Chapter Thirty-Eight #2
Beth doesn't reply, just lifts her hand. I move, aiming for the other side of the mat—but not fast enough. More flame licks up my arm. I slap it down, cursing, the stink of burned skin sharp in my nose.
I twist back toward her, panic flaring—too messy, too loud—My Threads respond, but not how I want. They lash out in every direction, wild, unhinged. Every inhale burns now. I taste copper at the back of my throat, my magic turning sour, running dry.
Beth barely twitches. Just a small twist of her fingers—but the force is enough to knock the air out of me, and my knees hit the mat. I don’t remember falling.
“I told you to ignore your emotions,” she mocks, calm as ever from across the mat. “And now look where it’s gotten you.”
She doesn’t rush, doesn’t need to. She just waits, hands relaxed and stance loose, like she’s got all the time in the world. Because she does.
We’ve fought enough times for her to know exactly how much I’ve got left. Not much. Not after giving her everything I have.
I drag at my knots, hard and desperate, every bit of strength straining with it—still nothing.
I need to strike with what ever I have left—fast, clean, final.
But I need her closer first.
“You know, I was almost disappointed when the Snare Urchin didn’t gut you,” she calls as her Threads coil like whips around her fingers—tight and hungry. “But this?” Her mouth curves into something vicious. “Dropping you in front of an audience? So much more satisfying.”
The ground tilts, my head spins. That morning. The scrape of her nail. Talen’s coat pocket. Her brother’s a chef. She had access via Lucien. It was her all along; she tried to poison me? How long has she been planning this?
The world shrinks down to this moment. Her. Me. Then my breath falters, a tight, uneven pull snapping through me as the weight of it lands. No—no. She can’t be the reason all of this, leaving Ashvale, leaving Bren, coming back here, was all for nothing. And what, because she wants Talen?
My remaining Threads surge up, thick and blinding. I try to shove them down, wrestle them back into their cage—but my magic bucks harder. Like they want the fight. Like they don’t care if it gets me killed, but I can’t afford to release, not yet. I still need her closer.
“My mum died when I was young too,” she adds, like we’re just friends chatting as she starts walking in. “My dad remarried. Total whore, spent all his money.”
There’s a shift in the background—cadets moving, murmuring—but I can’t hear them.
All I hear is my own breath now—ragged, raw and Beth’s footsteps, as they move towards me on the mat.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Like a countdown. She twists her hand, and air tightens around me like a noose.
A deep, sharp shock tears through me as my Threads flare, dangerous, explosive. But still I hold. Not yet.
“She drinks. He hits. My sister’s stuck in the middle of it.
Sick and alone because I had to come to this cursed pit.
” She steps closer. My pressure builds. Good.
“Do you know how much her treatment is?” she asks, voice quiet.
“A lot.” Another step. I keep still. Wait.
Let her keep talking. “Talen Veirmont is my exit plan. His family. His money. His connections.” Her eyes flick down, then back up—hard, bright.
“He is going to get me out. Not just away from them. From everything.”
She waits a beat, lets it sink in. “You think I wanted him for love?” A small, humourless smile.
“He has a council seat waiting. Influence. A bloodline no one questions. I’m going to rule the Air Realm, not survive it.
” Her tone sharpens. “Our parents have already agreed to the arrangement. It was all set. The only issue is you.” She’s close now.
Close enough that I can see the fine tension at the corners of her mouth.
“I’m not letting my sister die because of you. ”
My limbs are shaking so hard it’s a miracle I’m still talking. Threads hiss across my skin—angry, raw, begging to be let go. She’s close now. I can’t hold it down much longer, just one more step.
I shake my head, throat burning, air thinning with every second. Buy more time. Find an opening. “It’s fake. You know that, you can have him—”
“Oh, it’s not fake.” Her voice drops to a blade. “Stop fucking lying to yourself. I saw the way he looked at you in the courtyard that first day.” Her lip curls. “Like some kind of long-lost love.”
Then she shifts forward—my chance.
I shove myself up off the ground, a hard flare of pain cutting through the effort. But I grit my teeth, hold my breath as magic blazes up—violent, feral, blinding. Flooding my limbs, too much, too fast, like my veins are ripping open with power.
But no time to steady. No time to breathe.
Arms up and out wide, I push. As much as I can, every last Thread I can spare, raw and reckless—pulling air, water, anything, then slamming it straight at her.
My vision blurs as light detonates across the mat, the floor scorches black beneath her boots.
Beth vanishes in the blast.
The sound comes second, a heavy thump as something hits the floor.
I can’t hold it, my arms drop, knees give, and my vision tunnels, edges going black. I hit the mat hard, palms tearing open, lungs clawing for air.
I don’t see her fall.
But god, I think I hit her.
I try to rise. Can’t. My limbs won’t answer.
Not just from pain, from emptiness. Like I cracked something open that shouldn’t have moved.
A hard, hammering thud pounds behind my eyes as I force my gaze up. The blast haze clings to everything, thick, acrid. Heat ripples off the mat. I blink hard, eyes burning, scanning for movement—anything.
A shape shifts.
There. Other side.
My gut twists as Beth pushes through the smoke, her top’s half-charred, one sleeve shredded to the elbow. Blood streaks from her temple down her jaw, and the left side of her face is burned—skin blistered raw along her cheekbone.
But she’s still upright.
Still fucking moving.
Not broken.
Not even close.
She sways, just once. Then straightens, slow and shaking. Her hand lifts—trembling slightly—as she brushes soot from her sleeve like she’s dusting off a stain. Then her eyes find mine. Lock. Hold. And she smiles—slow, pitying.
“You really thought I wouldn’t see that coming?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I try to regather—dig down for anything, anything—but my magic doesn’t answer. Threads are gone, empty.
I reach up my arms, spread my fingers, pull again. Sparks. That’s all. Just sparks. Flickering and weak. No pull. No surge. No shield. They're gone.
I used everything I had, everything that wouldn’t kill me, and what's left is knotted so tight, so deep I can’t access it, no matter how hard I pull.
“Cute,” She laughs softly, low and pitying. “That you’re even still trying.”
I lower my hand slowly, fingers trembling in the open air. There’s nothing left to grab on to. Nothing left to give. I’m unravelled, hollow, and for the first time since stepping on to this mat, I feel it—truly, fully feel it.
I’m going to die.
Not because I wasn’t strong enough, but because I gave her exactly what she wanted. Let her draw me out. Let her bleed me dry, one move at a time. Like a game. Like a fucking rehearsal.
It hits me all at once, not panic, not even anger. Just the slow, cold truth sliding in behind my ribs.
I gave everything. And she barely had to try.
God, I should never have come back.
I left Bren. Left Ashvale. I came here for answers. And now I’m going to die here with nothing, in front of them.
From across the mat, Beth raises a hand. Her Threads snap into the air, invisible but suffocating, and the pressure hits hard—shoving at my chest, crushing the air from my lungs.
The room falls away. No crowd, no spectators, just Beth. Just this. The mat under my knees. The burn in every inch of me.
Still, I reach, I dig. Scrape. Not because I think it’ll work, but because I don’t know how to stop trying.
They’re there, under her grip around me. I can feel them, months’ and months' worth of Threads knotted deep in my core, thrumming just beneath the surface. So close I can taste the magic. But no matter how hard I pull, they don’t come. But I keep pulling, just like she taught me.
Just like Beth taught me.
Air comes harder now, weak pulls as her Threads maintain the pressure around me.
No—oh no.
It wasn’t just my technique, my emotions, my aim. It was the unknotting. She’s been screwing with everything from the start. Every lesson. Every rep.
How didn’t I see it?
Because I’ve been too busy trying to survive her.
I squeeze my eyes shut. My lungs tremble, every inhale a strain adjacent her hold, every pull tastes sour like smoke and betrayal.
Ezzy didn’t question it. Finn didn’t. Even Talen—They all thought Beth was helping. That I’d just snap into it eventually. That I’d get it, but I never did. I just kept trying. Kept forcing it, but what if I stopped pulling? What if I try something else?
Muscles twitch—useless jerks and my vision starts to black out at the edges again, as she closes in tight.
But thought slips through, quiet, distant, and I finally let go, I stop pulling at my knots and something shifts. Subtle. But deep. Like a lock, clicking open.
“You know,” she says, and her voice is soft now, almost gentle, as she tightens the noose of air locked around my chest, “when you told me about the fire, your mother, I knew right then how weak you were.”
Her eyes glow with the hunger of her power, it pulses through her veins as she walks towards me.
I gasp as the air around me clamps down harder. My limbs go numb. My lungs beg. She knows I’m empty, knows I’m done, that I can't fight back. She’s just baiting me, toying with me before the final strike.
But I slow my breath, close my eyes, block her out. I stop fighting, just for a heartbeat. And in that stillness... I reach.
Not like she taught me. Not with force. Not with fury.
I go quiet.
Gentle.
I find one knot.
Ease it like silk.