For an instant his gaze locked on Amerei—her terror catching in his chest, her wide eyes holding his as if he were the only thing keeping her from the dark.
He could have ended it with one strike—but she was watching.
His voice was gravel as he forced Evander down.
“You don’t have to trust me. But my mandate is the same as yours. We are taking Amerei to her fathertonight.”
Evander scrambled back, dirt streaking his cheek.
Amerei’s voice broke the hush, steadier than her quivering hands.
“How can you speak of dragons, Captain Seraphim?”
Viktor’s chest rose and fell as he drew a shard of black stone from his pack, its edges glinting like frost.
“Zeporah sent me to spy on the Kryonites. They were drilling into the buried rivers of Oustinon—old veins that should have stayed sealed. I went farther than I should have, and I saw what came from those depths. That’s where the dragon in the forest was born. That’s what hunted us.”
Amerei’s lips parted, the question trembling out.
“Does she know? Did you tell her?”
But Viktor’s gaze had already shifted—narrowed on the trees.
His muscles locked, every sense straining.
Moments later his voice cut low.
“Down.”
This time Evander obeyed, dragging Amerei with him as they slid to the ground.
Viktor’s sling whirled.
The stone struck, cracking against fur.
A bear bawled and fled into the brush.
The woods shuddered with its retreat, leaves hissing back into stillness.
Viktor lowered the sling, his eyes cold and unyielding.
No patience left.
“We’re leaving. Now.”
Before Evander could speak, Viktor cut him off.
“Mount up.”
They rode north, the gulley giving way to the first scattered lines of Elváliev’s redwoods. Towering trunks stretched into dusk, and above them swayed homes built high among thebranches—rope bridges strung from bough to bough. Lanterns flickered in the canopy, soft as starlight.
They halted at a well where an elven family drew water. Buckets were lowered for the horses, steam curling from their breaths in the cooling air.
Children crowded near, wide-eyed at the strangers. One pressed a sprig of silverleaf into Amerei’s palm, a shy blessing for safe passage.
She smiled, her voice gentle as she told them, “This one is called Alabaster,” nodding toward Evander’s pale mount.
Viktor pressed for haste, but when the children turned to him expectantly, he caught Amerei’s look—and relented.
