Chapter Fifteen
The Midnight’s Call
The blind man spoke as if he’d been watching all along.
The road south curved beneath the redwoods, their colossal trunks like pillars of some forgotten temple.
Daylight broke only in slivers, gilding the mist that drifted low across Whispering Way.
Wind threaded the branches, carrying a hush that almost sounded like words.
Hooves thudded soft against loam, tack creaked, breath steamed—and for a while their company rode in silence, folded into the murmurs of the forest.
Gabriel tugged at the clasp of his armor, growling, “I swear this scout wasn’t half the size the soldiers made him out to be.”
Evander snorted. “I’m just surprised you ride a horse and not an ox.”
Gabriel patted the copper-coated mare beneath him with unbothered pride.
“Faerin’s been with me since the Trials. Named her after my first love—temperament’s about the same.” He shrugged. “She also kicked me in the shins more than once.”
The quip earned a laugh, even from Amerei, cloaked and riding between them. She turned, eyes bright on Viktor.
“And you—have you named your bay yet?”
“Not yet,” Viktor said, smoothing a hand over the mare’s dark mane. “I’m not nearly as inventive—or as remarkable—as Captain Feindoran.”
“Only one of those things is true,” Gabriel shot back, grin crooked.
Amerei’s laugh chimed through the hush, and Viktor glared at Gabriel, though the sound lingered warm in his chest.
“You look like a Ruby,” Amerei said, her gaze soft on the bay. “That should be her name.”
Viktor’s throat caught, but he only gave a nod. Behind him, Gabriel and Evander snickered under their breath. He ignored them, eyes fixed ahead—deciding the name had always been hers to give.
Gabriel nudged his mare closer, grin sharp as ever.
“You don’t ride much anymore, do you, Viktor?”
“Not in a long while,” he admitted, adjusting his reins. “Scouting’s simpler when I’ve only myself to worry about.”
Evander jeered, “You’ll never marry running about like that. Women prefer men who offer castles—not dust trails.”
Gabriel leaned forward in mock solemnity.
“I’d rather the dust trails. Forgive me, Lady Zrynon, but if it were me, I’d keep a woman in every far-flung corner of the realm—spaced just far enough apart they’d never meet.”
Amerei’s laugh rang soft, disbelieving.
“I don’t think you’re half the scoundrel you pretend to be, Captain Feindoran.”
Gabriel pressed a hand to his chest.
“That’s the cruelest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Viktor bit down on a smile, shaking his head. Amerei’s eyes lingered on him a heartbeat too long before she glanced back to the road. Her voice softened, practical now.
“My father has arranged for you to stay at the Flag and Flask by the wharf. The townsfolk have spelled the walls to cloud a scrying eye—it’s one of the few places in Rhidian the queen cannot pierce. Ask for a room on the fourth floor.”
She hesitated, cloak shifting at her shoulders.
“Evander and I will leave the castle each evening and come to you there. Never come to us. It isn’t safe.”
Viktor kept his eyes on the road, but her words struck like a chain drawn taut.
“Never come to us.”
He swallowed hard, steadying the reins. He would obey—he always obeyed—but the thought of her locked behind Rhidian’s walls left a fire simmering in his chest. If danger touched her, no order in the realm would keep him from her side.
The redwoods closed in, trunks rising like pillars against the pale afternoon light. Hooves clopped steady on packed earth, the road hushed but for leather’s creak and the whisper of branches overhead.
Then—a sound split the stillness.
High.
Sharp.
A whistle knifing through the trees.
Evander’s head snapped up. “What was that?”
Gabriel smirked, though an edge threaded his tone. “I told you this road isn’t haunted.”
But Viktor was already straightening in the saddle, the hair along his arms prickling. Something in the sound felt wrong—not beast, not bird. His bay tossed her head, ears flicking.
The brush broke apart, and a dog burst through—sleek, dark-coated, paws quick and sure. Its eyes were bright, every step driven with purpose.
“Easy,” Viktor murmured, hand firm on the reins.
Then came the man.
He emerged like a shadow unfurling from the trees—hood drawn low, a staff sweeping the ground before him. His steps were slow, deliberate, as though the earth itself guided him forward.
Amerei’s gaze sharpened.
“He’s blind,” she whispered, her hand brushing Viktor’s arm.
For a breath, none of them moved.
The forest pressed close, holding its silence.
Viktor glanced at Amerei—found her already leaning toward the man. He dipped his chin once—enough—and together they slipped from the saddles, stepping forward, closing the distance.
“Who comes?” The man’s voice rolled low, carrying farther than it should have.
Viktor’s fingers brushed Amerei’s sleeve, keeping her close at his side.
“We found your dog,” he called back, tone even but guarded. “Stay there. We’ll bring him to you.”
Before Viktor could even whistle, the hound bounded to its master’s side with a single leap, pressing against his leg. The blind man’s hand fell unerringly to its head, fingers tracing the line of its ear as though he’d known every hair of its coat.
“This creature came to me from the desert,” the man said.
Viktor frowned. “That’s a damn long way for a stray.”
The man’s hood tilted, sightless eyes fixed on some point beyond them.
“He had to find me,” he said.
A breath—then, lower:
“To tell me of the one who freed him from the trap.”
Viktor’s heart kicked hard.
His hand closed around Amerei’s arm, the world narrowing to the memory of cords drawn tight, of his own hands prying them loose.
The same dog.
He eased her a step back, almost without thinking, gaze never leaving the man.
“The one who saved him…” The blind man’s voice seemed to drift from somewhere deeper than the clearing. “…the man who walks upon the wind.”
Viktor stilled, breath dragging through his teeth. The fire buried in his blood shifted—restless, answering a call he didn’t understand. Somewhere beyond the trees, the Aetherheart was listening.
The man’s hood turned, sightless eyes finding him all the same. The redwoods stilled; even the rain stopped its whisper. Mist coiled between the trees where he had stood.
And then—only his voice.
“They are waiting for you in Rhidian.”
Viktor pulled Amerei back before she could protest and steadied her at the stirrup.
His hand lingered at her waist as he lifted her up, setting her onto Evander’s horse.
The press of her weight, the fleeting warmth of her sleeve against his palm—he forced it down before it could root. His voice came quiet, commanding.
“Stay close. First sign of danger, you ride hard back to Sevrak.”
Her eyes searched his, wide and questioning, but she gave a small nod. Her pulse thrummed with something she couldn’t name. The air itself had changed—charged, aware—and she knew, as surely as breath, that whatever waited in Rhidian would not let them go untouched.
Evander swung into the saddle behind her, reins tight in his fists.
Viktor turned away, flame curling to life in his hand as he strode behind with Gabriel, the fire’s glow flickering over his knuckles. Each step pressed heavier, the blind man’s words echoing like a curse.
Gabriel’s voice cut the silence.
“Rhidian. Just a guess, wasn’t it?”
Viktor stared into the flame, shoulders taut.
“I haven’t always been forthright with you, Gabriel.”
The words grated out, slow, reluctant.
“That man… he spoke as if he knew me. And the dog—I know it was the same one I freed in the desert. How could it have come this far?”
Gabriel let out a sharp exhale that could have been a laugh.
“Viktor… you’re lighting our path with fire from your fingertips.”
The truth scraped raw in Viktor’s chest. He glanced down at the flame, the heat of it answering something deep, something unquiet.
“I already miss when we were just soldiers.”
“I do, too.”
Gabriel slowed a step, making sure they lagged far enough behind the others. Then, with a flick of his wrist, fire leapt to his hand—sharp and steady.
His eyes met Viktor’s, no grin this time, only truth laid bare in the glow.
“You’re not the only one who’s been keeping secrets.”