Chapter Twenty-Nine
What You Hold Back
Hold it back, and it will break you. Speak it, and it may yet save you.
The waterfalls thundered against the cliffs, spray hanging in the air like breath. Sunlight struck the marble sheer, turning it bright as steel.
They gathered in its shadow—Storne and Amerei close on a ledge of stone, Evander perched apart on a boulder, Gabriel higher up on the rocks, boots dangling, watchful.
Viktor sat lower, his injured leg stretched before him, back against the cartwheel. From where he rested, he could see them all: the commander with his daughter, the elven outcast, the noble who had walked away from privilege.
Amerei drew a loaf from the basket, passing it to Evander. He tore off a piece, chewing in silence. Gabriel carved a wedge of cheese with his knife, flicked half to Viktor, and kept the rest for himself.
The simple ritual eased nothing. The roar of the falls pressed in, mist dampening their faces, each man waiting for the commander to speak.
At last Storne’s voice cut through it.
“Tonight,” he said, “you risk more than your lives. In the Vykenraven, Zeporah will be in your mind, beneath your skin. Perhaps you can distract her from your disloyalty—or perhaps you’ll draw her straight to it.”
A drop of water slid from the ledge above, striking the stone beside Viktor’s boot. He couldn’t tell if it was spray—or omen.
Storne’s gaze swept the circle, sharp as steel.
“You three.”
The men leaned in.
“If you have sired a child, you must say so now.”
The words struck like a blow to the gut.
Viktor’s chest locked, breath caged between ribs and throat.
He’s asking us in front of Amerei.
“Of course not,” Evander blurted, too quick, too certain.
A pause—then he glanced at the others, ears reddening.
“I mean… probably not.”
A crease touched Storne’s brow, but his reply was curt.
“Then it’s fair to say we’ve no need to worry about you?”
Evander nodded, grateful for the out.
“Don’t have to worry about me either,” Gabriel chirped, lying back against the stone.
Then he caught Storne’s stare and cleared his throat.
“No,” he said, scrambling upright. “As far as I know, I haven’t sired any elflings.”
Storne growled under his breath, “And you’ll take no chances in the castle tonight.”
Gabriel offered a sheepish salute.
Storne’s gaze turned to Viktor.
His mouth went dry. He felt Amerei’s eyes on him—only a flicker, but enough to seize his chest. She looked away before he could hold it. His bandaged leg throbbed, every heartbeat louder than the falls.
The word scraped out rough.
“No.”
Storne’s eyes narrowed.
“As far as you know?”
Viktor gave a single nod, pulse hammering.
Silence lingered before Storne spoke again, lower now.
“Good,” he said. “Having a child forces your heart into two places at once.”
His gaze slid to Amerei, the sternness softening with memory. She held still beneath it, but her hands had gone quiet in her lap.
“And a heart divided cannot stand in a place like this.”
He stayed with the memory a moment longer. Then he looked to the men. “So tell me—what, if anything, could tear you from this cause?”
Gabriel’s grin faded. He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees.
“I’m not going back to Vykenra,” he said—no room for argument.
He dragged a hand to the back of his neck.
“My father believed in Queen Cassandra… and in you, Amerei.”
His eyes lifted to hers.
“So do I.”
She met his gaze, as though she felt the cost behind it.
Evander shifted on his rock, his voice rough.
“I don’t want to live in a tent forever.”
Storne studied him.
“Is that all? You stand too close to Amerei for half an answer. We must be able to trust you.”
Evander’s gaze fell, quieter now.
“You’re all the family I have, Commander.”
Storne laid a hand on Amerei’s. No words—just a glance, a quiet command. She rose without protest and crossed to the boulder, lowering herself beside Evander. His shoulders eased, only a fraction, as if her nearness steadied him.
The rush of the falls pressed in, loud in the silence that followed. Viktor stayed quiet, eyes fixed on the stone beneath his boots, the weight in his chest pressing heavier by the second.
Storne caught it.
“What is it, Viktor?”
He forced the words out.
“If my father’s condition worsens, I’d want to go home to Westport. He’s all I have left now… since my brother—my twin—died.”
Amerei’s whisper carried across the pool.
“I’m so sorry, Viktor.”
He only nodded.
“Good that you spoke it,” Storne said, tone clipped but not unkind. “Zeporah will sense what you hold back. She will press until it breaks. Better it surface here than in her grasp.”
His gaze moved around the circle.
“There’s little else I can do to prepare you.”
His expression hardened, as if reliving memories of everything he would warn.
“Tonight, you risk more than battle,” he said. “Zeporah will claw at your mind, twist your memories, feed you visions meant to undo you.”
He leaned forward on the rock.
“When it comes, you must hold to something real—a key, a word, a face. Remind yourself where you are.”
The edge of his hand struck his palm as he spoke.
“You are not with that girl. You are not in that fight. You are standing in a room full of people bound by the same snare.”
His tone cut sharp.
“Do not forget it.”
The roar of the falls swelled, marking the weight of his charge.
He turned to Gabriel.
“Do you have your invitation yet?”
Gabriel reached into his cloak and pulled a folded parchment, the wax seal already broken. He held it up with a wry twist of his mouth. “Right here.”
He opened it, eyes skimming the page, then lifted his gaze to Viktor. The look said everything—brace yourself.
“It’s time.”