The memory threatened to bloom, but he forced it down. Storne hadn’t summoned him to speak of love—only of what no man should be able to do: run like a horse through the desert.
Storne’s gaze weighed him as heavily as armor.
“You survived the night.”
“My life was never in danger, sir,” Viktor said evenly. “I only overexerted myself.”
A faint curve touched Storne’s lips.
“You’ll learn to master that.”
Viktor opened his mouth to press him, but Storne’s eyes had already shifted to the horizon.
“We’ve seen this before,” he murmured. “Beasts rising out of chaos. At first, mindless. And then—organized. It’s happening again.”
Below, Evander loosed arrow after arrow, each one striking its mark with unnerving precision.
Storne’s voice drifted back.
“You run as though bred from a royal horse—and…”
His eyes flicked to Viktor, sharp and knowing.
“…you create fire.”
Viktor stiffened.
“That’s not—”
But Storne caught his hand, forcing his fingers to curl.
Sparks leapt to life—bright, treacherous—searing shame into his chest.
Viktor wrenched his hand back, heart pounding.
What am I becoming?
“Why keep me here in Sevrak?”
The words tore out sharper than he intended.
Storne’s eyes did not soften.
“You came to this camp. You came to me. Whether by fate or ignorance, you stand at the cusp of a great and terrible awakening. The powers you carry are proof enough. Never mind the beasts that followed you out of Oustinon…”
“I didn’t—” Viktor started.
“You did not,” Storne cut him off. “But you were used to draw the darkness out.”
The memory struck him—Evander’s hissed warning.
Zeporah…
“I have little evidence yet,” Storne went on, voice low and certain, “but I suspect she stirred what she cannot master. The dragon in the forest was not the last. The Bloodforge nearly ended us once. If this usurper queen wakes it again, she’ll drag Casqadia—and all the realm—into ruin.”
The pieces fell together like iron bars, trapping Viktor.
Zeporah had sent him.
