The door burst open, and she was swept into motion before she could think. Maeren at one side, Savina at the other, and a cluster of attendants she didn't recognize surrounded her. They moved with choreographed urgency, robes folded and unfurled, braids pulled taut with deft fingers, bowls of shimmering oils set out, pear-sweet and juniper-crisp in the air until the chamber itself felt newly awakened.
Jakobav jolted awake at the commotion just as Thane strode in, followed by the lead attendant, Kalenya. Without hesitation, Thane ripped the covers back and clapped a hand on Jakobav’s thigh in a rough, brotherly smack that made him wince. “Easy now,” Thane said, grinning like he owned the room. “I’ve never known you to oversleep your call time. And I’ve definitely never found anyone else in your bed. Up. Dressed. Before I start making guesses about what you two did in here all night.”
Kalenya, sharp-eyed and severe, gave a scandalized cough and fixed Thane with a glare meant to cut stone. He only grinned wider and blew her an unapologetic kiss, which earned him a muttered curse from someone near the braiding bowls.
“Careful, Thane,” Ella said. “If you’re that curious, I can leave the door open next time.”
“How long is that offer good for?” Thane’s grin spread into a full beam.
Jakobav’s low growl cut the air, enough to still the entire chamber. Heads turned, a few attendants hesitating mid-motion, every eye caught by the exchange.
Her mouth curved, slow and deliberate. “Ask again when Jakobav isn’t injured. I’ll let him answer.”
Jakobav rolled carefully to his feet, slow with pain but steady with will.
An attendant dropped to one knee, lacing his boots while Thane’s fidgeting pushed the urgency forward.
Thane walked out. Jakobav stopped at the threshold and turned, his eyes locking on Ella’s as though the rest of the chamber had ceased to exist. He only said, low and certain, “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
He started to leave, then paused. Something crossed his expression, and he glanced at the tray by her side before looking back at her face. His mouth curved with the faintest smirk. “Do not drink too much of that tea.” Then he was gone, his shadow swallowed by the hall.
“You look like shit. Couldn’t sleep?” Savina observed, her voice teasing as the sweep of her ice-blonde curls caught the light.
Ella gave her a dry smile. “Was I supposed to, after yesterday?”
Bryn drifted in through the open door and strolled toward her, holding a tray of steaming cups, the liquid inside a deep violet. “Ladies,” he announced. “Your pre-Claiming tea. Heightens the senses and sharpens the mind. Makes the ceremony about three times as intense.”
Ella eyed it warily. “What’s in it?”
He shrugged. “Mostly flowers. A few roots. Some ingredients I’ll leave unmentioned.”
Maeren downed hers in one swallow. “I’ve survived this long, I’m not dying from ceremonial tea.”
The others followed suit, slamming the cups like they were shots of Fae spirits. Ella took hers last, slow sip by slow sip, under Bryn’s watchful eye.
“Interesting,” he murmured. “The men in prep? Coughed, gagged, one of them even fainted. And you all just…drank it.”
Savina smirked. “We’re better equipped for most things.”
Bryn grinned. “I’ve been saying that for years.”
Warmth unfurled in Ella’s chest, liquid sunlight blooming through her veins. The air felt richer, the torchlight more vibrant, every sound edged in silver. A few of the other women were giggling, shoulders bumping as they swayed where they stood. She almost laughed with them. This wasn’t the grim, brutal preparation she’d imagined when she’d accused Dravaryns of clinging to barbaric rites.
If anything, there was a strange undercurrent of celebration. And somehow, they’d managed to keep this from the other kingdoms entirely, another secret in a land already famous for keeping them.
Led by Maeren,then Savina, the group swept her through the outer courtyard and up the sloped streets of the capital, Draethmar. The roar of the crowd began as a low hum in the distance, growing with each step Ella took.
They walked in comfortable chatter sprinkled with a few giggles from the effects of Bryn’s potion-disguised-as-tea until the High Cathedral came into view. It loomed like a mountain’s shadow against the dawn, its black spires veined with crimson light. The glass windows, deep garnet, onyx, and quartz, held the light captive, twisting beams of color into blood-tinted patterns. In the largest window above the cathedral’s main doors, a black rose shimmered faintly, its petals rimmed in silver light.
Inside, the air was incense-thick, vibrating with the realm’s heartbeat. Rows of carved stone benches rose toward balconies lined with blood-red windows, and black roses filled silver bowls along the aisle, their petals impossibly lush and alive.
Ella was fidgeting with her cuticles, nerves rising. Despite the sanctity of the space, she moved closer to Savina and whispered, “How do we get to the arena?”
Savina leaned in as they walked. “This cathedral sits on the ridge. The arena was built into the valley below.” Her chin lifted toward the distant roar beneath their feet. “The people of Dravaryn enter through the arena gates. Only participants and those chosen by the royal court come down from here.”
Ella’s brow arched. Of course this kingdom would build a holy place directly above a battle arena. War and worship weren’t separate here. They were two sides of the same spiritual blade.
They moved from the main aisle, past the altar, and out the balcony doors leading to an impressive terrace that was braced by exquisite pillars and arches. Beyond a carved archway, stone steps curved down, carrying them deeper into the ridge’s bones. The hum of the crowd grew into a roar, and the air thickened, warmer now, tinged with steam.
