His eyes shifted to Savina. “The streets of Draethmar are yours. Soren, the borders. Keep people safe and make it visible.”
Ella swung down from her horse, boots striking the earth. Her body felt strangely untethered, her hands trembling as she smoothed her dress, but she forced herself to stand tall.
Maeren reached her first, hard arms drawing Ella into a soldier’s embrace. “I’m sorry for your loss. Go and see to Orchid’s crown,” she said. “Then come back.” She framed Ella’s face with both hands, her voice resolute. “Alive. Unharmed.”
Savina followed, her hug quick and tight. “Don’t make me come fetch you out of Orchid’s throne room.”
Soren lingered, hovering as though unsure, then patted Ella’s arm once, firm and inelegant. “Thank you,” he said simply. “For earlier.”
Thane turned his horse as though ready, but Jakobav’s command cut him off. “No.” His voice was not harsh, but it was final. “You’re needed in the capital. Restore their faith. Remind them who we are.”
Thane’s mouth twitched before he gave a two-finger salute, his irreverence tempered by the gravity of the moment. “Orders heard.” Without hesitation, he swung down from his saddle, crossed the space in two strides, and swept Ella off her feet in a crushing embrace. The air fled her lungs in a startled gasp, and then he set her back down with a sheepish grin, his hand lingering for a moment as though reluctant to let her go. “Too much?” he asked, giving her a gentle smack between the shoulders as if he could knock the breath back into her.
She managed the faintest shadow of a smile and lifted one shoulder in a quiet shrug. “A little.”
“Good, that means you’ll remember it,” he said, and the humor fell from his face as quickly as it’d come. He tapped the hilt of the emerald serpent blade strapped to her waist, its jeweled glint catching the last slant of fading light. “Take care of my dagger. It’s the only thing I carried out of Velmire, and the only piece of my childhood worth a damn.”
Bryn jumped down from his horse to stand before her and placed his hands firm and steady on her shoulders, his eyes startling in their sudden kindness. “My dearest Ella, keeper of more secrets than anyone deserves to bear, and soon enough, Queen Ellandria,” he said softly, his voice carrying chaos even in a whisper. “Fiery thorn in my side, more like it.” He smiled softly, plucking the purple feather from his hat. He pressed it into her palm, curling her fingers around it. “Loved ones are never truly gone, not where it matters most. I am sorry for your loss in this world.” He kissed her cheek, brief and warm, before leaning back with that half-smile that always seemed to disarm. “Don’t lose Jake on the road. He broods and disappears like it’s his only calling.”
Jakobav’s gaze shifted between Bryn and Ella, his voice full of tension. “Bryn, I heard you—don’t think I’m not concerned. We’ll speak more when I return. There may yet be something we can do about the Veil.”
The words caught in Ella’s chest. Was he speaking of the prophecy—of the two of them as the key? Did he truly believe they could steady the Veil before it tore the mortal realm apart?
She looked at Bryn then and understood for the first time why Jakobav trusted him above all others. He was a healer, yes, but he was also far more—his counsel keen, his knowledge vast, and his loyalty carved deep.
Her mind caught on the word loyalty, and with painful clarity she realized how much she cared for each of them: Maeren’s unflinching steel, Savina’s ferocity, Thane’s reckless warmth, Soren’s quiet strength, and Bryn’s wry insight. They were Jakobav’s family, and against all reason, they’d become hers as well. Leaving them felt wrong.
Jakobav held Bryn’s gaze for a beat, something unspoken passing between them, and Bryn inclined his head in silent understanding.
Then Jakobav lifted his chin to the others. “Give her space. All of you. Go.”
Thane and Bryn mounted, and one by one, the circle turned their horses toward the city.
Thane twisted in his saddle as he rode, calling back with a grin that didn’t quite mask the ache beneath. “If he argues, remember he is taller, not smarter.” He winked, then put his heels to the mare and was gone. His soft laughter carried across the quiet, reckless even in parting. Savina, though she didn’t laugh, let the corner of her mouth betray her, and Maeren shook her head and urged her mare into a clean canter. Soren never looked back.
Dust rose in their wake and settled again, leaving the hills in silence.
Ella closed her fingers around Bryn’s feather and looked at Jakobav. He didn’t reach for her, though he seemed to strain toward the impulse, and yet he only waited.
“Jakobav,” she said, her voice steady though her chest ached. “You don’t have to come with me. I know you need to deal with the unrest in your kingdom, the fallout from the Claiming”—she lifted her wrist, the rose etched there burning like proof—“even if this whole mess is partially your fault.”
His gaze glanced at the mark, then back to her face, unwavering. “I’m coming with you. It’s not up for debate. As you’ve seen firsthand, my circle is more than capable of handling it. And you’re not facing Orchid alone, let alone traveling by yourself after everything.”
She nodded softly, whether in defeat or acceptance, she couldn’t say.
Her eyes drifted south. The road stretched before her, like a willow bowing toward a river, its roots sunk deep in sorrow, its branches bent low beneath the weight of her return.
36
BETWEEN GRIEF AND FLAME
She turned her mare in the direction of her kingdom, and for the first time since the Ridge fell behind them, the future pressed in, unwelcome and bringing with it everything she’d been holding at bay: her mother’s death waiting like the sealed letter she hadn’t dared to open, an ache for a circle of warriors from an enemy kingdom who had become, impossibly, her own, and the sudden fear of not knowing when she would see them again.
It was all too much. She hadn’t been allowed a breath since the Claiming, since Jakobav had spoken her name before thousands, since the black rose had etched itself onto her wrist and into her heart, the world shifting and refusing to stop. Grief and fury and loyalty and longing tangled inside her until the threads refused to separate, and a wave of dizziness swept through her, the whole of her threatening to unravel at once.
Her fingers slackened on the reins, and before she could stop it, her body gave way, toppling as the burden she carried finally broke through, the feather slipping from her hand to be caught by a stray breeze. The ground rose to meet her, and the sky wheeled in a slow green-blue spin. She struck the grasshard enough to drive the air from her. She blinked, disoriented. The feather drifted after her with stubborn grace before settling across her chest.
Jakobav was there before the air returned to her lungs, his hand moving with surprising care as he plucked the feather from where it sat above her heart and slid it inside his cloak. He braced beneath her shoulders with his other hand, lifting her gently. He bent close, his voice full of concern. “Ella. Can you hear me?”
