Now, in the pale light, that red welt had faded, but something else had taken shape. A faint silver crescent lived on the inside of her pulse point, like a sigil etched into permanence. A souvenir from her Threadwalking. A Thread-burn.
Ella’s stomach dropped.
She lifted her wrist closer, rubbing her thumb over the mark as if pressure alone could erase it, but the silver sheen stayed.
The crescent appearing on the wrist opposite her black rose felt more fated than coincidental. Had the Fae man seen the rose mark on her? No. Surely not. If he’d been that enraged by the scent of Jakobav on her, he would’ve unleashed something terrifying at the sight of a permanent brand tying her to him.
She was grateful he hadn’t seen the rose at her wrist.
How fucking absurd.
She owed him nothing. She didn’t even know his name.
Her gaze returned to the crescent, and she longed for the moment before she’d known it was real, but there was no more pretending. She had Threadwalked in her sleep, and her skin carried back the proof. Instinct told her to hide it, so she tugged her sleeve down over the mark before Jakobav could see.
He had swung into the saddle first and drew her up after him, settling her against him as if that position was their natural state. He adjusted the reins, his voice low, edged with suggestion. “Sleep well?”
She gave him a sidelong look, her cheek brushing the line of his jaw. “You’re a distraction, even in your sleep.”
She wasn’t ready for Jakobav to know yet. She wasn’t even sure what to make of it herself. And he hadn’t exactly been thrilled by her reaction to the Fae’s portrait in the Dravaryn library. He’d already been furious that she recognized the man from her dream.
What would he think of her Threadwalking straight to him in her sleep? And worse—right after the night she and Jakobav had shared?
Her cheeks flushed at the thought. No, that would not be good at all. She forced the haunted look from her eyes before he could catch it.
His gaze flicked to her mouth before turning back to the road ahead. “We should get moving.”
With the heat of him at her back and his arm firm around her waist, it was impossible not to feel his attention. Or maybe it was the guilt tugging at her. She went back and forth for hours about how and when to tell him about the man with the emerald eyes.
They continued south, and by midday, the wind grew heavy and warm, laced with fruit and rain. The trail spilled them onto a high ridge, and Orchid unfurled below as though a story had been poured across the land and left to bloom.
Dravaryn had its own feral beauty, all iron cliffs and shadowed pines. Orchid answered with excess.
Hills swelled in greens of every shade: deep moss, bright fern, and pale mint layered until the eye almost drowned. Rivers braided through the land like veins of light, slow and golden in the shallows, dark where the jungle pressed close. Towering trees spread, bases so wide they rose like walls of living wood, their roots climbing high above the ground before plunging back into the soil. From their branches, vines stitched the canopy into a single, breathing roof.
Orchids blanketed spots of the earth as though the kingdom had named itself into being. Some glowed like spilled ink, others burned scarlet from volcanic soil, their petals speckled like embers cooling in the dark. Ella had studied sketches of her kingdom’s flora in school, but the drawings had been polite. Seeing it now at its peak was longing rendered into light, and Jakobav looked equally mesmerized.
A bird like a living jewel flashed by and vanished. Butterflies with glassy wings drifted overhead, their shadows flickering like ghosts. On a sun-warmed stone, a copper lizard blinked at them with the arrogance of royalty.
Jakobav’s arm tightened firmly around her as the horse descended down a small ridge. The humidity curled his hair, and beads of moisture gleamed across the ink that coiled down hisarms. On most men, sweat looked unkempt, but on Jake, gods, it looked like even the weather obeyed him.
“Did you get to venture out this far from the capital very often when you were growing up?” he asked at last.
She exhaled, her gaze sweeping across the endless green. “I did, but it never fails to take my breath away. The castle walls kept me safe, but they never kept me in. My friends and I were always sneaking out to explore. My best friend, Nira, especially loved these forests. Probably because she has never met an animal she doesn’t adore. And her hair never frizzes in this humidity, unlike mine.” A small smile touched her lips, then faltered as her throat tightened. “I hope you get to meet her.”
“I would like that.”
His words caught in her chest. The truth was, Ella had no idea if Nira was safe. She hadn’t been home in years, not since the breaches had begun multiplying, not since the Veil had started to split. A deep sadness threatened to consume her.
“I don't really know how my people have endured the Threadshifting. Or if Nira is alive.”
Jakobav’s reply was quiet and certain. “If she’s anything like you, she’ll have survived.”
Her chest lifted, eased by the comfort of his words as they descended into the green, the path narrowing until it dissolved altogether. What passed for a road here was little more than a memory and a slight dip in vegetation. Ferns brushed their knees, and a creature with bright eyes watched from the hollow of a strangler fig while flowers threw their perfume in fistfuls, the sweetness clinging to her skin until it was dizzying. No wonder Jakobav had known her instantly. Flowers and smoke ran thick in her blood, her kingdom itself betraying her.
They crossed a creek by a tumble of slick stones, the horse stepping careful and sure-footed, and on the far bank, a thin snake hung from a branch like a strand of new silk, leaf-greenwith a white belly and a little arrow of a head. It tasted the air as it slithered toward Ella, her pulse spiking as the serpent nosed closer, its tongue flickering at her ear before it vanished back into the leaves without a sound.
“So that’s normal,” Jakobav said dryly.
