Her voice grew grim, but firm.
“Your enemies won’t be as easily known as they were in the Bloodforge.”
Gabriel called from astride his horse, “We will, my lady.”
Juliet nodded once.
Amerei started to urge Obsidian forward, but a voice stopped her cold.
Evander burst from the castle doors, racing down the steps.
She glanced at Gabriel, then said to Evander, “I suppose you want to come, too?”
Evander hesitated. Looked at Juliet. Grinned. And did he… blush?
“I’d better stay here,” he said. “Líri needs my help.”
“Líri?” Amerei smiled at Juliet. “Or Líri’s handmaidens?”
Evander rubbed his hand over his neck and shrugged.
Amerei flicked the reins, gave him one last look.
Then she and Gabriel passed under the stone archway.
Leaving Fyreglade.
Into darkness.
Wind bit against her face, hooves thundered on stone.
I’m coming, Tory.
And the night swallowed them whole.
Chapter Eighty
We Are Bound
Sovereign and soldier. Forged from the same fire. And neither would break alone.
The cliffs had long since vanished behind him, swallowed by scrub and dust and distance. Now came trees—taller than anything he’d seen since Fyreglade, thicker, older. Redwoods. Their hulking shadows stood like ancient sentries on either side of the road.
Viktor ran anyway.
He could no longer see the path, but he didn’t need to. The wind told him where to go, curling around low branches and warning him of twisted roots. It whispered of the incline, the bend, the split rock veiled by moss. He listened to it like a soldier listens for the faintest shift before an ambush.
The salve on his skin was wearing thin. His legs burned. Each breath was sharp and dry as flint in his chest.
The night reeked faintly of smoke. He thought he could still hear distant screams carried on the wind, imagined or not.
But he didn’t stop.
Westport was ahead.
His father was—
“He’s alive.”
