Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
Ezzy coughs beside me, and when I glance over, her brows are drawn, arms folded tight, eyes locked dead ahead.
I follow her gaze. Beth. Standing right in front of us.
Perfect black hair, over her perfect skin.
And now, thanks to Talen’s sketchbook, I’ll never unsee what she looks like naked.
Finn stiffens beside me as if he's imagining the same thing.
“Oh, hey,” she says, voice smooth, a little too sweet.
“Didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.
” I pause. A hard skip punches through me.
Does she know I’m leaving? Does she know about Merrin, the deal?
Before I can answer, she adds quickly, “You know, for the half-term. Semester break and all that.”
“Oh. Right.” I nod too fast. “Of course.”
Semester break. I’d nearly forgotten that was even a thing, probably because I won’t be here.
Feels early for a break, but Rowan told me it’s part of the game.
The Citadel likes to dangle it just soon enough to lull cadets into thinking they’ve found a rhythm.
Then they snap the trap shut. The rest of the year is brutal, Call Week, Second-year Trials, and constant Demonstrations. No more breathers. Just pressure.
Beth holds out her hand, and by reflex, I take it. Her grip is light, but her nail catches along the side of my finger as she pulls away. A sharp little drag that makes me flinch.
“Oh, sorry.” She laughs. “I keep forgetting how long they get when I’m stressed.
” Then, like it’s an afterthought: “It was pretty awesome, by the way. You knocking out Strannt like that? That guy’s such a perv.
Honestly, someone needed to put him on his ass.
” She gives a little wave, already turning away. “Anyway, see you next month.”
As she disappears into the crowd, Finn leans in. “Personally,” he says, “I’d be more than happy to get her on her ass.” Ezzy groans and smacks the back of his head. Rowan still doesn’t even glance up from his book. “What?” Finn shrugs, grinning. “Just trying to be supportive.”
I’m about to tell him to stop digging a hole when a hand brushes my shoulder. I turn to find Merrin behind me—red robes, calm face, unreadable as ever.
Beside me, Ezzy straightens on instinct, her fingers twitch toward her hair, smoothing it down like that’ll somehow change what he sees. “Good morning, High Chancellor,” she nods, too formal.
Merrin returns a quick smile, then turns his eyes to me.
“A quick word before you head out, Cadet Bloom. If you may.”
Ezzy gives me a small, silent smile, bittersweet and quiet, and reaches down to squeeze my hand, just once. She doesn’t say anything; she doesn’t have to. This is it—one month, done, deal closed. I get the journals, finally.
I follow Merrin as he leaves the courtyard and turns down a narrow side corridor. His red robes whisper against stone. At the end, he opens a wooden door and steps inside without looking back. For a breath I hesitate but then I lock my jaw and follow. The door closes behind us with a quiet click.
“Have you thought about staying?” He asks, cutting right to it.
I blink. Is he fucking serious?
“Not a chance.” I snort.
“Yes.” His lips twitch, not quite a smile.
“I thought as much. Though it’s a shame, the professors were all very impressed, once they got past the shock.
What you have, it’s not something we see every day.
Not like this. Untapped. Untrained. If you had chosen to stay, to learn to shape it…
You might’ve done more than great things. ”
“To what end?” I ask. “Be carved into another weapon? Silencing people, like you made my mother do?”
“Well, we all serve in our own ways.”
I shake my head. “I’m not interested in your version of service.”
“I didn’t say whose version.” He half-smiles then continues. “I’ve arranged your final training assignment to be overnight in Ashvale. You’ll finish today’s patrol, and as of midnight you are no longer a Citadel cadet, if that remains your wish.”
“It does.”
He nods. “Then I’ll ensure your mother’s journals are delivered as promised.
” He takes a step closer. There’s a softness in his voice now, something that wasn’t there before.
“When you do read them… do try and read between the lines. Some answers, you’ll need to find for yourself.
Not because I don’t want to give them to you.
But because I can’t. When the time comes, I think you’ll see why.
” He meets my gaze, steady, almost apologetic.
“I had hoped you wouldn’t make the same mistake your mother did.
She had the potential to protect a great many people. As do you.”
My fingers curl tight at my side, nails pressing into my palm until it stings. He doesn’t know anything about her. She didn’t make a mistake. She left this place and she was right to.
“Are we done?” I ask, jaw tight.
Merrin only nods, then moves to open the door. I’m halfway through when his voice follows. “The truth is a… precarious thing around here, Lyra. Sometimes silence is the only way to say it.”
I don’t turn. Don’t give him anything. I just walk out, because whatever he means by that, I don’t care. I’m done with these Citadel games.
The walk through the tunnel feels longer than it should—maybe because our packs are heavier for the overnight stay, or maybe because Finn’s now sulking after Ezzy laid it on a little too thick with Brian, the pale, lanky guard at the entrance.
She leaned in, twirled her hair, told him all about the toxic flora and fauna book she picked up from the library, and in return, he treated us to a thrilling update on his research project.
I nearly died of boredom. Something on vibrations, energy shifts and Threadfields—half the words slid right past me. Ezzy nodded like it was fascinating, even gasped when he mentioned he’d pieced some of it together from old books his family collects, which only made him blush harder.
We keep walking, but no one’s spoken in twenty minutes; the only sound is Finn periodically cracking his fingers, quick little snaps that echo back off the damp stone.
The officers don’t help the awkward silence—one leading, one behind.
Neither talks. The one in front hesitates at the first fork like he’s not sure where we’re supposed to be going, and the one at the back keeps sneaking looks at his folded assignment list, like the words might rearrange into better instructions if he stares long enough. Not exactly confidence-inspiring.
By the time the tunnel opens up, the sun’s already high and my stomach’s making threats I can’t ignore. The West Bridge connecting the Innerlands and Outerlands stretches wide ahead, smooth stone gleaming.
It feels wrong. I’ve never taken the bridge before. Just the rope, my rope, slung over the Ravine. This thing makes it look so easy. Like Ashvale’s just… accessible. Open. But the truth is, it never has been.
Citadel guards flank each end, dull white uniforms dulled further by travel dust. They monitor the flow, eyes sharp, hands always near weapons.
It’s mostly goods being carted out—Spice, metals, fabric, the Innerlands love to hoard.
Barely anything comes in. Just one pathetic cart with crates of dried rations.
Not enough to feed a street, let alone a town. Definitely not enough to matter.
As I look across the bridge, the smell rolls in—smoke, damp, and sour, the stink of distant fires catching in the back of my throat.
Ashvale. God, I forgot how bare, how wild it feels here.
For a second, I almost smile—because this is it.
I made it. I’m home. Then I glance down and a tight twist pulls in my stomach.
The Citadel whites practically glow against the gravel, too clean, too wrong.
I’m about to walk into Ashvale dressed like the fucking enemy.
The thing that left them to die. They don’t know about Merrin’s deal, or the nights I spent clawing my way out.
All they’ll see is the uniform. And they’ll be right to hate me for it. Hell, I hate me for it.
But I don’t get a choice. Not if I want to make it home. I drag in air that tastes like dust and force it down, locking on to the only plan that doesn’t end with me gutted in the street—blend in.
Stay with the group. Stay close to Ezzy. If I keep my head down, maybe I pass for just another cadet. At least until I make it to Bren’s. At least until I can tear this thing off and burn it.
“Keep moving, cadet,” one of the officers snaps behind me.
Ezzy glances back, grin wide, too bright for a place like this. She doesn’t notice my hesitation, doesn’t notice the sweat slicking my palms.
She just bounds over, grabs my hand, and tugs me forward. “Come on,” she calls, all sunshine. “You’re nearly home.”
The morning drags, every street stretching longer than the last. Hours of trudging, head down, trying not to be noticed.
But the officers make it impossible—boots pounding against cobblestone, orders barked harsh enough to sting, the scrape of shutters slamming as they shove through stalls and doorways, sniffing for trouble.
A glance too long. A muttered curse. Doesn’t matter. Any excuse will do.
One officer yanks a old man from his cart and slams him against the wall, accusing him of shorting rations. The man’s hands go up, palms open, he doesn’t resist. Doesn’t matter, a fist cracks across his jaw anyway.
I want to drag the officer off, shove myself between the kicks and the blood. My hands twitch with it. But Merrin’s voice cuts through.
Midnight, and you’re free.
If I give them a reason, they’ll toss me back over the wall before I get close.
So I stay still. Get through the day. Get to Bren’s. And maybe I’ll figure out how the hell to explain the last month.