“Dask, that city. By some miracle the nobility let Viktor come with me to the funeral—since he’d finally scraped his way to Captain.”
“Finally?” Viktor arched a brow. “We were the youngest in our class.”
“No,” Gabriel smirked faintly. “Iwas the youngest. You’re half a year older.”
Laughter faded. Canvas creaked. The air itself seemed to settle into something steadier—almost solemn.
Gabriel leaned back, voice dropping.
“How did I not know my father was Ruakite?”
He threw out a hand.
“Dask, Viktor—how did I not knowyouwere?”
“I didn’t know myself,” Viktor admitted.
His gaze slid—unbidden—to Amerei, as if the word itself bound him to her.
Evander clapped his hands suddenly, cutting the tension.
“We need something.”
He strode to the chest, dragged out a bottle, and grinned.
“Halyon wine, anyone?”
Gabriel shot Viktor a sidelong look, sly as a fox.
“Permission, Captain?”
“One glass,” Viktor relented. “I won’t risk waking up in your tent again.”
Evander whooped, already pouring heavy measures. Amerei’s scandalized laughter warmed Viktor’s chest.
Time stretched, the wine flowing freer at Gabriel and Evander’s end of the rug. Their laughter grew louder, their cheeks redder.
Meanwhile, Viktor had drawn a map close between him and Amerei, achingly aware of how easily he’d made space for her. His calloused finger traced the jagged offshore cliffs of the Bloodforge.
“Here,” he murmured, “the beasts came up through the chasms—geysers, cyclones. War at sea.”
Amerei leaned in, her braid brushing his shoulder as she pointed to a soft circle of ink.
“And here—Amethyst. My grandparents, a lady of the elven court and a human Ruakite, were wed beneath those towers.”
She looked up.
“Their vow ended the war.”
Candlelight caught in her eyes, and Viktor let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
The moment threatened to linger between them—
until Evander broke it with a shout.
“Captain Seraphim! You’ve run across half the realm—”
He tipped his head, grin wicked.
