Viktor braced his forearms against the frame, breath harsh. His eyes burned, but his stare didn’t break.
He relented.
“Are you safe?”
“I am.”
The voice lightened, a thread of warmth through the air.
“I am never far from you, Ruakite.”
Viktor’s jaw tightened, storm rising in his chest.
“Then swear it,” he growled. “If danger comes, you’ll call to me. You will.”
A long silence—then the boy’s voice, hushed and certain:
“I promise…”
A breath.
“ …brother.”
The garden swallowed his steps.
And yet Viktor felt him still—as if a cord thrummed between them, buried deep and bright.
I have much to live for… and now, someone else to protect.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Storm and Vow
The storm and the vow were one, and both belonged to her.
Saecily touched Viktor’s shoulder, her voice cautious, steady.
“Viktor… I have something that can help you.”
He turned.
She reached high to the shelf until Storne’s hand joined hers, pulling down a vial. Its contents shimmered like stormlight, catching the dim glow of the cottage. She cradled it as though it might shatter, one hand at its base, the other firm on the cork.
“This will show you the past more clearly,” she explained. “Who you were… before you were even named.”
Viktor took it, his scarred hands unsteady as the light shifted within.
“You’ll drink it before sleep,” Saecily instructed—then shook her head. “But not tonight.”
“…Why not?”
He tilted the vial, watching the liquid slide, the glow shifting like lightning through glass.
“Because tonight, High-Captain… is your wedding night.”
Her lips curved, wry and knowing.
“And no one needs to walk with the ancestors while lying with his bride.”
