When the Vexari spoke again to announce the first phase, Maeren’s boots scraped the ground as she left Ella’s side.
“First, the Binding of Stone.”
Maeren strode to Jakobav, a blade carved from pale rock in her hand. Without hesitation, she sliced her palm and pressed it to his chest, crimson blooming over the ash painted on his heart. “The stone remembers,” she murmured.
The ground hummed, the low vibration sinking deep into the earth.
She returned to Ella’s side without a glance, the cut already sealing. Strange.
“Second, the Tempering of Mind.”
Savina’s silver-mesh gloves caught the light as she crossed the floor. She cupped Jakobav’s jaw and temples, her words spilling too fast for Ella to catch. The tang of ozone filled the air, and Jakobav’s eyes flared metallic before dimming again.
Savina stepped back, lips twitching faintly, and rejoined her place beside Ella.
“Third, the Warding of Earth.”
Soren walked barefoot to Jakobav, his silence somehow louder than the crowd. He held a lump of rich, dark soil. He pressed it to Jakobav’s palms. The arena floor groaned, cracks spidering outward, threads of obsidian racing like veins toward the tent.
Without a word, Soren turned and returned to Ella’s side. What the hell was that?
“Fourth, the Anointing of Flesh.”
Bryn sauntered forward with a shallow silver bowl. Steam curled up, carrying the scent of pear and juniper. He tipped it slowly, oil sliding in gilded rivulets over Jakobav’s chest and shoulders. Jakobav’s throat worked as Bryn’s fingers spread the shimmer over skin and muscle, lingering just long enough to draw whistles from the crowd.
Bryn smirked, patted him twice on the chest, and returned to Ella.
The Vexari’s staff struck stone, and the tent shuddered, its seams rippling as a rush of steam escaped into the air.
“Final phase, the Claiming of Truth,” she announced. “Hand selected by the Prince, this duty falls to Thane Ironfell?—”
“Not today.” Jakobav’s voice cut through the arena like a blade.
Silence rippled through the stands.
Even Thane’s head snapped toward him, brows lifting.
Jakobav never looked away from Ella. “The final Rite will be performed by Ellandria of Orchid.”
Ella’s heartbeat slammed against her ribs, loud enough she could feel it in her teeth.
Fuck. Did she imagine that, or did he just announce her to his entire kingdom?
Her knees threatened to buckle.
The murmur that swept the crowd was incredulous.
Even the Vexari’s inked face stiffened, her dark markings seeming to writhe in the torchlight. “Prince,” she said, her voice dripping with distaste, “her name was not submitted for the final phase. You tread outside the Rite.”
Jakobav didn’t flinch. “She has walked our halls as both guest and prisoner. She has fought beside us, bled for us, and faced the breach when others faltered. I name her before all of Dravaryn, not as an enemy, but as the one I trust with the heart of my Claiming.”
The Vexari’s gaze lingered on him a heartbeat too long. Then her staff struck the rock, the sound echoing like a warning bell. “So be it,” she intoned, her expression darkening. She lowered her voice. “But know this, Prince. When you alter the Rite, it alters you. And the realm will remember.”
Gasps broke like waves, and Ella’s pulse thudded in her ears. Thane’s mouth curved into a smirk as he stalked toward her.
“Since you’re stealing my part,” he murmured for her ears alone, “I’ll at least see you enter it properly. Required to enter the sacred waters.”
His hands found the knot at her ceremonial gown. One smooth pull, and the silk slid from her shoulders to pool at her feet.
