“I'm so sorry Lyra.” She whimpers as the vibrations from a distant roar of thunder rolls over us. “I’m sorry I didn't listen, to try and understand. The Citadel is all I’ve ever known. Even now I still can’t believe Serrane is doing this, that there must be another explanation.”
Her shoulders shake roughly beneath my hand as I rub slow circles across her back, trying to calm her, while my own chest slowly starts to cave in around me.
Because all this time, I thought she couldn’t even look at me, thought every silence, every avoided glance, every second of distance between us was punishment, confirmation, proof that she blamed me as much as I blamed myself.
But she doesn’t.
Canvas whips overhead as the wind and rain outside intensifies, but for the first time since I arrived, the storm inside me wavers.
“Look at that.”Ezzy sighs, tipping her head toward the Southern Peaks towering in front of us, now blanketed in snow after five straight days of storm.
Frost crunches underfoot as we stroll over to the Food Tent for bread baking. I’m so focused on watching Ahria’s tiny green body effortlessly glide through the air, each movement tugging the rope of longing around my heart that little bit tighter, that I didn’t even realise the clouds had gone until Ezzy spoke.
Following her gaze, I glance up as the first traces of morning light catch across the peaks, dusting them in a soft pink glow.
They’ve only been hidden for five days, buried behind storm clouds since I got back from the cage, since Ezzy and I talked, but somehow it seems longer than that and my eyes widen slightly at the sight of them again.
They used to look so unforgiving, all sharp jagged cliffs and bleak bare stone, but now the snow smooths over every harsh edge, blanketing them in a softness that almost makes them appear welcoming.
Despite the cold, a warmth settles over me, but it lasts all of three seconds before my thoughts drift back to the Letter-threader.
I've already checked it twice this morning, stumbling around half blind in the dark like some desperate idiot, but still nothing. I haven’t heard from Talen since the cage and the silence is killing me.
“Hey Ezzy,” Neeve calls over her shoulder as we step into the Food Tent, the warm comforting smell of yeast and smoke thickin the air. “Can you double the batch today? Yesterday we ran out way too fast.”
Ezzy's head bobs and she gets straight to work. Grunting, she drags out a large sack of flour and dumps it onto the table.
I can see why this is so good for her. When she’s not in the kitchen she still seems so empty, helpless, lost even. It’s painful watching her drift through the days with no real goals or direction, barely able to make decisions for herself, but in here it’s like catching glimpses of the old Ezzy again. A smile spreads across my face as I watch her hurry about.
“Do you know if you're going to enter yet?” she asks Neeve as she measures out the flour into a large metal bowl. “Blood Moon’s in less than two weeks right?”
Neeve sweeps her long braid aside and starts kneading leftover dough, her movements weaker than normal. “I’ve decided to wait.”
My head snaps up at her. “Really? You sure? What about the dreams?”
“Yeah. I’m sure.” Sighing, she pushes back into the mix. “Darren’s right, it’s too risky. You don’t need to have dreams to enter Blood Moon, and my dreams about a red dragon could mean anything.” She lifts a shoulder, trying to brush it off but I catch the way her eyes glass over.
“Buteveryonesays the dreams are the sign that there is already one waiting for you.” Ezzy leans over the table, grabbing the yeast. “Talen had them, Lyra had them, and both their dragons are here. Everyone else who enters the Ceremony just has to cross their fingers and hope one shows up. But your dreams are proof.” She gestures toward Ahria, who’s currently doing her best to tear through the heavy crate I shoved over a tray of raw chickens.
Watching her jaws splinter through the wood—way too fast and way too easy—a strange steadiness rolls over me. I should bepanicking, terrified the bond won’t take and that Ahria and the other dragons will burn me alive the second the ceremony fails.
But I’m not.
Not because I’m cocky enough to believe the bond is guaranteed, but because over the last eight weeks my Threads have rooted themselves so deeply into hers that the longing has become almost unbearable, growing stronger with every day Blood Moon creeps closer.
And if I don’t bond with her…
I don’t think I want to live without her anyway.
Neeve doesn’t respond, so I change the subject, and we spend the rest of the morning discussing the scattered updates we’ve heard from Lucien and Darren and what we think the new curfew the Citadel has rolled out over the Innerlands means. Then once the oven is lit, Neeve and I head out, leaving Ezzy focused on peeling what must be over two hundred potatoes.
“Fuck my back is killing me.” Groaning, I rub a hand over my hips as we head over to help Magda and the others with the camp expansion. It’s taking ages to find enough materials to extend the Briefing Tent so we can all fit inside, and my body is punishing me from hauling driftwood around all day.
Looking up, I catch a blur of green flashing past as Ahria speeds ahead with half a raw chicken clutched in her jaws, followed seconds later by a flash of brown as another dragon launches after her in pursuit.
“You know...” I joke, my gaze trailing after her before dropping to the chaos of half-erected tents and scavenged building materials scattered across the ground in front of us. “If it wasn’t for the fact I need the leadership practice, and that our patchy Veils mean we need somewhere to hide from Serrane’s dragons, I probably would’ve kicked a few of these poles over in the middle of the night if it meant I could delay teaching for another week or so.”
Neeve nods along beside me like she’s listening even though it’s obvious her mind is somewhere else, her posture tighter than usual, but the second she spots Darren and Lucien heading toward us, her entire face lights up.
