Chapter 35 Ash and Crown
ASH AND CROWN
Ella knew they must have all felt it the moment the Ridge slipped behind them because oxygen seemed to return, the atmosphere crisp and bright, the noise inside her head quieted as pine gave way to open sky, and the tightness in her chest eased, though only by a degree.
They rode in a loose formation across pale grass.
Thane led the line, easy in the saddle, his voice occasionally carrying back in some careless remark.
Savina shadowed him to the right, alert and focused.
Soren kept to the hardest ground, eyes fixed on the horizon.
Bryn hummed something off-key that might have been a drinking song.
Maeren lingered at the rear, watchful as always.
Ella should’ve been furious with Jakobav.
He had stood before thousands and spoken her name, binding her fate to a foreign crown and painting her as both prize and threat.
Dravaryn, the kingdom she’d come to strangely admire with its obsidian-veined stone, shadowed ridges, forests dense as its secrets, and black roses blooming in hidden gardens, now likely saw her as an enemy interloper or, at best, a suspicious guest with political motives.
Worse still, she doubted the Dravaryns themselves had come to a consensus on the spectacle that was Jakobav’s Claiming.
One successful Rite was cause for celebration.
Two emerging from the sacred water, bound together in breath and blood, had shattered precedent, leaving the kingdom wondering what it had meant.
She should’ve resented him for dragging her into that, for tying her to his future when neither of them had measured the cost.
And yet, when she turned in the saddle to feed that anger, it unraveled.
What she wanted…what she hated herself for wanting…
was not distance from him. She craved the closeness of just one horse between them and his hands steady at her waist. Silence around them and space enough to speak the words neither of them had dared to say, to finally discuss what happened in the garden.
She drew in a long breath, steadying herself. She could take the high road, let the days soften the rawness, wait until her words were tempered and calm, until she could address the betrayal with composure. That would be the wise choice, the responsible one.
Or she could punch him. That would be cleaner, maybe even more satisfying.
She nudged her mare closer until her knee brushed against his stirrup. “If I hit you,” she said, her voice light, “will that fancy shield of yours stop me from bloodying up that annoyingly distracting face of yours?”
His mouth almost curved. “Try it and find out.”
“Tempting.” Her tone stayed playful, though the frustration beneath it was real.
She didn’t follow through. If she were to give her anger a voice, if she tore open the knot of fear and fury tangled inside her, she wasn’t sure what would come spilling out or if she could even stop it.
So she set her jaw and let the moment pass.
Thane did not. “I’ve never seen you make a mistake like that,” he called back without glancing over his shoulder. “Not in training, not in battle. Nearly split Soren in half when your shield didn’t hold.”
Jakobav’s gaze cut forward, voice clipped. “He’s fine.”
Savina snorted softly. “Only because Ella saved your ass. You’re both lucky she acted so quickly and sent Jake’s assault into another realm.”
Ella bit down a smile because there was no suspicion in Savina’s tone, no edge of accusation this time. It almost sounded like pride, like something a sister might say when jumping to defend their own.
Soren spoke and everyone glanced over, his words quiet but steady. “It wasn’t only Jake who faltered. When his shield split, I tried to Vate to get away, but the ground refused me, as though it didn’t know me. It’s never done that before.”
Bryn flicked his reins, catching Ella’s attention.
The gesture was almost careless, though his tone was anything but.
“I don’t believe that was coincidental. The fates didn’t drag two of this realm’s most gifted heirs down into the depths of the Sacred Pool for nothing.
If the Veil snaps, no one will be left standing. ”
Her pulse stumbled. Ella’s gaze found Jakobav’s, and though no words passed between them, worry shadowed his face.
She knew with her whole heart that what happened at the Claiming was somehow tied to the prophecy. But gods, did Bryn even know how close he was to the truth? Or was he simply too perceptive for her comfort?
Hoofbeats shattered the troubling thought as two riders crested the rise to the south and came hard, scattering dust, urgency in every line of their bodies.
Jakobav lifted a hand, bringing them to a halt.
The nearer rider kicked free of his stirrup and slid to the ground, dropping to one knee in the grass.
“Kerris,” Jakobav said, recognition breaking through the steel in his voice. “Breathe.”
The boy, young enough that he still looked startled by his own speed, dragged in air and squared his shoulders. “My Prince, I bring two reports.”
Jakobav’s entire frame shifted at those words, stilling, every trace of his easy arrogance stripped away. A prickle of dread in her chest warned this news would not be kind.
“Go on, Kerris,” Jakobav said, calm and absolute.
“There is unrest in the city. Not a revolt, they are not that foolish, but rumor spreads fast. There have been small breaches, many of them actually, since the Claiming. The Guard was divided to answer them. People are questioning how the Orchid Princess has flame in our capital, and…why she’s here.
” He faltered, gaze moving to Ella before darting away, his throat working.
His breath came uneven, and he stammered through the words as if speaking them aloud to the future king unsettled him more than the message itself.
Jakobav turned toward Maeren, a subtle tilt of his chin. Her posture straightened, as though she were preparing to act. Jakobav turned back to Kerris, his tone steady. “You said there were two reports. What is the second?”
Kerris’s voice dropped to a whisper, his shoulders folding. “My second report is… she is not the princess anymore.” He bowed his head as he extended a parchment toward Ella, the seal dark against his trembling hand. “I am deeply sorry, Princess Ellandria.”
And suddenly her world collapsed.
Ella didn’t reach for the letter; she didn’t need to. The way Kerris spoke was proof enough, and the subtle shift in Jakobav’s demeanor was even more damning. She’d known this day would come, had been waiting for it since learning of the prophecy.
“My mother,” she said, her voice trembling, betrayed by her sorrow. “Say it.”
Kerris cleared his throat as if to steady himself, and when he finally raised his eyes to hers it was not with pity, but with respect and sadness. “Her Majesty, Queen Serenya of Orchid, is dead,” he whispered. “The message came through the southern post at dawn.”
For a moment, only the wind answered, and then her fingers went slack, the reins dropping from her hands and landing against the saddle with a dull slap.
Her mare flinched at the sudden looseness, sidestepping in a quick, uncertain motion. The disturbance reached Jakobav’s stallion. His hand clenched around the reins, leather groaning as the horse jerked in protest. Jakobav reached over to grab her reins.
Probably afraid she might bolt.
But she couldn’t move. The guilt of leaving Orchid, of not saying goodbye, of not returning immediately upon discovering her mother’s illness, all sunk into her bones, paralyzing her.
She was left hollow.
The world around her blurred, sounds drifting in and out as though carried from a distance she couldn’t cross.
She folded forward without meaning to, her palm finding the saddle horn only to realize her hand was shaking.
A faint pressure built behind her eyes, not yet tears, just the sting of a truth finally realized.
Her mother.
The word formed like a bruise inside her, dark and spreading. She tried to breathe, but her chest refused her.
Jakobav sucked in a deep breath, slowly, and a single word escaped him, harsh and low. “Fuck.”
His curse reached her as if through water, and she lifted her head only enough to glimpse his face and see his shoulders lock. The sight nearly undid her, because for the first time since meeting him, she saw grief on his face too, grief for her.
Ella forced her spine straight, awareness threading back into her. She wasn't alone out here, nor was she hidden in the safety of solitude—she was surrounded by Jakobav’s circle, watching her, waiting. She gathered what pieces of herself she could and held them tightly.
Maeren stepped forward, stance already set like a drawn blade. “We return to the castle. We hold the lines. We silence rumors before they can grow teeth.”
“I will escort her to Orchid,” Thane said at once, his voice unflinching. “She should not ride alone into grief.”
Bryn’s gaze moved between Jakobav and Ella, his humor stripped away. “And the Veil,” he said. “What is your answer to a roof that keeps lowering and a floor that keeps sliding?”
Jakobav turned toward Maeren, his tone firm. “Take the city, address the court, and set the story before anyone dares rewrite it. Assign commands and leave no room for busy tongues. Silence the Vexari until I return.”
Ella’s head turned at that, catching the startled look from Kerris, and the sharp intake of breath from the other messenger, whose name she didn’t know.
He didn’t say High Vexari.
He’d always spoken of her with a kind of clipped respect, but this was different; the word he used now was stripped down, dangerous, and everyone had heard it. She wondered how close that command had come to treason against his own beliefs.
His eyes shifted to Savina. “The streets of Draethmar are yours. Soren, the borders. Keep people safe and make it visible.”