“And you’re glowing like a fool.”
A beat.
He let out a sigh.
“We both know how this ends, Amerei. The pair of you—dragged before the council.”
He hesitated, then added, quieter, careless:
“You’re not the first lady to fall for a stableboy.”
Her steps halted.
She turned slowly.
“Take it back.”
“Be serious.”
“I am serious.”
The words hit harder than she expected. Her voice cracked through the stairwell.
“What must he do to be worthy, Evander? He threw himself in front of adragon. He’s in agony—and I should be with him…”
Evander snatched her arm as she turned.
“If your father wanted you there, he’d have sent you. You don’t know what’s at stake.”
“And you do?”
“Amerei—”
“Don’t.”
Her eyes burned.
He held her gaze a moment longer—long enough for something unspoken to pass between them.
“Whatever you think you know,” she said, heart breaking with every word. “I’ll hear it from Father.”
He gave a stiff nod.
“Then I’ll let him tell you.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Someone’s Son
Tonight he was more than just a myth, more than just a savior—he was someone’s son.
The glideway thrummed faintly beneath Viktor’s boots, a quiet current of light carrying him down into the heart of Fyreglade. He hardly felt it move until the emerald doors whispered open. A purple geode held the next door wide, faint blue light spilling into the hall.
He stepped out, hand brushing the wood grain.
“Hello?”
The infirmary answered in silence. A slab of stone stood in the center, a gutter carved round its edge, leather straps dangling for restraint. Dried herbs hung overhead, their fragrance softening the room’s cruelty.
