Chapter Seventeen
Fucking weasel. There is no way in hell I’m letting those hands go anywhere near me, but a quick, hard shove from behind forces me forward through the door.
“Move.” The troll grunts.
Wincing, I stumble forward into the cell, doing my best not to let Strannt see the strain in my step—or how close I am to breaking, as his gaze drags over every inch of me. Still, a shiver slides down my spine before I can stop it.
Short hair, militant cut. Small chin, mean mouth. He looks like the type who’d kill a girl just for saying no.
Okay. Shit. Think.
My eyes sweep the room. Stone walls rise around me, cold and bare. A single candle flickers weakly on a ledge, stuttering like it’s gasping for air.
No furniture. No exits. Just stone, and Strannt.
A deep pulse kicks hard beneath my ribs—heartbeat, magic, tangled and climbing fast, like smoke with teeth, hungry for release. For something to bite.
I swallow hard. Just get through the inspection. Keep the duck hidden and don’t let him get close, don’t let him touch you. And for the love of god, don’t let the magic tear you apart from the inside out before he gets the chance.
Easy. Sure.
“You know,” he starts, hands in pockets, looking down, pacing.
“I didn’t always hate Outerlanders. When I was a kid, I used to shadow my father on patrols.
He was an officer. One of the best the Citadel had ever seen.
I wanted to be just like him.” His jaw flexes, and a surge of magic ripples through me.
“But one day on a routine trip, delivering rations to the Outerlands, he was ambushed. He hid me, but they got him. Smashed his legs to a pulp. Couldn’t walk right after that.
His whole future—gone. Never got a chance to become the officer he was meant to be.
Now he’s stuck here teaching Non-Magical Combat to a bunch of half-trained brats in a mouldy classroom. ”
He lifts his eyes to mine as he takes a step towards me. Cold, damp stone meets my back as I shift away, keeping as much distance as I can between me and this fucking weasel.
“That’s the day I figured it out.” He continues.
“How ungrateful you all are. How lucky you were that we even brought you, still bring you, those rations. You didn’t fight.
Didn’t sign the treaty. We should’ve left you to rot.
” A beat. His voice hardens. “But I won’t waste what he gave up.
If my father couldn’t be the best officer in the Citadel.
I will be.” Bile rises sharp in my throat, gut twisting, Threads turning feral as his gaze drags over me.
“And it starts with doing my job properly. It starts with you.”
Breath starts coming fast, too fast, like my lungs can’t pull enough air. I don’t even mean to call them—but my magic moves anyway, stirring behind my ribs, blooming in my chest, bleeding down my arms, to my fingers, like they can sense what’s coming.
I could end it. Right now.
Let it out. Let the magic off the leash. Burn him from the inside out before he even lays a hand on me.
But if I do... I’ll go down with him.
Still, the thought of his weaselly hands touching me—
My body stiffens in one tight pull, muscles gathering hard and my fingers tightening into a fist with it. Magic writhes under my skin like it’s begging to be chosen.
Fine, let it come.
Strannt takes a step closer. I don't flinch. All I can think is:
Touch me.
I dare you.
Then—
A cough, dry and mocking, behind me. Strannt stiffens, I turn following his gaze.
“Hate to break up that touching little memory, Strannt…” The troll is gone, but in his place stands someone leaner, taller. More dangerous. Talen.
Braced in the doorway, arms flexed, he flicks his gold talisman in that same lazy rhythm. Black training gear back on, eyes locked on Strannt. Shoulders loose, but every inch of him hums with restrained violence.
Strannt shifts, just a step, but it’s a step back.
“Oh no, don’t stop on my account. I was enjoying the performance.” Talen’s mouth curves, cruel and amused. “Though I am curious… why you’re in my interrogation cell?” A pause. His voice drops, lower now, to something more possessive. “Didn’t Lucien warn you not to touch what’s mine?”
Strannt’s jaw twitches, recovering too fast. “I was just warming her up for you, you know…”
“No, I don’t know.” Talen’s head tilts. “Enlighten me.”
Strannt opens his mouth. “Well, I was just—”
The talisman stops. Talen’s hand snaps shut, trapping the coin mid-motion and with it—Strannt’s voice.
“Actually,” Talen says, voice flat, bored, as he steps into the cell. “I’ve decided I don’t want to know. You’ve already lingered long enough. It’s time to leave.”
A sudden gasp as Strannt drags in a breath—Talen opens his palm, releases the talisman, and his voice.
For a moment Strannt hesitates, but Talen just takes another step forward.
“Fine,” the Weasel hisses. “Never had a taste for Outerlanders anyway, she’s all yours.
” He turns for the door, but halfway there, glances back over his shoulder.
“We’ll be listening,” he adds, voice like oil.
“First time can sting a little... but you’ll get used to it. Just try not to enjoy it too much.”
He leaves.
The door closes, lock clicks.
And I’m alone.
With him.
Again.
The rhythm in my chest doesn’t ease, it quickens, syncing now to the pulse of magic flickering low in my gut, twitchy, overheated. Like it’s bracing for something worse. And yeah, maybe it is... Talen’s more dangerous than Strannt—smarter, colder, controlled in a way that sets every nerve on edge.
But that’s not the only reason my heart won’t settle.
Not the only reason my magic’s flaring harder now.
He takes a step forward and the air around me thickens, tight and unmoving, except for the faint current slipping through the grated slit above the door, carrying the rhythmic clatter of movement from the chamber outside.
For a moment, he just stares, and then another quick flick of his wrist and the outside noise is gone.
Even my own breath vanishes.
The only sound left is him.
But my chest still pounds, deep and heavy, each thud pressing up through bone like it wants out.
I’m not ready for this. I don't want this.
I’ve faced blades, starved through winters, watched neighbours bleed out on the street. But this, this is different. This is danger wearing the face that’s been haunting my fucking dreams all week.
“Don’t worry,” Talen says, face unreadable, blank, but something’s shifted in his eyes. No hunger there. No softness, either. Just something else. “Strannt can’t hear you now.”
Magic flares—panic, anger, hatred, and something darker, deeper—all of it crashing up at once as he takes another step closer.
I almost let it go, with Strannt, all of it, was ready to burn him down.
But this one? He’d survive it. Probably smile while I died trying.
So no, my Threads aren’t an option anymore.
Cocking his head, he takes another step. “But they can still see in... So I’m going to have to put on a bit of a show.”
My throat tightens, hands curl tight. I open my mouth, ready to spit something venom-laced, but nothing comes out. My tongue’s frozen, not numb, held.
He’s close now. Too close.
The air between us barely exists. What little there is smells like damp stone and iron dust, but under that—him. It coils into my nose and settles at the base of my spine.
“You’re just lucky I’m the one doing this and not him.” He says as the grip on my tongue vanishes.
I suck in a hard breath as he takes one last step forward, closing the final gap between us. Then—louder, clearer—no softness this time. Just pure command, cold and firm:
“Now turn and face the wall.”
For a second, neither of us move. Silence stretches as he just stares, eyes pinning mine while my chest rises, heavy and uneven, almost brushing his.
God, I should be furious, should be more scared, ready to claw my way out. I was, a moment ago. But now... I’m not. Even my Threads, which were screaming beneath my skin, burning to lash out—ease, not by much
And that’s the trick, isn’t it. This is what he does, how the Nightrose works. Draws you in slow while the teeth stay hidden.
Still, I don’t move, can’t, the order’s simple, but no way in hell am I giving him my back.
“This isn’t a game you want to play, Bloom,” he warns, mouth curling.
My eyes narrow, jaw sets, heart still pounding, but I don’t shift, just let him see exactly what my silence means.
So he moves for me, quick and hard. One hand on my hip, the other clamps down on my shoulder.
I twist, try to shove him off, but he’s already turning me, dragging me off balance.
My ankle catches mid-spin, pain lancing up my leg, and then he slams me into the wall, knocking a sharp gasp from my lungs.
Somewhere behind me, my pack hits the floor with a heavy thud.
Shit, the duck.
But luckily Talen doesn’t seem to notice or care, he just leans in, body bracing against my back, close enough that I can feel the pull of his grin against my ear.
“They can’t hear you, but remember...” His voice slides down my spine as the heat of him bleeds. “They're still watching, I know it will be hard, but make sure to pretend like you don't enjoy this.”
Blood rushes to my cheeks, flushing hot against the cold stone wall.
Jerk.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Veirmont. I’ve had tooth extractions I’ve enjoyed more than this.”
“Oh, there are those thorns I like…”
Fuck him.
I'm done tiptoeing around, playing this game of cat and mouse. It's time I get some answers.
“You say you want me dead, then you catch me trying to escape and offer me a truce, but you still walk around telling everyone I'm marked and yours for the kill.
Please enlighten me, is this just some sick game to keep you entertained in this hellhole, or do you actually plan on killing me?
I'd rather just know and get it over and done with”