Reaching into his pocket, the guard pulls free a little velvet pouch, dangling it in front of Reya with a lazy shake—the contents give a soft, muffled clink.
“Fine,” Reya huffs, grabbing for it—but he pulls it back out of reach.
“You know the rules,” he taunts with a smile that makes my stomach churn. “After the show.”
Reya’s scowl deepens as the guard tucks the bag away and pushes the gate open. The three of us begin to move through—when Reya stops.
“No. Not you,” she orders the younger recruit. “You can go now.”
The boy’s mouth opens like he’s about to argue, but Reya’s already stomping off into the settlement. Left with no one else to glare at, he turns his unimpressed, pissed-off stare on me. Lifting one shoulder, I mouth a quicksorry, then slip past him and hurry after her.
Inside, though, the tension’s no better. People clock us as we pass—glances that linger a bit too long—but Reya doesn’t react. She keeps moving, while Ahria and the purple dragon fly ahead, slipping between the small, stone houses as the southern peaks press in on either side.
Every so often, a child runs out chasing after them, laughing—only to get snatched back or sharply called off by a parent. My brows knit.
What the heck?
No one’s screaming. No one’s grabbing weapons. No one even seems surprised to see two dragons the size of bloody rats flying around. How is that even possible? If they know—if this is normal here—why the hell doesn’t anyone in Ashvale know? Ravenscross?
Then again Outerlanders barely share water between settlements, let alone information. Especially not with the southern mountain folk. Bren used to tell me stories about them that made Kael appear almost reasonable.
Following the dragons as we wind deeper through the streets, a low hum of voices starts to build around us. It stacks fast—cheers, shouting—then suddenly a loud, collective gasp cuts through it.
As we round a corner, the source of the noise comes into view.
A crowd is packed tightly around the outskirts of a huge cage built into the side of the mountain. Rough scrap metal climbs the rock face in jagged, badly welded sheets, patched together like it was never meant to last. It’s wide enough to hold at least twenty men, but so tall it feels made for something much larger.
Reya keeps moving, and I struggle to keep up as she shoulders her way through the packed crowd, stopping at the front beside a heavy metal door.
“How long?” Reya nods to a few of the men, who look just as hard-edged as the cage.
“Thirty seconds,” one of them mutters, dragging a hand over his sweat-slick, sooty face. “Motherfucker couldn’t last forty—and now I’m down another thousand shillings.”
“Well then, go place your bets with Trev,” Reya instructs. “I’m up next with this one.”
The Outerlander shifts his attention to me, and the disappointment on his face drops away fast, replaced by a slow, pleased expression that makes my pulse kick up.
“Right, come on then,Freckles…” Reya commands, gripping the handle and heaving the heavy cage door open. “…unless you’ve changed your mind?”
My foot moves, then stalls as a pounding tremor builds behind my ribs.
God, it’s like Beth all over again, except somehow Reya’s worse. She’s hotter, bloody scarier, and I already know her fire Threads are going to have me flat on my arse.
Maybe I could still back out? Make something up, return to the camp, get some food, some sleep—no one would stop me... But I tip my head up to where Ahria is perched on top of the door watching me, judging me.
No. I need her to see this. That I can do stuff like this. That I’m not going to keep freezing every time fire’s involved.
Forcing out a shallow breath, I flash Reya a quick smile to cover the nervous itch crawling up my spine, and step inside.
But Reya doesn’t follow.
Instead, the door slams shut, sealing me inside with a heavy clang that rattles through my bones.
“Wait—you’re not coming?” I twist back toward her, voice straining over the rising roar of the crowd and my pulse climbing to meet it. “How are you going to train me?”
“Train you?” she shouts, brows pinching like I’ve lost my mind. “I’m not training you.”
Behind me, the sharp scrape of metal against stone yanks my attention to the far end of the cage, where someone is hauling hard on a thick rope.
