Jakobav stepped between them, his voice snapping the tension in half. “Enough. Ella stepped in front of Soren without hesitation. She’s fought beside you all. Never backing down, even when she should.” He shot her a pointed look before turning back. “She’s earned the time to process. I shouldn't have pushed her.”
His hand brushed her elbow as he moved past, an anchoring touch, before his voice cut across the clearing. “The Ridge twists minds. Heightens what’s already there. Weak spirits fracture. And none of you are weak, so hold steady.”
Savina’s lips parted as though she was about to argue, but before she could speak, Soren’s quiet voice followed, even and sure. “He’s right.”
The effect was immediate—a testament to Soren’s standing within the circle. The last of the tension eased, though questions still lingered like smoke in the air.
Ella wished she had answers for them. The fates may have bound her to Jakobav in the spring, but trust here was still delicate, fragile as spun glass.
The wind shifted, carrying the crisp bite of pine. And beneath it…something else. A presence that hovered over the Ridge, brushing against her like unseen fingers. A sweet scent unfurled—night-blooming jasmine twined with the metallic whisper of rain on pebblestone. It tugged at the back of her throat like recognition, too intimate to be imagined.
By the time she turned to ask the others if they sensed it too, the scent was gone.
35
ASH AND CROWN
Ella knew they must have all felt it the moment the Ridge slipped behind them because oxygen seemed to return, the atmosphere crisp and bright, the noise inside her head quieted as pine gave way to open sky, and the tightness in her chest eased, though only by a degree.
They rode in a loose formation across pale grass. Thane led the line, easy in the saddle, his voice occasionally carrying back in some careless remark. Savina shadowed him to the right, alert and focused. Soren kept to the hardest ground, eyes fixed on the horizon. Bryn hummed something off-key that might have been a drinking song. Maeren lingered at the rear, watchful as always.
Ella should’ve been furious with Jakobav.
He had stood before thousands and spoken her name, binding her fate to a foreign crown and painting her as both prize and threat.
Dravaryn, the kingdom she’d come to strangely admire with its obsidian-veined stone, shadowed ridges, forests dense as its secrets, and black roses blooming in hidden gardens, now likely saw her as an enemy interloper or, at best, a suspicious guest with political motives.
Worse still, she doubted the Dravaryns themselves had come to a consensus on the spectacle that was Jakobav’s Claiming. One successful Rite was cause for celebration. Two emerging from the sacred water, bound together in breath and blood, had shattered precedent, leaving the kingdom wondering what it had meant.
She should’ve resented him for dragging her into that, for tying her to his future when neither of them had measured the cost.
And yet, when she turned in the saddle to feed that anger, it unraveled. What she wanted…what she hated herself for wanting…was not distance from him. She craved the closeness of just one horse between them and his hands steady at her waist. Silence around them and space enough to speak the words neither of them had dared to say, to finally discuss what happened in the garden.
She drew in a long breath, steadying herself. She could take the high road, let the days soften the rawness, wait until her words were tempered and calm, until she could address the betrayal with composure. That would be the wise choice, the responsible one.
Or she could punch him. That would be cleaner, maybe even more satisfying.
She nudged her mare closer until her knee brushed against his stirrup. “If I hit you,” she said, her voice light, “will that fancy shield of yours stop me from bloodying up that annoyingly distracting face of yours?”
His mouth almost curved. “Try it and find out.”
“Tempting.” Her tone stayed playful, though the frustration beneath it was real. She didn’t follow through. If she were to give her anger a voice, if she tore open the knot of fear and fury tangled inside her, she wasn’t sure what would come spilling outor if she could even stop it. So she set her jaw and let the moment pass.
Thane did not. “I’ve never seen you make a mistake like that,” he called back without glancing over his shoulder. “Not in training, not in battle. Nearly split Soren in half when your shield didn’t hold.”
Jakobav’s gaze cut forward, voice clipped. “He’s fine.”
Savina snorted softly. “Only because Ella saved your ass. You’re both lucky she acted so quickly and sent Jake’s assault into another realm.”
Ella bit down a smile because there was no suspicion in Savina’s tone, no edge of accusation this time. It almost sounded like pride, like something a sister might say when jumping to defend their own.
Soren spoke and everyone glanced over, his words quiet but steady. “It wasn’t only Jake who faltered. When his shield split, I tried to Vate to get away, but the ground refused me, as though it didn’t know me. It’s never done that before.”
Bryn flicked his reins, catching Ella’s attention. The gesture was almost careless, though his tone was anything but. “I don’t believe that was coincidental. The fates didn’t drag two of this realm’s most gifted heirs down into the depths of the Sacred Pool for nothing. If the Veil snaps, no one will be left standing.”
Her pulse stumbled. Ella’s gaze found Jakobav’s, and though no words passed between them, worry shadowed his face.
She knew with her whole heart that what happened at the Claiming was somehow tied to the prophecy. But gods, did Bryn even know how close he was to the truth? Or was he simply too perceptive for her comfort?
