“Glaston was destroyed by dragons. Summoned by sorcerers on Ashakar.”
Issachar’s eyes flared hotter.
“And fate asksmy boyto fight them.”
He flung his cane forward, taking a step as if against a tide.
“As if my wife and child were not enough.”
“Father—”
Viktor knew he wasn’t speaking of Adamar. He meant the son who left his arms the morning of his birth. The Midnight. Viktor could not tell him—not yet.
“Three months ago you left for Rhidian,” Issachar growled. “Just another message.” His voice cracked, rage and sorrow tangled. “Just another damn message—”
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“Neither did I.”
His eyes closed, arms shaking, his hand clenching the cane like stone.
“I cannot bury another son,” he said, voice breaking beneath the weight.
Viktor closed the distance.
“You won’t.”
He seized him, grip fierce.
“I swore it to her. And I swear it to you: I will rend Elysium before I let the darkness win. I will live, come what may. I will not die.”
For a long moment, Issachar didn’t move beneath Viktor’s hold. Then with a deep breath, his shoulders eased, some of the fire dimming.
“You sound like her,” he whispered. “Your mother… no storm could shake her.”
He caught Viktor’s wrist, holding fast.
“I will trust you. Just—”
The word fractured.
He swallowed hard.
“Don’t make me outlive you.”
The porch creaked, and Amerei appeared, her cloak caught in the wind, Gabriel at her side. She stepped forward, voice unwavering.
“I’ll bring him back,” she vowed. Then, softer: “And when I do…” Her smile flickered. “Your house will be filled with raven-haired halflings. Or did we decide they wouldn’t be halflings, Tory?”
Issachar blinked—then laughed, a sound rich and unburdened, one Viktor had not heard in years. He wiped at his eyes, breath roughening into a mutter. “Well then. I’d best see to the floorboards.”
Wind rattled the eaves, laughter carrying in the cedar beams.
Issachar’s house was alive again.
Chapter Eighty-Four
They Were Waiting
