Chapter Nine #2
Ryven moves again. A fresh burst of flame tears toward me before I’m fully upright. I lurch sideways, the heat snapping past my face, singeing the ends of my hair.
A breath drags in, shaky, scorched at the edges. Doesn’t matter. You have to fight him. There’s no choice.
The pressure I’ve been swallowing all day spikes hard as Ryven lifts his hand again. That same smug twist cuts across his face, like the hallway, like he’s already won.
My fist clenches.
Magic surges, hot and uneven, slipping in my grip, twitching like it wants out more than it wants control. I try to shape it, rein it in, aim—anything. But it’s all jagged edges and too much movement.
He steps forward to strike.
I throw my right hand up, muscles shaking, every nerve braced and my Threads surge outward, dragging air and moisture with them. The pressure builds—too much, too fast—compacting into something volatile and heavy, but I release—shoving it forward as hard as I can.
I aim for him. I mean to hit him.
But the magic doesn’t just strike Ryven, it tears through the room like a storm breaking loose. Desks rattle, books rip free. Parchment lifts in a flurry, spinning through the air like birds scattered from a branch before it slams into the far wall with a hollow boom.
Heart pounding, chest rising sharp and fast, I try to rein my Threads back in as Quinn flashes into view. He’s smiling, like this is exactly what he was hoping for, but behind him, Talen just leans against the wall, plain-faced and bored, like he’s still waiting for the real show to start.
I drag my gaze away, the beat still hammering behind my ribs, to where Ryven is hauling himself up from where the blast threw him. No limp, no shake, not even rattled, just pissed. Like I’ve gone and kicked a hornet’s nest and now the swarm’s coming straight for me.
Shit.
“You know that Spice tax wasn’t for nothing, Bloom.”
He’s still somewhere behind me, but Talen’s voice slips through again—smooth and taunting at my ear, crawling under my skin like an itch I can’t reach.
Distraction. He’s messing with you, don’t rise to it.
Still, my shoulders tense, breath catching tight in my chest. I try to shake it off—ignore him, focus—but the more I push it down, the louder he gets.
“Paid for the new wing of our estate. Lovely view from my room...” He pauses; my jaw tightens. “...You should visit sometime. If you survive. Beautiful in spring.”
“Get out of my fucking head!” The words tear from my throat before I can stop them, raw and too loud.
In front of me, Ryven freezes. Confusion flickers across his face, then his head tilts, and his mouth pulls into a thin grin.
“I’m not in your head,” he mocks. “But my fire can be. If you’d like?” His arms flex and fire slams into my chest before I can move.
The blast knocks me clean off my feet, air torn from my lungs in a single, broken gasp. I hit the floor hard, ribs lighting up with pain as I slide across the wooden platform, heat and pressure tearing through skin, through bone.
Can’t breathe. Can’t move. Chest crushed under the weight of it as I slide to a stop at someone’s boots.
Get up.
Get up.
Get up.
Every breath slices through me.
I dig down, heat thundering through me, fingers twitching and reach for something—anything. My Threads flicker, there, then gone. Catching only for a breath, then twist away again. Wild. Refusing me. Not obeying. Just reacting.
Fuck.
Vision swimming, lungs working too hard, I blink up—Talen’s standing over me.
“The Treaty should’ve wiped the Outerlands clean.
” He taunts. No magic now, doesn’t need it, he’s close enough for me to hear.
“Letting you all crawl back from it? That was the real mistake. I’m glad the Spice tariff’s bleeding you all dry out there.
” His mouth curves, lazy, cruel. “Means fewer of your kind to crawl in here.”
Something tears as he steps away.
Not outside. Not visible.
Inside.
Rhiann’s son, burning with fever while we begged for supplies that never came. My mother’s journals in Merrin’s hands. The weight of this uniform, of this fucking deal. Every Innerlander who’s looked at me like I don’t belong.
Talen’s voice.
Ryven’s fire. The fire...
It slams into me all at once.
Years’ worth of fury, fear, injustice rising like a wave I can’t hold back.
Don’t want to hold back. Magic surges, hot and wild, stronger than it’s ever been, thrumming through my veins, pressing against my skin like it’s ready to tear free.
So close. Close enough I can taste it—feel the air shift around me, but when I reach for it—really reach—it still slips.
Ryven steps over me, eyes gleaming as he sees it, sees me grasping for power I can’t quite pull.
“Oh, can’t quite access them, can you?” he coos, voice thick with delight. “Oh dear.”
I don’t think. Don’t need to, don't need magic for this.
Smiling—barbed and mean, I drive my boot up, hard and fast, straight into his groin.
Ryven lets out a strangled noise, more gasp than scream, as he stumbles back and folds like wet parchment. Hands clutching himself, he hits his knees with a choked grunt, face twisting in agony.
“That’s cheating!” he wheezes, voice cracking. “This is Offensive Magic, not... physical combat!”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Talen, leaning back, delight written all over his face. He lifts both hands in a slow shrug, all innocent, like he’s saying, Not my problem.
Ryven tries to straighten, tries to argue. But I’m done listening.
It might be Talen taunting me, whispering me poison. But I don’t care. It’s Ryven who just tried to kill me, who is currently trying to kill me. And I’m not giving him another chance.
Teeth clenched, I shove myself upright.
I’m shaking, maybe from rage, maybe from the hit, maybe because breathing still feels like dragging air through fire.
Everything aches, my vision tilts. Doesn’t matter. I stay on my feet as I stalk toward him, each step heavy with the weight of everything I’ve held back.
And then—I feel them. My Threads. Not just in reach again but roaring. Feral, furious, like something half-starved locked behind bone, waiting for a crack to sink their teeth into.
I could stop now, try and regain some sense of control, risk humiliation, death?
Or I could keep going, unleash all of it, and become exactly the kind of monster they expect me to be?
Take him down, maybe myself?
But my magic’s already decided for me. I don’t care that I’m pure emotion, I don’t care that I’m past control. Every injustice I’ve swallowed. Every fight I’ve buried. It’s here. It’s mine.
Tension locks hard through me, a grinding pressure that rising with every heart beat. I shove my hand out, fingers spread, every muscle pulled taut like a drawn bow—
And finally, finally my Threads answer.