It sounded pleasant enough, and yet in his mouth it was both a promise and a threat.
22
HISTORY THAT HAUNTS
They were down to one horse. Ella had felt awful when hers was set free, but the creature hadn't been the same after crossing the Veil—its eyes too wide and too white, every sound sending it skittering as if the forest was haunted. So now she rode with Jakobav. She was just as unsettled as her horse after Threadwalking, but unlike it, she didn’t have the luxury of bolting. Forward was the only option, whether her mind was ready or not.
The trail narrowed through damp undergrowth, the ground slick in places, and the saddle was never meant for two. Her thigh pressed against his, every rise and dip of the terrain sending her back against the solid breadth of his chest.
His hand held the reins steady, guiding the horse with unerring control, but when the animal stumbled over a hidden root, his other hand came to her waist to steady her. His touch lingered longer than it needed to, as though it belonged there.
Perfect. As if she needed another reminder that Jakobav did whatever he wanted.
His possessiveness scraped through her awareness until she had to clear her throat, willing her thoughts toward anything else.
“How far is this seer, exactly?”
“If the weather holds, we’ll reach the village tomorrow.” His voice was lower than usual, closer too, as though the narrow space between them swallowed half its strength.
“And she lives where?” Ella asked at last, her voice casual to disguise her curiosity. “In a cave? A tower? One of those cliffs where the wind sounds like whispers?”
“There’s a woman in the village who knows how to find the seer. Cathea. We’ll go see her first.”
Ella blinked, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Cathea? Sounds like someone who brews potions and collects goats.”
Jakobav huffed a quiet laugh, the sound warm against her ear. “I wouldn’t say that to her face. But she does brew the strongest ale I’ve ever tasted, and she holds the rare honor of being one of the few people in this realm to have knocked me flat on my ass.”
Ella’s grin widened. “Now that’s a story I want to hear.”
“She once threw me out of her tavern for too much ale and a little destruction.”
Ella’s laughter rose, surprising even herself, and when she tilted her head, he continued, obliging her unspoken demand. “A broken chair after a wrestling match with Thane, which toppled a table, which broke a few mugs. It was fun until the entire tavern broke into a fight, and half the furniture didn’t survive.”
“And she kicked you out just for that?” Ella asked, delight dancing in her tone.
“To be fair, I did protest,” he replied, his voice bone-dry. “I thought it was a bit of an overreaction.”
She shook her head, laughter spilling through, half in disbelief that Jakobav had made another joke.
“So the mighty commander of Dravaryn was bested by his own ego and a tavern keeper.”
Jakobav’s lips curved, utterly unrepentant.
The moment softened, a welcome reprieve from their arguing, and they settled into a comfortable silence.
As the hours dragged on and the trail stretched farther, hunger began to gnaw at her ribs, until at last she broke the quiet. “So,” she said, “are we going to resupply, or just flirt with starvation until one of us caves and eats the other?”
“Depends on how tender you are.”
She turned her head, meeting his gaze squarely. “If you think I am tender, you have not been paying attention.”
“Wrong,” he said, voice low, the sound carrying a strange reverence. “I’ve been payingveryclose attention to you.” He dragged his tongue along his bottom lip, a deliberate gesture that hinted at words he wasn’t saying, the gleam left behind catching the dying light.
As the trail narrowed again, Jakobav shifted his weight to let her settle against him more comfortably. She didn’t resist. She simply rested her head back, the movement unthinking, as though her body had grown tired of fighting every closeness, letting herself ease into the hard ridges of him. The small comfort carried the familiarity of safety, which she wanted and needed more than she was willing to admit after what she’d endured.
Her fingers drifted down almost without thought, brushing the hilt of the blade at her side. It was heavier and sharper than what she’d carried before, stolen from Thane’s pack earlier that morning when no one had been watching, fitting far too well within her grip to give it back just yet.
Jakobav’s scent wrapped around her like smoke, cedar threaded with that rich amber she could recognize anywhere, lingering like the storm he never quite let loose.
