Viktor turned from the river, from its false dawn, from Elysium itself.
The stone blazed in his fist, storm answering his vow.
He bowed his head once.
“I will find you, Amerei.”
Then his voice split the light, a promise forged in fire.
“I’m coming.”
Chapter One Hundred Ten
The Shadow and the Storm
Lightning split the ash, and white eyes opened in the dark.
Samson had him by the collar and the cuirass strap, heels stabbing through glassed sand.
“Come on—come on—” the boy gasped, voice breaking.
“Commander, please.”
Viktor’s weight dragged like stone. The black plates still steamed, lightning scars glowing faintly along the seams.
Another fire-rock screamed down and burst a ridge to shards. Samson flinched, stumbled, dragged harder. His palms were raw, slicked red.
“Don’t you leave us—don’t you—”
“Samson!”
Gabriel saw them from the line—one glance, and the world narrowed. He tore Faerin from formation, vaulted from thesaddle before the mare stopped, and dropped to his knees on the stone.
“Give him here.”
His hands were already under Viktor’s shoulders.
“I’ve got him—”
Samson let go with a sob that sounded like a boy’s first wound.
“He called it on himself,” he choked. “He—he said her name and the sky—”
“Dask, Tory—Why—” Gabriel rasped.
He hauled Viktor into his arms, cradling the slack head to his chest.
The helm was gone.
Singed hair stuck to Gabriel’s gauntlet.
No breath touched his wrist. No rise. No sound.
“Not you,” he said, too soft for the storm.
He pressed his ear to Viktor’s mouth.
Nothing.
