Gabriel’s laugh rang from behind them.
“And never attempt a flip when your High-Captain is passing by!”
Viktor’s mouth curved, quick and rare.
He glanced at Amerei.
“I only made that mistake once.”
Gabriel called forward, grin audible in his voice.
“You only got caught once.”
Viktor’s laugh came quiet, unguarded. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed laughter until it was his own.
The camp palisade rose ahead, smoke and forage thick on the air. They dismounted in silence, handing reins to the waiting hands. Amerei slipped away with Evander toward the command ring, her dark cloak trailing behind her.
Viktor watched until the gate closed her from view, only then turning back to the bay.
Gabriel lingered, resting a hand on his chestnut mare’s neck.
“I’ll take the cavalry along the foothills. Safer out of sight from above. A few of the lads need the practice.”
Viktor tightened the girth strap and looked up.
“Then I’m coming.”
Gabriel’s grin tugged crooked.
“I figured you would.”
The cavalry pulled out by midmorning, hooves drumming low along the foothills.
Gabriel kept the column tight, his voice sharp as he drilled the green recruits through formation after formation. Viktor rode behind, the bay sure-footed beneath him, every muscle burning with the memory of the cliff. Gabriel glanced back more than once, the questions plain in his eyes—but he let them die on his tongue, leaving Viktor to his silence.
By sundown, the column returned, dust rising behind them like smoke.
Viktor stripped the bay’s tack, handing her off to the stablehands before crossing the camp toward his tent.
The day’s weight clung to him—sweat, grit, and the ache in his bones—until he found the washbasin waiting. Cool water sluiced over his skin, cutting through dust and weariness alike. Clean linen clung sharp to his shoulders as he sank onto the cot, the hush of evening closing in.
He leaned back, palms open.
Heat sparked at his fingertips—fire answering without command. He stared into it, small and searing, the flame’s reflection flickering in his eyes.
He had never shown his father. Never spoken of it, not even in the lonely nights when the ache of it nearly broke him.
A pang hollowed his chest, pressing like a bruise he couldn’t reach.
Wonder what he’s doing right now.
He pictured the cane, the wolfhound at his father’s heel, the steady decline he’d left behind.
He should be home.
He should be there.
Not here, carrying fire he did not understand, burdened with words that weighed more than any armor.
