“I’ve lost a rare weapon—an elvish axe with a handle turned in a human forge.”
The younger guard looked up, red braids spilling from beneath his helm.
“Aye,” he rasped. “Think I seen it. Near a tree by the river.”
Viktor went still, the camp’s noise falling away for a moment. Bright red hair. The hard, clean lilt of the boy’s words.That’s the one who gave me desert dew.
His mouth twitched, then he said to Amerei, “Storne’s this way.”
Guiding her past the command ring, he led her toward a large, unmarked tent.
Canvas parted and the tent swallowed them—maps pinned with knives, a low table crowded with stones, the smell of tallow and iron. Storne didn’t rise. He looked up once and the room straightened for him.
“High-Captain. My queen.”
A nod—acceptance, not ceremony.
“Tomorrow we dig in. Fortify the pass, stake the banners, and run the lines until they hold. I want every cart unloadedand every weapon cleaned by nightfall. We’ll be ready—in position. Seraphim, you’ll brief the Sagittarii in the second hour. Feindoran, you have procurement—arrows and oil.”
“Understood.”
His gaze slid to Amerei.
“You will ride with the rear until the hand-off.”
Viktor inhaled through his teeth.
“Commander, I wrote—”
Storne lifted a folded letter, fragments of its seal scattering across the desk.
“Xavien’s answer.”
He set it down, palm splayed.
“I’m indebted to you, Viktor—for convincing the queen to go. Amethyst is the obvious place for her.”
A pause, then:
“Xavien’s sending two caravans tomorrow. One for Aerdania. One for her.”
Amerei raised her chin.
“Will you continue to speak as though I am not here, Father?”
He didn’t answer. His eyes dropped back to his work.
“Your things are in the tent across the way,” he muttered.
She turned sharply for the door, but Viktor caught her arm, voice like iron. “Don’t go out there alone.”
Then—without looking up, without opening his mouth—Storne said:
“Listen to your husband, Amerei.”
Their eyes snapped to him.
Gabriel stood by, unsure whose expression startled him more.
