Gabriel’s grin was faint. “Word spreads fast in the backcountry.”
Viktor thought of Silver Hills—how Amerei had called him her husband before the elders, how he, a Ruakite, had vowed vengeance. Now that vow had gone ahead of him.
He touched Amerei’s shoulder, reaching up to a high shelf. Inside a worn book lay a gold coin. He pressed it into his father’s palm.
“Send the dog to the courier. We’ve got a lot of supper guests.”
Gabriel laughed. “That dog isn’t dead yet?”
“Telemachus,” Issachar said sharply, “is in fine health.”
He scribbled a note for the courier, limping to the door.
“In fact…” He peered outside. “Here he comes now.”
The largest dog Amerei had ever seen padded in, claws tapping the boards. His head reached Issachar’s shoulder, his dappled-gray coat catching the lamplight like steel wool. A leather pouch swung from his neck. His eyes were deep, knowing, as though he had understood every word.
“To the courier, boy,” Issachar told him, scratching behind his ear. The dog huffed once and trotted back out into the night.
Issachar turned, arching a brow.
“You captains haven’t forgotten how to carry firewood?”
Gabriel clapped his arm. “He’s High-Captain now.”
Viktor stepped onto the porch, night air crisp against his skin.
Issachar blinked. “You forgot to tell me that.”
Gabriel’s mouth tilted.
“Pales beside marrying a queen and finding out you’re Endowed.”
Issachar’s brows rose. Gabriel flicked his fingers, coaxing a tongue of fire to life—then hissed as he snuffed it out
“Not quite the same for elf-kind,” he said, shaking his hand.
Issachar chuckled, pride warming his eyes. “So I’ve heard.”
Gabriel nodded toward the trees. “Firewood still that way?”
Viktor’s gaze lingered on the torchlit road beyond—faces watching with fragile, rising hope. He stepped down. “Let’s go.”
Issachar crossed the room, lifting a cloak from the wall. “Your husband’s,” he said to Amerei, offering it. “Bit cold tonight.”
“Thank you.” She drew it over her shoulders—heavy leather, weathered and worn. Dask, it smelled of him: cypress and cedar, steel and fire. She pressed the collar to her cheek, closing her eyes.
Issachar started for the door. Amerei caught his arm, walking with him onto the porch.
“Thank you, dear,” he said, a gleam in his eye.
The sandy hill gave way to tall grass, rocks jutting from the slope. She helped him lean against one, still holding his arm as she sat beside him.
The villagers edged closer, lanterns swaying in the dark. Children clung to skirts and coats, peering wide-eyed.
Viktor crouched beside the firepit. One breath sparked kindling; smoke curled, orange tongues spreading through the twigs.
Gabriel stepped forward into the glow, rubbing his hands together with a grin.
