Chapter Eleven
I Don’t Want to Be Alone
He had ached for home—until her whisper gave him one.
The echo of fire still lingered behind his ribs, faint as an ember that refused to die.
Morning held its breath on the road back to camp, pale light spilling across the valley’s rim. The air carried the damp sweetness of late spring, yet the quiet between them lingered—heavy with all that could not be spoken.
Gabriel eased his horse alongside Viktor.
“Your silence worries me,” he said, voice pitched low. “For a moment back there, I thought Storne had killed you.”
Viktor didn’t look over.
“I survived.”
That was all.
The hush returned—
until Amerei urged her stallion closer.
Her horse came even with his, and a faint scent of wild lavender and leather drifted between them as her cloak brushed his stirrup. Gabriel reined back with a faint smirk, ceding the space between them.
“You must have been terrified,” Amerei said softly, her gaze steady on Viktor. “Falling from that cliff…”
Viktor’s answer was clipped, soldierly.
“It was no worse than Ronan’s Bluff back home.”
Then he glimpsed her and the edge softened.
“I used to sneak out of Windmere to jump it.”
Her eyes widened.
“You did that willingly?”
“It has its dangers,” he allowed, a flicker of dry humor in his tone.
“Lock your ankles. Arms straight at your sides. That’s the trick.”
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.
Storne’s voice pressed in again, relentless.
“You carry the Endowment.”
The tent flap whispered.
He startled upright.
Amerei stepped from the shadows like something the fire itself had summoned. Dark cloak drawn, eyes luminous in the dim light.
“Come with me,” she whispered.
The words settled into him slowly.
Heat stirred beneath his ribs—unwelcome, unmistakable. He pushed to his feet without thinking, as if his body had already decided.
“Gabriel and Evander are already waiting,” she said.
A pause.
“I don’t want to be alone.”
A breath, softer still.
“We shouldn’t be alone.”
His jaw flexed, his exhale leaving him rough.
Slowly, he nodded.
She stepped closer, the edge of her hand brushing the canvas as if she owned the space.
“Go by the northern watch. The guards there know me. They’ll let you pass.”
And then she was gone, leaving the air warmer than fire.
For the first time in years, Viktor let himself want—something beyond survival.