Chapter Thirty-Two #2
First question out of his mouth was Ezzy, of course, and then what we were doing.
At first, I felt caught off guard, we’re not doing anything wrong, but still, I get nervous.
So I kept it simple, said we were doing a background study on dragons for Treaty class, but that it’s not going well.
He lit up at that, said his father’s a collector, shelves full of old books.
I could have said nothing. Kept Ezzy out of it like I promised.
But those books might actually be useful.
And if he thinks she’s involved in our studies.
.. maybe that’s not the worst thing. So I told him Ezzy would love to see them if he had any on dragons that would help.
He nodded and left looking way too pleased with himself.
The doors swing shut behind him, and the familiar scent of leather, dust, and old parchment settles thick in the air.
Shelves loom on either side, rows of spines worn soft from too many hands.
Rowan and I snag a couple of books on our way in, then scan for space.
The place is busier now that everyone’s back—cadets hunched over manuals, murmuring across tables, catching up.
We squeeze on to the far end of a long table, shoulders brushing.
“Cosy,” he jokes under his breath as I crack open a book on Truth Strings, flipping past the introduction, scanning for anything that might tie them to the stuff going on with Talen or Merrin.
I’d asked Rowan about them on the way over, but he's only just learnt them this year too, so he isn't sure.
The text swims as soon as I try to focus, drowned out by the cadets across from us who won’t shut up about Serrane’s last sermon, bragging about how they’ve been applying his teachings, how it’s helping them ‘balance’ their negative energy, or some shit.
Rowan's leg brushes my knee as he leans across to grab another book, his blonde hair falling over his forehead in that same careless way Ezzy’s does. God, it's funny how they look so alike but couldn’t be more different.
Sometimes I wonder who’s more guarded—him or me, though he finally told me who he likes. He’d hinted at someone over the break, but now he’s finally told me who. Not someone the Citadel would approve of though, so he’s keeping it quiet.
And he’s actually pretty funny, too. Not like Finn, all chaos and loud jokes. Rowan’s the kind of funny that creeps up on you—dry, deadpan, the kind that makes you pause before it hits.
I feel closer to him lately.
It’s... nice.
Even if he does get a little annoyed when I push too hard.
I’m persistent, yeah, but I’m not patient.
Still, Rowan says that’s not how this place works; if we want answers here, we have to be slow, careful, undetected.
It’s frustrating as hell. Still, when he steps away to grab another volume, I can't help myself; I flip open a book on Innerland Veil protection and tear out the one page that looks even remotely useful, shoving it in my pocket and snapping it shut before he comes back.
After an hour or two, my eyes start to hurt, “I need a break,” I mutter, turning to Rowan with a sharp exhale. “The text’s just blurring together now, and there’s nothing here.”
“We’ll find something. I know it.”
I shake my head. “Not sure how you can be so sure.” My voice stays low. “You know... You don’t need to keep helping me. I know Ezzy’s not exactly thrilled about it, and…” I glance down the table “…if anyone figures out what we’re actually looking for.”
Rowan leans in slightly, lowering his voice.
“I know, I’ve thought about that.” He sighs, and for a moment, the edge of something flickers in his eyes, guilt, maybe.
Or fear. “But I didn’t sign up here because I believe in all this anymore; I signed up because of Ezzy.
She wanted this life, and I wanted to protect her.
I owe her, her family, everything. They took me in, raised me.
She’s my cousin, but I see her as my sister, she’s all I’ve got. ”
He swallows, gaze drifting. “And that Ashvale attack? We were there. It could’ve been us.
It could’ve been her. I used to think I understood how the world worked.
That we were on the right side of the wall.
That what we were doing mattered.” A beat.
“I was raised on their sermons. Their promises. I wanted to believe them. Some days I still wish I could. It would’ve been easier to stay blind, to swallow it all down and keep going. ”
His fingers brush mine, just barely, but I feel the tension in him, coiled like a spring.
“Ezzy still believes,” he continues, “I don’t want to take that from her, and I really don't want her getting caught up in anything. But I couldn’t keep feeding myself those lies, they didn't make sense anymore, and once I started asking questions... I couldn’t stop.
Especially with what's going on with the dragons and those people I saw with black eyes... My priority is always to keep Ezzy safe, and I know there's something going on here, not just the usual bad stuff the Citadel is up to, but something more, something that runs deeper than what’s on the surface.”
He looks at me again, more open now, like something’s come loose inside him.
“You lost everything, Lyra. And I want to help you figure out why. Not just for you. For me too.”
His words hit harder than I expect. My throat tightens, eyes sting, and fuck, one stupid tear escapes. I wipe it fast, rough, like it never happened, and shove a tight smile at him instead.
I used to think all Innerlanders were brainwashed sheep, loyal to the Citadel to their last breath. But Rowan... he sees it for what it is, maybe not to the same extent as me, but he's at least asking questions, and I can't help but wonder, are there others like him?
Rowan gives my hand a small squeeze, gentle and grounding, just as the light shifts. A shadow slices across the table. I look up, Talen looms over us, silent, eyes locked on Rowan’s hand still resting over mine. Not moving, not blinking, just watching. Then:
“Didn't take you for the academic type, Bloom.” he teases.
Air snags in my throat, pulse kicks up—not because we’re doing anything wrong, but because he’s standing too close, staring too hard, and all I can think about is how those lips felt on mine.
It was a mistake, he knows it, I know it.
But the way he’s staring at Rowan’s hand—like it doesn’t belong there, like he wants to tear it off—makes me wonder. ..
No, shit, don't go there. It's a bad idea on so many levels. I need to lock these feelings down. If I can't control my want, how the hell am I going to be able to control my Threads, my magic?
I just want to ignore it all, ignore him, but I need Rowan to believe this relationship is real. Talen hasn't done anything to hurt me, but would he do something to them if they found out? I mean, Talen would also be Reassigned if anyone knew this was fake.
“Rowan is helping me with some Thread Theory”, I reply with the nicest smile I can muster.
He cuts his gaze to Rowan, voice low, almost casual, but his shoulders go rigid and his hand flexes like he’s restraining himself. “Hmmm. That's all it is? Nothing I should be worried about, considering how close you’re sitting to my partner?”
Rowan doesn’t shift, doesn’t even lift his hand, just lets a small, knowing smile creep across his mouth. “Luckily for you, she’s not my type.”
Talen’s brow arches. “Redheads?”
“Females.” Rowan replies smoothly. “Physically, you’re much more my type than her. If anyone should be jealous here, it’s Lyra.”
The tips of Talen’s ears go scarlet, and a flush follows fast across his face.
I bite back a laugh, but I can't help it; a grin still claws its way free. There’s something so addictive about seeing him caught off guard, stripped of that perfect composure—even if it only lasts a heartbeat before the wall slams back into place.
“Are you coming?” He asks finally, voice flat again as he turns to me.
“For what?”
“Your training,” he replies. “It starts now.”
An empty lecture theatre yawns out in front of me as Talen holds the door open for me to step through.
No one’s here, the space stretches wide and quiet, the kind of quiet that sinks into your skin, and there’s a chill clinging to the stone that smells like old parchment, ink, and whatever they use to scrub blood off the front stage.
Talen follows as I step inside, closing the door behind him, and the second he does his scent cuts through it all, intoxicating, familiar, and suddenly the room feels too small, the air too tight, like there’s nowhere left to stand that doesn’t pull me into him.
The rush hits fast, a sudden kick of rhythm that makes my whole chest feel too tight.
Two weeks. It's been two weeks since I’ve been this close to him.
Two weeks of repeating the same line in my head, like it might eventually stick—that it was a mistake.
But shit, apparently, two weeks isn’t anywhere near long enough for my body to get the message.
And now not only do I have to fake date him, I have to train with him too.
In the corner of the stage, there’s a table and two chairs.
Talen heads straight for it, drags out a chair, and drops into it like he’s settling in for a show—boots kicked up on the tabletop, hands laced behind his head, his crooked grin already in place, loose sun-kissed waves falling across his forehead.
A flush starts creeping up my cheeks. Too fast, too obvious.
Okay. Stop staring. I need to be able to stand in the same room as him without blushing like an idiot—or making things awkward. Because I want answers, and being around him is still my best shot at getting them. So no more mistakes, no more relapsing. One slip was already too much.
But fuck, why does he have to look so good right now?