My fists squeeze into balls—but the heat in my blood starts to drain out just as quickly as it came. Because he’s right.
I said I would stay.
I said I would do whatever it took.
I said I wanted to become a weapon to be aimed at Serrane and I'm not a fool. I know I can’t do that alone, I’ll need a whole fucking army.
“Now,” Merrin adds casually, as if the argument is already over, “you can stand here and fight me over something that isn’t going to change…” He tugs the reins, turning the horse away. “Or you can go and visit your friend.” He pauses just long enough to glance back over his shoulder. “Ezrelia is awake.”
Ezzy?!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Air scrapes down my lungs as I race over to Neeve’s wonky tent, pulling back the canvas and bursting inside.
For a breath, I stay frozen there, my chest rising heavy as I scan over Ezzy, making sure it's real, that it's really her, that she's awake.
She’s sitting on the bed across from mine, her short blonde hair brushed back and her sparkly pin fixed neatly in place like nothing’s changed. But then her eyes—usually so bright and impossibly blue—catch on mine, and my heart breaks when I see how empty they are. She drops them almost as quickly as they lifted, fixing them on her hands instead. The duck rests in one hand. Rowan’s letter in the other. Open.
“Ezzy…” I murmur, the bed creaking as I gently lower myself down beside her. “I’m so sorry.”
Merrin said he’d brought her up to speed on everything he told me, and I know how much that must have been. Too much. More than anyone should have to wake up to. I don’t want to overload her any more, not when she already looks like one wrong word might shatter whatever’s keeping her upright.
But I need her to know.
“I tried, Ezzy. I'm so sorry, I tried to help them. I tried to save Rowan, I tried to stop Finn.”
Tears threaten to spill free, but I bite them back as Ahria watches us from the chair at the end of my bed.
Ezzy doesn’t respond. She just keeps her head down.
And god, it guts me. It’s as if I'm reliving everything all over again and the longer she doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, the louder the guilt gets—pressing in on me from every side.
So I keep talking until my throat turns raw and my hands twist so tightly together in my lap that my nails ache. I must have been sitting with her nearly an hour now, words spilling out in uneven bursts, all of them circling the same ugly truth: that it’s all my fault.
“Ezzy, please...” Shifting forward an inch, I go to reach for her—but stop myself halfway, my hands falling back into my lap instead, my palms cold and damp at the same time. “Say something. Yell. Throw something at me. Anything is better than this.”
I thought if I talked to her, if she understood, then maybe some of the weight I’ve been carrying for the past week would finally ease?—
“Hey,” Neeve’s head pokes through the canvas flap, her long braid hanging over one shoulder. “Just wanted to check if you're okay?”
My gaze flicks to Ahria, who’s still watching us. I nod, but the lie doesn’t land and Neeve sees straight through it, her expression softening as she tilts her head in a quietcome out heregesture.
“I’ll be back in a minute.” I say to Ezzy.
Holding my breath, I wait for a reply, but when it doesn’t come—when she doesn’t even shift—I exhale and push myself slowly off the bed and slip out to join Neeve.
A cool lake breeze rolls across my face as the tent flap falls shut behind me. I drag it in and let it out heavily, like that will help loosen some of the pressure hanging over me.
It doesn't.
“It takes time,” Neeve sighs, lifting a hand and resting it on my shoulder. “She’s not only an Innerlander—she’s Citadel-born. Raised in it, brainwashed by it. Darren was the same. He wants Serrane gone for what he’s done to his family, but the Citadel… that’s different. It’s taken him years to let go of everything he was taught to believe—and even now, I’m not sure if he fully has.”
“No.” I mutter, shaking my head. “It’s more than that. She won't even look at me.” My focus shifts past Neeve, out to the open plains beyond the edge of camp. “I know she blames me. For not stopping Finn, for her injury, for Rowan... for all of it.” I swallow, guilt catching in my throat. “She warned me—over and over at the Citadel—to stop digging... but I didn’t listen.”
“She’s your friend. I’m sure when she understands it wasn’t your fault. She will come around.” Neeve tries to reassure me. “But while we wait, it’s best to keep her busy. These Citadel folk are so used to following orders, they start falling apart without the routine, without being ordered around.” She steps into my line of sight so I can’t drift off again. “I’ll find her some work in the kitchen, okay?”
I nod. It’s easier than arguing—easier than admitting I don’t believe it will make a difference, easier than admitting I deserve it—the silence, the blame, all of it.
