Chapter Eighty-Six
All That He Would Ask
The war would take enough. He gave her something to hold onto.
Issachar was at the hearth when Viktor came in, sleeves rolled, the smell of emberbrew curling through the air like smoke and spice. Candlelight flickered across the rafters, gilding the edges of the room in a soft, wavering glow.
At the table, Amerei leaned forward, chin propped on her hand, her hair catching the firelight as she listened to Gabriel.
“…we’ve had to write in secrecy all these months, Jasmine and I. Just vague enough to slip past the quartermaster and the castle guards.” He studied his hands, voice quiet but certain. “My mother won’t like me bringing home a human girl.”
“Why not?” Amerei asked, her tone sharper than her posture.
“Mother is Draekenra,” Gabriel replied, brow lifting. “They don’t intermarry. Xavien’s already breaking their rules just by looking at you.” His mouth curved in a dry smirk. “You should feel honored.”
“Hardly.” She rolled her eyes.
Issachar crossed the room with a heavy tread, setting a steaming mug of emberbrew in front of Viktor. The soldier inclined his head in thanks, though his gaze lingered on Amerei.
“I didn’t expect you to speak of marriage, Captain,” Issachar said.
Amerei laid her hand lightly on Gabriel’s forearm. The big elf shrugged, the movement rough, almost shy.
“The right woman will do that to you.”
Issachar leaned back against the wall, laughter rumbling low.
“Aye. And I thought my son would never marry.”
He jerked his chin toward Viktor.
“Now look at him—been grinning like a damn fool since he walked in my door.”
“The night’s still young, Father.” Viktor smirked into his mug.
Issachar leaned across, tapped Gabriel’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “He keeps this up, and I’ll put him to work. Nets in the corner need mending.”
Gabriel groaned, dragging his palm down his face.
“Dask, I’m glad I’m sleeping outside tonight.”
“Sleeping outside?” Amerei tilted her head.
“I’m not climbing in with you and Tory,” he muttered with a sigh. “And Issachar already said no.”
They laughed—dask, they laughed—and the sound spilled warm into the room, thrumming in Viktor’s chest like a forgotten song.
Issachar reached for his cane, still grinning.
“Speaking of which, we’d best hang your cot, Gabriel.”
Viktor set down his mug, leaning forward. The shift was subtle, but enough that his father’s hand stilled mid-motion.
“What is it, Tory?”
Viktor slid Storne’s letter across the table toward Amerei. The candlelight caught the wax seal, dark and waiting Slowly, she broke it open and unfolded the parchment.
“Father’s summoned us to Fort Sevrak,” she murmured, the words trailing into the stillness.
Gabriel’s eyes lifted to Viktor. “How long do we have?”
“The—” Viktor started to say The Midnight, but stopped. “My seer says three sunrises. Zeporah needs the full moon to complete the spell.”
Gabriel’s brow darkened.
“Why are we letting her finish? Is she still in Rhidian?”
“Oustinon.”
“Then we march on Oustinon.”
Viktor glanced between Amerei and Issachar, their faces lined with fear. His voice dropped, rough with truth.
“We can’t do that. I alone can tread Oustinon unscathed—but I can’t take on all of them. We have to let them come to us.”
Gabriel was silent for a long moment, gaze drifting from the letter to Viktor. Finally, he looked at Amerei.
“Where will you go, my lady?”
Her answer came without hesitation.
“Fyreglade, of course.”
Gabriel’s eyes flicked back to Viktor.
“Fyreglade is too close,” he said. “Strategically, it makes no sense to keep you there.”
“But it’s a castle—”
“A castle, yes,” Gabriel cut in gently. “Not a fortress. We’d have to strip half the men from Ivan’s ledger to guard it.”
Amerei’s smile faltered, her voice catching just enough to betray her fear. “There’s nowhere for me to go in Casqadia. Anyone with the means to offer sanctuary was exiled to Xavien’s lands.”
Issachar’s knuckles whitened on his cane.
He knew.
Gabriel looked at Viktor one last time.
Amerei followed his gaze.
“No…”
She turned fully toward Viktor, her voice breaking.
“Tell me you don’t expect me to ask Xavien.”
Viktor didn’t move.
His silence was its own answer.
“Viktor,” she whispered, pain threading through his name. “Viktor?”
The muscle in his jaw flexed.
His voice came out like gravel.
“I’ve already asked him. The letter’s on its way.”
For a heartbeat, the whole room stopped breathing.
Her lips parted—betrayal caught in her throat, too sharp for sound.
Gabriel shoved back from the table.
“You should have told us.”
“I’m telling you now.”
Viktor’s hand went to his neck, gripping hard.
“Xavien’s the only one who can keep her safe once the fighting starts. Dask—half the Royal Army sits outside his door. Amethyst is the safest place in the realm for her now.”
Amerei shook her head, tears rising.
“Why didn’t you ask me first?”
“I got your father’s letter. And I knew—” Viktor’s jaw locked, “—I had to write Xavien before I let myself think better of it.”
Issachar’s voice was low, firm.
“The boy’s right, Amerei. If he falls…”
She flinched.
“…if he falls, someone has to see you through the other side of this war.”
Her breath shuddered.
She turned to Viktor, eyes squeezing shut.
“You are asking me to seek sanctuary in Amethyst.”
“Yes.”
“You are asking me to be standing beneath the banner of Draekenra when they tell me you’ve fallen.”
“Yes.”
Her voice broke.
“You are asking me to—”
“If I don’t survive this war,” Viktor cut in, voice raw, “I want you to burn to ash every memory since you met me and run straight to the man who will keep you alive. Yes, Amerei. That is what I’m asking you to do.”
She stared at him, breath trembling, as if the very air between them had turned to glass. And then—quietly, almost reverently—her heart began to break. “As if I could…”
Her chair scraped back hard against the floor.
The room blurred.
She couldn’t look at him—wouldn’t—because if she did, she would shatter.
She crossed the threshold on unsteady legs, the night rushing in cold and sharp. The pines whispered as though they bore witness, the hill below drowning in shadow. She pressed his coat tight against her chest, as if the weight of him still lingered there. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.
“Amerei…”
His boots whispered against the cedar planks until his shadow fell over hers. Then his hand closed around her wrist, pulling her back before she could crumble completely.
“Don’t walk away from me tonight.”
His voice was low, as if he were holding himself together by will alone.
She swallowed hard, eyes locked on the black horizon.
“You’ve asked me to trust you before, Viktor. But this—”
His grip on her wrist tightened.
“I’m not asking you to trust me, Amerei.”
His voice scraped raw.
“I’m asking you to live.”
She turned then, chin lifted even as tears streaked her face.
“I don’t want to live without you.”
“Amerei—”
Her lips crashed into his, breathless, breaking, a vow sealed in desperation. She clutched his tunic, voice trembling against his mouth.
“I won’t even bear your son if you’re gone.”
The confession shattered her. She crumbled against him, sobs tearing loose before she could stop them.
He gathered her close, his jaw pressed to her temple.
“Shh…”
His voice, for once, was soft. Not command. Not vow. Just a man begging the woman he loved to breathe
“Ami, listen to me.”
He brushed a hand through her hair, his lips at her crown.
“You’ll live. Dask, Amerei—you'll live. Dance in Amethyst’s great hall. Ride the coast winds. Leave cups of tea scattered across Xavien’s tables, enough to drive him mad.”
A strained laugh caught in his throat. The next words fell quieter, laced with aching sweetness.
“You’ll have your peace, your crown… and a dozen little heirs with your smile.”
He pulled back just enough to see her face, sorrow gentling the storm in his eyes.
“You’ll be safe, Ami. You’ll be radiant. And I’ll be the ghost clinging to that smile, believing I left you enough to keep it.”
For a long moment she only held to him, sobs quieting, her face buried against his chest. His heartbeat thudded hard beneath her ear, steady despite the storm in him. She stilled, as if afraid to let go of the sound.
Only then did his mouth tilt in a faint, humorless curve.
“Xavien clearly doesn’t take siring-cease. Seven children already…”
She gave a laugh through tears, fragile but real.
Then his smile faltered, the thought hitting heavy in his chest.
His voice dropped, rough and unguarded.
“Ami… neither did I. Last night.”
Her breath hitched. “You—what?”
“We were on the floor of the bath, against the wall—dask, I wasn’t thinking at all.”
A low, helpless laugh escaped him.
“Amerei…”
His thumb brushed along her jaw, tender.
“You may yet bear my son.”
Her heart thundered. Her hand flew instinctively to her belly, shuddering. He had given her that chance—one last act of defiance against the darkness stalking them.
A dangerous smile cut across his lips.
“Xavien wouldn’t like that, would he?”
She blinked through tears. “Like what?”
“If there were two little Eillish princes with raven hair and your fire—plaguing him all his days.”
His grin deepened, fierce and fleeting.
“I’m a twin, Ami. There could be two of them.”
Her laugh broke into a sob as she swatted weakly at his chest. He caught her wrist, pressing it hard to his heart, holding her there.
“Dask,” he rasped. “And I wouldn’t even live to see it.”
Somehow, despite the tears still clinging to her lashes, a broken laugh slipped free. He pulled her closer, lowering his head to her ear, voice husky and warm.
“Amerei…”
He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, lingering.
“You’re still out here…”
His eyes met hers.
“…when you should be in my bed.”