A light in the flame

My gaze flicked up to where Nyktos stood close behind the man.

Too close.

He was practically breathing down the man’s neck. “How does this charm work?”

“It will prevent her from being taken against her will from wherever the charm was placed,” he explained, tilting his head as he finished another line. The weathered lines of his sunbaked face added a rugged handsomeness to his features. “If anyone attempts it, the charm will retaliate.”

I raised a brow. “With what?”

“With a jolt of energy as painful as taking a direct hit of eather to the chest,” he said. “It’d knock even a Primal on their ass and keep knocking them down if they got up and tried again.”

“Nice.”

Bright blue eyes met mine as he gri

“And how did you learn of this charm?” Nyktos pressed.

“I saw it done once by a god from the Thyia Plains,” he shared, referencing the Primal Keella’s Court. “But I didn’t know what they were doing for the mortal. Penellaphe knew what the letters meant and how they worked. That each letter forms a symbol of protection, one powered by essence.”

I wondered if they were like the wards Nyktos had put in place to protect my family.

Then it struck me that it could be someone like this man, another viktor, who had given my family the knowledge of how to kill a Primal—something no mere mortal should ever know. It made sense that perhaps a member of my family had been guided by one aware of their purpose.

“The charm only prevents you from being taken.” He lowered my right arm to my lap and then picked up my left one. “And the only way the charm can be nullified is if you give your permission.”

I nodded, glancing from Nyktos to where Holland stood several feet away with his back to us, almost as if he were pretending to be unaware of what was going on, even though this must have been the reason he and Penellaphe had arrived with this man.

“Thank you for doing this, Ward,” I said, remembering hearing Penellaphe call him that when they first showed up.

“Ward is actually my surname,” he responded. “Vikter is my name.”

I belted out a quick, sharp laugh. “You’re a viktor named Vikter?”

“He is the viktor,” Penellaphe said, sitting beside me on the dais. “The first.”

“Oh.” I bit down on my lip. “So they’re named after you?”

“I believe so.”

“He’s not a fan of that.”

Vikter smiled. “It makes communication somewhat difficult in Mount Lotho when so many of the other viktors are in residence, and someone calls your name,” he said. Behind him, Nyktos smirked. “It can take the others a while to forget who they become and remember who they were before they were reborn.”

“Others?” I watched him dip the brush into an ink bottle resting on his knee. How it stayed balanced there, I had no idea. “Do you remember the lives you’ve lived?”

“I remember everything.”

“Because he was the first,” Penellaphe added. “Before the Fates realized it would be easier for them not to recall the details of their lives.”

I stared at Vikter, somewhat dumbfounded. I couldn’t imagine living dozens or hundreds of lifetimes and remembering all those lives—all the experiences, and those I’d met, loved, and lost.

And, apparently, I had.

My chest rose sharply in an attempt to drag in a deeper breath. It barely worked.

Nyktos moved to Vikter’s side, his gaze on me, and I was sure I projected my feelings.

I cleared my throat. “How did you end up becoming the first?”

Vikter chuckled roughly. “That is a long, convoluted story not as interesting as you may think it is.”

“Vikter is far too humble,” Penellaphe jumped in. “He saved the life of someone very important and paid a very steep price for doing so. The Fates decided to reward him and, later, realized they could give aid without upsetting the balance.”

Vikter didn’t acknowledge any of that, and I wondered if he felt that what they’d done was a reward. Sure, he was kind of immortal, but to live and die repeatedly also meant experiencing endless loss.

“There,” Vikter said, lowering my hand to rest beside the other. His handwriting was truly beautiful, but it chilled my skin because of how much the designs looked like shackles. “Finished.”

No sooner had he spoken than a sharp, prickling sensation danced over my skin. A burst of light appeared. I gasped as silvery light flowed across my wrists, lighting up each letter until both bands glowed. The sheen pulsed twice and then faded.

My wrists were clear of ink.

I shifted my attention to Vikter and then to Nyktos. His eyes met mine. “I can’t see it. But I…I can feel it.”

“Perfect.” Vikter rose.

“Thank you,” I said, touching my skin and feeling nothing.

“Yes.” Nyktos moved to stand where Vikter had sat. “Thank you for your aid.”

“My pleasure.” Vikter bowed to Nyktos and then to me. “Be safe.”

“You, too,” I said.

The skin crinkled around Vikter’s eyes as he smiled. I watched him turn, placing the brush and ink into a pouch. “I’ll wait in the hall.”

Penellaphe nodded, rising as I watched Vikter leave. “We should not linger much longer.” She glanced up at the gray sky. “To do so…”

“Could be seen as interference,” Nyktos said, his shoulders straightening. “Thank you for answering the summons and taking the risks you have.”

Penellaphe inclined her chin as I slid off the dais and stood. “I wish there was more we could do.” She glanced at me, sympathy etched into the beautiful, delicate lines of her features. “I truly do.”

“What you have done is more than enough.” I crossed my arms. “Thank you.”

She stepped toward Nyktos, taking his hands into hers as she led him away. Sapphire eyes glimmered in the starlight as she looked up at him. A pinch of envy stung my skin. To be able to touch Nyktos so easily, so casually…

“Sera.”

Aware that Nyktos watched closely as Penellaphe spoke to him, I turned to Holland, who’d finally made his way back to me. My throat immediately thickened. Royal Guard or Fate, Holland was one of the few people in my life who…knew me.

Holland smiled, but it was small. Pained. “I hope you’re not too angry with me or feel that I deceived you. I couldn’t tell you the truth.”

“I understand.”

A look of doubt settled into a face that had never shown any true signs of aging. “Truly? You’re not angry?”

A short laugh escaped me. Holland knew me so well. “Am I a

“That you do.” A long moment passed. “Don’t give up, Sera.”

“I’m not.” And I wasn’t. Mainly because I wasn’t sure exactly what I would be giving up on at this point.

“Good.” His voice lowered then, and I had no idea if Nyktos heard what he said next, as Penellaphe had managed to draw him farther away toward the doors. “That thread that broke off from all the possible strings that chart the course of your life? It was unexpected. Unpredictable. Fate is never truly written in bone and blood. It can be as ever-changing as your thoughts. Your heart.” He paused, glancing at Nyktos. “His.”

I started to laugh again, but the sound withered. “Sure. Fate can be as erratic as the mind and heart.” The words scratched their way from my throat. “But not in this case. Not with his heart. You’ve known that.”

“Love is powerful, Seraphena.” Holland lifted his hand to my cheek, and the touch carried a ripple of energy that hadn’t been there before. “More so than even the Arae could imagine.”

My brows furrowed. I was sure love was just super-duper special, but Nyktos had physically removed the part of him capable of loving. So, I had no idea what he was talking about.

Which wasn’t entirely abnormal.

I exhaled shakily. “Will I see you again?”