talk to him, like I said I would. Like I wanted to.
But I don’t move. Can’t.
I thought I was ready, that I could finally let everything go. Accept his choices. Mine.
Squeezing my eyes shut, my grip around the device tightens.
Stupid.
I deserve this. I need this. The silence, the way Ezzy won’t even look at me, the guilt sitting heavy on my chest—I need it because if I let it all go, then what? Ezzy stays here in pieces and I get to move on? Like none of my actions cost anything?
No, I can’t let that happen.
And he messes with that—Talen messes with that.
Because the second I talk to him, really talk to him, I don’t get to keep it simple anymore. I'll understand him. I’ll accept the things he’s done—and then I’ll have to look at myself the same way, and if I do that the anger cracks, the guilt softens and suddenly Rowan’s death cost me nothing.
Lifting my head, I open my eyes, finding the steady rise and fall of Ezzy’s chest across from me, then I let go of the Letter-threader, grab my pack instead, and push out of the tent to find Lucien.
“Okay, everyone,” Magda calls out the following morning, clapping her hands once, and the Briefing Tent falls silent. “This is Lyra, a second year cadet from the Citadel, and the lead for all you new recruits.”
She looms at my side, tall enough to command the space on her own, but not a single pair of eyes stays on her. Instead, the attention of about twenty dismissive Innerlanders—and one unimpressed rat-sized green dragon—slides right past her and lands squarely on me.
Shit. I’m not going to lie, I thought about staying in bed this morning, I’m so out of my depth and I know Darren would be way better at leading than me.
But that’s exactly why I can’t step back, because if I do, nothing changes.
I stay exactly where I am, and when the time comes to face Serrane, I won’t be ready—and then what? More people die because of me.
No. I can’t let that happen.
At the front, Neeve flashes me an optimistic, encouraging smile that doesn’t even touch the edges of my nerves, while beside her, Ezzy sits motionless, staring straight ahead.
I’m surprised she came. I want to say I convinced her, but that’s not true. Convincing means she had a say in it, and she still hasn’t spoken, hasn’t even looked at me since she woke yesterday. She just does whatever I ask, like it doesn’t matter either way.
“Now, some of you arrived this week,” Magda continues, “others have been here for months and Lyra may be from the Outerlands—but all of you have something to learn from her.”
Outerlands.
The word hits the room like a stone through glass and the dismissive looks already aimed my way harden. Murmurs ripple between the benches as recruits exchange glances, disbelief quickly giving way to outrage.
Even Neeve goes still at the front, her encouraging smile falters, and my stomach drops.
Shit. I told her I was from the Air Realm. It wasn’t a lie. I was born there. But I never told her the rest—
“She’s an Outerlander?!”
The bark snaps my head toward the back of the tent, where a male recruit with an eyepatch makes no effort to hide the disgust twisting his face.
“We were told we were getting a Citadel officer. A rider. Not… this.”
A sharp sting radiates through my palms as my nails bite in hard enough to break skin, and suddenly I remember why I hated Innerlanders so much.
They’re so goddamn entitled.
Magic twitches at my fingers, but I grit my teeth and force down the barbed reply already sitting on the tip of my tongue because I’m here to learn to lead. To earn respect, not to make enemies.
“I understand your concern,” Magda keeps her tone calm and composed.
“But this is not up for discussion. While as Innerlanders you have all learnt to listen to your Threads, none of you have been to the Citadel and none of you have had the training Lyra has received. Yes she is from the Outlanders, but Merrin assures me she is one of the best cadets they have seen in generations.”