“Stay with me when I go in there. I’m forgetting everything Saecily told me.”
The Midnight’s voice was steady.
“You’ve not forgotten. It still lives in you. Breathe. Find it.”
Then:
“I will stay.”
Viktor laid his hand atop his pack, feeling the jars inside one last time before he approached the door.
Amerei reached for him and he drew back.
He couldn’t let her see this.
“Gabriel,” he said, turning around.
He dug a few coins from his pocket and laid them in his friend’s hand.
“Go to the courier. Imperial grade parchment. Amerei will need it to dispatch Xavien.”
Gabriel waited for Amerei’s nod. Then he said, “I will.”
“If the courier won’t sell it to you,” Viktor went on, “tell him it’s for me.”
He lifted Amerei’s hand and kissed it.
“Go with him, love,” he said, a gruff edge to his voice. “Make sure he gets the right thing—been too long since he’s set foot in a court.”
She grinned and started for the horses.
Viktor drew in a breath to speak to Gabriel, but his friend already knew.
“How long do you need?” Gabriel asked.
“I’ll find you.”
Their eyes held a moment longer—unspoken words between them:Keep her from the ruin. Protect her.
He laid his hand atop the canvas flap.
“Don’t you dare let her inside this tent.”
“Understood, High-Captain.”
Gabriel moved with precision, helping Amerei into the saddle, nodding once to Viktor.
Viktor faced the tent. Drew in one last, long breath. Stepped forward.
Inside.
Darkness.
The air thick, oppressive, carrying smoke and the sour tang of infection.
Streams of sunlight through the seams the only light.
Five cots.
