Chapter Twenty-Three #2
So I lie. Again.
I spin something on the spot, tell them we’ve been hooking up secretly since the first week, and just pray they believe it.
"I knew it,” Finn bellows with a massive grin, “I told you he wanted to fuck you since day one. I could tell from the way he checked you out during your first Demonstration.”
He looks so smug, like he’s just solved a murder mystery. Rowan, on the other hand, doesn’t even look surprised. Does he know? How could he? He wasn’t there… was he?
“That wasn't him checking her out, Finn...” Ezzy cuts in, rolling her eyes. “...He wanted to kill her, you’re so clueless sometimes.”
“Look, Ez, we’re guys. We say one thing and we do another...” He shrugs, like it’s some universal truth. “And Lyra’s an Outerlander. I’m sure the men she dated back home were all a little… rough around the edges. That’s probably just her type, right?” He tips his chin towards me.
I’m almost insulted by how easily Finn buys it, but at least it’s working. Funny thing is, Bren is the total opposite in every way, but I just lift a shoulder and give them a what can I say? I have my types look.
“Am I the only one who doesn’t understand this?” Ezzy turns to Rowan, who’s finally relaxed a bit, one leg crossed over the other, smiling like he’s in on some private joke.
“I’m happy for them. I think they make a great couple...”
Okay, that’s weird. Finn, I get. But Rowan?
Ezzy turns to me. “But he wanted to kill you, you hated him, after what his family have done?”
I don’t want to lie to her, I’ve already stacked up enough of those. And if she starts asking for Truth Strings… yeah, I’m screwed.
“What can I say? He surprised me.” Not a lie. “I guess my body’s just… drawn to him.” Also, not a lie.
She studies me, lips pressed thin. Then finally, “Well… I guess you’re both a bit feisty. I dunno, maybe it is just me, maybe I just don’t get it. Men confuse me.”
From his chair, Rowan chuckles, and Ezzy's frown quickly returns.
We stayed and talked for another hour. The lying started to bite sharp, pressing on my chest, so I tossed her something true. Told her about the dragon, about its eye. Left out the part where Talen called it off though.
I thought she would be more shocked, but she wasn’t even rattled, not even close. She swallowed Merrin’s version of the dragon attack whole, clinging to the Citadel’s logical explanation like it’s gospel.
Still, I wanted to give her more—hell, all of it—but I still didn’t know what was safe.
Finally, she started to fade, and once she and Finn slid back into their usual bickering, we agreed to let her rest and take shifts checking in.
On the way out, Finn casually drops that he can't start carving me a new duck because he just remembered he lost his last piece of cedar-wood. He can get more over the semester break but that would be in a few weeks.
I smiled and thanked him, but the tight rhythm in my chest was climbing fast. No way I’m lasting that long.
The dorm room’s stuffy and cold as I step inside, colder without Ezzy’s warmth. Her bed’s still folded neat from this morning. God, she almost died because of me, because I’m keeping things from her. And now… I’m keeping more.
The guilt rises, stomach twists, I drag in a long breath.
A few weeks and I’ll be gone, then she won’t have to deal with me anymore. I just have to last that long—play Talen’s game, pry out the answers I want, get the journals, keep my magic caged and get out of here.
Sounds almost simple. Achievable. But without the duck… I don’t know how long before my magic tears loose again.
I’m halfway to face-planting on the bed when something catches my eye, an object sitting on my desk.
That’s not supposed to be here...
I freeze, scanning the room. Was someone here?
The door was closed when I got back, but in the Citadel that means nothing.
Doors are just decoration, no locks, anyone could’ve slipped in while I was gone.
I open it and scan the hallway but it’s empty.
Just the usual hum of voices echoing from the bathing chambers at the far end.
Heart beating fast now, pulsing behind my ribs, I step back inside, eyes fixed on the table and walk forward.
Chest tightens with every step.
No… it can’t be. But it is. Same worn grooves from mine and Ezzy’s fingers. Same broken wing.
Sitting there like it never left.
The duck.
God, I’ve never been so fucking happy to see a stupid wooden bird in my life.
I let out a long sigh and cross the room fast but stop short at the desk, hand resting on the dagger at my hip. Something’s off. How the hell did it get here?
Strannt.
Weasel-faced little shit.
Without thinking I drop to check under the bed, but the journal is still there. A sigh of relief, but did he see them? Does he know about them? Was anyone else here with him?
A shiver slices up my spine, sharp as glass. The image of him in here, snooping around, touching my things, makes me want to throw up. But I shake it off and reach for the duck, fingers curling tight around the wood.
I shouldn’t care. I should just be glad it's back, but if I ever bump into him beyond the wall, somewhere his Citadel badge doesn’t mean shit—
My grip falters. Something’s still off. Not the duck—what’s next to it.
A single rose stem lies across a folded note. No flower. No petals. Just thorns. I nudge the stem aside with my free hand, unfolding the paper.
Sunday, 5 p.m. East Wing. Fifth floor. Door opposite the main stairwell. Don’t be late. Unless you’d rather go on a date with a dragon than me. -T
P.S. Get your fucking Threads under control. This duck won’t save you every time.
Before I can think, heat presses low in my gut, chest cinching tight as the rhythm inside me pushes harder with every handwritten line.
The paper crumples under my fist before I’ve even finished reading, brows pull tight, eyes narrowing. I can see it already—that smug, crooked grin stretched across his face like he’s standing right in front of me.
He was here.... In my space. Close enough to touch my things.
My jaw locks, teeth grinding.
God, I bet he’s loving this, finally got me cornered. I hate it. Hate him. Hate the way he slips in, past skin, past muscle—burrowing deep into my bone, my blood. Like a poison threading through every vein, impossible to cut out without bleeding myself dry.
But as much as I loathe him... there’s someone I hate more.
Myself.
Why the hell didn’t I stop him? I tried to get away—at least, I think I did, didn’t I? Should I have tried harder? Or was I already leaning in before I realised it?
Fists curl at my side before I can stop them.
I leant in.
How could I?
He’s a Veirmont. A Citadel officer. The bastard behind the Spice tax, the one choking medicine out of Outerlanders. The same arrogant prick who Reassigns innocent people to hold off dragons. Even here, professors flinch if he gets too close. And according to Finn, he killed his ex-girlfriend...
He’s the same cold-eyed executioner who blamed me for his brother’s death, and promised to make me pay. He shouldn't even want me alive.
So what the hell was that?
He’s saved me.
Twice.
First the Dragon. Now this.... Marking me as his, in the most public and possessive way possible.
The questions run through my head on a loop, over and over. But beneath it, quieter, darker, another voice whispers:
He leaned in.
Just for a second.
But I felt it. Didn't I? Or did I imagine it? I must’ve imagined it. I mean, of course I did. A flicker of heat. A trick of the moment.
Especially after the day I’ve had? Shit after the past few weeks I’ve had.
Ezzy’s blood still fresh on my hands. My Threads snapping loose in front of half the Citadel.
Nearly being Reassigned, black-eyed dragons, for fuck’s sake.
My mind is a goddamn mess. I'm a mess. I haven’t slept properly since I arrived, and I’ve been bracing for death every day since.
So, whatever that was? Whatever I thought I felt... It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Because people like him don’t slip and they sure as hell don’t lean in.
I blink, and the coldness of the empty room creeps back in.
Grey stone. Dust and old parchment in the air, that sour mildew tang that never really leaves.
But underneath it, something new, a thin edge of smoke and leather-warm heat, Talen.
Soaked into the walls like the place forgot to breathe him out.
God. What am I going to do?
For a second, I just stand there, duck in one hand, the note in the other, my mind clawing between two futures.
In one version, I show up Sunday for his date, smile like it doesn’t taste bitter, and slip into a role I don’t want to play.
Talen’s.
Let everyone believe I’m dating the very symbol I’d burn given the chance. But while I play along, I try and get some answers—what the hell he wants, why the truce, why I’m still alive. The envelopes, the tailor’s shop. The dragon…
He called it away. He must know something about the Veils—why they’re attacking. I’m certain of it. I need that information before I leave, I’m not going home without it.
Last month Ashvale had more attacks than the whole damn year before. Bren’s out there nearly every week putting out fires. If something bigger’s coming, the Outerlands doesn’t just need to know—they deserve to.
But if I agree, if I date him, even if it is fake, does it make me complicit?
He isn’t just a symbol—he is the machine that grinds Outerlanders like me into dust. The Citadel’s blade and shield. It wouldn’t just be a lie—it would be like kneeling. Kneeling for the same tyrants I’ve spent my life resenting.
If I do this, I’m a traitor. If I don’t, I’m dead...
I set the duck on the table and drop on to the bed, the note still heavy in hand. The handwriting’s unexpectedly elegant, but the letters wrap around my head like barbed wire, cinching tighter with every line.
Maybe I should just rip it in half and tell him to go to hell, that I don’t belong to him, and I sure as hell don’t belong to the Citadel.
Or maybe I could just be honest and tell Ezzy the truth, tell her everything.
That I saw him in the tunnels that night.
That he offered me a truce, as long as I kept quiet.
That he saved me from the dragon. That the kiss was fake, the whole relationship is fake.
But that I don’t know what he wants, or how the hell I’m supposed to escape him.
She’s smart, she has connections, maybe she could help? But deep down I know that’s a gamble I can’t afford to lose.
They’ll come for me—Reassignment, dragons, and who knows what Talen might do to me, to her, if he found out I talked... I just need to survive. Keep her safe till I’m gone.
I don’t trust him, not for a second. But god help me, I need him. He’s the only one who has the answers I want...
Fuck, am I really doing this? I’d rather swallow glass, yet here I am actually considering dating a Veirmont.
But if I’m doing this—if I’m putting my neck in his petals, his noose—I want to know exactly how tight it’s going to pull.
I drop Talen’s note beside the duck and snag the Codex off Ezzy’s desk, thumbing past Treaty terms, tax amendments, and a section on magical conduct boring enough to knock me out—until I land on the Union Clause.
To foster cohesion, strengthen field performance, and preserve magical integrity—
Okay, boring...
Love, when focused, becomes loyalty. Connection, when structured, becomes strength....
Blah, blah, blah, more propaganda shit, but then—
My eyes flare wide.
Consequence: Any attempt to fabricate, falsify, or exploit the Union Clause shall result in immediate Reassignment.
I stare at the line until the words stop meaning anything. Immediate. Reassignment. For both parties.
Holy crap.
No, seriously?
If anyone proves this relationship is fake, they won’t just drag me to the dragons... they’ll drag him too.
A sudden jolt breaks the rhythm in my chest. That's it. All my questions, what he wants, why he's risking himself to keep me alive, the truce, the dragon. Finally, finally I have real leverage. A way to trap him. Trap the Nightrose. To get answers.
He needs my silence as much as I need his protection, and now I have Ezzy’s stupid, but bloody wonderful, duck back.
I curl my fingers around the bird until its broken wooden wing digs into my palm.
Time to play his game… and oh, I’m going to enjoy every second of it.