The cheers softened into handclasps and blessings. Lanterns swayed as villagers drifted down the road.
Amerei stayed at Viktor’s side, greeting those who lingered—an old woman with a quivering smile, a boy who shyly offered her a sprig of pine, a fisherman who clasped Viktor’s arm and called him kinsman.
Hooves struck stone.
A lone rider appeared at the road’s edge, his horse draped in black, the silver crest of the Royal Army of Elváliev glinting in torchlight. He dismounted without a word and pressed a sealed letter into Viktor’s palm.
“A letter, High-Captain. From Commander Storne.”
Viktor broke the seal.
The die has been cast. Return to the desert.
His jaw tightened.
Zeporah was nearly ready.
The battle was coming—and with it, the reckoning.
From the porch, his gaze swept the hanging oaks at the hill’s base. Three scouts leaned in the shadows, cloaks drawn tight. Viktor gave a short, sharp whistle. They came at once.
“Which of you is entitled to carry royal correspondence?”
A young man stepped forward. “I am, sir.”
Viktor nodded toward the house. “Stay here. You’ll leave within the hour.”
Inside, the kitchen smelled of smoke, cedar, the faint sweetness of Issachar’s emberbrew. Amerei still spoke with Gabriel, her laughter carrying low and warm.
Viktor ducked into the back room and set pen to paper. He pressed the nib too hard, nearly tearing the page before he dragged the letters out clean.
Xavien—
Send for her. Fort Sevrak.
He folded the note and pressed it into the scout’s hand.
“For His Highness, Prince Xavien Draekenra. Direct to him, no other.”
The man tucked it into his cloak and slipped into the night.
Viktor watched the door close, heart pounding. Outside, torches still burned along the road, smoke trailing into the dark.
No one had to know—
Not yet.
Chapter Eighty-Six
All That He Would Ask
The war would take enough. He gave her something to hold onto.
Issachar was at the hearth when Viktor came in, sleeves rolled, the smell of emberbrew curling through the air like smoke and spice. Candlelight flickered across the rafters, gilding the edges of the room in a soft, wavering glow.
At the table, Amerei leaned forward, chin propped on her hand, her hair catching the firelight as she listened to Gabriel.
“…we’ve had to write in secrecy all these months, Jasmine and I. Just vague enough to slip past the quartermaster and the castle guards.” He studied his hands, voice quiet but certain. “My mother won’t like me bringing home a human girl.”
