His voice softened to something almost reverent.
“I know this world, Captain Seraphim. Let me help you.”
Viktor’s jaw locked, but his eyes found Amerei’s.
For a heartbeat, the whole ridge drew taut between them.
Fate.
Danger.
Longing.
All bound in that single glance.
He broke it with a rasp of breath.
“You’re not ready to fight dragons, Commander,” he said.
“Your men are not ready.Iam not ready.”
Storne’s brow furrowed, but Viktor pressed on, voice cutting like a blade unsheathed.
“You rally them to march against Zeporah, when what you may need is her army beside you. Against what’s coming.”
Even as he said it, he wondered when he had begun to speak like a commander.
Amerei’s chin lifted, her voice steady with quiet power.
“We’ll go to Rhidian and see if the queen will reason with us.”
Her gaze swept the circle.
“I’ve seen a dragon with my own eyes. Captain Seraphim is right—we are not ready.”
Dawn pressed in around them, the wind biting through the cliffs, a raven’s cry sounding somewhere beyond the lake.
Storne exhaled—sharp, clipped.
He swung into the saddle of his waiting mount.
“Then I’ll leave for Casqadia today.”
He jerked his chin toward Amerei.
“Begin your journey in the morning. Divert at Fowler’s Ridge.”
His gaze fell to her hand. To her fingers hovering beside Viktor’s.
“Zeporah cannot know you’ve met this captain.”
Then his eyes shifted to Gabriel.
“You’re coming, too.”
Gabriel’s brows ticked upward.
“We need an officer who can lie convincingly.”
