The Map That Would Not Rest

Three days after the betrothal feast, Jace found himself in the solar of Dragonstone’s library, staring at a map of the realm. He had not slept well. Helaena’s words haunted him—*burn together*—and the image of a candle flame extinguishing in her palm played behind his eyelids whenever he closed them. She entered without announcement, her slippers silent on the stone floor. She carried a small glass jar containing a moth, its wings pale and translucent. “You do not sleep,” she said, not a question. “Neither do you.” Jace did not turn from the map. “I’ve been thinking about your warning.” “It was not a warning.” Helaena set the jar on the table beside the map. The moth fluttered, beating against the glass. “It was a fact. Like the tide, or the migration of dragons.” He turned then. She looked tired, her silver hair loosely braided, her gown a simple blue wool. No jewels. She seemed smaller than she had at the feast, but no less certain. “My mother thinks the betrothal will placate the Hightowers,” Jace said. “She thinks we can avoid war with marriage and words.” “Your mother is a queen. Queens must hope.” Helaena touched the eastern edge of the map, where the Narrow Sea curled around the Stepstones. “But hope does not change the bones of the future. I see them, Jace. I see the bones of men and dragons, scattered across these very lands.” He flinched. “Then why agree to this? Why marry me at all, if you believe war is certain?” Helaena lifted the jar, watching the moth press its wings to the glass. “Because the candle that does not burn is still a candle. It waits for a spark. And I have seen what happens when the spark is denied.” She set the jar down and met his eyes. “We burn together, or we burn alone. There is no third path.” Jace stepped closer, compelled by something he could not name. “Tell me what you see. Everything.” She hesitated. For a moment, she looked like a girl of sixteen, fragile and afraid. But then her gaze hardened, and she spoke. “I see a war that begins with a lie and ends with a throne of ash. I see children who will never grow old. I see you—standing over a pyre, a crown on your brow, and a sorrow in your eyes that will never leave.” The moth went still. Jace’s throat tightened. “And you? Do you see yourself?” “I see a woman weaving tapestries of things that never happened. I see a queen who never wanted a throne.” She turned toward the door, but paused. “But I also see a hand that reaches for mine in the dark. And that hand is yours.” She left before he could respond. Jace stood alone in the solar, the map blurring before him. He looked at the jar where the moth had resumed its quiet struggle. He lifted the lid. The moth flew free, circling the candle flame once before disappearing into the shadows of the ceiling. He did not know if he had saved it or doomed it. But he knew, with a certainty that felt like prophecy of its own, that he would spend the rest of his life trying to understand Helaena Targaryen.