Chapter 36 Between Grief and Flame
BETWEEN GRIEF AND FLAME
She turned her mare in the direction of her kingdom, and for the first time since the Ridge fell behind them, the future pressed in, unwelcome and bringing with it everything she’d been holding at bay: her mother’s death waiting like the sealed letter she hadn’t dared to open, an ache for a circle of warriors from an enemy kingdom who had become, impossibly, her own, and the sudden fear of not knowing when she would see them again.
It was all too much. She hadn’t been allowed a breath since the Claiming, since Jakobav had spoken her name before thousands, since the black rose had etched itself onto her wrist and into her heart, the world shifting and refusing to stop.
Grief and fury and loyalty and longing tangled inside her until the threads refused to separate, and a wave of dizziness swept through her, the whole of her threatening to unravel at once.
Her fingers slackened on the reins, and before she could stop it, her body gave way, toppling as the burden she carried finally broke through, the feather slipping from her hand to be caught by a stray breeze.
The ground rose to meet her, and the sky wheeled in a slow green-blue spin.
She struck the grass hard enough to drive the air from her.
She blinked, disoriented. The feather drifted after her with stubborn grace before settling across her chest.
Jakobav was there before the air returned to her lungs, his hand moving with surprising care as he plucked the feather from where it sat above her heart and slid it inside his cloak.
He braced beneath her shoulders with his other hand, lifting her gently.
He bent close, his voice full of concern. “Ella. Can you hear me?”
She gave the smallest nod, and at that, he set her upright in his saddle, steadying her with one hand before turning away to gather her things.
He swung her pack over his shoulder, turned to her mare, and smoothed a hand along the warm neck in a gesture that was part farewell and part command.
Then he touched his heel lightly to the flank and spoke softly.
“Go home, Chestnut.” It was the second time he’d sent this poor horse back to the castle without a rider, and yet the mare barely flicked an ear, accepting the order without question, trotting toward the distant line of riders with the confidence of a creature that knew the way.
Jakobav turned back to her. “Drink,” he said, pressing a canteen into her hands.
The water was cool and clean, each swallow easing the dry tightness in her throat. Warmth crept back into her cheeks as he mounted behind her, his thighs closing firmly around her hips. His arm circled her waist in an unyielding hold that told her without flourish—she would not fall again.
The ride south passed easily enough, but the hours dragged on, leaving too much room for her thoughts to churn. She adjusted in the saddle a few times, and each time Jakobav’s arm hugged her tighter.
The miles turned into days, the kingdoms blurring one into the next.
Jakobav was careful to avoid towns except when there was no other way around.
When they rode by Velmire’s watchtowers, grim and scarred by old wars, the soldiers stared too long at Jakobav but didn’t challenge him; his cloak was marked with Dravaryn insignia.
Velmire and Dravaryn were long-standing allies, but she couldn’t help the sweep of awareness that ran through her while passing through, knowing Orchid remained sworn against them as rivals.
They crossed Thirelle’s lowlands, golden fields bending beneath late-season winds, again skirting anyone who might ask questions.
Along a narrow dirt road at the edge of a village, the people fell quiet as they passed, every gaze following, watchful with unspoken concern.
It wasn’t lost on her that he’d taken off his cloak, looking more civilian than soldier.
None of it mattered; the world narrowed to hoofbeats and the ache in her chest.
Jakobav didn’t break that quiet, and she found herself grateful for it.
His presence was a shield against the emptiness, and though grief hollowed her out, the warmth of him pressed close enough to remind her she hadn’t unraveled completely, the air around them softening as the land turned gradually warmer with each mile south.
By the time night settled, they’d reached a rise sheltered from the wind near Orchid’s border.
Still technically in Thirelle, yet so close to home she could almost taste it, the air was lighter, heavy with the perfume of grass and wild blooms, the kind of sweetness that made her chest ache with memory.
Jakobav set about building the fire, sparks striking against the deepening dark, while Ella remained astride for longer than was necessary, letting the fading comfort of the quiet soak into her before she finally slid down.
The journey had been mercifully uneventful, and the gods knew she’d needed the calm. Even those last few hours had steadied her, bit by bit, sorrow settling into something she could hold without breaking, strength finding its way back, slow and certain.
Jakobav had brought more food this time, dried meat and bread and even a pouch of berries. Another small mercy she thanked the gods for.
At least she wouldn’t be starving and grieving at the same time.
They ate without words, the hush broken only by the crackle of flame and the restless hiss of insects in the grass.
Jakobav sat close enough that their knees brushed.
The touch felt intentional, and though he said nothing, she couldn't help thinking this was his way of trying to comfort her, a silent offering in place of the words he didn’t know how to give.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she said at last, her voice steady though it scraped her throat to admit it. “To go back and face my kingdom. Face my father and have to explain why I left. And to take my mother’s crown, when I never truly wanted it in the first place.”
A breath shuddered out of her, the words spilling now that she’d begun.
“The crown passes only through Orchid’s daughters. It was always going to be mine, whether I wanted it or not, but I have no desire to lead a kingdom. I’ve only ever wanted to help my people.”
“You’ll do it,” Jakobav replied, calm and unshaken, as though it were a truth too obvious to be argued. “And you’ll do it better than anyone else could.”
A sound left her, caught between a laugh and a sob. “That almost sounded like faith.”
His eyes were molten black. “It is, Ella. And it’s only a gamble if there’s doubt,” he said. “Only a fucking fool would dare to doubt you.”
Her breath stalled, surprise cutting through the grief.
Gods, this man might yet be my undoing.
Sleep didn’t come easily. She lay staring at the branches above her while the fire dwindled to embers, grief growing heavier with every hour she tried to shoulder it alone, until at last, she rolled toward him and found Jakobav already watching her, as if he’d been waiting.
“Ella,” he said, her name low and rough in his mouth, as though it carried a question she wasn’t ready to answer.
“I just…don’t want to think for a while.”
What she really meant was that she didn’t want the distance between their bedrolls and didn’t want silence echoing back at her without the anchor of him close at her side.
He searched her face for a long moment then, without a word, opened his blanket. She moved closer and slipped into his bedroll, the heat of him closing around her at once.
“Are you always this warm?” she murmured, reaching for lightness.
“Are you always this cold?” His arm came around her waist, his hand splaying across her stomach.
“Careful, Prince. People might think you’re being kind to me.”
“Careful, Princess. People might think I care about their opinions.”
The sound that left her was almost a laugh. “You’re insufferable.”
“You’re shivering,” he said, drawing her back until her spine fit to the curve of him. “Sleep.”
She didn’t, not for a long time, but when her eyes finally closed, it was to the rise and fall of his chest steady against her back.
They rose before dawn, packed, mounted, and were back on the road by the time the sun cleared the horizon, hooves hitting the ground in a relentless cadence. Jakobav said nothing, though his gaze flicked to her again and again, clouded with an emotion that looked too much like unease.
By late afternoon, the border markers rose from the grass, stone obelisks carved with Orchid’s sigil. The air sweetened, warmer and buzzing with life, as if the soil sensed her return.
A pulse of warmth struck beneath her collarbone. Ella’s breath caught as her royal Orchid tattoo unfurled across her chest in black ink, no longer faded and no longer lost. Her mark had claimed her the moment she crossed the border, settling permanently against her skin.
Jakobav had watched her discover the reappearance. His gaze dropped to the mark and went utterly still, a low sound breaking from him, nearly torn from his chest.
He reached out slowly, as if fighting the impulse, and his knuckles brushed the edge of the ink, the touch no more than a ghost—but it felt like a vow.
“Good,” he murmured. “Let the world see who you are.”
They made camp that night in a sheltered clearing just inside Orchid territory, and Ella had barely dropped her pack before Jakobav knelt by his saddlebag and drew out a dark glass bottle sealed in crimson wax.
Her brows lifted. “Is that—?”
“Fae wine.”
“Really?” Her tone was unreadable. “You know that’s a punishable crime in Orchid, right?”
His brows drew together. “Who enforces that law? They patrol this far from the capital?”
She met his gaze without blinking. “I could have you arrested right now.”
One dark brow arched, suspicion and curiosity alighting there as he dragged a hand slowly through his hair, his eyes never leaving hers. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious right now.”