Chapter One Hundred Thirteen
Let It Be Done
In the hush of Fyreglade, fate was left hanging in the dark.
Viktor woke to darkness, glowing orbs humming low above him.
For a breath he thought he still lay beneath the weight of ash and fire, but then the scent of lavender reached him—soft, insistent, cutting through fever. An oil lamp guttered nearby, painting amber on damp walls.
Gabriel was there, hunched at his side, gauntlet still resting over his shoulder. His head lifted the instant Viktor stirred.
“Tory.” His voice cracked. “I’m here.”
Viktor tried to speak, but his throat rasped raw. Gabriel gave the only answer he knew his brother wanted:
“We’ll see you well again. And then we’ll bring her home.”
Amerei.
His mind reached for her—for Amethyst, for the tether that bound them—but where he had felt her before there was only void. His breath shook.
“I can’t feel her.”
“She’s there.” Gabriel cupped his face with one steady hand. “She’s waiting for you.”
Saecily appeared above them, her healer’s eyes sharp even in shadow.
“You’re awake, Commander Seraphim,” she said, a brief smile softening her mouth. “Drink.”
Gabriel received a clay cup brimming with an herbal tincture. He carefully lifted Viktor’s head and set the rim to his lips. Once he settled, Saecily took his wrist, fingers measuring the fevered pulse.
“Your heart runs too fast, Viktor,” she said. “The herbs can slow it, but only so much.”
Her gaze slid to his ruined hand, and her voice hardened.
“Your hand is dying. The bones are shattered, the blood blackening. If nothing is done, infection will take the arm. And then the rest of you.”
The words cut through the haze.
He flexed—or tried to—but the bindings bit back pain.
His voice rasped.
“Tell me,” he said in broken breaths, “what must be done.”
Saecily leaned close, auburn braid falling over her shoulder.
Her tone dropped low.
“You must reset the bones yourself. With your Endowment. If you fail, the hand dies. And if your heart falters again”—her eyes flicked to Gabriel—“I will not hesitate to end it. I will amputate.”
Viktor’s gaze drifted upward to Gabriel, grief pooling behind his lashes. Gabriel cradled his face, tears shining behind a thin smile.
“One hand is enough to hold her, Tory. Ami needs you alive.”
A shadow lengthened against the wall.
Storne.
Viktor’s vision blurred with tears he could not stop.
In a ragged breath, he said, “I’ll be useless to you, Storne. To Casqadia.”
The commander came to Saecily’s shoulder, his frame stooped with the weight of war.
“You’ll not raise a sword again, perhaps. But you’ll raise armies. Halyon. Aerdania. This was my plan for you—and it does not change.”
“No.” Viktor’s head shook faintly, denial burning through the fever.
His lips parted, reaching into the void.
“Amerei,” he whispered across the frayed bond.
Storne’s voice dropped, low and grim.
“I cannot reach her either. I’ve sent messengers to Amethyst. Pray they find her before she hears the rumors of your demise.”
Viktor strained anyway—toward her, toward home, toward anything that might tear him from this moment. His eyes closed, lips trembling.
“Azrikel.”
A ripple passed through the chamber.
“Who?” Saecily murmured, her hands stilling.
“I’m here, Tory.”
The voice came from the shadow.
Azrikel stepped forward, and the air shifted with him. At the sound of his name—his true name—the silence deepened.
Viktor’s fevered gaze fixed only on him.
“Can I do this?” His voice broke. “Can I save my hand?
Azrikel’s fingers unthreaded the stone from his neck. He knelt, finding Viktor’s arm, and set the crystal just below his elbow.
“See…”
The stone flared.
Light spilled into Viktor’s veins, tracing the jagged fractures of bone and sinew, the mangled ruin of his hand. Gasps shivered around the chamber as the impossible was laid bare.
“You must be the one to move the bones,” Azrikel said. “There is no power in me that can do it for you. My gift can only show you the broken places.”
Viktor’s breath shuddered out.
“And if I fail?”
Azrikel’s face was unreadable in the lamplight.
“Then Saecily will do what must be done. I will not intervene.”
The silence pressed in. Even Gabriel looked up, stunned. But Azrikel’s blind gaze was steady, fixed upon Viktor’s very soul.
“You are not spared by myth, Tory. Not by me. Not by the Endowment. If you cannot do this, then surgeon’s hands will take what fire and lightning have left you.”
Saecily’s chin lifted, grim agreement in her gaze.
“As a soldier of Elváliev, your body is under my charge. If your heart falters again, I will put you under. And if I must amputate, I will.”
The words fell like shattered glass, but Viktor did not turn from them. His chest heaved, sweat dampening his hair. Slowly, painfully, he gave a single nod.
“Do it,” he rasped. “Strap me. I’ll try.”
Something softened in Gabriel’s face, grief and pride warring in his eyes. He leaned close, pressing his brow to Viktor’s.
“You’re not alone. I won’t leave you, brother.”
Azrikel drew close, hand settling against Viktor’s shoulder.
“Nor will I.”
Saecily motioned, and Zakkari tightened the leather straps across Viktor’s chest, his arms, his legs. Viktor did not fight them.
This was his consent. His choice.
* * *
What followed was agony.
The chamber shook with Viktor’s roar as light seared through his veins. His body arched against the bindings, bones grinding under the force of his Endowment.
The stone flared, shadows writhed, and the air filled with the scent of blood and burning herbs. Gabriel braced him with both hands, whispering old prayers in Elvish he had not spoken since boyhood.
Still Viktor fought.
Still the light splintered through him.
Until at last his body went slack, head sagging to the side.
Unconscious.
Saecily’s hands stilled.
She leaned close, her healer’s eyes grim, then looked to Gabriel. For a long while the room was silent save for Viktor’s ragged breathing. Then she gave the smallest shake of her head—final, unflinching.
Gabriel’s throat closed.
He pressed his gauntlet to Viktor’s shoulder one last time, tears cutting through the soot on his face. Then, with a broken exhale, he rose to his feet.
Azrikel’s blind gaze lifted as if to something only he could see.
The stone still glowed faintly against Viktor’s arm.
“Let it be done.”
His voice broke low.
“The rest is silence. Until he wakes.”