He bent close to Viktor.
“This will bite, Captain, but it dulls the fire beneath the skin. Enough to get you through the night.”
Viktor’s eyes flickered, a sliver of trust breaking through pain.
The first touch of salve seared. His back arched, a hoarse scream tearing from his chest as if the flames had found him again.
“Hold him,” Roland barked.
Storne tightened his grip, arms locked across Viktor’s chest. Amerei covered her ears, tears streaming.
Matteo worked fast, covering blistered shoulders, chest, and arms. With each press Viktor cried out—ragged, guttural, shattering the stillness—
until at last silence fell, heavy as grief.
Storne bent close, whispering into his ear, “It’s done now, Captain. Rest.”
Relief sagged through Viktor’s frame.
Matteo bound the linen tight, sealing the salve into ruined skin.
Only then did Viktor turn his head, eyes cracked open, finding Amerei in the lamplight. She caught his hand, pressed it to her tear-stained cheek, and kissed it as if sealing a vow.
Storne’s chest twisted. He forced his gaze away, nodding to Roland.
“My men will take him to a bed.”
Roland gestured toward the archway. “Four doors down. Quiet room.”
Storne gave the order, then touched his daughter’s shoulder, steering her gently back.
“Come, Amerei. Let them carry him.”
Roland stepped forward, steady, certain. “He’ll keep through the night, my lady. Savorspear’s a blessed thing. He’ll hold.”
Her eyes clung to Viktor’s, her lips parting with a thousand unsaid words. Tears welled, brimming over.
Not here, Amerei…Storne’s hand lingered at her back, guiding her toward the doorway.Not in front of them. Not while he still suffers.
The next hour blurred.
Viktor dimly remembered voices, the sting of spirits pressed to his lips, the weight of hands binding fresh dressings across raw flesh. Storne’s command carried him through it—It’s over now, Captain. Rest.Then silence.
He lay unmoving in a bed not his own, the rafters of a stranger’s house shadowed above him.
Roland’s wife had come with her gentle hands, smoothing his brow, coaxing water past his cracked lips, loosening the braids that had cut into his scalp. Her care had been quiet, kind—and fleeting.
Now he was alone.
Every nerve screamed, but worse was the stillness, the thought that if he let go, the dark might claim him at last. He swallowed, throat raw, and tried to draw a steady breath. The world swam, stitched together by pain and the scent of herbs. Somewhere, a woman’s voice prayed—maybe his mother’s, maybe hers.
Muffled sounds pulled Viktor back from the dark.
“You’re the princess,” Gabriel pressed low, sharp. “You can’t stay here. I’ll keep watch—go back to bed.”
“I know who I am, Gabriel Feindoran.” Amerei’s reply cut quiet. “Do not think I need reminding.”
Gabriel blocked her path, hand braced against the doorframe.
