Chapter 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 paying very close 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.
When the late sun reflected across the ink winding his arm, it shimmered faintly, black fire stitched into muscle, and she averted her gaze before memory carried her too far into what she’d just seen those arms and hands do.
She should have been alarmed by the brutality and ease with which Jakobav fought the Veil Leach after it had focused its violence on her.
Yet, her gut feeling leaned inexplicably toward intrigue.
He held the reins steady in one hand, while the other settled on her thigh, anchoring her as the horse picked up a trot, spooked by something unseen.
His touch didn’t lift again. She drifted toward sleep not long after, the line between waking and dreaming blurring until she no longer knew whether the tightening of his grip when the horse jolted was real or part of the haze pulling her under.
Ella stirred as they reached a clearing, the sky bleeding from gold into deepening gray.
Jakobav swung down first, his boots pressing quietly into moss and stone.
Still thick with sleep, she shifted to dismount but swayed, and Jakobav caught her before she slipped, his hands steady at her waist. She blinked up at him, disoriented by the sudden stillness beneath her feet.
He didn’t speak, only guided her forward toward where they’d make camp for the night.
The spot he’d chosen was a quiet, small hollow tucked beneath an overhang where moss-cloaked boulders leaned close, shielding the space from wind. Ferns bordered the hollow like silent sentinels, and above them, the moon flickered between restless clouds, pale and watchful in the dark.
Jakobav set to work on the fire.
Ella pulled the meager food from the pack and tore free a strip of dried meat, handing it across the fire.
Jakobav took it without hesitation, teeth sinking in with the ease of a man long accustomed to rations.
He chewed, swallowed, then said evenly, “I’ve survived on worse,” the faint curve of his mouth betraying the closest thing to a smile.
Ella rolled her eyes and claimed a strip for herself, chewing with exaggerated stubbornness as though to prove she was unimpressed by the hardship.
They ate in silence, the fire crackling and spitting in the damp air, its glow licking faintly at stone and skin while the wind threaded through the canopy above, carrying secrets from one branch to the next.
Jakobav finally spoke, his voice low enough that she knew their unspoken truce to avoid serious discussion was over. “Can we talk about what happened? When you vanished.”
Ella did not look at him. Her focus stayed fixed on the flames, following the way they flared, how they bent with the wind as though mocking her lack of control. At last she shook her head, her voice flat. “I don’t even know what to say.”
He nodded once, his reply almost a whisper. “I know what it’s like to carry something heavy, waiting, not yet ready to be spoken.”
Her head snapped toward him before she could stop herself.
The words were too close, too knowing. But he didn’t press her on her secrets. Instead, he laid another log on the fire, each movement extended, as though he understood she was unraveling and was content to wait her out.
“We’ll stay here tonight.”
Ella wanted to tell him she’d already figured that much out, but she saw the subject change for the mercy it was. So instead, she stayed still, weighing her answer, then sat straighter. “Fine. But if I’m sleeping in the middle of nowhere with you yet again, I get to ask you some questions.”
He glanced at her over his shoulder, one brow lifting. “Like what?”
She met his eyes, refusing to soften. “Your friends.”
Jakobav’s brow arched higher. “Is that what you call us?”
“No,” Ella said, certain. “I can tell that’s what they are to you. Don’t bother pretending they’re only soldiers. You trust them with your life, and now with mine.”
The firelight danced, casting deep shadows across his face. This time he didn’t brush her off. He only kept sharpening his blade, the rasp of stone against steel slow and unhurried, filling the stillness with its steady rhythm.
Ella leaned back on her elbows, her gaze glancing toward Jakobav’s face to gauge his mood.
He was stoic and unreadable as usual, but she asked her question anyway, her tone relaxed but too measured to convince anyone it was casual.
“I want to know about your inner circle, what their abilities are, and about the chain of command. Will you actually answer me?”
He didn’t look up right away, but his jaw tightened, a hint of contemplation passing before he finally said, “Depends.”
She took that as permission. “Tell me about Thane.”
A note of sadness in his expression came and went too quickly for her to question him about it.
“He was born in Velmire,” Jakobav said quietly.
Ella blinked. “Wait, really? I thought—”
“Most do,” he cut in, his tone flat and unyielding. “His reasons for leaving are his to tell.” His eyes darkened, shadows drifting across them. “He hasn’t shared them with many. He might share them with you one day. Might not.”
A heaviness passed through the air, then eased as he went on.
“He escaped when he was ten, found his way to a Dravaryn military camp, lied about his age, and got in. They believed him because of his size. Giant bastard already looked like one of us, then he learned to fight better than the rest of us.”