Chapter Sixteen
“Good session today, Bloom.” Lucien chirps, the praise landing a second before his hand comes down in a friendly—but far too firm—whack on my back that knocks the breath out of me.
God, I don’t think he realises how strong he is.
“Thanks,” I grunt as I let my gaze drift out across the lake, following the grey choppy water until it reaches the old ruins of Aurelia on the other side.
It sits shadowed beneath the Southern Peaks, their ridge-lines freshly coated with snow that has fallen far too early in the season to stay, the white darkened by the storm clouds building beyond.
Today, we flew farther than I ever have before, and this is the closest I’ve ever been to the kingdom.
From here I can see the full wall stretching around it, disappearing only where it meets the water’s edge.
It must be at least the size of two Innerland realms, and that’s only the royal area, because the wall around Aurelia was never a boundary.
Before the War of Ruin, people moved freely through its gates, and settlements of mixed Threads stretched far and wide across this land. Air, Water, Earth, Fire—all living side by side. No Innerlands. No Outerlanders. No Citadel or Veins.
“They’re real, you know.” Lucien nods to the giant stone dragons towering beside the gate, one on each side.
“They belonged to the royal crown when the Treaty was signed. The moment the ink dried and the curse took hold, they turned to stone. Their last duty was to stand guard over the kingdom and protect it until the very end.”
“Doesn’t seem like they did a very good job,” I huff, pushing myself upright again. “I mean, the whole place is in ruins. Even if you could step foot inside without turning to ash, I wouldn’t dare. Half those buildings look like they’re one strong breeze away from collapsing on you.”
Beside me, Lucien lets out a loud chuckle. “I reckon it’s stronger than you think. Anyway, I have to say, I’m impressed. We flew all this way and you didn’t puke once.”
A wide grin spreads across my face, but it has nothing to do with the distance.
My body’s wrecked, and I’m still barely sleeping, but if it wasn't for the dragon alarm bell ringing out from the camp behind us, I would have forced Luc to keep going. I know I can do better. I have to do better.
No, the grin is because Ahria shifted into her full form and flew beside us.
All raw power wrapped in impossible grace.
I barely even registered the icy wind tearing past, because watching her steadied me in a way I hadn’t felt before, keeping the nausea at bay.
At least until Lucien veered JC through a narrow gully and the drop had my stomach lurching, trying to climb out of my throat.
But still, I felt it, if only for a moment. I just need to hold onto that steadiness until she’s ready to let me fly on her, until Blood Moon.
“Luc, how come you're able to do this so often?” Blinking hard against the fatigue pulling at my eyes, I turn to him and our two dragons resting on the ground in their full forms behind us.
“You’ve only missed a few days of training since the last briefing a month ago, but Talen hasn't been back once.”
“Well, let's just say I’m a bit more dispensable than he is...” he grumbles, pulling his flight jacket higher around his neck to shield himself from the freezing wind roaring across the water.
Shivering, I button up my own. “Tal can’t exactly disappear from the Citadel without people noticing, but he’s been arranging the patrols so that I can.
” Behind him JC moves, a thin curl of smoke slipping from her nostrils as she nudges into his arm.
He lifts it, slow and heavy, and scratches under her chin.
“It's strange not being around him as much, but we’re not exactly seeing eye to eye right now, so the space is probably good.”
He lets his arm drop from JC, the movement seeming to take the last of his energy and a wide yawn breaks through before he can stop it, his shoulders sagging a fraction. Fuck, he looks as tired as I feel. Hell, more so.
“Thanks,” I murmur, keeping my eyes on the ground as my boot scuffs through the dirt. “For helping me.”
He tries to brush it off, but when I glance back up I catch the corner of his mouth lifts.
“Look, we need more riders, and bonding at Blood Moon is like a fucking lottery—anyone can enter but no one knows what’s going to happen.
” His attention shifts to Ahria as she moves toward the water's edge. “But you two—this is rare. Knowing you have compatible Threads, having a bond that’s almost guaranteed…” He gives a small shake of his head. “Stars, I’m not going to pass that up.”
“Almost guaranteed,” I mutter. Just because we’re compatible, just because I have my mum's Threads, doesn't mean she will see me as worthy and choose me.
Glancing over, I watch Ahria as she sips from the wind-chopped lake. In her full green form, she towers over me—so different from the smaller version I’ve become so familiar with—and the sheer size of her makes the want hit sharper than it ever has.
Blood Moon is only three weeks away and she’s right there, within reach—but still not mine.
Turning back to Lucien, I open my mouth to ask for any updates on the Ceremony, or if there is any new intel on what's going on with the Census, but he’s already settling back on JC.
“I have to go.” He calls down as her blue scales bunch beneath him. “Need to get back to the Citadel before she runs out of steam and shrinks on me mid-flight. Think you can make it back on foot?”
I look up at the darkening sky, the storm clouds rolling in. He can’t be serious. “No. It’ll take me hours!”
“Sorry, I should rephrase that...” A smirk spreads across his face as his heels kick against JC’s sides. “...I meant to say, good luck making it back on foot.”
Then, with that, JC coils beneath him, her massive claws digging into the earth before she surges forward and launches, the force sending ripples across the lake as her wings beat once, twice, then catch.
Rain starts to hit my face as I tip my head back, straining to keep her in sight, blinking against it as the blue of her body slowly fades into the clouds above. A moment later, Ahria takes off after them, but instead of following, she banks sharply and veers away, angling back toward the camp.
For a second, I almost try to call her back—just to see if she would—but I’m not surprised she’s left me here; she seemed pretty pissed when we landed.
toward the end of the flight, when JC opened her mouth to release some fire, I freaked out so badly that my Threads flared and surged into Ahria’s with such force that her violet eyes blew out wide enough I don’t think she could see.
She dropped at least twenty feet before catching herself and climbing again.
Which makes it pretty clear that what I’m doing with Reya isn’t enough. It’s not like I’m not training hard—I am. It’s just easier with her than I expected, and I’m not being pushed the way I need to be.
Never thought I’d say this, but I miss Dave the Dick.
Reya’s been gone for the last few days, disappeared off somewhere again, so I’m surprised when Neeve slips back into our tent close to midnight saying Reya’s looking for me and wants to train.
The camp is quiet as I stroll over to the Combat Tent, a few recruits dotted around on patrol, but most others are back in their tents sleeping, which is exactly where I should be.
Yawning, I rub my eyes against the dim lantern light, careful not to trip on any tent ropes as I walk.
God, why the hell does Reya want to train so late?
But who am I kidding, it’s not like I’ll get any sleep if I’d stayed in bed.
Not only is the silence from Ezzy becoming unbearable but the itch that’s been building under my skin all month has turned red-hot.
So it’s probably for the best to try and let some of the stress out—release some Threads.
I’ve no idea how many I have stored; knotting has become like breathing and something I don’t even think about anymore.
A green blur flashes past me, as Ahria gives chase to a moth caught in a lantern hanging outside the Briefing Tent. At least tomorrow I won’t have to teach—Merrin will be here instead, running another update. I can’t believe it’s already been a month since the last one.
All day that’s all I’ve been able to think about, not the briefing itself, but whether or not Talen will be there.
It’s only made the itch worse, settling under my skin as a constant tension I can’t quite shake, no matter how hard I try to focus anywhere else.
It doesn’t help knowing the Letter-threader is sitting under my bed, waiting—that I could pick it up at any moment and tell him exactly what I’ve been dreaming about doing to him...
But I can't go there. I can’t open it. Not while Ezzy still won’t talk to me, won’t even look at me. And she has every right not to. If it weren't for my choices, Rowan would still be alive. Finn would still be here. Ezzy would still be with her family.
And the second I talk to Talen, really talk to him, I’ll understand his choices. I’ll forgive him. And if I can do that for him, then I’ll have to turn that same mercy on myself, and suddenly all my actions become something I get to survive instead of something I have to pay for.
No. I can’t let that happen. I just need to focus on the anger. He didn't tell me I could die at Blood Moon. He didn't tell me about his relationship with Reya. Anger is simpler. Cleaner. Stops everything else I want to say—or do—from flooding in.
With more force than necessary, I yank back the flap of the Combat Tent, the scent of warm sweat and damp canvas hitting me immediately.
Ahria hangs back, distracted by the moths spiralling around the lantern outside beside Reya’s purple dragon, Shanwyn, but I duck inside.
It’s dim, and it takes my wild eyes a second to adjust before I spot Reya hunched over on the far side of the first mat.