At last, she reclined back into her cushions, a smile tugging her lips as though she had peeled back enough—for now.
“Very well, Captain. A few more days then. Listen well, and bring me what the wind whispers.”
She lifted her goblet in lazy dismissal
“Go.”
Viktor bowed, careful and controlled, every inch the soldier she expected. He turned on his heel and walked the length of her chamber, past the braziers and the watching guards, spine iron-straight.
Only when the doors sealed behind him did the mask fracture. His lungs seized, breath rushing out as though he’d been holding it for hours. He braced a hand against the cold stone, willing the panic back into its cage.
The hush shattered.
Then came the ruckus—boots scuffing, voices raised, the sharp clatter of a bench overturned.
A shout rang from down the hall—brazen and outrageous.
“Your mother was better on her knees than you are on your feet!”
“Keep talking, cave troll,” Evander snarled back, “and it’ll be you flat on your back.”
Viktor dragged a hand over his face, pulse still hammering.
“Dask—”
He started toward the chaos.
“Gabriel.”
* * *
Zeporah watched Viktor’s shadow vanish through the doors. She moved with practiced ease back to her scrying table, laying her hands along the rim of the blackened bowl. A chant slid from her tongue, twisting strange syllables until it ended with a hiss.
“…Seraphim.”
The surface rippled, and a rich dark voice answered from within.
“The other Seraphim twin? He lives.”
Zeporah’s sigh shivered with fury.
“He crossed into Oustinon, unseen and unfelt.”
Her eyes flashed, sin-dark.
“I wanted a clean kill.”
The water shuddered beneath her rage.
“Patience…” the voice soothed, slow and deep. “A soul like his can be sifted yet. There is more to reap from him on this side.”
Her hands clenched white around the rim.
“There are Ruakites among us. My stepson is one—I am almost certain.”
“You should have foreseen it,” the voice purred, taunting. “His father’s bloodline is strong.”
Her composure cracked, words breaking sharp.
