Chapter 33 Shielding the Fire #2
“Prince.” The High Vexari’s voice rang after them. “You will meet me in the High Cathedral. Two weeks. Do not make me come find you.”
Jakobav didn’t look back.
The inner circle moved.
The mist billowing from the sacred pool swallowed the High Vexari’s silhouette, as if the spring had taken her in.
Ella barely had time to breathe before the inner circle was herding her out of the arena. Thane cleared a path with his voice raised like rolling thunder, Savina barked orders to the nearest guards, Maeren following close at Ella’s heels.
Soren Earth-Vated right into the ground, bypassing the chaos entirely, and reappeared right next to her. “Main gate secured,” he said to Jakobav.
They moved together, the six of them folding in tight formation into the shadowed labyrinth beneath the cathedral.
The roar of the crowd faded the farther they moved down into the tunnels.
The corridors pressed close, their damp walls breathing with the scent of moss and rotted wood.
Shadows crawled over the carvings etched into the stone, twisting across ancient scriptwork as torchlight flared against them.
The air was heavy, yet cooler than the spring above, each step drawing them deeper into the mountain’s veins.
Ella’s fire had lit back to a faint smolder, glowing around her wrists and the ends of her hair like stubborn embers, heat radiating off her in restless waves. She should have extinguished it, called the flame back, yet after years of absence, she simply couldn’t bring herself to smother it.
Jakobav’s arm never left her waist as they moved, his body an unyielding barrier against the crush of attendants and guards trying to fall in step.
Thane strode ahead, his voice cutting through the corridor. “Clear the passage! If you’re not First Guard, get out of my sight.”
Behind them, Savina’s orders rang out. “Seal the upper levels. No one leaves until names and loyalties are confirmed.”
And Bryn, of course, walked backward in front of them, as if none of the chaos had touched him. “Not to interrupt this very intimidating march,” he said cheerfully, “but in case anyone missed it, that was the single most dramatic Claiming in Dravaryn history, and I’ve attended seventy-eight.”
“Seventy-nine,” Maeren corrected dryly, still flexing her reddened hand.
Bryn’s eyes glinted. “Yes, but who’s counting? This one? This one will be sung about for decades. Possibly with more revelation than ritual.” His gaze flicked to Ella.
She kept her chin lifted, unwilling to let emotion rise. “Don’t assume all will survive to sing about it, healer.”
“That’s the spirit,” Bryn said brightly, twisting to avoid running into a wood column, as though this were nothing more than a stroll.
Soren emerged from ahead of them, stepping under a torchlight. In his hands was a folded garment, dark and sleek. Jakobav took it from him with a curt nod and turned to Ella, extending it out to her. “Here. Put this on.”
Ella blinked at the thing in his hands. It wasn’t a tunic. It wasn’t armor. It was…a dress. Fitted. Structured. Meant to move.
“You had a dress made for me?” she asked, breath hitching. “I don’t think I should wear it. I’d hate to destroy it like I did the robe.”
Jakobav didn’t flinch. “Kalenya told me you asked for clothing you could fight in weeks ago. Something you could hide blades beneath.” His eyes roamed over her flames, softening for half a heartbeat. “I made some changes to your request. Fireproofed. Reinforced.”
Ella stared, struggling to form words. “Fireproofed,” she echoed. “So you…anticipated this?”
“Not this,” Jakobav said quietly. “But I thought your power might return one day. I knew the fire in your blood wasn’t gone. Not really.”
Her throat tightened. “So when you said—” Her voice trailed off, hovering between accusation and awe.
Jakobav held the garment out to her, his expression unreadable but his voice steady. “Get dressed, Ella. We need to hurry.”
He stepped back just enough to give her space, though his gaze never fully left her. Ella took the dress, half expecting her flames to consume it too, but the material only shimmered in the heat, untouched.
The shimmer caught her breath. She knew that glint.
It was the same strange Dravaryn leather she’d noticed in the first gown Kalenya ever gave her. She’d worn it the night she stumbled into the black rose garden, believing it was a rare hide she’d never seen before.
Understanding unfurled like a slow, startling pulse. She’d worn it before.
That hadn’t been ordinary leather at all.
He’d been protecting her, even then.
She slipped into the dress quickly, the leather-like material molding to her skin, protective yet impossibly light, as if made with magic. Only when she was fully covered did Jakobav turn, jaw set, and lead them onward, but her heartbeat didn’t settle. Not after that.
They reached the heavy iron doors of the war room.
Soren was already waiting there, leaning against the wall like he had known their exact pace.
“Perimeter’s secure,” he said simply, before pushing the door wide.
Inside, all noise fell away, leaving only the tense crack of Maeren’s knuckles, as though she were readying herself for battle.
The long table gleamed beneath a black-iron chandelier, maps and ledgers spread across its surface.
Jakobav didn’t leave her side until they crossed the threshold.
When he did, it wasn’t abrupt but intentional, as though setting something valuable exactly where it belonged.
In truth, she wasn’t entirely sure where she belonged now.
Her Orchid tattoo and the new rose mark pulsed once—two heartbeats out of sync.