The Thirteenth Ember - Chapter 43: Chapter 43
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When Aeryn and Kael returned to camp, they were met with silence.
Not fear.
Not suspicion.
But something closer to reverence the kind that chills more than it comforts.
The rebels watched as the two dismounted, their cloaks torn, blood on Kael’s shoulder, soot on Aeryn’s face. Word had already traveled from freed prisoners: the Flame had walked into death’s house and burned her way out.
She had not died.
She had unmade.
And some began to wonder if she could ever be touched again.
Liora met them outside the main tent, her expression unreadable.
“You were supposed to send word,” she said.
“We didn’t have time,” Aeryn replied, brushing past.
“You’re starting to burn faster than we can follow,” Liora said, softer now. “Not all of us are made for your fire.”
Aeryn paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Then keep up.”
Inside the war tent, Kael collapsed onto a bench, wincing as he peeled away his bloodied tunic.
Aeryn moved to him instinctively, her fingers
gentle on the gash across his ribs.
“This will scar,” she murmured.
Kael caught her hand. “So will you.”
They shared a look intense, wordless.
There was something building again between them. Not just desire. But devotion. That quiet understanding that comes only when two people have faced the end and walked back together.
He leaned forward, brushing his forehead against hers.
“You saved lives,” he whispered. “You didn’t burn the girl. You didn’t destroy Nyra. You chose mercy.”
“I didn’t feel merciful,” she whispered back.
“You don’t have to. You just have to feel.”
And she did his hand at her jaw, the pull in her
chest, the way she wanted to wrap herself in him and not be a symbol for once.
But the moment broke when the guard outside called:
“Aeryn. There’s… there’s a rider. From the South. He brings a sealed message. For you. Only you.”
Kael stood instantly, eyes sharp.
Aeryn stepped out to meet the rider a weathered man in bone-white armor, the kind that belonged not to the rebellion, nor the Crestborn, but something older.
He dismounted slowly, hands raised, and handed her a scroll wrapped in crimson silk.
No emblem.
But the handwriting inside was unmistakable.
Delicate. Stern.
Too familiar.
My daughter,
They are lying to you. The Order is not your enemy.
Not fully.
They were born to control you, yes but not all within them remember why.
The Court fears the child more than it fears your flame.
Come south. Alone. Or you will never understand what you are becoming.
Aeryn’s breath caught.
The paper nearly crumpled in her hand.
Kael stepped beside her.
“What is it?”
Aeryn didn’t answer immediately.
Then, quietly: “My mother is alive.”
The fire behind her flickered.
Kael’s face hardened.
“You’re sure?”
“She wants me to come to her,” Aeryn whispered. “Alone.”
“No.”
“Kael”
“No,” he said again, louder this time. “She abandoned you. She watched them break you. And now she resurfaces when the Court tightens its grip?”
Aeryn met his eyes. “What if she’s telling the
truth?”
Kael was silent for a long moment.
Then, low and bitter: “Then the truth is worse than I thought.”
That night, Aeryn stood alone in her tent, the letter open on the table, the candle beside it burning low.
Outside, scouts reported movement: Order battalions assembling in the western passes.
Inside, a choice began to take shape in her heart.
Go south… to the mother who had once handed her to the Court.
Or stay… and prepare for the war that could devour them all.
She didn’t sleep.
But by dawn, she had made her decision.
Not fear.
Not suspicion.
But something closer to reverence the kind that chills more than it comforts.
The rebels watched as the two dismounted, their cloaks torn, blood on Kael’s shoulder, soot on Aeryn’s face. Word had already traveled from freed prisoners: the Flame had walked into death’s house and burned her way out.
She had not died.
She had unmade.
And some began to wonder if she could ever be touched again.
Liora met them outside the main tent, her expression unreadable.
“You were supposed to send word,” she said.
“We didn’t have time,” Aeryn replied, brushing past.
“You’re starting to burn faster than we can follow,” Liora said, softer now. “Not all of us are made for your fire.”
Aeryn paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Then keep up.”
Inside the war tent, Kael collapsed onto a bench, wincing as he peeled away his bloodied tunic.
Aeryn moved to him instinctively, her fingers
gentle on the gash across his ribs.
“This will scar,” she murmured.
Kael caught her hand. “So will you.”
They shared a look intense, wordless.
There was something building again between them. Not just desire. But devotion. That quiet understanding that comes only when two people have faced the end and walked back together.
He leaned forward, brushing his forehead against hers.
“You saved lives,” he whispered. “You didn’t burn the girl. You didn’t destroy Nyra. You chose mercy.”
“I didn’t feel merciful,” she whispered back.
“You don’t have to. You just have to feel.”
And she did his hand at her jaw, the pull in her
chest, the way she wanted to wrap herself in him and not be a symbol for once.
But the moment broke when the guard outside called:
“Aeryn. There’s… there’s a rider. From the South. He brings a sealed message. For you. Only you.”
Kael stood instantly, eyes sharp.
Aeryn stepped out to meet the rider a weathered man in bone-white armor, the kind that belonged not to the rebellion, nor the Crestborn, but something older.
He dismounted slowly, hands raised, and handed her a scroll wrapped in crimson silk.
No emblem.
But the handwriting inside was unmistakable.
Delicate. Stern.
Too familiar.
My daughter,
They are lying to you. The Order is not your enemy.
Not fully.
They were born to control you, yes but not all within them remember why.
The Court fears the child more than it fears your flame.
Come south. Alone. Or you will never understand what you are becoming.
Aeryn’s breath caught.
The paper nearly crumpled in her hand.
Kael stepped beside her.
“What is it?”
Aeryn didn’t answer immediately.
Then, quietly: “My mother is alive.”
The fire behind her flickered.
Kael’s face hardened.
“You’re sure?”
“She wants me to come to her,” Aeryn whispered. “Alone.”
“No.”
“Kael”
“No,” he said again, louder this time. “She abandoned you. She watched them break you. And now she resurfaces when the Court tightens its grip?”
Aeryn met his eyes. “What if she’s telling the
truth?”
Kael was silent for a long moment.
Then, low and bitter: “Then the truth is worse than I thought.”
That night, Aeryn stood alone in her tent, the letter open on the table, the candle beside it burning low.
Outside, scouts reported movement: Order battalions assembling in the western passes.
Inside, a choice began to take shape in her heart.
Go south… to the mother who had once handed her to the Court.
Or stay… and prepare for the war that could devour them all.
She didn’t sleep.
But by dawn, she had made her decision.
End of The Thirteenth Ember Chapter 43. Continue reading Chapter 44 or return to The Thirteenth Ember book page.