Chapter Nine
The room tilts, or maybe that’s just my stomach dropping out. Down in front, Talen watches with that fucking grin—crooked and hungry, like he’s been waiting for this moment. Like this is what he was planning all along.
Shit. If I’d just kept my head down, if Ezzy hadn’t singled me out, hadn’t introduced me, maybe Talen wouldn’t have noticed. Maybe Quinn wouldn’t be so eager to test me.
Pressure builds behind my eyes, pulsing in time with the pounding in my chest—too fast, too loud, too much. Magic tangled with fear and fury, hot and rising, wild in the cage of my ribs. But I hold my breath and clamp it down, just a little longer, I need every ounce of control for what’s coming.
Ezzy’s fingers jab at my side. “You’ve got this,” she whispers.
Liar. Her voice is shaky, and that smile she’s forcing? Doesn’t touch her eyes.
“Cadet Bloom?” Quinn calls again. “Please join us. Participation is mandatory. No room for refusals.”
He says it so casually, like we didn’t just watch someone die on that platform. Like Renn’s body isn’t still slumped there, neck bent wrong, eyes wide open, blood pooling beneath him.
God, just one thing, just one fucking thing. Let me get through this Demonstration without ending up like him.
“I’m sure Cadet Ryven will be considerate,” he adds, smiling like he actually believes it. “He’ll take it easy; it is your first Demonstration, after all.”
Yeah. Fucking fat chance. The last time I saw Ryven, he was spitting on my boots in the hallway and calling me a Scraplander.
And now he’s down there on the platform, grin wide and sharp.
He looks like the kind of sadistic kid who used to torture cats and burn ants for fun.
And right now? He’s looking at me like I’m his new pet project.
Ezzy gives me another shove, harder this time. “Trust me,” she whispers fast, eyes wide, “the consequences of not going are far worse. You’ll be okay...”
But I don’t move. Can’t. My legs feel locked, like stone.
Because my Threads? Air and Water. Yeah, technically I’ve used them to avoid situations, redirect trouble, slip out clean when things went sideways.
But control? Actual combat? Real, lethal, sanctioned combat—against someone who’s probably been melting targets since they could walk?
A cough echoes up from the platform below, Quinn, arms crossed now, impatience etched into every line of his stance. Ryven’s still smirking like this is all a game. And beside him—Talen.
No. I can’t let him, a fucking Veirmont, see me freeze. See me cower.
Okay, come on Lyra. Move. You can do this. You do this… Right?
A bracing tightness rolls through me as I drag in air. One breath, then another as I peel myself off the bench like I’m pulling free from chains. My legs shake, but they move and somehow, I’m standing. Somehow, I’m walking.
The descent from the top row feels endless. My boots scrape loudly against the stone, echoing in the hush. Every eye tracks me. Every step dragging heavier.
Okay. What’s the plan? What’s the strategy? How the hell are you going to survive this?
Merrin thinks I have potential, right? High Chancellor of the fucking Citadel, maybe he knows something I don’t. Maybe there’s something buried in me, something that’s enough to get through this.
Ryven’s trained. I’m not. But he’s cocky and Talen just said it: emotions get you killed. Maybe that’s the crack. Maybe that’s where I hit.
The wood creaks under my boots as I step on to the platform. A second ago, the amphitheatre felt massive, the space stretching out in front of me. Now, it couldn’t feel smaller, especially as I step in front of Talen.
The pounding rhythm in my chest quickens as magic surges, pressure building fast. No, fuck. I can’t lose control. Not here. Not now.
I need to take Ryven down—clean, fast, knock him out or something, without dragging myself under with him. Without giving him, or the Nightrose, the show they’re waiting for. Without becoming exactly what Merrin’s betting on.
Breathe. Just fucking, breathe. Don’t show any weakness.
Talen folds his arms; I meet his gaze.
“So this is how you plan to kill me?” I say through clenched teeth, doing my best to sound, look, composed. “A bit lazy, don’t you think?”
The left side of his mouth curls as he lifts a brow. “Oh well, why would I get my clean hands dirty when I can let someone else do the work for me...?” He leans in, voice low, all velvet and venom. “Though I know how disappointed you are… that it won’t be me touching you.”
“Right. Like I’d want your hands anywhere near me.” I spit. “You think they’re good, they’re clean? They’re filthy, covered in blood from all the gold your family squeezed out of the Outerlands. The only thing those hands are good at is taxing Spice and killing us.”
His grin doesn’t falter. If anything, it just sharpens as he leans into my space, like he means to own it.
“Oh, Bloom,” he whispers, “You really don’t want to know what these hands are good at.”
His words creep under my skin, sinking deep like they’re trying to root there. But that’s what he wants. He’s pushing, baiting, waiting for me to break.
“Shame you’re about to die,” he taunts, catching the shift in my jaw I try to hide. “I was just starting to enjoy that thorny look on your face.”
A tight cough cuts through the tension. I flinch, breath catching.
“Sorry to interrupt your little… whatever this is,” Ryven calls from the other side of the stage as he spits his toothpick out. “But are we doing a Demonstration or wh—?”
Talen’s head snaps from mine toward him, fast. His hand lifts, like he just caught something out of thin air, and Ryven’s voice cuts off mid-word. His mouth works, but nothing comes out.
“If you want to keep that tongue of yours, cadet...” Talen’s grin drops as he turns and pins Ryven in place with a stare so cold it makes the look he gave me feel almost generous. “You’ll never interrupt me again.”
Ryven swallows hard. His shoulders pull in and for the first time, he looks small. Timid. My Threads jolt, this time not in fear. Maybe I do have a chance...
“Yes, um, thank you, Officer Veirmont,” Quinn cuts in, uneasy, “for reminding our cadets that they are students here, and should speak only when addressed. Now, let’s all take our places, shall we?”
I follow Quinn’s gesture, moving without thinking, stepping into position on the platform, opposite Ryven. Talen stays behind me, watching.
Magic stirs before I’m even still. Crawling down my arms and sparking at my fingertips, begging to escape. But I need to be careful, I need to control it, I need to—
“Let’s begin.”
Before the thought can finish forming, Ryven moves, one foot forward, both arms raised and then—Pain
White-hot. Blinding.
Too slow to dodge. I hit the platform hard, palms first, then knees. Elbows jolting as I slide across the wood. By the time I register the impact, flames have already taken my sleeve.
Heat lashes up my arm, fast and hungry, as panic spikes. I swat at it, frantic, but it presses in, relentless.
The stink of burning cloth floods my nose, sour, too familiar. The edges of the world smear—light bending, sound warping—and suddenly, it’s not Ryven in front of me anymore.
Suddenly I’m seven, barefoot, smoke curling under the door, walls glowing around me. Then screams, mine, someone else’s. I’m at the handle, twisting, yanking, but it won’t budge. It’s stuck.
Can’t move. Can’t breathe.
Just fire. Just fear
I squeeze my eyes shut.
No, this isn’t then, this isn’t real. I’m not there. I’m here. Now.
Eyes snap open as Ryven starts closing the space between us.
My heart slams into a fast, unsteady rhythm, tightening everything inside me as I shove back across the floor, heels slipping and boots skidding hard against the wood.
Fingers scrape for balance, but the moment they hit ground, my Threads snap. No aim. No warning. Just panic. Power spills from my fingers, jagged and wild, warping the air around me as it lashes out.
“Outerlanders always break easy,” Ryven sneers, lifting his hand. “No spine. That’s what happens when you’re allowed to breed without rules.”
No time to speak. No time to move.
His Threads unfurl, not seen, but felt. More flames whip from the wall-mounted candles, twisting midair like they recognise him, like they want to obey. He draws them in, shapes the fire with a flick of his wrist—then hurls it straight at me.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I roll—fast and desperate, but not fast enough. Weight slams down on my left arm, and pain explodes through the burn he just gave me as a fresh flame licks across the back of my neck, catching fabric, searing skin.
The scream rips out of me before I can stop it. Around the room, gasps follow, cadets’ chairs scraping, voices rising, but it all blurs together, noise without meaning.
I reach inward, teeth clenched, clawing for my magic but my Threads are a snarl of static now, warped and tangled, like they’ve turned in on themselves. The same power that burned to be free moments, won’t fucking listen. Won’t move.
Ryven’s boots hit the floor in steady, closing steps.
Too close.
“Come on, Bloom.” Talen’s low voice slices through the chaos, too clear, too close.
He’s behind me somewhere across the platform, but it curls against my ear like a whisper meant for no one else.
“I didn’t want it over this quickly. Where’s the fun in that? Show me those thorns I know you’re hiding…”
The air around me hums, prickling, sending a shiver that knifes down my spine, skin crawling like something’s touching me that shouldn’t.
Distraction. That’s all this is. Talen’s trying to rattle me, make me slip. Ignore him and focus. But—fuck, he’s right.
What the hell am I doing?
Jaw tight with effort, I shove the panic down and push to my feet. Come on, Lyra. Fight back, get your magic under control. You’re not dying here, not like this. Not to some smug, skin-head prick with a fire complex.
But I don’t do this. I don't do fire.