Chapter One Hundred Sixteen
Bound for Amethyst
The fever broke. The vow did not.
Viktor woke to silence.
The air itself seemed to hold its breath, as though the stones of Fyreglade had stilled to see if he would stir. The infirmary was dim, sunlight streaking from the window above, the smell of lavender and char mixing in the cold air.
Something tugged at his arm—an ache, a weight—but he would not look. He dared not.
All he wanted, through fever and the breaking of his body, was Amerei. Her name trembled on his lips before his eyes had even opened fully.
“Tory?”
Gabriel’s voice came sharp with relief. He was slouched in the chair beside the cot, his tunic clean at last. His eyes were red, sunken, shadowed by exhaustion. He had not slept—Viktor could see it in the twitch of his jaw, the tremor in his hand where it gripped the edge of the bed.
“You’re awake.”
Viktor turned his head toward him, throat raw. “Amerei.”
Gabriel leaned forward in the chair, eyes hollow but alight now with relief.
His hand clapped down on Viktor’s shoulder, fingers biting through the bandages.
“She doesn’t know. Not yet. But we’ll bring her home.”
Viktor’s lips quaked into the ghost of a smile, eyes closing as if the sound of her name alone could steady him.
Gabriel huffed, shaking his head.
“Dask, Tory. You’ve burned yourself to ash again. Your body’s wrecked—and hers isn’t faring much better… not after what you put it through in Westport.”
Viktor tried to smirk, but it twisted into a wince.
The door creaked open.
Saecily swept in, braid slung over her shoulder, arms already full of bandages. She caught the tail end of Gabriel’s mutter and shook her head.
“How either of you found time for that—with a war on your backs—I’ll never know.”
Gabriel didn’t miss a beat.
“Even our hero only needs a few moments out of his day.”
For the first time in what felt like years, Viktor’s laugh cracked the silence—weak, raw, but real.
Saecily bent over him, fingers cool against his burning brow.
“Fever still climbs. You’ll take broth and rest—nothing more.”
She dabbed his cheek with a damp cloth, her touch brisk but careful, before sweeping toward the door.
The moment she slipped out, Viktor’s eyes flicked up to Gabriel.
“Get me out of here,” he rasped.
Gabriel blinked at him, half a laugh breaking in disbelief.
“Where are we going, Tory?”
Viktor’s cracked lips twitched.
“Amethyst.”
Gabriel leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand down his tired face.
“Perhaps we aim for sitting upright before storming palaces, hm?”
The door creaked open again.
Saecily had returned, arms folded tight across her chest, eyes narrowing as if she’d heard every word.
“He will not be moved,” she said flatly. “Not today. Perhaps not for many days. His body cannot endure it.”
From the hall came a heavier tread.
Storne filled the doorway, his voice low but commanding.
“He can endure as much in a wagon as he can in this bed.”
Saecily rounded on him, braid snapping over her shoulder.
“You would cart him like spoils of war? He will break before even he arrives.”
Storne’s jaw set, eyes hard.
“He will break more if he is left behind.”
Saecily jerked her chin.
“You presume to know better than his healer?”
“You presume he is yours to keep.”
The words cut, sharp enough to silence even Gabriel’s tongue.
Storne moved past her, coming to stand at Viktor’s side. He leaned down, voice lowered so only Viktor could hear.
“Wait until your fever breaks. For my sake, son.”
Viktor’s lips curved—more grimace than smile, but enough to show he’d heard.
Behind them, Gabriel huffed softly.
“Well,” he muttered, too tired to smirk, “that settles who pulls rank, at least.”
* * *
The hours dragged, each one heavier than the last.
Viktor drifted in and out, sweat soaking through the bandages at his chest. Saecily returned again and again, pressing cloths to his skin, coaxing spoonfuls of broth between his lips when he could swallow.
He murmured in his fever, Amerei’s name on his tongue, breath rasping shallow against Gabriel’s arm.
Gabriel never left.
He slouched in the chair, startling awake whenever Viktor stirred, eyes bloodshot, movements stiff from too long without rest. Each time Saecily reached for Viktor, Gabriel’s hand was there too, steadying his shoulder.
By afternoon, the heat eased.
Viktor’s skin cooled to clammy damp, his breathing thin but steady. Saecily straightened, wiping her brow with the back of her hand.
“The fever’s broken. He’ll wake weaker, but he’ll wake.”
Storne was already calling orders into the corridor.
“Harness the wagon. Prepare for travel.”
The noise stirred Viktor.
His eyes opened to slits, lips cracking as he whispered, “Amerei.”
Gabriel bent close, catching it. “It’s time, Tory.”
With Storne’s help, he lifted Viktor, the man’s weight frighteningly slight, his head sagging to Gabriel’s shoulder. Together they bore him down through the hall and out into the sunlit courtyard where the wagon waited.
The horses shifted, harness chains clinking, their coats gleaming in the heat of early summer.
The wagon had been padded, its benches covered with cloth.
Gabriel eased Viktor inside, propping him against his chest. Saecily climbed in after them, tugging furs over his shoulders, tucking the blankets close, her hands as fierce as her scolding.
Storne mounted his horse, barking orders to the escort. The wagon lurched forward, wheels creaking against stone.
Inside, Gabriel kept Viktor close, one arm steady around his shoulders with every jolt of the road. Viktor’s head rested heavily against his chest, breath rasping shallow, lips moving faintly.
“Ami…”
Gabriel bent his head, straining to hear.
“I’m coming.”