Chapter Seventeen
Not Alone Anymore
The road to Rhidian was long, but for the first time, he didn’t walk alone.
Evening gathered low over Fowler’s Ridge, where the road split through the last sweep of redwood. One path bent south toward Rhidian’s seaport, the other curved wide, vanishing into the hills. The horses stood restless, stamping at shadows, as if they too sensed the weight of parting.
Gabriel broke the hush with a groan, tugging at the strap across his chest.
“Dask, you mean to have me run the rest of the way?”
He nudged Evander with an elbow.
“Trade places. You can play scout.”
Evander was already tightening his reins, unimpressed.
“I’ll pass. I’d rather not have every tavern girl in Rhidian thinking I’ve turned courier.”
Gabriel muttered something about castle elves, but Viktor had already stepped close to Amerei, the horses a thin shield between them.
“Tell me your plan again,” he murmured.
Amerei’s eyes held steady.
“We’ll take the long road, double back to the gate within the hour. The guards will let us ride the wall into the castle. I’ll come to the inn as soon as Zeporah dismisses me.”
He didn’t like it—her walking the tavern row at night, even with Evander at her side.
His hand found hers almost without thought, rough fingers closing over her finer ones.
For an instant he pressed as though to leave something there, a knife, a promise, anything to keep her safe.
But when she looked down, there was nothing.
Only his hand, clinging too tightly, then releasing before he betrayed himself further.
Dask, how do I walk away?
Her gaze held, searching, but he only said, low, “Stay safe, my lady.”
Every step from her felt like treachery.
The scent of her cloak lingered—lavender caught in rain, the ghost of warmth she left behind. It clung to him long after she turned her horse, a phantom he couldn’t shake. He told himself to move, to breathe, but the world had narrowed to the space she’d just left behind.
Gabriel’s voice cut through the silence.
“Fourth floor of the Flag and Flask,” he called, shifting his pack higher on his shoulder. “Dask, that’s a mouthful.”
Amerei smiled faintly, still looking at Viktor. He turned before his face could give him away, falling into stride beside Gabriel as their paths diverted.
Viktor watched her ride until the ridge swallowed her from sight. His chest ached with the urge to follow.
“You have no idea how much I want to go with them,” he said.
“I have some idea,” Gabriel teased.
His pace stayed easy, voice light.
“She looks at you in a way I’ve never seen her look at another soldier. And she’s been around plenty.”
Viktor drew in a breath, pushing the ache down where duty lived.
“We’ll report to Zeporah tonight.”
Gabriel gave a dry laugh.
“Aye. Special assignment for the royal house.”
“Unbeknownst to the royal house,” Viktor shot back, not bothering to hide the edge in his voice.
Gabriel winced.
“Dask, when you put it like that it sounds like a coup.”
Viktor’s jaw tightened.
“What else would you call it?”
Gabriel jogged a step ahead, then slowed, his eyes flicking sidelong.
“Casqadia’s already teetering on the edge. Tyra’s bleeding them dry with tariffs while the queen plays blind. Worse, she’s lost exclusivity on her richest exports. Tyra built their own routes east. Casqadia can’t compete.”
Viktor glanced at him, suspicion sharp.
“Since when do you sound like a councilman?”
Gabriel shrugged.
“Since I learned not every battle’s fought with steel.”
Viktor bit his lip.
“You’ve been writing letters.”
Gabriel’s mouth twisted, a grin threatening.
“Maybe.”
“Who is she?” Viktor pressed, part smirk, part accusation.
Gabriel groaned. “Feck. Leave it.”
Viktor’s grin only grew.
“She’s well-bred. Intelligent. Beautiful. Don’t deny it.”
Gabriel ran a hand over his face like a man cornered.
“If I was tasked with sending reports to certain allies in the castle… then maybe I hit it off with one. And maybe she’s the most gorgeous human I’ve ever seen.”
Viktor huffed a laugh, shaking his head.
“You’re a scout now. Something about flying too close to the sun?”
Their laughter faded with their stride, boots drumming the hard-packed road. Silence stretched, edged with unspoken weight.
Viktor finally asked, “Why did you defect to Sevrak? Aren’t you worried what that will mean for your rank in the Royal Army?”
Gabriel’s grin thinned, the mischief bleeding from his face.
“I followed Storne.”
“That simple?”
“That simple.
Gabriel’s jaw worked as if weighing the words.
“Elváliev tolerates him pulling men because they want to see how it plays. Some in the capital want him to bring down Zeporah. But they want to see him do it on his own. If he wins, he won’t be just Sevrak’s commander anymore.”
Viktor narrowed his eyes. “He’ll command Casqadia.”
Gabriel’s glance was sharp, almost warning.
“Exactly. And Elváliev will claim him as an ally either way.”
Viktor’s brow furrowed.
“Does King Yethule support Amerei’s claim?”
“King Yethule barely knows what day it is,” Gabriel muttered, half grim, half amused. “But Prince Xavien? He does. He stands behind her cause.”
“That’s good, then. I suppose.”
Gabriel glanced at him from beneath his brow.
“Suppose nothing when it comes to Vykenran nobility.”
Viktor exhaled hard, shaking his head as though to fling off the weight of names and thrones.
“Let’s try something,” he said suddenly.
Gabriel glanced at him warily.
“That tone usually means I’ll regret it.”
“You’re a Ruakite—try to run the way I do,” Viktor told him, lengthening his stride, the rhythm almost inhumanly smooth. “Faster. Push harder. Not just your legs—your whole self. Like the ground isn’t meant to hold you.”
Gabriel barked a laugh, already stumbling to match the pace.
“Dask, Viktor—I’m no storm.”
“Not yet,” Viktor said, eyes fixed ahead.
He let the air catch his chest, his arms, his stride—felt it coil through him like a second pulse. For a few breaths, it worked. The wind seemed to rise with him, his steps lighter than earth should allow.
Then Gabriel cursed, half-tripping, boots skidding on shale.
Viktor steadied him, then surged forward again, this time letting go of restraint.
He opened his stride and the air seemed to answer, rushing against his chest, filling his lungs until he thought he might lift clear from the earth.
His feet struck the ground with impossible lightness—less pounding, more skimming—like the wind itself bore his weight.
For a heartbeat, he felt untouchable.
The world blurred. The evening pulled past him.
Behind him, Gabriel growled, trying to match pace.
“Dask—Viktor, you’re—”
His words broke off as his legs tangled.
He went down hard, sprawling into the dust.
Viktor skidded to a stop, chest heaving, the storm still alive in his lungs. His whole body trembled, not from weariness but from the sheer, staggering rush of it. He turned back, grinning wide enough to ache.
“Not like that,” he called, laughter still shaking him as he offered a hand up. “But… close.”
Gabriel brushed himself off, hurling curses, when the creak of wheels drew their attention. An old man rumbled past in a battered cart, reins loose in his spotted hands. The mule plodded slow, its ears twitching at every step.
The man wagged a gnarled finger at them as he went by.
“Messengers, are you? Then best mind your pace. Queen’s in a foul mood today.”
Viktor’s stomach clenched.
The rush of wind still sang in his blood, but the name alone was enough to sour it. He forced his face still, though his heart gave him away.
Gabriel’s eyes cut sidelong, catching it.
“Not just you,” he said low. “We’ll both have to face her.”
Viktor swallowed hard, voice rough.
“If I falter, it won’t be only me. All our necks are on the line.”
Gabriel caught his arm, pulling him to a halt. With a scowl and a flex of his hand, he sent fire arcing over both of them, flames washing their armor and cloaks in a brief, brilliant glow. The heat burned sharp, binding them in its blaze.
“Viktor…”
His voice was steady as steel.
“You’re not alone anymore.”