This collection is a work of fiction. The names, characters and events in this book are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Published by Silver Wing Press

Copyright © 2016 by Elise Kova

All rights reserved. Neither this book, nor any parts within it may be sold or reproduced in any form without permission.

Cover Artwork by Merilliza Chan

Editing by Monica Wanat

eISBN: 9781619845817

Air Awakens: Book 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Fire Falling: Book 2

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Earth’s End: Book 3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Water’s Wrath: Book 4

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Crystal Crowned: Book 5

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Acknowledgements

This book is for ...

Alicia Davis, Kiri, Kay, IridescentSoul, Elanor Crumwell, RomanceObsessed, DarlingFaye, PowerMadGirl, yesiamhuman, queencarrot, Prodigee123, doc2or, Seriah Black Sheep, Your Loyal Bookworm, shinju asuka, puffgirl1952, musicboxmetaphor, shari, bfl2ma, Valerie, XtremeAngell, Mirirowan, Rebecca, prathyu, Alyss20, TwiinzRJ, Vyra Finn, Ozymandeos, Lady Altrariel, Ulsindhe, gizem524, musicalfishieXD, devonamorgan, blueeyesbrightsmile, Estheranian, Michelle Fang, Rizzy, Tessa, Sekhra, JustAnotherGal, Ashley, Izzy, Blanket Baby, hopewriteinspire, rosewood, appleeater1313, Wonderlander, A fan, Mizz Dustkeeper, lalalaughter101, LazyFakeName, carmensimagination, avery, avid reader, Mousey, Emmie, FreakinMarisa, Death’s Sweet Kiss, Kaf, Sephirium

... and everyone else who was with and supported me from the start. Without you, there would be no story.

SUMMER STORMS WERE common in the capital and Vhalla Yarl had endured their visits in the seven years since she had moved from the East, but lightning and thunder were never welcome guests.

The burst of light through the shutter slats hadn’t set her heart to racing tonight; it was the solemn, low cry of a horn resonating off every post in the city that slowed her world with each reverberation. The noise faded before resounding once more.

Vhalla jumped to her feet, rushing to the small archer’s slit that served as her window. Unlatching the shutter proved to be a poor idea as the wind grabbed it, slamming it against the palace stone so hard that she thought it would rip from its hinges. The shutter was quickly forgotten as horns echoed their call on the palace wall below, and Vhalla blinked into the howling wind.

Horns could only mean one thing.

Her dark brown eyes—flecked with gold—fixed on the Imperial Gate far below as it opened to allow a military party to race inside. Leaning out as far as she could, Vhalla ignored the rain splattering her cheeks, straining to make out the shifting shadows of soldiers home from the front.

Had they won? Was the war against Shaldan over?

Vhalla’s heart beat harder. Through the intermittent flashes of lightning, she only made out twenty horsemen.

Victory rode through the city in full force with sunlit pennons fluttering in the wind. Victory waited until better weather for their parades. Something was wrong. This was a messenger party, a delivery, an escort, a—

Vhalla’s mind went blank.

Palace servants rushed to meet the party and, by the flickering light of their torches, Vhalla was able to make out people. An Imperial White cape draped the haunch of a horse.

A prince had returned.

The servants helped the slumped royal from his saddle, pulling off the limp and sluggish body. She couldn’t hear the words shouted over the storm, but they seemed frantic and angry. Vhalla stood on her tip-toes, doubled at the waist and drenched halfway down her back, craning out the window until the injured man was carried away. Pulling herself from the rain, she closed her shutter and ignored the small puddle around her feet. One of the princes was injured, but which one?

Endless cerulean eyes filled her mind. Prince Baldair, the second son, had stopped into the library right before returning to war. Vhalla had never met a member of the Imperial Family before, but all the tales told about the Heartbreaker Prince had been true.

She gripped the front of her sleeping shift and forced herself to breathe deeply. The prince didn’t even know who she was, Vhalla reminded herself. He had certainly forgotten the library apprentice whom he had caught mid-air as she had clumsily slipped from one of the bookcases’ towering rolling ladders.

Now palace clerics were called, servants were woken to fetch blankets and stoke fires, apprentices of the healing arts would work all night, and all she could do was stand in silence.

Vhalla pushed away slick strands of hair sticking to her face. Roan was right; she was foolish for ever thinking of the Heartbreaker Prince. Vhalla was not the type of girl Prince Baldair would be interested in, she was far too plain.

The door slammed open. A petite blonde with ringlet curls stood breathless in the door frame. Vhalla blinked at the woman, a woman Vhalla seemed to have summoned with her passing thought.

“Vhalla...library. Now,” Roan panted. It was like she spoke another language, and Vhalla’s body failed to oblige the command. “Vhalla, now!” Grabbing her wrist, Roan pulled her down the dimly lit halls, giving Vhalla no time to even dress properly.

“Roan. Roan! What’s going on?” Vhalla demanded as they rounded a tight corner.

“I don’t know much. Master Mohned will explain,” Roan replied.

“Is it the prince?” Vhalla blurted.

Her friend paused, turning. “You still have the Heartbreaker Prince on your mind? It’s been—what, two months?” Blue eyes, slightly darker than the prince’s, rolled at Vhalla.

“It’s not that. I—” she struggled, a hot flush rushing to her head.

“And why are you all wet?” Roan blinked, assessing her friend for the first time. Before Vhalla could answer, they were winding through the narrow servants’ passages again. “It doesn’t matter; just don’t get water on the books.”

The Imperial Library was housed within the palace, a part of the mountainside capital city of the Solaris Empire. Gold-gilded, cherry wood bookcases, which stood taller than four men perched upon each other’s shoulders, housed the vast knowledge of the Empire. Stained glass ran along the vaulted ceiling and, during normal sunny days, cast a kaleidoscope of color upon the floor.

Now, however, the library was swathed in darkness. Each apprentice stood by a candle at the central circulation desk in various stages of dress.

Her eyes passed over the motherly Lidia and briefly landed on the girl Cadance before falling on Sareem. Vhalla stared at his olive skin, a richer hue than hers, on display without a shirt. He was surprisingly toned, and Vhalla struggled to remember when her childhood friend had become a man. Sareem’s eyes caught hers, and he seemed almost startled. Vhalla quickly looked away.

“We need every book on the magic and poisons of the Northern Sky Citadels of Shaldan. Bring them here. We shall read through them and take notes on what may be useful before forwarding them to the clerics.” Master Mohned spoke as guards began to light more candles throughout the library. He looked every year of his ancient age, his long white beard unruly like the spindly roots of a tiny plant. Noticing they all stood, mouths catching flies with shock, he snapped, “This is an Imperial Order! Go!”

Vhalla took a running start at a rolling ladder, using momentum to glide the length of a bookshelf. Her eyes scanned the titles, and her hungry hands plucked books. With three manuscripts cradled in her arms, she sprinted back to the central desk, depositing them on the floor before repeating the process.

The piles grew and sweat dotted Vhalla’s brow. The master often scolded her for reading during work, but seven years of disobedience had burned a large list of titles into her mind. Book titles appeared before her eyes faster than her feet could carry her to them.

When the third stack of bound parchment stood taller than she, Vhalla noticed the other apprentices had stopped searching and claimed places on the floor to begin confirming the contents of each manuscript. She placed a palm over the stitch in her side. Their piles were so small. She could think of five tomes in potions alone that Sareem had missed.

The prince occupied her mind as she retrieved more books, his face in the forefront of her thoughts. His injuries must be serious if the clerics needed research beyond their common knowledge. Vhalla bit her lip, staring at her towers of books before the desk. What was wrong with him?

“Vhalla.”

She missed the master’s weathered voice while running through more titles in her head. There was one missing, there had to be. Was it in mysteries?

“Vhalla.”

The prince’s life could slip between their fingers due to missing only one line of text. Vhalla ran the back of her hand over her forehead. Sweat or water rolled down her neck.

“Vhalla!”

“What?” she replied sharply, staring at Mohned. Vhalla instantly realized her disrespectful tone.

The master let it slide. “That’s enough; we have enough. Help us research. Write down anything you find of use.”

Master Mohned motioned to the floor, and Vhalla took her place between Roan and Sareem. The library staff ignored all rules and decorum as they grabbed from a communal pile of quills, ink pots, and parchment in the middle of their circle.

Vhalla pulled the first book into her lap. “Master.” She raised her head, turning away from the pages sandwiched between her trembling fingers. The sage looked at her through his spectacles. “Who’s sick?”

“The prince.”

Those two words were all the master needed to speak for Vhalla’s throat to feel drier than the Western Waste. She wished she had been wrong.

He was in the palace, somewhere beyond her reach. He needed help, and she was no one. Vhalla was barely above the servants who swept the halls and mucked the toilets as punishment for petty crimes. But maybe her years of reading could pay off and she could actually do something.

Vhalla grabbed another piece of parchment. Her quill roughly marred its blank surface with streaks of ink. This was all she could do. It was all she was ever good at. She could read and perhaps pass on some knowledge to a cleric who would save a man she hardly even knew.

Snapping a quill, Vhalla cursed and threw the broken tool aside before reaching for another. Sareem shot a curious look towards her, but the girl was a world away. The more Vhalla wrote, the calmer she felt. The pen was like an extension of her being and she forged the ink to her will as if she were under the spell of the words.

Slowly, the books began to grow in a new stack. Each had a note behind the cover, listing information she had found that she thought may be helpful. Vhalla hardly noticed her vertical workload diminishing as soldiers began to carry books out, armfuls at a time. She also did not turn to say goodbye as her friends wearily departed throughout the night.

Though her energy was fading, the more books that left the room, the more she was compelled to read. Gradually, warmth budded within her. Slowly at first, then growing with each passing hour until it flourished into a blazing heat.

The sound of the last book closing woke her from her trance. Vhalla blinked at her empty ink-stained hands. In the sunlight, she turned her eyes toward the heavens, and she stared tiredly at the magnificent rainbow of colored glass that ran the length of the ceiling. Dawn had arrived, and she could not even remember the night. Two hands clasped themselves tightly around her swaying shoulders.

Blinking the haze from her eyes, Vhalla looked at the man who appeared suddenly before her. An unfamiliar face stared back. He was a Southern man with icy blue eyes, goatee, and short blonde hair. While he wasn’t menacing, she was certain that he was no one she had ever seen.

“This is the one?” He spoke to someone else, though his eyes were fixed on her.

“It is, minister,” another unfamiliar voice replied.

“Thank you. You are dismissed,” the Southern man ordered. Footsteps faded away with the sound of clinking armor.

“Who are you?” Vhalla’s tongue found life again, the daze of feverish heat fading. She tried to make sense of who this man was and why he was touching her. Her eyes settled upon a crisp black jacket. It contrasted starkly to the morning light. No one in the palace wore black.

She felt dizzy. Almost no one wore black. “Wait, you’re a—”

“No questions here.” A large hand, clammy and cold, clasped over her mouth. “Don’t be afraid; I’m here to help you. But you need to come with me.”

Vhalla looked up at the man with wide eyes. She breathed sharply through her nose and shook her head in protest against the silencing palm.

“I must speak with you privately, but the Master of Tome will return soon. So, come with me.” He slowly peeled his hand from her face.

“No.” She almost fell backwards. “I won’t go with you! You shouldn’t be here, I won’t go there.” Her mind was jumbled from panic, heightened by the night’s exertion.

The man grabbed her once more with an annoyed look and a glance over his shoulder.

Vhalla opened her mouth to call out for help, but all she inhaled was a strong herbal scent from the cloth that was suddenly pressed against her face. Right before she lost her struggle with consciousness, Vhalla saw the symbol embroidered on the man’s jacket as he leaned forward to pick her up. Stitched over his left breast was a silver moon with a dragon curling around its center; split in two, each half was off-set from the other. She had never seen it with her own eyes, but she knew what that ominous image meant: a sorcerer.

IT FELT AS though someone had taken an axe to the back of her head, split it open, and allowed her brain to leak out upon the unfamiliar pillow. Vhalla groaned and cracked her eyes. Her face felt hot, and not from the sunlight that streamed through—in Vhalla’s opinion—an enormous window.

The previous day came back to her in a rush. She sat and grabbed her temples as a chill raced through her. The prince’s return, finding every book she could think of, practically passing out while reading, and the man and his strange black jacket—it all came back with sickening speed.

Vhalla looked around the room cautiously, as though a specter may lurk in any shadow. The walls were the palace’s stonework, fitted and mortared. A decorative edge ran around the top of the room, unlike her own unadorned chambers. Sculpted dragons danced around moons.

Her eyes finally settled upon a small glass jar hanging from an iron hook bolted into the wall. Flickering within was a tongue of fire. There was no oil or wax to fuel it, no source for the flame. It simply hovered within its container.

She scrambled to her feet, bolting for the door. Her hands closed around the metal handle, and she tugged vigorously. The sound of iron on iron filled the room as the lock engaged and the door refused to budge. It was louder than the panicked scream stuck in her throat. The memory of the black-coated man flashed before her eyes; Vhalla blinked it away.

Taking a step back from the locked door, she frantically looked around the room. There was a bed, a small table, and a chamber pot. She ran to the window, throwing open the glass and looking downward. It was a dizzyingly straight drop to the ground far below.

The sound of the door latch disengaging brought her attention back within the room, and Vhalla plastered herself against the far wall. A sorcerer had taken her, and she did not want to believe where. The door swung open and a vaguely familiar pair of icy eyes met hers.

“Good to see you’re awake,” the man smiled cordially. “How do you feel?”

“Who are you?” Vhalla plastered herself to the wall, so close that it would be impossible to fit even a piece of parchment between her back and the stone. She eyed the man warily. He wore different clothes today; long robes atop a tunic and trousers. Over his left breast was a patch that reaffirmed her panic: a black swatch with a broken moon.

“Do not be afraid.” The man raised his hands unthreateningly. “No one will hurt you.”

“Who are you?” Vhalla repeated. She knew by his floor-length robes and belled sleeves that the man was of higher rank than she, as almost everyone in the palace was. Vhalla struggled to keep her voice as calm and respectful as possible. She failed.

“Wouldn’t you like to sit down?” He continued to ignore her question.

“I’d like to know who you are,” Vhalla repeated slowly, her eyes glued to his left breast. A nail chipped as she dug her fingers into the stone. “Why did you take me?”

“My name is Victor Anzbel,” the man finally revealed with a small sigh. “I am the Minister of Sorcery, and you are in the Tower of Sorcerers. I took you because I need to speak with you, and doing so upon the library floor was not an option. Forgive me, but it was already dawn, and we didn’t have time for relaxed introductions there.”

“Wh-what could you possibly need to speak with me about?” Vhalla stuttered, leaning against the wall for a wholly different reason. She was in the Tower of Sorcerers speaking to the Minister of Sorcery. She must be dreaming.

“Please, come.” He motioned to the door. “I do not wish to discuss this across a room.”

Without waiting for her response the man walked away, leaving the door open behind him. Vhalla heard his boots upon the stone floor in the unknown beyond. She didn’t want to leave her wall. Her wall was safe and stable.

Sorcerers were odd and dangerous; they kept to themselves and left normal people alone. That was why they had their own Tower, so they kept out of sight and mind. Everyone in the South had always told her so. It was the last place she belonged.

“Would you like black or herbal tea?” the minister called nonchalantly from the other room.

Vhalla swallowed. Perhaps if she stayed still long enough she could become part of the wall and vanish from the world.

“I have cream and sugar also.”

Vhalla weighed her options, ignoring the odd fact that he actually had cream and sugar at his disposal and would offer some to someone like her. There were two ways out: the window or the door. The former involved a long fall to certain death. The latter involved facing the sorcerer who had kidnapped her. She didn’t like either of her options.

Vhalla inched forward toward the open door, wringing her hands into the sleeping gown she still wore. She didn’t care if it was against Southern fashions, she’d give anything for a pair of trousers.

The minister was busy at a far counter in the connected room. A kettle sat over another unnatural flame as the man fumbled with jars of dried herbs and mugs. It was a workroom of sorts with a table, more beds, and bandages. Vhalla recognized some clerical salves and her eyes fell on a row of knives. Was she to be part of some living experiment?

“Ah, there you are. Please, take a seat.” The man half turned, motioning to the table. His eyes held a youthful spark to which Vhalla was unaccustomed. She had always thought palace officials were ancient, like Master Mohned, but this man couldn’t be more than ten years her senior.

Vhalla slunk along the far wall, careful not to bump into anything. She almost jumped out of her skin when her feet fell on something soft. Nothing more than a rug accounted for the plushness beneath her. Vhalla blinked at it. It was far nicer than what decorated the library. She curled her toes into the soft fibers.

“So then, black or herbal tea?” the man persisted, as though nothing about their situation was strange in the slightest. His hand hovered over the kettle, one mug already steaming.

“Neither.” Vhalla had not forgotten the cloth he used to make her unconscious.

“Are you hungry, perhaps some food?” He accepted her refusal with grace, but left an empty mug on the countertop where he worked.

“No.” Vhalla studied him carefully as he sat in the chair opposite her. The minister curled his fingers around his mug with an annoyingly relaxed little smile.

“If you change your mind you only have to say the word,” he offered.

Vhalla’s throat felt too gummy to do little more than nod. Tea would be nice, but the Mother Goddess in all her shining glory would cease to rise for dawn before she accepted anything from this man.

“What’s your name?”

Vhalla bit her lower lip, torn between respecting the official sitting before her and the fear that threatened to set her balled hands to shaking. He could easily find out her name, she reasoned. Though forcing it between her lips was harder than confessing her darkest secret. “Vhalla,” she answered. Perhaps if she obliged him he would let her go. “Vhalla Yarl.”

“Vhalla, it is a pleasure to meet you.” He smiled over his tea.

She tried to keep her face blank, something she was never really good at.

“I know you have many questions, so I will try to explain things as simply as possible. First, allow me to commend you on your efforts on our prince’s behalf.”

Vhalla nodded mutely. The library seemed like a different world. The only reminder that it was real was her clothing and the fever heat still radiating throughout her body.

“Last night, I was summoned by the clerics to inspect the prince’s magical Channels,” he continued. “As a Waterrunner, they needed my knowledge.”

“Prince Baldair doesn’t have magic,” Vhalla interrupted. She didn’t understand the strange squint to his eyes.

The minister stroked his goatee, sitting back in his chair. “Prince Baldair is still at the front,” he said finally.

Vhalla could not stop her mouth from falling open. If Prince Baldair wasn’t in the palace then that meant the prince she saved was...

“It’s Prince Aldrik?” Every servant’s whisper and mean spirited-word about the snobbish heir to the throne echoed in her ears. That was the man she had struggled all night for?

“It is,” the minister chuckled, amused by her confusion and shock. Vhalla shut her mouth quickly. “While I was examining him, there was something peculiar about a certain set of notes tucked under some of the books’ covers. Once the prince was stable, I had time to properly inspect them. They were crafted by a magical hand,” Minister Victor explained, leaning forward. “Imagine my surprise when they were not from any of the Tower apprentices conducting similar research on our prince’s behalf, but from the library.”

“That’s impossible.” Vhalla shook her head.

“When a sorcerer makes something, trace amounts of magic might be left behind,” the minister elaborated. “Especially when that sorcerer is not yet properly Awoken and their power Manifests itself in unexpected ways.”

“I don’t understand.” Vhalla wanted to go home. She needed this man to say whatever it was he wanted to and then let her go back to her library. Work had already begun for the day, and she was late.

“Vhalla, you are a sorcerer,” the minister finally said outright.

“What?” The world ground to a halt, and the silence weighed upon her shoulders.

A memory flashed before her eyes, a young girl standing before a farmhouse, begging for her father to stay. But he had to go; the Empire had called for soldiers to fight the magic taint that was seeping into the world from the Crystal Caverns. Vhalla remembered her father’s leaving.

“What?” her voice was sharper, stronger. She was on her feet. “No, you have the wrong person, the wrong books. My notes must have gotten mixed up with someone else’s. I’m not a sorcerer. My father was a farmer, my mother’s parents worked in the post office of Hastan. None of us are—”

“Magic is not in the blood,” the minister interrupted her hasty words. “Two sorcerers can give birth to a Commons,” he explained, discussing those with and without magic. “Two Commons can give birth to a sorcerer. Magic chooses us.”

“I’m sorry.” Vhalla was laughing as though the world was one giant joke and she was the punchline. “I am not a sorcerer.” She started for the door despite not knowing where it led. Her logical facilities weren’t quite functioning. She just wanted out.

“You cannot run from this.” The minister stood as well. “Vhalla, your powers have begun to Manifest. You are older than the normal age of such Manifestations, but it is happening.” He blinked a few times. “Even now, I can see traces of magic woven around you.”

She stopped, halfway between the minister and the door, and wrung her hands. Just because he claimed to see it did not mean it was there. He might be lying, Vhalla insisted to herself. Could she trust the word of a man who abducted her?

“Your magic will continue to grow. Nothing will stop it, and eventually you will be Awoken to your powers in full. It will be either at the hands of another sorcerer, guiding you, or your powers will simply unleash themselves.” The minister’s tone held no levity. But the lack of jest made it no easier to believe.

“What could happen?” The nervous energy within her sought an outlet. Her whole body trembled as she waited for the answer.

“I don’t know.” Minister Victor reached for his mug of caramel-colored liquid, taking a long and thoughtful sip. “If you are a Firebearer, perhaps you light a candle with a glance. Or you could set the entire Imperial Library ablaze.”

Vhalla nearly lost her balance and collapsed, the words knocking the wind from her. She shook her head, as if she could cast reality away.

“I want to go home,” she finally breathed.

“I am sorry, Vhalla, but you should stay—”

“I want to go home!” Vhalla’s cry interrupted him. Through burning eyes she glared at a man to whom she should show respect and subservience.

He let her catch her breath before he spoke. “Very well,” Minister Victor said with a soft and thoughtful voice.

“Really?” Vhalla’s fingers relaxed, her fingernails leaving crescent moons in her palms.

“I can see this is a decision that will not benefit from force.” He held up both hands in a sign of surrender. “Usually when I bring a budding sorcerer into the Tower, they come around. I had hopes that I would be able to show—”

“I don’t want to see it!” Vhalla nearly shouted. Her hand went to her mouth, as if to catch back the rough and rude words.

“Perhaps, some other time.” The minister smiled.

As he led her out the door, Vhalla’s eyes remained on her feet. The hall was a sloping downward spiral with doors at random intervals on either side. There were no windows, and she presumed the light to be from more of the unnatural flames that she had seen in the previous rooms.

Vhalla did not want to look at any of it. She didn’t want to take anything away from this place, not even a memory. She didn’t want to have anything in common with the strange Tower people who currently gave her and the minister a wide girth. Biting her lip, Vhalla choked back a sob. She was tired, and she did not have the energy for this sorcerer’s lies. He was mistaken, and when she returned to the real world she would never have to think of this place again. Bringing her hands together she fidgeted with her fingers.

Yet, despite her mental and emotional withdrawal, Vhalla did see. She saw the endless rugs of dazzling patterns that lined this hall. Where one rug ended, the next began; her feet never even touched stone. She saw the start of ornamentation upon the walls, sculptures embellished with iron and silver, forming shapes she stubbornly would not permit herself to look upon. Vhalla saw the feet of those who passed, boots and polished shoes. Why did sorcerers have such nice things when the slippers she owned were almost worn to holes? When her windows were archer’s slits and her halls were barren, cracked, and roughhewn?

The minister wordlessly led her down a side hall. The stones began to shift into shapes and colors she was more familiar with, the lighting dimmer. Vhalla looked up, finally, as they stopped. Before them was a narrow, pointed dead end.

“Minister?” Panic blossomed in her anew.

“The Tower lives and dies by the moon, by the Father who keeps the realms of chaos at bay and guards the celestial gateway in the heavens above,” he informed her cryptically. “When you have calmed down, I know you will come find us again. Most Manifesting sorcerers do, when they think logically.”

“Will you take me by force again if I don’t?” Vhalla took a half step away, strongly doubting she would ever seek out this man and his Tower by choice.

“My apologies for that.” The minister had a glint in his eyes of what she almost believed to be sincerity. “I didn’t see any other way to speak privately with you. I thought if you were in the Tower you would be willing to see what it held for you.”

“I would have listened...” Vhalla looked away in annoyance. She wasn’t sure which frustrated her more: his actions or the fact that he was right about her not being willing to mingle with sorcerers.

“Very well, I will see you soon I’m certain,” he said lightly; little seemed to bother Victor Anzbel. Vhalla wondered how many times he had performed this same dance with another.

The minister held out a hand, motioning toward the dead end. Vhalla blinked at him, but he said nothing else. She stepped forward hesitantly. Reaching out a palm she expected to push some form of hidden door. Her fingers vanished right into the stone.

Vhalla gasped and she looked back to the minister for explanation, but he was gone. She barely suppressed a shiver before plunging herself into the magic wall.

Emerging on the other side, Vhalla instantly recognized her location. The stone behind her looked the same as at it had every day as she’d passed it growing up. Squinting, Vhalla noticed something she never had before—a circle, cut in two, its halves offset from the other—the broken moon of the Tower. How had she missed it all these years?

Timidly, she reached a hand back, and it vanished back into the false wall. A spark of curiosity blossomed within her. What magic could do this?

Vhalla quickly put the thought from her mind. Too curious for her own good, the master had always scolded. Magic was dangerous. She reiterated the hushed words she had always heard on Southerner’s tongues: magic was risky and strange.

She shook her head and headed for the library as fast as her feet would carry her.

IT WAS FAR easier to feign normalcy when she was in her drab apprentice robes being scolded by the master for arriving almost four hours late for her duties. His words were restrained and her punishment was nothing more than being reprimanded in front of Roan, who sat at the desk transcribing. The other girl looked at Vhalla with curiosity; a glint in Roan’s eye revealing she didn’t buy Vhalla’s excuse of oversleeping. The master did give it heed, however, after the prior night’s excitement.

The master assigned Vhalla the most boring task there was in the library: alphabetization. Most of the staff resented the chore, but Vhalla found the dance of her fingers along the spines therapeutic. This was her world of safety and consistency.

“Vhalla,” a voice whispered from the end of the aisle. Sareem glanced up and down the intersection where the shelves met. He motioned for her to follow, and she was down the ladder without a second thought, winding though bookshelves behind him toward the outer wall.

“What is it, Sareem?” Vhalla asked softly as they reached her window seat.

“Are you feeling well?” he asked, motioning for her to sit at his side.

“I’m fine.” She could not meet his eyes as she sat. How could she sum up the unorthodox events of her day?

“You’re lying,” Sareem scolded. “You’re a bad liar, Vhalla.”

“It was a long night. I’m tired,” she mumbled. That much was true.

“It’s not like you to be late. I was worried.” He frowned.

“Sorry to worry you,” Vhalla apologized.

She had known Sareem for almost five years. He had started his apprenticeship only two years after her and they have been fast friends. Certainly she could trust him.

“Sareem, do you know any sorcerers?”

“What?” He leaned away, as though she had made some kind of threat. “Why would I associate with sorcerers?”

“I know your father is from Norin. I hear magic is more accepted in the West. I thought that maybe...” What began as a rushed excuse quickly lost its momentum.

“No,” Sareem shook his head. “I don’t know any sorcerers, and I don’t plan to.”

“Right,” Vhalla agreed half-heartedly. She felt cold.

“What book is your head in now?” Sareem tapped her chin with his knuckles, bringing her eyes back to his. Vhalla attempted to make up some explanation but he wasn’t about to allow it. “I know you, Miss Yarl.” Sareem wore a satisfied smirk. “Read all you want, fine. I can’t judge you for it, not after it likely saved the prince. But don’t go seeking out sorcerers, all right?”

Vhalla couldn’t stand his caring gaze.

“They’re dangerous, Vhalla. Look at our crown prince. His mood is tainted by his flames, or so they say.” Sareem rested a palm on her head, holding it there for a long moment. “Vhalla, you’re warm.”

“What?” She blinked, fretting that somehow he felt the magic within her.

“You’re fevered.” Sareem’s hand had shifted to her forehead. “You shouldn’t be here. We should go tell the master.”

“I feel fine.” Vhalla shook her head.

“No, if you strain yourself it will only get worse. Autumn Fever will be upon us before we know it, and you should keep your strength.” He was helping her up when she caught movement on the edge of her vision.

Vhalla’s eyes shifted. At the far end of the shelves stood a figure shadowed between the beams of light cutting through the dust from windows. Her heart began to race. A black jacket covered the person’s shoulders, the hem ending at the waist, and the sleeves stopping just below the elbow. She couldn’t suppress a fearful chirp.

“Vhalla, what is it?” Sareem regained her attention, and by the time he turned to follow her wide-eyed stare, the person was gone.

“N-nothing.” Vhalla struggled to keep her voice stable.

Sareem helped her back to the main desk, where he was, in turn, scolded for not working. Her friend disappeared back into the stacks with a small grin in Vhalla’s direction. The master affirmed Sareem’s claims by placing a wrinkled palm on her forehead. With father-like worry he sent her back to her chambers early to rest.

Alone outside the library, Vhalla quickly found the statue that was spaced far enough from the wall to allow someone to side-step behind—and disappeared. Vhalla knew every crack in the walls, every uneven stone beneath her feet, and every servant passageway. She had been walking this route for almost seven years since her father traded an opportunity to advance from foot soldier in the militia to palace guard after the War of the Crystal Caverns; a trade he had made to see that his daughter had a better future than a farm in Cyven, the East.

Her hand paused upon her door handle; footsteps at the far end of the hall called her attention. A group of servants and apprentices passed along one of the passageways’ crossroads. She squinted past them, further down still. A pair of eyes stared back at her. Vhalla disappeared quickly into her room, throwing herself upon her bed. Sleep would not have come so quickly were it not for the exhaustion that seeped from her very bones.

Her sleep was restless and filled with a vivid dream.

She dreamt she felt the night air upon her skin as she stood before the palace-side library doors. Torches flanked them, their carved surfaces set shadows dancing in unnatural ways. Through the crack between the doors she felt the cool, musty air of the library beyond, like the breath of a sleeping beast.

The doors did not obstruct her; like the fake wall in the Tower, they allowed her to pass through with ease. Vhalla soon found herself in the moonlit library. She turned, starting for her window seat. Her heartbeat fluttered faster than a hummingbird’s wings. There, she had to go there.

The world began to blur, the bookcases fading into a haze. Everything slipped around her as she raced toward her destination. Upon her favorite perch sat the hunched figure of a man. Hazy and shadowed, she could not make out his features and, when he finally turned, the movement was pained. Surprise tensed his shoulders, and Vhalla could only make out a pair of dark eyes set upon a blurry face, struggling to focus on her much as she was struggling to focus on him.

“Who are you?” The man’s words were as deep and dark as midnight. They resonated directly into Vhalla’s core, and it fractured the faded world around her.

Wait, Vhalla cried. Wait! Only air passed through her lips. Everything surrounding her lost its sharpness and began to crumble beneath her feet. She fell into darkness.

Vhalla awoke with a start, her covers upon the floor from thrashing about in her sleep. She pressed a palm to her forehead. Her skin wasn’t fevered, but it was clammy from night sweats.

It was a dream, she insisted while readying herself for the day. But nothing seemed to be able to calm the nerves upsetting her stomach, not even the familiar scratch of her rough spun woolen clothing. She had worn the same clothes for years, though Vhalla was suddenly tugging at her robe’s sleeves uncomfortably.

She had a similar dream the next night, and the night after that, each time more vivid than the last. She ignored the shakes the dreams left in their wake. Vhalla blamed it on the black-clad figures who seemed to stalk her every movement—just beyond the edge of her vision. She did not go a day without seeing a sorcerer swathed in black, but only out of the corners of her eyes.

They stood at the edge of a bookshelf, the junction of a hall; sometimes they passed through doors that would be locked when she tried the knob. No one else ever saw them. Not Roan, who sorted books with her. Not Sareem when he walked her back to her room after dinner, meals that sat too heavy in her stomach.

The feel of eyes upon her became as common as breathing. What they wanted from her—they did not say. What they were waiting for—they did not reveal.

Vhalla ignored her suspicion that she already knew what they sought.

One day, she was working alone in the library when the hairs at the nape of her neck raised on end.

At the end of the row stood a woman. She wore a variation of the Tower’s apprentice robes that Vhalla had only seen once or twice before. The black jacket still ended at her waist, but the sleeves were capped over the shoulders. Vhalla could not guess the significance of having different styled robes. Library apprentices all wore the same.

The woman did not move, she did not even seem to breathe. Dark brown eyes, almost black, were set upon deep tan Western skin. Black hair fell straight around her face with horizontal fringe cut right below the woman’s brow. Her hair was longer in the front and shorter in the back, exposing her neck.

It was the first time Vhalla had seen one of her watchers long enough to examine their appearance. She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but the woman looked like any other Westerner. Wasn’t she always told that sorcerers were different from normal people?

“What do you want?” Vhalla whispered. Her eyes watered, she did not even allow herself to blink for fear the woman would vanish.

“Have you ever read any of these?” The woman had a thick accent, holding her a and y like those of the West. Vhalla had heard traces of it in Sareem, even though he had been born and raised in the South.

“These?” Vhalla repeated carefully.

“These books,” the woman clarified. “Have you ever read any of them?”

“Of course I have,” Vhalla retorted defensively. People did not often question her knowledge of the library, especially when it came to her reading.

“And you still fear us?” The woman squinted slightly, tilting her head.

Vhalla subconsciously took a step away. “I-I don’t fear—” the woman’s approach stilled her words. What would this person do to her? Vhalla looked over her shoulder to make sure Sareem or Roan weren’t nearby. She jumped when she looked back—the sorcerer stood right before her.

“This one.” Pulling a manuscript from the shelf, the woman passed it to her. “Read this.”

“Why?” Vhalla accepted the manuscript from the woman with hesitant fingers. She read the title quickly: An Introduction to Sorcery.

“Because you are too smart to be so afraid of what you are,” the dark-haired woman replied simply, turning to walk away.

Vhalla blinked, reeling from the strange interaction. “Wait,” she called a little too loudly. “What’s your name?”

The woman stopped. Vhalla clutched the book with white knuckles, holding her breath. Dark eyes assessed her, silently thoughtful.

“Larel.” With that, she vanished down the rows. Vhalla did not even try to pursue.

By the time the closing bells rang out across the library, Vhalla’s neck ached from being hunched over reading for so long. She had acquired additional manuscripts on magic to aide her on the more complex points. One was on magical Affinities, the other on sorcerers’ history.

Retrieving her worn bookmark from the powder blue sash holding her robes closed, Vhalla put it delicately between the pages. She returned the manuscript to its place, stacking her references on either side, out of order. No one else would be reading in the section of mysteries.

The next morning she trailed behind Roan as they walked through the palace. War was still being fought in Shaldan, and they had received a shipment of books to process from a conquered city. The guards had refused to carry the heavy crates up to the Imperial Library. Why two of the smallest girls in the palace were sent instead was a mystery to Vhalla.

As they descended through the outer wall, she began to wipe sweat from her brow. The library opened into the town at one of the palace’s highest access points and was always cooler, even in summer. The stables were further down along the capital’s main road.

“Did you know that when we first began to worship the Mother, all the Crones were Firebearers?” Vhalla blurted out suddenly, recalling the prior day’s reading.

“What?” Roan blinked, turning. “What’s a Firebearer?”

“I...” Vhalla opened and closed her mouth like a fish, formulating words. The last thing she wanted to do was admit to reading books on magic by explaining Firebearers. Ignoring Roan’s question she continued on. “Well, I didn’t know this, since the Empire invaded Cyven to spread the word of the Mother.”

“I know the history of the Empire’s expansion,” Roan laughed lightly. “It’s not that long.”

“Right, well, I always thought that worshiping the Mother Sun came from the South, since the Emperor says his wars are to rid the world of heathens. But it’s actually Western. King Solaris names himself Emperor, invades Mhashan, takes their religion, and uses it to claim Cyven and now Shaldan,” Vhalla mused aloud. “But, he’s doing it to spread a faith—or at least he claims—that isn’t originally his.”

“All right, what are you reading?” Roan hummed in amusement.

“Don’t you think that’s interesting?” Vhalla asked, dropping all mention of sorcery.

“I do.” Her friend smiled. The expression quickly turned into a teasing grin. “I also think someone’s been reading strange things when they should be working.”

Vhalla looked away, guilty as charged. Her friend only laughed, nudging her side. Roan was less than a year older than Vhalla, and they had always looked out for each other. When they met seven years ago, only Lidia and another man, who was now long gone, worked as library apprentices. Two eleven-year-old girls hardly had any interest in twenty-somethings; Vhalla and Roan had taken to each other out of necessity and kinship in the written word.

Rounding a corner, they came to a small landing that overlooked the ground below. Vhalla ignored a shadowed figure on the edge of her vision. The stables were two large buildings built into the walls of the castle, each on either side of the main road leading up to the palace. They stretched on for an impossibly long time, and she always felt a little awe at all the horses, carts, and carriages they could contain. Presently, most of the stalls stood empty due to the strain the war was putting on the Empire’s resources.

After their brief escape into the sunlight, the women returned inside and descended a short, spiral staircase and exited out a small door onto the rocky, dusty ground. By the smaller portal were two, massive, opulent doors that Vhalla knew were for decoration over function. Behind them was a viewing room where the Emperor would—from time to time—allow common folk to speak of their troubles, on those rare times when he wasn’t off at war. She had only stood in that throne room once before when her father had first brought her to the capital to ask the Emperor to exchange his promotion into the palace guard for an opportunity to find an apprenticeship for his daughter.

The first six stalls belonged to the Imperial Family. All but two were empty. The Empress’s mount, a beautiful white mare stood stoically in place. In the adjacent stall resided a Warstrider that snorted as she passed. Vhalla stopped, captured by the beast’s eyes.

“I hear the soldiers call it the nightmare stallion.” Roan was suddenly next to her, also studying the oversized creature as she spoke. “I think it comes—in part—from the prince’s reputation, but I hear the beast is pretty foul toward most.”

“His reputation?” Vhalla looked quickly at a plaque on the stall door. Prince Aldrik Solaris.

“He’s a sorcerer. It makes people uncomfortable. Magic is something that should stay within the Tower.” Roan tucked a piece of lemon-colored hair behind her ear.

Vhalla had always been jealous of Roan’s hair and generally everything else about her. Vhalla’s hair was a boring brown mess of frizz and untamable waves; Roan’s fell in beautiful curls. Southerners were lucky with their light skin and features. Even the Gods were shown that way. Vhalla felt perpetually inadequate compared to Southerners and Westerners. Those in the East usually had straw-colored skin with dark brown eyes and wavy hair. Nothing was fantastic about her.

“They say the prince’s eyes glow red with rage,” Roan murmured.

“What do you think?” Vhalla whispered, looking up at her friend.

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen a battlefield, and when I have seen the prince, his eyes have never been red.” Roan put her hands on her hips, squinting at the horse as if it would give her some secrets about its owner. “But I think that in every rumor there is a small piece of truth.”

They started walking again, closing the distance to the cart section of the stables.

“Then, do you think it’s true he’s a bastard?” Vhalla asked quietly, not wanting to be overheard by any others walking about, particularly those in black robes she suspected to be lingering in the shaded stalls.

“I don’t know if it matters. The Emperor married our late Empress before she showed. Who is to say whether or not she was with child before their wedding bed? But the Emperor calls him as his legitimate heir and, since our first Lady Solaris walks the lands of the Father now, no one can say differently.” Roan shrugged.

Vhalla nodded, recalling a book she read on the Imperial Family when she was fresh to the capital. After conquering the West twenty-five years ago, the Emperor quickly took a Western bride to his bed, tying loyalties with blood. But there were always whispers surrounding the wedding to the youngest daughter of the late Western king when she had two older, eligible sisters. Her death, while giving birth to the Empire’s crown prince within one year of the wedding, had only made it worse.

Upon reaching the cart section, the young women met the Master of Horse. After navigating through greetings and polite chatter they retrieved the books they had come for. The crates that held the manuscripts were too heavy to carry, and the contents had to be split into smaller boxes, the rest to be retrieved at a later date.

It took almost triple the time to cover the same distance back up the palace. At first, both girls seemed to be playing a game of denial and determination, but once Vhalla suggested they take a breather, those breaks became something that occurred liberally throughout the rest of their ascent.

After parting ways with Roan at the desk, Vhalla disappeared into the books to pretend to work. She retrieved her manuscripts from mysteries without thought, carrying them over to her window seat. It wasn’t until everything was set out that Vhalla noticed the piece of paper folded around her bookmark. She looked around quickly, there were no black-clad observers.

A tingle shot through her fingers as she touched the paper, prompting a sharp intake of breath. The book fell open-faced to the floor, forgotten. Vhalla stared at the foreign, slanted, tight script.

To Vhalla Yarl...

DEEP LINES APPEARED between Vhalla’s brows as she studied the note. The writing was unfamiliar. Lidia’s slanted the other direction. The master’s was far spikier. Sareem’s wasn’t half as lovely. Cadance was a child, and her writing showed it. Roan’s was the closest, but Vhalla knew how Roan formed every capital letter from years of penmanship classes together.

No, this wasn’t anyone from the library.

To Vhalla Yarl,

To the one who denies her heritage and seeks out danger by dismissing the tutelage and open arms of the Tower of Sorcerers. To the foolish girl who risks her life and the lives of those around her by walking about, Manifesting freely. To she who is so selfish that she would inconvenience her peers by making them babysit her every movement.

It is time to stop pretending. It is time to become serious about who you are and your future as a sorcerer. Enough time has been wasted already.

She stared numbly at the antagonistic note. With a cry she crumpled and threw it across the window seat, watching it bounce off the opposite wall. Had it been the woman, Larel? The note seemed nothing like her, but what did Vhalla know? What did she know about any of them?

Vhalla ignored the crumpled parchment for the rest of the day before reluctantly picking it up, folding it, and placing it beneath her sash as the closing bells rang. Sareem linked arms with her, walking toward the mess hall, but Vhalla quickly excused herself, encouraging Roan and the young man to go ahead. She wasn’t hungry and meals were the first thing she sacrificed when her mind was full.

Alone in her room sitting in dim candlelight, Vhalla inspected the note over again. Every word sent red heat to her cheeks. Before she could stop herself Vhalla was reaching for quill and ink.

Of the phantoms stalking my waking hours, I don’t know which one you are, but you know nothing. I am no sorcerer. If this is Larel, you may speak with me in person as you did last time. I am not about to indulge someone so cowardly that they will not even sign their name. I am reading books on magic purely for—

For what? Vhalla’s quill paused. Why was she reading the book the sorcerer had handed her? There wasn’t any point to it. It wasn’t as if Vhalla would—or could—ever use the knowledge it contained.

—personal intellectual improvement and learning. Go bother someone else.

She dropped her face into her palms. This wasn’t who she was. Vhalla muttered a curse under her breath. She did not speak harshly to strangers—or even those she knew. This was the Tower’s fault. Were it not for their persistence with wearing her down with every waking hour, Vhalla would not be so exhausted. She crumpled the note once more and threw it into her closet, trying to ignore it.

Her exhaustion was not helped by that same recurring dream. Every night she chased shadows and asked hazy figures for names, only to have her words vanish into wind.

The next morning she shrugged on her apprentice robes, not even trying to run a brush through her hair.

Grabbing her reply off the closet floor, she resolved to give this sorcerer a piece of her mind. She hardly cared if she offended some random apprentice in the Tower of Sorcerers. The note went in An Introduction to Sorcery, and Vhalla expected that to be the end.

She was wrong.

The person exceeded her expectation in their stubbornness.

Yarl,

I am not stalking the halls. I do not slink or dodge. I am waiting to see if you are even worthy of my time. I am not a phantom with little better to do than keep an eye on your wellbeing. I am the phantom in the darkness.

However, if your last note and desperate attempts at research really are any indication, you are not worth an iota of the ink on this page. Perhaps you should do the sorcerer community a favor and Eradicate yourself before you embarrass us all?

That should have been the moment when she stopped writing. That should have been the moment when Vhalla threw her hands in the air, marched to the Tower, and demanded to be Eradicated. At least, after looking up that eradication meant the removal of a sorcerer’s powers and not some horrible death sentence.

But Vhalla had little that she called her own. She did not have clothes, gems, or precious metals. She had never even eaten fresh fruit other than what her mother had grown around their farmhouse when she was a girl. Vhalla did have one precious thing though, her knowledge. And she would be cursed before she would let an apprentice of the Tower show her up intellectually.

To the one who declares themselves The Phantom,

Perhaps I should demand to be Eradicated! I read about the War of the Crystal Caverns; the magic unleashed there was not only capable of warping men’s minds and bodies into abominations but it is also written that the magic was set free by sorcerers’ meddling. It was a two-year war against monsters that kept my father from my mother and I as she lay sick and dying. War and horror spawned and fueled by magic.

Perhaps the world should be Eradicated!

Vhalla had never been more certain that she should rid herself of whatever magic she may possess. Everything she had always been told was right, and it only took half a book on the history of the Empire’s most mysterious war to understand this. Magic changes things; magic made more men die at war; magic could turn a human into an abomination.

Vhalla shoved the books back on the shelf in self-righteous anger.

Anger fought a battle with amazement when this person was stubborn enough to pen out another reply.

Yarl,

You were reading about the War of the Crystal Caverns? Was your interest in history sparked by your introduction to magic or your misplaced vendetta against it? In either case, allow me to elaborate on your reading. Perhaps, in this, you may be right. There are good men among the wicked in this world, donning the fleece of the innocent. He who set free the power that warps the hearts, minds, and bodies of mortals was certainly wicked. The actions of this man should condemn only him, not all who wield magic. It was also because of sorcery that the war could be ended and the power resealed in the Crystal Caverns. Soldiers – your father – came home because of the magical warriors of the Black Legion.

Consider that, when you wish to be Eradicated. Are you going to be the sorcerer who could have saved lives but chose instead to be no one? When a sword is thrust into someone’s gut, do you blame the sword or the knight who wields it?

When will you stop being afraid, read, and learn more about who you are?

Vhalla stared at the note. She did not know what was more agitating; this person’s tone or the fact that they were right. Vhalla confirmed their claims by actually finishing the book she started the day prior. The Black Legion, the war sorcerers of the Empire, had been integral to sealing the Caverns and their dangerous magic once more.

Were those sorcerers any different from any other soldiers? No, her quill paused for a moment, hovering over her blank page. Were sorcerers very different from the people she called normal?

Phantom,

I’ve moved away from the introduction; I want to learn more about what sorcerers do, what magic is. I found a book on magical Affinities. As I understand it, the early sorcerers in the West believed that magic came from the Mother Sun in the form of her elements, so they harnessed and trained those elements. This is why Crones were the only ones with fire Affinities, called Firebearers.

Then I began to research Groundbreakers next. It seems with their abilities to mend wounds, charge magical salves, and create potions would be most useful.

Vhalla Yarl

As much as Vhalla did not want to, she found the words of her challenger’s notes embedding themselves into her head. At every opportunity over the next weeks, Vhalla withdrew to sneak down the long rows of books into the aisle of mysteries. As the pile of notes in her closet grew, so did her awe and appreciation for her phantom’s seemingly endless knowledge.

Yarl,

What is magic? I am afraid you will not find that answer in these books. It is a question more suited for theologians and philosophers.

Am I to commend you for pointing out the obvious? Tell me why Groundbreakers can do these things and maybe I shall grace you with further correspondence.

The Phantom

Vhalla vigorously researched an answer the rest of that afternoon and the day after. How dare this person push her so far, further than even the master had ever pushed her, to pursue new knowledge? Something about their words seeped deep into her. Pride swelled her chest when she found something that may be considered acceptable by her phantom. It was undeniable: she wanted to impress her Phantom.

Phantom,

While not exclusive to their Affinity or proximity to Shaldan, Groundbreakers will often times possess magical sight. This gives them the ability to locate afflictions in the body and to diagnose illness. But, as the writing illustrates, this is not exclusive to Groundbreakers. I could not find anything beyond that.

Vhalla Yarl

Without realizing it, Vhalla’s days began to fall into a repetitive cycle of work, a note from the Phantom, and sleep. She found a rhythm in managing her work to maximize the amount of time in her window seat. The more she read, the more she realized that she had never contemplated the ways of the magical world. She was disappointed in herself as a scholar, and that only served to fuel her continued research. Vhalla had always considered herself intelligent, at least above average. But could she even make that claim if she ignored a whole field of study with a closed mind?

Yarl,

I see your tone has changed. Very well, now that you are showing some appropriate humility, I shall indulge you. A Groundbreaker possesses an Affinity for the earth, but if they are lucky they also possess an Affinity of the self that gives them the ability to inspect a person better than any cleric. Affinities of the self are lesser known, and the literature is sparser as a result. However, what we do know is that every natural Affinity bears a unique Affinity of the self, even if not all sorcerers of an elemental Affinity possess the skills.

The Phantom

Despite herself, Vhalla began to contemplate Affinities. If she was indeed a sorcerer, what Affinity she would have? At night, when writing by candlelight, Vhalla stared into the flame, wondering if she could make it move and dance as the Firebearers in her books could.

Phantom,

I wonder, do all people have an Affinity? Is every man and woman an untapped magical being? Is everyone simply waiting to Manifest?

I have been reading about the history of magic and it seems sorcery is connected with some of our oldest traditions. I never realized that the mirror that passes from one Head Crone to another was intended to be a vessel for keeping the Mother’s own magic within.

The writing on the Crone’s mirror led me to find a work by a man named Karmingham. He discussed magical transference via conductors and storage via vessels. Is anything a sorcerer touches a magical vessel?

Sincerely, Vhalla Yarl

Some days she would reread the notes. She’d stare at that slanted, tight script and wonder whose hand wrote it. No one ever came forward, from Tower or library staff. The longer the game went on, the more she began to think he really was a phantom haunting the library. She would joke with herself that he was the same man who had been lurking in her dreams for weeks.

Vhalla Yarl,

Your tone has changed. Are you beginning to consider sorcery with something more than your prior ill-conceived, ignorant notions?

I regret to inform you that not all people have a magical Affinity. Most are simply close-minded Commons who fear something only because they do not know and cannot understand it. You are special. Magic has chosen you, and it is time you accept that.

I am impressed that you picked a work like Karmingham and deciphered it. Perhaps something has sunk in these past few weeks.

You are correct; a magical vessel can either conduct or store magic. It is impossible to have an item that does both. But vessels are difficult to create, even for experienced Waterrunners. While unintentional vessels are possible, they are highly uncommon because a sorcerer’s will must be very strong to form one. More often, a vessel is created when a sorcerer leaves a magical trace in something he or she makes. Not true power, but like an inky fingerprint upon a blank page.

The Phantom

Her dreams became a growing problem that Vhalla ignored by daylight. Every night, she dreamed of trying to reach a figure in the darkness. The only explanation was that those dreams were a result of the mysterious notes.

Dear Phantom,

Your praise warms me in an odd way, despite your bleak outlook on the world. I think it should be a sorcerer’s obligation to share magic with Commons, as you seem to call non-magical people, in a way that is easy to understand—like you have done with me.

I am not special. I have never been someone who is special. But perhaps you are right that my tone has changed these past weeks under your tutelage.

Here is my question for you today: Why is it that Affinities seem to prefer geographical regions?

Sincerely, Vhalla

While they continued to exchange notes through the introduction book, Vhalla’s reading now extended far beyond that primer. There were times that she wanted to share her notes with Roan or anyone. But then Vhalla remembered what the writing signified. No one other than her phantom would share her enthusiasm for magic. Well, no one other than her phantom—and other sorcerers in the Tower.

As a result, in an odd way, her phantom was becoming easier to confide in and speak openly to than her closest friends. The anonymity fit Vhalla’s inquisitive mind and she found it easy to reveal things about herself.

Vhalla,

Call me bleak; I call you naïve and optimistic. Shall we deem it even?

I do not praise you to warm you; I praise you so that you may continue to learn. But you may take what you will from it.

No sorcerer seems to know why Affinities favor geographical regions. It is known that the majority of Firebearers are from the West, Waterrunners from the South, and Groundbreakers from the North.

You think you are under my tutelage. Do you consider me your teacher?

Sincerely, The Phantom

Vhalla wasn’t sure how to respond, so she spent that night tossing and turning. If she confessed she had begun to see the phantom as a teacher, did that make her a sorcerer? The girl within her ran in terror at the thought. But after their correspondence began, there was also a budding woman inside her who faced the idea of being a sorcerer with a level head.

Dear Phantom,

Perhaps I do consider you my teacher. The last sorcerer I spoke to drugged me and kidnapped me to the Tower. At least your worst offense is your sharp tongue and that you have not told me your name. Who exactly are you?

You covered South, North, and West. But, what of the East?

Sincerely, Vhalla Yarl

“Vhalla!” Roan gave her a shove as they wandered toward the library from breakfast.

“Roan, sorry, what?” Vhalla mumbled, rubbing her shoulder.

“What is it with you lately?” Roan studied her up and down.

“I’m tired.” The truth of her words seeped into them.

“Yes, you are, but I have seen you tired before. This is different. You keep weird hours, and only pick at your food during meals, if you take them at all,” Roan argued.

Vhalla shrugged.

“Even Sareem has noticed something is wrong. He asked about you; he’s noticed your habits,” her friend muttered, her voice flat.

Vhalla continued to stare forward. Roan’s words were distant, like she was speaking under water. Who cared about Sareem? There were more important things on her mind. One such thing was the fact that sorcerers no longer seemed to be stalking her waking hours.

“Don’t tell me,” Roan whispered. “You and Sareem—are you an item?”

“What?” Vhalla blinked, summoned back to life. “Sareem and I? No.”

“Really?” Roan hummed. “He clearly cares about you, and he comes from a good family. You know his father was Norin’s ship builder.”

Vhalla nodded.

“And he’s handsome in that Western way. I always thought Southern blue eyes were striking on Western skin...”

“Excellent,” Vhalla murmured, half-heartedly.

“Really, not Sareem then?” Roan asked again.

Why did she care so much? “No, not Sareem,” Vhalla confirmed.

“But it is a boy?” her friend teased with a laugh at the idea of Vhalla romantically involved with someone.

Vhalla almost tripped over her own feet, earning a slow, penetrating stare.

“Is it? By the Sun, is it a boy?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Vhalla looked away.

The blonde’s hands clasped on Vhalla’s shoulders, and soon Vhalla stood in a small side hall. “Roan, we’re going to be late.”

“Then tell me faster, so we’re not.” Roan grinned.

Vhalla focused on the freckles dotting Roan’s nose rather than the uncomfortably eager look her friend was giving her.

“I thought you weren’t interested in boys after...”

“Narcio?” Vhalla sighed. He had owned her heart for a few months, and Vhalla had been young enough to think it was love. She didn’t regret her time with him, but things just hadn’t worked out. Vhalla wasn’t exactly good at relationships as she preferred to spend more time with books than people. Still, Vhalla wished she knew what became of the man whom she had lain with for the first time as a woman. “I’m not a Crone. Of course I’m still interested.”

“So who, what, where, when, how?” Roan persisted.

“There isn’t much to tell,” Vhalla sighed, finally relenting. “I don’t know his name, I don’t even know if he is a he...” she revealed softly, looking into the neighboring hallway to see if anyone walked too close.

“You’re making no sense.” Roan loosened her grip.

“It’s complicated, but it’s special. I’ve learned a lot; he’s really smart, and witty, too...in a mean sort of way, sometimes. But he is someone who seems to understand just how to push me, and yet I can’t seem to figure out anything about him.” She stopped herself before rambling on and giving away too much.

“But, how do you not know...?” Roan scrunched her eyebrows.

“I’ve never actually met him.” Before her friend could ask, Vhalla continued, “We communicate through notes in books. That’s all.” She turned and quickly continued down the hallway to the welcome escape of work.

“Wait, so that’s why you’re always running off lately? And carrying your satchel?” Roan pointed to the leather bag on Vhalla’s shoulder that she subconsciously gripped tighter. “To write notes to your secret lover?”

“Not my lover,” she remarked sharply.

“Fine. But, Vhalla, this is weird,” Roan whispered. Before Vhalla could offer up some kind of retort, her friend continued, “But it is kind of exciting.”

They parted ways upon arriving at the library. Vhalla quickly learned her task for the day, completed it, and headed toward her window seat. Her hands were eager to find a book with a note tucked within.

Dear Vhalla,

The East’s Affinity was air. They were called Windwalkers, but there has not been one for one hundred forty-three years.

I have already told you who I am. I am the phantom in the darkness.

Sincerely, The Phantom

Later that night, Vhalla fought sleep. In one hand she clutched the cryptic note, the other ran through her long hair, snagging on tangles.

She was tired of these games. Despite the trenchant and dry nature of her phantom, she did not want their correspondence to end. Her eyes drifted closed, no closer to a resolution of the battle raging inside her.

She stood in the empty hallway before the torch-lit library doors. Normally she entered at a run, but this time she walked. There was no need to run; it would all be the same anyway. She passed through histories, down the hall of mysteries, and a little further still to her window seat.

There she saw him, a black shadow illuminated only by the light of a single flame hovering magically at his side. He didn’t move and, for the first time, she didn’t speak.

In the silence Vhalla studied him. This night her dream became sharper, clearer. By not trying to speak, the dream remained stable long enough to make out features that normally were shadowed and fogged. The man was older than she by about six to eight years. His shoulder-length black hair was slicked back, away from his face and set with something that gave off a dull shine in the light.

“You are early tonight.” A deep voice hovered in the silence.

Vhalla was confused. I’m early? she wanted to ask, but only air escaped from her mouth.

“You have to try harder,” he sighed, pretending to inspect the book he had propped against his black-clad knees.

Try harder? Still only air passed through her moving lips.

“Tell me your name,” he commanded.

What?

“Tell me your name,” he demanded again, agitation clipping his words.

Vhalla.

“Tell me your name!” He snapped his book shut and turned to her. She could almost see the fire behind his coal-colored eyes.

Don’t slam books closed! She found her voice, and it echoed through the dream from her to his ears.

Vhalla felt his laughter resonating through her as she woke with a start.

Sitting, she tried to control her ragged breathing. It was hopeless and something wild took her.

She was up, on her feet, and down the hall in a flurry of motion. Vhalla didn’t even think twice as she put her shoulder to the solid library door to push it open. A faint flicker of light glittered off the lacquer of the shelves.

Her sudden stop almost caused her to tumble forward into the man on the window seat—her window seat. Her chest rose and fell with each gasping breath, and her side hurt slightly from the sprint, but her eyes locked onto him. She stood there in silence for a long moment, the stunning clarity of the world around her reminding her that this wasn’t a dream.

Slowly, he put his hand on the seat and turned, piercing her with his eyes. A knowing smirk spread across his face as he commanded her with only his stare. Minutes or hours could have passed before he spoke.

“I knew you would come.”

REALITY HIT VHALLA like a slap across the face. Pinned to the man’s breast was a symbol she knew well. She would know that symbol—a symbol that hovered over her every waking hour—better than any in the world. Crafted in gold gleamed the blazing sun of the Empire.

She stood bare-footed and in her nightgown before the crown prince, the second most powerful man in the world. He shifted his feet to the floor, nonchalantly placing his book on the bench. Moving his elbows to his thighs, he rested his head in his palm with one dark eyebrow arched, as though he had already become bored.

His eyes held her to the spot with an unbroken gaze. They simply stared at each other and, while Vhalla felt her anger slowly rising to a boil inside, his demeanor was perfectly calm. As time dragged on, it gave birth to her nerves. Whatever had possessed her vanished, and she realized this was a dangerous course of action. She was playing with fire.

“Y-you, you knew I would come?” Vhalla finally stammered out, wishing her tongue would obey her more eloquently before a prince.

“Oh, without doubt.” The prince’s voice was soft but she could feel it reverberating through her bones.

“How?” She blinked.

“Oh, Vhalla,” he chuckled and it made her tense. “Since when have I simply told you things?” He stood and she looked up at him, realizing he was head and shoulders taller than she, even taller than his brother. “I have never fed you information; you are far too smart for that. Where is the sport?” He rounded her, peering down the bridge of his nose. Vhalla felt like wounded prey snared in the trap of far bigger game. “Think, Vhalla. How did I know you would come running to me?”

“I don’t know...” she whispered.

He paused behind her, leaning close to her ear. Vhalla could feel the small hairs on the back of her neck move as he spoke.

“Vhalla.” She barely suppressed a shiver at his voice on her skin. “Show me that big intellect for which the world seems to praise you.”

“The dreams,” she breathed deeply and closed her eyes. He leaned away from her, and she let out a small sigh of relief.

“Very good.” It was a compliment, but it didn’t feel sincere.

“What about the dreams?” She turned to face him. A flame hovered magically over his shoulder. Her fascination with the tiny fire was only halted by her inability to catch her breath when she looked at him.

From this angle, the light was at her back and she could study his face properly. He had high cheekbones and a pronounced nose, his face was narrower and more angular than his brother’s. All of his facial structures were distinctly Western, save for Southern pale skin that seemed paper white even in the orange glow. Nothing about him was traditionally handsome, and for it all, he was astonishingly striking.

“Not thinking again,” the prince drawled, leaning against a bookshelf and looking bored anew.

“I don’t know,” Vhalla said weakly.

“Of course you do.” He yawned.

“No, I don’t,” she insisted, putting her hands on her hips defiantly.

“Then I thought wrong about you. You are boring, like everyone else.” He shrugged and turned, starting down the row of books.

Frustration and helplessness twisted her insides as she watched him go. She had no business speaking to the crown prince.

“Wait!” Her curious mind objected to that obedient, rule-abiding voice within her. “Wait, my prince!” She scampered after him blocking his way.

A small smirk played at the corner of his mouth. The arrogant royal had known she was going to chase after him.

“They weren’t just dreams,” she forced herself to continue. He crossed his arms over his chest cocking his head to the side. “I don’t know what they were, but they weren’t just dreams.”

“Well, that is something; twenty percent I would say. Not yet passing marks.” One corner of Prince Aldrik’s mouth curled upward.

Vhalla stood dazed; she really didn’t know anything more than that. But, she thought, there had to be more. How had he known?

“You knew, the dreams. When I was dreaming, you knew that I was here,” she realized.

“Very good. Now we are getting somewhere, my budding Windwalker.” His eyebrows raised and his grin turned into a smile that Vhalla assured herself wasn’t a sneer.

“Windwalker?” she repeated dumbly.

“You have heard this word before,” he reminded her.

“Sorcerers, from the East,” Vhalla breathed. “But you said there aren’t any more; there haven’t been for over a century.”

“There were not,” the prince corrected.

Vhalla frowned. “You said—”

He cut her off. “I am still your prince. You would do well not to forget that, apprentice. Do not question me so.” Prince Aldrik spoke low and slow.

The expression fell from her cheeks. For the first time Vhalla felt terrified of the man. His proximity gave off a fearsome heat that sent a chill through her. He straightened. She grabbed her hands and wrung them together.

“Forgive me, my prince.” Vhalla lowered her eyes, unable to handle the intensity of his gaze any longer. He turned, walking deeper into the library. “Where are you going now?”

“Stop asking questions and follow,” he ordered with a sigh.

She quickly crossed the distance between them. Vhalla looked down at her feet as she followed behind the mysterious being that was the crown prince.

In that moment of silence, she could appreciate exactly how odd it all was. It was some ungodly hour of the night and a library apprentice was being led by the crown prince to some mystery location. Fear and curiosity compelled her, making her all the more entranced with the man before her. Vhalla had every right to fear the prince and yet, after weeks of exchanging notes, she found him less frightening than she had the Minister of Sorcery.

She was certainly going mad.

“I would have expected you to have put it together. I had you reading books on Affinities to push you toward a realization.” He sighed again, letting out his disappointment. “You seemed so close, too; some of your questions made me think you were wondering about your own potential Affinity. Surely one of your Manifestations has given you a hint.”

“I still don’t believe I am really a sorcerer. I haven’t had any—Manifestations. Nothing about me is magical,” Vhalla whispered, thinking back to the Minister of Sorcery. “Reading the books, I’ve always loved reading. It was easier than talking—like a child playing games.”

“You are a child.” He looked her up and down with apparent disapproval. “But we are not playing games.” She put her hands together and began to fidget. “And stop that!”

He slapped at her fingers then grabbed her chin, forcing her face up to look at his. The jerking motion was painful, and she barely managed to suppress a whimper. Vhalla was fairly certain he would’ve liked that even less.

“You are a sorcerer—albeit a small, untrained, helpless little slip of a sorcerer—but still a sorcerer! Stop shrinking or you will be an embarrassment to the rest of us,” he scolded at her shocked and helpless expression. His grasp slowly loosened, then relaxed until he was holding her chin with only his knuckles and thumb.

“Your Affinity is air,” Prince Aldrik revealed softly, dropping his hand and turning away from her dumb stare. There was a sudden and surprising gentleness about him, but the moment was fleeting.

“Air?” she repeated, her face hot from his fingers. His touch had felt different than his brother’s contact. Even months after Prince Baldair had caught her in the library, she still remembered the feeling of his calloused fingers on the backs of her knees. Then again, everything about the princes was night and day.

“It is like walking around with a parrot. No, I take that back, the parrot would be better conversation.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“How do you know?” Vhalla was forced to ask.

“Affinities of the self,” he answered cryptically.

Vhalla did not have time to ask anything further, a gasp stopping the words in her throat.

They had reached a wall bearing a tapestry. The prince pulled apart the molten metal of the tapestry’s frame, heated by only his fingertips, revealing a secret passage behind. He smirked at her expression.

“You did not think servants were the only ones with hidden ways of getting around, did you?” He chuckled darkly and entered the narrow passageway.

Vhalla glanced over her shoulder, she could still disappear into the library. She could go home. The light of the prince’s flame began to fade as he continued on without looking back. She never knew exactly what beckoned her to step into the passage after him, just before the secret door closed with a heavy clang.

“Where are we going?” Vhalla asked again.

“We are going to show you what you stubbornly refuse to believe, little parrot,” Prince Aldrik answered, his hands folded behind his back.

“I’m not a parrot.” She frowned. “And I’m not a sorcerer.”

“Your problem—” the prince began as he started climbing up the pitch black passage. Vhalla was left no other option than to follow closely behind the magic flame that hovered over his shoulder as the only source of light. “—is that you rely entirely on books.”

“What’s wrong with books?” she was forced to ask.

He stopped, turning on his heel to stare down at her. “What is wrong is that you cannot learn how to really do things from books.” He ignored her open mouth, continuing, “They are starting points for principle, theory, and concept. Your mind understands, but your body does not know until you perform the act yourself. Without action and practice, your hands will not oblige. Experience is a far greater teacher.”

“Tell me, Vhalla, have you ever made love to a man?” He closed the distance between them as he spoke. With a single step, the crown prince was painfully close after asking such a question. “Tell me, have you ever pleasured yourself ?”

Vhalla swallowed hard. Her brain betrayed her and she thought of clumsy experimentations on lonely nights. The guard, Narcio, flashed upon her mind without her command. Fleeting pain and the memories of brief satisfactions brought a hot flush of embarrassment to her cheeks, as though she would tell anyone any of that.

“Whatever it was, I doubt it was very good,” he sneered down at her. She wanted to hit him. “I will tell you why it was not. Because, Vhalla, you think and you watch, but you never do. You can read all the books in this library, be wiser than the master himself someday, and then you will die having never really done anything. You will have only ever lived through everyone else’s experiences.”

Vhalla stared up at him, at those cold judgmental eyes that threatened to pick her apart and lick her bones clean. Looking away only provided minimal relief. He was still there assaulting her senses. Resisting the urge to fidget, she brought her hands together, squeezing them tightly.

“So then, how do I do?” she asked, still avoiding his eyes. It was a potentially dangerous question, given their recent conversation.

“You follow me, and you stop ignoring what is right before your eyes.” They continued walking up a swirling staircase into the heart of the palace. Sometimes they would curve off as the path split before heading up again. There were no windows, no lights, no ornamentation, no signs. She was well and truly lost.

By the time they stopped, Vhalla felt dizzy from going up all the stairs. Above them stood a wooden door impeding their progress. The prince unbolted it and pushed open the hatch. Like ice water running through her hair and down her shoulders, cold wind poured down into the stairway. It forced her to blink tears from her eyes and shield her face.

“Come,” he ordered, and she obliged.

They emerged into the night air in an impossible place. The wind took the breath right out of her lungs. They stood on a small landing, barely large enough for the two of them.

It felt like the top of the world.

They had climbed straight up through the servants’ halls, the public areas, past the Imperial Housing, to the top of one of the golden spires that she had only ever looked upon from far below.

Vhalla could see the castle stretching outward beneath her, its many tiers cascading down the mountainside and into the capital. The distant, flickering lights of the city mirrored the stars in the sky. Vhalla could see the dual peaks of the mountain, and if she stretched her vision towards the horizon, she could see the Great Southern Forest, which hid a road that could take her home.

“What do you think?” He had moved behind her. Even at such close proximity she could barely decipher his words through the howling wind.

“It’s amazing,” she breathed.

“I have heard it said that the Windwalkers were the children of the sky.”

His words barely registered as she looked upwards at the heavens above. It was an engrossing scene, as though she was at the very place where the earth and sky met. Vhalla took a tiny step forward, sweeping her gaze back to the glittering city below.

Perhaps it was her enchantment with the wonder surrounding her. Or, perhaps, it had been the wind filling her ears. Whichever, it masked his last footsteps. The prince placed his hands lightly upon her shoulders.

“Trust me,” he demanded, his lips barely brushed over her ear.

Vhalla did not even have a moment to turn her head before he pushed her effortlessly into the empty air beyond.

SHE PLUMMETED THROUGH the air in a surreal trance. Her shoulder hitting the golden rooftop jarred her back to life with a sickening crunch. Vhalla half tumbled, half bounced small distances down the slope of the roof, desperately trying to grab a handhold. But the pitch was too steep, and each desperate grab resulted only in a fingernail being pulled back or ripped off. Soon there were no more golden shingles and there was nothing left to reach.

Vhalla had heard stories of one’s life flashing before one’s eyes in the moments before death, but all she saw was the round moon overhead, staring down at her. As the wind whipped around her body she began to twist in the empty space. The celestial body departed her field of vision as she spun head over heels. It was replaced by the ground rushing to meet her.

She was going to die.

She opened her mouth to scream but the force of the wind pulled her voice from her, flooding her lungs.

She tried to turn herself to fall toward a nearby balcony, a landing, or even a decorative molding. Her body slammed against the castle wall, succeeding only in knocking all the air from her lungs with a cry of agony. Then she was falling again. Her small frame smashed against an arch before tumbling back into the night sky. She searched for a stone that would catch her, but every attempt tossed her back to her death.

Her vision blurred and blood smeared her hands. She held out her arms; the ground was close now. She could only see the sky above but she knew it had to be over soon. Vhalla groped at the empty air, clinging to nothing but the wind slipping through her fingers.

An explosion rang out through her—and she sat upright, jolted awake.

Vhalla instantly regretted opening her eyes. The world looked hazy, both too bright and too dark; the colors twisted, and her eyes had trouble focusing. She turned quickly, retching over the side of the bed. Hot bile splattered on the vaguely familiar floor. The process of vomiting caused her abdomen to object to the tightening spasms, and she let out an agonizing cry as she fell back onto the bed in a heap.

Her entire body felt wrong. It felt as though someone stole her soul from her old body and placed it in a different one. Nothing matched up, nothing obliged in the way it should, and everything worked in ways it shouldn’t. Her brain felt scrambled, and under the fingers clutching her abdomen she felt the sickening angles of broken ribs. She likely shouldn’t be lying on her side but it hurt if she moved, and it hurt if she didn’t. So she only endured her current position over risking any change.

Through the sliver of light between her eyelids, Vhalla tried to orient herself. The first indication she should panic was the window; it was three times larger than anything she had ever seen before in the apprentices’ and servants’ halls. When her eyes found the dragon molding around the top of the room, Vhalla tried to scramble out of bed, making unreasonable demands of a broken body.

Muffled voices and quick steps approached on the other side of the door before it burst open for two figures frantically approaching her. The older man she recognized instantly—the Minister of Sorcery. But the woman was a surprise. Vhalla blinked at the fuzzy shapes of the people.

“Larel?” Even her own voice sounded strange to Vhalla’s ears, and she struggled not to retch again. The dark-haired woman departed quickly from the room. Vhalla grimaced. The woman should be ashamed of her role in Vhalla’s current state. If it wasn’t for Larel thrusting that book in her hands, she would have never met the prince.

“Don’t talk,” the minister demanded sternly. Vhalla cracked her eyes open against her better judgment. His hand ran between her forehead and her shoulder. Vhalla did not have the strength or will to fight against his touch as she would have wanted.

The minister rolled her onto her back, and Vhalla’s body objected painfully. With a scream she tried to push him away. This man, his world of magic, and all the sorcerers within, were nothing but pain.

“Vhalla.” She stilled at the sound of her name in his mouth. “You need to believe me now. I am here to help you.” The minister’s voice was gentle, more than it had any right to be.

“You have to get down—and keep down—some bone regrowth this time.”

This time? Vhalla was so confused and so tired, she closed her eyes. Sleep was much easier she realized. All this could go away if she closed her eyes and pretended to no longer exist.

“No, Vhalla stay here.”

“How...?” She could barely manage one syllable words, but he seemed to understand.

“I said don’t talk.” He shot her a cold gray glare. “Prince Aldrik brought you here after you awakened.” She shook her head. Awakened?

Vhalla heard a commotion behind him and struggled to open her eyes again. Larel had returned, apparently not ashamed in the slightest, with a bucket and mop. It was actually Vhalla who felt shamed when the woman began to clean up her spew that puddled on the floor.

“Larel, the blue vial,” Minister Victor demanded. She nodded obediently and scampered from the room. Vhalla permitted herself darkness again. “No, Vhalla, you have to stay awake now.” The man shook her shoulders slightly, where only a small touch sent waves of pain down to her toes. She whimpered in protest. “Vhalla.” His voice was sharp—demanding, and the stern tone reminded her just enough of another man’s voice that she wanted to throw up all over again.

But it did the trick, and Vhalla obliged him, opening her eyes slightly. She had tunnel vision and didn’t even see the female sorcerer passing the vial to the man silently. He turned and slipped his arm under Vhalla’s shoulders, propping her up. Vhalla shook her head violently, remembering the last time she sat. Her brain only rattled around in her skull, threatening to make the blackness at the edge of her eyes all-consuming.

“Stop, stop, stop,” the minister ordered, holding her close to him with one arm and pressing the vial to her mouth with the other. She didn’t want to drink; she wanted to sleep. However, his insistence yielded her eventual surrender, and Vhalla gulped down the syrupy liquid with a small cough. It flowed through her like fire and she heard someone screaming as the minister threw the vial to the floor with a shattering noise and took her in his full embrace. It wasn’t until she was cognizant of thrashing against the firm arms holding her that she realized the screaming was coming from her own mouth.

The agonizing cries gave way to eventual sobs as the burning slowly passed and she went limp, relying entirely on the support of the man whom she wanted to hate. Vhalla cast aside all decency and she simply wept against his chest. Somewhere he was talking; she could hear and feel it.

“—too susceptible to magic now. We tried—help you be more comfortable. But your—magical passages are too—and broken to—handle any more being—on you.” She hated magic, her original opinion was reaffirmed anew as her mind began to level from the potion. “Vhalla -ten, you had two broken ribs - - left side and the right side of your -cage was shattered. Your hands are a wreck. Your left shoulder was shattered, and your right was dislocated. Your spine was all out of alignment, and your hips were fractured along with one of your legs.” Vhalla laughed into his chest with an insane rasp.

“You will be fine,” he assured her gently. Now he was the insane one. “But since we are healing almost exclusively with non-magical clerical potions and salves, it’ll take some time.” The Western woman had shifted Vhalla’s pillows so she could sit in a more upright position and the man gently returned her to them, taking a green bottle. “This one is next; it shouldn’t hurt.”

True to his word the chalky liquid went through her cracked lips and caused no immediate discernible change in her overall state.

“Water,” she rasped softly and he nodded. He poured a small cup from a clay pitcher on the bedside table. The minister brought this to her lips also and held it there so she could take a few long gulps.

“This is not how I wanted to meet you next. Believe me, Vhalla,” he started, placing the cup back and taking a third strangely shaped vial from the silent woman. “I wanted to give you time to come to terms with what is happening. I have seen people run if forced, and I thought you would benefit from distance. When I found out the prince had taken an interest in you, I felt I had little to worry about.”

Vhalla rasped in bitter laughter. She had begun to think that perhaps magic would not be so frightening after all his notes. It was ironic that the man holding her shattered form was the man she should have trusted all along.

“Prince Aldrik didn’t know how to tend to your current... condition,” Minister Victor bit out the last word before pausing. “So he brought you to me three days ago.”

Vhalla coughed on the last sip of liquid in the vial that was pressed to her mouth. “Three...days?” she managed, rather proud that two words could pass her lips.

Victor nodded. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it. The second morning we forced you to sleep as you were thrashing and screaming too much to keep you awake,” Victor recounted dutifully. Vhalla’s mind was overloaded and the horrors hardly registered anymore. “But putting you to sleep disrupted the healing of your magical Channels when you kept reliving your awakening.”

“Awakening?” she asked.

“Awakening is when a sorcerer’s powers first Manifest in full.” He studied Vhalla for a moment before adding somewhat apologetically, “It’s normally a bit gentler.”

Larel came in with yet a fourth vial, and Vhalla shook her head. She didn’t think her shrunken stomach and battered body could handle anymore. After delivering the potion, the woman retrieved the bucket and mop, vanishing into the outer rooms.

“This is the last one for now,” the minister promised, so Vhalla relented. The world seemed to slowly stabilize, though Vhalla still felt like she would rather be asleep than awake. “Good,” he encouraged as she finished the last drop. “Now please, try to keep those down; no sudden movements.”

Vhalla gave a small nod. “May I sleep now?” she asked weakly.

He shook his head, which earned him a whimper. “Almost,” Victor assured her. “I have one more thing to try. I hope that it will make you feel better.”

She was helpless to object with anything more than a shake of her head so she relented without fuss. If these people had planned on killing her, they wouldn’t be exhausting themselves to keep her alive.

Victor left the room for a moment. He returned with a wooden case that he held with great care. Sitting, he placed it in his lap and popped open the latch. Within it were many stones of different shapes and colors. Vhalla wondered if it was simply the strangeness to her vision or if the stones actually shined and glittered unnaturally, as though a cosmos of stars swirled within. After a moment’s consideration he pulled one of the shining rocks and placed it on her forehead. She was too tired to feel silly and, out of necessity, already trusted him completely. He took a similar one and placed it on her stomach.

Vhalla’s eyes snapped open. The world was suddenly clear again. Her vision shifted back into focus, her ears heard a beautiful stillness.

“Don’t talk,” he reminded her, “but I take it that helped a bit.” She hoped the flick of her eyes was enough of an acknowledgement. “I am going to leave those there for a little, so try not to move much. Not that you should be moving anyway.” As if she could. “And yes, you may now sleep.”

Vhalla closed her eyes with a small sigh and felt her body relax a fraction before slipping back into the welcoming darkness.

It was night the next time Vhalla woke. Her room was empty save for a small bowl of fruit, a loaf of bread, and a series of vials on the table next to her. She slowly eased herself into a seated position. The stones had been removed, but her vision seemed to be holding steady. The world shifted a little, but her stomach remained settled—she considered it a small victory. Vhalla assessed the food cautiously. Bread and fruit would hurt more than bile coming up.

Her hand paused midair so she could assess the bruises and scratches that marred her skin. Even the moonlight made her feel uneasy as she involuntarily recalled the last time she had seen the celestial body. Vhalla retrieved one of the small red fruits and brought it back into her lap, a strawberry. She smiled faintly.

Long ago, her mother had planted some strawberry shrubs near their home. Every year they had eaten the few sweet berries the plants yielded. Despite their love of the fruit, neither Vhalla nor her father seemed to have the energy to maintain the plants after her mother died from Autumn Fever. She hadn’t eaten a strawberry since then. Even if they had been available to apprentices, Vhalla didn’t know if she would have been emotionally willing.

A few stray tears dripped into her palms as she looked down at the tiny fruit. She was so far from home—felt so small and broken. Her body was foreign to her, to the point that her mind didn’t even recognize it. She had something in her, magic that she had never known and didn’t think she wanted.

She wasn’t supposed to have to deal with this. She was a library apprentice, no one—less than. Exhaustion consumed all of her emotions, and she couldn’t even summon anger. She simply wanted to feel normal again, whatever that meant now.

Choking down a sob, Vhalla took a bite of the fruit, chewing thoughtfully. That was when she heard the muffled discussion through the door to the room beyond. Invisible beetles crawled beneath her skin. The resonance of one voice was unmistakable, causing Vhalla to nearly gag on the fruit.

Staring down the door, she debated if she had the strength, mentally or physically, to know what was being said. On legs that could barely support her, Vhalla stumbled over to the door to lean against it. Ear pressed to the wood, she could make out the two male voices.

“Really, Aldrik, what were you thinking?” the minister asked.

“I do not have to explain myself to you, minister,” the prince sneered.

“You could have killed her.” The Minister Victor voiced Vhalla’s fears.

“I could not have killed her,” the prince retorted, utterly confident.

Vhalla knew that the prince was rumored to have a silver tongue. But there was a peculiar sort of agitation to his voice, as though he were truly offended the minister would even suggest it.

“How did you know?” the minister demanded. “She had hardly Manifested more than trace magic on those notes. There was no way you could have known her Affinity.”

“Then you underestimate my prowess.” Vhalla could hear the click of boots across the floor as the prince paced the room.

“Certainly,” the minister remarked with bold sarcasm. “I only ask because I have this wild idea that you may have some insights into her that you are neglecting to share, my prince.”

“Victor,” Prince Aldrik sighed dramatically. “You think I would lower myself to trouble with a plain commoner like her?”

“You troubled yourself enough to write her notes,” the minister pointed out.

Vhalla hadn’t thought about it, but it was strange that the crown prince had sent notes to an apprentice.

“She is the first Windwalker in almost one hundred fifty years. Of course I would trouble myself.” His tone had turned cold and calculating.

“Well, the next time we have a new Manifesting sorcerer, I will be sure to ask you to assist, what with your mysterious powers of deduction on Affinities,” the minister commented dryly. There was a long silence, indicating the prince was finished indulging the minster on this matter. “However you knew, the fact remains she is a Windwalker. I confirmed it.”

“You felt the need to confirm it when she survived a fall from the palace spires?”

Vhalla could almost see Prince Aldrik rolling his eyes with his tone alone.

“I used crystals upon her,” the minister continued, ignoring the prince’s sarcasm.

“You what?”

Was that worry that Vhalla heard in Prince Aldrik’s voice? She thought back to the shimmering stones that Minister Victor placed upon her forehead and stomach. Those were crystals? They couldn’t possibly be the same as the taint-causing stones from the War of the Crystal Caverns. They had helped her, not hurt her.

“We should tell the Emperor.” Minister Victor seemed to be well versed at overlooking choice comments from the prince. “He will want to know. He could use her in the war.”

Vhalla’s heart began to race. The idea of her at war was ludicrous. She had never even hit a person in play or sport.

“No.” As if the prince picked up on her panic, he squelched the idea sharply. “I will deal with my father, Victor. I do not want to catch wind of you breathing a single word to the Emperor about her.”

“Very well,” the minister sighed. “Aldrik, I can only theorize on what your grand plan is for the girl, given our histories. I know what we read, what we studied—”

“Victor,” the prince growled dangerously.

“I remember wishing we had someone like her,” the minister continued, ignoring the warning tone. What did these people want with her? “I would be false if I claim to have not had similar ideas cross my mind already. But she will need to be trained first. We will need—”

“She is not your concern,” Prince Aldrik snapped. “I will oversee her training.”

Vhalla rested her forehead against the door, reminding herself to breathe. It did not seem like she would escape the prince anytime soon.

“Larel will be her mentor, and she will report to me. I thank you, minister, for keeping your distance.”

Her heart was racing, and the adrenaline replaced the pain. How had he known her Affinity? Why had the prince decided out of all the sorcerers that he had control over, she would be the one he would make his pet? Vhalla’s face twisted in agony. She should be Eradicated, certainly that was still an option.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to check on her.” The prince’s footsteps neared the door.

“My prince, please let her rest.” Vhalla’s opinion of the Minister of Sorcery was steadily improving.

But nothing stopped the prince if he wanted something, and Vhalla took a step away from the door, glancing around frantically. Once more she was reminded how trapped this room made her feel. She had yet to stumble back to the bed when the door opened.

Dark eyes met hers, and Vhalla looked up uncertainly, caught in a whirlwind of apprehension and fear. Would he know that she had been eavesdropping? She couldn’t imagine the prince would take kindly to it.

“You’re awake.” He breathed the words and his eyes softened with what looked like relief. Though Vhalla was certain she was mistaken.

“I am.” She nodded, her voice no longer sounded wrong.

“I’m glad,” he said softly.

Vhalla squinted up at him, not caring for how bold it was. “You, you’re glad?” Anger stammered her words as she glared at the tall man dressed all in black.

“I am, Vhalla—”

The prince took a step toward her, and Vhalla took a step back.

“No,” she shook her head. “No, don’t come near me. Never come near me again.” Vhalla’s voice was rougher than she had ever heard it before. She didn’t care that he was the prince, and she didn’t care that the minister stood as an observer.

“Vhalla,” The prince had the audacity to have the start of a smile on his face. Who did he think she was—some ignorant child? “This is not a time for anger; we should celebrate.”

“You—pushed—me—off—a—roof.” Vhalla wished she had a more dramatic word for roof because it didn’t seem to quite cut to the truth of the matter.

He laughed.

Vhalla had never struck someone before, but he was making an appealing case.

“You are fine. See how quickly you are healing now? You will be better than fine soon. I will even teach you myself.” He outright smiled, as though he was bestowing some great honor upon her.

But Vhalla did not smile. She took another step away and swayed as the world was suddenly unstable. She had been on her feet for too long.

Prince Aldrik was there in a moment, his hands on her upper arms for support. “Stop this foolishness,” he said, his deep voice gentle. “You know you should not be standing. Let me help you back to bed.” His sudden kindness made her want to scream.

“Don’t touch me,” she whispered.

“Vhalla—” The lightness was beginning to slip from his face.

“Do. Not. Touch. Me!” she cried, pushing his hands off and taking a step back. Vhalla stumbled, her world tilted, but her feet held onto the floor with all the force of her rage. “You threw me off a roof !” Her voice had risen to a near shrill. “You didn’t tell me! You didn’t warn me!”

“If I warned you, it would not have worked. If I had warned you, then you would not have done it.” He crossed his arms on his chest.

“Of course I wouldn’t have!” She threw her arms out and swayed dangerously again, but regained her balance. “I trusted you to be my teacher! I did not trust anyone else, but I trusted you as my prince! I trusted you because you asked!” The confession caught in her throat as she choked it out. Vhalla wasn’t sure if she only imagined his eyes widening by a fraction before darkening.

“And you were right to; I awoke you to something great.” His voice grew colder.

“I didn’t want this.” She looked down at her bruised and broken form.

“You asked for this!” he snapped.

“My prince, please, this isn’t...” The minister saw the conversation devolving before his eyes, and he took a step in from the doorframe.

“I didn’t ask for this! I don’t know what I wanted but it wasn’t this!” Her rage kept in the tears, and in that moment she swore he would not see her cry. “I am confused. I am broken—”

“You will heal, better than you were before,” Prince Aldrik assured her.

“I was fine before,” Vhalla protested.

“You were boring. You were worse than boring. You were normal and content. I gave you a chance for greatness.” He looked at her harshly.

“What would’ve happened if I hadn’t been a Windwalker?” Her words quieted the air.

“I will not indulge such nonsense.” He brushed off the question.

“Do not toy with me anymore,” she spoke slowly. “What would have happened?” Vhalla asked again.

He stared at her a long moment. “If things were not as they are and you were not a Windwalker, then you would have fallen to your death.” Prince Aldrik shrugged as though the thought had crossed his mind, and he couldn’t have been troubled to care.

“You bastard.” The words were out before she even had time to consider them, but after spoken she hardly regretted them.

“What did you say?” Prince Aldrik snarled.

“You, my prince,” she sneered in kind. “You are a self-centered, egotistical, self-absorbed, narrow-sighted, vain, self-important,” she felt her anger finally reach its boiling point, “conceited bastard!” Vhalla cried out.

The window next to them shattered, flooding the room with a gale peppered with shards of glass. She hardly seemed to notice as the minister braced himself against the wind. The prince stood motionless, staring at her darkly from behind a thin screen of flame that broke the wind and protected him from the shattered glass.

“Calm down,” he growled.

“You can’t tell me what to do anymore!” she screamed.

“I can tell you whatever I want. I am your prince!” he shouted and the thin fire that protected him lashed outward.

Vhalla raised her hands to shield herself from the flame. The fire passed over her palms and face as little more than heat—but it broke her concentration. The wind died down and, with it, Vhalla collapsed to the floor, her energy spent.

The prince looked down at her, a stone mask across his features, judgment burning in his eyes. “Stay there,” he spoke slowly. “Stay on the floor where you belong. You are like a pathetic little worm who only wants to sit in the dirt when I was prepared to give you a chance to grow wings and fly.”

“My prince,” the minister said firmly, but was easily ignored.

“I chose you, and you threw it away,” Prince Aldrik snarled.

Vhalla stared up at him. This was the prince she had expected. Not the mysterious intellectual phantom, and certainly not the awkwardly kind man who had first entered her room.

“So stay there, with the filth you so happily chose.”

He stormed out of the room. Vhalla’s face stung, and she swallowed hard. The minister hovered uncomfortably.

“Leave, please,” she whispered. Ignoring her wishes, the minister knelt by her side. “Don’t,” she said, staring at the shattered glass from the window. “Just...leave.” She had no right to command him, but there was nothing left in her to care about that fact.

“Vhalla,” he said softly.

It was too kind for what she felt. She wanted nothing more than for him to scream at her and leave, too. Or throw her out the window and finish what the prince had started.

“Go,” she demanded. He stayed. “I said leave!”

Finally, with an audible sigh, the minister stood and left.

Vhalla never heard his footsteps walking away from her door. She knew that he stood right outside as she collapsed among the broken glass and cried out, sobbing, until she had nothing left to feel and the darkness took her again.

VHALLA TWITCHED HER fingers. There was a bug on her that was intent on disturbing her sleep. When it refused to go away, she twisted in the opposite direction; it frustratingly followed her hand. Almost fully awake, she tried to withdraw and heard a low shhh-ing noise come from the bedside.

Cracking her eyes open, she realized that she was back in the bed. It irked her that they had lifted her off the floor and placed her back among the soft pillows and blankets. She would’ve rather spent the night on the ground. Thinking of what she said to the prince’s face, she groaned.

“Does it hurt?” a faint voice whispered next to her.

Vhalla turned back. It was the Western woman, Larel. She was changing the bandages on Vhalla’s arm.

“What do you care?” Vhalla remembered what the prince had said. Larel was to spy on her and report to him. The Westerner before her fraternized with the enemy.

“I care very much,” Larel replied easily. “Does it hurt?”

“Why?” Vhalla continued to ignore her question. Everything hurt. But she wasn’t certain what was physical and what was emotional.

“Because you are to be my protégé.” The sorceress had a flat way of talking, thick with a Western accent.

“I don’t want to be your protégé.” Vhalla looked away in childish protest.

“Very well,” the woman said lightly. “We can change that after you’re healed.”

“What?” She turned her head back slowly to the dark-haired woman. The movement was accompanied by a deep ache in her shoulders.

“After you’ve healed, you’ll meet others in the Tower,” Larel explained. “If you do not wish for me to mentor you, then you can have your pick of a new mentor, someone you are more comfortable with.”

Vhalla stared at the bruises and scratches on her flesh. It was true, she was a mess. Underneath the bandages, her skin was a grotesque rainbow of red, yellow, purple, and blue. Wounds were so prevalent she could not even catch sight of the natural tint of her skin.

“Have you done this every night?” Vhalla finally asked. The woman had a gentle hand.

“Almost.” She said as though it were nothing.

Despite herself, Vhalla cringed. She didn’t care about this sorceress, she told herself. But the idea that someone had been changing her soiled clothes and tending to her needs, naturally put guilt in her mind.

“I’m sorry to be a burden,” Vhalla whispered. Magic had only made her a more pathetic being thus far. A soft breeze brought her eyes to the window; the glass had not been replaced and the crisp smell of winter was beginning to change the night air. Summer was gone, and fall was already upon them.

“Prince Aldrik told us not to fix it.” Larel missed little. Vhalla winced at his name. “Are you cold? I could bring you another blanket.”

“It’s fine.” Vhalla was cold, she was always cold. But her lingering pride would not allow her to be more of a burden. “I guess he’s going to make my life as uncomfortable as he can.”

“If the prince wanted to make you uncomfortable he could, and would, do far more than not replace a window,” Larel pointed out.

It was a truth Vhalla did not want to believe. To believe it meant the woman was right. The fact that Vhalla was still in bed receiving treatment meant the prince did not want her to be uncomfortable, even after what she said.

“What relationship do you and the prince have?” Vhalla asked boldly. The prince had appointed this woman as her mentor. Larel was the one who gave Vhalla the book that the prince left his notes in.

Her gold-ringed hazel eyes met Larel’s dark ones. Vhalla may be a bad liar but that wouldn’t stop her from looking for a lie in others.

When Larel spoke, there was no sign of hesitation or fear. “We were apprentices in the Tower together,” Larel said simply, returning to rubbing salve on Vhalla’s skin.

“The prince was an apprentice?” Vhalla blinked. She expected apprenticeship to be something that was below royalty.

“How else would he have learned?” Larel had a small grin. “I know how he seems. But he’s not truly malicious—not normally—and almost never to people like us.”

“People like us?” Vhalla repeated doubtfully.

“Sorcerers.” Sweeping dark bangs across her forehead, the woman glanced up.

Of course, Vhalla thought. She was one of them now, and there really was no more denying it. The fall should’ve killed her, and if the prince hadn’t intervened, something did.

“Magical people are often feared by Commons. Even you feared us,” Larel said thoughtfully.

Vhalla could only nod. She was conflicted over the woman’s use of past tense with regards to her fear. Though, at this exact moment, Vhalla did not feel afraid. She felt sad. Something in her was different. Roan, Sareem, Master Mohned; they wouldn’t understand, even if she tried explaining.

“The prince knows this,” Larel continued. “He knows how hard it is, better than most. He’s had more than his fair share.”

“So now I’m supposed to feel sorry for him?” Vhalla spat, becoming far more venomous than she would’ve wanted.

Larel stopped and looked up at Vhalla strangely for a long while. “Yes.” She returned to her work, and Vhalla felt her jaw go slack. “And he should feel sorry for what he put you through,” Larel added faintly. “Awakenings can be scary, but they shouldn’t hurt, at least never this bad. I think, I think he was caught up in the promise of what you are.”

“What I am?” Vhalla mused, remembering the unexpected conversation she had overheard. “You mean a Windwalker?”

Larel nodded. “I don’t think you understand, Vhalla. You are the first Windwalker in generations. Many theorists have gone so far as to postulate that the East is magically dry. That the source of magic for the Windwalkers had been destroyed with no one connected to the Channel for so long.” Larel picked up a bottle of the salve and worked it across Vhalla’s open wounds. “You fly—no pun intended—in the face of everything people have been saying for well over a century.”

Vhalla wanted to feel special. She wanted to feel important. She wanted to feel she was special and important to the crown prince, of all people. But she only felt like an object. She was jarred out of her destructive cycle of thought when Larel placed salve into a particularly angry gash.

“Sorry, I should’ve warned you.” The woman continued on with her work.

“I’m sorry you have to do this,” Vhalla replied. On the scale of sorcerers, Larel had wronged Vhalla the least, and she seemed to be cleaning up everyone else’s mess.

“I don’t mind.” She began padding a few wounds with cloth scraps before starting on the clean dressings. “Yes, you have been more work than most of my peers’ Awoken apprentices. But I think your story is already far more profound than most of us can ever hope for.”

She paused to smile, and Vhalla was taken aback by the woman’s features. She was stunning when she smiled. The straight black hair framed the warm visage perfectly as it curved around her face. She had dark brown eyes, almost black, and Vhalla had to look away before she was reminded of another set of slightly darker Western eyes.

“So what happens next?” It seemed a natural question. Vhalla needed to start approaching things logically. Her emotions had been running wild for far too long, and it had gotten her nowhere.

“Once you are Awoken, there are only two options. Your powers will continue to Manifest. You’ve already seen how they can be tied to your emotions when it’s this fresh.” Vhalla looked back to the window, realizing for the first time what had really transpired. “So you must learn to control your powers or Eradicate them. I likely shouldn’t say, but the minister is planning to offer you a black robe.”

“But I am a library apprentice,” Vhalla said weakly, feeling homesick.

“Things change.” The woman shrugged. “But it will be your choice. The minister will not force it on you.”

“I doubt that,” Vhalla mumbled. She wasn’t sure if the sorcerers of the tower knew how to do anything without force. “What if I choose to be Eradicated?”

She had read about the process of exhausting a sorcerer’s magic to block their Channels to power. While she didn’t understand it fully, it didn’t sound painful as described in the library book. It couldn’t be any more painful than the agony she was already in.

“I would urge you to reconsider.” When Vhalla glared at the woman, Larel added, “But I think it should be your choice.” Larel sat back, reorganizing her supplies.

Vhalla stared blankly out the window, wishing the stars could tell her what needed to be done.

“Prince Aldrik,” Larel started gently, seeing Vhalla visibly flinch at the mention of his name. “He told me that you were very bright. That you were surprisingly smart for an apprentice.”

“He would phrase it like that, a compliment in an insult,” Vhalla remarked dryly.

“He meant it,” Larel assured her. “I believe it to be true as well.” Vhalla looked uncertainly at the woman as she stood. “Don’t make this choice without putting that intellect to use. If you have questions, you can ask me or any other sorcerer.”

There was a seed of guilt in her stomach as Vhalla looked up at the woman. She had been kind to her. Vhalla picked at the seams on her blanket. “Thank you,” Vhalla mumbled. “I don’t think I would be as well as I am now without your help,” she added earnestly.

“You are welcome,” Larel accepted the gratitude. “Now rest. When you feel well enough, there is a library here in the Tower that you can use.”

The woman smiled at Vhalla’s expression when she mentioned the library. But the sorcerer said nothing more and departed. With a soft sigh Vhalla shifted the pillows and laid back.

As much as Vhalla wanted to, she couldn’t muster any anger toward Larel. The woman had been too kind to her for that. Plus, it was nice to have someone speak openly and honestly to her about these matters. Vhalla’s best guess was that the Westerner didn’t seem to be mindlessly following Victor’s or the prince’s orders.

As much as Vhalla wanted to ignore them, Larel’s words had struck something within her. Apply her intellect to the world before her. Vhalla worried about what would happen if she did. Sighing again, Vhalla allowed her wounded body to relax and her eyes to droop closed. There was always the morning to make life-changing decisions.

But the morning came and went, and Vhalla was no closer to deciding how she felt about anything. The pain had mostly subsided and, with it, her rage at the situation. She was still sore at a certain prince, but she no longer felt the need to hit things. Around lunch, Vhalla decided it was time to get out of the room she had occupied for days on end.

When she stood, the world stayed exactly where it should be. Other than a general dull ache, there was no pain. She tried a circle around the small space; when she didn’t retch, she considered it a success. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door that led out into the other room.

Vhalla was surprised to see that it was vacant. Larel, the minister, and—most thankfully—the prince were nowhere to be found. Remembering what Larel had told her about a library, Vhalla crept through the space toward the second door.

Vhalla observed the hall. To the left, it sloped up; to the right, down. At frequent intervals hung the glass bulbs with flame inside, casting the path in a warm glow. She stared at the sculptures that lined the walls at random intervals.

It was artwork.

She closely inspected the carved stone. Apprentices and servants didn’t display artwork in their halls. Were there other noble members of the Court beyond the minister?

The reliefs told stories Vhalla had known since she was a child. Most of them were religious in reference, surrounding the Father. Vhalla saw a man grasping a dragon’s head, forcing it to eat its own tail; the creation of the moon. The Father protected his lover’s world from the chaos of the realms beyond.

Vhalla instinctively started upward, but when she remembered her last interaction with heights, she turned on point to head down instead. It was the same path she had walked with the minister weeks ago, but now she took the time to see this world. The doors were arched at the top with iron handles and upon each hung a silver plate. Some had names; others simply had symbols Vhalla did not recognize.

On occasion, the hallway branched off into common areas, practice grounds, and so on. Some stood empty; some were occupied. The few times she passed someone, they greeted her kindly and kept on their way. No one thought the girl in the white gown with bandages was strange.

A certain smell lingered on the air. It tickled her nose and beckoned her onward. She couldn’t place it at first, but as her step quickened and the scent became stronger, she realized what it was with a smile. It was the smell of dusty leather and parchment. She turned to see the central circular room that housed the Tower’s library.

The Tower was large and round, and by most standards this would be considered a sizeable library. But it was only the size of about two and a half wings of the Imperial Library. Nevertheless, it comforted her more than anything else had to date. A blonde-haired boy, who looked no older than Vhalla, worked placing some books back on the shelves; he glanced at her as she entered.

“Ah! Welcome!” he said with a grin, almost dropping the books in his hands to rush to meet her.

Vhalla didn’t know how social she felt, but she smiled politely and shook his hand. His robe was collarless, and his sleeves were longer than Larel’s, almost down to his elbows. He had wavy hair, silly in the way it was messily cut. That, and his goofy grin, seemed to ease the tensions in her shoulders.

“Hello,” she replied.

“You must be the recent Awoken.”

Vhalla nodded. If everyone had heard of her, no wonder the others she passed in the halls weren’t surprised by her condition.

“I’m sure you have lots of questions. If I can help you find anything, just let me know. Fritznangle is the name, but that’s a mouthful so most people call me Fritz. Don’t be shy, okay?” He grinned again. Realizing he was still shaking her hand, he stopped with a laugh.

“It’s nice to meet you, Fritz. I’m Vhalla.” She smiled. He was more energetic than the normal librarians she’d met before. “Are you the master of this library?”

“Master of the library? Oh, no. We don’t really have one. I guess the minister officiates over the library as the formal curator. Do we say curator for libraries? Anyway, I do look after it if that’s what you’re asking. No one else will, I don’t think.”

Vhalla couldn’t suppress a small giggle, it was the first time she laughed in a week, and it made her whole body feel lighter.

“I never knew there was a library in the Tower.” She assessed all the books.

“I guess you wouldn’t really. I mean, it’s private you see. Got some great stuff—originals. I’ve heard it would rival the Imperial Archives.” He said it like it was nothing. Vhalla was practically salivating.

“Hey, do you want to see? You’ll be a black robe soon, right?” He took her hand and led her further into the books. “You don’t have one on yet, but when you’re all healed up I’m sure they’ll initiate you and then this will be your home also.”

Vhalla stopped, and he turned as her arm refused to budge.

“I’m not a black robe.” She shook her head, looking at her feet. “I should go.”

“Wait,” he stopped her. “That’s, well—I mean. You’re here. And, well, do you want to see anyway?”

“If it’s all right?” she asked, turning back to face him. Even if it was a library for sorcerers, Vhalla would never refuse books.

“Yeah, come on.” He smiled again.

Once more taking her by the hand, he led her to a table that stood against a tall window in the back. Vhalla put her hands against the glass and looked outside, trying to figure out the library’s location in the palace. She knew the Tower of Sorcerers had its own entrance on the ground somewhere, but it merged with the palace as it ascended, making it difficult to discern its exact location as other housing and structures grew around it.

“So what are you?” he asked, picking some books off shelves. “A Firebearer? A Waterrunner? A Groundbreaker?”

“A Windwalker,” she said without turning. It was getting easier to say, and Vhalla didn’t think she was happy about that fact. But it also didn’t upset her as much as she expected.

“A—what?” He walked over to her. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you right. One more time please?”

“A Windwalker,” she repeated, glancing at him.

He put his hand against the window frame and took a long breath. “Are you sure? I know the awakening can scramble the brain a tad and, well, we don’t hear things right. You know how it is.” Fritz continued to stare at her in disbelief.

She looked at him, slightly annoyed that he was ruining her moment of reuniting with books by being so daft. “My Affinity is air. I don’t know much, but everyone has told me that makes me a Windwalker.” She spoke very slowly and tried to accentuate each word.

“You’re serious,” he choked out. She nodded in frustration. “Oh by the Sun, you’re serious.” He snatched her hand again and shook it vigorously. “This is an honor. An honor! To meet you. I wondered why the minister was so tight-lipped about the newly woken. A Windwalker. A Windwalker here, in the capital, safe, in one piece. Not burnt up to little bits.”

“You’re hurting me.” Vhalla smiled through a grimace, rubbing her throbbing shoulder as he relinquished her hand apologetically. “What do you mean, not burnt up?”

“Well, given the history of Windwalkers...” Fritz trailed off, as if she understood what he was talking about. She didn’t, and he finally realized that fact. “Wait, you don’t know the history?”

“I’ve read some on the history of sorcerers,” Vhalla answered vaguely. He was giving her that same feeling that the prince had, guilt at ignoring a whole area of knowledge for years.

“Tell me what you know.” Fritz smiled and the resemblance to the prince was gone. “I’ll help fill in the rest.”

“Well,” Vhalla took a deep breath. “I know that Windwalkers are—were—from the East. I am Eastern. I know there hasn’t been one in a hundred-something years and that some people thought there wouldn’t be any more.”

“That’s the basics.” Fritz smiled. “But only just.”

He led her along with gentle hand tugs and slow steps through the books. His palm was cool, but not uncomfortable. Vhalla allowed herself a small smile. It was about time she met a sorcerer with a gentle and happy manner.

“Over here—this section is our histories.”

There were no rolling ladders, and Fritz was left scurrying for a nearby foot stool. At least the bookshelves were only half as high as the ones in the library. It took a ladder with twenty rungs for Vhalla to reach the tops of those. “Windwalkers... There hasn’t been much new material since—well, there haven’t been any Windwalkers in some time. Books are rare too; Mhashan didn’t want any left.”

“Mhashan? The old West?” Vhalla blinked, wondering what the Kingdom of Mhashan had to do with Windwalkers.

“I won’t explain it well.” Fritz shook his head doubtfully. “Here, read this.”

Vhalla looked at the title of the manuscript the messy-haired librarian placed reverently into her hands: The Windwalkers of the East. It was an old manuscript, and the library apprentice in her noted immediately that the book would need to be rebound soon. A quick flip and the inspection of a few middle pages proved that at least the ink was still legible.

“Thank you.” It was like a breath of fresh air. Something about holding a book again made her feel better.

“Don’t worry about it!” Fritz smiled a wide and toothy grin.

“Can I read here?” Vhalla had no interest in returning to the room where she had been recovering. “This is a library.” He chuckled.

Fritz led her over to a window with a wide bench placed before it. It wasn’t quite a window seat, but it was close enough that Vhalla instantly relaxed into her new surroundings.

Flipping open the book, she diligently started reading at the first page. Vhalla did not count a book as read unless one’s eyes fell on the very first word of the first page and the very last word of the last.

Her brow furrowed, and her fingers trailed over the script. She tucked some flyaway hair behind her ear only to have it fall in her face again.

Something was amiss.

The writing was familiar. It was slightly less jagged, less spiky than what she knew. This was written by a steadier hand, likely a younger hand. But it was impossible. Vhalla blinked at the title page.

The Windwalkers of the East

A collection of accounts from The Burning Times

Composed by Mohned Topperen.

MOHNED TOPPEREN. THE name had to be a mistake. Perhaps, it was a very common name, and Vhalla did not know it. Why else would the Master of Tome’s name be in a book on magical history? Then again, the master could boast authorship of more than a hundred manuscripts. Why should he have a problem writing on magic?

Vhalla paused, suddenly feeling very small. This whole time she was fearful of sorcerers when the man who was her mentor, who had been like her father in the palace, had written about them long before she was even born. She leaned against the wall, her head swimming. What was wrong with her?

Mohned had raised her better. Her father had raised her better. Vhalla had lived in the South for so long that the Southern fear of magic had seeped into her. Yes, sorcerers were different. But the South had been different, and she hadn’t feared moving into the palace. She had been excited at the prospect of expanding her knowledge. Her world had grown and, as a child, she had accepted that better than as a young woman.

Why did growing up shrink her mind?

“Vhalla?” the library boy whispered softly, sitting next to her.

“Yes?” She blinked at him, worried that her magic was acting up again; he was inexplicably blurry.

“Hey, you okay?” He placed a hand on her knee, and Vhalla stared at the foreign contact. It was strangely welcome. “You’re crying.”

“Sorry.” She shook her head, looking away, rubbing her eyes in frustration.

“Don’t apologize.” Fritz shook his head. “It must be a lot.” Vhalla nodded mutely. “Were you in the palace before this?”

“I was,” Vhalla answered, finding talking helped work out the lump in her throat. “I was a library apprentice. I’ve lived here since I was eleven. Almost seven years now...”

“That’s good,” he smiled. Vhalla stared at him, puzzled. Before she could ask what was good about her situation, he elaborated. “Some of the new apprentices are dropped off by their families. They’ve never lived in the palace before—or even out of their homes. The worst is when their family disowns them, as well.”

“Disown? Their own family?” Vhalla blinked. She didn’t know what her father really thought of magic, but Vhalla wanted to believe that nothing would make him abandon her on a doorstep. He had been teary-eyed leaving her in the South.

“They’re afraid.” Fritz shrugged. “They don’t think it’s natural, even though people can’t choose magic.”

“Is that what happened to you?” Vhalla asked.

“No,” Fritz chuckled. “No one in my family is a sorcerer, but they hardly minded. My sisters thought it was hilarious when I couldn’t stop randomly freezing things.”

“Freezing things?” Vhalla mused aloud. “That would make you a-a—” She couldn’t remember the proper name. “You have a water Affinity.”

“A Waterrunner,” Fritz filled in the blank helpfully. “Okay, right, well, I’ll let you read. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t in pain.”

“Don’t,” Vhalla grabbed the hand resting on her knee as he went to stand. “Don’t leave.” She looked away, a flush rising to her cheeks. Vhalla didn’t want Fritz to go. He was the first stable person in the whole Tower, and she needed someone warm and genuine right now. Something about his Southern hair and eyes reminded her of Roan.

“All right,” Fritz agreed with earnestness, settling next to her. “I’ll read with you; it can’t hurt to brush up on my history.”

They began reading together and Vhalla appreciated that he read almost as fast as she did.

The story of the Windwalkers started centuries before the last Windwalker died, during the great genocide that was known as The Burning Times. It was a rich history of Cyven, the old East, that Vhalla had never been taught, despite being born there. The story was incomplete in some areas, being taken from oral histories, but it wasn’t until Vhalla reached the middle section on The Burning Times that she began to have questions.

“I don’t understand.” Vhalla shook her head. “The King of Mhashan was invading Cyven?”

“Mhashan could have been greater than the Empire Solaris if they had kept Cyven, some say,” Fritz confirmed.

“Why didn’t they?” The book took a distinctly Eastern viewpoint, and the explanations for the West’s actions were lacking.

“King Jadar claimed the invasion was to spread the word of the Mother Sun.” History was clearly a favorite area for Fritz, by the way he spoke, and through the animation in his hands. Vhalla wondered how many nations would use the Mother as an excuse for conquest. “But really, what he wanted was the Windwalkers’ power.”

“Why?” Vhalla tried not to sound too eager. The prince’s and minister’s conversation was still fresh in her mind.

“I don’t really know,” Fritz replied apologetically.

Vhalla felt her chest deflate. Whatever the reason, the king had enslaved every Windwalker found by his armies and a specially trained secret order of knights. In the process, most of the East was put to the flame. There came a point when the Windwalkers admitted defeat, hoping to spare the rest of their people. Compared to the West’s military, they were disorganized and weak. After the king accepted their surrender; after the last of the sorcerers were in irons, he burned every remaining resistance, or love for those, with the air Affinity. It was as though he wanted to erase them from the earth.

Vhalla stared at the words, realizing she was nearing the end of the tale. The last quarter of the book focused on what the West did with their captives. Live experiments and forced labor that churned contents of her stomach sour.

“Why would they do this?” she whispered.

“I don’t know.” The Southern man patted her knee. “But it was a long time ago. Things are different now.”

“How have I not known this happened?” Vhalla tried to wrap her head around what she had just read.

“In my history lessons, they always told us that the East made all magic taboo following The Burning Times. Cyven was afraid of drawing the wrath of the West anew so they banned magic, discussions on magic, or books on it,” Fritz explained. “Eventually, magic was forgotten by the average person, and the laws became social norms.”

Vhalla stared forward, the book gripped loosely in her palms. The chatty Fritz stayed silent, letting her process everything that she had just learned. If she had been born more than a century and a half ago, the West would have killed her for her magic. She had something that kings killed for. But Vhalla still didn’t understand what made her magic more significant than any of the other Affinities. It frightened her. But she also recognized that it was something she must uncover before the prince, minister, or even the Emperor could uncover—if they hadn’t already.

However, the energy flowing through her veins was not all fear.

Excitement, Vhalla realized. The girl in her who had never amounted to anything other than an avid reader, now had something that kings killed for. She had power, and her curiosity surrounding it finally surpassed exhaustion and fear.

“Fritz,” Vhalla said suddenly. She stood, swayed a minute on weak knees, but planted her feet firmly on the ground. “How do I use magic?”

“What?” The blonde-haired man was startled by the sudden flurry of movement.

“I am a sorcerer, right? I can use magic then. How do I do it?” Vhalla feared she would lose whatever possessed her before she even saw the truth.

“I’m not a teacher,” Fritz cautioned.

“Do your best.” Vhalla gave him a weak smile. She remembered the last man she had considered her teacher. Fritz couldn’t do worse.

“Are you sure you’re feeling up to it? You’re still kind of messed up. No offense, but I don’t want to tax your body.” Fritz swayed from one foot to the other.

“Please,” Vhalla pleaded, her resolve about to vanish. “I need to know.”

“Fine, fine.” Fritz placed his palms on her shoulders and turned her around gently to face one of the glass bulbs that was positioned on either side of the window. He leaned forward pointing at the flame. “Look there, look close. I’m no magical teacher, please realize. So I’m sorry for any bad advice I’ll give you. Now that I’ve warned you, you can’t blame me. I was told half of magic is visualizing what you want, and the other half is allowing it to come to pass. Does that help?”

“Maybe?” Vhalla said honestly.

“I don’t know how it works for Windwalkers. I’m a Waterrunner, so I feel the water in me to help open my Channel. So, feel the wind in you, I guess?” he explained clumsily.

“This isn’t going to work,” she muttered doubtfully. Her conviction quickly vanishing.

“Yes, it is. You haven’t even tried yet.” He gave her shoulders an encouraging squeeze.

Vhalla stared at the glass. The fire kept burning within, and she shrugged.

“You call that trying?” He gave her a gentle nudge. “If looks alone could stop fire, then that would’ve done the trick.”

Vhalla scowled, and she closed her eyes, taking a breath. She had no idea how to go about this and felt rather silly for even trying. She took another slow breath. Vhalla heard the air passing through her, felt it enter her body, felt it give her life.

Hesitantly, doubtfully, she tried to imagine the position of the bulb in front of her, the fire inside. The picture formed before her almost as clearly as if her eyes had been open.

Magic, she had magic within her.

She would accept that. Hadn’t she been kidnapped and pushed off a roof to force her accept it?

Vhalla thought of the prince, her mood instantly souring. She had summoned magic then. That pig-headed infuriating man had made her summon magic. If he could bring it out of her, then she would be damned if she could not bring it out through her own will. Inhaling sharply, she snapped open her eyes just in time to watch the fire blow out, and the bulb shatter.

“You did it!” Fritz’s hands were off her shoulders, and he was clapping them together like a madman.

“I broke the bulb.” She stared at the shattered glass on the floor. Thinking of the prince led her to breaking things. It wasn’t really impressive—or healthy.

“Who cares? We have a lot more.” Fritz laughed, something about his laugh was infectious, and she smiled despite herself. “You are a Windwalker!” He took both her hands in his and spun her around a few times until she felt dizzy, but slightly giddy. “Next, do that one.”

Vhalla turned to the opposite bulb and repeated the process, this time trying to think of the wind staying only within the glass, but never actually touching it. She tried to quell her emotions some, but still reach from the same font she felt when her mind turned to angry thoughts of the crown prince. The bulb shuddered before cracking and breaking. This time, there were significantly fewer pieces.

“You’re amazing Vhalla!” Fritz cheered.

His words and the world around her were lost as Vhalla stared, mesmerized by the shattered glass. She had done it, more or less. Magic had been scary, mysterious, painful, or intellectual. But this was the first time she could’ve described any moment as fun or rewarding. For once, it felt good.

And, for the first time in her life, Vhalla felt strong.

“Vhalla,” A familiar voice broke her trance. “I’m sorry, I stepped out for some lessons and training and you were gone.”

She turned to look at the Western woman approaching quickly. Vhalla saw genuine concern in Larel’s eyes. It was tempered with a look at Fritz, noting that Vhalla had not been alone.

“How do you feel?” Larel asked, inspecting her bandages.

“I’m fine.” Vhalla braved a smile and was surprised to find her face still moved as she expected it to.

“She’s better than fine!” Fritz clasped a hand over her shoulder, and Vhalla grimaced as it shot sharp pain down her arm. “Look, Larel, the Tower’s first Windwalker broke a bulb!”

“Really?” Larel half stepped around Fritz to inspect Vhalla’s accomplishment, if it could be called that. “Do you feel fine?”

“I do.” Vhalla nodded, rubbing her shoulder where Fritz had given her his painful version of encouragement. “Well, other than the obvious.”

“You need more potion.” Larel nodded in agreement. “I’ll tell the minister about your success and then we’ll get you food and medicine.”

“Come visit me again, okay?” Fritz asked hopefully.

Vhalla fidgeted with the bandages on her hands and fingers. She did not want to go back to that lonely room just yet. Things had been feeling normal; a strange and different normal, but normal nonetheless.

“Can I eat with both of you?” Vhalla asked timidly.

“Of course you can!” Fritz bounced. Larel had a small and knowing smile, but spared any comment and simply nodded.

Vhalla sat next to Fritz in the Tower’s dining hall. She was surprised to find that they had their own kitchens, and the apprentices took turns cooking. Fritz explained that, as a result, they got to try all kinds of food from the different regions of the continent.

The strawberries hadn’t been a fluke. Not only was the variety apparently better, but the quality of the food was as well. The meat was fresh, and it was actual cuts. Not the reject pieces, riddled with chewy fat and tendons, that she would get in the normal servants’ and apprentices’ dining hall. The vegetables were so fresh they still had a crunch. Vhalla felt cheated.

Larel noticed her disapproving stare within moments, and Vhalla wondered if the power to read minds was part of a Firebearer’s Affinity, as Larel found herself quickly explaining the cause of the differing food system.

There was a saying that Vhalla had heard before: The Tower takes care of its own.

Sorcerers knew how hard life could be, and they stuck together as a result. The Tower had a large number of sponsors who, after training, had gone out into the world and earned their fortunes. But they never forgot the start the Tower gave them and regularly sent coin and gifts to take care of the current apprentices. The cycle repeated itself generation after generation.

She sat between Larel and Fritz, and they did a good job of steering the conversation around her so that she only participated as much as she felt like. Larel spoke with other Firebearers, who wore capped sleeves and collared jackets. Fritz seemed engrossed in his own world talking to the man, Grahm, at his side. From the corners of her eyes Vhalla saw the mens’ thighs touch briefly as Fritz leaned in. Was she simply imagining the warm glow radiating between them?

After the meal was over, Larel escorted her up to her temporary room, and Vhalla appreciated the artwork in the halls all over again. She tried snuffing a bulb again, but only succeeded in shattering it.

“Really, Vhalla,” Larel sighed, though she didn’t sound genuinely upset. The other woman held out a hand, and the glass shards briefly burnt white-hot and disappeared.

They entered the workroom, and soon Vhalla was settling beneath the covers. Larel had five more potions for her patient to take and three bandages to replace.

“You’ll speak with the minister tomorrow.” The Western woman looked at Vhalla’s bruising. Even Vhalla was surprised at how fast her skin was healing now.

“What will happen then?” she braved to ask.

“I don’t know.” Larel shook her head. “But I’ll be here to help with whatever it is, as long as you don’t mind me as your mentor.”

Vhalla stared at the dark-haired woman for a long moment. She remembered her harsh words nights ago. Perhaps they had been deserved, perhaps not. Things had changed, and as much as Vhalla had been trying for years to grow into a woman, right now she needed her inner child who embraced the world shifting around her.

“I don’t mind,” Vhalla whispered. “If you still don’t mind being my mentor.”

Larel only smiled.

VHALLA MET THE dawn the next morning. It hadn’t been pain or discomfort that woke her early but apprehension for what the day would hold. Vhalla had spent almost a week in the Tower. Granted, half of it she had been unconscious. The minister had stopped to see her twice more when she was awake, overseeing her healing personally.

Her opinion of the Minister of Sorcery had improved with his efforts to heal her, but Vhalla still remembered his conversation with the prince. The minister kept assuring her that she could trust him, that he meant her no harm. Vhalla hoped that he was sincere.

She met the minster in the room adjacent to her temporary chambers. Vhalla sat in the same chair she had occupied weeks ago. This time a mug of steaming tea was placed before her, which Vhalla timidly—bravely—sipped. Unsurprisingly, it was high-quality. Superior food was something she could grow accustomed to, Vhalla mused, as she absorbed the tea’s aromatics.

“I am glad you are feeling better,” the minister started after acquiring his own tea. “Better enough that I’ve already heard rumors of my apprentices and mentors taking dinner with the first Windwalker.” Vhalla avoided his stare, guilty as charged. “Which means, we need to speak on your future.”

She wasn’t sure what to say.

“I am sure Larel has already explained most of it to you. But, you are a sorcerer now, your place is here in the Tower. We have worked hard to create a situation that is a haven for sorcerers of all ranks and skills. You will be allowed to practice freely and will be taught how to control and apply your new skills.” He folded his hands, placing them on the table.

“Now, to accept the black robes, you will have to resign your current position in the library. That is not to say you could not patronize the library in your spare time. But you would move here, into the Tower, to live and work among your new peers.” He produced a piece of paper from within his robes that was a formal decree of change in apprenticeship. It had four blank spaces for signatures.

There it was, laid out so neatly.

“And if I refuse?” Vhalla found herself asking. The minister paused, and Vhalla tried to decipher what flashed across his eyes. “Can I be Eradicated?”

“Vhalla,” Minister Victor began slowly. “You are the first Windwalker in nearly one-hundred fifty years.” Her heart began to race. “I would think that—”

“Is it not my choice?” she asked quickly.

“It is.” The minister knew already he would get nowhere by forcing her.

Vhalla settled into her chair with a soft sigh. “Minister,” Vhalla began, “the Festival of the Sun is coming.” If the changing colors of the trees below her window were any indication, the Empire’s largest celebration would start within the month. “I realize I am in a place to ask little but...may I have until the end of the festival to make my decision?”

“Vhalla.” The minister pressed his fingertips together. “I am sure you can now appreciate the dangers of having an Awoken and untrained sorcerer around the palace.”

“But wasn’t the majority of the danger from not knowing how I would wake?” Vhalla asked timidly. “Now that I have Awoken, there’s less of a risk.”

“No, you have seen how your emotions can influence your magic without training to suppress that natural response.” The minister shook his head, and her heart sank. “I will need you to make your decision today.”

Vhalla frowned. She stared at the icy blue eyes of the minister, remembering his conversation with the prince. Whatever they wanted from her, she was not about to give it easily.

“Then I choose to be Eradicated,” Vhalla announced boldly.

“Vhalla—” Victor began slowly.

“Was it not my choice?” she cut him off. “If I am forced to choose now, then I will make the safest decision and choose to be Eradicated.”

“You are the first Windwalker,” the minister repeated in dumb shock.

“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” Vhalla swallowed her fear to maintain her bold front.

He stared at her for a long moment. Vhalla gripped the hem of the cotton slip they had put her in. She had to stand her ground. If they truly needed her, the minister would not allow her to be Eradicated. Pushing him was dangerous, but Vhalla needed to know the truth.

“Very well,” the minister gave in with a sigh. Her heart thumped in her chest. “You may have until the end of the Festival of the Sun to make your decision.”

She was right. Whatever they wanted, it involved her magic. Vhalla had one month to find out why, and then decide if she would keep her magic.

“Thank you, minister,” Vhalla said politely.

Within the hour Larel returned her clothes. Placing the clothes upon the bed, Vhalla looked at them in surprise. Her robes looked the cleanest they had ever been; the drab cotton was almost white. She picked up her maroon tunic to find that her finger no longer fit through any holes in the seam.

“We mended them also,” Larel noted obviously.

“Thank you.” Vhalla had not seen any servants in the Tower, which meant that the apprentices were sharing the work in all areas, just like they were the cooking. She wondered if whenever Larel said we what she really meant was I.

Larel excused herself, and Vhalla changed slowly. Lifting her arms caused sharp pains to her ribs, making her wince. Despite her battered, purpled, and scratched body her clothes still fit. She was still the same person, or close enough.

She walked at Larel’s side in silence, unable to find words. The other woman had a comfortable way about her, and Vhalla did not feel pressured to speak. Her head was full, weighing her choices, and it hurt to think she only had one month to arrive at a decision.

It should be easy, Vhalla scolded herself. She should be Eradicated and put it all behind her. But, as Vhalla slipped through a foreign door behind Larel, she stole one last glance down the Tower. There was something about this place that Vhalla could no longer deny.

“So you know, the minister informed the library that you fell ill with Autumn Fever,” Larel explained dutifully.

“I see.” Vhalla nodded, wondering how deep the Tower’s influence actually ran in the palace. “Larel, thank you,” Vhalla said suddenly. After all the woman’s care, Vhalla was leaving without giving the Tower anything in return.

“Take care of yourself,” Larel demanded gently.

Vhalla vanished through the fogged wall and stood at a crossroads.

She willed her feet to move, but they wouldn’t budge.

Something in her screamed to run back down that dim walkway into the arms of the people who had pulled her from death; the people who knew about the change she was enduring and could help her face it. It would be easier if she never went back to the library. If she never looked upon the faces of those who had been her family since she came to the South.

Mohned’s face appeared in her mind’s eye. Eyes, milky with age, that still held an intensity as they looked at the world from behind circular spectacles. Guilt registered as a stomach spasm. She couldn’t leave like that. So she moved one step at a time back to her old home.

Most of the bandages on her hands were gone but the purple of the bruising was still severe in a few places. Vhalla was glad for her long sleeves, as they hid most of the remaining wounds.

She didn’t have much strength to push open the ornate doors of the library, so Vhalla was grateful when the guards took hold from within and pulled them open the rest of the way.

During her absence, the Ministry of Culture had begun their preparations for the Festival of the Sun. Large cornucopia hung from the ceiling. Boughs of wheat accented the titles of each library stack. Even the circulation desk had been decorated in sweet-smelling garlands made of autumn leaves and flowers.

Sareem was the first to notice her as he stood behind the desk, looking over Mohned’s shoulders at something. “Vhalla!” he shouted.

The master scolded him lightly, but Sareem was already running toward her. Two arms scooped her up into a big hug, and Vhalla didn’t even mind the pain in her ribs and shoulders. Echoing his cry was Roan. She dashed from the rows and hugged her next, then Cadance, followed by a much more mild but smiling Lidia. Even the master walked half the length of the library to greet her.

“How do you feel Vhalla?” Master Mohned’s voice was heard through the din of chatter.

“Much better.” She blinked back tears. She knew he asked because of the lie about Autumn Fever, but Vhalla could answer honestly.

“We were all really worried for you,” Sareem interjected. Vhalla rubbed her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Cadance’s voice was small.

“I just missed everyone a lot, that’s all,” Vhalla sniffed, frustrated with herself.

“It was only a week and some, Vhalla,” Roan said with a smile, patting her back. “Actually, not bad for Autumn Fever.”

“It felt like a lifetime to me.” She gave them a tired smile, knowing that they couldn’t understand.

The master adjusted his spectacles. “Well, I think it should be obvious that we are all pleased to have Vhalla with us again,” Mohned began. “Though let’s give her some air and get back to work.”

With another round of warm words and small hugs, everyone parted ways, save for her, the master, and Sareem. She followed the men to the desk. “I’ll give you a very simple task today, Vhalla. Please sort through the section of potions to make sure it’s all in place.”

Pleased with this task, walking through the library was like reuniting with an old friend. Each shelf was a familiar face. Many books held memories for her as much as holding information. Vhalla spared a glance toward the mysteries section as she plunged herself into the rows about potions and put her situation out of sight, but frustratingly not out of mind. She could go on, she realized, just like this again. Like nothing had ever happened. She could be Eradicated and put magic in the past, like a bad dream.

Her face was wet with tears again, and Vhalla mentally cursed herself for crying so much. A shelf became her support. Sliding down against it, she tilted her head back and looked up at the tall bookcases that held the books she was supposed to be sorting.

As she sat there in the silence, breathing deeply and attempting to regain control of herself, Vhalla became aware of something she had yet to consider. This was the first time she had to make a choice about her future.

Her birthday was in a few days, she realized. She would be eighteen and had never made a decision for herself that mattered. Something about it terrified her; something about it shamed her; something about it pushed her forward.

Picking herself up off the floor, she began to sort books. Her mind was too occupied to read any of them. The work was solace enough this day.

The menial task kept her hands busy while Vhalla’s mind did its own sorting in the silence. By the time the closing bells rang, she had vowed that no matter what the future held, she was going to make her own decision. Despite what everyone said about sorcerers, Vhalla’s short time in the Tower had shown her differently. She wasn’t about to let the whispers of common folk, or of Lords heard through a door, decide her future for her. Vhalla was stronger than that. At least, that was what she wanted to believe.

As the library staff was leaving, a small team from the Ministry of Culture carried in items to finish decorating. Vhalla wondered how soon the festival would start. It was one of the best times of the year, as most of the staff were only forced to work one day, so they could enjoy the festivities.

“Vhalla, come eat with us.” Sareem touched her shoulder lightly.

She didn’t feel hungry—the weight of the world filled her stomach—but Vhalla found herself agreeing, nonetheless.

The dining hall was a ruckus place, full of people from all levels of the palace. It was a cavernous space with long rows of wooden tables. Clanking metal plates and glasses, conversations in a multitude of dialects, and fights and laughter rang in her ears. This reminded her why she normally didn’t eat here, but, at the same time, she felt nostalgic for her girlhood years when she had been more social and often ate with her peers.

Vhalla sat with Sareem at her left. Roan sat opposite Sareem. Lidia and Cadance stayed with them too, and the library staff ate and enjoyed each other’s company, until Vhalla could no longer contain her yawning.

“Someone is sleepy.” Sareem rested a palm on her forehead.

“A little.” Vhalla nodded.

“You’re likely still recovering from the fever,” Lidia pointed out, her motherly instincts showing.

“Right,” she agreed softly, looking down at her fidgeting fingers. She was still recovering, which wasn’t that much of a lie. When Vhalla’s eyes raised again she caught Sareem’s. He was squinting oddly and, before Vhalla could ask, he was on his feet.

“Well, I think I should see Vhalla to her room; make sure she’s all right,” Sareem announced. She looked up at the man’s form. When had Sareem grown so tall?

“It’s fine, stay.” Vhalla stood, ignoring a sideways stare from Roan.

“No, no, I want to see you back,” Sareem insisted. He offered her his arm, and Vhalla took it timidly. It wasn’t the first time she had walked arm-in-arm with Sareem, but it was the first time when they weren’t kids running off to some mischief. She felt a little odd, and it wasn’t only because of the fact that Roan’s stare followed them all the way out.

They walked down the mostly-empty halls in silence. Vhalla adjusted her hand in his elbow, but he made no indication he wanted it removed. She almost jumped when his tenor voice finally broke the silence.

“Vhalla, you didn’t have Autumn Fever, did you?” Sareem asked outright.

Vhalla gaped up at him in shock. “What are you talking about? Of course I did! Where else was I?” she replied with panic.

“I don’t know.” Sareem shook his head, and there was the tell-tale severity of concern in his ocean blue eyes as he looked at her. “But, I know you already had Autumn Fever when you were a girl, and it shouldn’t put you out for a week. Plus, I can see a bandage on your forearm.”

She snatched her hand back from his elbow quickly, pushing her sleeve down. Vhalla bit her lip. What could she say?

“If anyone asks about your fever, send them to me,” he instructed.

“Why?” Vhalla asked softly, the food in her stomach churning.

“Haven’t I told you before? You’re a bad liar.” Sareem shook his head. “It’ll be more convincing if you send them to me.”

“Why would you do that?” They stopped walking before her door, and Vhalla stared up at her friend.

“Because, it might help you,” he answered, glancing away. Something suddenly felt awkward. “I don’t know why you’re lying, Vhalla. But I trust that you wouldn’t be trying to if it weren’t important. If you ever need someone to talk to, I will be there.”

“Thank you, Sareem.” Vhalla shifted her feet.

To her surprise he raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles lightly. “Rest well, Vhalla,” Sareem whispered, before releasing her fingers and starting back toward the dining hall.

Vhalla was helpless to do little more than watch him go in a dumbfounded silence.

TWO DAYS CAME and went with such a normalcy that it seemed slightly surreal. Vhalla returned to almost all of her usual duties. The master gave her extra leeway in the mornings to help with her recovery. While Vhalla habitually woke with the dawn, she enjoyed the extra time to relax in bed and dress at her leisure. It caused some guilt, but there was a good deal of that feeling lately, as she felt no closer to her decision regarding the Tower.

Things with Sareem had not changed, after her first night back. At times, she could feel a strange stare coming from his direction. Sometimes, he would sit closer than normal, as they hid from work on her window seat. But neither were prepared to cross the line between them.

She began to look at him differently, forcing Vhalla to think back on Roan’s words. Vhalla had so readily dismissed her friend’s inquiry about a relationship, but now she thought of it during each of Sareem’s glances. Why was he paying so much attention to her? It piled on her list of everything she would eventually sort through.

So, on her birthday, she slept past dawn, curled in bed with covers pulled up over her head. As custom, Mohned had given her the day off, and she took the opportunity to sleep in. She was almost completely healed, but her body still demanded additional rest.

Or rather, it would have demanded additional rest were it not for a knock on her door. Vhalla squinted open her eyes, hoping the person would go away. But after a few moments, the second knock pulled Vhalla to her feet.

She struggled to think of whom it could be. The library staff was at work by now, and Vhalla didn’t have a large number of friends. Therefore, it shouldn’t have been any surprise who greeted her.

“Larel?” she exclaimed, looking at the other woman in the black coat.

“Hello, Vhalla.” Larel flashed one of her dazzling smiles. “May I come in? I wouldn’t want anyone to notice me when I’ve avoided being observed until now.”

Vhalla nodded and moved to the side to allow her friend to pass.

Larel walked into the small space and looked around. Vhalla’s room was little more than a bed, desk, chair, closet, and mirror, but Larel’s eyes went over each. She paused a moment, staring at the closet. Right as Vhalla was about to inquire what the other woman thought she saw, Larel turned with a clap of her hands.

“So! How are you feeling?” Larel led Vhalla back to the bed, and she played the patient obediently.

“Very well,” Vhalla responded.

“Good.” Larel pulled up the chair to sit across from her and started inspecting the last of Vhalla’s bruising. “You really have healed amazingly.”

This conversation felt very odd after returning to what Vhalla considered to be the real world. Intentionally or subconsciously, she had hardly given more than a passing thought to magic for almost three full days.

“Have you been experimenting?” Larel looked up from her medical diligence. Vhalla shook her head. “Any reason?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” Vhalla held up her leg for Larel to check the bandage on her calf. “Hardly,” Larel remarked dryly.

“Hardly?” Vhalla tilted her head to the side, her hands stretched behind her on the small bed.

“You broke flame bulbs in the Tower,” the Western woman pointed out.

“Fritz was helping me,” Vhalla retorted. She instantly felt a pang of longing at the idea of seeing Fritz again.

“Oh, yes, Fritz is such an astounding teacher,” Larel laughed sarcastically.

Vhalla smiled, despite herself, remembering the Southern man’s clumsy nature and efforts to help her understand magic. Larel may not understand, but after the minister and the prince, Vhalla thought Fritz was quite a good teacher.

“Maybe for the best though,” Larel continued at Vhalla’s silence. “Without a teacher overseeing your efforts, it could be dangerous now that you’re Awoken. Has anything strange happened?”

“Strange?” Vhalla repeated.

“Yes, strange. Since you’re not actively using magic, then I need to know if your powers are seeking any outlets, such as through your emotions.” Larel’s dark eyes held a severe note.

“Oh!” Vhalla shook her head and added, “No, nothing strange.” Vhalla paused and Larel did the same. Her eyes fell on her window. “Actually, the wind feels different now. I’ve kept my windows open a lot since coming back. Well, it’s hard to explain... Like there’s something in the air. Of course you can feel the wind but...”

“I understand; fire feels different to Firebearers.” Larel combed her fingers through her bangs. “I enjoy having fire around me. In the flames I don’t feel heat, but I do feel something there, like the essence of the flame.”

“You don’t feel heat?” Vhalla blinked.

“No.” Larel shook her head. “Fire can’t burn me unless it’s made by a much more powerful sorcerer.”

“I see,” Vhalla mused softly, watching Larel tuck the last of her bandages back into place.

“Good. Well, nothing seems out of order. I only wanted to check up on you.” The sorcerer sat back with a smile.

“You wanted to—or you were sent to?” Vhalla inquired.

“Do they have to be mutually exclusive?” The woman stood. “Oh, and by the way, happy birthday.”

“How did you know it was my birthday?” she asked, dumbfounded.

“When you were in our care, the minister sent for all your papers and records. I noticed your birthdate.” Larel fussed in a small bag for a moment. “Here.” She held out two small parcels.

“What’s this?” Vhalla accepted the treasures with both hands.

“Birthday presents, silly.”

Larel said it like it was nothing, but Vhalla placed them reverently in her lap. She barely expected her friends to remember her birthday, more or less get her anything. To have someone she barely knew give her not one, but two gifts was amazing.

“Oh,” Larel added, “one is from Fritz. I made the mistake of telling him where I was headed this morning, and he was insistent.”

“May I open them now?” Vhalla asked.

“Go ahead.” Larel nodded, giving a small smile at Vhalla’s girlish enthusiasm.

Vhalla placed one to the side, as she had a feeling she already knew what it was. Taking the smaller of the two gifts, she unwrapped the simple brown paper and twine to reveal a beautiful metal cuff. It was thin and turned up slightly on the sides with a small gap in the back to slide her wrist through. She studied it in the light. Embossed upon its surface were foreign runes that Vhalla didn’t recognize.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, turning it. Vhalla sincerely hoped her new friend had not spent too much.

“I’m glad you like it,” Larel beamed.

“I love it, Larel. Wherever did you get it?” She brought it closer to her face and inspected the writing carefully.

“I made it.” Seeing Vhalla’s startled expression, Larel added, “Firebearers are often jewelers or smiths. We can temper metal, make flame, keep heat. Not being able to be burned helps.”

“These markings?” Vhalla asked.

“They’re Western,” Larel answered.

Vhalla nodded, feeling overwhelmed. Turning to the other gift with the unassuming wrapping, she discovered an old and ragged book. The title had nearly faded, but the writing within was still completely legible: The Art of Air.

“Fritz felt bad because it wasn’t a real present you could keep forever,” Larel explained.

Vhalla shook her head. “This is amazing,” she whispered.

“I thought you’d like it.” The sorcerer grinned.

“Please, tell Fritz thank you for me,” Vhalla said, still turning the book over in her hands.

“Want to come and tell him yourself ?” Larel inquired. “You have the day off for your birthday, right? I’m sure the minister wouldn’t object to allowing you back into the Tower, since you’ve yet to make an official decision.”

Vhalla considered it for a moment. She had enjoyed her time with Fritz, and reading with him again would be nice. Perhaps she could even eat more of the Tower’s food as a birthday present.

Her eyes turned to the window. The slit in the wall offered little light, but she could see the clouds drifting through the sky upon a fall breeze. Vhalla shook her head, overcome with the insatiable urge to be outdoors.

“Thank you for the offer. But I think I would like to be outside today,” Vhalla said thoughtfully.

“I understand,” Larel nodded and said with a tone that made Vhalla believe her. The dark-haired woman began to move to the door but paused, glancing at Vhalla’s closet once more. She opened her mouth briefly as if to say something but when she turned back, her expression changed. “Take care, Vhalla. We’re only a call away should you need us.”

“Thank you, Larel, for everything.” Vhalla smiled.

Larel poked her head out of the room and then crept away.

Wearing one of her gifts, she placed the other in her bag. The days were almost exclusively cool now, and her winter robes had finally arrived. They were spun from thicker wool and heavier materials than her summer and fall robes. Vhalla was perpetually cold, and she welcomed the cloth in all its itchy glory. Just like her summer robes, an open book was stitched on the back of her winter robes, marking her as one of the library. Vhalla stared at the blue thread. How much longer would she be wearing them?

Vhalla decided that she would actually give some care for her appearance today. It was her birthday, another year older, another chance at maturing and developing womanly habits she had yet to find a taste for. Through her tarnished looking glass, Vhalla moved her head to fit in the palm sized reflection. Her hair seemed marginally better.

Vhalla had one special stop planned before she set out on her day. She headed upward into the sweaty din of the kitchens. It was a bustling place of noise and stomach-growling scents. Vhalla did not often have reason to frequent them, but on her birthday she hoped for one exception.

Lemons only grew in the far West and on the outer islands, so they were a delicacy in the other regions of the main continent. The kitchens served a small cake with tea or lunches for nobles and royals. White sugar glaze on top, Vhalla coveted the spongy yellow sweet throughout the year.

With just the right amount of begging—and luck—she had one palm-sized dessert wrapped in cloth and stashed in her bag for her birthday.

As far as Vhalla was concerned, the palace had three worlds wrapped within it. The innermost world was the lowest in society; it was tucked away in closet-like spaces with servant dormitories, apprentice rooms, and hallways that ran through walls. It was the rough-hewn stone, chipping mortar, and stairs that were not quite evenly spaced. Candlewax dripping down the walls was their artwork and all the pleasurable scents of the plumbing—the palace’s and Empire’s sophisticated aqueduct system, was their perfume.

Above that world was the public world. This had the showy rooms common folk were permitted to see and the halls nobles and ministers walked through. It was polished and swept with fresco artwork and stone sculptures.

This was where Vhalla walked today. Not completely unorthodox for an apprentice, she enjoyed the beauty of the palace at her leisure. Most of the halls stood empty as Court was in session and the ministers were at work.

Vhalla had never stepped foot in the last world of the palace. Not unless she counted passing through in secret stairwells behind a prince. The quarters for royalty and their high-ranking noble guests were closed off with a gold-gilded gate. The most dangerous guards were posted day and night, keeping out all who would presume to force entry. Vhalla had only set eyes upon it once, as a curious girl, before she had been shooed away.

Vhalla did not know what she was looking for. She simply walked. Spiraling upward and downward, she drifted from one thing to the next. She passed one or two other servants, but they asked her nothing and she offered nothing.

Vhalla might not have had a goal when she started this meander, but she knew she had found it when she saw it.

Through an upper window, Vhalla gazed upon a garden she had never seen before, hidden within a palace courtyard. Graveled pathways spiraled through the dense hedges, plants, and trees. Many of them were beginning to lose their green foliage, changing into the fall orange and reds. The trees looked aflame as they swayed in the bright sunlight.

She spotted a gate through the windows as Vhalla spiraled around the garden. However, none of the stairwells up or down led her to a passage that connected to it. Frustrated but determined, she found the lowest window she could. It was almost impossible to see over the hedge positioned right before it.

Opening the window, Vhalla stepped over the stone and landed lightly in the garden below. She could barely close the portal behind her and would need to find something to stand on to return later. The wind ruffling her hair, Vhalla plunged through the bushes and into another world.

A breeze swept down the mountainside, stopping Vhalla in her tracks. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before. The world was alive around her, and each gust of air was like the whisper of a lover upon silk.

In awe, she held out a hand, inspecting it as though she could see the air visibly slipping between her fingers. This was more than the soft huffs that managed to breeze through her window. She could not see it, but she could feel it. Not in the way that one normally feels a breeze. No, recalling Larel’s words, Vhalla could feel the essence of the wind. It was as though she could grab it and close her fingers around something finer than any silk or chiffon.

An upward gust drew her gaze skyward, and Vhalla’s breath hitched in her throat. Towering high above her was Imperial Housing. Her whole body tingled at the sight. It was the first time she laid eyes on the golden spires since her fall.

She had no reason to be alive. The spires were astonishingly high with a straight drop down. Vhalla tried to imagine what she might have hit, but nothing seemed to make sense. All the ledges and decorations were to the sides of the tower; it was a far descent before there was anything that could’ve broken her fall. From her current vantage, she could discern that she would’ve had to have moved a good six or seven body lengths in the air to have hit anything. It all seemed vastly impossible.

Shaking the painful memories from her mind, Vhalla gripped her bag and began walking through the garden. She had seen an unorthodox structure from the windows and attempting to find it was a much better use of her time, than musing over princes and near-death experiences.

Fortunately, all paths seemed to wind toward her goal and Vhalla’s heart beat in a weird rhythm at its beauty.

The building looked almost like a birdcage. Silverwork arched together, holding large panes of swirled glass upright as walls. At its apex stood a silver sun. Vhalla fidgeted with her fingers, thinking. She had only ever seen the blazing sun of the Empire crafted in gold.

The glass had a touch of fog to it. While she could make out hazy shapes and green blurs, it was impossible to discern what was inside. Three silver steps led up to an arched door.

Her hand paused on the silver handle. Her heart was racing but she couldn’t place why.

Roses assaulted her senses upon entering. They grew along the outer walls and up a large central post. The temperature within the greenhouse-like structure was warm, perfectly kept for ensuring the Western crimson flowers stayed in bloom.

Her slippers did not make a sound as she walked lightly over to the pillar, inspecting one of the buds. Movement drew her attention past the stunning foliage to a silver bench in the back, opposite the door.

She was not alone.

A man sat hunched over an open ledger and seemed to be deeply engrossed in the notes he was taking. Vhalla’s blood ran cold, and she took a step back. This was not supposed to happen. Out of all the people in the world she was not meant to meet this man clad in black, with his slicked back hair and dark eyes.

Vhalla was debating how best to make her escape when his pen stopped and his chin slowly rose. His eyes widened, and his brow furrowed as his lips parted slightly in shock. The deep, rich voice that broke the silence made her teeth grind.

“Are you real?” Prince Aldrik whispered in obvious surprise.

WITH ANNOYANCE, VHALLA wiped the confusion off her face.

“Of course I’m real, and I was just leaving.” She turned, starting for the door.

“Wait!” He was on his feet, papers scattering across the floor. She looked back at his clumsy and haphazard movement. “Wait.”

“Is that an order, my prince?” Vhalla focused her gaze on the door handle. A quiet anger rose in her.

“Yes. No. No, it is not. If you want to go, then go; but please, just—wait.” He sighed and ran a hand over his hair, adjusting his long double-breasted coat.

“Why?” she demanded. Vhalla half-turned toward him, her hand still on the door handle.

“Because,” he cleared his throat, attempting to continue with more conviction, “I want to talk to you.”

“And if I don’t want to talk to you?” she sighed.

“Then go.” He stood, his posture slack. When she made no motion in his direction, he knelt and began to pick up his papers.

Vhalla stood in limbo, watching this strange, frustrating, and infuriating man on the floor, collecting his scattered parchment. With another soft sigh, the apprentice within got the better of her, and Vhalla walked over to kneel across from her prince, collecting a few papers within reach and holding them out expectantly.

He looked up at her and took the papers from her hands, his jaw slightly slack and lips parted.

She waited for a moment. Receiving nothing, she stood and turned for the door, frustrated. What had she expected? He was a prince, and—if the palace gossip was to be believed—he never thought of anyone beyond himself.

“I am sorry.” It was so soft she barely heard it over the rustling of the trees. Vhalla held the halfway open door. Surely she’d only imagined it. She took another step. “Vhalla, I am sorry.”

She turned slowly, looking back at him, one foot outside, one foot in. The words sunk into her, and she waited to see if they could be enough to soothe the anger she felt toward the black-clad man.

“I should not have lashed out at you, magically or verbally, as I did,” he continued. There was a spark in his eyes that was pleading with her for something she didn’t know if she could give. “I was eager—and foolish. I did not think of how it would affect you.”

Vhalla took a step back in, closing the door behind her and leaning against it for much needed support.

“I am certain you have heard all of the stories about me.” Prince Aldrik rested his folio on the bench behind him. Vhalla wondered why he seemed unable to meet her eyes. “I assure you, they are all true. I am not exactly versed in, in...” He paused, looking for words.

“In creating real relationships with people?” Vhalla finished spitefully. If he wanted to cast her from the palace for her lack of proper decorum, he would have already. She had no idea why he didn’t. But Vhalla was ready to find out and wash her hands of royalty.

“I have hurt you with my words—and actions. I know that. And, it likely means nothing to you to say that I did not intend to.” He sighed, looking away.

“They say you are the silver-tongued prince.” Her voice was fainter than she would’ve liked. “You already spoke me onto a ledge. How can I believe you now?”

“Because there are things you do not know about us,” Prince Aldrik responded cryptically.

Vhalla shook her head, there was no “us” between them. “You could’ve thrown me to my death and—what’s worse—you didn’t even care.” Her voice broke, and she took a deep breath. Vhalla clenched her jaw; she had been the one who suffered. He had no right to look so pained.

“You are wrong. I did care. I knew you were a Windwalker, so I never realized the possibility of your dying.” The prince took a small step toward her. Vhalla glared at the toes of his boots as though they had offended her.

“Fine,” she started, trying to turn his logic back on him. “Even if you knew my Affinity—which not even the minister himself seemed to know—how did you know the fall wouldn’t kill me; that’d I’d be strong enough?”

“Because air cannot hurt Windwalkers, like fire cannot hurt Firebearers,” he pointed out.

“It seems we know almost nothing about Windwalkers. You didn’t know that fall wouldn’t kill me.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“I knew you would not die, because you saved my life.” The prince’s voice was slow and deliberate, as if he struggled to speak. Her arms dropped to her side. “When I first arrived home, I was going to die. The...weapon that pierced my flesh was laced with a strong poison. Were it not for an immunity I have built up over many years, it would have killed me halfway home. The clerics did not know what to do, so they called on the library and the Tower for any clues as to an antidote or course of treatment.

“I knew it was the end. The clerics could not make sense of the poison and how it had been altered magically to affect me.” Aldrik clenched a fist and Vhalla listened to his tale intently. “Yet I began to stabilize as they pulled certain notes from the books. Some were comprehensive, others devolved into gibberish, but somehow they all made sense to me, and I was able to guide my treatment. They were all yours.”

“That’s impossible,” Vhalla protested. “How did you know they were mine?”

“I had the minister ask the guards who wrote them. A guard led Victor to you,” the prince explained. “I knew you were exerting a fair deal of magical energy to keep me alive, and I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“What?” she said weakly. The minister had kidnapped her because the prince had been worried for her wellbeing? It was backwards and hardly made sense. But if it was true, Vhalla began to paint a different image of that night and the events that followed.

“I was not completely enthused about Victor’s methods,” Aldrik mumbled. “But he found you, and I knew who to look for.”

Vhalla was finally stunned into silence.

“For lack of a better explanation, you wrote magic. I do not know why you did it—or how. But you cared so much about saving me that it forced your powers to Manifest. You made vessels and sent them to me. As utterly impossible as that should be for someone who was not even Awoken, you did it. And if it had not been for that, I would not be standing now.” The prince’s voice had found strength.

“How do you know?” She found her words once more, still trying to find a flaw in his story. It all seemed so impossible.

“Because when a sorcerer saves another person, a part of them—of their magic—takes root. It is called a Bond. You are likely too recently Awoken to understand it or feel it, but I could.” He folded his hands behind his back.

“A Bond?” Vhalla repeated the word in its foreign context.

“Yes, my parrot.” The corner of his mouth curled faintly at her scowl. “Part of a Bond is that you cannot bring mortal harm to the person to whom you are Bonded. It is because I carry a piece of you with me. The body refuses to harm itself. If pushing you from the roof would have taken your life, I physically could not have done it.”

Vhalla frowned, her still-healing joints aching at the memory of that night.

“But,” Prince Aldrik continued, as if reading her mind, “I did not realize the Bond would let me harm you so. I truly believed you would land safely, that we could even speak of it after you did. That was my mistake.”

“Aren’t you lucky to be a prince and not have your mistakes have consequences?” Vhalla remarked sharply.

“They do,” he responded quickly and firmly. “The consequence was the loss of your trust.”

Her eyes met his with trepidation. She couldn’t help but wonder if his words were carefully crafted to what she would want to hear. As though he could sense her skepticism, Prince Aldrik’s gaze rested on her almost sadly.

“How many other people do you puppet?” Vhalla sighed.

“Please explain your question,” he requested.

“Larel. The introduction book. Those weren’t chance, were they?” She watched his lips purse together. “She told me you knew each other.”

“Larel is a friend.”

With four words from the prince, Vhalla’s jaw dropped. “You have friends?” she couldn’t stop herself from blurting out, and her hands went to her mouth as if to hide her outburst. Anyone else she would have expected to laugh.

The prince only shrugged and looked away, painfully awkward. Vhalla reminded herself that she shouldn’t feel guilty. But she remembered Larel’s words. He had faced the brunt of the stigma against sorcery, despite being a prince. His own subjects seemed to favor Fire Lord over his natural titles. “What about me?”

“I already explained what you are to me,” the prince responded.

It was just enough to push her back toward the edge of anger. “I don’t think you have.” Vhalla shook her head. “Am I another one of your playthings to command? To serve you? To let you train me until you can deliver me to your father?”

The conversation she had overheard came back to Vhalla, the prince and the minister deciding her fate without even asking her. Judging by the furrow to his brow, the prince remembered also.

“You heard?” he asked darkly.

Vhalla swallowed and nodded, suddenly wondering if confessing to such was really a good idea. Prince Aldrik clenched his fist, and Vhalla saw the tiniest sparks of flame flash around his knuckles. He released his fingers with a heavy sigh, and she felt the temperature of the room lower.

“I cannot explain everything now. But I do not plan on telling my father about you. The last place I would want to see you taken to is that sweltering warfront of the North.” He shook his head. “If I may use your words, Victor was the puppet. Not you.”

“Why are you protecting me?” Vhalla asked before she could even think. It did not coincide with his previous actions, if he could be believed at all.

“Because you are the sorcerer to whom I am Bonded. A Bond can never be broken, and it can never be replaced.” The prince looked back at her. Vhalla’s heart seemed to beat so hard it hurt against her still bruised ribs. “For someone who is so important, I did not treat you as I should have; for that, Vhalla, I am sorry. But whatever you feel toward me, and however justified it is, does not change anything for me. I will still use all the powers I possess to see you safe.”

For all his orders and sneers, his commanding presence, and his intimidating always all-black ensemble, Vhalla saw something different. She simply saw someone who was lonely, someone who could likely count their friends on one hand, and perhaps wanted to one day use two hands. He was nothing like the man she first met; the man who wore a mask to meet palace expectations.

She hadn’t forgiven him, not quite yet. But perhaps Larel was right, and Vhalla felt a little sorry for him too.

The prince looked away from her, distracting himself with the flowers. But now he held her gaze. The silence fell between them. He stared at her, and she at him.

In time she realized he was waiting for her to pass judgment. He stood, uncomfortably folding and unfolding his hands, waiting.

Vhalla took a deep breath, trying to find the courage to speak. It was easy to be angry, resentful, and argumentative. It was harder to take one step toward him, and then another. She clutched her bag and crossed the space between them, standing before him, and trying with all her might not to fidget.

“I came here to read. If that’s all right?” she asked quietly.

“It is.” His voice was soft and low, no longer making her grit her teeth at the sound.

She moved around him and sat on one side of the bench. He looked at her like a lost child.

“You were here first. You’re welcome to stay,” she offered, pulling out her book from her satchel.

He sat down next to her, situating his ledger back on his lap. Vhalla had forgotten the warmth the prince exuded, and she shrugged off her robes, letting them fall over the bench. He glanced at the leggings and tunic that she wore beneath, but spared her any Southern mention of it being inappropriate dress for a woman. Leaning against the wall behind them, she settled with the book in her lap, thumbing to the first page.

“My prince,” she murmured. He looked at her. “I’m sorry, also, for the nasty things I said to you.” She looked up from the book.

He smiled, and for the first time she felt like it was sincere; that there was no motive, no pretense, and no other hidden emotions behind it. It was little more than the corners of his mouth curling up, but it lit his eyes in a way that Vhalla had yet to see. It made her wonder if she had ever really seen him before. It made her wonder if anyone had ever really seen him before. It quieted the voice in her mind; whispering that all of this was the start of some elaborate grander scheme.

“Call me Aldrik,” he said, very matter-of-factly, before turning back to his ledgers. “At least in private.” Vhalla felt her jaw drop as his pen began to scratch against the page once more; a familiar slanted script left in its wake. “And you are not a little worm, Vhalla.”

VHALLA CONTINUED TO struggle with her situation. She sat, pretending to read, mulling over the confounding and infuriating man next to her. A thousand questions ran through her head, but she found none worth breaking the silence.

She attempted to read between his words, to find any hidden meanings or motives. But the more she thought of the Bond, the less convinced she felt that he was toying with her. Why else would he have kept her in the palace? If he did not share a connection with her that he deemed important, wouldn’t she be gone? Especially after her outburst?

Vhalla glanced at him from the corners of her eyes. She noticed a small bump on the bridge of his nose, as though it had been broken and reset poorly. His pronounced cheekbones shaded the sides of his face in the sunlight.

He lifted his eyes from his work to catch hers. Vhalla looked away quickly, not wanting to be caught staring. Just act normal, she scolded herself. But what was normal for an apprentice and a prince?

Shifting slightly, she began to read with intent, pushing the oddity of their situation from her mind. There was something relaxing about this place, the smell and the muffled sounds of the outside world. Her reading was not very dense, and it was actually interesting to learn more about what her magic could do. Vhalla took her time with the pages, committing the points that interested her to memory.

The book was about the applications of air-based magic in a practical setting. Flipping the page, she wondered if she would be able to actually perform any of the seemingly impossible feats contained within. Perhaps, with the right teacher, she may be able to...

Vhalla flipped the page, putting the difficult decisions in the back of her mind.

They continued on like this for a while. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but eventually she became aware of the weight of his stare on her.

“What?” She peered at the prince’s strange expression.

The prince—Aldrik, she mentally corrected herself—opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again, thinking over his words another moment. “What are you reading?” He put his quill down in the open ledger, leaning slightly toward her to inspect the book.

“It’s something Fritz gave me, or rather, lent me. It’s called the Art of Air.” She turned back to the first page, showing him the written title.

“Fritz?” His eyes met hers briefly.

“Yes, from the Tower. The Southern boy in the library.” Vhalla wondered how much he knew of the Tower.

“Ah,” the prince leaned back. “That incompetent nitwit.” Now he was back to sounding more like himself.

“Be nice,” she chided gently, and he glanced over at her through the corners of his eyes.

“If he were going to break the rules and let a book outside the Tower, there are better ones.” Aldrik punctuated his self-serving comment with a scratch of his quill.

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know much, so anything is welcome,” Vhalla pointed out.

“Very true. You do not know much,” he agreed casually.

Vhalla laughed aloud. “You are a royal pain, you know that?” She shook her head, but she wasn’t even angry. Some part of her much preferred this cocky and arrogant side to him over the quieter more insecure glimpses she’d seen earlier. They didn’t seem to fit, what little she knew of him. It was safer for the prince to remain a stuck-up royal than someone with a heart and soul.

“You are not the first to think such. You will not be the last.” He shrugged, relaxing back into his own work. She looked back down at her book and flipped the page again. He was back to staring at her.

“What?” Mild annoyance was apparent in her voice.

“Do it again,” he demanded.

“Do what again?” Vhalla sighed.

“What you just did,” Aldrik pointed to the book.

“I know I am a farmer’s daughter, but I can read.” Vhalla glared at him.

“Not read, turn the page.” He kept staring at the book.

She looked at him and flipped a page with emphasis. “Ta-da.” Sarcasm dripped from the noise.

He raised his chin and stared at her with those endlessly black eyes. “You do not even realize it.” He spoke softly at first, their faces close. Sitting back with a laugh, he repeated himself, “You do not even realize it!”

Vhalla was outwardly annoyed with him now. “Thank you, Aldrik the parrot,” she muttered.

He stopped laughing and stared at her. She paused, it was the first time she used his name without title. After a moment he grinned and stood.

“Put it down, I want to see something.” He held out his hand to her.

“You’re not going to push me off a roof again, are you?” Vhalla instantly wished her tone had been more jovial and less flat.

An unusual mix of emotions crossed his face, and his hand relaxed a little before falling to his side. “You said that you would accept me as your teacher,” he spoke softly. She inwardly cursed breaking the lighter moment. “I want that honor again.”

He extended his hand back to her and waited. Vhalla swallowed hard. Prince or not, he was asking too much of her in one day. She avoided his intense stare.

“You have to earn it.” Vhalla didn’t know what else to say. She had trusted him, to lead her, to teach her, and he broke that trust. It wasn’t as though it was something she could simply start again on command.

“That is acceptable,” was his surprising remark. She looked back to him; he still stood there hopefully expectant.

Vhalla took his hand. His skin was soft and his palm warm; it almost tingled beneath the pads of her fingers. But she had little more than a moment to reflect on that as he pulled her to her feet and out of the gazebo, back into the autumn day.

“How do you feel?” he asked, leading her into the garden.

“Well enough. Larel stopped in this morning and checked up on me. She said I’m healing well,” she reported.

Aldrik glanced at her. “If something goes wrong, tell me. I could control your healing when you were in the Tower, but now that you are back in the castle proper it is harder for me to oversee directly.” He kept his long strides in pace with her.

“Control over...my healing?” Vhalla considered the implications of this.

He nodded, stopping. They arrived at a small pond.

“After what happened,” he paused, “I wanted to make sure you had the best care possible. It was the least I could do.”

She stared at him and part of her wanted to yell. Didn’t he claim he was not a puppeteer in her life? But she remembered the words of the minister; the prince had been the one who had taken her to the Tower in the first place, and she likely would’ve died without that.

He cleared his throat. “In any case, back there, you were flipping the pages without touching them,” Aldrik announced.

“Huh?” Vhalla said dumbly.

He nodded. “You kept flipping the pages only by moving your hand over the book, but you never actually touched them. You did not even notice.” His tone was a mix of excitement and severity. “Your powers are showing, Vhalla.”

“That’s impossible.” She shook her head.

“For other sorcerers, but not for you, clearly.” He crossed his arms on his chest.

“I’m sure you could do something even better without thinking about it,” she protested and grasped for the idea that what she was doing was not special.

“Yes, I very likely could.” He closed the gap between them, looking down at her. She looked up defiantly. “I am the most powerful sorcerer in this Empire. Therefore, I am not a good benchmark of what is possible or easy to do.” He gave a confident grin before strolling around and behind her.

Vhalla kept her gaze forward.

“Tell me, have you ever skipped stones?” He knelt, picking up one of the flatter, circular rocks.

“When I was a child.” Who hadn’t? “Though I can’t remember the last time.”

He tossed the stone from hand to hand a few times before sending it flying over the still water of the pond. It skipped across the surface three times before sinking. Vhalla intentionally did not look impressed.

“Your turn.” He bent down and picked up another stone, placing it in her palm.

The prince walked over to a decorative pile of mountain rocks around one side of the pond, perching himself on the largest. Resting his elbow on a bent knee he placed his chin in his hand and stared at her expectantly. Vhalla regarded him curiously before she brought her arm back for the throw.

“No, not like that,” he stopped her. “Without throwing it.”

“How do I...” she started.

“Move it, like you did the pages,” he instructed.

“I didn’t even know I was doing that,” Vhalla said, already annoyed.

“Somewhere in you, you did. I know this is going to be hard for you, but think less.” His words did not have a bite to them. “The execution of magic is not something that can be neatly summed up with words. I know you think, and wish, the whole world could be placed down on parchment in-between a strip of leather. But I regret it has fallen to me to inform you that such is simply not true.”

He gave her another one of his small smiles. It sparked warmth in her to see him being open toward her and not snarky. That spark quickly vanished when Vhalla looked doubtfully at the stone in her palm.

She held her hand out flat, the small stone in its center. Taking a breath, Vhalla tried to calm her mind and focus only on the afternoon air around her. Closing her eyes, the world materialized around her in the darkness. He was the first thing she saw with her magical sight.

Around the prince there was fire. It burned bright yellow—almost white—illuminating his features. In stark contrast, was a dark spot in his abdomen; a black scar against the light. Vhalla opened her eyes and slowly turned to him.

“You’re not all right, are you?” she breathed. He frowned and she could almost feel him withdraw. “That magic, poison, whatever it is, it’s still in you.” She pointed at his side where she’d seen the spot. He considered her a long moment, unmoving.

“The stone, Vhalla,” Aldrik spoke softly and slowly.

He was shutting her out. Sighing, she closed her eyes. Some things wouldn’t change. It’d be foolish to expect them to. He was a prince, and she was an apprentice; some distances could never be crossed.

Her mind focused on the rock this time. Just like the bulb, she reminded herself.

The stone shuddered in her palm. Forward, Vhalla urged. Her brow furrowed, and she felt a drop of sweat roll down her neck, even though the temperature was nowhere near warm. Frustrated, Vhalla opened her eyes to glare at the insubordinate pebble.

“That way!” she half-pleaded, half-snipped in annoyance.

The moment her opposite finger cut through the air in the desired direction, the stone shuddered to life. Vhalla jumped as it flew out of her palm, soared over the pond, through the shrubs on the other side, and buried itself into the stone wall behind.

Aldrik roared with laughter. She clenched her fists and scowled at him.

“That was amazing.” He slowly regained control of himself. “A little too much force, though.”

Frustrated, Vhalla picked up a second pebble and held it in her hand again. She connected with it faster this time, but it still refused to move, despite her best mental commands. Lifting up her other hand, she flicked her wrist and it was sent soaring across the pond, though not as far.

Aldrik leaned forward, both elbows on his knees and his hands folded between. His raven eyes followed her every movement as Vhalla picked up the third stone. This time she did not even close her eyes to understand where the pebble was magically. Her fingers twitched, and it fell just to the other side of the water.

The fourth landed in the center of the pond with a dull plop and cry of victory from Vhalla.

Then there were the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh, each of which had a bad angle, moved too slowly, or landed wide again. Vhalla wiped her brow with the back of her hand, noticing her breathing had become labored.

The prince stood. “That is enough for today,” Aldrik said thoughtfully.

“But I’ve almost got it,” she protested.

“And are fully prepared to exhaust yourself in your attempt to get it.” He offered her his elbow. “Come.”

She clutched the eighth stone another second before giving in and replacing it with his arm. Vhalla took a deep breath, relaxing herself.

“We will need to work on your technique,” Aldrik explained as they walked. “You do not need to attach magical feats to physical movements.”

“It didn’t work the other way.” Vhalla shook her head.

“It will in time,” he encouraged her. “Do not become too reliant upon your magic requiring a physical motion.”

“Show me?” she asked timidly as they re-entered the greenhouse.

“What am I to show?” Aldrik asked, starting for the bench.

“Your magic, without motion,” Vhalla clarified.

“Very well.” The prince patted the bench next to him, and she assumed her prior position. Vhalla did not even realize that she had just made a demand of the prince.

Suddenly his outstretched palm was set ablaze. Tendrils of flame licked up from around his wrist. They circled his fingers and relished the air with their bright dance before fading. Vhalla stared, mesmerized. Aldrik did much the same.

With a timid hand she reached up. The moment her fingers crossed the point of heat, the flame extinguished. His hand caught hers.

“Careful,” the prince said thoughtfully. “I would not want you to get burned.”

They hovered, the heat of his hand enveloping hers. Her throat felt gummy. Neither of them seemed to be able to fathom words over the ringing silence.

“Right,” Vhalla said, breaking the trance first, pulling her hand away and fussing with her cuticles as though they had become the most fascinating things in the world. It was hot enough in the greenhouse that her cheeks were flushed, and Vhalla quickly reached down to her bag underneath the bench, hiding her face.

Placing the leather satchel in her lap, Vhalla unwrapped the lemon cake after only a moment’s debate. She wasn’t even certain the prince liked sweets, but she still felt compelled to share her spoils with him. Ripping the hand-sized cake in two, Vhalla offered half—the smaller one—to him. Aldrik arched an eyebrow.

“It’s a lemon cake,” she explained.

“I know what it is.” He took it from her hand, sniffing it.

“It’s good, I promise.” She grinned. He took a bite. “They’re actually my favorite.”

“Not a bad batch,” he affirmed.

Vhalla’s chewing slowed. Of course the prince would have eaten the lemon cakes before.

“So, you simply carry a lemon cake with you each day?” he asked.

“No,” Vhalla shook her head. “I’m not supposed to have it, as I’m an apprentice. It could get the kitchen staff in trouble if someone important knew they gave me one.” Aldrik smirked. Vhalla continued, hoping that did not come to pass, “But if I beg on my birthday to the right person, I normally get lucky.”

“Your birthday?” he asked. Vhalla nodded in affirmation. “Is today?” Vhalla nodded again.

“It’s why Fritz gave me the book.” Vhalla nudged her bag with her toe. “Larel gave me this cuff.” Vhalla held out her wrist for him to see.

He inspected it thoughtfully a moment and Vhalla finished off the last of her lemon cake, using the opportunity to study his features again from the corners of her eyes. Vhalla was actually happy she could share something with the prince. But she wished that thing wasn’t a favorite food that she could only eat once every year.

Vhalla was halfway through her book when she noticed her pages had changed from a pale cream color to an orange glow. Sunset blazed above them and threatened to take her reading light away. Closing the book, she bent over and put it back in her bag.

“Finished?” he inquired. He’d been making notes in that black ledger all day.

“Not yet, about half,” she responded, standing.

“I was under the impression that you read faster than that,” he mumbled over a few quick notes of his own.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Vhalla teased. Smiling around the man who had previously been a source of fear and anger was surprisingly easy.

He looked up at her and closed his ledger, taking a long strip of leather and wrapping it around the outside to hold the papers within.

“Are you leaving also?” she asked.

“I may as well.” He tucked the folio beneath his arm.

They started for the door. She did not feel like she was leaving with the same person she had met upon her arrival. Then again, with how her emotions had shifted, Aldrik may be able to say the same.

“How did you get in here?” Vhalla asked, once outside the gazebo.

He looked at her quizzically. “I am the crown prince; I am actually allowed to be here. The better question is how did you get in here?” Aldrik wore a small smirk.

“Well, I-I found a way.” Vhalla gripped the strap of her bag. He let out a laugh. “I couldn’t find the proper entrance!”

“That much is obvious; you are not supposed to know how to get into an Imperial Garden.” Vhalla shifted her feet. “But do not let that stop you. It has not until now, clearly.” He turned with a laugh and started walking to the gate. Stopping in the middle of the path, Aldrik turned back to her. “Do you need me to let you out?”

The wind picked up at her back, as if encouraging her forward. Vhalla stared down at the black-clad prince. How much did she trust this man? Her thumb ran over the pads of her fingers where he had held her hand in his.

“If it’s not trouble?” Vhalla asked, mustering her courage. She did not understand what the Bond was, not really. He had been right about that. But there was something about the way his eyes fell on her that was different than any other person’s gaze.

Walking slowly down the steps of the gazebo, she met those eyes again as he offered her his elbow. Vhalla could not ignore the sparks that shot through her like lightning when they touched.

Aldrik led her through the iron gate and down a passageway, which had her gasping within steps. The floor was not carpet, nor stone; it was white marble set in a diamond pattern with smaller golden diamonds meeting at corners. The arched ceiling was painted in brightly colored frescos and the candles flickered magically to life as they walked by.

The prince remained silent as his guest absorbed the wonder in awe. Alabaster statues looked down from high ceilings. Windows made of colored glass and black lead cast bright pictures on the canvas of the floors and walls. It was a world she had only heard of, like a fairytale that was passed from the lips of one servant to the next.

“This place, is...” Her mind was slowly churning back to being capable of words. “It’s...”

“My home,” he finished for her.

“I’m not supposed to be here.” Vhalla shook her head as they stopped before a small side hall.

“You may be wherever I permit,” Aldrik reminded her. Despite his princely tone the words were thoughtful, and he looked at her as though she were the only one he wanted to permit entry. “I would like to teach you more.”

“I may enjoy that.” Vhalla wasn’t sure why she was whispering.

“Come back tomorrow?” he asked.

“I can’t,” Vhalla bit her lip. “I had today off for my birthday, but tomorrow I will be working.”

“If you could, would you come?” Vhalla had a hard time deciphering his look. Uncertainty was clear enough, but was there also want?

“If I could,” Vhalla replied with a nod.

“Very well.” The corners of his lips twitched. “This hall will take you back to the servants’ passages. Just head down.”

Vhalla took a step backward, her hand falling from his elbow. She turned before his stare made her head feel any lighter and started down the dim hallways away from the world of wonder and magic. The castle morphed around her, and she was lost in her thoughts all the way back to her room. If she could, she would rather learn magic than be in the library. That was what she said, wasn’t it? Was it true?

Vhalla rubbed her eyes and pushed open the door to her room. She knew she hadn’t eaten much, but she didn’t feel that hungry and her hunger wasn’t enough to deal with the dining hall.

On her table were three small presents. There was a blank journal from the master and a new quill and inkpot from Roan; Vhalla had a suspicion they had coordinated their gifts. Lastly, a thin rectangular box that had a small note attached:

Vhalla ˜

A very happy birthday. While I am glad you got the day off, your presence in the library was missed.

Sincerely yours,

˜ Sareem

She gave the note a tired smile. Placing it to the side on her desk she picked up the box. Unwrapping the used parchment, she found a ruby box within. Vhalla vaguely recognized it. It was from Chater’s, a clothing shop in the nice area of town not far from the library’s public entrance. She had only seen noble ladies walking out of the store, carrying the red boxes with pride.

Vhalla felt strange just holding it.

Slowly, she pulled off the top. Vhalla gasped. Within, were two lovely sapphire gloves. They were fingerless, which suited her writing habit, and extended almost to her elbow. She remembered all the times last winter she complained about her hands being too cold to write. Her other gloves were old cotton things and worn thin with holes from over-use. Her gift was dyed leather and had a beautiful golden thread that embellished the base and sides with an intricate leaf and vine design.

Vhalla couldn’t imagine how much they had cost Sareem. She was fairly sure they were close to the same amount of the savings she had scraped together. As though she would ruin them with her touch, Vhalla returned the gloves to the box. With a sigh she buried her face into her pillow. What was Sareem thinking?

THE NEXT DAY Vhalla awoke groggy and tired. Dawn came so early. All of the excitement had exhausted her. Her body was still getting used to magic, she reminded herself. If she was using it at times without even consciously knowing it, then she was potentially wearing herself out more than she realized.

She let out a groan for two reasons. The first was because she realized she had forgotten her winter robes in the garden. She would have to get them back somehow; for now her summer ones would have to do. The second reason was because she saw Sareem’s gift once more. Vhalla tugged them on with little thought, ignoring how soft the leather actually was.

“Are those new?” Roan asked as they waited for the master.

“They are,” Vhalla nodded weakly in response.

“May I see?”

Vhalla obliged her friend, stretching out an arm over the circulation desk where they both stood. Roan inspected the stitching carefully.

“Vhalla, these are quite nice.”

“I think they’re from Chater’s,” Vhalla mumbled.

“Chater’s? Were they a gift?” Roan released Vhalla’s hand slowly. An expression that was difficult to read crept up her face.

“They were from Sareem.” Vhalla looked back toward the palace side doors as though he would appear on command. The two girls were early, and he wasn’t.

“He likes you, Vhalla,” Roan said thoughtfully.

“I don’t think—” Something in the look on her friend’s face gave Vhalla pause. Roan was very certain of what she was saying. “Sareem? Really?”

“I think so.” Roan nodded.

The doors at one end of the library opened for the master and Sareem, and neither girl had an opportunity to speak after that. Roan was behind the desk with the master and Vhalla was sent among the books, as normal. She told herself that she really was going to seek out Sareem to thank him for his gift; that she wasn’t nervous, when he appeared at the end of her row.

“Sareem,” Vhalla said, pausing, placing a book on a shelf just beyond her short reach.

“Missed you yesterday.” He smiled, crossing the distance between them.

“It was nice to have a day off.” Vhalla scolded herself for beating around the bush. “Thank you for the gloves. They’re perfect.”

“You like them?” His whole face lit up in a way that elicited a twinge of pain within her. “I never had sisters growing up, and well, I was hopeless picking them out.”

“You did well,” Vhalla reassured.

“Say, Vhalla,” Sareem opened, leaning against the bookcase, his hands picking off imaginary lint from his robes. “During the festival soon, we’ll have some time off. We only have to work one day and well, I was thinking that maybe...you and I could, well...”

Vhalla’s heart slowed. This couldn’t be happening. Roan couldn’t be right. She looked at her childhood friend nervously. Certainly he was attractive. He had filled out and lost some of his boyishness, and his darker skin tone really complemented his lighter eyes and hair. He comes from a good family, she reminded herself.

“Vhalla!” The master called from the central desk suddenly. She glanced behind her and back at Sareem. “Vhalla, come here.”

“Go ahead,” her friend looked utterly deflated. “I’ll catch up with you later. Happy birthday, Vhalla.”

She hovered awkwardly, waiting for one long moment before the master’s call had her running back to the desk. What had Sareem wanted to ask? She didn’t dwell on it for long as she was quickly distracted by a waiting guard.

“Your presence has been requested by a member of the Court to assess some books,” the guard announced, almost mechanically.

“Me? You don’t mean the master?” Vhalla looked at the old man who was barely taller than the central desk; one of the few people in the world who was shorter than she.

“They asked for you by name,” the guard replied.

“You dare not refuse.” The master sent her off easily enough, but Vhalla heard the signs of curiosity in his wavering voice.

The guard had not lied. Vhalla followed him up through the palace and into a stately study. Bookshelves dominated two walls and she was left alone to pick through their contents without clear instruction. One wall possessed four large windows, and soon the scenery competed for her attention.

A side door opened. When a lean figure clad entirely in black crossed the threshold of the room, all else was forgotten.

“Prince Aldrik?” Vhalla blinked.

“I do believe I told you Aldrik was fine in private,” he reminded her.

“What are you doing here?” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other as he approached.

“Well, it seems you had forgotten something.” Pulling a hand from behind his back he held out her winter robes. Vhalla felt a foreign bubbling in her stomach and, as if on cue, he continued, “Plus, you told me that if you could, you would come and let me teach you today.”

She laughed. She teased him for pulling her from her work, and she scolded him for his use of authority to get what he wanted. But his abduction of her was far gentler than the minister’s, and Vhalla found she did not mind being surrounded by opulence. In good spirits, the prince was enjoyable company, and he had her moving a quill from one side of a desk to the other without touching it by the end of the day.

Her phantom was haunting her anew, but no longer with notes. The prince spirited her away the next day, and two days after that. Each time there was some clever excuse, and when those ran out he simply materialized between the shelves in the library and they would slink off together like children.

With his dutiful tutelage, Vhalla began to master basic magic. His palm would rest on the back of her hand, lacing his fingers firmly between hers to keep her hand in place as she tried to attempt magic without physical movement. Vhalla met with little success at this tactic—and a great deal of distraction. He promised her that she would learn something called “Channeling” soon that would make magic easier. But, whatever the technique was, he was holding it over her head until she made a decision over joining the Tower.

In time, Vhalla peeled back the layers to Prince Aldrik, even though he still avoided anything remotely personal. In fact, she knew more about him from what she read in books than what he told her. But what she did learn in person was not written anywhere. Vhalla learned he favored a strong Western-style tea that was almost as dark as ink. She learned that when his lips parted it meant he was surprised, and when his eyebrows raised it meant he was impressed. She gathered very quickly that he did not like speaking of his family under any circumstances.

It took Vhalla a week to realize that, for the first time, she did not actually want to be in the library.

As the master led her back through the shelves toward the heavily fortified door of the archives, Vhalla caught herself staring longingly at a tapestry upon the same wall—a tapestry she now knew led toward a world of wonder and magic that was hers alone.

The hinges complained loudly as they granted access to the master and her. Vhalla followed Mohned into the dim world that was the Imperial Archives. She barely suppressed a cough induced by dust.

The Imperial Archives almost created a library unto themselves. When a book was an old original, rare, or the last copy of its kind, it was moved into the archives for safekeeping. There were five levels to the archives, filled with books and an iron spiral staircase through the middle. Some of the oldest manuscripts and the earliest records for humanity were kept there. Vhalla felt a sense of awe whenever she entered.

Heavy curtains covered every window when no one was present, preventing the light from fading or damaging the manuscripts. Mohned pulled a few of the curtains back, quickly expelling the darkness. Dust caught the beams of light, dancing through the air like tiny fairies.

“There are some Eastern works that are close to falling apart.” He led her around the staircase to the second floor down, opening a few more of the curtains as he went.

“Eastern?” she asked.

“Yes, we don’t have many older works from the East actually.” The master started.

“Because of The Burning Times?” Vhalla asked off-handedly.

Mohned stopped and stared at her, adjusting his spectacles. “That is quite right, Vhalla,” he replied softly. “Haven’t I told you to stop reading books when you should be working? You should be careful where you put your nose, Vhalla,” he added cryptically.

“Master...?” Vhalla asked, confused.

“Ah, here it is.” Mohned carefully pulled a large tome off the shelf with two hands.

Vhalla instantly saw where the leather binding was flaking off and helped him gently ease it down onto the table.

“If you finish this one, the other three in this series will also need attention.” He motioned to the shelf. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, I remember how to change bindings,” Vhalla said with a shake of her head.

Mohned nodded, and she gave him a small bow as he shuffled back without further word.

Vhalla settled in one of the chairs, carefully starting her work. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she heard a set of footsteps lightly treading down the iron stairs. They were too heavy for the ancient master, and it was well before closing.

She ignored the heated flush brought on by the frantic beat of her heart. The prince had said he was likely to be busy today. Vhalla knew he couldn’t steal her away every day, but she was shamefully hopeful.

Vhalla glanced up and saw a man’s boots appear. They were brown, worn, and nothing of quality. Her shoulders slumped.

“Hello!” Sareem whispered.

“Sareem,” she replied, hoping she disguised the disappointment in her voice. “What’re you doing here?”

“I finished a little early and thought I’d come check in on you.” He smiled.

“The master won’t be pleased if he finds you slacking off,” Vhalla argued.

“The master is behind the desk with Roan, transcribing as always.” Sareem shrugged.

Vhalla looked down at her book, tying off one of her stitches. “You should be working,” she muttered softly.

“Come now, Vhalla,” he pulled up a chair and rested his chin in his palms. “It’s not like you’ve never skipped work.” She felt her cheeks flush lightly. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” He winked.

Vhalla rolled her eyes and busied her hands with her work. The apprentice part of her brain reminded her that she had more reason to be with Sareem than Aldrik. She studied him from the corners of her eyes as he settled in a chair across from her. Roan had mentioned his being handsome due to his Western skin, combined with Southern hair and eyes. Vhalla actually thought the reverse to be more attractive.

“So,” he began. “I feel like I haven’t had a chance to speak to you all week. You’ve been busy. When I’ve tried to find you, it’s like you disappear.”

Her shoulders made a fractional shrug. There was nothing she could say since Sareem already knew she was a bad liar.

“Anyway, I tried to ask before, but we got interrupted. I suppose I’ve been trying to get up the nerve again.” He laughed stiffly, running a hand through his hair. Vhalla felt her breathing shallow. “We’ll have time during the festival, time off. Well, I was hoping that—well, we could do something then—just the two of us?”

Roan had been right. Vhalla cursed the girl, her mother, and the Mother in the heavens above. She opened her mouth, about to outright refuse his advances.

Then again, what prospects did she have? She was eighteen now and had hardly ever been courted. Roan was right again. Sareem came from a good family. Hadn’t everyone always told her that marriage came first and love after? Vhalla shifted in her seat, torn over appropriate and desired responses.

His cerulean eyes looked at her hopefully, and Vhalla reassured herself over again. This was Sareem; she had always enjoyed his company. Nothing would change. Vhalla was about to accept his offer when she hesitated.

“I want to show you something,” she blurted out. His eyebrows raised in surprise as she stood. Vhalla knew she was dodging the question, but she remembered sitting with him on her window seat a lifetime ago asking about sorcerers...She had to know.

Looking for something, anything, Vhalla finally settled on a small thimble of thread she had been using.

“I need you to promise you won’t tell anyone,” she breathed.

“Vhalla, I—”

“No one, Sareem. Not the master, none of the other apprentices, not Roan—no one.” Vhalla held her breath.

“Fine, Vhalla. I promise.” He smiled lightly, and she felt a twinge of frustration at how relaxed he was.

“I didn’t have Autumn Fever,” she started.

“I know that,” he pointed out.

“I know you know,” Vhalla sighed, already questioning herself. But she was in too deep. “I was in the Tower.”

“The Tower?” He eased both palms onto the table. Her resolve wavered. “As in, the Tower? The Tower of the Sorcerers?” She dared a nod. Confusion swept across his features. “Why? Did they take you? Did they do something to you?” He was on his feet. “I swear if they touched you—”

“Sit down,” she ordered, and he obeyed. “No, they didn’t hurt me, they were...helping me.” Vhalla made it a point to leave out the minister’s abduction, the prince, and the fall. That would hardly help her case, and she wasn’t about to explain what she had barely come to terms with herself.

“Helping you? Why?” Sareem furrowed his brow.

Closing her eyes, she instantly felt her magical senses stretch out, building the room in a sight that was beyond sight. She could feel Sareem there, but he was a gray area. Vhalla couldn’t help but remember the blazing, brilliant clarity that always surrounded Aldrik, and she suddenly held a whole new appreciation for him as a sorcerer. Vhalla raised her palm, the thimble sitting in the middle of it.

Opening her eyes she saw it, she felt it, and she understood it. Sareem was about to speak when the thimble shuddered and raised itself above her open hand. She held it there for a long moment, before bringing it slightly higher to eye level. Vhalla was actually rather proud of herself for this. Aldrik would have been too, she was certain. Her attention drifted to Sareem; the shocked and horrified look on his face made her lose all concentration and the thimble fell back into her palm.

Vhalla placed it on the table and slowly turned to him. He was staring at her as if she were some monster preparing to eat him.

“That’s why...” Vhalla said weakly, unable to meet his gaze.

“V-Vhalla... Wh-what was that?” he stuttered.

“Exactly what you think it was,” she retorted—defensive and annoyed. She didn’t know what she had been hoping for from him, but it wasn’t this.

He was on his feet in front of her, his arms spread out. “Oh Vhalla, you’re funny, tell me how you did it. It’s a great trick. Was it a string connected to your other hand? Some kind of magnetism? A trick of the light?” He couldn’t seem to let alternate explanations fall from his mouth fast enough.

“You know what it was.” She glared at him.

“No, no, that would make you—” He shook his head.

“A sorcerer,” she finished for him, crossing her arms on her chest.

He took a step back from her, “You, you can’t be.” He shook his head. “You’re not one of them.”

“I am,” she said sourly. “That’s what you want to involve yourself with.” She glared at him with all the icy bitterness that she could muster. That’s right, she was one of them, and they were different and scary.

Sareem shook his head and took another step back. He opened his mouth to speak, his jaw quivered, and then he turned and ran.

Vhalla sat back down at the desk and stared at the book. She listened to his hasty footsteps up the stairs and out of the archives.

The soundless scream of hurt and frustration caught on a sob, and Vhalla lost herself to tears. After crying for an indiscernible amount of time, Vhalla peeled herself from the table and sat straighter. Numbly, her hands returned to their work. She should have known better with Sareem. After his reaction to the simple mention of sorcerers, showing him magic had been foolish. There was no way he was ever going to accept her for who she was, and she wasn’t about to shed tears over someone with such a narrow mind, over a false friend.

Vhalla stopped mid-step, the door to the archives closing behind her. She stared at the tapestry that Aldrik had led her through during one of their lessons.

What was she? Was she library apprentice or sorcerer? She vowed to get serious about figuring out her powers and making a decision soon.

“Vhalla.” She had almost made it to the front desk when her name was hastily whispered from between bookshelves. She kept her gaze forward. “Vhalla!” She pretended not to hear and walked with purpose.

“Master, I finished the first manuscript. I don’t feel well. May I be excused a little early today please?”

The master and Roan both looked up at her with matching puzzled stares.

“Very well, Vhalla. Go ahead,” the master nodded.

“Thank you,” she said politely, bowed, and left. Vhalla pointedly ignored Sareem standing at the edge of the shelves, watching silently as she strode out of the library.

Her feet battered against the stone floor as she marched back to her room. Curling and uncurling her hands, Vhalla struggled to keep a fresh wave of anger at bay. He was supposed to be her friend; how could he react like she was suddenly less than human?

Vhalla stopped and a nearby candle flickered out, then the next—all at once she was standing in the darkness. She swallowed a cry of surprise, all but running to her room.

Slamming the door behind her, Vhalla dug her nails into the grain of the wood and caught her breath. She was already treading lightly. Any rogue and wild emotions could force her decision, and she felt so close to making it on her own. A scent tickled her nose, and Vhalla opened her eyes, her heart slowing.

Laid upon her pillow was a long stemmed red rose. Tied around it was a length of black ribbon by which a note was held. Everything melted away, and her hands were soon devouring the token.

Vhalla,

I am sorry I could not steal you away this day. You have my word that tomorrow I shall make every effort.

Sincerely,

A.C.S.

P.S.

When will I see you in black?

Laughing softly, Vhalla curled up in bed holding the flower’s head to her face, inhaling its rich scent. Perhaps she could request he steal her back to that rose garden? Vhalla laughed lightly, imagining her ordering a prince. Somehow, it didn’t seem so far-fetched.

A.C.S. she pondered as her lids grew heavy. Aldrik was the A, and Solaris—the Imperial Family’s name—was the S. But, what was the C? Vhalla shook her head, closing her eyes and giving herself to the relaxing scent, a mystery for a later time perhaps. It was barely dark but all she wanted to do was lie there, and stretch her mind as far as she could, to find that place that smelled of roses.

MOONLIGHT STREAMED THROUGH the glass overhead, and Vhalla tilted her chin to the sky, watching the moon float by. The rose garden was no different at night then it had been during the day. The darkness didn’t bother her; she saw everything brilliantly clear around her. There was a mysterious fuzziness to it if she moved her head too quickly, which was easily explained away as the moonlight playing tricks on her.

She stood and walked to the gazebo door, attempting to open it. It wouldn’t budge. She tried the handle again but found it unwilling to move. Vhalla wanted to be outside.

With only that thought, she was standing on the steps and looked behind her. She didn’t recall opening or closing the door. Vhalla walked lightly down and over to the iron gate. He was there, but she didn’t know her way through that hallway; she only knew enough to return to the servants’ quarters. It surely was locked.

Vhalla leaned against the gate and slid down until she was sitting on the ground, looking up at the stars again. On a night so cool and clear it seemed a shame to be shut up in the palace. She wondered if he knew that. It was better outside. Her eyelids felt heavy. She would simply have to wait for him, she reminded herself again. He would come out eventually. For now though, she would sleep while she waited.

Vhalla opened her eyes as though someone had pinched her awake. A headache pounded in her skull. She rolled over into a ball, not even noticing that she had crushed the beautiful flower she had slept with all night. Clutching her temples, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if she could will her mind to stop hurting. Vhalla squeezed her eyes back closed; the daylight was making her sick.

Slowly, her body began to relax and the sharp stabbing subsided to a dull throb. The light no longer caused a rebellion of her senses, and she attempted to sit. She dressed slowly. Everything had a delay and a sickening blur to it.

She hid the note in her closet—with the rest. Vhalla put the half-smashed rose with them. It was pointless to try to save it. Flowers began dying the moment they were cut, and she had only helped the process along. Petals hung at odd angles, and its leaves were broken. Her fingers lingered on the soft velvety red. She couldn’t bring herself to throw it away yet.

She paused. Didn’t she dream about roses? Vhalla shook her head. It still hurt, and trying to recall her dreams seemed to aggravate the ache further.

Sapphire stole her attention, and another shot of lightning pain shot between her temples. She grabbed Sareem’s stupid gloves. With a cry they were on the floor; her feet jumping on them.

The tears only made her head hurt more. Sareem wasn’t worth the pain, she reminded herself. The gloves remained rumpled on the floor, as she started for the library.

She stood at the doors of the library, a war waging in her stomach. Sareem was either in there waiting, and she would be stuck alone with him again. Or he hadn’t made it to the library yet, and she would be stuck with him when he walked in. Bringing her palm to her forehead, she grimaced. It felt like it was about to split open. The day couldn’t get any worse.

Making a decision, she pushed through the doors and was happy to find she was the first. She considered hiding somewhere, but couldn’t think of any excuse for when she finally emerged. So, Vhalla simply hoped that he was going to be the last one, and she would already be working in the archives by the time he arrived.

She sat behind the desk and amused herself by rolling a corked bottle of ink across. The doors opened again.

It was Roan. Vhalla sighed and pressed her forehead to the cool wood of the desk. The blonde took a seat next to her.

“Good morning, Roan,” Vhalla forced herself to say. Her voice sounded strange to her ears.

“Good morning, Vhalla,” she said with a smile.

“Have you seen Sareem yet?” Vhalla mumbled.

“Sareem?” Roan asked delicately. “No, why?”

“Nothing,” Vhalla sighed, not wanting to go through the effort of explaining anything.

“Are you all right?” Roan placed a hand on her friend’s back. Before Vhalla had a chance to respond, the doors to the library opened again.

It was the master and Sareem, and they were talking. Vhalla was on her feet, pain ignored by her panicked heart. Why was he with the master? Her hands shook with paranoia, despite her trying to still them.

“Good morning, Vhalla, Roan,” the master started. “Today the jobs are much the same as yesterday. Cadance and Lidia are off receiving some final decorations for the Festival of the Sun from the Ministry of Culture. So Roan, you’ll continue transcribing, and Vhalla you’re back in the archives.”

Vhalla nodded and quickly stepped around the desk. She could feel Sareem’s stare but ignored it like she did Roan’s baffled look and the master’s quizzical gaze. If the master wasn’t kicking her out, then maybe Sareem hadn’t told him. All Vhalla knew was she wanted away from them all.

“What is wrong, Vhalla?” the master asked as he opened the Archive’s padlocked door.

“I’m fine. My head just hurts today.” She rubbed her temples again.

“I’m worried for you,” Mohned added thoughtfully, a palm on her back.

“Thank you, but there’s nothing to worry about.” Vhalla gave the master a tired smile. She looked away before emotion could get the better of her. She wished she could talk to him, but the master wouldn’t understand either. The name in the Tower book likely was a different Mohned Topperen, Vhalla told herself.

The master led her down to the same location as yesterday, pulling open a few curtains along the way. When she was settled, he instructed her to return to the main library should she feel worse. Vhalla nodded wearily and set to her work, trying to convey—with as much politeness as possible—that she had no interest in speaking. Mohned seemed to take no offense and departed with the quiet shuffle of his feet.

Vhalla tried to focus on the task at hand, but she found it hard to focus on anything. Every time she opened her eyes, the world was blurry—like two things were on top of one another. Eventually, she simply put her head on the table and tried to let the silence cure her brain.

The soft clanks of footsteps down the staircase were like knives to her ailing consciousness. Vhalla opened her eyes, but she didn’t even lift her head to see who it was. Aldrik’s walk was different, and it would’ve hurt less, somehow.

“Sareem, go away.” Her voice was low.

“Vhalla, we need to talk,” he started gingerly.

“Go. Away,” she repeated, her patience thin.

“No.” His was determined.

She looked up at him, trying to get her eyes to cooperate with her. He stood halfway in the room, clearly unsure if he was making the right decision. Vhalla had the pleasure of letting him know he was not.

“What do you want?” she snapped, putting her forehead back on the table.

“Are you all right?” he asked, taking a few steps closer.

“I’m fine. My head just hurts. What do you want?” Her sentences were clipped with annoyance.

“About yesterday, Vhalla...” he started.

“Did you tell the master?” she interrupted.

“What? No, I promised you I wouldn’t.” Vhalla looked up at him again through squinted eyes. “I didn’t, Vhalla,” Sareem insisted and sat with a sigh.

Vhalla put her head back on the table, closing her eyes. “So, what do you want?” she repeated.

“About yesterday...” He scratched the back of his neck. “You see, you kind of caught me off-guard.” He gave an uneasy chuckle, and Vhalla wanted to choke whatever he had to say out of him. “I think—”

A horn rang out from somewhere in the distance. Its call was echoed by one closer. Soon every trumpeter in the palace was heralding the rallying call.

“What?” Vhalla picked up her head off the table. “What is—”

“Horns, Vhalla! Horns playing like that, you know what it means.” He was on his feet, already cleaning up her book and supplies without thought. “Come on, we have to go.” Sareem was practically picking up her limp body from the chair, and Vhalla felt too groggy to fight.

They made haste through the library. Vhalla squinted, the world was moving by so fast that it unsettled her stomach, and she was forced to rely on Sareem. At least if she was sick she could aim for his feet.

Her eyes didn’t know what to focus on. Everything came to a sudden halt as they stood before the circulation desk. The master was talking, and Vhalla struggled to listen. Mohned handed Sareem something, sending the young man running back in the direction from which they had just come.

“—will catch up with us. We should start making our way to the Sunlit Stage.”

The master and Roan started toward the castle door. Vhalla followed behind them, and Sareem soon joined in tow as they left the library proper. He noticed she was not stable on her feet and linked an arm with her. Vhalla was forced to depend on his support again, as they joined the masses moving quickly through the palace.

The Sunlit Stage was the official entry to the palace. While the stables’ entry was more practical, the Sunlit Stage held largescale ceremonies before the public. It was a semi-circular area where the capital’s residents could enter through many golden archways in the outer wall. Giant stands extended up from the wall that were supposed to be reminiscent of the sun’s rays. Dignitaries, nobles, and members of the Court sat there, all facing the palace.

White marble steps led up to a large platform with columns set at wide intervals. Behind this stage were golden doors leading into the palace; they were equally large and ceremonial. Four or five horses could ride abreast through them without a problem. Higher on the wall was a balcony, which the Emperor had used once or twice to make short announcements or decrees to his people. Today, soldiers in polished armor and helmets fitted with large golden plumes lined either side of the stage.

Cadance and Lidia joined Vhalla and her escorts along the way, and the whole library personnel positioned themselves upon the outer wall along with most of the other castle staff. With a loud groan, the stage doors opened and two people walked out to the edge of the top step.

The Empress was a short woman with long flowing blonde hair that cascaded to her waist. While she appeared youthful, her stance was modest and motherly. She wore a classically Southern draped gown of white silk that pooled around her feet and extended in a train behind her. It flowed in the air with ease.

Vhalla’s eyes shifted to the figure standing next to the Empress. He wore pressed white trousers and a long white coat, which was military in style with two rows of golden buttons running down the front. Its high collar was pinned down by two golden decorative metal plates on the shoulders. A number of military medals decorated the front. A golden rope ran from his shoulder to his chest. Despite all this, his hair was as he always wore it—slicked back and out of his face, flaring out slightly at the sides. The prince regarded the world with poised ambivalence, as he looked down at the people, his nose and high cheekbones accented in the sun.

It wasn’t until Roan gave her a quick elbow to the side that she realized she was laughing. Aldrik looked so different in white, but it was still him. Roan shot Vhalla a confused look, and she only shook her head in response. Vhalla wasn’t sure why she found it so funny but she pressed her eyes closed, trying to regain control of herself. The sun still hurt her eyes anyway.

The rumble of the crowd quieted and was replaced with a different rumbling: the sound of horses’ hooves over stone. It started as a distant noise and slowly escalated to loud thunder. Realization of why they had been summoned swept across the people and soon their cries and cheers matched the horses’ clattering hooves.

The first horse blazed through the gates. A pure white stallion held a man wearing golden armor. Every piece of the plate was embellished with careful metalwork and plated with gold. A shrill cry rose through the crowd and the cheers became near deafening.

Vhalla put a hand to her forehead. She didn’t have to look to know for whom the commotion was.

The broad-shouldered golden prince stepped down from his horse. He waved his hands to the people, and they reached for him like babes to their mother. Pulling off his helmet, his cropped golden hair clung to his face with sweat and he grinned like a fool as he shook the hands of countless people, making his way to the stage.

For a brief moment Vhalla wondered if she had been one of the masses reaching for him, would he have recognized her from their meeting in the library months ago?

Vhalla looked back to Aldrik. He stood as still as stone, his face offering equal emotion. His hands were folded behind his back as he looked down upon his younger brother, who was slowly making his way forward. Vhalla briefly recalled the unceremonious return of the crown prince. There hadn’t been a single cheer for him.

The cry slowly evolved into a unified chant as the main host entered the gates.

“Solaris, Solaris, Solaris.”

Everyone around her had given into the cry as the Emperor himself, clad in white and golden armor with a cape draping off the back of his horse, entered the stage area. On the back of his cape the golden sun blazed. He rode all the way up to the first step. Dismounting, their ruler strode toward his family, his walk steady and easy for a man of his age. Prince Baldair had taken his place next to his brother. The Emperor kissed his wife chastely and then greeted his eldest son with a firm handshake.

Vhalla saw nothing in Aldrik’s cold gaze and was becoming frustrated at being so far away—and at her eyes continued refusal to focus.

The Emperor turned to face the crowd; all the people, young and old, fell to their knees before their leader. Vhalla was no exception.

“My most loyal subjects,” his voice rang clear through the hushed area, “we have returned from our campaigns in the North with many victories to recount.” A cheer rang out again, then quickly stilled.

“The Northern Capital, Soricium, holds out, but they will fall in time. Their country is in shambles before the blazing might of the Sun.”

For a brief moment amidst the cheers Vhalla wondered, if the Mother Sun was truly a loving Goddess, then why did she send her people to kill and die?

“We will bring the spoils of war under one unified banner.”

People rose to their feet, and Vhalla returned to leaning against the wall. If Aldrik had moved she couldn’t tell.

“With this, let a most grand Festival of the Sun begin!” The Emperor raised his hands and a few explosions rang out, fireworks entering sky. Everyone turned their gaze skyward, save for Vhalla and the crown prince. He continued to stare forward, motionless.

Vhalla closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. For a moment, the pain in her head subsided. The world slowly rebuilt itself around her in astounding clarity. She looked forward—but not with her physical eyes—and saw him, a distant point of light. She pushed her vision closer, to see if his face really looked as it had from a distance.

He looked tight-jawed and cold-eyed. Even though he stood among hundreds of people, he might as well have been standing on an island. She didn’t understand. They were beginning a festival; this was a time for happiness.

Don’t look so sad.

His head quickly snapped in her direction, and Vhalla’s eyes opened wide. She cried out, pressing her palms to her face. The sunlight was like fire on her brain. Behind her eyes burned a blazing white light that threatened to rip her apart. She shook her head and stumbled into someone. Vhalla thought she heard a man talking to her, but it was distant and faint, barely registering over the roar in her head.

Lunging forward, she clung to the wall as though it were the only thing grounding her to the physical world. She wanted it to stop; she would do anything to make it stop. There was a hand on her back, and she tried to stand, squinting open her eyes. The cannons fired again, and Vhalla saw the second round of blazing fireworks shoot toward the sky, right before her knees buckled, and her body gave out.

SHE FLOATED IN the air. No, not floated, she was being carried. Her right ear rested against a man’s chest, a frantic heartbeat underneath. Why were they going so fast? Vhalla wanted to tell him that it was all right, that he could slow down, but nothing seemed to be connected to her mind. It was as though she were trapped in her own body.

But wherever she was, it was warm and the pain had gone. That was good enough for her. Deciding she was tired again, she went to sleep.

She jolted back to awareness when she felt her body being put down. She heard talking again, but she couldn’t quite seem to get her ears to work. The man was asking her something. What could he possibly want? Didn’t he see she was in no position to give anything? Then he was gone. She could feel that he was gone; something in her just knew.

More darkness and silence. Vhalla sat in the confines of her own mind, wondering how she got here. Her body still refused to obey her.

“I’ll be back with help.” That’s what he had said, her mind put together. More people were coming. He was going to bring more people. She had to wake up, but it was too late. They were already here. More familiar voices, rushed speech, who were they this time?

There were hands, more hands, different from before but not completely new. A woman’s hands this time. She was carrying her to another location. Vhalla wanted to feel terrified at the prospect, but she found herself unable to feel much of anything.

The world shifted around her and the air changed. It was once more different, yet strangely familiar. She’d been here before, even if she didn’t know where here was.

She was placed on another bed. Trapped within her mental prison, Vhalla rallied against the silence. She slowly stretched outward, and the world built itself before her.

The room was unfamiliar, but Vhalla instantly recognized the dragon molding near the ceiling; she was in the Tower. There was a wardrobe. Vhalla had expected it to be black but it was a gray, ashen-colored wood. A small desk, chair; her eyes fell on the bed, and Vhalla panicked.

She was there. Motionless, hardly breathing, Vhalla did not know if she was alive. The foreign room aside, Fritz’s and Larel’s presences ignored, Vhalla stared at her corpse-like form. Dead, she was dead, and this was the start of the afterlife.

“We need to get the minister.” Fritz pulled at his hair, pacing.

“She’s breathing. She doesn’t look pained. Check her Channels.” Larel remained calm, situating Vhalla’s legs. The rise and fall of her chest was so minimal it was almost invisible, but Vhalla was relieved to hear it was there. Whatever was happening, she wasn’t dead, yet.

Larel? Vhalla whispered. Fritz? Neither seemed to hear her wispy words.

“No, I can’t. I’m not a magical healer, Larel. My lessons have only—” Fritz was breathless in his panic.

“Check her!” Larel demanded sharply.

Fritz finally obliged. His hands rested on Vhalla’s throat, fingertips behind her ears, delicate and gentle as though she were made of glass. With closed eyes, he ran his palms over her shoulders down her arms, flat against her stomach.

“I can’t find anything wrong.” Fritz shook his head.

The slamming of a door, echoing from the hall beyond, momentarily paused all response from Larel.

“Check her again,” the dark-haired woman demanded before dashing out the door.

Fritz returned to his duty. His palms slid down the outside of her thighs and down to her feet. Suddenly Larel’s door was thrown open so hard it almost bounced against the wall.

Aldrik stood in the doorframe, both commanding and disheveled. His white coat was unbuttoned and hung loosely around him, a plain shirt underneath. His cheeks were flushed, and his breathing hard. Even his hair looked less than perfect, long strands hanging over his eyes.

He stepped in quickly, and Larel shut the door behind him. Fritz looked as dazed as Vhalla felt. The crown prince did not stand in an apprentice’s rooms, but Aldrik did not seem to care. The only thing that bothered him was the sight of her lifeless body.

“My prince,” Fritz squeaked.

Vhalla took a step away, a window to her back.

“Out.” Aldrik hardly seemed to notice the presence of the Southerner. With one word Fritz had diminished to less than a fly on the wall.

“Larel?” Fritz glanced over at the woman, but Larel only shook her head. “Right, well, I can’t find anything wrong with her.” He inched toward the door, removing the barrier of his body between Vhalla’s form on the bed and the prince. “Should I get the minister?”

“No,” Aldrik replied with a glare. His hand shot out faster than a viper, Fritz’s collar balled in his fingers. “If I hear you breathing a word of this to anyone, consider your time in the Tower finished.”

A threat lived in Aldrik’s last word. It made Vhalla uncomfortable just to hear. The library boy gaped, frozen to the spot.

“Now, out,” the older man hissed. Fritz bolted from the room as though his life depended on it. Vhalla didn’t want to even entertain the idea that it did.

Neither Larel nor the prince said anything. Fading sunlight filtered through the window behind her, and Vhalla noticed she cast no shadow.

“What’s wrong with her?” Larel asked. Her voice had a surprising amount of emotion.

“I don’t know,” the prince sighed, shaking his head. As though deflated, he leaned against the desk for support.

“How did you know?” Larel folded her arms, her back against the door.

“I will not speak about it,” Aldrik said with a pointed stare. His eyes only left Vhalla’s corpse-like body for half a moment. Larel followed his gaze with a soft sigh. Clearly, she knew better than to push the prince.

“She’s progressing quickly,” Larel observed quietly.

“I know.” Aldrik took a step forward, his hand outstretched. His fingers hovered in the air above Vhalla’s body before falling back to his side.

“You’ve been teaching her.” It wasn’t a question.

“Larel,” the prince sighed. Vhalla felt a twinge of something she would not dare call jealousy. The prince acted differently around the Western woman, as well.

“It isn’t my business,” she said with a shrug.

“I will tell you.” Aldrik’s eyes broke away from Vhalla’s body, when he added, “Eventually.”

“You know that’s always been good enough for me.” The corner of Larel’s mouth curled in an almost Aldrik-like smile. It was strange, and it made Vhalla begin to wonder what their relationship really was.

“Make sure Victor does not find out,” Aldrik ordered the woman.

Her hand hovered on the door handle. “He will, eventually,” she murmured.

“I want him away from her.” Aldrik nodded toward Vhalla’s comatose form on the last word.

“You know I’ll protect her.” Larel smiled.

“I know I can trust you.” Aldrik nodded.

Without needing to be asked, the woman slipped out of the room, leaving Vhalla alone with the crown prince.

He stood, looking nowhere but on her physical body. As though each movement were exhausting, he dragged the chair from the desk and sat heavily in it. Putting his elbows in his knees, Aldrik buried his face in his hands. It was a strange motion that she had never seen from him before. His hair was a mess, his clothing unbuttoned, and his figure slumped.

Aldrik, she whispered softly.

His head snapped up and looked over directly at her. The prince squinted briefly against the light of the sun streaming through the window at her back. Raising a hand slowly, he guarded his eyes against the brightness. She saw the moment realization dawned across his features.

“Impossible,” he breathed.

You can see me? She tilted her head. He nodded, attempting to smooth back the stray pieces of his hair. You can hear me? He nodded again. So I’m not a ghost?

“No, you are not. But you have gotten yourself into quite the mess.” He sounded tired, annoyed, but somewhere she could have sworn that she heard relief.

How did you know to come? she asked.

“I knew something was wrong. After you pulled the stunt you did at the festival’s ceremony.” He frowned and stood, walking over to her.

Vhalla recognized that when she asked, he answered—unlike Larel.

I don’t know what I did, Vhalla whispered. Her fear was almost a palpable quiver between them.

“I will explain when you are back where you belong,” he said reassuringly. “I asked you to trust me, Vhalla. Do you?”

She stared up at his obsidian eyes. These were the eyes of the man who pushed her from the roof, who spoke of mysterious purposes for her powers with the Minister of Sorcery, and who was now keeping her from that same Minister for unknown reasons.

I do. It was an impossible truth.

“I believe this will work, but it will seem terrifying. I promise you that you will not be hurt,” he reassured her.

What are you going to do? she asked hesitantly, not sure if she wanted the answer.

“I will explain it to you when you are properly awake.” He reached a hand straight into her. Vhalla looked down, the sight was terrifying enough. His hand was directly in her abdomen, her body faded and hollow. In that moment she thought she really must be a ghost.

“Do not be afraid,” he whispered soothingly right before he closed his fingers into a fist. A roaring fire soared out from his hand, and she felt it consume her body before her very eyes. Everything was aflame.

Vhalla sat up in bed with a scream. She began to attempt to pat out the imaginary fire all over her limbs. Aldrik was at her bedside with a fluid movement, sitting directly on the mattress. He grabbed for her shoulders and held her tightly in his hands. His face was white and tense. She struck at his arms, still in a frantic daze.

“Vhalla!” he nearly shouted over her panic. “Vhalla, breathe!” He shook her forcefully.

She grabbed onto his arms and felt the uncomfortable sensation slowly fade away. Her eyes locked with his, and she stared shamelessly into those ebony depths, seeking his stability. She dug her fingertips tightly into the sleeves of his coat, feeling lean muscle beneath.

“Breathe with me,” he whispered, and she obeyed.

They sat for over fifty breaths, simply staring at each other. His hands clutched her shoulders, her hands clutching his arms. Both of their features relaxed, and she wanted to collapse into him, but common sense and who she was meant that such contact would be extraordinarily unwelcome on his part. She slowly relaxed her grip and let her hands fall.

“Vhalla...” he breathed, gently taking his hands off her shoulders. “How do you feel?”

She took a breath and assessed herself. Now that the terror and the frantic beating of her heart had subsided, she felt the best she’d felt all day. “Better.” Her voice came out as normal; even her eyes were obeying her and not seeing double.

He smiled weakly. “I am glad.” Aldrik wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He placed his forehead in his palm and rested his elbow on his bent knee. “I did not know. I did not realize you had already progressed that far. I would have...” he trailed off into his thoughts.

“Progressed how far?” She put her hands politely behind her, leaning back to give him some space.

“Do you remember how we met?” Aldrik glanced at her.

“The library?” she asked.

He nodded. “You were doing it then too, but you thought they were dreams.”

“Doing what?” she asked, a small trepidation growing in her.

“I have only read about it and, even then, the literature is sparse,” he started, running a hand across his hair, trying to tame escaped tendrils back into place. “It said that Windwalkers were invisible sentries for their causes. Of course, there are a number of ways that could be read. I only briefly entertained that it would be literal.” He sighed.

“Where to begin?” He paused a moment. “Every Affinity has a literal, elemental Affinity. But some scholars have theorized that this is only the tip of what sorcerers can really do. That underlying every elemental, worldly Affinity is an Affinity of the self.”

“I remember you explaining it some, about Groundbreakers.” Vhalla tried to keep up.

“Indeed, you have a good memory.” He gave her a tired smile. Vhalla’s stomach did a little flip at his praise. “Windwalkers were said to have an Affinity for the mind. That the real power of the Windwalker was based within their mental abilities.”

“I am not that smart,” she said lightly.

He rolled his eyes. “You are, but it is not in that way. Intellect and this skill are different. Either way, I would say what you have done is more in line with the mental side of your powers, complemented by the physical,” he finished.

Vhalla made a note to find a book on this topic from somewhere.

“And what have I done?”

She was missing the point.

“You are separating your consciousness from your physical body; it is called Projection.” He looked at her. “You were doing it in your dreams. But that is only a quarter as impressive as doing it when you are awake.”

She stared back at him, accepting it all with a nod.

“Today you did it at the ceremony. But you startled me.” He shifted and looked away uncomfortably. “I lashed out at you. I tried to draw back quickly. I just felt someone there. I think it was that which knocked the link with your body out of line and ended up locking you out of your physical body.”

“I think it was a little messed up before that.” She sat up straighter, looking at his profile thoughtfully. He turned back to examine her curiously.

“All day I was having trouble focusing my eyes; it was as if I were seeing two things,” Vhalla mused. Realization dawned on his features. “I also had a throbbing headache.”

He looked away again and stood. She heard him mutter something under his breath. Vhalla shifted her feet onto the floor and sat at the edge of the bed. She took in his tall lean shape against the light of the late sun in the window.

“Vhalla.” Her name sounded strained against his lips. “It would likely be best if we do not see each other for some time, at least not until you decide if you wish to be in the Tower or not.”

His words hit her directly in the gut and knocked the wind from her. Suddenly she was on her feet. “No,” Vhalla said firmly, unwavering as he turned.

“The Bond... Being near me is not good for you now.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your magic is progressing faster than I can teach you and—”

“Do you want me to go away?” she asked directly.

Aldrik looked at her with parted lips. “No, I do not,” he confessed with a small shake of his head.

“Good. You are my teacher,” she said firmly. “You can’t leave me now.”

He turned and crossed the room, standing inches from her, bearing down upon her with his commanding form. But she stood defiantly against him, trying to meet him inch for inch.

“And,” Vhalla started slowly, turning her head away. She hardly had the courage to say what she wanted; looking at him while doing so was far too much. “You are my friend, whatever this commoner’s friendship is worth.”

His hand reached up, and he placed his fingertips under her chin. Moving nothing but his hand, he guided her face back toward him and up to meet his eyes. He stared at her for a long time. Vhalla felt her heart beat in her throat, and she tried to swallow it back into her chest. He removed his hand, letting it hover in the air uncertainly for just a moment before it fell, feather light, upon her cheek.

When he spoke it was slow and deliberate, little more than a whisper. His voice had a richness to it that she had never heard before. “It is worth very much.” His eyes consumed hers.

Whatever spell they were under broke the moment Larel slipped back into the room. Aldrik’s hand dropped away from her face with such precision and poise that even Vhalla questioned if it had been there at all. If Larel had seen anything she was completely unfazed by the prince standing in close proximity to the common girl.

“The halls are fairly clear. Fritz is making a scene in the dining hall.” She gave a small nod to Aldrik, which he returned.

“Thank you, Larel.” He vanished through the door, pulling Vhalla with him with barely enough time for Vhalla to offer her own quick thanks. Larel gave her a small smile that promised secrecy.

They were down the winding hallway of the Tower and into another side door before Vhalla could assess what level of the palace she was on. The prince’s strides were long, and Vhalla struggled to keep up with them. She almost fell into him as he stopped suddenly before another door.

“Vhalla, listen.” Aldrik’s hand paused on the wood. His profile was lit by a single flame bulb and the lighting outlined his angular features. “Victor will catch wind of this; when he does, I am certain he will try to force you into joining the Tower.”

“What will he do? What exactly does he want from me?” She didn’t know why she was whispering, but it felt right.

“I...” Aldrik froze, debating his next words. “Do you know the history of the Windwalkers, yet?”

“I know about the West...” Suddenly, Vhalla was trying to recall everything she read with Fritz.

“Then you know that there are people in this world who are greatly interested in your powers.” Aldrik’s eyes darted down the hall toward the Tower.

“That was over a hundred years ago.” Vhalla didn’t want to believe what he was implying. “It’s not—”

“Not so long ago,” he warned.

“Why are you telling me all this?” Vhalla asked. It finally dawned on her the cause of all their secrecy. Was the crown prince protecting her? If so, from what? Or, from whom?

“Because I was led to believe that Victor gave you a month to choose magic,” Aldrik answered.

“Only because I threatened to Eradicate myself.” Vhalla leaned against the far wall.

“Still, you have a choice,” he reinforced. “I would like to see you choose this life.”

“And if I don’t?” Vhalla was unable to say the words with any strength. She couldn’t even meet his eyes. The silence felt like it was crushing her skull.

His voice was gentle, but there was a quivering restraint, as though his words were forced. “Then,” Aldrik began, “I think that would be the saddest thing to happen to the magical community in a long time.”

Vhalla sighed softly. Of course, it was the magical community. She was the Windwalker, first of her kind in almost a century and a half. The one with powers people wanted for reasons still unknown to her. She turned to the door without a word.

“I would miss teaching you.” Everything stopped as the sentence crossed his lips. Vhalla turned back to look at him, suddenly aware of how small the connecting passage really was. As if realizing the same thing, the prince quickly broke eye contact to smooth his coat before slowly buttoning it. “So, when will I see you again?”

“What?” Vhalla blinked at the sudden and strange question. He had been doing well at seeing her by stealing her away. “You’re the crown prince. You can see me whenever you want. Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?”

“Yes, well,” he muttered, running a hand over his hair. “Lunch, then, tomorrow? No, wait; I have business with Egmun.” He cursed at the foreign name. “The day after tomorrow, I will have time. But this is not an order from your prince.”

Something crept on the edge of Vhalla’s mind. He wasn’t stealing her away or leaving her with little choice—not that she had minded. He wasn’t ordering her as her prince. He hadn’t mentioned training or discussing sorcery or her future. If it wasn’t business or obligation, then what exactly was the reason behind this meeting?

“I’d love to.” She smiled, and the mask that the prince normally wore slipped long enough for her to see a flash of joy in his eyes. “I’ll meet you in the garden?”

He nodded, a little smile playing on his lips, causing a warm honey feeling in her stomach. Vhalla pushed on the door before the feeling spread into her blood and overpowered her senses. She emerged into the cool night air, the mysterious portal closing behind her to disappear as if nothing more than a stone wall.

She couldn’t stop a giggle from escaping as she all but skipped back to her room. There was no reason to be so happy, she reminded herself, and yet she was. She was going to have lunch with the prince.

Vhalla noticed nothing amiss as she pushed open her door. All her lightness vanished with one shift of her gaze.

Sareem sat on her bed holding the wrinkled gloves in his hands. He looked up at her with a mix of emotions flashing across his features. Dropping the gloves to the floor, he walked over and pulled her into a tight embrace, resting a hand on the back of her head.

Vhalla stood there pressed against him, his one arm tight around her arms, the other hand holding her face to his chest. After the initial shock wore off, a strange sensation spread through her, and Vhalla didn’t know if she wanted to hold him or push him off. Her arms stayed limp at her sides as a middle ground.

“I was so worried,” he whispered hoarsely. “You just, you screamed, and then you were on the ground.” He stroked her head as if to offer her comfort, but he was clearly more distraught than she was. “I didn’t know what to do. I told them I’d get a cleric, but after—after what you showed me, I knew it wasn’t a cleric you needed.” He rested his cheek on the top of her forehead a moment with a soft sigh. Vhalla remained still, allowing him to piece together his story.

“I went to the Tower entrance—a Tower entrance? I don’t even know the names of the people who answered. I simply said your name and they knew; they came without question, and I gave you to them. I didn’t even know their names.” His voice cracked. “And then they were frantic, and they took you. Vhalla, you didn’t move. You were hardly breathing. They took you and I-I didn’t know if you were alive, so I waited.” He sounded so hopeless and pathetic that Vhalla couldn’t help but put her arms lightly around her friend’s waist and pat his back in a friendly manner.

They stood together as he slowly regained his composure. Eventually he released her and wiped his face with his palms.

“Sorry about that,” Sareem tried to laugh.

Vhalla shook her head. “I appreciate it, Sareem. Obviously, they did help. You did the right thing,” she tried to reassure him, and it looked like it worked. “Did any of the others ask?”

“Yeah, but I told them I found a cleric, and that it was the heat getting to your head. I also stayed to kick anyone out, saying you were here but needed rest,” Sareem added with a small nod.

Vhalla felt guilty for putting her friend through all this, no matter how unkind he had been to her about her magic.

“I’m sorry that you have to keep lying for someone like me.” She took a step away from him.

“Someone like you?” He looked honestly confused, which annoyed her slightly.

“A sorcerer,” she said directly, watching him hold back a wince at the word.

“I tried to tell you earlier. Even if you are a-a, someone with magic, you are still Vhalla.” He took a step closer to her. “You’re still the girl I met when I first came here. The girl who is always so lost in her books that she can never spare a boy like me a glance.” Vhalla took another small step to avoid his encroaching presence. Her back found the door. “The girl who I never had the courage to ask anywhere because I always thought I was too daft, too boring, too plain for her.”

“I’m nothing better than you, Sareem,” she whispered as he took another step forward.

“To me you always will be. I was frightened,” he whispered as he placed his hand beside her face, palm against the door. “I was frightened that your...development would take you away from me.” He looked away for only a brief moment before staring her down with his gray-blue eyes. “And then, today, I thought I really had lost you. As I sat here waiting, I realized I can’t keep waiting, or else I really will lose you.”

Frantically trying to think of a way to divert the conversation, Vhalla didn’t even have time to close her eyes before his lips were pressed against hers.

SAREEM WAS KISSING her.

It seemed the most improbable, impossible, farfetched thought, but as Vhalla stood pressed against her door—his right hand beside her face, his left having found her hip—it was an undeniable truth. His lips were soft, and his breath hot against her cheek. As time stretched, something seemed odd.

Vhalla tried to close her eyes; she tried to enjoy the kiss. But her mouth refused to move, and in the end, as he pulled away she leaned against the door feeling rather stupid. It had been some time since she had last been kissed. Perhaps that was it; her awkwardness came from being out of practice. It wasn’t as though she ever considered herself an adept kisser in the first place.

She stared at him. He had a nice build; while not overly muscular, he was not portly either. He was tall and handsome with long hair. Logic forced Vhalla to admit that he really was one of the best matches someone like her could hope for.

It was frustrating that logic couldn’t force her to feel any chemistry with him. Perhaps it would grow in time. His devotion had been heart-warming and charming, in spite of his blatant issues with her magic. Vhalla knew plenty of people in long-term, happy relationships without fiery passion.

“Sareem...” she finally managed, breaking the silence.

“Vhalla, I-I hope I wasn’t too forward.” He straightened and looked away.

She felt like she could breathe again. “I-your-I am moved by your compassion.” Vhalla hoped she was off to a good start. He looked at her hopefully. She tried to swallow the odd guilt that sprung up at his hopeful stare. She wanted to refuse him, but she had no logical reason to. It wasn’t as though she were spoken for, and time was ticking for her if she were to assume the natural roles of womanhood.

“If you can accept me, even as a sorcerer, then I’m sure we could find some time to do something, just the two of us.” She forced her tongue to form words.

“I would very much like that,” Sareem beamed. “How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” she repeated. He was certainly eager.

“It’s the start of the festival. Everyone will be in the streets for the events. I would love to be there with you.” Be it from nerves or excitement, he spoke faster than she had ever heard.

Vhalla’s head spun. “Tomorrow.” She tried to shake away the dizzying feeling. “Sure, tomorrow.”

“If you’re up to it,” he said suddenly. “I know of your complications right now.”

“It’s fine.” Vhalla was eager to show him the door.

“Excellent. I’ll stop by in the morning.” He paused in the doorframe. “Are you sure you’re well? I could stay tonight.”

“I will be fine,” Vhalla said firmly, allowing the comment to pass as genuine concern.

“All right.” He placed a hand at the top of her neck and kissed her forehead. Vhalla tried to smile nicely. “Take care, dear Vhalla,” he said gently. “I will dream of you.” With that he departed.

Vhalla stood in a daze for a long time, trying to take in everything that happened. Sareem had kissed her. It had to go up on her not-so-short list of the most impossible things to have happened to her lately. She had also agreed to a date of some variety. Vhalla rubbed her eyes. This will all work out, she told herself.

As she lay in bed, Vhalla gave herself to the darkness. I will dream of you, Sareem had said. Vhalla wasn’t sure what she would dream about. But were it to be anyone in the whole world, something told her that person would not be Sareem.

Vhalla woke the next day and again felt exhausted. She had a suspicion that it was not entirely from the previous day’s magical exertion. Rolling into a ball, Vhalla did not even try to bite back a groan. She had actually agreed to a date of sorts with Sareem. Sareem! But what else was she to do when he kissed her?

Staring at the ceiling was no more interesting than staring at the wall. Stone and more stone, she existed in her small, insignificant little box. Vhalla took a slow breath—it was suffocating. Her world was nothing, and she was nothing in it.

A strange feeling surged in the tips of her fingers, like a beat of her heart. There was one place she wasn’t insignificant, one place where the rooms were not tiny even for someone of her rank.

The Tower.

The thought was a breath of fresh air. Suddenly, the shutter over her window flew open and let in the crisp autumn breeze.

Startled by the sound, she was up and gripping the window sill in a heartbeat, staring out into the vast expanse that was the Empire’s capital. Timidly, she extended a hand into the sunlight. With a pulse of magic from core to fingertip she felt the wind respond to her command, slipping around her open palm.

Vhalla stared in awe. The wind bent to her will. She spun in place, starting for the door. She had to find Aldrik and tell him. This was not little pockets of air she created to push or levitate things. This was the very wind. There had to be something new they could try, something he would teach her. Vhalla grinned like a fool, the expression on his face when she told him would be worth an artist’s rendering.

Her fingers slipped from the door handle with a deflating sigh. No, there would be no prince today. Vhalla turned back into the room and began stripping off her sleeping gown and readying herself for what did await her—Sareem.

Vhalla decided to see how much she could do with magic—by herself. Raising her hand she flicked her wrist a few times and a pair of tan leather leggings and her best dress flew across the room onto the bed.

She uncertainly studied the unassuming garments in her hands. Her father had sent them to her when she had her coming of age birthday. It was a date, after all. Vhalla discovered using magic to dress herself would take practice, and succeeded only in working up a small sweat and pulling on her leggings by hand.

A challenge for another day.

Next was washing. Vhalla attempted to raise the water out of its bowl, but it resisted her. She even tried closing her eyes and reaching out to it like she had to do when she was first being taught. But it kept slipping through her fingers and sloshed around in the bowl. Vhalla frowned. Water was another challenge for later. Maybe Fritz would have some advice, she mused. He was a Waterrunner, after all.

Vhalla looked at her hair in the tarnished scrap of metal that served as her mirror. As usual, her hair was a frizzy, knotted mess. If she could use magic on her hair, her life would be complete. Vhalla took a breath and prepared herself for a fight. She stared at the mirror and thought of a simple style she’d seen some of the Southerners wear before. It was a bun with a braid around its base.

Letting the breath out slowly she focused on her hair and thought of what she wanted it to do. She squinted at it, tilted her head, closed her eyes, blinked seven times, and waved her hands like a fool.

Nothing.

Vhalla took a breath and sat back. Sareem would likely be here soon, and she needed to have something. Resolved, she insisted her hair would move. Vhalla was rewarded with a small piece lifting near her face before falling back limply. Apparently, her hair was so stubborn it even refused magic. Resigned, Vhalla held out her hand and watched a leather hair-tie float into it from her desk. She did her hair by hand with some mild success—and a handful or two of pins—before deciding it was good enough.

She passed the rest of the time levitating random objects in her room. Aldrik had been an adept teacher, and Vhalla found herself inventing things that she could accomplish with ease. She was working on levitating two things in the air at the same time, her quill and journal, when there was a knock.

“Come in, Sareem.” Wrapped up in the bobbing items, she didn’t even look to ensure it was he.

He slammed the door shut behind him. “Vhalla,” he hissed, “What are you doing?”

She looked at him dumbly. “Trying something out. Look, look! I just got it—two at once!” She grinned, oblivious to his displeasure, pointing at the quill and journal.

“Stop that.” He plucked them from the air as though they were anti-Empire propaganda.

Vhalla’s expression quickly fell to a frown. “No one taught me how to do that. I was making it up all on—” She didn’t even try to hide her annoyance.

“And what if it hadn’t been me at the door?” he snapped. “What if someone who doesn’t know saw?” Her features relaxed a little thinking of that.

“Vhalla,” he cooed, walking over to her, “you look absolutely stunning. Let’s go have a perfectly normal day; just you and I?”

She almost refused, her stomach felt suddenly unsettled. But his hand was at the small of her back, leading her out into the hall beyond. Taking advantage of Aldrik being nowhere nearby, Vhalla wrung her hands with purpose.

They walked out of the staff gate nearest Vhalla’s room. It was called a gate but it was little more than a back door with a guard stationed outside. It led into the middle class area of the city. The houses were clean and well kept, but the roofs were simply thatched, rather than possessing clay or wooden tiles that could be found higher up the mountain. Some had peeling paint, if painted at all, and only about half possessed any glass in their windows. It was the home of the common folk.

Everyone seemed to be in a spirited mood for the Festival of the Sun. Women walked around in frocks and simple dresses. Children begged to attend this or that event. Men laughed and played music in the streets. Every fountain was flowing with water from the city’s aqueducts, no matter the time of day. Judging from the swagger of some, not only water was flowing.

Vhalla smiled at the white and gold pennons proudly displayed; the golden sun, symbol of the Mother and the Empire.

She saw one group of men hunched around some form of dice game. Shirts hung loosely about their shoulders with open ties in the front. No one wore coats or jackets, and none seemed to be bothered that a portion of their chest was easily visible. Vhalla’s cheeks felt hot, and she could hardly stifle a nervous laugh as she tried to imagine Aldrik dressed so plainly; his chest on display.

“What is it?” Sareem had taken her hand while she was lost in thoughts.

“Oh nothing,” she murmured, still smiling at the image in her mind. “It’s just a lovely day.”

“It is. But you, my dear, are far lovelier than even the Mother Sun.”

Vhalla smiled nicely at Sareem; he was trying. “So, what will we be doing?” she inquired, trying to avoid the silence from stretching on for too long.

“Well, there is a wonderful bakery not far from here; I’ve frequented it often since I was a boy,” Sareem began. “Then I was thinking we could go watch the jugglers in the square.”

“There are jugglers?” Vhalla hadn’t been keeping track of the events very closely.

Sareem nodded. “A troupe of refugees from the North, I hear. They came South under the declarations of peace to find a better life and escape the war. I’ve heard the entertainment is their thanks for their liberation.”

Vhalla pondered this a moment, wondering if she too would willingly perform for people who took her home from her.

Sareem continued, “Then I was thinking that we could watch the procession of the senators. It’s a bit out of the way, but they’re dressed up like roosters and it is always good fun to laugh at them.”

“Haven’t we done that before?” Vhalla wondered aloud. She was struggling to remember if they had terrorized the Senators, or if it had been the Court escaping from its grand meeting hall in the palace.

“We have,” Sareem affirmed. “If I recall correctly, I was able to make you laugh so hard you snorted like a pig.” Vhalla blushed, and pursed her lips in embarrassment. Sareem chuckled. “You’ve a lovely laugh, Vhalla, and I enjoy hearing it.”

She watched as he moved her hand up to his mouth, kissing it. His fingers were intertwined with hers. Vhalla wanted to find a way that she thought they looked good together, but every time she did, she kept remembering his prior reaction to her magic. But, if he was to be believed, his actions were purely shock.

“Well, if I enjoyed it so much last time,” she agreed weakly.

“I will make sure you enjoy yourself again, my dear,” he promised.

Vhalla forced a smile. She wasn’t about to let the unsettling feeling at the very pit of her core ruin everything. It was a nice day, and Sareem was a good friend. Knowing she had several hours with him, Vhalla was inclined to give Sareem the benefit of the doubt.

They settled at a bakery called The Golden Bun. It was not far from the main square, and Sareem sat her down at an outside table, at her request. He pulled out her chair, placed a small kiss on her temple, and then went to fetch the food. She wished he wouldn’t be so forward in public.

Sareem returned with a plate of hot lemon cakes. Vhalla blinked. Even though lemons were in season in the West, they were still expensive to transport South.

“If I recall, your favorites are lemon things.” He settled across from her.

“They are.” The corners of her mouth tugged in a determined smile. He had been paying attention to her for longer than she realized. Pinching one of the dense cakes with her fingers, Vhalla popped it into her mouth.

“These are good,” she said with a hint of surprise.

“Are they?” He rested his chin in his palm, reaching for her free hand. “I’m very glad; I had them made especially for you.”

Vhalla blinked and blushed faintly. “Thank you, Sareem.” To make a point she quickly grabbed for another and took a more girlish bite.

“You know, I’ve wanted to do this since we were fourteen.” She made a small questioning sound and he continued, allowing her to chew. “You’re that girl, Vhalla. The one that you just know is special. So much so that it’s almost something you feel like you can’t touch or you’ll break it.” He let out an embarrassed laugh. “It must sound silly.”

Vhalla shook her head. “No, no it doesn’t. I know that feeling exactly,” she said softly.

He beamed. “I always hoped you felt the same.” He squeezed her hand, and she realized he had misunderstood her. She had not been referring to him. “All of this is like a dream, and I want to give you everything you could ever want.” He picked up a lemon cake and took a bite himself.

Vhalla attempted to say something in return but she fumbled over her words. They all sounded cheap or false. In the end, she changed the subject. “Why do you live in the palace?” she asked. He made a noise of confusion and tilted his head. “Your father came here from Norin in the late Empress’s gift party to the Empire. Why don’t you live in your family’s home?”

“Ah, well, my family lives down in Oparium,” he answered. Vhalla only knew town at the base of the Southern Mountains because it was home to the old port of the Empire, before they conquered the West and took Norin’s port. “My father lived in the palace, initially, but he met a girl down in the shipyard and, well, his business trips became more frequent until he moved to be with her. Funny how that happens, you wed those you work with.”

“Funny, right...” Vhalla mumbled and desperately wanted to change the topic from marriage. “Do you enjoy living in the Capital?”

“I do,” Sareem answered with a nod. “Oparium gets some exotic things through the port, but nothing is quite like living in the Capital. I hope to someday raise my children here.”

“Your parents—are they still alive?” Vhalla was growing tired of changing the subject and busied her mouth with the last of the lemon cakes.

“They are,” he replied. “And yours?” Vhalla shook her head. Sareem’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“My father is, but my mother died when I was ten, while my father was doing his duty to the Empire during the War of the Crystal Caverns.” She paused. “I was sick with Autumn Fever. My mother fell ill after me; she never recovered.”

Sareem frowned. “I remember your telling me you had the illness before, but I never realized...I am so sorry.” His voice was low and his expression serious.

“I’ve had a long time to come to terms with it.” If Vhalla said it was easy now, it would be a lie. There were times when she wanted her mother more than anything in the world. But she had reached a point where it no longer hurt to the point of tears to think on it.

“Let’s find a good spot for the jugglers. I don’t want any sad thoughts today.”

He stood. She followed, and Sareem took her hand again.

The central square of the capital was a large area that could hold hundreds of people. It had a mosaic of the sun and moon in their eternal dance sprawled beneath the feet of those gathering around a central stage. The crowd was beginning to thicken, and it was soon shoulder-to-shoulder.

Six people, men and women, took the stage. Vhalla was entranced. She had never seen Northerners before, she realized. Vhalla was certain she would have remembered a green person. Their skin was a deep forest viridian, with swirling dots and embellishments in silver. Combined with their masks, carved from tree bark, they were like mystical creatures and completely mesmerized her.

A woman walked across the edge of the stage, then faced the crowd who had gathered on all sides. “Good people of the South.” Her accent was thick and muffled through the faceless mask she wore. “We have come under flags of peace to break bread with you. For your fine hospitality, we would like to provide some light entertainment in honor of your Mother Sun.”

They started juggling simple objects: sacks of beans and leather balls. The crowd began to ooh and aah as they added daggers and swords into the mix. The Northerners began moving and tossing the variety of objects to each other until all six were involved in a circular pattern of thrown objects. Vhalla was stunned by their control and deft hands. They made it look easy with their fearlessness.

When the show came to a close, a roar of applause rang out and the six took a bow. The same woman walked to the edge of the stage again.

“Good people, I hope you enjoyed today’s show. We hope you can make it for all of our shows leading up to our grand finale on the night of the Gala.” The woman held out her arms. “Tell all your friends!” She gave a wave with both hands and led her companions off the stage.

“I wonder what they’ll do for the finale...” Vhalla pondered aloud.

“We can find out, together. Come with me.” Sareem smiled and took her hand.

“You know I’m not one for the crowds on the last night of the festival,” she murmured a half-hearted excuse.

“Two isn’t a crowd.” Sareem began leading her away from the square in the slowly dissipating mass of people. “It would only be you and I.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Vhalla bit her lower lip, conflicted. Sareem hadn’t been doing a poor job, and the advice of the older ladies from the palace resonated back to her. Marry young and fulfill the natural role of a woman. Sareem clearly cared for her. She glanced up at him and was rewarded with a warm smile.

“All right,” Vhalla agreed softly. “I’ll meet you.”

“Meet me at The Golden Bun,” he pointed to the bakery as they passed down the road. “When the moon is one third in the sky. The finales normally happen at the moon’s apex so that’ll give us plenty of time. I know how girls like to get ready.”

Sareem laughed, and Vhalla tried to laugh along. She had no interest in getting ready for a second date with Sareem. Doubt was already tinting the edges of her decision, but he seemed so happy about it all that she had not the faintest inkling for how to back out of it now.

“Speaking of getting ready and fancy clothes and all...” Sareem looked up at the sky. “It’s almost time for the noon procession of Senators.”

As they climbed up the sloping, winding roads into the nicer area of town, the houses began to shift from white plaster to stone and solid wood construction. He led her in a direction she had never been before and the houses became even more opulent. Iron fences and tall hedges enclosed homes that actually had a rare small yard or garden. Almost every house had a noble seal upon it bearing a region of the Empire or a family crest. Most, Vhalla did not recognize nor have any interest in. Some houses had two flags; one that was the signet of the Empire, and another that was the signet of a country or region.

“The ones with two flags are senators’ homes. Those without are simply members of the Court,” Sareem pointed out. “It’s not a bad job; get a house and all with the position.” Vhalla stared in awe. Some houses even had colored glass window designs like the library. “Of course, you have to be elected to the Senate, so I’m told it’s not an easy job to get.”

“Well worth it, I’d say.” Vhalla was still taking in the wonder about her.

“It’s annoying how well some live, isn’t it?” Sareem chuckled.

She nodded mutely, instantly thinking of Aldrik and the glimpses she had gained into his world. Vhalla did not know for certain, but she would guess that nothing in the houses they passed compared to the gold-guided, stained wood, and rich carpeted parlors of the prince’s home. In the back of her mind she wondered if he was there now, reading at a window. She wondered if there were anywhere else in the world she’d rather be.

Eventually, the houses gave way to a wide open expanse. The side road merged with a large marble street that matched the building at one end. It was a large circular structure with columns around the outside. Vhalla had never cared much for politics, and she didn’t recognize any of the names written on the plaques bolted to the pillars.

A good few others had lined up alongside the road. Vhalla looked at them curiously.

“When did politics become a spectator sport?” she inquired.

“Since always,” Sareem grinned. “I imagine some are here to lobby for a cause, others will likely scream dissent at the senators as they leave, while a few probably came for the same reason we did.” He shrugged. “The Senate is meant to keep the common folk happy by dealing with small things on behalf of the Empire, but that doesn’t mean they always do a good job.”

“Doesn’t it seem rather pointless?” Vhalla mused. The Emperor always had the final say.

“The Empire’s always been at war. Maybe, when the Emperor has time to focus on matters of state, it will be,” Sareem joined in her musing. “But I think it’s nice to have some way that the common folk get a voice. Otherwise it’d only be the Court, and it’s not as though the highborn really care for our plights.”

A bell rang out from over the top of the Senate Hall.

“Here they come,” Sareem whispered on the thirteenth ring.

It was indeed a spectacle. Men and women of all ages and shapes trickled out of the marble building by ones and twos. He told her there were thirteen in total, so the show wouldn’t be over too quickly. Some made speedy departures through the crowd and off down side streets, presumably making a quick retreat home. Others took a more leisurely stroll. Just as Sareem had predicted, some people shouted while others shook hands with their elected officials.

But it wasn’t this that kept the smile on Vhalla’s cheeks. It was their clothing. Clearly, drapery was the order of the day, a traditional Southern style that was quickly going out of fashion for the tailored looks of the West and practical sensibilities of the East. Every senator bore a golden medallion on a heavy chain, but the similarities ended there. The first was a man swathed in Eastern purple silk with a gold hem. He wore his whitening hair up in curls with peacock feathers sticking out at odd angles.

The next woman had a pinched face and a pointed nose, one that Sareem couldn’t help but comment on.

“She looks like she’s been forced to smell her own waste,” he whispered eagerly into her ear. Vhalla bit her knuckles to keep from laughing.

The next man had a pig nose, and the one after Sareem jested about rolling down the steps, as his shape was far better suited for such than walking.

Vhalla was having such a fun time that she didn’t even mind it when Sareem draped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close for more whispering. She simply kept giggling like a fool and let Sareem continue his roll of taunts in her ear.

“Look there. Look, look, all the ruffles make her look like a chicken.”

Vhalla turned her head away from the building to examine one of the ladies in yellow. She had made some very unfortunate choices with all the ruffles of her dress piled upon her ample rump. Vhalla was having more fun than she expected. She beamed at Sareem, and he grinned back at her. It felt like they were kids again and could simply laugh and be silly without the pressure of anything more.

Then the wind shifted, and the smile fell from her face.

She knew he was there before she even turned her head. She felt him. It was a subtle temperature shift carried on the breeze, or the sound of his boots on the marble road. Vhalla turned her head slowly to see Aldrik walking alongside a Southern man with darkening blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. They were still a few steps away and were deep in conversation.

“Sareem, this was fun, but I’m really hungry, so let’s get going,” she pleaded, trying to shrug off his arm.

With a laugh, he pulled her closer; his lips pressed against her ear uncomfortably. “But the best part is now walking toward us; the Head of Senate and the dark snob prince,” he snickered.

Her lips parted and shut again quickly, barely catching a vehement defense on Aldrik’s behalf.

“The Emperor has ordered certain crystal relics be brought back from the North.” The senator’s voice gave Vhalla the same feeling as ripping paper, a chill uneasiness at its quiet yet harsh sound.

“I have not heard of this,” Aldrik responded. Even though they were whispering, Vhalla could hear their conversation along the wind. Their words grew louder with every nearing step.

“Sareem, please,” she begged. Vhalla reached up and grabbed his hand to pull Sareem’s arm off her shoulders and drag him away herself. But it was too late.

Aldrik’s eyes fell on hers. He considered her a long moment, clearly no longer interested in whatever the senator was saying. His brow furrowed and a shadow darkened his face briefly, before his expressionless mask slipped back into place, and he looked forward once more.

Vhalla opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t come up with words to say. Sareem was still muttering like a fool in her ear, but she couldn’t hear him over the words of the Senator and prince.

“Was that someone you know, Prince Aldrik?” the head of Senate asked suddenly with no subtle interest.

“Hardly,” Aldrik’s voice was cold and fading. “Why would I associate with common-folk?”

Then he was gone. Aldrik kept walking until he was out of sight. He never looked back.

Sareem remained oblivious to the turmoil raging within her chest. Vhalla tortured herself with the notion of running after him, but anything she did would only make a scene. What had that look meant? Even the senator had noticed the subtle shift in the crown prince. She chewed it over as Sareem continued prattling away, leading her wherever he wished. Did it matter to Aldrik how she spent her time? Vhalla barely contained a scream of frustration.

She was poor company all the way back to the palace. But Sareem didn’t mind, as he filled the silence enough for both of them. Vhalla refused his offer for dinner, heading straight for bed. Food would taste like ash in her mouth anyway.

VHALLA STARED AT her doorknob. She agreed to meet Aldrik today. He had invited her to lunch in the rose garden. Vhalla replayed the memory in her head with doubt. That was what happened. His confused gaze flashed through her mind as he had stared upon her and Sareem.

She twisted her fingers around each other. He would still want to see her, she assured herself. Vhalla grabbed her improvised mirror and fussed with her hair. It was the frizzy mess it always had been, and she stared at it hopelessly. He was the crown prince; she had no doubt he had been with women older, more beautiful, more experienced, and more refined than she. For all she knew, he was with one now.

Poking her finger through a new hole in her maroon tunic, Vhalla sighed. She was fussing over nothing, the apprentice in her scolded. The prince knew who she was. He had said it himself. Why would he associate with commoners like her?

The halls of the palace were mostly empty due to the festival. Those who were working flitted about carrying large trays of lavish food and pitchers of frothing drink. She kept her head down, wandering the passages washed in the afternoon sun.

Eventually, the people in the hallways faded one by one until Vhalla was alone. The garden appeared before her, and Vhalla entered through the same window as last time. It was a nice fall day, perfect for the festival. Some of the smaller plants had already begun to go dormant for the winter, and she wondered how long until the roses also began to fall.

The gardens and gazebo were deserted. Vhalla assured herself that she had only beaten him there, that he hadn’t forgotten. She wandered uncertainly throughout the gazebo, inspecting the roses. Thankfully, Aldrik did not keep her waiting long.

Vhalla turned away from the center post of roses as she heard the click of his boots up the steps. Her heart pounded, and her mouth was dry. The prince fumbled with the door a moment before pushing it open. In one arm he balanced a decently sized wicker basket that emitted a tempting aroma.

They stared at each other, as though in disbelief. Vhalla swallowed. He straightened, adjusting the box.

“Hello,” she smiled. They had spent countless hours together. Nothing was different about this meeting, she reassured herself. Even if this meeting seemed to have no other purpose than for him to see her.

“Good afternoon,” he responded. Something in the resonance of his voice gave Vhalla pause. “You are fast this morning.”

“I had nothing else to do,” Vhalla replied, denying any kind of excitement—even to herself—over the meeting. He crossed the room, sitting on the far bench. Vhalla followed and took her prior seat at his side.

“I am beginning to think you never work. I will have to have a talk with our Master of Tome,” he declared in his princely tone.

Vhalla playfully stuck her tongue out like a child. “If I am not working, I think it may be because a certain Imperial Prince keeps taking me from work,” she retorted.

“Ah, you have me.” Aldrik grinned.

“It’s the festival, anyway.” Vhalla shrugged to hide her defensiveness at the notion that Aldrik may think her lazy.

“It is,” he agreed. Opening the basket Aldrik revealed multiple trays of food, stacked upon each other. Vhalla had only heard the kitchen staff speak of preparing such luxuries, and the house servants whisper about sneaking bites in-between dinner for nobility. “I thought, perhaps, you had not eaten.”

Vhalla stared at the rows of carefully cut tea sandwiches. There was white bread, tan bread, bread with oats, and small rolls with brown crusts. She saw slices of cured ham and peppered turkey sneaking out from the sides, resting in beds of fresh produce. It seemed to practically glisten.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” she had to ask. “That food isn’t really meant for me.” He gave her a peculiar stare. “Staff, servants, we don’t eat food like this.”

“Well, now you do,” Aldrik said easily, lifting up the top tier to her. Vhalla’s stomach growled loudly enough to remind her that she had skipped dinner last night. Her face flushed bright red. “You cannot argue with that,” he chuckled.

Vhalla decided on an egg sandwich. The egg did not have the rubbery flavor or consistency as when they had been sitting for too long. There was not a mass of cream or butter sauce upon it either to hide the stale ingredients. Every flavor shone, and she stared at the small morsel in awe.

“What do the servants and staff eat?” the prince asked.

She regarded him curiously. “Sometimes stews, sometimes a rice hash, sometimes bread and meat.” Vhalla shrugged. “Normally whatever the kitchen has on hand. Two day old nights is how we refer to the worst nights. It’s things that the kitchen really should’ve discarded a day or two ago but covered in some kind of gravy or salt, and passes it off as food.” He’d stopped eating to stare at her, and she laughed at his still, almost horrified, look. “It really isn’t so bad. What do you normally eat?”

“Whatever I ask for,” he said, obviously.

Vhalla laughed louder. “It must be nice to be the prince.” She grinned, grabbing a few grapes from the tray and popping them into her mouth before starting on another sandwich.

He paused, his eyes fixed somewhere in the distance. “I suppose, in some ways,” Aldrik spoke slowly, and Vhalla swallowed her food to listen. “In others, I think I would rather be more common.”

“Other ways like what?” Vhalla asked quietly.

“You are free to make your own choices. I have...obligations,” he sighed cryptically.

“Obligations? Such as?” she asked, taking a small bite and listening intently.

“Well, my parrot,” he retorted and grinned at her scowl. “Lately, I have done a lot in my father’s absence. I have approved this or that, checked on the state of the Empire and capital, met with most of the ministers and senators,” he explained.

Vhalla was reminded of the prior day. She busied her mouth with another bite of food. Aldrik uncorked a bottle and passed it to her. What she had expected to be water was actually tea with a fruity flavor. It was refreshing and delicious; it almost made her forget the embarrassing moment from the precession of senators.

“I was at the Senate meetings yesterday.” He was apparently not going to let the possibility for an uncomfortable confrontation slide. It was his turn to avoid her stare. She watched him shift uneasily on the bench, completely ignoring the food. Could the prince even feel genuinely awkward?

“I know.” Vhalla instantly wished she had thought of something better to say.

“That boy you were with...” Aldrik began slowly, his spoken grace suddenly failing him.

“He’s my friend,” Vhalla responded quickly, her lips on overdrive. “His name is Sareem. We’ve been friends for years. He’s like a brother, really. He asked to take me out, and I agreed because I thought it was the right thing to do but, well, of course I had fun, he can be a laugh. But he’s just a friend.”

The prince stared at her intently through her uncomfortable and hasty proclamation. Obsidian eyes pinned her to the spot, and Vhalla met them with all the honesty she could muster. Sareem was only a friend, she realized as she looked at the prince. He was nothing more to her. Vhalla swallowed hard, keenly aware of a dangerous feeling that had taken root in her chest over the past months without her consent. What was she doing?

“He is...only a friend.” She didn’t know why she was whispering, or which one of them she was reassuring.

Aldrik’s eyes relaxed, the intensity in them fading into a warm heat that pulsed down to her toes with each beat of her heart. The corners of his mouth came next; instead of relaxing into their normal thin line, they eased upward into a small smile. Vhalla bit her lip, trying to hide her reaction to his joy—and failed.

“Friends are good to have,” the prince said suddenly, turning away and resituating the trays. He reached for a sliced strawberry. Vhalla did the same and they chewed away the moment.

“Are you and Larel only friends?” She wanted to hit herself the moment the question slipped from her lips. It wasn’t any of her business, and the prince’s answer wouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter how comfortable he had seemed in the other woman’s room. He could be with whomever he pleased, Vhalla reminded herself.

“Larel,” Aldrik said after a thoughtful second. Vhalla shifted uneasily at his pause. Heat began to rise to her cheeks, she had been so foolish. “I suppose she is like Sareem is to you. I have known her since I was a child. She was different from the others and seemed to be willing to speak with me, work with me, without fawning over the prince.”

Vhalla inspected the hem of her shirt. They were both Western, she mused, and Vhalla had no idea if Larel had a noble background or not. Most apprentices had some connection to nobility, which was how they became apprentices rather than servants.

“Do not fidget,” Aldrik said gently, resting his fingertips on the back of her hand. Vhalla jumped at the contact. “Yes, she is just a friend.”

The heat of his fingertips burned like the weight of his eyes, and Vhalla was entranced by both. They danced around something that neither seemed ready to admit. Vhalla did not think on it. The only thing she thought of was how close the prince’s face was to hers, as he reached to touch her hand.

“Do you ever practice your sorcery?” Vhalla asked suddenly, diffusing the moment.

“I used to practice more frequently.” He straightened away and placed a hand on his hip. Vhalla instantly remembered his wound. She busied her mouth with another bite of food to avoid asking another stupid question. “Will you join the Tower?”

Vhalla stopped mid-chew. Untutored in decorum, she placed the half-eaten sandwich back in the box and wiped her palms on her knees. Aldrik’s eyes grazed over the action, but he said nothing as she worked through her response.

“Aldrik,” she whispered softly, staring at the crimson roses that were their only company.

“Vhalla?” Confusion about her demeanor was evident in his voice.

“If I am Eradicated, what will happen to you?” When had the word Eradicated begun to make her uncomfortable?

“What do you mean?” He arched a dark eyebrow.

“The Bond.” Vhalla looked at him, placing a palm on the bench between them. Her fingers almost touched his thigh. “You said it’s a magical connection, that it saved your life. If I am Eradicated, what will happen to you?”

“Do not concern yourself with that.” He shook his head. The motion caused a stray piece of hair to fall forward to arch around the side of his face.

“Do you know?” she asked with pursed lips. There wasn’t any point to her asking. Vhalla acknowledged to herself that Eradication was no longer an option.

“I do not,” he relented with a small sigh. “But I wish for you to make your decision for yourself, not because—”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Vhalla interrupted the prince. He blinked at her. “Aldrik, I couldn’t make a decision if I knew it would hurt you.”

“Why?” he whispered.

“Because—” The sharp cry of an iron gate followed by the loud clang of its closing interrupted her. Vhalla looked to the door.

Heavy footsteps ground upon the gravel path. Vhalla barely recognized the gait of the step, but Aldrik did instantly. He straightened, and Vhalla did the same. The man that she had just spoken with so casually suddenly wore a face as hard as stone.

“Brother!” another male voice called energetically. “Brother, are you here?”

Two shadows appeared outside the fogged glass of the greenhouse, their outlines blurry and indistinguishable. The door to the gazebo opened, and a stocky prince walked in boldly. The man Aldrik had been with the day prior entered with him—the head of Senate. Prince Baldair looked across the room to Aldrik and then to Vhalla.

“I did not realize you had company, brother.” A slow smile crept across his features.

“Baldair, I believe we have discussed—at length—that I am not to be disturbed within my garden.” Aldrik’s voice was tight and tense.

Vhalla missed the awkward exchange of the princes as the senator’s stare sent a shiver down her spine. The older man squinted his eyes, and a satisfied smirk grew from the corners of his mouth. The senator recognized her.

“I suppose I can now see why,” Baldair laughed. “Please forgive me, miss...” The head of Senate was not the only person to recognize the library apprentice in their midst. “You’re the girl from the library, the clumsy one! Vhalla, isn’t it?”

“Y-yes.” She couldn’t stop a stutter as the prince crossed the room and took her hand, kissing it.

He had remembered her, though she wished for something more than her clumsiness. He had a brilliant smile, and Vhalla relaxed under his icy blue eyes. Her memories of the Heartbreaker Prince’s radiance didn’t do him justice.

“I didn’t expect a prince to remember my name,” she murmured in reply.

“No!” he gasped. “One as lovely as you should never be forgotten. And if you’re in the garden, I am sure my brother has not once forgotten your name.” He nudged Aldrik playfully.

Aldrik simply stared up at his brother, unmoving from his seat. She looked to the elder prince, confused by his dark glare.

“Baldair, what do you want?” Vhalla could almost see the tension in Aldrik’s jaw as he forced the words between his lips.

“Forgive your brother, my prince.” The senator gave a small bow. “There was a bird this morning. The eastern front of the southern host has crumbled in its attack. The Clan of Houl is now pressing on the East. I thought it an urgent matter for the war council.”

“A messenger would have sufficed.” Aldrik stood, glaring at his brother.

Vhalla rose stiffly, everyone else was on their feet, and she did not want to stand out any more than she already did.

“My sincere apologies for interrupting your lunch.” Nothing in the senator’s words sounded like an apology as his eyes assessed the half-eaten box of food. Aldrik looked back, following his stare.

Vhalla brought her hands together before her, grabbing her fingers with white knuckles to keep from fidgeting. Turning away from the senator and his brother, Aldrik’s eyes were significantly softer, but the trace of worry between his brows did not reassure Vhalla.

“It was nothing,” Aldrik responded, his voice void of emotion.

Vhalla knew he could not admit to associating with her. He was the crown prince—as if he would want anyone to know he had spent time with someone so lowly. She stared at her feet. She could never be anyone to him.

“My apologies to you as well, Vhalla...” The senator held the end of her name, waiting for her to fill in the empty space.

“Yarl,” she responded, purely out of obligation.

“Vhalla Yarl,” the Senator repeated thoughtfully.

If Vhalla could rip her name from his tongue and his mind she would have.

“I will be in attendance at your war council in a moment, Senator Egmun.” It must have been her imagination that Aldrik took a half-step between her and the senator.

“I’ll see her out.” Prince Baldair smiled, offering Vhalla his elbow. She stared at the appendage before looking back to Aldrik. His face was stony again. “You have more pressing matters, brother.”

“Indeed.” The crown prince turned, and Vhalla was left with no option but to take the golden prince’s arm.

The head of Senate, Egmun; Vhalla committed the name to memory. Aldrik walked out first and the dark prince did not even look back at her. The two men began talking halfway to the gate, but Vhalla only heard the wind as her prince left her behind with his brother.

IF VHALLA COUNTED the reasons for her to be escorted by Prince Baldair, she would use zero fingers. Yet she strolled with him through the garden and past the gate. Her hand rested in the crook of his elbow and Vhalla realized that, despite his size, he was not as warm as his brother.

She stole a glance down the hall where Aldrik and the senator had turned. They were nowhere to be seen. Not even a faint echo of their voices could be heard. To add to her discomfort, Prince Baldair led her in the opposite direction. The opulence was the same as the last time she walked with Aldrik, but the servants must have been ignoring their cleaning duties due to the festival, for it did not shine as brightly today.

“So,” the prince finally started. His voice was higher than Aldrik’s, less gravely. But it was a rich and full sound—almost song-like. “How does someone like you end up in my brother’s garden?”

“Someone like me?” Vhalla asked carefully. She knew exactly what he meant, but perhaps answering his question could be avoided if she turned it back on him.

“A library apprentice,” Baldair grinned. He ran a hand through his ear-length wavy blonde hair. His easy response told her he had seen through her efforts to dodge his inquiry.

“I...” Vhalla looked at the thin cracks between the tiled marble beneath her feet. She wished she were small enough to slip through one and fall to the center of the earth. You’re a bad liar, Sareem’s words echoed in her treacherous mind.

“He’s not blackmailing you or anything, is he?” There was genuine concern in his voice.

“What?” Vhalla blinked up at the prince. “No, of course not.”

“Well, I know you weren’t enjoying his company.” Prince Baldair gave a full laugh as though he had made a great joke.

Vhalla frowned. Aldrik would not want her to disclose that they enjoyed each other’s company, or, at least, she did his. But she felt strange standing there without defending him in the face of a blatant insult.

“I think he has an astoundingly sharp mind,” she answered delicately.

Prince Baldair looked at her sideways. “That may be one of the nicest things I have ever heard a staff or servant say about my brother. Let’s see, I’ve heard egotistical, a royal pain, his head stuck in a variety of places that I don’t think are anatomically possible...” The prince laughed again.

Vhalla felt her whole body tense. “I doubt those people took the time to understand him,” she mumbled.

Prince Baldair stopped laughing and looked at her strangely. “You’re so polite, Vhalla.” Prince Baldair chuckled. “Fine, fine, I won’t push you to be anything but the good girl...for now,” he added with a wink.

Vhalla’s cheeks were stubbornly hot. The younger prince seemed to love jesting. “How is the front?” she asked, struggling for a change of topic that wouldn’t reveal too much to the Heartbreaker Prince.

“Much like my father said, the Northern capital refuses to fall. A few clans continue to resist, but we will have them in time.” He spoke as easily about it as if it were the weather.

“Is what’s happened serious?” Vhalla asked, glancing over her shoulder. They had long since passed the entrance to the servants’ and staffs’ quarters, and Vhalla’s tension slowly ebbed due to her curiosity over the towering walls of glittering gold and carved stone around her.

“What’s happened?” he repeated. Prince Baldair held out his arm as she was momentarily distracted while inspecting a fresco. He remained close enough to maintain contact; Vhalla did not realize how close.

“The war council—” She turned and almost bumped face-first into his wide, muscular chest.

“Oh that,” the younger prince chuckled. “I’m certain it’ll be fine. I have no doubt Father wants to ensure Aldrik understands everything that has occurred for when he returns to the front.”

Vhalla stopped. Everything stopped. Only her breathing and heartbeat moved in the whole world. As Vhalla stared at a distant point, she missed the blonde’s quizzical gaze. It was as though she could see the moment Aldrik would leave. He would go back to war.

“Vhalla?” The golden prince turned. Much more forward than his brother, calloused palms wrapped around her shoulders, completely covering them.

Her head snapped up at the handsome man who now filled her vision, her trance broken. She struggled to form words, and he seemed content to wait.

“Sorry.” Vhalla shook her head, pressing her eyes closed. How had she not realized it before feeling the crippling horror at the idea of the prince leaving? How had these emotions crept up on her? “I just, felt dizzy.”

“Dizzy?” The prince made a low humming noise in the back of his throat. “Now, we can’t have any of that.”

With a laugh and a surprisingly graceful motion for such a mountain of a man, he lifted her small form into the air with ease. There was no hope for Vhalla as she blushed. She fumbled clumsily with her hands, not knowing where to place them as her entire side was flush against the royal’s chest.

“I’m fine!” She shook her head.

“Nonsense. I interrupted your lunch; I’m certain any lightheadedness is from that. Allow me to remedy such.” The prince grinned, and Vhalla sat helplessly in his arms.

Vhalla was distracted from her awkward position as they entered a central atrium with a beautiful stained glass dome, the sun at its apex casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the floor. A gold staircase spiraled around the atrium with several halls leading off at various levels. On the floor was a mosaic of the palace done in painstakingly small tiles.

Vhalla gazed upward in awe as the prince carried her through its center. She stared up at a picture of the world cast in sparkling yellows. A crescent continent was off to the side of the Empire’s mainland, barrier islands in emerald dotting the space between the two land masses. Oceans were cast in sapphire blues, and she saw hints of land upon the edges of the dome; lands she had never heard of and wondered if they even existed.

“It’s astounding, isn’t it?” the prince asked.

Vhalla hadn’t even realized they had stopped walking.

“It is,” she agreed easily, beginning to find herself comfortable in his arms.

“My father wakes every day and sees his Empire shining down upon him,” the prince mused, surprisingly eloquent.

“I can’t imagine what it would be like,” she whispered.

“Just ask my brother.” Baldair laughed and continued on down a hall covered in a plush white carpet.

Her mind began to spiral down a staircase of thoughts surrounding his suggestion. Aldrik would be the Emperor. After spending so much time getting to know the man, it suddenly seemed impossible. Her teacher, her friend, the man she had come to...

Baldair placed her lightly on the ground before a door large enough for two people to fit through side-by-side.

“Where are we?” There was nothing to mar the white walls and golden vaulted ceilings of this particular hall, except for the door she stood before and one mirror opposite.

“My chambers,” the prince replied.

“What?” Vhalla practically jumped out of her skin. “My prince, I do not think that this is appro—”

The door swung open under his large hands and light flooded the hall. Vhalla blinked, her eyes adjusting to the brilliance. She was pulled in with hypnotic curiosity.

The largest windows she had ever laid eyes upon dominated the entire wall opposite the door. He had said they were his chambers, but Vhalla did not see a bed in sight. She did however see two separate sitting areas, a fully-set table for six, a well-stocked full bar to her right, instruments, Carcivi boards, darts, a harp, a lute, and every other form of entertainment.

“What do you think?” He leaned against the doorframe.

“It’s...” There weren’t words to describe it. “This is where you live?” Vhalla felt it must be taboo for her to be in this space, that were she to touch anything it would burst into flames under her fingertips.

“Where else would it be?” The prince chuckled, pulling a rope that hung behind the bar.

“Where is your bed?” Vhalla tried to count the number of her personal chambers that could fit in the prince’s main entertainment room. She lost count at fifteen.

“Through that door,” the prince pointed.

“There’s more?” She tried to consider the length of the hall they’d just traversed and how much could be hidden away behind the other doors.

“A fair bit.” He nodded. Crossing over, he assessed her with his hands on his hips and a wicked little grin between his stubble clad cheeks. “Would you like to see my bed?”

Heat was back on her face, and Vhalla opened and shut her mouth like a fish trying to find air above water. She was in over her head with this man, and there was no hope for escape.

The moment a servant appeared in the doorframe, and Prince Baldair’s eyes were off her, she said a prayer to the Mother.

“My prince?” The man gave a low bow. Vhalla glanced at the rope the prince had pulled.

“I would like lunch for two, please,” Prince Baldair commanded.

“What would you care for?” The servant dared not even raise his eyes. Vhalla realized how bold she had become before royalty.

“Anything is fine.” The prince waved him away, and the man stepped backward with another bow before disappearing down the hall.

Before Vhalla could voice an objection, the prince had her seated in a plush chair at one end of a long dining table, which seemed perfectly proportioned in its corner of the massive room. He opted for the seat next to her rather than the chair at the other end. Vhalla had never been served before, and she did not know what to say or do as servants began to fill the table around her. Guilt tickled the back of her throat and she bit her lip, avoiding their eyes.

“I know why you were with my brother today,” Prince Baldair said finally when the help had left.

Vhalla stared at him open-mouthed. Food hung off a fork before her.

A rumbling chuckle resonated through his chest at her expression. “There was a letter.”

“What did the letter say?” Vhalla asked cautiously, easing her food back onto its plate. Aldrik had been so adamant that his father shouldn’t know of her. Wasn’t he keeping her magic a secret out of concern?

Noticing how he held the fork and knife, she let herself be distracted. He held a utensil in one hand, index fingers outstretched over their backs. Comparing it to how she was cutting her meat with fork stabbed vertical, fist grip, she felt like a barbarian from the Crescent Continent.

“The clerics reported that the library staff had been integral to saving his life. I could tell you were a smart one from the moment I met you. It was you, wasn’t it, Vhalla?” It was phrased as a question, but Prince Baldair wore a knowing smile.

Vhalla stopped chewing. She had no idea what to say either.

The prince laughed and saved her from herself. “I knew it. Well, that explains it then; even my ass of a brother would need to give some appreciation to someone who helped saved his life. Can’t say I’m surprised it took him so long to humble himself.”

Vhalla folded her hands in her lap over the napkin, the one she had only placed there after the prince had placed one in his lap. The inside of the meat was pinkish, and she wondered if it was safe to eat. Wondering about the food was better than talking to the prince about his brother. She poked one of the many forks, pushing it up the table. Why did anyone need more than one fork?

A low humming noise came from her left, pulling her back from her continual withdrawal. Baldair had placed his elbow on the table, his chin in his palm. He assessed her thoughtfully. She wanted to say something, but Vhalla was fighting a losing battle against the cerulean eyes before her.

“You’re not like most of them, are you?” Prince Baldair’s voice was softer than she had heard it before, the jest and levity absent.

“Most of them?” she repeated, bracing herself for a parrot comment.

“You’re not the first low-born I have invited to lunch.” He leaned back in his chair, food forgotten. “They come in, swoon over my chambers, prattle about the food endlessly, try everything they can to make eyes at me. By the end of it all, they’re belly up and bare on the bed.”

Vhalla gaped at him. This prince was nothing like the other. She stood, her napkin falling to the floor without a thought.

A firm hand closed around her wrist.

“Don’t worry,” the prince cooed softly. “I know you’re not like that, and I would never force a woman into anything she didn’t want and ask for.”

Her arm relaxed as he held her in place. His command over her was different than his brother’s. Where Aldrik could transfix her with a single look, Prince Baldair captured her with gentle words and soft touches.

“What do you want from me then?” Vhalla asked. If he knew she wasn’t about to fall between his sheets, then there was little point in her being there any longer.

“I have an idea.” He finally relinquished her wrist, but Vhalla did not move.

“What is it?” Judging by the look on his face, she may not want to know.

“Even if my father wants my brother’s injury to go unsaid, and Aldrik would never admit to actually needing help, saving the life of the crown prince should not go unrewarded. And a lunch is not nearly a sufficient reward.” The prince smiled. “So tell me, what does your heart desire, my little library apprentice? I am a prince; most anything is within my power to give.”

She brought her hands before her and gripped the pads of her fingers. What did her heart desire? After Sareem, after Aldrik, things didn’t add up in her heart anymore.

“Nothing,” she replied with a shake of her head, starting for the door again as though she knew the way out.

“You must want something.” The golden-haired man was quickly in step beside her.

She looked up at his expression. Something in his eyes told her that he was only playing dumb.

“Nothing you can give,” Vhalla whispered, thinking of the news that Aldrik was leaving. If she could have one wish it would be for the crown prince to stay in the South. He would be safe here, the rapid beats of her heart whispered. He would be near her. Vhalla pressed her eyes closed.

“The Gala,” the prince said suddenly.

“What?” She waited for an explanation.

“At the end of the Festival of the Sun there is a gala in the Mirror Ballroom,” the prince began.

Vhalla knew of it. She had friends who had worked the Gala over the years. It was a celebration reserved only for nobility.

“Come to the Gala tomorrow.”

“What?” That seemed to be the only word her tongue could form.

“Think about it—the best food, music, entertainment.” He grabbed both of her hands in his. Vhalla followed him as he took a step back into the room. “I’ll see you fitted in a fashionable gown. And the dancing!”

He spun her in a circle beneath his arm. Vhalla tripped and stumbled. With a laugh, the prince caught her in both hands and she found herself pressed close to him for the second time in one day.

“We can work on the dancing.” Prince Baldair grinned down at her.

“I can’t go to the Gala.” She shook her head, trying to find bones in her legs once more.

“Why not?” The prince seemed undeterred.

Vhalla pried herself away from him in frustration. “Because I don’t belong there.” She grabbed her elbows, hugging her torso. “Apprentices don’t belong with nobility.”

“You don’t belong in my brother’s garden either,” the prince retorted with a shrug.

Vhalla wished she could have kept the frown off her lips.

“He’s dangerous and silver-tongued. Don’t give him an opportunity to weave you into some scheme, Vhalla.”

“I would like to return to the servants’ halls now,” she said with a quiet firmness that she didn’t know her voice capable of.

The prince stared at her for a long moment. He implied that Aldrik would weave her into a scheme, but Vhalla only felt skeptical about the man standing before her. She resisted fidgeting—barely—but didn’t like the knowing glint in his eyes.

“I’ll give you a fake name,” he said finally. She couldn’t believe he was still persisting with this insane plot. “No one will know who you are under the powder, gown, and hairdo.”

Vhalla shifted her feet and braced herself to object a second time.

“It will likely be the last night before my brother and I return to the front,” Prince Baldair revealed, shattering her resolve.

The last night before Aldrik would leave was the Gala, tomorrow. She looked toward a far corner of the room, churning this over in her head. That was it, all the time they would have together. No matter how much she wanted to refuse the prince before her, a question remained: What if she had no other chance to see Aldrik?

“You’re sure it won’t be a problem?” she finally asked the waiting prince.

“No one will be wise to who you are.” Baldair nodded. “Unless you think my brother will tell.”

Vhalla looked askance at the prince and swore she heard a soft chuckle.

“And if people found out?” She shifted her weight uneasily from foot to foot.

“No one will.” It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but it was the best she was going to get.

“All right. If you wish to bestow this upon me as a secret thanks, my prince, then I shall accept it.” Vhalla gave him a resolute nod.

The prince smiled, and she noticed that where Aldrik’s smiles were small and normally just a turn of the corners, the Heartbreaker Prince’s moved in a beautiful symmetry.

“First then,” the prince extended a hand to her. “We dance.”

SHE DID NOT have time to object before the prince had half-pulled, half-picked her up and led Vhalla into the center of the room. It was immediately obvious by the first turn that she had no clue what she was doing—her foot landed on top of his toes. The prince laughed, assuring her that her dainty feet could not harm him.

Vhalla did not enjoy dancing at first. It was awkward and it made her feel ignorant, an emotion that she generally resented and avoided at all costs. But the prince was a surprisingly gentle and encouraging instructor.

“You need to relax,” he soothed.

Vhalla was very aware of his palm on her hip. “Why are we doing this again?” she mumbled.

“What do you think people do at a Gala?” With a toss of his head, he cast aside a chin-length blonde lock.

“I wouldn’t know.” Vhalla was stubbornly focused on her footwork; conversation was secondary.

“We dance.” The prince laughed. He took a step back and twirled her again. This time, Vhalla understood that an extension of the arm meant she was to turn and, while she was not graceful, she did not trip. “You’re getting it.”

“Barely,” she muttered, her eyes still on her feet.

Once she had grasped one infuriating step where they were supposed to glide across the floor in each other’s arms, they moved onto a group-style dance with which Vhalla’s feet had a significantly easier time. She had grown up going to harvest festivals in a neighboring town, and all the common folk knew the simple four-step that was a variation of this dance.

The prince praised her quick learning, and Vhalla kept the source of her abilities behind a small smile. After that, the Heartbreaker Prince began to have an easier time earning smiles from her.

If she did well, he would squeeze her hand. When her eyes finally lifted away from her haphazard movements, she was rewarded with a wink. Slowly, under the prince’s hand and earnest encouragement, Vhalla began to enjoy herself.

It was a different kind of enjoyment than what she felt when she was around Aldrik. This feeling lacked the tension or twitching to break through the skin that she felt with Aldrik. This was simpler. It was as though the golden prince wore everything on his sleeves, and his cerulean eyes promised nothing but the truth. Vhalla stumbled when his lips barely brushed against her cheek.

“You’re beautiful, you know,” the prince whispered thoughtfully.

“I am not.” Vhalla looked away, but their proximity did nothing to hide her hot flush.

“You are, and I wish to ensure everyone will see it at the Gala.” Sliding his palms down her forearms, the prince stepped away from her with a squeeze of his fingers.

Vhalla’s heart was beating a bit harder than normal from the dancing.

The prince pulled a bell cord by the door, and a servant arrived a moment later. The prince engaged in a series of low-voiced orders that meant nothing to Vhalla. Sensing she was not intended to hear the conversation, she wandered to the massive windows that consumed the opposite wall.

The panorama was magnificent. The afternoon sun had the world ablaze, and she could almost feel the palpable joy of every fluttering festival pennon dancing on the breeze in the city far below. Streamers that hung from windows and were posted upon rooftops made the Capital glitter.

Vhalla gave a wistful sigh.

“What’s wrong?”

She hadn’t heard the prince return to her side. “Nothing.” Vhalla took a quarter step away, overwhelmed by his abrupt appearance at the end of her thoughts.

“Ah, Vhalla,” he hummed thoughtfully. “I know when a woman says nothing it is always something.”

“I don’t want the festival to end,” she confessed softly.

“And why is that?” There was a knowing glint to his eye.

“No reason.” Vhalla shook her head, and the brief image of Aldrik vanished.

“The festival is a magical time,” Prince Baldair agreed, following her gaze over the city. “Do you know anything of magic, Vhalla?”

She looked up in surprise, his eyes catching hers again. The prince’s mouth swept up into a smile that made Vhalla uneasy. He knew something; he’d put things together too easily for her liking. Vhalla’s words began to fail her and she was saved only by the door opening.

Prince Baldair asked nothing more about magic for the rest of the afternoon. Vhalla quickly forgot he’d asked in the first place as bolts of silk, velvet, cashmere, chiffon, fur, and fabrics she couldn’t name were carried into the room by a small entourage of servants. Once more, Vhalla attempted to keep her face down, but it did little good as her curiosity got the better of her.

At the end of the entourage a portly, balding man strolled in as though he owned the entire palace. The prince introduced him as Chater. Vhalla shook his hand in a daze, the hand of the man who was the founder of the most prestigious clothing shop in all of the South. He looked her up and down.

Before she could ask a question, the fabrics she had lusted over moments prior were being held up against her skin to assess her complexion. Vhalla stood dumbly, a living model for the men surrounding her, prattling on about the Gala. It was the lilac silk on her cheek that finally pulled her out of her daze.

“Black,” Vhalla said suddenly, unaware she just interrupted the famous couture designer standing before her.

“Pardon?” The rotund man was startled into silence at her sudden interjection.

“I want something black.” Vhalla followed the thought that had possessed her to its logical conclusion.

“My lady, black is not a customary color for a gala.” Chater frowned.

Vhalla brought her fingers together, picking at her nails. She wasn’t a lady. Even though she had discarded her apprentice robes for the festival, she was certain Chater knew it also.

“Well, I suppose that, if it’s improper...” she mumbled. Vhalla glanced away wondering if Aldrik would be wearing black. She couldn’t imagine him dressed up like a peacock, even if it was a gala.

“Now, about the purples. They’re very Eastern; your complexion...you are from the East, right?” Chater was back to rummaging through bolts of cloth.

“Let her wear what she pleases,” Prince Baldair said suddenly.

“My prince—”

“It’ll be a special night, and the lady here has someone she wants to impress, I’m sure.” Cerulean eyes caught hers, and Vhalla could do nothing more than swallow.

“Well, I will need to get additional fabric,” Chater said uneasily, keen on the fact that his companions had some unspoken communication.

Vhalla’s eyes followed the round man out of the room, until the muscled form of the prince broke her vision.

“Vhalla,” Prince Baldair spoke softly.

“My prince?” she whispered. Just like the last time, his palm was on her cheek before she was even aware of the movement of his arm.

“Chater is right. It is unconventional for a gala,” he noted thoughtfully.

“How unconventional is black?” Vhalla made no motion away from the prince’s touch.

“Very.” She was vaguely aware of his thumb moving over her cheek as he spoke. “Vhalla, you’re a pretty girl, you know. You don’t need to go down the unconventional road to be noticed. Good men will notice you without all that; the men you want to notice you. I’m sure good men have already noticed you.”

“I-it’s not that,” her voice wavered. Vhalla struggled to find an explanation.

“I will show you.” The golden-haired prince smiled encouragingly. “You can have your black, but I will be the one who shows you how dazzling you are.”

The designer returned, and Vhalla’s face flushed red hot as the prince made no haste in removing his hands from her person. She took a chaste step away. Chater was unbothered by what he had seen and continued to talk on about silhouettes and skirts. Vhalla found herself focusing more on the prince’s easy smiles and his input, during the process, than the designing. What men did he think would be noticing her?

When Chater left, the sky was ablaze and she was uncertain what dress had been designed for her.

“Now remember, Vhalla,” Prince Baldair offered her his elbow. She took it and they started for the door. “Come back to the servants’ entrance around noon tomorrow. I’ll have someone there ready to help you prepare.”

“My prince, that isn’t necessary,” she denied with a shake of her head.

“It most certainly is!” Prince Baldair chuckled. “You don’t think I’d put you in a Chater dress and have your hair and makeup be left undone, do you?”

“No, of course not...” Vhalla’s free hand went up to her head, feeling the frizzy mass that was her hair.

“Don’t fret, you’ll be beautiful.” The prince smiled, his hand on the door latch. “Just remember to save a dance for me when every man of the Court is begging to be your partner.”

“I doubt that will happen.” Vhalla laughed, looking up at her companion with a light smile.

“Then I have a dance?” Prince Baldair asked again, as they stepped into the hallway.

“You’ve already had one.” Vhalla’s lips pressed together in a little grin.

“Another?” He leaned closer to her.

“How could I refuse?” She laughed lightly, beginning to grow more accustomed to his proximity and casual nature.

The prince’s footsteps paused, and Vhalla’s gaze swung forward. Standing little more than five steps across the hall was a tall silhouette that made her jaw slacken. She felt Prince Baldair’s bicep tighten under her palm, trapping it. Aldrik’s eyes flicked from her to the golden-haired man at her side.

“Hello, brother,” Prince Baldair hummed sweetly.

Ebony eyes bore deep holes into Vhalla. If Aldrik had heard his brother, there was no response other than a twitch under his eye. Vhalla suddenly felt very small, small enough to fall off the earth. It was uncomfortable. It hurt.

“How did the war council go?” The golden prince seemed to be pleasantly unaware of the tension that resonated between his company and his brother.

“Fine.” Aldrik’s voice brought her cowardly eyes back to him. The word was as cold as it was curt.

Vhalla opened her mouth to speak but there was nothing she could say, not in front of Prince Baldair.

“I look forward to marching on the North again as soon as this nonsense of a festival has ended.” The elder prince’s words were punctuated with the slamming of his door and the laughter of the younger.

Vhalla must have missed the joke because she didn’t feel like laughing. If she tried, she may end up being sick.

With a kiss on a numb cheek, Prince Baldair left her at an entrance to the servants’ quarters.

Agony, her blood had been poured out and replaced with something cold and painful. Vhalla raced through the halls and when she reached her door, she shut it as loudly as possible, which made her feel no better. She threw herself onto her bed for her pillow to muffle a cry.

She didn’t want any more princes. She was finished with nobility, and the last thing she was inclined to do was go to that pointless Gala. Vhalla rolled onto her back, her eyes stinging with something resembling anger. Everyone was right. Prince Baldair was the better of the two princes. He was kind, thoughtful, lighthearted, and simple to understand.

But he didn’t have the same wit as his brother. He didn’t possess the same flair with his words nor grace in his step. He couldn’t command a room in the same way. He certainly didn’t have shoulder-length raven hair nor wonderfully pronounced cheekbones.

Vhalla groaned. She was a foolish girl. Mixing with princes only led to pain. She was done.

A knock on her door pulled her to her feet.

“Just a minute,” Vhalla called, running her palms over her face. She was pleased that no tears had escaped, whatever the tears would have meant. But she was certain her eyes were red. The person knocked again and each rap sent a small tickle of pain between Vhalla’s temples. She yanked open the door. “What?”

“We need to talk.” Roan pushed her way through the doorframe.

“Roan, now is not—” Vhalla began to sigh as the blonde rounded on her.

“Not a good time? Too busy fraternizing with the golden prince?” Roan’s finger was in her face.

“What?” Dread seeped into each beat of Vhalla’s heart.

“The servants were all abuzz. Library girl with the Heartbreaker Prince, in his room, eating his food.” Roan crossed her arms. “Did you think you wouldn’t be noticed?”

“I didn’t,” Vhalla shook her head. “I can explain.”

“You don’t have to explain to me.” Roan shook her head, sending her curls bouncing in every direction. “It’s Sareem you’ll need to explain to.” Vhalla shut her gaping mouth for a moment. Did Roan’s eyes look red? “Vhalla, did you even think about how this will make him feel? You running off with a prince? He’s a man, and he’s head over heels for you. He went out of his way. He planned a whole day just for you. He arranged food and entertainment, and now you’re breaking bread with another man? With a prince known for his bedroom conquests? How will that make Sareem feel?”

Vhalla’s arms were limp at her sides as her shoulders sagged. Went out of his way? Planned a whole day? She brought a palm to her forehead, remembering a dark pair of accusatory eyes. Was that what Aldrik thought? She groaned for even wondering. If that had been what Aldrik thought, did that mean the crown prince was jealous about his brother and her?

“I see you have enough sense to feel bad now.” Roan threw her hands up in the air. Vhalla had never seen her friend so annoyed. “Really, he’s a good man. I wasn’t going to say anything, but now, after today...” Roan shook her head.

“What? What is it?” Vhalla wasn’t sure if she was prepared for more.

“I don’t know what you’re into right now or why, but I caught Sareem in the section of mysteries today, on a festival day, of his own accord,” Roan hissed. “Do you know what he was doing there?”

“What?” Vhalla asked cautiously.

“He was reading books on magic!” Roan snapped. “Something about eradication. I don’t know, he seemed really eager—too eager. Sareem has always stayed on the right side of things. I’ve always known you to be curious. The first to go out of her way for knowledge. I tolerated it just like I tolerated you and him. But this, I can’t tolerate this. I won’t let you wrap him up in magic for your curiosities.”

Vhalla stared at her friend blankly, wondering if she had ever really seen the woman opposite her. Roan, her friend, the girl she had grown into a woman alongside, the person who she had shared her secrets with. When had they become so different?

“What’s wrong with magic?” The defensive words escaped as fast as Vhalla thought them.

“What’s wrong with magic?” Roan took a step back as though threatened.

“Really, what’s wrong with it?” Vhalla persisted, taking a step forward. “Have you ever read about it? Have you ever taken the time to learn about it? Have you ever spoken to a sorcerer without closed-minded fear?”

“Why would I?” Roan squared her shoulders and planted her feet. “It’s not something good people should bother with; I thought you knew that. Your father served in the War of the Crystal Caverns.”

“That wasn’t the fault of magic, if you’d actually read—” Vhalla began.

“I can’t believe it,” Roan interrupted sharply. “What happened to you? I thought we were the same. I let you have Sareem because that’s what friends do. I thought you would treat him well. I let it slide that you lied to me about you and him, but I was fine because I wanted him to be happy.”

“What?” Vhalla breathed. “You let me have Sareem?” Roan’s sudden anger, her looks over the past weeks, the sense of betrayal, it all came into focus. “You like him.”

“What?” It was Roan’s turn to be taken aback.

“You, you’re in love with Sareem.” It wasn’t a question. Roan shot her a seething glare. How hadn’t she seen it sooner? Vhalla laughed at herself.

“What’s so funny?” Roan asked defensively, no denial of the accusation in sight.

“It’s funny, because you should have taken him.” Vhalla shook her head. “I don’t want him, not as a lover.”

“What? How could you not? Then why?” Roan was flabbergasted. “What do you want then?” The blonde’s prior anger and frustration melted into confusion. “Your books? The Heartbreaker Prince?”

“No,” Vhalla said softly. “I want a place you hardly dare to even whisper. I want the bravery to not only read, but to do. I want a man, not a library boy. A man who is tall and witty and knows more about the world than you would ever dare dream.

“So listen, I am going to go into this world, and I don’t care if you and your narrow mind cannot be a part of it. Go to the Golden Bun tomorrow when the moon is a third in the sky. Meet Sareem there in my place. Tell him you love him, tell him I don’t, and go live your lives.” Something in Vhalla’s gut ached. She wasn’t sure what from. Be it her harsh words or the harsher truth they stemmed from. She had loved these people, and they attacked her without asking her what the changes in her life meant, what the truth was. Vhalla had never known the pain of rejection like this and all it made her want to do was reject them just as coldly in return.

“What are you wrapped up in?” Roan whispered. Her anger and frustration had shifted to a sympathy that grated Vhalla.

“I’m simply learning where I’m meant to be.” It was the only response, because it was the truth.

“Vhalla, listen, I—”

“I think you should go, Roan.” Vhalla motioned out the door she held open before the other girl could finish her sentence.

“If you’re in trouble, we can help.” Roan stopped in the doorframe.

“I don’t need your help,” Vhalla responded coolly.

Roan met her gaze, and they stood a long moment. In all their past tiffs, this would be the time when one of them would smile, crack a joke, and they would laugh. This would be the second that they hugged and flopped onto the bed to talk about how stupid they were and then share gossip before running off to dinner.

The sun sunk lower into the sky. Vhalla wasn’t about to be that girl. Apparently, neither was Roan.

The second the door closed, Vhalla rushed to the small portal that was her window, gulping in the evening breeze. Tomorrow, she would speak to the master before heading to the Gala. Vhalla stared off at the horizon and wondered if she could have a window as big as Larel’s in the Tower.

IT WAS EASY to wake up and get ready the next morning. Vhalla hadn’t actually slept. Her mind had spent the whole night processing everything that had happened. Things were moving faster than an avalanche, and it felt like her only option was to run with the moving ground under her feet—or be swept away by it.

The master would be headed to the library about now. Even during the Festival of the Sun, someone had to tend to the books, and if the majority of the apprentices were off enjoying the celebrations, then it fell to the master.

Vhalla tugged on the hem of her shirt as she made her way through the mostly-deserted halls to some of the better levels of the palace. She would have to make her conversation short and direct.

Soon she found the courage to knock on Mohned’s chamber door. She waited, shifting her weight from foot to foot and fidgeting until she heard a soft shuffling sound right before the door opened. The timeworn and hunched frame of the master was swathed in a crimson robe.

“Vhalla?” Mohned adjusted his spectacles.

“Master, I need to speak with you,” she said before her resolve was lost and all hope along with it.

“Very well.” The master stepped to the side, permitting her entry.

Vhalla had been working with the master for seven years, but every time she entered his room she would still feel a sense of awe. Her time with princes had diminished some of that awe, but here she still felt some wonder as she looked at the bookshelves that ran the length of one wall. Each leather bound spine seemed to look at her, as if betrayed by what she was about to do.

“What do you need, Vhalla?” The master occupied one of three chairs around a small table, motioning at one opposite.

“I, well,” she sat as though pins and needles awaited her. “Master, I am so thankful for everything you have done for me all the years.”

“You are welcome.” The master’s beard folded around his weathered smile.

“But, you see, I...” Vhalla stared at the milky eyes of the man who had taken care of her since she had first set foot in the palace. She was going to betray all he had ever done for her. He had given her everything she had, and now she was to tell him that she would leave. “I can’t...”

“What can you not do?” the master asked thoughtfully, when words failed her.

“I can’t be in the library anymore,” Vhalla whispered. She saw nothing as the confession slipped past her lips and across the point of no return. The master’s silence worked her into an instant frenzy of fear and guilt. “Master, I want to be. I mean, part of me wants to be. But, you see, there’s this other part. There’s this part of me I never knew I had—and it may be something, something special. Master Mohned, I wish I could have both but I don’t think I can and I don’t think I can stay as a library apprentice.”

“I know, Vhalla,” he said softly, cutting off her rambling.

“You know?” she blurted in surprise.

“I do,” the master nodded.

“No, master, this isn’t—”

“You’re a Windwalker,” the master said simply.

Vhalla’s chest tightened. She suddenly felt raw and exposed, as though everything she knew had been stripped from her.

“M-master, that’s...” She couldn’t deny it, and the master did not make her.

“The prince came to me.” Master Mohned leaned back in his chair. “A few months ago he came to me and asked about you by name.”

“Prince Aldrik?” she whispered.

“The same.” Mohned nodded. “He came to me because he thought I could help him.”

“How?” Why hadn’t the prince told her that he had shared her secret with someone outside the Tower?

“Well, when I was a young man, about your age, I engaged in a certain kind of research,” Mohned began. “I wrote books, though many have since been confiscated, if they still exist at all.”

“Books about what?” Something was on the verge of clicking into place.

“About Windwalkers,” Mohned said easily.

“The Windwalkers of the East,” Vhalla breathed. “It really was you who wrote it, then?”

“Indeed.” The master nodded.

Vhalla’s head spun. Her world had suddenly entered into a backwards land that made less and less sense by the minute. It was a world where not everyone in the library was fearful of who, of what she was. The master knew enough about her magic that he had written books about it, enough that a prince had spoken to him personally. She was so off-balance that Vhalla did not even have time to feel anger or betrayal at the master for not telling her sooner.

“Vhalla, do you know where I am from?” the master questioned. She shook her head. “I am from Norin.”

“The West?” she pointed out dumbly.

He chuckled. “I know you have not forgotten your geography due to a day or two off work. Yes, I am Western.” Vhalla had never seen Master Mohned’s hair any color but white. His eyes were milky with age, and his skin had turned pale and ashy from years indoors. He could have been from anywhere.

“I was born in Norin to a poor family who lived on the edge of town, and not the good edge, mind you. I imagine my childhood wouldn’t have been unlike your own had I been in the country. But I was in the city, and the city is a harsh place for anyone to grow up.”

When she nodded her understanding, he continued, “My father was a guard, and my mother a kitchen maid in the castle of Norin. My parents did not have many prospects, but they always put food on the table and a lit fire in the hearth. They also knew the value of literacy for the prospect of advancement. So, one spring my father told me that he was going to take me with him to work. There was a man who was willing to teach me my letters.” The master shifted in his seat, adjusting his robes before continuing.

“What started out as an occasional lesson quickly evolved into daily practice. But I soon realized that these lessons were not free.” Mohned looked through her as he recounted his tale.

Vhalla thought back to her own parents. If her mother had not been able to teach her to read, Vhalla had honest doubts her parents would have been able to pay for a tutor.

“I did not want to be a burden to my family, so I began to help my father and the guard to earn small amounts of change here or there. I was only a boy, younger than you were when you joined us, but the other guards were kind enough to keep things off the books.” Mohned stroked his beard a moment. “Eventually, my father began telling me strange stories on the way home. They were stories of a land far to the east and people who could control the wind, like our own sorcerers controlled the flames. For a while, I thought my father was making up tales to entertain me.”

“But one day, when I was delivering lunch, I found him sitting outside a prison cell deep in the dungeon.” Mohned sighed softly. “In the cell was an old man, he was hunched and frail. He wore a long beard, and his hair was uncut. He had never seen the sun. His parents were taken when they were young, and he had been born in captivity.”

“A Windwalker,” Vhalla whispered faintly.

Mohned nodded. “The last Windwalker,” Mohned corrected.

“From then on I began sneaking to the dungeons in my free time,” Mohned continued his story. “I’d steal lead and scraps of paper from my writing classes and take notes on what he said. Some days were better than others. Men were not made to live in cages, Vhalla; it does things to the mind that are unlike any other hardship. But I recorded his words faithfully—including his insanities. For my final project with my teacher, I compiled the stories and knowledge the Windwalker had given me into a book titled, The Windwalkers of the East.”

Vhalla stared at her lap, unsure of how to process everything. There were forces at work that she barely understood. Men and women enslaved in the depths of the West. Aldrik’s Western black eyes flashed before her mind.

“I tried to warn you.” The master’s shoulders hunched and his eyes seemed dull. “I saw your growing distractions. I knew the prince had confirmed what you are.”

“Master,” Vhalla whispered her borderline treasonous words. “Is he as dangerous as they say?”

He looked at her for a long time, just stroking his beard in thought. Vhalla swallowed and wondered if she really wanted the answer to her question. She balled her fingers into fists to keep them from shaking or fidgeting.

“I suppose it depends on who asks that question,” he finally said.

“I am asking.” Vhalla pressed. “I know what they say about him. I know they call him silver-tongued and a Fire Lord, that his eyes glow red with rage. I know he can be thoughtless when it comes to something he wants. But he’s not, he’s also...different.”

“I think,” the master gave her a tired smile, “you already know the answer to your question.”

“I want to join the Tower.” Vhalla finally found enough courage to say it aloud.

“I figured as much.” The master nodded, and then shook his head. Vhalla tried to make sense of the conflicting movements. “I should have told you all of this sooner. Forgive me for being a selfish old man, Vhalla, but I suppose I didn’t want to see you go.” She smiled softly, as if that would ever upset her. “I envisioned your opportunities in the library; I wanted you to replace me someday.”

Vhalla inhaled sharply. There was a time where that would have been her dream. But her dreams had changed.

“Thank you, master,” Vhalla said thoughtfully. “I wish, I could have been that for you.”

“No,” Mohned shook his head. “You are destined for far greater things.” The master began to struggle to his feet, and Vhalla stood as well, realizing their conversation had reached its natural end.

She wanted to think of something else to say, overcome with an overwhelming desire to continue their discourse in any way possible. There had to be more to talk about, things she needed to tell the master and he needed to tell her. Perhaps they could order a light breakfast and reminisce. Vhalla thought frantically for something to elongate their discussion—at the fringe of her thoughts was the frightening realization that she had just set change in motion.

“It is the last day of the Festival,” the master pointed out thoughtfully, ignorant of Vhalla’s internal turmoil. “I will contact the Minister of Sorcery tomorrow. No one intends to do any work today.”

“That’s fair,” Vhalla agreed with a nod.

A gnarled hand closed around her shoulder. “I wouldn’t look so scared if I were you.” The master was not as ignorant as she thought. “I think your shadow is looking out for you.”

“My shadow?” Vhalla whispered.

The master only smiled. “And Vhalla,” he continued without further explanation. “You have been like a daughter to me all these years. Don’t think you can walk out with any expectations of visiting me often.”

“Of course not, master.” Vhalla’s eyes suddenly burned.

“I will tell you one more thing.” The master paused at the door. “The prisoner told me that it was a shame the East and West could not have worked together. He said, ‘Fire needs air to live. Air fuels fire, stokes it, and makes it burn brighter and hotter than it ever could alone. But too much air will snuff it completely, just as too many flames will consume all the air. They are far greater than the sum of their parts together, but are equally as dangerous to each other’s existence.’”

VHALLA ATE BREAKFAST alone. Sareem was nowhere to be seen, which was easier than the looks and silent treatment from Roan. The blonde sat with Cadance and let the young girl jabber on as though she were interested in the inner workings of a twelve year old’s mind. Vhalla glanced over from time to time but Roan never made eye contact.

It was for the better. Roan may not understand now, but Vhalla was out of her life. After learning that Sareem had been looking up books on eradication, she had no doubt that the two would go on to live their happy little normal lives as far from magic and her as possible. Vhalla left her tray and mostly untouched food at the receiving window. She stole one last look at Roan.

Yet, despite it all, Vhalla wished she could have told her friend. Roan looked over suddenly and Vhalla quickly stepped out of the hall before any exchange could happen.

She would apologize to Roan after things were settled with the Tower, Vhalla decided. After the initial shock had faded and people had a chance to absorb her transition, she would find Roan alone, and explain everything. She would apologize to her friends for the secrets and harsh words.

Maybe, Vhalla paused to look through a window at the rising sun, she would even tell her friend about the prince. Aldrik would be in the South by then and who knew when, if ever, he would be coming back. Her gut felt like it had been stabbed by an ice cold dagger. The last time he had gone to war he almost died. Vhalla gripped her shirt above her stomach.

It made her walk all the faster to the servants’ entry to the royal halls. She had to see him tonight. She had to tell him that she had decided to join the Tower. She had to thank him for helping her all the weeks they had been together. Vhalla leaned against a wall for support. She had to tell him how she felt—whatever that was.

Vhalla tilted her head back, taking a slow breath. Too many things needed to be said. She could only pray she would find the time to say them.

Less than an hour later, Vhalla was ushered through the small door that blended seamlessly with the wall beyond.

The servant waiting for her spoke little and locked the passage behind them before leading her down the vaguely familiar hall. Vhalla said nothing, skeptically wondering if this was one of the people who had spread rumors of her and the Heartbreaker Prince.

The man turned away from the prince’s chambers and walked up some narrow side-steps. Vhalla wondered if Aldrik was just beyond reach, preparing for the Gala himself. These thoughts, and anything else, were lost as she was brought to a guest chambers.

While not as lavish as the prince’s quarters, Vhalla was mesmerized by the large sitting area with an attached bedroom. Connected to that was a private bath. Vhalla’s hands touched every inch of white marble, porcelain, and gold within reach. It was physical verification that the splendor before her was not a magnificent dream. Her fingers rested on two gold handles attached to matching hot and cold spigots.

Turning the knobs, Vhalla sat in wonder of the magic that was hot water on demand. The servant and staff baths had running water, but it was whatever temperature happened to come out of the tap that day. Sometimes there were only large barrels to fill smaller bowls to take a sponge bath with.

“Ouch!” Vhalla snatched her hand back from the steaming water.

“Be careful, my lady,” a servant girl said from the doorway. Vhalla stood, looking at the two silent shadows who had taken over her care. Her flesh was pink, but it wasn’t a bad burn.

“I’m not a lady,” Vhalla said softly, opening and closing her tingling fingers.

“We know,” a darker skinned girl replied, clearly from the northern regions of the West. “Would you like help washing?”

“No, I can do it.” Vhalla shook her head, looking away in shame.

Vhalla drew her own bath and stripped—after the servants had left the room. She wondered if it was customary for royalty and nobility to have assistance while bathing. In the servants’ baths everyone bathed together, so it was not the idea of eyes on her that left her wondering. Just the notion of what nobility was unable to do on their own.

She wondered if Aldrik needed help while he bathed. Vhalla laughed aloud, blowing bubbles into the water with her giggles of amusement. No, she decided. Aldrik most certainly did not need help bathing.

The servants provided her with towels once she finished. The cloths were perfumed, and she smelled of flowers and sweet soaps. Vhalla wore a silk robe and sat in a chair in the center of the room toweling herself dry.

The darker skinned of the two servants began tugging and pulling at Vhalla’s hair, vigorously shaking the water out. The Eastern woman began filing Vhalla’s nails. Vhalla looked disappointedly at her fingers. She really should stop picking at them when nervous.

“Why are you doing this?” Vhalla finally asked, unable to handle the silence any longer.

“Because you are a noble lady from a mysterious and foreign land.” The Eastern servant grinned up at her. The servant behind her snorted, and Vhalla rolled her eyes.

“You know who I am,” Vhalla said, unsure of what made her so determined to find out the answer.

“Well, that’s why we’re helping you.” The woman with her fingers in Vhalla’s hair said thoughtfully. Vhalla attempted to turn and look at the person speaking, but she was only left immobile as her hair snagged on something. “Don’t move, idiot.” The servant sighed. “Listen, even if we weren’t ordered to help you, we still wouldn’t mind.”

“Mmhm.” The Eastern servant had shifted to Vhalla’s feet. Vhalla wondered why she needed her toenails done as well. Wouldn’t they be in shoes? “We asked around after Chater was called in. The Heartbreaker Prince has entertained lots of ladies for lunches and, well, you know what else.”

Vhalla shifted in her seat at a look from the servant. They all thought she had slept with the prince. Every one of them assumed she had crawled into his bed. Vhalla frowned, even Roan must have.

“I didn’t sleep with him,” Vhalla said defensively.

“You don’t have to be so modest around us, we’ve been here since we were ten.” The woman was rolling Vhalla’s hair around strange circular spools.

“I didn’t,” Vhalla insisted.

“Well, if you didn’t, it makes it all the more peculiar,” the Eastern servant continued. “Prince Baldair has never ordered one of his common women to be prepared for a formal function. It’s all on the wrong side of the sheet, hush between the pillows. You’re the first he’s ever brought out in public.”

“But, I, this is not...” Vhalla wished she had something to quench her dry throat. She and Prince Baldair? Was there more than she had previously thought?

“So, we want to show all those stuck up nobles that we’re just as good as they are.” The woman who had previously been working on Vhalla’s hair went over to a large wardrobe. The doors thrown open, Vhalla saw a single garment: a long black gown with a bustier top, capped sleeves, and a skirt of endless draping.

“Is that mine?” Vhalla barely heard her own words. The wonder of it sounded like a chorus in her ears.

“A Chater original,” the girl affirmed with a nod.

Vhalla said nothing during the process of getting into the dress. Her ribcage was squished into the most frustrating garment that she had never even seen before. It was laced in the back and tightened to accentuate her figure. The servants called it a corset, but Vhalla could think of a handful of other colorful words to use.

They painted her face and applied lotion to her whole body. Vhalla was like a living doll and equally clueless. So she sat, mostly silent, and allowed the servants to accomplish their tasks.

The dress fit her perfectly. The bustier top was silk with velvet sleeves and skirt. Vhalla shamelessly ran her palms over the fabric. It felt soft, like what she imagined clouds felt like.

By the time the girls pulled the last curler from her hair, the sun hung low in the sky. They touched up her curls with a rod stoked over coals, after much assuring to Vhalla that it would not burn her hair. Skeptical by the steam and scent that her hair gave as they wrapped locks around the poker, Vhalla obliged them.

Eventually, the servants took a step back and assessed their work. They would touch up this or that before reassessing. With a final nod, they pulled her to her feet.

“Are you ready?” The Easterner helped her slip her feet into heels. Vhalla’s ankles wobbled unsteadily.

“Am I?” Vhalla asked, thankful the young woman had not yet let go.

“There’s a mirror behind you,” she said with a small smile. There was a wistful longing on her cheeks, and Vhalla felt a twinge of guilt for having this opportunity. She turned in the direction of the mirror. Awkward in the tall shoes, she tripped on her skirt—almost toppling forward were it not for the Eastern servant’s support. The young woman laughed loudly. “You need to work on that, Miss Lady.”

Vhalla didn’t even hear the jest. Staring back at her in the mirror was a woman who Vhalla could not recognize. Frizzy and untamable hair had been curled, falling over her shoulders in almost ringlets. In the black gown, her amber-hued skin almost seemed to glow golden. The hazel of her eyes lit with the touch of smoky shadow upon her lids, enhanced by a dark liner. Vhalla took another step closer.

It wasn’t like her palm mirror in her room. She didn’t have to bob her head around to attempt to see her whole face. Vhalla could see her whole body, and she stared in awe. Her arms were scrawny and her chest wasn’t much to speak of, even with the help of the corset. But her waist was small and her neck looked long and regal. She looked—

Vhalla couldn’t bring herself to even think it.

“You’re beautiful.” The woman who had done her hair filled in the word for her.

“Thank you,” Vhalla whispered. There wasn’t anything else she could say, but it wasn’t nearly enough for what these people had given her. She looked like a lady, a real lady.

“Let’s practice walking in those shoes before we turn you over to the hounds of polite society.” The Easterner took her hand and began to lead her around the room.

Vhalla walked around the guest rooms, hand in hand with each of the young women. Like children learning their first steps, it was a slow process but Vhalla eventually took to it. By the time they called for a servant to escort her to the Gala, Vhalla hadn’t tripped in over a fifty steps.

“Will Prince Baldair be escorting me?” she asked the servant who led her down a small side hall.

“He is already greeting the Gala’s attendees.” The servant kept his eyes forward.

“Am I late?” Vhalla wondered if her walking practice had gotten her into trouble.

“No, my lady, you are on time,” the servant responded.

Vhalla wondered how she could be on time if the prince had already arrived to greet others, but she kept her ignorant questions to herself.

Eventually the hallway merged with a major hall of the palace. On one end, two doors stood open wide. Vhalla saw the fabled glittering chandeliers of the Mirror Ballroom hanging from the ceiling before its second story entrance. The servant who escorted her gave a nod to a different man positioned at the door before turning away without a word.

“Wait, where are you going?” Vhalla asked, suddenly aware of how alone she was.

“You didn’t think I’d walk in with you, did you?” The man turned with a chuckle. “Good luck, Lady of the Common Folk.”

Vhalla stood dumbly watching the man walk away. She listened to the sounds drifting up through the doors. It sounded like half the city was in that bright and mysterious ballroom. Vhalla looked down the opposite end of the hall. A few people were making their way up, but nothing would stop her from turning and running back to her room.

Taking a step away from the doors, she looked at where the servant had disappeared. This wasn’t her. She wasn’t some lady from a foreign land. She was Vhalla Yarl, the farmer’s daughter whom no one expected to be able to read or write. Her feet stopped.

That wasn’t all she was. Vhalla turned and started for the doors before her resolve failed her. She already had secrets. She was the first Windwalker. She was something the crown prince had claimed he would protect. Vhalla’s toes stopped at the edge of the light in the doorframe. She didn’t yet know what she was about to blossom into, but it was far greater than a library girl.

“Are you ready?” the servant asked softly.

“Yes. No.” Vhalla swallowed and nodded. “Yes.”

“Listen to the name I say.” He took a step out into the light, drawing a deep breath. “Presenting, Lady Rose.”

Vhalla stepped out into the light and was almost blinded. If one full-length mirror had been overwhelming, the walls of the mirror ballroom were enough to make her feel dizzy. A long stairway challenged her footing, and Vhalla descended, trying to keep a smile on her face.

The room was reduced to hushed whispers, even though the ambient music continued. People were multiplied by the reflective walls and Vhalla began to feel her resolve diminish under all the prying eyes. Why had Baldair chosen the name Rose? It clearly was a fake name. Who was actually named after a flower?

She walked slowly, determined not to fall, her eyes darting throughout the room as she tried to hear the hushed words from the crowd.

They were not whispering about the name, Vhalla quickly realized. It looked as though all the colors of the library’s stained glass ceiling had come to life. Vibrant hues dotted the large dance floor waiting beneath her. Southern blue seemed to be the preferred shade, with a few reds of the West; there were even purples of the East sprinkled in. There were no other dark colors.

Vhalla scanned the crowd almost frantically until her eyes fell on a white marble dais far opposite the stairs. There, standing with the royal family was a prince, her prince. Although the rest of the royal family wore gold and white silks, he stood all in black, as if a waiting counterpart for her ensemble.

Aldrik’s face was dumbstruck. He hadn’t even noticed, or didn’t care, that his jaw had fallen loose. Vhalla smiled brightly at his wide eyes as she walked over to the royal family. The crown prince gaped at her openly the whole way.

THE WHOLE ROOM faded away. The high society could keep their judgments and jeers; they would not touch Vhalla tonight. For several long steps the only person she saw was him, the only judgment that mattered was his—and it felt amazing. The smoldering pair of dark eyes hungrily fed on her every movement.

Alone, she approached the dais and stopped at ground level. Vhalla attempted to dip gracefully into a curtsy, just as Baldair taught her. She had no doubt that one day of training would not make her a graceful swan of high society, but she didn’t fall upon her nose. That was good enough. Vhalla began a mantra in her head to get her though the night, smile, grace, pose, float, smile.

“Welcome to our Gala, Lady Rose,” the Emperor boomed warmly, not unlike Prince Baldair, she thought amusingly. Vhalla tried to find Aldrik in the muscular and weathered man. She tried to imagine Emperor Solaris without the closely cropped beard along his jaw, seeing if she could see any of the eldest prince’s striking features. “We hope you enjoy the celebrations.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Vhalla kept her eyes averted. She had just become accustomed to speaking with princes. The idea of exchanging words with the Emperor himself was still much.

“Baldair,” the Empress’s voice interrupted. “I thought you told me you invited this one yourself.”

“I did,” Baldair announced loud enough to earn some not so subtle stares from a group of ladies at Vhalla’s right.

“Did you not also inform her what was proper to wear to a gala?” the Empress sniffed in her airy tones. Nothing about her speech sounded like Aldrik. “Lady Rose, my son is well versed in fashions, you should have taken his input to heart.”

Vhalla opened her mouth, unsure of what to say. The whispers around her resumed, and her tongue had gone fat and limp. Cerulean eyes stared her down.

“I think she looks stunning.” Aldrik finally spoke and his voice was soothing to Vhalla’s sizzling nerves. Their eyes met and the corner of his mouth curled up slightly as he looked at her. Vhalla looked down again to hide a blush.

“Oh my, dear,” the Empress turned to the Emperor in a hush. “See, he is a bad influence. People will begin to think such dress is acceptable.”

“Come, let us relax and enjoy our evenings.” The Emperor dismissed his wife, as well as Vhalla, with a wave of his hand.

Pleased to no longer be the center of attention, Vhalla fled quickly to the outer edge of the room. People parted to make way for her, though no one addressed her directly. She dared a look back at Aldrik, who was greeting the guest announced after her.

He looked closed off again and sounded curt, but she savored the image of his face in her mind, replaying that stunned look again and again. If she went back to her room right now, the evening would be a success. As the sky grew darker outside, more of the finer players in society began to filter in. Vhalla pretended to be interested in their greetings to the royal family, but really it was an excuse to look at Aldrik.

He wore a long black, double-breasted coat. It fell to right above his knees and had a slit in the back for movement. It was unbuttoned at the top and a perfect triangle was pinned open to show a white-collared shirt with a wide, black necktie that was tucked into a vest beneath his jacket.

It wasn’t quite like the neck ruffles some of the men were sporting, but it did have a bit of volume to it. The jacket was stitched with patterns of the sun, all in black that caught the light perfectly as he moved. Golden rope decorated his cuffs and arms. Beneath, he wore a pair of black trousers—Vhalla was beginning to grow suspicious if he actually owned any other color—with more golden piping down the sides. His normal boots were replaced with well-polished, black dancing shoes. Aldrik’s hair was the same as he’d always worn it, save for a golden circlet that was simple in design, a flat rectangular band across his brow.

She found she much preferred his fashion to the colors and pomp of everyone else. Even Prince Baldair had ruffles coming out of his sleeves and peeking out around his coat, ruffles that bounced when he moved; the Southern styles made Vhalla want to laugh.

From time to time, Aldrik would glance in her direction. She’d give him a small smile in reply and enjoy the heated darkness of his eyes. After the formalities had been exchanged and most of the guest list was in attendance, the Emperor called for the Gala to begin.

The minstrels paused, adjusted their instruments, and picked up a new tune. Vhalla attempted to count the beat as the golden prince had told her to do, but she was hopeless at the technical aspects of music. Instead, she simply hummed along to the instrumental of a classic Southern ballad and tapped her foot as the dance floor filled. She didn’t even notice the royal family had stepped off their pedestal until Prince Baldair was upon her.

“My lady, fairer than the flower of her namesake, will you grant me the honor of this dance?” All his charm was mustered as he dipped into a half bow. Vhalla blinked at the idea of a prince bowing to her. He looked up expectantly at her silence.

“The first dance?” she hissed nervously. Suddenly aware of how many eyes were on her, Vhalla quickly nodded. It was only the expected thing to do when a prince asked you to dance. “Of course, my prince.”

Vhalla curtsied and a calloused hand pulled her onto the dance floor. It was the dance he had taught her, three steps and repeat. Vhalla struggled to remember his steps, but her feet did little more than clumsily shuffle along.

Luckily, Prince Baldair had years of training and was a stunning dancer. He guided her effortlessly, navigating her across and between other dancers as they turned. His showmanship made up for her clumsy feet, so much so that she actually felt like she could dance. His hands were gentle and soft as they guided her and his arms supportive to prevent her from falling.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“You promised me a dance.” He flashed her a dazzling smile.

“Yes but, everyone is watching.” Vhalla glanced over his shoulders at the people lining the dance floor.

“What else would they do?” Baldair chuckled, extending his arm. Vhalla turned as expected before he drew her close once more. He smelled of something warm, like vanilla, and Vhalla wondered if he could smell the sweet perfumes that the servant girls had applied behind her ears. There was no question as he leaned in, his breath ruffling her hair over her ear. “If you walk into this Gala in black, you will leave the-strange-lady-that-knew-nothing. Dancing with the Heartbreaker Prince for his first dance? That makes you a dark and mysterious woman everyone wants to meet.”

He pulled away, and Vhalla looked up at him, allowing the rest of the room to dissolve for one moment. Her feet moved without thought, and she simply looked at the man who led her across the floor.

If she had more time to get to know the man known as Heartbreaker, what she would learn?

“Smile, Vhalla. You’re stunning when you do,” the prince encouraged with a smile of his own, and Vhalla relaxed under his hands.

They danced the rest of the song and halfway into the next before there was a tap on his shoulder.

“My prince, may I cut in?” A gentleman gave a small bow. Prince Baldair pulled her close to his side by her waist; he leaned in dramatically as if he were sharing some dark secret.

“I told you so,” he whispered in her ear. Then he continued more loudly, “You may, good sir, but only so long as I do not see you acting a fool, or I shall have to claim the lady back from you!” Both men chuckled and Vhalla was passed along.

She danced with three more men she had never met, all of whom seemed nice enough and complimented her attire. They seemed fascinated with who she was and where she was from, apparently looking to pin the color choice on some foreign and peculiar cultural difference. She answered as vaguely as possible, keeping the illusion. For one night she could be this mysterious lady.

Four songs later, the band struck up a large group dance in which people were paired at random before turning, circling, doing a small dance, and exchanging partners. After her first two partners, Vhalla found herself eye to eye with the Head Elect of the Senate.

“Lady Rose,” Egmun smiled as their palms and forearms touched. They circled around each other. “Or should I call you Vhalla Yarl?”

He gripped her hand and pulled her to him roughly. Vhalla made a small squeak of surprise, but everything else was lost as the man leaned in close to her. She was trapped between decorum and a sincere wish to push the man away with force.

“Look at you, playing the part of a proper lady. But we both know who you really are.” He held her too closely; she needed air. “Just a library girl, a commoner of low birth and no title to speak of. Then again,” he sneered at her as they linked arms, “you’re not just a library girl, you’re a library girl who takes secret lunches with the emotionally stinted crown prince.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Vhalla looked at the other couples dancing around them, praying they weren’t overheard.

“Oh, don’t play ignorant. Tell me, is Lady Rose Prince Baldair’s pet and Vhalla Yarl Prince Aldrik’s?” Vhalla’s mouth fell open. “I’ve hardly even seen the crown prince with a woman, and I have known him for quite a few years more than you. Are you someone special? Tell me, has Prince Aldrik finally taken another lover?”

Vhalla’s cheeks flushed against every scrap of will she had, and the Senator watched each growing shade of red with a dangerous glint to his eye. Taking a deep breath, she shook her head and dug deep for her diminishing supply of courage.

“Please excuse me, Senator, I fear I have overheated from all the dancing,” Vhalla announced boldly.

“Certainly.” The senator released her, save for her hand; she fought a grimace as his lips brushed upon its back. “Perhaps you may retreat into the gardens for some air. I hear those dressed in black prefer the darkness.”

The music shifted and partners changed. Vhalla stepped out of the dancing reel. She couldn’t stop herself from looking back. Egmun was smiling and carrying on as though nothing had happened. Vhalla started for the balcony that overlooked the water gardens. She felt a pair of eyes on her back, lifting the hairs at the nape of her neck. She turned, but couldn’t find anyone’s gaze to pin it upon. Vhalla brought her hands together and fidgeted as she plunged through the crowd and into the mostly unpopulated night.

The terraced water gardens had a grandeur that she had never seen before, with wide semi-circular structures overlapping at different intervals of height. The wall of each was thin white marble and the water contained within was flawless and still, reflecting the night sky like a mirror. Marble stairs led down from the balcony and cut a winding path through the inky blackness of the water. Small, circular plant gardens had been placed at varying intervals along its lazy way, before it wrapped back around again on the balcony’s other side.

She clutched the railing and took a deep breath of the clean night air. How dare someone speak of her and Aldrik in such a manner! It weren’t as though they were... Vhalla looked out across the garden with a small sigh, what were they anyway? Briefly, something in the darkness shifted before leaning back against a tree. Vhalla was down the steps without glancing over her shoulder.

The stars stretched out above and around her as she walked to that small oasis of marble and greenery. She stepped up onto the platform, holding her dress, careful not to trip, and smiled faintly. This was what she had come for.

Aldrik stepped away from the tree’s trunk.

“What are you doing here?” The question was slightly accusatory, but there was no aggression in the prince’s voice.

“Your brother invited me.” Vhalla walked under the shadow of the foliage.

Aldrik snorted in disgust and shook his head. “A woman comes at my brother’s call.” He took a half step away from her. “I have heard every variation of that before.”

“I didn’t come for him,” Vhalla whispered softly. The gardens were surrounded by a tall palace wall that blocked most of the mountain winds. The prince heard her with little problem, his retreat stalled. “I came to see you.”

“Me?” He looked back in disbelief.

“Yes, you,” Vhalla laughed softly. Her chest hurt, and she couldn’t decide if it was from happiness or heartbreak. “And you’re out here trying to skip the party.”

“I could not stand watching all of them, my brother, dance with you,” he said defensively.

“Well, why didn’t you ask me then?” She tilted her head to the side, a touch coy.

“Fine. Vhalla Yarl, may I have this dance?”

He held out his hands, and she crossed the remaining distance. His right hand timidly landed on her waist and her right hand settled in his left. She placed her free hand on his shoulder and, ever so faintly, they heard the echo of music across the water. He stepped first.

It was a slow dance with deliberate steps. He didn’t possess the flair that his brother did, but he didn’t need to. Vhalla felt his movements through his palms, the shifts in his waist, the closeness of this way or that. They danced together to a faint melody drifting across the water, among the star-filled pools, with the heavens shining down upon them. She closed her eyes and felt him with every sense she possessed.

He turned and pulled her a half step closer. She obliged with a full step. It was impossible to move without touching somewhere. Each brush of fabric or turn of the head sent chills through her. When his hand shifted from her waist to the small of her back, gooseflesh dotted her arms. She looked up at him and he met her eyes. The silence wasn’t awkward or stressful; it spoke more eloquently between them than they had ever been able to speak with words.

The song finished, but he held her there. Looking away, she clutched the seams of his jacket and rested her left cheek on his chest. Aldrik stiffened briefly, and Vhalla held her breath, expecting to be pushed away. He let her hand go and trailed his fingers down her arm to her shoulder, before it rested with his right on her lower back. His skin was warm, almost hot, and she could feel the outline of his hand even through the corset and dress. Vhalla moved her free hand to his other shoulder, and they stood there together for a long time in silence. He rested his cheek on her forehead and took a breath. Vhalla willed with everything she had for the world to stop, so she could linger in the moment eternally.

In those fleeting moments, the complexities of titles and who they were faded into base emotion. She wanted, she needed him. This man, who was regarded as little more than a curt and dark monster, had somehow claimed her without ever truly touching her before this night.

“Vhalla,” her eyes fluttered closed at the mention of her name. “First the library boy, then Baldair. I am envious of them.”

“Why?” She needed to hear the answer.

“Because they seem to have no trouble finding reasons to be around you. And I...” A deep chuckle resonated through the crown prince’s chest into the ear she had pressed against it. “I struggle to find a reason, and when I am with you, I struggle still.”

There was something strange about his voice. It held a barely audible huskiness that sent heat to the pit of her stomach. Vhalla tightened her grip on his clothes.

“You shouldn’t struggle for anything. You’re the crown prince,” she breathed into the crisp autumn air.

“I may be a prince,” he said as his lips brushed her ear lightly. “But I would trade it all to be a common man, even if only for tonight.”

His lips made her knees feel weak. Vhalla shifted her head to look up at him; Aldrik wore an unfamiliar and heavy expression. She wished she had years with him to hear his stories, to talk about his pains and his joys, to continue to enjoy slow afternoons together, to work out the strange struggle between them that was both irresistible and undeniable. But a clock ticked in the back of her mind. Dawn would come far too soon.

“Are you really leaving?” she whispered faintly. He sighed and glanced away. Vhalla lifted her hand and cupped his cheek, turning his face back toward her. He didn’t resist her touch, and she searched his pained expression.

“I do not know the exact hour. But yes, soon,” Aldrik confessed in a deep rumble.

She bit her lower lip and shifted her hand up his face. Her fingertips grazed his pronounced cheek, his brow, and forehead. Vhalla paused, stopping on the golden crown that was nothing more than a barrier between them.

“Then, for one night, if I can pretend I am a lady of noble birth—” She grabbed the circlet gently with her fingertips and lifted it off his brow. He stiffened as she dropped it to the ground. “—can you pretend you are a common man?”

Vhalla wasn’t sure what she fully implied as his eyes grew wide. Aldrik’s lips parted in surprise. All she knew was that if he was to leave, she didn’t want to leave without experiencing his closeness and warmth.

“I’m afraid, if you leave...” she choked out, thinking of a rainy night that seemed so long ago.

Aldrik lifted his hand to her cheek and lightly ran his fingertips down her face, as if he were worried she may break at any moment. Very briefly, his thumb touched her lips, and his arm tightened around her waist, eliminating any remaining distance between them. Vhalla felt him along her whole body; his warmth, his presence enveloped her.

“Vhalla,” he whispered with a voice as dark as midnight. His nose was almost touching hers.

“Aldrik,” she breathed faintly, as though it were a prayer. No word had ever tasted sweeter on her tongue.

As she felt his warm breath on her face, he paused and turned his head toward the city, his expression drastically changed. Vhalla looked over, frustrated and confused.

The first fiery explosion rang out through the clear night, sending shockwaves across the capital of the Empire.

A SECOND BEFORE THE blast, Aldrik turned his body so that his back was toward the explosion. His hand was buried in Vhalla’s hair as he pressed her protectively to his chest. She clung to him, trembling. Her ears had not yet stopped buzzing when the second explosion shook the mountainside, and Aldrik’s arms pulled her tighter. She cried her fear into his chest at the mind-numbing sound. For a moment there was silence, and she tried to catch her breath. However, the stillness was short-lived as slow-growing noise began to float up from the city below.

Screams, cries, and wails carried up the mountainside, and Vhalla pressed her hands over her ears. Aldrik continued to hold her tightly while she regained a shaky control.

“Wh-what?” she asked frantically, all words and thoughts falling to the rising panic. His grip loosened as he looked over his shoulder. Vhalla shifted her body so her eyes could follow his.

A fire was already beginning to sweep through the city, jumping from house to house. Smoke began to blot out the stars and cover the city in a foul, orange haze.

Vhalla took a step away from him, toward the scene.

“Where—” she stammered, “—where is that?” Her brain felt scrambled from noise and shock.

“Vhalla, you need to return to the palace. Now.” Aldrik’s tone was sharp and he grabbed her forearms, refusing to let her wander from him.

She resisted his tugs, glued to the scene. Something fitted into place in her mind.

“Vhalla,” Aldrik moved in front of her, a hand on her cheek. “The guards will be mobilized. I’ll go help, myself,” he said, trying to be assuring, but his voice sounded strained and panicked. “But I need you to go back in the palace where it’s safe.”

Vhalla stepped to the side of him and looked back at the scene. Her eyes widened as her brain returned to life. She inhaled sharply, her breathing rough.

“R-Roan, Sareem.”

“What?” She barely heard Aldrik ask, he sounded far away.

Vhalla pointed. “That’s where the square of the sun and moon is, isn’t it?” her voice raised in fear.

“I don’t know, Vhalla.” Aldrik shook his head trying to take her hand again.

“It is.” She looked back, and there was no doubt. “Roan, Sareem! Aldrik, my friends are there!” She turned back to the scene.

“So were half the commoners in the city. Now, back in the palace,” he snapped and grabbed her wrist with force.

“No!” she cried, wrenching her hand back. “No! They need my help.” Vhalla turned and felt a hot wind rise up to the sky, carrying the smell of fire. She remembered her confrontation with Roan, telling her of Sareem’s plans to meet her at the bakery near plaza. Vhalla had never told Sareem anything different, and Roan most certainly would have gone to claim the man she loved. Vhalla’s chest tightened. She hadn’t apologized to either of them. She hadn’t even had a chance to explain what was happening to her.

Without any thought, Vhalla was running, ignoring the prince’s cries at her back. Her fancy heeled shoes were soon left behind on the marble, and Vhalla moved quickly in her bare feet. One of the terraces stretched outward to the top of the wall and Vhalla sprinted across the shallow water, her skirts quickly growing water-logged and heavy. She heard a splash and looked behind her. Aldrik had given chase.

“Vhalla! Stop this! You’re not going to be able to help them!” he cried.

But she wasn’t ready to hear reason. All that filled her ears were the sounds of screams. All that filled her nose was smoke and death. All that filled her eyes was a burning inferno closing upon two people she had known for half her life—friends she had foolishly shut out.

Vhalla reached the wall and hoisted herself up. It was much taller on the other side, taller than even the bookcases of the Imperial Library. She looked down a moment, uncertain.

“Vhalla, they may not even be there.” Aldrik had caught up with her. His breathing was fairly easy where hers was labored.

Vhalla began to rip at the gathering on her skirt, starting a tear between her calves and knees. “They were there,” she insisted.

“You don’t know,” Aldrik insisted. “Come down.”

“Sareem would have waited all night for me!” She choked a sob of guilt as she looked at the sky. It was past their arranged time to meet. If she had just told him the truth, he and Roan may have spent the evening in the palace as the three of them had so many years prior. Burdened with guilt and grief, Vhalla jumped off the other side of the wall.

The air rushed past her ears and around her, blowing the remaining skirt this way and that. Vhalla braced herself but she landed lightly in a crouch.

“Vhalla!” Aldrik called from atop the wall.

She stared up at him, offering an apologetic expression before plunging herself into the chaos of the streets.

While she had lived in the capital all of her adult life, Vhalla had spent most of it in the palace. The alleyways could be tricky and maze-like even on the best of days, but now they seemed like passageways through the horrors of the afterlife for evildoers. People pushed against her from every which way, fleeing from the place she was struggling to reach. Some had burns covering their bodies, their clothing hanging in tattered rags. Others had open wounds with blood flowing from them.

Vhalla stepped in something warm and soft that squished between her toes. She looked down in horror to see the remnants of a man who had been trampled to death by the stampede of people. His skull had been crushed and his bones shattered on the street. Unable to handle the sight a second longer, Vhalla darted down a dead-end alley and vomited, screamed as she stared at her bloody feet, and her stomach heaved again.

A third explosion thundered through the air. Vhalla cried out and dropped to the ground covering her ears. She was much closer this time, and she could hear the houses groan around her as the earth shuddered with the force of the blast.

“Vhalla! Come here!” A man’s voice cried loudly, and she looked up. Aldrik stood atop the palace wall. He had run parallel to her as she descended into the city, but the wall was going to make a turn.

She clutched her knees to her chest and trembled, her mind going numb momentarily. A woman’s cry pierced the air, jolting Vhalla back to her senses. Roan and Sareem were still out there. She stood and looked back again at Aldrik with apologetic eyes.

“You stupid girl!” he roared and then jumped from the wall.

First, he landed onto a thatched roof not too far below, ran along it to a single story home that lined Vhalla’s alley and rolled down until he caught the edge of the roof. Releasing himself, he landed fairly easily and stomped over to her. Vhalla could almost feel his palpable anger as he grabbed her arm.

“You—are—completely—mad,” he ground out through grit teeth, shaking her.

“You didn’t have to come!” She shrugged him off with a step back.

“You must think me soulless if you really thought I’d sit back and watch you gallivant to your death!” he shouted, though in the mayhem she could still barely hear him.

“Are you forcing me back into the castle?” Vhalla asked, ready to turn and run once more.

“I should,” he snapped. “But I can see you desire nothing more than to be the martyr, and since no one else is here to prevent that, the task falls to me. So lead on.” She looked at him in shock. “Go!” he snarled.

She ran with him at her back.

Back in the pandemonium, no one seemed to notice—or care—that the crown prince was among them. Vhalla saw women clutching babes to their breasts, struggling to escape from the horrors below. She saw an old man simply sitting on a step, waiting for his fate to come.

Slowly the crowd began to thin and the temperature rose.

“Vhalla,” she turned. Aldrik pulled off his coat and handed it to her. She looked at him strangely. “For the heat, and for some protection from the flames.” Vhalla considered the orange glow on the path before them and took his coat with a nod. He rolled his eyes and pulled off his shoes and socks.

“Don’t you need them?” she asked as she quickly donned the garments. The shoes were too large, even with the laces as tight as possible, but they were better than nothing.

“Remember who I am before you ask stupid questions.” He rolled up his sleeves and stood barefoot in his trousers, white shirt, black vest, and tie. She might have laughed at the sight, if the world wasn’t ending around her.

Vhalla turned back to the road ahead. Soon they began to pass more dead bodies than living ones. The smell of burning flesh assaulted her senses. After they were six flaming houses deep, the scent forced her to stop and retch again. Aldrik placed his hand on her back and she looked at him weakly.

“I don’t smell it anymore,” he explained. His face had taken on a freakish stillness, whereas Vhalla felt she was slowly losing herself to madness. There was no choice now but to press on.

The fire popped and cracked around her, and she heard a building collapse not far away. The square wasn’t far now. Aldrik used his magic to gain control over smaller flames, to extinguish fires with waves of his arms as they went, clearing their path.

Vhalla came to a sharp halt.

Bodies littered the square. Men, women, children scattered about with their remains twisted in unnatural positions, their faces locked in horror even in death. Some of the corpses were aflame, others soaked in pools of their own blood. They had been blown apart, limbs scattered this way and that, disconnected from their previous owners.

“By the Mother...” Vhalla raised her hand to her mouth, a renewed panic pulsing through her veins. The street with The Golden Bun was off to the left. At first, she tried to step carefully over the bodies, but in the end she ran over them, a horror rising in her gut with each sickening soft spot her feet landed on. She was crying, despite the heat and the flames, tears streamed down her face.

Then she was falling.

Tripping on an arm, a leg, or over her oversized footwear, Vhalla landed across a woman’s body, face-to-face with a girl who had a piece of wood lodged in her skull, one eye staring at her blankly.

Vhalla screamed and tried to move away, but all around her was death and carnage. Two strong hands helped lift her up and back onto her feet.

“It is not far now, is it?” Aldrik asked, almost mechanically. She shook her head. “Go on.” He pushed her gently, and Vhalla found her feet again.

She rounded the corner and broke into an all-out sprint. Half of The Golden Bun had collapsed, the rest was aflame. The building next to it had been reduced to rubble, and a small crater in the street suggested one of the explosions’ epicenters.

“Sareem!” Vhalla put her hands to her mouth and called frantically. “Roan!”

Her voice was raw after shrieking three more times. She looked at the bodies on the ground, turning them over or trying to imagine what their faces may have been. By the outside patio, she shifted a fat man and saw a tuff of familiar, cropped, blonde hair beneath.

“Aldrik!” Vhalla screamed frantically. “Aldrik, help me!” He was at her side in an instant, pulling the fat man off Roan. Vhalla looked at her friend, she was bruised and broken but in one piece. Vhalla put her ear to the other woman’s breast.

“She’s breathing!” Vhalla cried. “We have to find Sareem.”

Vhalla looked around; if Roan was here, Sareem had to be close. She began to shift more bodies, treading closer to the former bakery. Vhalla tore at the rubble, leaving bloody handprints behind, no longer sure if the blood was hers or others. Aldrik took control of the nearby inferno and kept the fire at bay while she searched. Larel had said that Firebearers could not feel heat, so the beads of sweat that rolled down his temples could only be explained by exertion.

“Vhalla,” he said faintly, looking around.

“He’s here somewhere,” she pleaded, more with the universe than her companion, hoping that she was not wrong.

“Vhalla.” Aldrik’s voice was sterner.

“I know he’s here. He wouldn’t leave Roan, and he was waiting for me.” Her voice was frantic as she lifted a rock and heaved it aside. “I-I never told him I wasn’t coming. He thought I was still going to come for him.”

“Vhalla!” Aldrik shouted.

She let out a scream.

Underneath the rock was a face—half of a face—that she had known since she was a girl. A face who had made her laugh, who had taken care of her, who had been a friend—like family. Vhalla fell to her knees over Sareem’s burnt and debris-battered body, her shoulders heaving with sobs.

“Sareem, Sareem, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She placed a hand on the cheek that wasn’t crushed and oozing. “I...” She hiccupped, snot dripping from her nose. “I didn’t want this. Oh, Mother, I-I-I’ll never keep anything from you again, Sareem. See, see I came, so wake up now, Sareem. Please, please.” Her stomach hurt from her sobbing and her shoulders ached, as though all the nightmares that she had endured threatened to tear apart her body. Vhalla leaned back on her feet, not caring who or what else she sat on, and stared hopelessly back at Aldrik.

“Aldrik, how do I save him?” she asked, tears staining her soot-covered cheeks.

“Vhalla...” he said faintly, taking a step closer.

“How do I save him?” She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand.

“You can’t do that.” He shook his head. There was a sorrowful kindness under each word.

“I saved you.” She took a shaky breath. “How do I save him?”

“It doesn’t work that way.” He knelt down next to her, putting a hand on her back. “You can’t fix this.”

“Then why have magic?” she screamed at the prince as her tears forced their way out again. Aldrik spread his fingers across her back.

“Because,” he said very softly, his voice strained and tense. Aldrik glanced over his shoulder, careful to move only his eyes and not his whole head. “You need to get down.”

Vhalla hiccupped. As the words registered in her brain as not making any sense, his hand was pushing her down forcefully into the bloody carnage of her friend. Aldrik ducked, too, as a quiet swoosh cut through the air above their heads.

He pushed off her back and spun upward, his hands alive with fire, and Vhalla heard a woman’s laugh.

VHALLA TURNED TO look at their attacker. The silver embellishments on the woman’s arms glittered in the firelight. She wore base leather armor overlaid with a strange piece of clothing over her shoulders and chest, like a rectangular pennon with a hole cut in the center for the head. Embroidered upon it was a foreign script that Vhalla had never seen before. At the woman’s waist was a large belt, an empty sword sheath hanging off of it.

“Well, well, this makes things easy,” the woman spoke, her voice barely audible from behind the faceless mask. If the green skin wasn’t enough, the attacker’s accent was proof that she was one of the jugglers. “I never expected the mighty Crown Prince Aldrik to come running all by his lonesome. It’s too noble for the man who torches babes in their beds.”

The woman rounded them slightly. To the couple’s backs were piles of rubble, to their side was an inferno, and before them was a sword-wielding Northerner. Vhalla knew nothing of combat, yet she was able to see that they were not in a good position.

Aldrik was silent. He stood straight and tense, his hands clenched in fists, fire crackling and hissing around them. It trailed up his arms and singed the bottoms of his rolled sleeves.

“Vhalla,” the prince said roughly. The other woman raised her eyebrow and glanced over to her. “Go! Get out of here.”

“What about Roan?” she asked weakly.

“Go, that is an order.” Even though flames raged around her, Vhalla suddenly felt cold.

“It’s rude to leave a party early,” the woman chimed in.

“Here I was, merely trying to spare you the embarrassment of dying a pathetic death with an audience,” Aldrik lashed out.

The woman growled and lunged.

Aldrik stepped to the side, the Northerner ducked below his flaming punch and twisted, shifting her weight to bring her sword up. Aldrik jumped back, the tip of the blade missing him by a hair’s breath. She pursued with a back-handed slash, targeting his opposite shoulder. Aldrik spun around her side, grabbing the arm holding the weapon. Flames burned brightly, licking up the woman’s skin.

At first, Vhalla thought her immune to the flame. But as she watched the flesh changed color before her eyes, it dawned on her that the green color was actually a fire-resistant paint. She stared in shock as the woman’s mask was thrown off during a vigorous spin to land a sword strike into Aldrik’s side. He cried out, losing his balance and stumbling. Vhalla struggled to find her feet and escape the rubble.

“Vhalla, go!” he grunted.

As the woman raised her sword arm again, Aldrik reached up and grabbed the dark bare skin with his hands. Fire seared across her flesh and she cried out as it began to ripple and bubble under the heat. Her agony rose to a torturous scream unimpeded by any mask, and she dropped the sword. She twisted and fought with her free hand, but Aldrik held fast.

He stood slowly and released his right hand from her arm, which had almost burned away to the bone. Taking advantage of her shocked state, Aldrik pressed his palm to the woman’s face and her body seized. It jerked and contorted as flames licked around her eyes, boiling them in their sockets. Her throat swelled with the internal blaze, and she finally went limp. Aldrik tossed the charred corpse aside and looked to Vhalla.

Vhalla stared on in horror. Her hands were over her ears, trying to block out the echo of the Northerner’s last desperate noises before death. She stared at the charred corpse. That was what they were fighting in the North? Certainly her skin had been slightly darker than a Westerner’s, and her hair curlier than a Southerner’s. But she had been human. She had been no more or less than Vhalla, and Aldrik had killed her.

Her eyes swung up to the man who had both saved her life and burnt a person alive. He had killed this woman and countless others. Aldrik took a step forward, and Vhalla took a step back. She swallowed. Why were they fighting these people at all?

Aldrik laughed darkly. “What did you think I was?” he snarled. “Did you think I went to war and read books?” Vhalla took another step back. “You ran head-first into my daily hell. Would it not be more convenient if weapons of death and torture could not talk back?” Vhalla forced herself not to tremble as she looked at him. He glared at her; the orange of the fire reflecting in the black mirrors of his eyes.

With all the bravery she possessed, Vhalla crossed the distance between them. He straightened and looked down at her, imposingly. Vhalla swallowed hard and tried to muster her last scrap of confidence. There would be time later to ask him about the real reasons behind the war. For now, they needed to go home.

She grabbed his hand, praying it didn’t burst into flames at her touch. It didn’t.

“Quit being stupid, Aldrik. Let’s go.” His features barely softened, but it was more than enough to know she had made herself clear. Whatever this man was, he wasn’t a monster. Vhalla took a step back, turning to grab Roan and start the gory trek home.

With stunning clarity, she heard the distinct twang of a bowstring piercing the air. Vhalla moved instinctively in front of her prince.

She screamed a noise worse than any she had ever made before as the arrow pierced her shoulder.

“Vhalla!” he roared as she fell to her knees.

She gasped for air. She gasped to make a sound. The pain seared through every nerve in her body, across every synapse in her mind. It seized her muscles and forced her to blink dizzying blackness from the edges of her sight. His hands were supporting her but his attention was elsewhere. Vhalla turned her head to try to see what he saw. But when she caught sight of the arrow sticking out of her body, she instantly struggled with consciousness.

“My, isn’t this charming?” Vhalla tilted her head over her other shoulder to see the source of the voice. Her vision was becoming tunneled and she willed her eyes to focus.

There were three of them.

“It’s the jugglers,” she murmured.

“Don’t talk,” Aldrik whispered harshly, his thumb caressing her shoulder as he supported her.

“Careful, they’re, they’re missing...” She struggled to count. “They’re missing two, still.”

He glanced at her and then back at the people.

“Don’t you think it’s charming?” a man asked.

“It really is,” came a nasally woman’s voice.

“The noble prince, defending the damsel. Who knew the Fire Lord had it in him?” the man snarked.

Vhalla heard the ring of metal on metal as a sword was drawn. These people truly wanted to kill them, Vhalla realized, as she felt blood soaking down to her waist. She wasn’t in a position to run anymore; if he carried her, she would only burden him.

“Aldrik...” she whispered. He didn’t move but she knew he’d heard. “Go, go and leave me.” It was her fault he was there in the first place. The last thing she could do in her life was to ensure the heir to the throne did not die on account of her stubbornness. Vhalla closed her eyes and dipped her head.

“No,” he replied in a soft and low voice.

“Your life is worth more than mine. It’s the life I partly gave you, isn’t it?” She smiled faintly as she heard footsteps and the crunch of bodies across the street. Aldrik said nothing. “I should have some say over whether you throw it away or not. So, go.” His fingers gripped into her arms. She was fairly sure he was bruising her.

“You know, we thought it was a lie you were alive at all.” It was the man’s voice again. Aldrik still hadn’t moved. “Our leader brewed the poison that was on the dagger. One prick should’ve killed a large Noru Cat, and I hear you had the whole damn thing in your side.”

Aldrik’s breathing had become heavy. Vhalla was confused about the mention of a dagger.

“Then again, we also hoped that if the poison failed to kill you, the shame of one of your dear sweet brother’s men stabbing you in the back would be enough.”

Aldrik stood, and she swayed without his support. Yes, Vhalla thought weakly, go. She propped herself up with her uninjured arm and turned to sit on rubble so she could face her attackers. Unfortunately, Aldrik hadn’t run. He stood, fire surrounding his fists again.

One of the women laughed. “He’s still injured. Look, that pathetic little spark is likely all he can muster.” This woman was holding a bow, and Vhalla hoped she could keep her eyes open long enough to watch the woman’s face be burnt off. “Come, let us end this now.” She notched an arrow on her bowstring.

The man held his sword with both hands and the other woman followed suit. Aldrik took a few steps toward them, and Vhalla’s stomach twisted in agony. He wasn’t going to run. The three advanced slowly.

“Careful, he may be a beast with clipped claws, but he’s still a beast,” the man warned.

“If he’s still a beast, can we shave him when we’re done and wear his skin as a pelt?” Nasal voice asked.

“I’d rather hang it off my bow and wave it like a flag,” the archer chimed, glancing at her comrades.

That was all it took, and Aldrik seized his opportunity. He charged and grabbed at her bow, immediately setting flame to both the hand and the weapon. The man was upon him quickly, however, and Aldrik was forced to relinquish his hold in order to dodge. He moved his fingers through the air, creating a curtain of flame. The man’s momentum caused him to step into it. The swordswoman dashed around and lunged from the side. Aldrik twisted his body and brought his elbow down hard on the back of her neck, sending her reeling. In a horrible way, he was like a song of death and flame.

“You bastard,” the man groaned as he found his footing again, swinging his sword in a wide arc. Aldrik stepped back, but into the archer’s blow as she snapped the remains of her weapon across the back of his head. Aldrik gave a cry, falling to his knees. Vhalla felt her heart stop.

The man advanced on him with a satisfied grin—prepared to deal his fatal blow. Aldrik stuck out his hand and grabbed the man’s ankle; flames burned up the side of the man’s body and not even the paint could protect his skin. Aldrik rolled out of the way of the crash of the swordswoman’s attack and gained his footing again. Vhalla could see he was already winded, his posture hunched slightly.

The archer charged. Aldrik dodged easily and responded with a punch to her gut, but there was no more flame. The swordswoman spun, Aldrik dropped to a knee and held out his hand before crying out in anguish, his hand on his hip where she had seen a dark spot on his magic months ago.

The man chuckled darkly. Vhalla looked upon the Northerner in horror. Half of his clothes had been burnt off, large chunks of flesh with it. He looked like a corpse returned to life.

“See...” he heaved roughly. “His magic fails him.”

Aldrik glared up at the Northerners. His hair had fallen out of place wildly and it clung to his sweat-drenched face. His features were twisted in pain, but he was still proud and defiant. The crown prince’s hands clutched his hip as he looked up, the sword at his throat.

“This is how a prince dies,” the man snickered and drew back his sword.

Vhalla opened her mouth to cry out.

“Wait!” The bow woman said, throwing off her mask. “I have a better idea.” She wore a wicked grin.

“Let’s just kill him and be done with it,” the nasal woman breathed, still catching her breath.

“Death is no fun without pain,” the archer said darkly.

“I will not scream.” Aldrik chuckled. “Whatever you do, I will not scream or beg, so it will be very boring.”

Vhalla studied the prince. His posture was relaxed and his voice calm. There was something almost inviting in its deep tones. As much as she wanted to believe he was bluffing, the tiny smirk told her otherwise. She hurt, and not from the arrow protruding from her. He had come to terms with his own death, and Aldrik was prepared to meet it at this moment. Her breath hitched in her throat.

“I didn’t say I was going to make you scream.” The bow woman turned and looked at Vhalla.

Vhalla straightened as best she could, instinctively scooting away from her assailant, ignoring the stabbing pains in her wounded shoulder.

“I don’t doubt you, prince. I’m sure your pain threshold is very high. But there are many different kinds of pain, aren’t there?” The sadistic woman almost cooed, her emerald eyes gleaming. “I wonder if hers is as high.” With a cold smile, the woman walked over to Vhalla.

Vhalla looked at Aldrik helplessly before staring up at the Northerner who was about to decide her fate.

Grabbing the shaft of the arrow sticking out of Vhalla’s shoulder, the woman pulled upward, dragging Vhalla to her feet. She shook with the pain and the effort of keeping in her screams. Vhalla didn’t want to die like this, and she didn’t want to give these people the satisfaction of her anguish. Still gripping the arrow, the woman pulled Vhalla along over to where Aldrik knelt. His eyes wore a tormented mix of fury and sorrow.

Vhalla’s foot caught on a piece of rubble and she tripped. The fall ripped the arrow, fletching and all, clean through her shoulder. Vhalla cried out as she rolled in pain among the debris and human flesh littering the ground. Aldrik attempted to jump to his feet, but the man pressed the sword against his throat.

“Down,” he grunted, like Aldrik was a dog.

“Come girl, we’re not done yet.” The woman grabbed her by the hair and pulled Vhalla over the rest of the way. She was dumped an arm’s length from Aldrik, but it seemed like half the world as Vhalla stared at him blankly, shattering at the sorrow of his beautifully dark eyes.

Pulling Vhalla up into a seated position, the woman plucked an arrow from her quiver.

“Tell me, prince, what is it you like about her?” The archer’s voice was rough.

“I like nothing, really; she is little more than a cheap whore I found,” Aldrik forced out with a flat voice.

“Is that so? Very fine clothes for a cheap whore. Do you like her face?” The woman ran the point of the arrow down Vhalla’s cheek, leaving a dripping red line in its wake.

Vhalla winced softly, her lower lip trembling.

“Why soil your weapon with her blood?” Aldrik tried, attempting to glance away casually.

“She has a nice figure. What about her breasts?” Two more cuts were upon her body and Vhalla felt tears on her cheeks.

“Enough,” Aldrik said softly, his eyes were back on her.

“Enough? She’s not just a whore?” the woman sneered. “What about her legs? Want to see them?” The woman lifted the hem of his jacket and Vhalla’s tattered skirts with the arrow, making a deep incision along the way.

“Enough!” Aldrik cried.

Vhalla looked at him and saw the panic in his eyes. The woman had won. The Northerner knew it too as she let out a laugh and released Vhalla, the broken library girl falling to the ground.

Vhalla stared at the world lifelessly. It would be torture for Aldrik to watch her die. They would kill him next. His, Sareem’s, and Roan’s deaths would all be on her hands.

“Don’t kill him,” she whispered.

The woman’s laugh quieted and she leaned over Vhalla. “What was that, you little shit? I didn’t hear it,” she snarled.

“Don’t kill him,” Vhalla repeated. She never took her eyes off Aldrik. “Do what you will to me, but don’t kill him, please.” Vhalla struggled to sit.

The woman laughed again. “You are nothing,” she snarled. “You are less than nothing. You were only something because it was amusing to hurt you.”

“And now it is no longer amusing,” the man said, raising his sword.

“No,” Vhalla whispered.

Aldrik stared at her, unmoving. He didn’t try to run or flee—he simply stared.

“This ends now!” The man brought his sword down over Aldrik’s head.

“No!” Vhalla screamed. In less than a second, the only sound that filled her ears was the wind of the man’s sword cutting the air.

VHALLA SHIFTED ON the cracked and uneven stone floor and cried out in pain. Her shoulder felt swollen and hot; simple movements were agonizing. She tried to prop herself up but she fell back to the floor with a dull thud. Dried blood and smoke were crusted around her eyes; trying to rub it off was pointless as her hands were coated as well.

The room was a simple square, and the air was heavy with the stench of excrement and bodies. One wall had a large portal with a great iron door made of interlocking bars fastened with a padlock larger than her fists. She saw the shoulder armor of two palace guards on either side.

“Hello?” Little more than a dry rasp escaped her throat.

The guards turned and looked through the bars. One had a large mole on his left cheek. The other had two front teeth that caused him to look like a rat.

“Oh, she’s awake,” mole man said. “Better go ring the bells.” Rat man scampered off.

“Where? Where am I?” Vhalla asked, trying to make sense of her surroundings.

“What does it look like? A prison cell.” The man picked his nose and flicked it at her.

“Why?” Vhalla’s head hurt and the warm pulsing of her shoulder didn’t help either.

“Oh, clever. I see you’re trying to play the innocent right away.” Mole man shook his head. “The Senate’ll see right through that.”

She sighed and placed her head back on the floor, closing her eyes. This man was frustrating, and not in the charming way that Aldrik managed. Aldrik, Vhalla opened her eyes as the night began to replay in her mind: Roan, Sareem, the woman, the arrow, Aldrik on his knees with a sword to his throat, the man raising his blade for the final blow. Then—nothing. She had no further memories.

“Sir, sir!” Mole man looked back at her with mild annoyance. “The crown prince.” She struggled to sit. Vhalla wanted to stand, but she ended up mostly crawling to the bars, gripping them for support. Her whole body felt so exhausted it could barely move. “Prince Aldrik, he, where is he?”

“Why do you want to know? Going to make another attempt on his life?” The man looked at her queerly.

“What?” she exclaimed in shock. “No! I want to know if he is all right!”

“To my knowledge the prince is alive and well.”

Vhalla let out a large sigh and rested her forehead against a bar. It was cool on her flushed skin. Aldrik was alive and safe. She must have passed out, and he overpowered them somehow.

“Thank the Mother,” Vhalla breathed before a choked strangle escaped at the memory of her friends who had not made it. Her moment was interrupted by the clip of two pairs of boots down the hallway.

“Yes, she just woke.” It was rat man from earlier. She tried to listen carefully to hear the other set of footsteps. They fell heavy. It wasn’t her prince. Aldrik would come soon. He’d sort this out and she’d be on her way. Vhalla looked up as the men stopped before her cell. Anyone, she would take anyone over the man who stood before her.

Egmun grinned gleefully down at her, and her blood curdled. He wore his golden senatorial chain over a blue robe.

“Well, I can’t say I am entirely surprised to meet you here.” He picked lint off his sleeve nonchalantly. Vhalla stared at him blankly. “It was only a matter of time.” Losing interest in his clothing, he approached the door of her cage, his words as slow and deliberate as his movements.

“You common folk are attracted to the glamor of noble life like—like a moth to a flame,” he said with a wicked smile. “So sad you often fly too close and simply burn away.”

Vhalla couldn’t keep her face from dropping into a frown as he spoke. She was growing to detest everything about this man, and every time he opened his mouth, he succeeded in reminding her why. He was smart, and she quickly realized that it made him dangerous.

“What do you want with me?” she asked, attempting to force her voice to stay as level as possible, to not betray any fear or panic.

“Oh, it’s nothing I want with you. I honestly just want you to crawl back under the rock you came from and never come out again. But, well, you made that difficult for yourself when you attacked the crown prince.” He put his hands in the air before dropping them. “Now, we will need to see you properly punished for your transgressions.”

“What?” Vhalla’s voice rose sharply. “I didn’t—”

“Denials?” the senator hissed. “You must sing a different song before the trial.”

“But I didn’t do anything.” Vhalla repeated.

“Guards,” Egmun sighed. “I think our prisoner may need her memory jarred.”

Rat and Mole exchanged a look that Vhalla had a difficult time reading, before they started for the cell door. The moment the door opened and the two armored men entered Vhalla knew it hadn’t been a good look. Vhalla put as much distance between her and the men as the cell would allow, ignoring the screaming pain in her shoulder.

These men were there to protect her. But they stared down at her with the same look of contempt the Northerners had.

“Don’t...” Vhalla whimpered out of instinct.

“Denials still?” the senator hummed, leaning against the wall beyond.

Mole heard a command that Vhalla hadn’t in Egmun’s voice and his fist was in her hair. She cried out in agony, grabbing at his tense wrists as he practically lifted her off the floor. The man threw her against the wall and the back of her head cracked loudly.

She slumped, blinking away stars in a blurry daze. Mole was on her again before she had time to decide which of the four of him was real. His boot connected with her stomach, again and again. She tried to lift her hand to blow them away with magic, but no sorcery crackled beneath her fingertips. There wasn’t even time to panic as Mole stomped upon the appendage, the bones crunching. Vhalla didn’t feel the next strike to her ribs; she could only feel the dirt and gravel covering the floor pressed against her cheek.

“Do you remember now?” Egmun called.

“Why?” she wheezed. Why were they doing this?

Rat picked her up by the front of her dress. The sound of the seams exploding as he pummeled a fist into her face were louder than her screams or cries for help. The garment could only endure two strikes before tearing and Vhalla fell onto the floor in an undignified heap wearing nothing but her underclothes.

Her consciousness was smaller than a pin by the time their beating ended. She existed in such a tiny portion of her mind that the outside world was only tangible through echoes. Yet, somehow, their cruel words still made it to her fracturing psyche.

“That’s sufficient, I should think. Unfortunately we cannot take the Empire’s justice.” Egmun walked to the entrance of the cell. “Remember this. For I will. This is how I will always see you—worthless trash.”

She blinked up at him, unmoving, unflinching. Hatred had always been described in her books like fire—a hot and uncontrollable inferno. This hatred felt like ice. It numbed her empathy and sharpened her resolve to survive at any and all costs, if for no other reason than to spite him.

Egmun took a slow breath; as though he could feel the daggers she was mentally flaying him with. “Now get dressed.” He tossed a burlap sack atop her and left the cell.

Vhalla’s limbs barely heeded her demands for movement and sitting was agony. Phantom pains from her fall seeped from fractured bones and torn tissues. The sack she had been bestowed had some slits cut into it for her arms and head and Vhalla crawled into it with as much dignity as she could muster.

She had endured worse. The once library apprentice struggled to her feet. She had survived a fall from the palace spires and warriors from the North. Her limbs trembled with pain and fear as Vhalla reminded herself of those facts and faced the three men.

Mole grabbed her and yanked her forward. Vhalla stumbled and cried, instantly hating herself for it. She hated them and she hated her treacherous body for feeling the pain caused by them. His hand dug into her shoulder, and she felt a drip trail down her back. Rat retrieved shackles and bound her hands and feet together. The last fastenings to her sanity were snapping, and they sounded like a raspy laugh.

“As if I can run.” She smiled madly at Egmun.

This sudden emotional contrast almost seemed to shake his perfect poise. He adjusted his robes and said nothing before starting down the hall. Rat and Mole practically carried her as they held her up with each arm.

It was after a short flight of stairs upward when Egmun left them. They walked the rest of the way in silence. A numbing chill crept from her extremities inward. Sareem was dead. The blood dripping from her skull reminded Vhalla of his shattered face. Roan likely was too. The prince had somehow lived, but Vhalla expected him to blame her—rightfully—for everything he shouldn’t have had to endure. The pendulum of her emotions swung far into guilt. It was her fault. All of this was her fault. She was suddenly laughing again.

Why was losing her whole life so funny?

“Shut up,” Rat hissed, slapping her across the face.

Her craze left her, and she hung limply. Blood dripped down her chin, adding to the trail she left on the stairs they were ascending. They opened a door, and threw her into a brightly lit room. She hit the floor with an ungraceful clank of chains, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the light.

She had been thrown into a square cage welded into the wall behind her on all sides. Rat and Mole assumed guard duty to the left and right of the door. There was no other visible entrance into this section of the room—her temporary prison.

To her far left was a different door and empty seating. To the right stared thirteen people, Egmun at their center. The senators had been lined up neatly in two rows. Before them, on the floor in the center of the room, was a dais made of a golden sun. Across was a raised area with three seats—no, not seats: thrones.

In the smallest throne to the Emperor’s left sat Prince Baldair; it was the first time she’d ever seen him without a smile. In the middle sat the Emperor, his expression unreadable. On his right, was a face she knew well. Vhalla choked back a sob of relief at seeing Aldrik alive. She shut her eyes before she could see whatever was written on his features. She didn’t want him here; she didn’t want him to see her like this. She who had killed her friends and endangered his life didn’t deserve his gaze, even if it held justified anger.

The Emperor raised a large staff and brought it down onto the floor three times. The sound of metal on stone echoed through the silent hall.

“I, Emperor Solaris, on behalf of the Mother, call this special trial to order. Senate Head Elect?”

Egmun stood, and Vhalla kept herself from screaming the worst obscenities she could imagine.

“Vhalla Yarl, we the Senate have charged you with recklessness, endangerment of your fellow citizens, public destruction, impersonating nobility, heresy, murder, and treason in an attempt on the life of the Crown Prince Aldrik.”

Vhalla opened her eyes weakly and dared to find the man whom she was said to have attempted to kill. Aldrik sat unmoving; he may as well have been carved from stone.

“How do you cry?”

Vhalla’s world slowed as she waited for the prince to make a movement. She wanted him to stand, to smile, to tell Egmun he was wrong. But Aldrik did nothing.

Vhalla thought about the idea of pleading guilty. They would kill her and this would all end. All the pain that her body and mind were steeped in would be gone. There would be no more choices, no more princes, and no more senators. If she was lucky, they would make this temporary prison her tomb, striking her down before she returned to the cell with Rat and Mole. Vhalla closed her eyes with a sigh, taking a ragged breath.

“Vhalla Yarl, how do you cry?” Egmun repeated.

No, Vhalla sat straighter, pulling her shoulders back despite the pain of the irons around her wrists. If she was to be judged, then let her be judged by the ones whom she had wronged. Aldrik’s eyes glittered with a barely contained inferno. She would endure his judgment, and Roan’s, and someday Sareem’s. Vhalla may have been a sheltered library girl and she may be a yet-realized sorcerer, but she would not allow Egmun—or anyone—to turn her into a coward.

“Not guilty.” Her voice was raw. Vhalla turned to Egmun and his mouth twisted in annoyance. “Senators, I cry not guilty.”

THE REST OF the first trial day was spent detailing her crimes and explaining how the verdict would be reached. The next day would be the start of evidence, people speaking on her behalf, witnesses, and testimony on the Senate’s side. Vhalla wondered if Aldrik would be speaking for her; he was the only true witness she could think of. The third day Vhalla would answer their questions and speak for herself. Then, the last day, she would not be present until they had reached their verdict.

“Vhalla Yarl, it has been determined that you woke as a sorcerer months ago,” Egmun started. Vhalla felt her mouth drop open. “In this time, you have not reported to the Tower of the Sorcerers for training and restriction. Nor have you been Eradicated, allowing your powers to run wild and dangerous.

“In doing so, these powers have progressed so far that they have destroyed public property and likely contributed to the death of multiple citizens.”

A chill ran down her spine. The death of multiple citizens? She’d killed someone? Blood dripped down her neck from her head and oozed from the wound in her shoulder as she struggled to find some memory that would make the senator’s words truth.

“Some also consider your powers to be a form of heresy against the Mother,” Egmun continued.

“There’s a reason why we killed them all!” a Western senator shouted. “They’re twisted, evil. Give it to the Knights of Jadar, they will know what to do!” He was on his feet raging at Vhalla.

She looked at him numbly.

“Silence!” Emperor’s voice echoed across the room. “Head Elect, please continue.”

“This almost pales in comparison to an attempt on the life of the future Emperor Solaris—an attempted murder on our Crown Prince Aldrik.” Egmun gave a small bow in the direction of the prince.

Aldrik’s expression remained unchanged. Pain and fury were burning in the aura around him, but his eyes had a restrained coolness in the brief moments he allowed himself to glance at her. Whatever the truth was, he did not really think she had attempted to harm him.

But what had happened? She was on trial for a whole list of things. These men and women looked at her as though she was a rabid animal. The hatred she was drawing strength from was still strong, but her spine was weak and began to curl as tears fell from her cheeks.

They were talking again, arguing over this or that but it all sounded like noise to Vhalla’s ringing ears. She was tired. These people clearly did not care what happened to her. No, they cared, but what they cared about was seeing her dead.

Vhalla opened her eyes and looked at Aldrik, his head had turned slightly to listen to whatever discussion was now occurring, but he took no part.

Vhalla wanted to blame him. Had it not been for him, none of this would have happened. If it weren’t for him, her magical powers would’ve never Manifested, she would’ve never been involved with the Tower, and she would still be blissfully unaware of one senator’s name.

But Vhalla couldn’t blame him, because she had been happy. For a moment she thought back to the night before, his arms around her waist. The memory was so perfect it almost broke her. Vhalla tried to mentally rejoin the conversation but it seemed to be wrapping up.

“The trial will commence at sunrise tomorrow then.” The Emperor looked to her. “We have already assembled a list of witnesses and people to speak. Is there anyone the prisoner would like to name on her behalf ?” He didn’t even use her name.

“My-my friend, she was alive when I found her. Her name is Roan.” There was a murmur through the senator’s benches at this. “Does-does she live? She’s known me a long time.” In truth, Vhalla wanted to know the answer to her question more than she wanted to demand Roan speak for her. Her friend likely, rightfully, wouldn’t have the warmest words about her presently.

The Emperor looked at his youngest son.

“I’m afraid I don’t know her status,” Baldair confessed.

Maybe she had only imagined hearing Roan’s shallow heartbeat.

“If this Roan is unable to give testimony, is there anyone else?” the Emperor asked.

Vhalla thought, swallowing more tears when she thought of Sareem and the glowing testimony he would’ve given her. Her mind filled with images of his crushed body.

“Master Mohned,” she choked out, struggling to keep the sobs that shook her shoulders at bay. The master would come for her.

“It shall be done.” The Emperor knocked his staff again three times and stood. The princes and senators followed suit.

Vhalla didn’t try to stand again. She looked at the ground. Rat and Mole seemed to be content to assist her, wrenching her roughly to her feet in a way that wrung a small cry of agony. Vhalla’s head dipped forward, and her hair covered her face.

“This session is adjourned.”

Royalty left first and the senators began to stream out one by one as Vhalla was dragged back to the cells below.

After removing her shackles, Mole threw her back into her cell with a rough laugh. Vhalla fell to the floor like a rag doll and didn’t move—her energy expended. She heard the door slam behind her. Her body may not survive long enough to see the end of the trial. The darkness that crept behind her eyes had a heaviness to it that she’d never felt before. It wasn’t sleep her body craved, it was death.

Just as she was closing her eyes, Vhalla heard the echoes of boots down the stairs. For one heart-pounding moment she thought Egmun had come again to punish her for crying not guilty. But the walk was even heavier than his. Too heavy to be Aldrik and yet something about it sounded familiar. Vhalla heard the clink of the guards’ armor as they brought their right fist to their breastplate in salute.

“My prince!” Mole said, Rat echoed. Vhalla struggled to turn her head. Prince Baldair stood just beyond her cell door carrying a large box. His still wore a frown, and his brow was scrunched and lined.

“What was that sorry display, men?” he asked, his voice having all its normal melodic tones but none of its mirth. “You’re supposed to be taking care of our prisoner; she was ten times worse in that courtroom than when I brought her.”

“Sh-she tried to kill your brother, th-the prince,” Rat tried.

“She’s been found guilty of nothing yet, and until that time, she is to be kept alive and well.” Prince Baldair turned with a glare in his direction.

“She’s alive,” Mole offered.

The prince sighed. “I will assume you have simply never been taught how to tend field wounds. I’ll show you myself. Open the door,” he demanded, full of regal poise.

“Senator Egmun gave us clear instruction that—” Mole began.

“Egmun is your senator, and I am your prince. Do we need to go over the chain of command?” Baldair snapped.

“No, no my lord, of course not.” Mole fumbled with the keys. The door unlocked and he pushed it open. “Be careful, my prince. She already tried to kill one member of the royal family.”

Prince Baldair ignored him as he entered the dim cell. The only source of light came from a torch on the wall outside, so his face was cast in shadow. He set the box down with small clanking sound not far from her.

“Can you sit?” Prince Baldair’s voice was even softer than his tired smile. Vhalla said nothing and struggled into a seated position with only a few whimpers. “Good,” he encouraged and reached out for her shoulder.

Vhalla flinched as his fingertips grazed her skin.

“Vhalla, I have to dress your wounds properly or they’ll fester.”

She tried to sit still as he reached for her shoulder again, but her whole body wouldn’t stop trembling. All Vhalla saw was a man’s hand coming for her in the same, dark, cramped space as before. The energy pulsating through her muscles snapped and she swatted his hand away.

“Don’t touch me!” she hissed, her body overcome with shivers. His hand paused in the air. “Please...” Vhalla wanted to break down then and beg him for safety, but she was reduced to sobs and coughing blood through split lips.

“Vhalla,” Prince Baldair murmured faintly. “What happened to you?” He looked and absorbed her battered form for the first time.

Vhalla’s breathing was short and fast, giving her a lightheaded sensation. Her eyes struggled for focus through the rage that was blinding them, but they found their targets. Rat and Mole took a step backward as the force of her glare pressed upon them.

Prince Baldair followed her stare, his body gathering tension like an archer’s bowstring. He took a long inhale of air before exploding upward. The prince crossed the short distance to the door in two quick steps. Mole and Rat had been weary under Vhalla’s glare, but now horror consumed their faces as the prince barreled toward them. Prince Baldair put a hand on each of their breastplates and pushed them into the far wall of the hallway.

“Did you touch her?” he roared, pinning them both in place.

Each guard seemed too shocked to move as the prince’s largely muscled frame held them easily.

“M-my prince, w-we...” Rat stammered.

“You see, the senator...” Mole tried.

Prince Baldair shook his head and gave a small chuckle. “I’m very proud to be a man. Men have duties, honors, which we can stand behind and take pride in.” He raised his eyes to look at them. “Abusing a woman—abusing anyone—violates all of those. You know what I do with men under my command who ignore their duties and honor?” The two men looked on in terror. “I make them no longer men, so they can’t give the rest of us a bad name.”

“But-but she’s not a person. She’s a freak.”

Vhalla finally looked away; Rat shouldn’t still be able to hurt her.

“Go! Out of my sight!” Prince Baldair roared, the rage in his voice echoed down the corridor after the two fleeing guards.

Letting out a sigh, he watched them flee. Prince Baldair turned and looked down at her with large, sad, apologetic eyes. His whole face gave into the expression. Vhalla looked at the floor; she didn’t want his pity.

“I’m sorry. They’re Egmun’s men; he recommended them. We should’ve known better.” He shook his head, a curse on his breath. Vhalla looked up at him warily. “Vhalla, I know this will be difficult, but I must clean and bandage your wounds. I’m sorry but I can’t do that if I can’t touch you.”

She looked down again.

“You understand, you will die if we let them fester,” he added.

“I know,” Vhalla drew a slow breath and reformed her resolve. Egmun had wanted her to give up and give in. “Go ahead.”

Prince Baldair absorbed the woman before him, paying subconscious respect to the creature clawing her way from the dark hole she kept being forced into. With a nod he returned to his box, popping open a latch and fishing through clerical supplies. When his hands made contact with her skin Vhalla didn’t even flinch. This was Prince Baldair, she told herself, and he would not hurt her.

“I was the one who found you,” the prince didn’t look at her as he spoke. “When the first whirlwind landed, I went running. It doesn’t just happen like that. If something weird, horrible, and magical is happening, I normally find my brother close by.”

“A whirlwind?” Vhalla asked softly.

The prince nodded. “The wind was insane. It ripped those Northerners into tiny bits.”

Vhalla stared at him blankly. “Wait, that’s why...” She was putting the pieces together.

“You really don’t remember?” he asked, stunned.

“I don’t remember anything,” she told him honestly.

“Vhalla, you summoned a wind storm. It was almost as big as the entire square nearby,” the prince explained.

“Did I really hurt Aldrik?” She stared in horror.

Prince Baldair raised his eyebrows. Vhalla’s hands went to her mouth and she realized her mistake.

“He lets you call him by name?” The prince chuckled softly. Before she could attempt to answer he continued, “Aldrik was a little battered by this or that in the wind, I think more than he confessed to me afterwards. But he doesn’t blame you. The wind did not hurt him like it did the Northerners.” Vhalla let out a breath. “I could only make it to you when the gale stopped.” The prince ran a hand through his hair.

“My brother was clinging to you with all his might. As though you were... I don’t know what...” Prince Baldair shifted, as if the memory made him uncomfortable. Vhalla stared at him in shock, and he chuckled uneasily. “Jaw open, eyes wide,” Baldair summarized the expression she was giving him. “That must’ve been my face when I saw him holding you like that.”

Vhalla looked down at her bruised hands and wondered if Aldrik would ever want to touch her again. “Why are you here?” she asked. The prince hadn’t come only to tell her all this. Another cleric could just as easily have tended to her.

“Because I owed my brother, and he called in a favor,” Baldair answered honestly. A frown crossed her face; she was a burden to them. The prince shook his head, as if reading her mind. “Because I was worried about the beautiful, charming woman I had danced with.”

“Why didn’t he come?” She tried to keep the pain from sneaking into her voice.

“There’s a war council occurring right now to discuss the safety of the city. He had to be there.” Vhalla nodded mutely. The prince wrapped some clean gauze around the fresh wound at the back of her head. “Why didn’t you fight them off with your magic?”

“I tried...” She choked on nothing in her throat, suddenly overwhelmed. She felt more deserted by her sorcery than by anyone else failing her. “But my magic...it isn’t... I don’t know why it didn’t work.”

“That’s okay, Vhalla. You’ll be safe now.” He mumbled, knowing that words were not about to fix it. Prince Baldair shifted her burlap to inspect her shoulder. “This one is bad. It’s going to hurt,” the prince said apologetically.

Vhalla laughed and he looked at her queerly. “What doesn’t hurt?” she asked bitterly.

His brow furrowed again. “Lie down,” he instructed.

Vhalla obliged. She stared at the ceiling as the prince found a tall bottle of clear liquid.

“Do you want something to bite on?”

Vhalla shook her head.

He uncorked the bottle and poured its contents through the wound. She hissed and arched her back. Vhalla gripped at her clothes, forcing herself to stay still with slow deep breaths.

“You’re a lot tougher than you look.” The prince put the bottle aside.

“Am I?” she asked, looking back at the ceiling as he changed to a jar of creamy salve. “I don’t feel tough.”

The prince shrugged and dipped his fingers into the salve, applying it liberally to the wound. She winced at the pressure.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

Vhalla shook her head. “You and Aldrik.” She noted her use of Aldrik’s name made him glance at her weirdly. “Do you get along?” Talking kept her mind away from the pain.

“We—” the prince sighed, “—we have a strange relationship.”

Vhalla glanced at him; she could gather that much on her own.

Before she could follow up, he turned the conversation on her. “And you? You and Aldrik clearly get along. What’s your relationship exactly?”

Vhalla stiffened, and not from his fingers probing her wound. She stared at nothing. The funny part was Vhalla didn’t know how to classify her relationship with the crown prince.

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully.

He glanced at her as he threaded a needle before leaning over her. Golden hair fell in front of the prince’s face, and his eyes had none of the laughter she’d seen in them before. Vhalla wasn’t sure if she’d ever met this Prince Baldair. He looked exhausted.

“That’s it? You don’t know?” he mumbled, stitching up her wound.

“That’s it.” She kept from shrugging. “How often do you know what your brother is thinking?” The corner of Vhalla’s mouth tugged upward by a fraction, and the prince actually chuckled.

“I just knew you were going to be amusing.” He shook his head and motioned for her to sit so he could stitch up the back.

“How did you learn to do this?” she asked, finding conversation easier than expected, given the circumstances. It was something about Prince Baldair, the same easiness she felt in his room.

“My brother played with spell-books, I played with swords. One gives you paper cuts, the other removes your fingers. I saw so many clerics that I learned the basics.” Baldair held out her arm and wrapped the wound closed. “Careful. Don’t rip your stitches.”

“Tell that to my guards,” she bit out.

The prince didn’t even try to hide a grimace. He pulled out a rag and another large leather bladder from the bottom of the box. Wetting the cloth, he handed it to her.

“Here, it’s only water.” He took a small sip, as if to encourage her. Vhalla didn’t think he’d spend so much time patching her up if he was about to poison her. She took the rag and wiped her face, pausing a moment to look at the mix of black and red that smeared it.

“I must look like death itself,” she mused at the soiled fabric.

“Worse than death.” He did not even try to flatter her. “After seeing you in the courtroom, my brother broke a mirror and a vase, and set a chair on fire on his way to the council rooms. I couldn’t get a cleric’s box fast enough.”

Vhalla laughed faintly and smiled for the first time in what felt like weeks. He pulled out a different cream and ran a thumb down her cheek. She stiffened slightly but she didn’t find his touch unsettling anymore, at least in this limited capacity.

“There we go. You’re prettier when you smile.” The prince reflected her expression on his face but the moment was short-lived. She had no reason to be happy.

“They’re going to kill me, aren’t they?” Vhalla asked calmly.

His smile faded. “They’re going to try,” he replied with a nod.

She respected him more for not lying to her. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Baldair shook his head. “Egmun was calling for it before Aldrik had even carried you back to the palace.”

Vhalla was distracted a moment, trying to imagine Aldrik carrying her anywhere. Prince Baldair cleaned up his box, leaving her the bladder of water, a group of clean rags, the jar of cream he’d used on her face, and a small vial of green-looking syrup. She returned her attention to him as he stood.

“I figure, you have more you’d like to scrub off without me here. The salve you can use on any other cuts.” The prince motioned toward the items.

Vhalla glanced at the gash running up her thigh that disappeared under the sack dress and nodded. “Thank you,” she said honestly.

“The green stuff, Deepsleep, it’ll ease the pain and help you sleep.”

Vhalla looked at it uncertainly; she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be in a drug-induced slumber around Rat and Mole. “Please, don’t go,” she begged faintly.

“I’m not really supposed to be here.” He sighed and picked up the box.

“Then lock me in and take the key with you. Give it back to Mole tomorrow,” she pleaded with him. “Lock them away from me. If I have to be here all night with them, I’ll...” A shiver ran through her.

“Mole?” The prince asked. Vhalla put a finger on her cheek where Mole had his unfortunate facial feature. “Ah.” Prince Baldair considered her request for a moment and then locked the door with the key Mole had left in the lock earlier. He showed it to her before slipping it into his coat pocket. She nodded.

“My prince,” she said quickly. He looked at her, “Tell Aldrik...”

He glanced down the hall. Tell Aldrik, what? She hadn’t thought that far ahead. That she’d never forget their dance, for however long the rest of her short life was? That she enjoyed his company more than she ever expected? That she had yet to still sort through all the complex feelings surrounding him? In the end, she simply had to hope he knew.

“Please tell him, thank you, and I’m sorry.” The prince gave her a strange look and nodded. “And thank you too, Prince Baldair, for whatever reason you did this.”

“Be careful,” the golden prince cautioned. “You seem sweet, Vhalla. Clearly you have something magical about you, and while I don’t really understand it all, I do understand that Aldrik has fire in his veins.”

“He is a Firebearer,” she explained dumbly.

Prince Baldair chuckled softly. “I know what he’s called.” The prince shook his head, glancing away. “I don’t want to see you getting wrapped up in my brother’s dark world and hurt again. That’s all.”

He wasn’t interested in giving her a chance to formulate a response. The prince left with the key, and Vhalla heard his footsteps disappear down the hall. A cold shiver ran through her.

Alone, she was left with her thoughts and the demons that lived there. The memory of Sareem came back to her, and Vhalla made a futile attempt to catch her sobs with a palm over her mouth. It was pointless, and she was soon doubled over, her sobs echoing through the halls. Every time she blinked, she saw his face, his twisted and broken face staring at her with its one good eye.

Knowing the prince walked away with the key, she grabbed for the bottle of green liquid and took a large gulp. Before Mole and Rat returned, she used a little more water and the rags to finish a near pointless cleaning of herself, choking down tears. Vhalla applied the cream to all the surface wounds she could find and then laid down.

She was exhausted and the potion set in quickly. Her whimpers soon faded into silence, and Vhalla passed out on the stone floor with little problem.

SURPRISINGLY, VHALLA SLEPT fairly well. Extreme exhaustion did wonders for sleeping through the night, no matter the conditions. Sitting up, Vhalla’s head throbbed as she rubbed the stiffness from her joints.

She used one of the damp cloths the prince had left to freshen her face, even if it made it no cleaner. Vhalla glanced at her doorway and saw the shoulder of a man standing there. Likely Mole. She lay back down and closed her eyes, not wanting to alert them that she had woken. Another set of footsteps strolled down the hall.

“You got assigned here too?” It wasn’t Mole’s voice.

“Like he’d separate us.” It wasn’t Rat. “Crazy story, isn’t it?”

Vhalla sat up, confused.

“Who’s there?” she asked, and two new faces stared at her.

“I’m Craig,” said a Southerner who appeared about Aldrik’s age.

“Daniel.” An Easterner. Something about his relaxed and youthful eyes made Vhalla feel marginally easier.

“What happened to Mo—the other guards?” she asked.

The two exchanged a look. “Last night, the crown prince found them stealing from the bond coffers. He put them to death on the spot.” Craig made a shivering motion. Vhalla’s eyes widened as her jaw dropped. “It’s a little crazy. I knew he had a temper, but it takes a special rage to kill two of your own men standing in their boots.”

“Keep your voice down,” Daniel hissed. “Last thing you want is his wrath on us.”

Vhalla stared in a stunned silence. Rat and Mole—Aldrik had killed them. She remembered the face of the Northerner melting off, but found her stomach strangely calm.

When her stomach finally churned it was not over the idea of their deaths, but the likely reasoning behind it. Regardless of what people believed about him, Aldrik would not kill without cause; Vhalla wouldn’t believe anything else about him. There was only one reason she could think of.

“Did you really make that wind storm?” Daniel asked, drawing her from her reeling thoughts.

“I-I’m not sure,” she replied, uncertain of the look on his face.

“It was huge!” Daniel’s eyes grew large. She felt uneasy; was he friend or foe?

“You are not supposed to sound excited.” Craig thumped his partner’s head with a fist.

“If she did, that’d make her a Windwalker. You don’t understand what that means.” Daniel rubbed the crown of his head with a grin.

Vhalla moved a little closer to the bars.

“You read too many books.” Craig rolled his eyes.

“And you don’t read any books at all!” Daniel laughed.

“You know about Windwalkers?” Vhalla asked timidly.

“Not until recently,” Daniel confessed, turning back to her.

“Not until last night you mean.” Craig shook his head. “He gets assigned here and tries to become an expert on magic overnight.”

“At least I’ve an interest.” Daniel shrugged.

Vhalla stared at them uncertainly. The door at the end of the hallway opened, and her mind was instantly racing with panic at the footsteps. Both guards snapped to attention.

“Senator,” Daniel saluted. Craig stayed silent but mirrored Daniel’s motions. Vhalla glared at Egmun. She could feel every last bruise as his eyes took a leisurely assessment of her body.

“Where are her assigned guards?” Egmun asked.

“We are her assigned guards, sir.” Both Craig and Daniel held their salutes.

Egmun rubbed his temples with a sigh. “I realize that their standards for guards are astoundingly low, but I would have hoped you could read your assignments.”

The two men exchanged a look. “This is our assignment, sir,” Daniel said with confidence.

Vhalla’s mouth curled into a smirk at the confused and enraged expression crossing Egmun’s face.

“Where are Salvis and Wer?” the Senator demanded. Vhalla tried to guess who Mole was.

“They’re dead, sir,” Daniel answered.

Egmun lost his composure to his surprise for a brief second, and Vhalla wanted to cackle.

“Dead?” he repeated.

“Parrot,” Vhalla mumbled under her breath. “How?” Egmun’s teeth were grinding.

“They were found stealing from the bond payment chest,” Craig jumped in. “Imperial Justice.”

Egmun paused and laughed.

“It would be, wouldn’t it?” His eyes fell on Vhalla and she was happy to have the bars keeping him out. “It would be...” He chuckled and turned. “Her trial starts soon. Make sure she’s on time.” Egmun clicked away down the hall, his emerald robes swishing about him.

Vhalla let out her breath.

“He seems about as pleasant as a rabid weasel in a bag of vipers,” Craig noted dully.

“Craig!” Daniel hissed, but didn’t argue.

With that remark these guards became acceptable. She remembered Prince Baldair mentioning something about the previous guards being Egmun’s men. If that were true, whose men were these? What luck was looking out for her? Vhalla struggled to her feet.

Daniel fumbled with the keys, opening the door. She looked at them expectantly.

“I think you’re supposed to cuff me.” Vhalla held out her wrists, hoping they wrote off the abuse that painted her arms as having been caused by the Northerners.

“Are we?” Daniel asked uncertainly.

“I-I think so?” Craig ran off to grab some shackles hanging on the wall. They were only over her wrists this time.

“It seems rather pointless,” Daniel mused as they started down the hallway. “You’re a sorcerer, right? What’s cuffing you supposed to do?”

“Daniel!” Craig groaned, “Let’s not give the person standing on trial for treason any ideas?”

Vhalla shifted her hands; he had a point. She dared an attempt at her magic. Tears of relief escaped when she felt a weak little flicker around her fingertips. Knowing it was returning reduced her resentment for its not being available to help against Rat and Mole.

Daniel went to grab her arm.

“No!” she frantically jerked away, taking an instantly defensive stance. He jumped back, startled. “I mean, I won’t run. Please, let me go on my own.”

The walk to the courtroom was slow, due to her mad determination to do it without their help. In her mind, she shifted it from an issue of paranoia over their potentially harming her to an issue of pride. She wanted to show Egmun that she could walk in there on her own two feet.

They opened the door, and she appeared to be early. The thrones stood empty and only about half the senators had arrived. They looked at her with a whole spectrum of emotions, from horror and anger, to fascination and skepticism. Vhalla walked up to the edge of her cage, standing as tall as she could manage.

As the room began to fill with people, it also began to fill with light. A large, circular, overhead window let in the morning sun. On occasion, the senators walked in with other people whom they sat with at the benches by the door before taking their own seats. Vhalla tried to see if she recognized anyone. It wasn’t until Minister Victor took a seat that she felt a glimmer of hope. He caught her eyes and nodded his head by a fraction.

When the last senator had settled into their seats, the doors to the courtroom were opened and the three male royals strode in. They each wore a white jacket; the Emperor and youngest prince donned in light blue trousers, whereas Aldrik wore black. Clearly, compromises had been made.

Upon the Emperor’s brow sat the flaming crown of the sun, each of its points a spear of golden light rising toward the heavens. Vhalla wondered how it would look on Aldrik. It led to the reminder that if she made it through the trial, she would someday find out. Something deep within her, under the broken and jagged pieces of who she now was, ached at the thought.

“Let this high court be called to order. On trial is Vhalla Yarl for the crimes of recklessness, endangerment, heresy, public destruction, murder, and treason. The prisoner has made a cry of not guilty. We will now hear those who will speak on behalf of the Senate and the prisoner. Let their testimonies be true or may the Mother strike them down with her divine justice.” The Emperor settled back into his chair. The princes sat as well, sparking the rest of the room to sit with them.

Vhalla’s shoulders ached from holding up her shackles, and she decided to sit also. She looked across the room at Aldrik. He wore an emotionless expression today, much like the day before. He didn’t look like a man who had created wanton destruction between official duties. He didn’t look like a man who had killed two guards the night before. He looked almost bored.

He briefly flicked his eyes over to her, but he looked away equally as fast, his mouth pressing into a thin line. Vhalla swallowed. Was he angry with her?

Egmun called the first witness to the stand. It was a Southern woman who had a very average build and plain looks about her. Vhalla tried to determine if she had ever seen this woman before, but she didn’t recall.

“Thank you for coming today,” Egmun started, “I realize this will likely be a great trauma for you to recall, but I will need to ask you questions about what happened two nights ago.” The woman looked uncertainly at the powerful people surrounding her. “Do not be frightened, you are not on trial. Tell the truth before your Emperor and the Mother above; that is all we ask.” The woman nodded. “Tell us, what did you see that night?”

“Uh, well, my, Emperor, princes, lords and ladies.” The woman gave a small curtsey. “As ye know, first there was the explosion and I be tryin to run. Seemed like everyun in the city was tryin to get away.” Vhalla’s heart began to beat faster, remembering her frantic sprint through the masses. “I noticing the prince was runnin.”

“You noticed the prince in the crowd?” Egmun asked.

“I was in such a hurry I dun bow or nothing.” She gave a small curtsey to Aldrik. “No offense, milord.”

“I’m sure the prince took none.”

Vhalla felt offended on Aldrik’s behalf that Egmun would presume to speak for him. If Aldrik was bothered by Egmun’s words, his face betrayed nothing.

“You’re sure it was the prince?” Egmun asked.

The woman nodded quickly. “I noticing because he was running toward the fire, not away. And he was all in black, as he oft is, in fine things, so I knew it was the prince.”

Aldrik shifted in his seat, and Vhalla instantly noticed the movement after he’d been so still. He rested his cheek on his fist and reclined back in his chair, his knees spreading open slightly.

“Senator,” Aldrik drawled, “I already said I was there. As amusing as it is to hear my story repeated through a commoner, it hardly seems a relevant way to spend our time.”

Some of the other senators chuckled uneasily. Egmun only had a cool smile on his face.

“My prince, I was merely attempting to establish that the woman was indeed there and thus her testimony is trustworthy,” Egmun explained. Continuing his line of questioning, he turned to the witness. “Good lady, when you saw the prince, was he alone?” The woman shook her head. “Who was he with?”

“He was followin’ her.” The woman slowly raised a finger in Vhalla’s direction.

“See, my fellow senators. I called this witness to account for the malicious intent and the heresy of the prisoner.” Egmun turned to her and Vhalla frowned. “Why else would a prince be following a plain girl of common birth into the center of danger? Why else would she lead him there if not to kill him?” He looked at the Emperor and senators, raising his hands dramatically.

“Because she had bewitched him with her magic; she placed our prince into a trance that even he did not realize and she brought him into her den to strike him down. For all we know, she plotted with the Northerners.” Vhalla clenched the bars tightly; ignoring the pain the tension in her muscles caused her shoulder. “A magic that bewitches men and steals free will alone should be a crime punishable by death. There is no other—”

“I did no such thing!” Vhalla cried.

“The prisoner will keep quiet!” the Emperor bellowed, slamming his staff down with a large clang.

Vhalla shrunk back and dropped her head.

Egmun could take anything people said and turn it into whatever he wanted. He had the Senate eating from his palms by the time the witness was done. Vhalla was fairly certain he could claim that she had a second head springing from her naval that sucked out people’s souls through their noses, and they would gladly believe him. She raised her head half an inch to look at Aldrik through the curtain of her hair.

He’d yawn from time to time and made a show of looking bored with all the proceedings. She wondered if it was hard for him to sit through. It was insulting to say someone like her could command him in any way, just as it was insulting to imply that she could affect him as a master sorcerer. Then there were the rest of the lies. Vhalla rested her forehead on the bars as Egmun called the second witness.

The second witness was a man, a builder, who was saying that the demolished houses showed signs of wind and not explosion damage. That they may have been standing today, otherwise. The third was a woman whose daughter had died in the square, and Egmun made the point that perhaps her daughter had survived the explosion but, instead, the wind killed her.

“The Minister of Sorcery, Victor Anzbel,” Egmun called.

The minister took the dais. He had a fist on his hip and stood easily. “It’s been a while, Egmun.” Victor grinned.

The senator sneered. “This is hardly a social call, minister. We have serious matters to discuss.” Egmun was stiff.

“I can see that. I very seriously wonder why you locked away one of the most promising apprentices the Tower has ever received like some common criminal.”

Egmun raised his eyebrows.

Vhalla tried to keep the surprise off her face. She was officially an apprentice of the Tower? She glanced to Aldrik. A spark in his eyes directed at Egmun had been lit. He was amused.

“An apprentice of the tower?” Egmun seemed to have the same questions she did. “There are no rec—” He was shuffling through papers on a small desk nearby when the minister cut him off.

“Of course there aren’t. Nothing had been made public yet. We were waiting until after the festival to announce it. She had friends in the library, and we wanted them to enjoy the celebrations. It seemed rather ill-timed to do it during the festivities,” Victor explained easily.

Vhalla blinked.

“If this all occurred, then where are the documents?” Egmun asked in haste.

“Oh, my apologies, senator.” Victor fussed in his bag and produced an official-looking paper. He walked over and Egmun met him at the bottom of the steps leading to the senatorial seats. “You should find it all in order.”

Egmun glanced over the parchment with a frown. “This bears the seal of the prince,” Egmun growled.

“It certainly does,” Victor said matter-of-factly. “He is very active in the Tower, as you know.”

Vhalla looked across at Aldrik. He had a small smirk curling up the corners of his mouth. His confidence fit on him like well-tailored clothing.

“And of the Master of Tome...” The paper shook like an autumn leaf in Egmun’s hands.

Vhalla blinked. It had Mohned’s mark?

“Senators, I think you will find all the necessary signatures, mine and Vhalla’s included.”

Her signature was on there? It had been forged, and she had a suspicion she knew by whom. The master wouldn’t, even if he knew it was her wishes, and Victor didn’t know her writing.

Aldrik allowed his eyes to meet hers levelly for a moment, and she knew. He was asking for her silence with that dark gaze. She closed her eyes for half a breath and looked back at him, hoping he understood. While she had never told the prince her final decision, she had to assume that somehow he knew. Vhalla wondered if Mohned’s signature was a fake too, or if the master was also stretching the truth on her behalf.

“We had actually started working with her; it would have been irresponsible of us not to. She’s been in the Tower quite a bit since her awakening. She even has a mentor.” He produced another piece of paper, and Vhalla realized Larel was also fighting for her. It was a relief to see that Egmun wasn’t the only one who could paint pictures with words.

“If she was in such control by the Tower, then what happened the Night of Fire and Wind?” Egmun said roughly, his annoyance showing.

“Everyone Manifests differently. There hasn’t been a Windwalker in almost one hundred fifty years. We can only operate on the best knowledge we have,” Victor said casually.

“That lax attitude may have gotten innocent people killed,” Egmun sneered.

“I believe the prince was doing his best to keep an eye on our promising apprentice and those around her. We can only make adjustments going forward. But as a point of reference, were there any confirmed deaths from the cyclone?” Victor asked.

Egmun paused.

“Quite the contrary,” an old and sagely voice called from the back of the room. All eyes turned and Vhalla smiled; Mohned had come. “Forgive my tardiness, good ladies and sirs of the Senate, your graces of the Empire.” He walked slowly to the edge of public seating on the left. The master stood at the short fence that blocked off the area from the central testimony dais.

“Only one witness is to speak at a time,” Egmun scolded, glaring at Mohned.

“I would like to hear what he has to say, Head Elect,” an Eastern female senator called.

Mohned turned to the Emperor. “If it would please your highness?” the master asked.

The Emperor looked to the Senate and received motions of approval, so he gave Mohned a nod. Master Mohned crossed through the gate to stand on the dais with Victor. Vhalla looked at him; he was hunched over and looked every year of his age.

“Please explain what you meant,” the female senator asked, taking some control from Egmun.

“I just came from the clerics. Unfortunately, one of my apprentices died in the explosion.”

Sareem, Vhalla breathed his name faintly, his face clouding her vision in an instant. Would she ever have a chance to mourn him? Or would she soon meet him in the Father’s realms beyond?

“But another was with him. The girl’s name is Roan.”

“Is Roan alive, master?” she called frantically.

The Emperor seemed to let the outburst slide, much to Egmun’s annoyance.

The master gave her a nod. “She will heal in time, the clerics say,” the master replied with a nod.

Vhalla didn’t try to hide her tears of joy. “I’m so glad,” she rasped.

“Well, this is just touching, but I fail to see how it is relevant.” Egmun was trying to regain control.

“Roan, my apprentice, was discovered right next to the epicenter of the wind storm,” the master pointed out. “I have been told the storm had such force it ripped apart the attacking Northerners and tore down buildings. If she was right next to it, would she not have been tossed to shreds also?”

A murmuring coursed through the senators. Egmun looked around, his face twisting in rage.

“Now that you mention it,” Baldair joined the conversation with a thoughtful rub of his chin. “None of the bodies were moved, alive or dead. They hardly seemed touched by the wind at all. They still littered the road. I would’ve imagined them blown about.”

The murmuring became louder, and, for the first time, Vhalla breathed a little easier. Not only because it seemed like Egmun’s control was wavering, but because she realized she hadn’t hurt anyone, save for the Northerners who tried to kill her and Aldrik.

Egmun stomped down the stairs and up onto the dais, clutching the paper Victor had handed him earlier.

“Is this your signature, master?” He shoved the paper in Master Mohned’s face, forcing him to take a step back to try to read it. “Tell me, had it been decided that Vhalla Yarl would join the Tower?” The senator took another aggressive step forward thrusting his fist and the paper at Mohned.

“Let me read it.” Mohned took another step back, and the hem of his robes caught on the small lip that surrounded the inner circle of the sun dais. The master’s old, frail frame began to tumble backwards, and Egmun made no motion to stabilize the older man. Victor was too far away, and Vhalla saw it happen, as if ten seconds slower than everyone else. The master couldn’t correct his balance and, with pin-wheeling arms, he began to tumble backwards.

“Master!” Vhalla cried and thrust her hand out from between the bars, the chain of her shackles clanking loudly. She felt a tingle in her fingertips. Her magic still felt exhausted and barely strung together, but enough had replenished to heed her command.

The master’s fall slowed with a ruffle of his robes, and he was eased onto the floor gently. Mohned turned his head and smiled at her as the rest of the room sat in a stunned silence.

She took a shaky breath as Victor helped Master Mohned carefully back onto his feet.

“Thank you, Vhalla,” he said gently, readjusting his stance.

She had just enough time to breathe a small sigh of relief before chaos descended upon the room.

GUARDS!” EGMUN CRIED.

Vhalla glanced back at Craig and Daniel. They were frozen in place, and the odd sense of wonder on Daniel’s face as he looked at her told Vhalla their stillness wasn’t entirely from fear.

“Guards!” Egmun bellowed and they sprang to life, roughly pushing her to the ground, their swords drawn. The tips pressed into the back of Vhalla’s neck.

“Calm down!” Victor cried, his hands in the air.

“She’s a monster!” shrieked one senator.

“We’re not safe here!” wailed another.

“Vhalla wouldn’t hurt anyone,” the master attempted.

“It isn’t natural,” a man shouted.

“You old fool, it’s amazing,” came a lone voice, though one or two others muttered agreement.

The shouts and arguments became more heated, and Vhalla felt the boots of the guards on her back. She’d made a mistake. Without thinking or planning, she’d used her magic in front of everyone. Vhalla struggled to twist her head to see, very aware that sudden movements could be permanently detrimental to her health.

“We should kill her now,” one man bellowed.

“How can we kill such a power?” a woman snapped back. “It has utility!”

“The most important thing about power is how someone uses it!” Victor attempted, though Vhalla wasn’t sure if he was heard. “She can do great things!”

The Emperor began banging his staff.

“We will rue the day if we let her out of here alive,” one senator said.

“Kill her now!” screamed another.

Vhalla looked out at the scene; most of the senators were on their feet. Some were fighting with each other, more were arguing with Victor on the dais below. Egmun stood silently, a mad smile creeping up on his features. He’d won. He showed she didn’t have control over a different and frightening power.

“Silence!” the Emperor roared, and the whole room fell into a startled hush. Everyone realized, all at once, that they had forgotten themselves. He rose to his feet and descended from the royal platform. Mohned, Victor, and Egmun parted with a bow of their head as he walked through, but his attention was glued on her.

Vhalla twisted her head slightly; one eye was squinted shut against the floor, and the other was partly covered by her hair. He knelt down before her on the other side of the bars, and placed a hand on his raised knee. The Emperor regarded her curiously.

“Let her sit,” he ordered.

Vhalla felt Craig and Daniel remove their feet from her back. She eased up slowly, their sword points still at her neck. Vhalla risked a movement to pull her hair from her eyes.

“My lord, I don’t think—” Egmun started.

“Silence, Egmun.” The Emperor held up a hand. The most powerful man in the realm considered Vhalla for a long moment, his blue eyes searching her for something. Eventually she looked down at her hands folded in her lap, unsure what he wanted to see. “Could you strike me down where I am now?” he asked.

“My lord?” Vhalla couldn’t believe her ears. Was it a trick? Or a test?

“You are shackled, with swords at your throat, behind bars. Could you still strike me down?” Though his eyes looked nothing like Aldrik’s, she felt a familiar intensity in them and it gave her pause.

“I’ve never thought about doing something like that, and my magic seems strange right now... But I suppose I may be able to,” she answered honestly.

The Emperor nodded. “Did you try to kill my son?” he asked.

She met his eyes. “No,” Vhalla’s voice was small, but strong, like a finely forged rapier. “I would only ever want to save your son.”

She thought back to Aldrik on his knees, not unlike how she was now, with swords at his throat. It rattled her from the inside out; it fueled her resolve. Even under the Emperor’s searching gaze she did not look away. In this one moment, Vhalla had nothing to hide.

The Emperor nodded. “Take off her shackles.” The Emperor stood and Daniel quickly sheathed his sword to fumble with the locks on her wrists.

“My lord, we should consider—” Egmun began to protest.

“Egmun, if this girl wanted to kill any of us, she could have and would have by now.” This realization seemed to rattle some senators as much as it calmed others.

Her chains removed, Vhalla stood on doe-like legs and rubbed her wrists gently. Even if she was still in a prison, she felt marginally better without being cuffed and chained.

The Emperor continued to study at her. “Vhalla Yarl.”

She looked up; it was the first time he’d used her name.

“Have you ever conspired to harm my Empire?”

“No, of course not,” she answered directly.

“Did you conspire with the Northerners on the night of Fire and Wind?” he asked, his eyes continuing to rest heavy on her.

Vhalla’s mouth dropped open. “No!” she snapped, not caring to whom she spoke. “They killed my friend, they threatened my home, and they—” She stopped herself and his eyebrows raised. Vhalla’s eyes flicked over to Aldrik. “They...” she repeated again. How much would he want her to say? “They did something unforgivable.”

“What happened that night?” the Emperor asked.

“I was at the Gala,” Vhalla began. “I was...there when the explosion happened. I saw where it happened. My friends were near its center; I had to go help them. So I ran through the city. I found them, then the Northerners were upon me a-and...” She was struggling with leaving Aldrik out of her story. “I thought they would keep hurting people. They were going to kill me and I only wanted them to die.”

“And the crown prince?” the Emperor asked.

She cursed inwardly. Of course that wouldn’t be forgotten easily. Vhalla took a deep breath finally looking away. “He...” He, what? He had been a supporting and guiding figure since the summer? He inspired her? He was someone who made her smile as much as he had made her want to kick something? Vhalla shifted her gaze to the senators, who seemed to be hanging on her every word.

“He’s a much better a person than I’ve heard people give him credit for. He’s worth a lot more than many of the people in this room, and it’s not just because of the crown on his head.” She looked back at the Emperor. “He wanted to help. If I am guilty for anything, it was putting him in a position where he felt compelled to do so.”

A stunned silence filled the room. Even Egmun couldn’t seem to find anything to comment on. She wasn’t sure if she had damned herself, or if Aldrik would be enraged at her for it, but she didn’t regret her words. Eventually, she looked down and grabbed the sides of her sack.

Without a word, the Emperor relinquished his stare, turned and walked back to his throne. Vhalla felt the eyes of everyone in the room on her but her attention sought out the gaze of only one.

Aldrik made no motion. He concealed his emotions even from her. Vhalla sighed softly and looked down again; it was hopeless. Everything she thought she knew about her and the prince was wrong. Why else wouldn’t he speak for her?

“I think we have enough to reach our decision. Do you have any more to say on your behalf, Vhalla Yarl?” the Emperor asked.

She shook her head, not raising her eyes again.

“I propose a motion that we reach our verdict tomorrow. Our Empire is at war and has more pressing matters than this. If there are no objections?” Naturally, no one stepped forward to speak against the Emperor. “Guards, take the prisoner away.”

Vhalla turned and Craig pulled open the door. She followed Daniel out, not looking back for a moment. The walk back to her prison was in silence. But they made no motion to return her shackles.

Within her cell, the walls closed around her. Vhalla sat by the door, her back against the bars to avoid giving the impression she wanted to speak. She rested her head against a bar gently; the pressure on the back of her skull was a welcome pain.

She sighed and closed her eyes. It would be another day of waiting—and then, her fate. At least she would be out of here soon. The end of the trial seemed to have gone in her favor, but it had started so poorly. Their cries, calling for her death, echoed through her ears.

The next morning, Vhalla woke to the same dim light of her cell and wondered what time it was. She rubbed her eyes, blinking away sleep. They fed her last night, but it was only scraps of bread. Her stomach wasn’t in too much pain though, her sparse eating habits paying off.

The sack was beginning to itch, and she desperately desired to bathe and change. Even if they put her back into a burlap thing, she wanted to get out of this one. A heavy sigh relieved a small amount of stress and tried to keep the sanity-threatening memories at bay. She had to compartmentalize and lock the thoughts away to survive.

“Oh, you’re up.” Daniel had heard her. “Want breakfast?”

Vhalla nodded.

“I’ll see what I can find,” Craig said before running off.

“What time is it?” she asked, moving closer to the bars.

“I think an hour or two past dawn.” Daniel turned and knelt.

“Have they begun?” She didn’t need to clarify they.

He nodded. “Yeah, not too long ago. I’ve no idea how it’s going,” he said apologetically.

“It’s all right.” She picked at the stray threads of her sack, suddenly feeling less hungry thinking about the men and women in the courtroom.

Craig returned with a small roll and a handful of grapes. “It’s all I could get; they weren’t really planning on feeding you, apparently.” He passed it through the bars and she began nibbling and picking at the food.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Egmun told them part of my powers was not needing to eat,” she said bitterly, certain he was spinning lies about her right now. Both men chuckled and she forced down the last of the bread.

“We’re going to take you to the Chapel of Dawn today,” Daniel said. She looked up curiously. “Baldair told us that normally a prisoner likes to pray before their verdict, asking for fairness and wisdom from the Mother. Or absolution from their crimes.”

Vhalla had never been a particularly spiritual person, but she would take any excuse to leave her cage. The Chapel of Dawn was the official place of worship for the Imperial Family and capital. It was one of the highest public places in the palace. To get to the chapel, the common folk used an outdoor stairway not far from the Sunlit Stage. It was where the Crones of the Mother were ordained and where coming of age, weddings, and other religious ceremonies were held for the Imperial Family.

The day passed. Vhalla inspected her wounds and found them red and puffy, but no worse. It was the not knowing that began to drive her mad. If she could walk outside of her body like Aldrik had once implied she could, then perhaps Vhalla could listen in on the courtroom. But the idea of being stuck out of her body again kept her rooted firmly in place, doing little more than rolling pebbles across the floor and back.

“Let’s go,” Craig said finally. Vhalla pulled herself to her feet and ran a hand through her hair, snagging on tangles almost immediately. “I’m not going to shackle you, so please don’t run.”

“I promise,” she agreed, not sure if these guards were exceptionally smart, or extraordinarily stupid for trusting her. Whatever the case, she was glad they did and that they allowed her to walk silently between them.

She’d done little all day, but Vhalla found the walk exhausting. The path was entirely underground, up dimly lit stairwells, and cobweb cluttered halls. They passed no one else, which led her to assume she was in some kind of temporary holding and not the labyrinth of dungeons that were rumored to exist beneath the palace.

Eventually they came to a rather plain door. There was a blazing sun upon it, crafted from bronze but tarnished with age. It protested Daniel’s attempts to open it, starting to budge only when he put his shoulder into it.

“Are you sure this is the right way?” He coughed up dust.

“It’s what the prince told me.” Craig shrugged. “Maybe it’s been a while since the last person?”

“It’s been a long while,” Daniel muttered.

She was thankful that Craig had thought to grab a torch a while back. For a brief moment, Vhalla’s heart raced as she realized that she was very far from anyone else, alone with two guards. But as the muted lights of the Chapel began to stream in through the door, she breathed easy.

They walked into a small sub-room of the Chapel that Vhalla had never seen before. There was a large altar. Over it was a sculpture of the Goddess holding out her arms. She was swathed in life-giving flame and had a firm, but kind, expression on her face. On the altar were a series of ritual artifacts, a golden mirror supported by white marble, a steel dagger, and black and white candles. There were only four kneeling pillows set out and they looked old and worn. Vhalla assumed the pillows were once white, but now they were threadbare and gray with dust.

There was another door that Vhalla surmised led into the main area of the chapel. It seemed to be in better care and was reinforced with iron and a golden lock. Daniel kicked off his boots before entering the sacred space to try the other door. This door did not budge either, but gave a tell-tale clank of a lock engaging.

“I guess we’ll wait outside here then.” He shrugged, yanking his shoes back on. “It’s the only access, so we know you can’t run.”

“Give you privacy in your prayers,” Craig offered.

Vhalla gave them both a small smile. They couldn’t give her much, but what they could they did. With a nod both departed, leaving her alone.

They hadn’t given her shoes, so she had nothing to strip before entering the hallowed ground—but she wished she had something to wash her feet and hands with. Walking over to one of the pillows, Vhalla sat listlessly, watching the dancing flames envelop the sculpture of the Mother. It was hypnotic and, while it did not resemble prayer, there was something peaceful to it. The Crones said the Mother looked after all her children; Vhalla wondered if she had been lost or forgotten. One mother had already left her, maybe that was simply her fate.

The sculptures turned into reliefs around the outer walls. Each held a story of Mother Sun and her eternal dance with Father Moon. The Mother crafting the earth; their false child, the dragon of chaos; their splitting of the world to keep the disorder from their true children, humanity; she knew all the stories. Every tale was a memory of a book she had read on that beloved window seat. Her eyes began to burn.

Quickly wiping her cheeks, Vhalla turned in place as the chapel door opened slowly and silently. A figure swathed in maroon glided across the threshold. The Crones of the Mother wore a deep red color to signify the departing light of the sun, a symbol that their vigil would last until the end of their days. The door closed silently and the Crone locked it again.

“Crone,” she said uncertainly. “I’ve come for my prayers before my fate,” Vhalla tried to explain, concerned she would be presumed to be somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be.

Two hands reached up and pulled the hood backward.

“I know,” it was a deep masculine voice.

“Aldrik?” Vhalla gasped in shock.

The brim of his collar on his white jacket extended beyond the top of the large hood, and he wore his golden crown.

“Do not speak too loudly.” He glanced around before walking over quickly. Aldrik knelt down on a pillow across from her. “Are you well?”

“Aside from the obvious?” She grinned weakly.

He frowned. “This is not a game, Vhalla,” he scolded her lightly.

“Oh? I’m sorry, I thought it was. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been having so much fun.” She wasn’t in the mood to be spoken to in that tone.

He looked at her with a frown, chewing over his words. “Your new guards, are they treating you well?” Aldrik finally asked.

It confirmed her fears. She was a broken little thing to him. Vhalla inhaled sharply as anger rose within her. Nothing compared to the hatred the thought of Rat and Mole put in her stomach. Remembering Egmun’s eyes on her made her want to die. It compounded as she thought of Roan and Sareem, the guilt she had struggled with for days since parting with them before their deaths—or near death in Roan’s case. Even anger at the master and prince for consorting behind her back sent a pang of frustration through her. Every last thing Vhalla could have been angry about came to her then in the wake of her fear and shame.

“What do you care?” she spat at him. Aldrik blinked as though she’d slapped him across the face. “You, you’ve gone behind my back; you’ve become a puppeteer in my life; you lied to me; you threw me off a roof; you taught me recklessly; you forged my signature.” It was hopeless, the tears came freely. “You wouldn’t even speak for me!”

He grabbed her upper arms fiercely, and Vhalla twisted frantically.

“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked in horror. Aldrik released her, shock and pain across his face. She held herself, feeling every emotion come tumbling through her eyes. “I-I’m just a pitiable thing to you, worthless trash, why would you touch me?” Vhalla pressed her eyelids closed and curled into a seated ball of sobs.

By the time he finally moved, her stomach hurt from her crying. Vhalla expected him to leave. She wanted him to hate her so that she could validate the hate she felt in herself. However, he didn’t go. Hatred would have been easier than the frustration and pain that was rife upon his face.

The prince’s mouth opened and closed, but his silver tongue failed him. Frustrated, he grabbed the pillow next to him and stood in a half turn, throwing it toward the wall. It incinerated in a burst of flame before hitting anything. He stood with his back to her, panting softly.

“I,” his voice was deep and ragged, “I am not a good man. Maybe I have never been a good man. Out of that sham of a trial the hardest part was to hear you waste words to defend me when all I wanted you to do was defend yourself.”

“I would’ve let the city burn had it not been for you.” He chuckled, and it was a crazed and crackling sound, void of its normal velvety hues. Vhalla struggled to believe his words. “I was in no position to leave the palace, wounded as I am, so I would have sat in the safest place I could find and waited it out.” He turned, searching her face.

“Does it shock you? Aren’t you disgusted with your prince? I would’ve been happier watching the flames consume half the damn city to purge the filth, even if it meant sacrificing the good with it. Those are my subjects! People I am sworn to protect!” He threw out his hands. “You’re right, about it all. I wanted you. The moment I found out what you were, I wanted you like a prize to be captured and put on my shelf. And you, Vhalla, you made it so easy to manipulate you to walk right where I wanted you. You, with your transparent innocence.”

“Stop,” she whispered. His words stung deeply.

“Like an ignorant fool, you trusted me and never once questioned my guiding hand—even knowing my reputation!” Vhalla looked away; she didn’t want to hear anymore. “You’re right, I had it all lined up. The master knew as soon as I suspected, but he would not go against the will of the crown prince, not even to warn you. The Minister of Sorcery didn’t know what he had in you, he may have let you go! It fell to me to ensure that you fell and awoke to your powers. You may have gone to the master in your own time, but all those choices you thought you had? That paper was signed while you were still recovering from your fall! The master knew you were already gone, even if you did not know it yourself. All I had to do was keep pushing you along, being your guiding and caring teacher, and I could’ve had your magic doing whatever my will desired!”

“Aldrik, please...” she begged him, tears choking her.

“And then...” His voice audibly softened. Aldrik’s shoulders slumped and his arms hung limply. “Then I realized I just wanted you around. My days were better when they involved you. I enjoyed your thoughts. It was thrilling to see you discover magic. You had a mad hopefulness about sorcery that I have not felt in almost a decade. I started finding excuses to take you away, not because you needed my teaching but because, because I wanted to see you. I looked forward to our meetings and—like that, Vhalla—your opinion mattered to the crown prince of the Empire. You mattered for who you were, not for your magic and what some dusty texts say Windwalkers may or may not be able to do.”

She blinked up at him, speechless.

“I wanted your forgiveness, as though that innocent acceptance would absolve me of all the blood on my hands. I wanted to see you well and happy. I wanted to see you flourish, and I wanted only a small piece. To know that, in you, I had made something good. And I truly wanted to keep you from pain.” He balled his hands into fists.

“I knew the best way would have been to remove myself from your life and, by the Mother, I tried. But I was still too self-centered to tolerate that library boy. I should have encouraged you to go off and be with him. Then, despite my efforts, my brother had to meddle—only to torture me—and you wore that damn dress.” He fell down to his knees before her, his fists on the ground and head bowed. Aldrik took a deep breath, it wavered just slightly.

Vhalla’s head swirled as she tried to absorb everything.

“I spoke for you today,” he confessed. Vhalla’s heart skipped a beat. “I did not speak before not because I did not care, but because—because, I am not a good man, Vhalla. My voice is more likely to damn you than save you. There are people in this world—in that room—who will hurt you for the sake of hurting me.” He dropped his head again with a few bangs escaping from the perfect comb set his hair always had.

“People who already have.” He punched the ground with such force that Vhalla jumped and knew, without a doubt, his knuckles were bloody. If they were, then the pain was nothing to the prince as he continued to kneel rigidly.

Vhalla’s tears had stopped, and she wiped her cheeks with her palms. He made no motion; he barely seemed to be breathing. She took a deep breath and rubbed her nose.

She mattered to Aldrik, Vhalla didn’t have the energy to process the how or why.

“Did those guards really steal from the Empire?” Vhalla asked, finding her voice surprisingly stable.

He sat down again. His knuckles were indeed bloody. “No,” Aldrik answered directly.

Vhalla closed her eyes, and took a breath. “Aldrik,” she said weakly. “What do you want from me, really? What am I to you? Am I a conquest? A trophy? A project? An amusement? A tool?”

He needed to tell her now. Guessing would tear her apart, and his slew of confessions was too muddled for her exhausted brain to sort through. They were nothing until she knew.

“You,” he paused.

She searched his face, trying to understand all the complex emotions that hung upon his lips. Aldrik glanced away with a small sigh, but he returned his eyes to her with a softness they had not possessed in some time. “You are a dear friend. For whatever my royal ass of a friendship is worth.”

Vhalla smiled weakly. She reached out and his body went rigid. “It is worth very much,” she whispered.

He barely seemed to breathe as she leaned over the distance between them to tuck the stray bangs back with the rest of his hair. He reached up and caught her hand gently in his.

“Don’t...” she protested weakly.

He stopped her from withdrawing this time, his grip warm but not painful. “Why?”

“Because I-I,” Vhalla’s lower lip trembled and her cheeks burned.

“You foolish girl,” he murmured. “As anything could make me not want to touch you.”

She tensed but allowed his gentle caress to wipe away the remnants of Rat and Mole’s abuse and Egmun’s words. There was something about his skin alone that was therapeutic. No matter what the world did to her, his warmth remained.

“My magic...” Vhalla said after a long moment, feeling electric tingles under the pads of his fingers. “Is it—broken?”

“Broken?” he asked, the talk of magic relaxing him.

“It hasn’t felt right since I woke up,” she explained.

“Ah,” Aldrik shook his head. “No, not broken. You’re likely exhausted from the exertion. It is a wonder you did not use it up completely, then you would really be in trouble.”

“It’s all trouble, isn’t it?” She laughed weakly and was rewarded with a small smirk from him as well. Vhalla took a deep breath and gathered her strength. “Aldrik, I need your honesty. I don’t care about your reputation. I want you to be open with me.” She paused, swallowing hard. “For however long I may continue to be alive.”

“You shall have it.” The crown prince nodded. “Do not be afraid, Vhalla. I will not let them kill you.” He made two dangerous promises in two breaths. Yet something in his voice told her he was ready to go to great lengths to keep both. Aldrik squeezed her hand gently. “I should return. The break for lunch will be over soon, and, after my testimony, I am sure they will want me accounted for.”

She gripped his hand as though her life depended on it, feeling tears protest his departure. He stopped all movement. Even after his confessions, after the anger, after all she’d been though, he remained. Aldrik, her prince—good or evil—remained with her. They both stared, waiting for the other to make the first move. Vhalla would have given anything for time to stop.

“Please don’t go,” she whispered faintly. “I don’t want to face their verdict alone.” Her shoulders trembled, and she struggled to keep the tears contained. As the time ticked down, Vhalla realized, with earth-shaking horror, the notion of dying terrified her.

“Vhalla...” he breathed faintly. “You are never alone. I will be there.” He took her palm and placed it on his hip, his body was even warmer than his hands. “Never forget, we are Bound.”

Vhalla remembered that dark and ugly spot from the day in the garden. She looked at where her hand now rested on the prince’s side.

“We will face it together.” His tone was sincere and serious. She looked for reassurance, and he lavished it upon her with only his eyes. One more time, Vhalla let herself shamelessly fall into those dark depths, before he rose to leave.

IF CRAIG AND DANIEL had heard anything, they made no indication when she met them shortly after. They also had the decency not to comment on her eyes being red and puffy. Vhalla replayed the surreal conversation in her head as she followed the guards.

The prince was ever an enigma.

He had said he was her friend. Vhalla wondered exactly how he had been taught the meaning of friendship. The lines of truth and lies were blurred with him and her life hadn’t exactly improved since he had entered it.

She resumed her seat by the door after Craig and Daniel locked her back in. Aldrik, she thought, not daring to say his name aloud. No matter what had happened, she couldn’t find it in her to regret meeting the dark prince.

“Friends, huh...” she breathed, remembering how he held her beneath the stars. Vhalla opened her eyes before her mind betrayed her.

The door at the end of the hall banged open. Vhalla heard the scampering of small feet and turned. A servant boy dressed in a dull gray tunic came running.

“The prisoner is requested.”

Craig and Daniel exchanged a look before turning to her. Vhalla nodded and stood; it was time. They unlocked the door and she walked unshackled to the courtroom. No matter what happened, she found relief knowing this was the last time she would make this walk. The door opened before her, and Vhalla plunged herself into the light, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the late afternoon sun.

The Senate was there and seated. Some stared at her in anger, others regarded her with calm. Vhalla tried to determine if the senators who had called for her death looked angry or happy. She couldn’t decide. Egmun sat in the center, and he stared at her queerly. His eyes made her uncomfortable. Vhalla’s skin crawled, and she looked away.

The royal family sat on their thrones. Prince Baldair wore a conflicted frown. The Emperor was banging his staff again, but Vhalla barely heard it as her eyes met Aldrik’s. He wore a tortured expression on his features and looked away quickly when he saw her stare. Vhalla’s stomach turned upside-down.

“Vhalla Yarl.” The Emperor stood. “After much deliberation and review of the evidence,” Vhalla noticed he glanced at his eldest son a brief moment, “this high court has come to a verdict. Head Elect?”

Egmun stood. He held out a large piece of parchment before him that he read from. “Vhalla Yarl, on this day two hundred thirty-four years after the birth of the first Solaris, you have been judged for your crimes against the people of the Great Solaris Empire.”

She shifted her weight from foot to foot, forcing her hands to stay at her sides.

“For the crime of recklessness, we have found you guilty.”

Vhalla breathed sharply through her nose.

“For the crime of endangerment, we have found you guilty.”

She clutched the sides of her burlap sack.

“For the crime of impersonation of nobility, we have found you guilty.”

Vhalla looked sideways at Baldair. Clearly he had not offered much defense for his role in that particular offense.

“For the crime of public destruction, we have found you guilty.”

She began to feel dizzy.

Egmun continued to read as they looked down upon her. “For the crime of heresy, we have found you not guilty.”

It was a start.

“For the crime of murder, we have found you not guilty.”

She gripped the bars taking a slow breath.

“For the crime of treason,” Egmun’s eyes flicked over to her a brief moment. “We have found you not guilty.”

Vhalla rested her forehead on the cool iron of her cage. She wanted to feel relieved, but something about the pain in Aldrik’s eyes cautioned her otherwise.

“To atone for your crimes it is the will of the Senate, the people, that you will be conscripted into the military to apply your abilities to the war in the North.”

Vhalla blinked. They were making her a soldier. She didn’t know anything about fighting; sending her there was a death sentence. Her eyes widened; that was the point. Either way they would win. If she succeeded they would claim the glory, or the Northerners would kill her for them.

“You are to be considered property of the Empire for the remaining duration of the war and will be deployed to the front in one week’s time,” Egmun continued.

“I don’t know anything about combat,” she said meekly.

The Head Elect looked at her slowly. “We have been assured your powers are special, beyond compare. If that is the case, I am sure you will learn quickly,” Egmun sneered at her.

Vhalla looked about frantically; Aldrik clutched his seat so hard his hands shook.

“Should you be found to disobey an Imperial Order, partake in any treasonous activities, or flee your duty, you will be put to death by the righteous flames of the leader of the Black Legion—” Egmun paused with a dark grin in her direction. “—the Crown Prince Aldrik.”

Her mouth dropped open, and she looked over frantically.

His face hadn’t changed. Vhalla turned to Prince Baldair, who glared at his brother. She turned to the other senators, but, unsurprisingly, there was little love there.

“This is the will of the Senate, on behalf of the people.” Egmun rolled the parchment and began to descend the risers of the Senate. His footsteps echoed like a hammer against her brain.

Vhalla felt numb; she wasn’t sentenced to death, but she might as well have been.

When Egmun was halfway to the Emperor, starting up for the Imperial Platform, she allowed herself to look at Aldrik. He shifted in his chair and for a brief moment he placed his hand on his hip. His message was clear.

No matter what, he couldn’t kill her because of the Bond.

This was an order just as dangerous to him as it was to her. She wasn’t sure if she was glad, or tortured by knowing where this placed him. If he was told to kill her and he refused, Valla had no doubt these very senators would turn it against him. Vhalla gripped the bars and barely kept in a scream. They did not know the true gravity of what they had done.

Egmun handed the parchment to the Emperor and slowly returned to his seat.

“Vhalla Yarl, before the Light of the Mother I have heard your crimes, your evidence, and the people’s will in your fate. I find this to be a fair and just punishment for the offenses you have committed against the Empire.” A servant brought a small bowl of hot wax and a large metal seal on a platter. The Emperor dripped the molten liquid onto the parchment and pressed his seal onto the paper that held her future.

“So it has been written, so it shall be.”

“Guards, return her to the palace via the care of the Tower,” Egmun said with a gleeful grin.

Vhalla was ushered away by Craig and Daniel. She didn’t even have a chance to see Aldrik once more. Instead of turning back to her cell, they began heading upward.

They ascended through an inner passage, the stones of the wall and floor slowly became more polished and carefully laid. The torches lining the walls became more frequent and the hallway began to be bathed in more light than darkness. After a series of doors they reached an archway that emptied into a larger hall. A girl waited; her hands folded before her.

“Larel?” Vhalla blinked.

The Western woman smiled faintly, turning to Craig and Daniel. “I will take her from here. I am her escort to the Tower,” Larel informed Vhalla’s companions.

They nodded. “We will leave her to you, then,” Craig said.

Vhalla turned. “Thank you for your kindness,” she said in earnest.

“Take care, Miss Windwalker,” Daniel added, with a sad but genuine smile. “Maybe we’ll see you on the march?”

“You’ll be there?” Vhalla asked as Larel took her hand gently.

“We will,” Craig affirmed with a nod.

Vhalla opened her mouth but there wasn’t time to say anything else. She gave her guards one more nod of appreciation before allowing Larel to lead her away. Vhalla had never been more ready to leave anywhere in her life. Her head was still reeling from the verdict.

Larel lead her quietly and efficiently through the hallways of the castle. They wove between main halls and down small side passages, avoiding all people. Eventually, they arrived at a large painting of the Father. He was leaning against a pile of rubble, lusting after a distant point of light in the sky. Larel pushed it to the side, motioning for Vhalla to step through.

Vhalla immediately knew she was in the Tower, as the candles and torches had been replaced with flame bulbs. A wave of emotion washed over her, and she leaned against the stone, trying to catch her breath. It hadn’t sunk in yet. Larel rested a hand gently on her shoulder.

“Your room isn’t far,” Larel spoke softly, focused on one task at a time.

“My room?” she repeated.

“And your black robe,” she said very matter of fact.

Vhalla followed her numbly to the main stairwell. They turned left and proceeded upward. They passed the door that Vhalla knew led to the room where she had healed; then they continued up. A few doors after, they reached one that looked much like any other, save for a unique steel plaque in its center. She rested her hand upon it, feeling the letters engraved on its surface—Vhalla Yarl. Larel produced an iron skeleton key and unlocked it.

The room was an upgrade from her previous quarters. It had similar standard-issue furniture. There was a decent-sized wardrobe, mirror, desk, and chair. None of this attracted her attention.

Vhalla walked over to a large floor-to-ceiling window, unhooking the latch. She stepped out onto a small balcony, barely more than a window ledge with a railing. It was the first time she had been outside in days, and the cold crisp air greeted her like an old friend.

“Is this really my room?” she asked in awe.

Larel nodded. “The minister thought, given your Affinity, that a room like this would be good for you.”

Vhalla wondered how many other apprentices in the Tower—in the whole palace—had a room with outdoor access, however small and limited.

She walked back inside. Opening the wardrobe she found all her clothes neatly hung inside.

“I brought your things,” Larel explained.

Vhalla noticed a familiar trunk beneath her bed. The rest of her meager possessions had been neatly organized at the base of her wardrobe. Vhalla bit her lip when she noticed a thick pile of notes, organized and bound tightly with a piece of twine. She looked back at Larel.

“I didn’t read them,” Larel said softly. “Your correspondence with the prince isn’t my business.”

“How did you know they were from him?” Vhalla asked dumbly.

“I’ve known the prince a long time. He is a talented and powerful Firebearer. It’s hard for him to make anything without leaving a little trace magic on it. It’s faint enough that even most magical people wouldn’t know much by it, but...” she shrugged, not really finishing.

Vhalla ran her fingertips over the top of the stack wistfully. If only she could return to those days.

“Did you hear the verdict?” Vhalla asked, shutting her wardrobe.

“The minister just told me you were part of the Tower now.” Larel shook her head.

“I was found not guilty for half—the better half—of my crimes. But for what I was found guilty for... I’ve been drafted into the army. I’m property of the Empire now. I will leave with the soldiers as they head back to fight.” Her tone was level and dull, the numbness hadn’t worn off yet.

“Property?” Larel gasped. Vhalla simply nodded at her. “Do you know anything about combat?” Vhalla shook her head. “Have you ever fought someone before in your life?” Vhalla shook her head again. “They’re trying to get you killed.” Larel was brave enough to say it aloud.

“Yes, I think that’s the plan,” Vhalla agreed weakly.

“They march soon, I hear.” Larel sat heavily in the room’s single chair and took a moment to let it sink in.

“Well, you can have my room when I’m dead,” Vhalla remarked darkly. It wasn’t as though she deserved as nice a room as this.

“You will not die,” Larel announced, determined. “We will heal you and then, when you march, you will be trained in the legions. I’ll speak with Prince Aldrik and Major Reale.”

“Major Reale?” Vhalla swallowed. She wanted to share the woman’s determination, but that would mean everything happening to her was real.

“Major Reale is one of the leaders of the Black Legion under Prince Aldrik and Head Major Jax, though I think Jax is still at the front. Major Reale is here, and she will be marching back as well. The march will take two or three months headed north,” Larel explained. “It only took a month to get here, but the men were lighter loaded with enough horses to go around. This time there will be new recruits, so they will be marching on foot. There will also be heavily burdened pack horses and carts bringing food and supplies. And the army will stop to pick up additional soldiers from the West at the Crossroads, I hear. You’ll gain some time there also. All that time you will be training.”

As Larel elaborated, her confidence became infectious. It seemed less impossible and marginally probable that Vhalla might learn enough to keep herself alive. That is, until the memories of the Northerners in all their ruthless resolve came back to her. Vhalla, bit her lip, it was hopeless to think she would be able to do anything.

“Come, we’ll speak on this later.” Larel stood as if sensing her shifting determination. “Let me show you the baths. I’m sure you’d like a wash.”

Vhalla nodded; there was little that appealed more in the world than bathing. Perhaps she could scrub her skin away and find a new person beneath it.

Just like everything else in the Tower, the baths were a significant upgrade from the servants’ baths. It was communal, unlike the lavish private room she had used to bathe in before the Gala. But here too, there were spigots with hot and cold water; two in each of the ten stalls that sat ready for people to wash with before soaking in a steaming pool that covered the back third of the floor.

Vhalla hadn’t even wanted to touch her clean clothes, she felt so filthy. Larel had been kind enough to carry them for her, and the other woman placed them in a small changing area before a large mirror. Vhalla stopped and looked at herself for the first time in almost four days.

Her hair was a bird’s nest, sticking this way and that. It was a good three inches shorter with all the knots. Her face was streaked with blood, soot, and caked makeup. Her eyes looked tired and worn, and her cheeks more hollow than she remembered. Vhalla ran a finger down the gash that ran between a black eye and a split lip, beginning to laugh.

“Vhalla?” Larel asked gently, her concern evident.

“I’m a mess. No wonder the senators had little difficulty seeing me as a crazed killer,” Vhalla continued to laugh. It echoed through the empty hopelessness she found within her. She shook her head.

“I need to see your wounds, Vhalla.” Larel pressed her fingertips together. “I’ll go get whatever salves are necessary once I know their status.”

Vhalla paused a moment as the other woman waited expectantly. Larel was telling her to undress, she realized.

With a breath, Vhalla pulled the sack over her head. Her hands trembled as the air hit her skin, and Vhalla forced herself to be brave. With an angry grunt she threw the burlap ball and underclothes into a corner.

“Burn it, Larel,” she barked, a dark tone in her voice that tasted heady and almost sweet in its rough tang.

Larel nodded, and, with a glance, it was consumed in an orange flame until nothing was left but a small black spot on the tile.

The Western woman rounded her and seemed to be making a mental list. She looked closely at Vhalla’s shoulder, pulling away the remaining bandage that Vhalla hadn’t fussed with. She moved to her head next, taking off the soiled gauze. Vhalla saw the remnants of Rat and Mole’s assault, the purpling of her abdomen, arms, and legs. Larel spared her any unhelpful coddling or pointless anger, saying nothing of the abuse.

“All right, they don’t look too bad, physically at least,” she said thoughtfully, after another turn. “I’ll go get a few things and be back. Go ahead and start washing up. I asked the other girls to stay away for a bit, so you should have privacy.”

Vhalla sat in a stall and turned on the hot water. She doused herself the second the bucket was full. The water was scalding, and Vhalla took a breath, repeating the process. It couldn’t be hot enough, and after the fourth bucket her skin was bright pink and slightly steaming.

Working a bar of soap to a lather, Vhalla found a small pumice stone and used it liberally. She applied all the pressure she could. At first, it was for the thick layer of grime, but each time she stopped, the thought of Rat‘s and Mole’s assault raining down on her consumed her. Eventually her skin was splotchy with raw—almost bleeding—spots where bruises once were. Vhalla threw the stone away before she could harm herself further.

She poured water over herself again and turned to her hair. She lathered in soap with delicate fingers, working on the tangles and scabbing at her scalp. The water ran red with dried blood, so Vhalla washed it again. After the third washing, she found a small brush and attempted to comb through the hopeless mess.

It was slow going. Each time she put the brush in her hair, it hit a snag. Vhalla started with the crown of her head and began working downward. Around halfway, all the knots began to stack on each other and she couldn’t work the comb through. Vhalla attempted to brush from the bottom, to no avail. She tried the left side, then the right side, but found no luck.

Vhalla threw the brush against the wall and buried her face in her hands. She didn’t want to cry anymore; she was tired of feeling weak and sad. She was tired of feeling hopeless, tired of fighting, and tired of feeling like the world was against her. Standing, she walked back over to the mirror, looking at the mass of knots halfway through her hair.

A glint of silver caught her eye, and Vhalla picked up a razor. Grabbing a hunk of hair, she took a breath. The wet clump that fell to the floor was one of the most psychologically beneficial things she’d done in some time. Vhalla grabbed the next fist of hair and the razor glided through it effortlessly, then the next, and the next.

She would cut it away. She would cut away the anger, the pain, and the frustration. She’d cut and cut until she was sculpted into something better, something stronger. They wanted to kill her, so this Vhalla would die, she resolved, and a new Vhalla would be born from her ashes.

“Vhalla?” Larel’s faint voice broke the silence. Vhalla wondered why her shoulders wouldn’t stop shaking.

“It was a hopeless mess; I didn’t really like it anyway.” Vhalla shrugged at the pile of hair on the floor, as though she were indifferent to the length she had always carried on her head. Her fingers went easily though the remaining hair now, short enough that the nape of her neck showed.

“Sit,” Larel instructed, motioning to the stool in the stall while retrieving the straight razor. Larel proceeded to apply a more masterful hand to her hack job. “Do you want bangs?” Larel motioned across her own forehead at the hair that landed right before her eyes.

Vhalla shrugged. “Anything is fine.” She didn’t care much now; the healing part of her haircut was over.

Larel hummed a moment and then worked with the hair around her face. Vhalla thought she should feel nervous with someone holding a knife so close to her eyes, but she felt completely calm near Larel. The dark-skinned woman cut a low swoop that left the hair almost falling over her right eye, and began to touch up her work.

“There.” Larel stepped back. “Come here and look.”

Larel held her hand, gently leading her to the mirror. Vhalla did not recognize the person staring back at her. Dull skin and listless eyes had a dangerously piercing quality about them. She brought her fingers up to her hair. Vhalla had never worn it this short before, and she wasn’t sure who she was with it cut so severely.

“Thank you.” Vhalla didn’t know what else to say.

“You’re welcome.” Larel smiled kindly and placed a large towel around her shoulders. It felt like silk after the burlap.

Larel instructed her to sit again on the small bath stool and began to apply salves to her wounds. Larel handed her a bottle of liquid to drink that created a momentary fire in her veins. Her shoulder required closer inspection.

“Who stitched this?” Larel asked, reaching for a small tub of white paste.

“Prince Baldair,” Vhalla answered.

“Prince Baldair?” Larel repeated, raising her eyebrows. “That sounds like a story.”

“He said his brother called in a favor,” Vhalla repeated his words, but left out the remark of his wanting to do it for his own reasons, as well.

“Those two... One of them is always claiming a debt of the other.” Larel clicked her tongue and shook her head.

Vhalla decided to let her questions slide.

She pondered her own relationship with the crown prince. Was she indebted to him? Could he be indebted to her? Either notion made her feel uncomfortable. She didn’t like feeling like there was a score being kept. She would do almost anything for Aldrik, it didn’t matter if she owed him or not.

Larel finished putting clean bandages and salve on her wounds. After inspecting Vhalla’s head, she left the wound bare. Vhalla dressed slowly, savoring her clean clothing.

The dark-haired woman held out a piece of black fabric to her. Vhalla looked at the dangling garment for a long moment. This was who she was now. Taking it, she studied the short black jacket. It had slightly longer sleeves than Larel’s, reaching to right before her elbows, but it had the same short upward collar and stopped at her waist.

Vhalla swung it on one arm and then the next, adjusting it with both hands. She looked in the mirror at the new person staring back at her.

A sorcerer with battle scars, dead friends, and blood on her hands occupied the mirror. The frightened faces of the senators came back to Vhalla with vivid clarity. They were sending her to war, so she would go and become something they had every right to fear.

For my biggest fans:
Mom, Dad, and Mer.
The people who I owe everything to—literally.

THE WORLD WAS an inferno.

Thick smoke. Ash. Blistering heat.

Vhalla dashed between shadowed figures. Faster and faster, she ran through the night, from one horrific scene to the next, as though she was running toward the end of the world itself. The dark, faceless people began to close in around her, hindering her, smothering her.

Tears already stained her cheeks when she reached out a hand to push away the first. The apparition gave a blood-curdling scream before being ripped apart, dissolving into wind-like smoke. Her fingertips rested upon the next—another scream. She didn’t want to go farther, but her heart drummed out a single word—faster, faster, faster.

So Vhalla ran. She ran, and each shadowed apparition she came into contact with dissolved into the darkness that slowly encroached upon her. Nothing could hinder the dying cries of the shadow people, cries echoing to her very soul—not the palms pressed over her ears, not even her own screams.

And suddenly, silence.

Vhalla lowered her hands slowly, peeling one eye open, and then the next. There was nothing behind her, nothing beside her; the path before her was illuminated by one last glittering flame, consuming a building that had collapsed in on itself. Pulled by an invisible force, her feet dragged one inch, then the next, toward the rubble. She was already too late. She was too late every time, every night.

Vhalla began pulling the rubble aside, one large block at a time. The flames licked around her hands, but they didn’t burn her. They didn’t even feel hot. He was at the bottom, waiting for her, and Vhalla took the battered and bloody body of her dead friend into her arms, weeping until her throat was raw.

“Sareem,” she sobbed into his gory shoulder. “I promise, next time, I’ll be faster. Please, don’t wait for me.”

His hands sprung to life, gripping her arms. With sudden force the man reversed their positions, slamming her down against the ground, his carcass pressing her to the cobblestone street. Half of his face was nothing more than a gory pulp that dripped blood onto her shoulder.

“Vhalla,” he hissed. Part of his jaw was gone and the remaining bone moved at an awkward slant. “Why didn’t you come?”

“I tried!” she cried, begging. “I’m sorry, Sareem, I’m sorry!”

“You weren’t there.” The corpse of her friend leaned forward, nearly touching her face. “You weren’t there, and I died because of you.”

“I’m sorry!” Vhalla screamed.

“You were with him.” His grip cut off the blood to her arms, and Vhalla’s fingers went numb. “You were with him!” He shook her. “Where is he now? Where is he now?” her childhood friend demanded, shaking her body like a ragdoll, her head slamming on the ground.

Vhalla struggled against the arms holding her as they shook her again.

“No, no! I tried to save you!” she sobbed.

“Vhalla, wake up!” A different voice commanded, and Vhalla’s eyes shot open.

Larel’s palms ran up and down Vhalla’s arms. Her dark Western eyes were rife with concern. Vhalla blinked up at her, removing the image of her dead friend. The memory of Sareem sent her stomach heaving, and Vhalla rolled to the side of the bed, vomiting into a carefully placed bedpan.

“This is the third night in a row,” said a voice from the door. The same voice she’d heard the past two nights.

Vhalla looked up, wiping spittle from her chin. A sorcerer stood there, and he didn’t exactly look pleased.

“Cut her some slack.” Larel was not amused.

“Cut me some slack.” The person yawned, but heeded the warning tones in Larel’s voice with one pointed glare back in Vhalla’s direction. A slamming of the door punctuated his departure.

Vhalla coughed a final time, her mental and physical stability returning the longer she was out of the dream. Pulling herself into a seated position, Vhalla rubbed her palms against her eyes and blinked away the last remnants of the vision.

“Vhalla,” Larel whispered softly, placing her palm on the crown of Vhalla’s head. The other woman sat on the bed and pulled Vhalla into her arms.

“I’m okay. I’m fine, I’m fine,” Vhalla murmured into the soft comfort of her friend.

“I’ll stay.”

“No, you can’t stay every night.” Vhalla shook her head, but didn’t shrug off the soothing palm stroking her tangled mess of brown hair.

“Who says?” The woman assumed her position between Vhalla and the wall. It was cramped with the two of them, but Vhalla was too exhausted to object.

They lay facing each other, hands held tightly. Vhalla squinted in the darkness, using the faint light of the moon to make out Larel’s face. The other woman stared back. As a Firebearer, Larel could summon a flame with a thought and give them light, but she didn’t.

“Larel,” Vhalla whimpered softly.

“You should get some sleep.” Larel knew of Vhalla’s imminent collapse just by the tone of her voice.

“Tomorrow’s the last day.” After the dream, her emotions were like an avalanche rushing toward the edge of a cliff. Vhalla was hopeless to do anything other than ride it out. She’d been hopeless at everything since her trial five days ago.

“It is, and Major Reale will only work you harder.” Larel’s voice was an extension of her resolve, as immovable as a mountain. She was the only grounding rock Vhalla had left.

“What’s the point?” Vhalla whispered through quivering lips. “I’m dead the moment we see real combat.” Originally, Vhalla had fantasized about what she would meet in the North—the war-torn land where she was commanded to march as a conscripted soldier of the Empire. But dreams and guilt had worn at her resolve until only a husk remained.

“You are not,” Larel insisted.

“I can barely do anything!” Her voice was pathetic, even to her own ears. But Vhalla was beyond caring. She’d summoned a false strength to make it through her trial, but it was gone now.

“Hush,” Larel ordered. The matter was no longer up for discussion. “You must sleep.”

Vhalla pressed her lips together. “Will you wake me?” she asked finally.

“I will,” Larel responded, as she did every night.

“I don’t know how I’ll sleep without you on the march,” Vhalla murmured softly.

“Don’t worry about that now, just rest.”

Larel kissed Vhalla’s knuckles softly, and Vhalla finally relented, closing her eyes.

Sleep was short, but it happened. Larel only woke Vhalla once more. It was an improvement from the previous four nights.

In the daylight Larel had the courtesy not to say anything about Vhalla’s night terrors. With the arrival of dawn, she departed Vhalla’s room quietly, leaving the Eastern woman to dress and prepare for the day.

Vhalla’s whole body felt stiff and sore, which made dressing take twice as long as normal. She rolled her shoulders and tilted her head from side to side as she shrugged on her black robe. Her reflection caught her attention: dark brown eyes flecked with gold were set upon a gaunt face and accentuated by dark circles. Even the usual Eastern tan of her skin had turned ashen. Vhalla raised a hand to her short hair, remembering the afternoon following her verdict when she’d cut it all off.

“I hate it,” Vhalla declared, not sure if she was speaking to her hair or her reflection as a whole.

Her feet carried her against the stream of people heading toward the kitchens. She wasn’t hungry. Vhalla didn’t think she’d manage a bite today. She had one day left before she’d march away from everything she had ever known. Her normally small appetite had shriveled to a rock hard pit.

She entered the training rooms of the Tower, which encompassed the center of an entire level. The circular room was lined with a low outer wall that acted as a barrier for spectators and waiting trainees.

A woman already stood in the room behind a high desk.

“Major,” Vhalla called as she entered.

“Yarl.” Major Reale was a Southern woman who was built out of steel and was just as warm. A metal eyepatch had been melted directly onto her bone, covering her left eye. “You’re early.”

“I can’t stay away,” Vhalla retorted with a sarcastic tone, a tone that was beginning to permanently slip between her words. Vhalla didn’t know where it came from, and she was too tired to care.

“Well, you’re not working with me today.” The major glanced up only briefly before returning to marking up the papers on the desk.

“I’m not?” Vhalla didn’t know where else she’d go. She couldn’t leave the Tower per the Senate’s orders. She was still property of the crown until she saw the war in the North to its conclusion—or she died.

“The minister wants to see you.”

Vhalla knew a dismissal when she heard it, and Major Reale wasn’t exactly the friendliest of women to be around.

With breakfast underway, the Tower hallway was empty. Most of the residents packed into the kitchens a few levels up. As she passed the mess hall, the noise washed over her, but Vhalla was too numb to hear it.

Past her room and almost at the top of the Tower was the Minister of Sorcery’s office and quarters. All other doors held a name plaque on their fronts bearing the resident’s name. But the one before her had the symbol of the Tower of Sorcerers cast in silver, a dragon curling in on itself split in two: the Broken Moon.

Her eyes drifted upward.

There was one more door, just visible on the curve of the sloping hallway. It was completely unmarked. And, while no one could confirm with any certainty, Vhalla could only suspect who it belonged to. She hadn’t seen or heard from her phantom in days and had no way of reaching out to him, no matter how badly her poorer judgment begged her to. Vhalla swallowed and knocked on the door in front of her before the bad idea to proceed to the next door could overcome her.

“Just a moment,” a voice called from within. The door swung open and a Southern man with short-cut blonde hair and icy blue eyes greeted her, the goatee around his mouth curling into a smile. “Vhalla, come in, come in,” Minister Victor ushered.

She was welcomed into the lavish office; it was a level of wealth that she was still unaccustomed to. Plush cerulean carpet beneath her booted feet reminded her of the Imperial Library in a physically painful way. Vhalla quickly sat at one of the three chairs situated before the desk.

“I was just finishing my breakfast. Are you hungry?” He motioned to a plate filled with an assortment of pastries.

“No.” Vhalla shook her head, bringing her hands together and wringing her fingers.

“No?” The minister cocked his head. “You couldn’t have eaten.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Now, Vhalla,” he scolded in a familial tone. “You need to keep up your strength.”

She stared at the muffin in his extended hand. Her training won out, and Vhalla listened to the man above her station. She picked at it listlessly, but that seemed to be enough for the minister.

“So tomorrow is the day,” he stated obviously.

“It is.” Vhalla nodded.

“I’d like to go over one or two things with you, before you march.” Vhalla continued to pick at her food as he spoke. “Foremost, I want you to know that no one in the Tower harbors any ill will toward you.”

Vhalla had a few bruises from Major Reale’s training that could beg to differ, but she busied her mouth with the muffin.

“I have informed all of the Black Legion that you are to be kept under close watch and be defended at all times,” Victor continued. “As the first Windwalker in nearly a hundred and fifty years I’d like to see you live long enough to study in the Tower.”

“Have you informed the Senate of this decision? I’m fairly certain they want me dead,” Vhalla replied numbly.

“Resentment doesn’t suit you.” The minister leaned back in his chair, pressing his fingers together.

“Excuse me,” Vhalla mumbled a half-hearted apology and snuck the partly eaten muffin back onto the minister’s plate.

“You need to return alive, Vhalla.” Minister Victor regarded her thoughtfully. “I need you to believe that you will be able to do this.”

Vhalla didn’t know how she could be expected to keep herself alive when she could barely manage magic. Mother, she could barely manage to close her eyes for more than a few minutes without horrors haunting her. “Very well,” Vhalla feigned agreement.

The minister only sighed at her response. “Will it help you if I give purpose to your days?” Minister Victor leaned forward, his elbows on his desk as though he was to impart a great secret upon her. “There is something I need ... and only you, as a Windwalker, can retrieve it.”

Vhalla instinctually sat straighter. “What?” She finally asked as the words were left hovering in the air.

“There is something very powerful hidden in the North. The longer it sits unattended, the greater the likelihood of it falling into the wrong hands or being used against our forces, should the Northern clans understand what they possess.”

Vhalla wondered how this was supposed to help her. “What is it?” Curiosity won the war of her emotions.

“It’s an ancient weapon from a different time, a time when magic was wilder and more divine.” He paused, mulling over his next words. “It is an axe that is said to be able to sever anything, even a soul.”

“Why would such a thing exist?” Vhalla struggled to think of a reason.

“Well, the latest records of it read as much fact as fiction.” The minister rubbed his goatee in thought.

“How are you sure it’s real?”

“I have it on very good faith it is.” The minister returned to the point, “I need you to retrieve it and bring it back here.” He tapped his desk.

“But if it’s so dangerous ...” Vhalla mused aloud. She felt like she was missing an important piece of information, but the minister was uninterested in imparting it to her.

“As I said, we want to keep it from the wrong hands. Beyond that, it would make the wielder nearly invincible.” Minister Victor let that hang and Vhalla was smart enough to piece together what he was trying to tell her. If the wielder was nearly invincible, and she managed to find it, then perhaps she could make it out of the North alive. “Will you help me with this, Vhalla?”

She hesitated for one last, long moment. Vhalla stared into the minister’s icy blue eyes, the eyes of the man who had kidnapped her when they had first met. But they were also the eyes of a man who had harbored her, healed her, and protected her when the world was ready to tear her limb from limb. The Tower was a mysterious place, but she knew sincerity when she saw it.

“Of course, minister,” Vhalla said obediently.

The Tower took care of its own.

VHALLA DID NOT sleep that night. She stayed awake, fighting through the uneasy hours with a book that she quickly realized she’d never finish. Closing it with a soft sigh, Vhalla tucked it away in her wardrobe as the sky began to lighten.

Two large panes of glass acted as both windows and doors, opening to the railed strip of stone that served as her secondary gateway to the world—what would generously be called a balcony. The beginnings of a bad winter flowed into the city at the end of each breeze. Vhalla let the chill numb her cheeks as she watched the edge of the horizon slowly turn crimson with the Mother Sun’s waking.

A knock on her door pulled Vhalla’s attentions inside. Larel had told her that she’d be bringing Vhalla’s armor and helping her clip it on for the first time. Vhalla took a deep breath, trying to muster up the scraps of courage she had scavenged the night before.

The air vanished from her lungs with a soft choking noise at the person who awaited her.

His hair was as black as midnight. His eyes were crafted from piercing darkness and were perched upon high cheekbones carved from flawless alabaster skin. He wore meticulously crafted and finely pressed clothes—not a single stitch out of place. He was the opposite of the haggard woman whose clothes hung more limply with each day. But it was only expected as he was the crown prince.

Vhalla stood helplessly before him, and he seemed just as lost at the sight of her. Neither spoke.

Vhalla realized, very self-consciously, that this was the first time he’d seen her since she cut her hair. Short hair or no, could he even bear the sight of her any longer?

“I have your armor.” His low voice resonated smoothly across her restless mind.

Vhalla heard the demand in the statement, moving aside so he could maneuver a small wooden armor stand into her room.

The sound of the door shutting behind him sent a nervous shiver up her spine. The last time Vhalla had been alone with the prince was the day of her verdict. The last time she’d seen him she was being escorted out of a courtroom by two armed guards, her sentence having been read—a sentence that gave the prince the ability to kill her should she disobey.

But Aldrik wouldn’t kill her. The way he looked at her revealed that certainty. He couldn’t kill her, if the magical force—the Bond—between them was real.

“Where’s Larel?” Vhalla wanted to smash her face against the wall. That was what she decided to say?

“I thought I might help you.” It was awkward, everything between them felt awkward. It was as though five years, not five days, had passed.

Everything had changed.

“I can’t deny you, my prince.” Vhalla brought her hands together, fidgeting.

Instead of his usual scolding of her restless tic, the prince took her fingers in his.

“Why the formality?” he asked softly, slipping the gloves onto her hands.

“Because ...” The words stuck in her throat.

“Just Aldrik is fine,” the prince reminded her.

She nodded mutely, still working through the knot of syllables behind her lips. With both gloves on, Aldrik passed her a chainmail tunic. Its sleeves were full, extending to the top of her gloves. Vhalla was surprised to find it had a hood fashioned of tiny links. Her hair fell just above where it pooled at the back of her neck. The weight of his stare brought her eyes to his, and Vhalla’s hand fell from where it played with the ends of her hair.

“You had it cut.” His hands paused on the armor.

“I cut it,” she corrected, staring at a corner of the room. It felt as though she was on trial all over again.

“I like it,” Aldrik said after what seemed like an eternity.

“You do?” Her mouth fell open in dumb shock.

“Long or short ... suits you.” The prince gave a small shrug.

Vhalla didn’t point out the fact that he had just contradicted himself. Her insides were in turmoil, and she suddenly felt like crying. He liked it? What about her was left to like?

The armor she slipped into was crafted out of small scales of black steel. It hung to mid-thigh and had shoulder coverings that only minimally hindered her movement. Her heart raced with conflicted emotion as she watched the prince’s long fingers demonstrate the locations of latches up the front of the armor.

“It is just the greaves and gauntlets then.” Aldrik motioned to the remaining pieces on the stand. She nodded silently. The prince hovered for a long moment before making for the door. “I need to prepare myself.”

“Aldrik.” Vhalla’s barely trembling hand clasped his coat sleeve before she even realized it had moved.

“Vhalla?” He stopped all movement in an instant, and his eyes searched hers.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

Pain flashed across the prince’s face, riding on the wave of realization of what her words meant. “You can.” Aldrik turned slowly, as though she was a wild animal, easily spooked. One warm hand encompassed hers; it was a delicate touch that seemed to carry the weight of the world in it.

“I-I’m awful at everything, and I—”

“Do you remember what I told you?” he asked as though he could sense her emotions were about to overrun her. “On the last day of your trial?”

“I do.” She remembered her palm pressed firmly against his side, on a spot that had been a lethal wound not more than a year before when he’d come riding into her life during a summer’s thunderstorm. He would have died from that wound if she had not saved him with her sorcery, inadvertently forming the magical Bond that now lived between them.

“Vhalla, I—” A door slammed in the hallway and the sound of footsteps heavy with armor faded down the hall. Aldrik engaged in a staring contest with the door. “I must go.”

She nodded.

“I will see you soon, for the march.”

Which of them was he reassuring?

Vhalla nodded again.

“We have a long time before reaching the North. I will personally make sure you are ready,” the prince swore, accepting responsibility for her.

“Thank you.” The words didn’t seem enough, but they were all she had to give and Aldrik accepted them before silently escaping.

She stood for several long breaths, trying to calm the tempest that blew within her chest. As close to ready as she’d ever be, Vhalla grabbed the small bag she’d been told to pack her personal effects in. Tucked away in her wardrobe were Aldrik’s notes, Larel’s bracelet, and three letters addressed to her old master in the library, her friend Roan, and her father. She’d told Fritz, the Tower’s de facto librarian, and his friend Grahm about their existence. If the worst befell her, those letters would be sent.

Her eyes caught the mirror once more, and Vhalla spared another minute. She didn’t recognize the woman who stared back at her. Hollow eyes and wild hair were framed by black armor. It was the visage of a warrior and a sorcerer.

Taking a deep breath, Vhalla plunged into the hall and didn’t look back. She didn’t even bother to lock her door. The sloping spiral was full of people, but none seemed interested in speaking and only the chorus of armor filled the air. Their plate was of a similar make to hers, but it didn’t look half as fine. Vhalla made note of the small gold embellishment along the front of her steel. One or two other people seemed to notice the same, but said nothing.

The hall ended in a large foyer at the base of the Tower, the only public entrance. Vhalla leaned against the outer wall, speaking to no one. The Tower had been kind to her, overall. But she only had two true friends among them, and they were still asleep in their beds.

Vhalla felt a pang of loneliness. The room was full of the stereotypical black hair and olive skin of the West, the yellow tan and plain brown features of the East, and the pale skin and golden haired people of the South. They were all mixes of eyes and hair she knew, and yet none of them were familiar.

Some of the other soldiers chatted away nervously. Others were too calm for this to be their first tour. Even though Aldrik had said otherwise, she was alone. Vhalla stared at her toes—she brought death and destruction; it was better this way.

Over her self-pity Vhalla heard the makings of a familiar voice.

“See, I told you we wouldn’t be late,” a man was saying.

“We would have been if I hadn’t dragged you from bed,” a woman responded.

“You can stop with the dragging now.”

Vhalla’s head snapped up to see Larel leading Fritz into the room, a firm grip on his arm. Vhalla’s eyes widened. They were dressed much the same as everyone else, completely done up in armor.

“Fritz, Larel?” she called out to them timidly.

“Vhal!” The Southern man with the wild blonde hair waved in excitement as he passed Larel in a rush, leaving the other woman to leisurely follow behind.

“What are you doing here?” Vhalla asked, dumbfounded as they put their own packs on the floor.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he responded, smoothing down his unruly curls. “We’re coming with you.”

“But neither of you are in the military,” she objected.

“We’re brand new recruits.” He grinned.

Vhalla turned to Larel for some sense.

“You didn’t think I’d let my first apprentice run off to war without me, did you?” Larel scolded gently without any mention of the prince showing up in her stead earlier. “What kind of mentor do you think I am?” She crossed her arms on her chest.

“You-you can’t.” Vhalla’s heart began to race. She put her hands on Fritz’s shoulders and saw a different set of Southern blue eyes staring back at her. The eyes of a man whom she’d grown up with, who had been a dear friend; they were eyes that now belonged to a dead man. “I can’t have any more people die on my account.” Vhalla focused all her effort on keeping her voice from breaking.

“Don’t treat us like we’re children.” Larel rolled her eyes.

Fritz grabbed Vhalla’s hands. “It’s not your job to protect us. We know what we’re doing.” He squeezed her fingers gently.

Vhalla felt a hopelessness rising in her. “You’re idiots,” Vhalla breathed.

Fritz laughed. “I’ve been called worse.” He grinned, “Larel?”

“Much worse,” the Westerner replied with a smirk.

“You look fantastic, by the way, Vhal!” Fritz held out her arms between them to inspect Vhalla’s armor. “It’s no wonder; you are our Windwalker.”

Vhalla allowed Fritz to fuss and Larel to hum and smile. These had been the only people over the past few days who had made her feel close to human, and while she was in numb shock at the sight of them wearing armor, there was a little selfish streak that secretly rejoiced. Vhalla looked at Larel from the corners of her eyes, halfheartedly responding to Fritz.

The overexcited Southerner was silenced as a hush fell over the room. Major Reale strode in, also clad in black with an obsidian cape streaming down her back. A silver Broken Moon was emblazoned upon it. Vhalla saluted with the rest of the room, bringing her fists to her chest, knuckles together. She turned one hand down, the other pointing up, still connected at the wrist to mimic the imagery.

The moon was the point in which the day and night met, light in the darkness where it did not belong. Within it, the Father was said to have entrapped a creature of pure chaos. The Broken Moon of the Tower represented strength, that those who bore the mark would possess magic strong enough to pierce the heavens and put an end to what the Gods had started eons ago.

Vhalla had been too tired since joining the Tower to give the imagery much thought beyond learning its meaning. But the longer she’d considered the symbol, the more it seemed to fit her. There was something severed and rough about her, something tainted and, yet, at the same time those jagged pieces were the makings of something fearsome. She’d wanted to become someone the Senate would fear. Why not shatter the sky?

“Well, isn’t this a sorry lot I have the esteemed honor of leading to war?” The major took in the room. “Who here marches for glory?”

The room rose in an instant cry of affirmation.

“Get out of my sight,” the woman growled, instantly silencing the previously joyous soldiers. She cut down their resolve with a scan of her good eye. “I have no room for heroes under my command. Most of you will march to a thankless death. Your comrades in silver will fear you, they’ll hate you, and they’ll ignore your accomplishments and claim your victories.”

Vhalla’s mind drifted to the Senate, hearing a very different “they” in the woman’s words.

“But, for those of you who aren’t completely daft,” Major Reale taunted with a wild grin crossing her lips. “For those of you who can meet our enemy with as much cruelty, as much cunning, and as much skill, maybe you’ll see the end of this war. So stand with me, stand with your brothers and sisters in black. We ride toward the horizon of victory, and whoever cannot see the path there should leave now.”

The major strode out of the Tower and didn’t look back to see if anyone was following her.

Everyone was.

As the sunlight hit Vhalla’s face, she looked behind her and up at the Tower, which cast a dark shadow until it became one with the mountainside castle.

Home. This magnificent palace had been her home since she was eleven. She’d came to it as a farmer’s daughter, and now she’d leave it as a soldier. Vhalla shrugged the pack on her shoulder, gripping the leather straps tightly. She tried to ball up the nerves, fears, and insecurity and suppress it into some dark hole deep within her.

They walked through an inner path down to the stables. No one said a word. The sounds of the palace waking, and the Black Legion’s armor clanking, soon joined the symphony of horses and men below.

The stables surpassed her wildest imagination. Hundreds of people filled every possible space. Each was plated in silver armor. Some were readying steeds, others were preparing carts.

Her awe was broken when the major barked a sharp order, sending Vhalla toward a side stall. She hadn’t expected to have her own mount. Vhalla’s steed was a mostly-black stallion with a white patch on its forehead. She patted its neck, and it shook a dark mane in dramatic protest. A bit of fire in the beast would suit her well, she decided. A young stable boy who gave her a wide berth worked quickly to saddle and bridle the mount. There was the echo of a voice in her that wanted to reassure the clearly fearful child, but Vhalla couldn’t find the strength to comfort anyone else. She was too dark inside to even smile, so it was no surprise that she nearly startled the boy to death when she spoke.

“What’s his name?”

“It-it’s a new one. I saw ‘im just this week. Don’t think he ‘as a name.” The boy finished tacking the horse and attaching one small saddlebag on either side. One was stocked with rations, and Vhalla’s meager possessions fit into the other—with some space left over.

She walked to the front of the horse and considered the beast. “Lightning,” she decided. It wasn’t very original, but it needed a name, and Lightning was as good as any. Lightning was fire in the sky, lightning was brilliant, lightning was fast, and lightning cut the heavens.

Putting her left foot in the stirrup, she swung her right over easily, taking the reins. Vhalla had never been taught how to properly ride, but a horse or two was something her family always kept for the farm. From a young age she’d rode astride, so sitting in a saddle seemed a natural stance. Vhalla glanced around at the other recruits; it wasn’t so natural for many.

Taking the reins in one hand, she put her heels to the beast’s sides and steered him out of the stable stall. Her armor clanked as she found the rhythm of the horse. Vhalla rode over to where the major was beginning to form the line.

“Major,” she said.

“Good to see you know your way around a horse.” The major assessed Vhalla from her feet in the stirrups to her grip on the reins. “You’ll be close to center, Yarl, at my right.” Referring to Fritz and Larel by their last names, she added, “Charem next to you, then Neiress. Then everyone else whom I can trust to not die promptly in a scuffle will be on the outside and rear.”

Vhalla placed her horse in line with enough space on both sides. There was a small commotion behind her, and Vhalla turned in her saddle. The palace’s giant ceremonial doors opened with the clanking and grinding of a large chain, and the Imperial family marched into the sun.

Prince Baldair wore his golden armor, and it shone brilliantly against the light. The Emperor wore a similar suit with large plate but all in white. Aldrik stood in stark contrast. He wore black scale that covered his entire body, similar to what Vhalla wore. Strapped atop the scale mail were large black plates rimmed in gold, which went from his hands to his elbows, his feet to his knees, on his shoulders, and upper chest. All three held helmets tucked under their arms and wore long white cloaks that flapped around their upper calves.

He looked nothing like the prince she’d seen barely hours before. But he was still utterly familiar to her.

The other members of the Imperial family had their horses brought out to them, but no one seemed interested in bringing Aldrik his. He approached the stomping beast and calmed it with a hand, leading it from its stall.

Vhalla’s stare was broken as Larel and Fritz rode over.

“Charem, Yarl’s right. Neiress, after,” the major barked, and Fritz and Larel fell in line around Vhalla.

“You’re holding the reins too tightly,” Vhalla advised quietly over Fritz to Larel, who seemed to be having trouble controlling her horse. Larel gave her an appreciative glance. Even though Vhalla would have rather them be safe in the Tower, she was glad to have her friends near her.

She began to notice strange glances from the other soldiers as more fell into line. There was a definite break between those dressed in silver and white and those dressed in silver and black. Friends were going to be in short supply on the march.

A quiet swept up from behind her, and the major turned. Aldrik sat atop his large War-strider, riding through the gap to Major Reale.

“My prince.” The major bowed her head.

“Major Reale.” Aldrik’s voice was sharp. “How many do we have?” His eyes scanned through the recruits.

“Just shy of fifty,” the major reported, confirming Vhalla’s suspicions that they were the smallest group.

“Then I want just shy of fifty coming home.” The prince took the reins in his hands as the major nodded. He directed his horse through the ranks, heading toward the front, but spared the second for a glance at Vhalla. Their eyes met, and his face relaxed a fraction, a conflicting mess of emotions building behind his stare.

Vhalla hardened her gaze as much as she could and gave him a small nod. He put his heels to his horse and posted a trot to the front of the line.

The time for sadness and pity was over. The girl who had come to the palace at eleven and lived her life in the library was dead; she’d been killed by the Senators whom she’d always been taught were sworn to protect her. The woman sitting in the saddle now had to find a heart crafted of black steel. She had to survive if for no other reason than to spite the world.

The host was in place, and the men and women shifted in their saddles. Vhalla clutched her reins tightly. She could do this, she told herself over the mental lies that her knees weren’t shaking in the stirrups.

“Open the gates!” the Emperor boomed.

The lower gates groaned to life, opening for the hoard of warriors behind them. The Emperor led the march as the host spilled out into the mountaintop city with a thunderous rumble. Somewhere at the front soldiers began to cry, a wordless shout of bloodlust, fear, victory, and hope.

Vhalla did not make a sound.

THE DIN OF the horses’ hooves on the cobblestone streets filled her ears. They set a brisk pace down the city and through the assembled crowds. More than one person stared with morbid curiosity or fear as the Black Legion passed, and Vhalla struggled not to give the masses any heed.

But, despite her best efforts, her eyes wandered; Vhalla was faced with a mix of horror, fear, and anger. Sorcerers, they were outcasts and unwanted creatures and—as far as many of the crowd were concerned—they had overstepped their boundaries the moment they left the Tower. More than once, someone was bold enough to throw something at them, though it normally missed and hit a pole-armed soldier at their front or an archer at their backs. The Black Legion was much smaller than the other groups.

By the increasing damage to the city, Vhalla realized they were close to the square of Sun and Moon. It had only been a few days since the already infamous Night of Fire and Wind, and most things were still in disrepair. Guilt swelled within her to near dizzying levels.

As they reached the lower wall of the city the houses became shorter, less opulent. It made the wall all the more impressive. The capital’s first line of defense was a massive structure that utilized natural features and stone of the mountain. The drawbridge of the main gate was already being lowered for the host to march through.

“Ride close!” Major Reale called from her left.

Vhalla steered her horse close to the center of the column, and they passed through the gate. The city continued to stretch on beyond the wall on the other side of the moat, a moat that would remain dry throughout the winter months. Even poorer homes lined the mountainside to the valley below.

The road they marched upon eventually came to a T against the Great Imperial Way, a road that ran from the border of the Empire in the North to the sea in the South. The host turned left and began to head in a northwestern direction. Laid stones made their path wide enough that the entire host could ride and march abreast, eleven to fifteen men side-by-side.

It wasn’t until they hit the forest that a horn blew long and low. The whole of the host slowed their pace, and the leaders called for a change in formation.

Major Reale waved out her arm to the right. “Make a space,” she called, and they obliged.

Vhalla focused ahead; the whole army kept on while cleaving a hole down the middle. Aldrik, to his father’s left, slowed his horse and the soldiers marched forward around him. Then the Emperor stopped his mount, and finally the golden prince. The Imperial family fell into place among the ranks.

Prince Baldair stayed in the middle front with all the sword-bearing soldiers. The Emperor rode behind him among the pole-arms. A few rows after was Vhalla and the crown prince, who now occupied the space between her and the major. His War-strider was a large creature, and her waist was on the same level as Aldrik’s knee.

She glanced up at him, and caught his eyes on her at the same time. Vhalla gave a small bow of her head.

“My prince,” she said respectfully. He barely nodded and turned back to the major. Vhalla looked forward. She wanted to believe that it was simply chance how the formation had lined up, but she was too smart for that. The man to her left gave nothing to chance.

In truth, she was fairly certain it was the safest place to be in the host—near the center, next to one of the most powerful sorcerers alive. Vhalla told herself that relief was the reason for the warmth that relaxed her shoulders at the thought that he’d be near her.

The legions had slowed to little more than a walk and the banners were struck. The time for pomp had ended, and everyone seemed to settle in for the long trip north. The war had been raging for four long years, and victory was one winter away. At least, the Emperor had said such.

Vhalla glanced behind her; in between the two back legions moved supply carts. It seemed a large amount of supplies for a victory that was only supposed to take a few months. She mused if the Emperor hadn’t been entirely true in his time estimates.

The forest became denser, and soon they rarely passed any houses. Occasionally game and hunting trails stretched out from the road, but there was little else. The trees fractured the light from the Mother Sun, splotching the road ahead. Chatter began to fill the air, and it was a fairly peaceful ride.

But Vhalla didn’t know if she could feel peaceful, she didn’t know if she could sit easily in her saddle and prattle on about this or that. Every shift in her armor reminded her why she was there. She was a soldier now, property of the crown.

“How long has it been since you’ve been out of the city?” Fritz asked. The Southerner had other plans than to let her sit silently and wallow in her misfortune.

“It’s been a while,” Vhalla finally replied.

“Really?” he seemed genuinely surprised. “How often do you go home?”

“The last time I went home ...” Vhalla’s words trailed off, thinking of a farmhouse amid a field of golden wheat. She’d sent a letter to her father just a few days ago, trying to get word to him faster than rumors could fly. The thought put a lump in her throat, as though she’d somehow tarnished the happy memories her family had made in their home with her sorcery and crimes. “For my coming of age, I think?”

“What?” Fritz was aghast. “Fifteen? It’s been three years since you went home? My mother and sisters would have my skin if I didn’t come home for three years.” Fritz laughed his infectious laugh.

Vhalla cracked a smile. “You have sisters?” As an only child she sometimes wondered what it’d be like to have a sibling.

“Four of them,” Larel chimed in from Fritz’s right. She seemed to be much more comfortable on the horse now that it was barely moving. “And you should see them all together. Thank the Mother they’re not all sorcerers or it would be the Charem family against the world.”

“You’ve met them?” Vhalla’s curiosity compelled her to ask.

“Once.” Larel nodded.

“How long have you known each other?”

The two exchanged a look before turning back to Vhalla.

“Seven years,” Larel said.

“Eight years,” Fritz proclaimed.

They both glared at each other.

“No, it’s seven. You came the year after my coming of age.” Larel counted on her fingers.

“No, eight, I just turned thirteen,” Fritz argued.

“Yes, you turned thirteen, but after we met.”

“You two remind me of an old friend and me,” Vhalla mused softly.

“Who?” Fritz asked, oblivious to the sorrow that laced her words.

“His name was Sareem.” She fussed with Lightning’s mane.

“Is he at the palace?” Fritz tilted his head.

“He died on the Night of Fire and Wind.” Vhalla was momentarily assaulted by her nightly visions of her friend’s battered and broken body. It was her fault. She’d been too slow and he’d been waiting for her.

“I’m sorry, Vhal. Was he someone special?” Fritz asked, pulling Vhalla from her self-inflicted mental abuse.

“He was a good friend—special, like a brother.” Vhalla physically shook the images from her head, feeling another set of eyes fall on her from her left. Her sanity couldn’t handle another question on Sareem so she decided to take control of the conversation. “How long will we ride today?”

“Another two or three hours,” said a voice, dark as midnight.

Vhalla turned and looked up at the crown prince. “That’s all?”

Aldrik nodded. “It will take some time for a host this size to stop and set up camp. We don’t want to do it in the dark.”

Vhalla nodded and turned away before she became too entranced by him. Fritz and Larel began to talk between them, but Vhalla excluded herself from the conversation. She felt exhausted and passed the rest of the day in a daze.

When the sun was two-thirds of the way through the sky, the trumpet bellowed twice, calling for an all-stop.

“Make camp on the left side,” Major Reale barked, and the Black Legion followed her order.

Aldrik split off and dismounted between the Black Legion and the pole-arms. His father’s tent was erected in the center of the forward legion, and Aldrik’s went up at the edge.

The more experienced soldiers who knew what to do began to set up tents. The Imperial family members’ tents were significantly larger and rose up in a square with a pyramid roof. Groups of people ran over to assist each royal in setting up their temporary home.

It was a nice feeling to be out of the saddle. Vhalla stretched out her legs, ignoring the stiff ache, as she tied Lightning to a low-hanging tree branch. But she suspected the horse was smart enough not to run.

“Vhalla, we’re sharing,” Larel called, walking over to her with a bundle of canvas in her hands.

Relief settled over her as Vhalla pulled her bedroll off Lightning’s saddle. Larel was with her. She felt guilty that the woman had become her keeper, but Vhalla was too mentally and physically exhausted to waste much energy on such a small guilt.

Seasoned soldiers took personal effects from their saddlebags, like blankets or small pillows, and made themselves comfortable in their cramped spaces. Some regarded her with curiosity, some ambivalence, which was better than the one or two dirty glances she received even within the Black Legion.

Larel drove two posts, which suspended a length of canvas, into the ground. The product was a simple triangular tent. Privacy came in the form of two flaps in the front and back that could be tied closed. It was barely big enough for their two bedrolls.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Larel announced after they’d finished settling.

“What’s for dinner?” Vhalla followed the Western woman as she walked toward one of the fire pits.

“Whatever the hunters can find with speed,” Larel answered.

Tonight that appeared to be a few deer, hare, and pheasant that already dripped fat into the fires from the turning spits. Vhalla received a shred of meat directly into her palm. She thought back to the lunch she’d shared with Prince Baldair at his formal table. Was he eating with his fingers now also?

“It’s not half bad,” Vhalla mused as she gnawed half-heartedly on a corner of the meat.

“I’ve always heard the Southern Forest was the easiest stretch of the march.” Larel tore off a strip with her teeth, eating ravenously. “The soldiers say that the Western Waste makes up for it in difficulty, and if we dip into our rations now we’ll never make it through the desert.”

Suddenly everyone was on their feet, giving the salute of the Black Legion. Vhalla was slower in bringing her fists to her chest. The crown prince walked up to the circle, his hands folded behind his back in a commanding stance. After a long moment of assessment, he gave a nod and the company relaxed. Aldrik walked over to the far corner and sat down next to a woman whom Vhalla had never seen.

Her skin was a deep tan color, not quite chocolatey, more like the color of a black tea that had been steeped for too long. Her hair was the same texture as the Northerners, and Vhalla instantly felt uncomfortable. Vhalla put her fingertips to her cheek, touching the faint red line of recently healed skin, remembering the Night of Fire and Wind. The woman’s hair curled like corkscrews in every direction, and she wore a red bandana around her forehead that pushed it back. She had angular features and striking green eyes. Vhalla’s uneasiness aside, the woman was rather beautiful.

She watched the odd exchange as the watercolor sky grew inky black. Aldrik sat with one knee up, an arm propped on it. He had removed his cape and sat leisurely in his armor. The woman was laughing, and Vhalla even saw a smile sneak across Aldrik’s cheeks from time to time. It was a smile that Vhalla had only ever seen given to her.

“Who is that?” Vhalla spoke so she couldn’t hear the whisper of his throaty laughter with the other woman on the wind.

“Who?” Larel tried to squint across the fire pit.

“The woman the prince is talking to. I’ve never seen her before.” If the woman had been in the Tower, it was amazing that Vhalla had missed it. The woman’s appearance alone made her uneasy.

“Ah, her.” Larel seemed to get a good look. “Fritz, you know her?”

“Her?” Fritz glanced now too and shook his head. “I’m not sure. I think I heard they were bringing people who knew about the North.”

“Do you think we can trust her?” Vhalla asked, unable to shake the unsettling feeling.

“The prince apparently does,” Larel replied with a shrug.

Vhalla returned her focus to the two in question. Their discussion seemed to have changed to something more heated, and they were arguing back and forth. Aldrik shifted and, as though he sensed her stare, two dark eyes caught her. Vhalla quickly averted her gaze.

For the remainder of the meal, she made it a point to avoid looking at him. Vhalla picked at her meat. Surely it was a discussion about the North, if that was why this woman travelled with them. Though the casual smiles and relaxed stances made it seem like war wasn’t the subject of conversation.

“Eat, Vhalla,” Larel instructed. “You’ll need your energy.”

Vhalla forced half of the meal down like it was medicine. Her desire for social interaction vanished, and she stood.

“I’m going to tuck in,” she announced to her friends.

“We have a long ride tomorrow,” Larel agreed.

“See you in the morning,” Fritz said with a smile.

Vhalla turned and walked away, not tired in the slightest.

SHE WAS TRAPPED in the labyrinth of her nightmares. Every shadowed figure cracked and turned into fog, dissipating at her touch. She ran past them all, feeling the wind roar on the edge of her consciousness. Vhalla ran screaming through the darkness and fire.

Two arms heaved her upright, shaking her awake.

Vhalla immediately wrestled with the other body, trying to tear herself away from the person’s grip. Her forehead was slick with sweat, and her clothes were nearly soaked. Wind howled through the mountains, heralding one of the last storms of summer.

“Vhalla, stop.” Larel pulled Vhalla into her arms, pressing Vhalla’s face into her chest and shielding her from the world. “You’re okay, you’re all right. I’m here.”

Vhalla shivered, clinging to Larel as she had every other night she’d woken like this. Her blanket seemed less tangled around her legs; the other woman could wake her from her night terrors faster when she was only an arm’s length away. Vhalla pressed her face into the Westerner, reminding herself that the person she was holding was not the mangled body of her lost friend.

“Sorry,” Vhalla muttered when she was finally ready to face the world again.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for.” Larel said it in such a way that Vhalla believed it.

As it was near dawn, they decided not to go back to sleep. They assisted each other in clipping on their armor before breaking down the tent. Vhalla’s skin felt hot and cold all over. It was as though she could still feel the heat of the fire from the nightmare, the chill of the screams in the darkness. If she couldn’t make it through one night, how could she make it through war?

“Do you want to talk about it?” Larel asked. It wasn’t the first time the woman had posed the question.

“No,” Vhalla replied, having no interest in sharing the darkness that brewed in her as ominously as the storm clouds on the dawn’s horizon.

“Good morning,” an unfamiliar voice chimed, halting any further inquiry from Larel.

Vhalla could’ve thanked the person were it not for the face that belonged to the voice. She paused, mid-fold on the tent canvas, staring at the emerald eyes that shone brightly in the early morning light.

“Good morning,” Vhalla greeted quietly. Seeing this woman and her Northern features so close after her nightmares instantly unsettled Vhalla.

“Good morning,” Larel responded politely. “Can we help you?”

“Vhalla Yarl, the Windwalker.” It wasn’t a question, and it made Vhalla feel anxious. “I don’t know what I expected from the stories, but it was not you,” she said with a laugh.

Vhalla stood slowly.

“And you are?” Larel asked.

“Oh, where are my manners? Elecia.” She stuck out her hand for Larel, then Vhalla. Vhalla took it after only a brief moment’s hesitation. “Say, you sure you really made that windstorm everyone tells me about? You look like you’d be blown over by a good breeze.” Elecia laughed and, despite being a sweet sound, it made Vhalla’s teeth grind together.

“I did; just ask any of the Senators. I know one or two who would be happy to give you a colorful account of the night.” Vhalla turned her back on the woman, strapping her bedroll to Lightning’s saddle. She didn’t care if she was being rude. This woman was the last person with whom she’d discuss the Night of Fire and Wind.

“Well, I guess we will see,” she said cheerfully. “The crown prince asked me to deliver a message.”

Vhalla paused. Aldrik was sending messages through this woman? She barely looked any older than Vhalla.

“He is going to assist you with your training starting this evening.”

Vhalla managed to hold her tongue and give the woman a nod.

“Excellent.” The woman clapped her hands together. “Right then, see you ladies later.” She was gone before either had an opportunity to respond.

Vhalla pressed her eyes closed and swallowed down the nausea the sight the woman evoked. She was disgusted with herself. “I’m going to take these to the cart,” Vhalla announced, grabbing up the tent poles. “I could use a walk.”

Larel nodded mutely and picked up the canvas, taking it to her saddlebag before repeating the process with her bedroll.

Vhalla took a few deep breaths, reminding herself she had no reason to be angry. Aldrik was likely busy, and he was talking to Elecia last night. He mentioned it and asked her for a favor, Vhalla explained away in her head. She should be happy, excited even, to train with Aldrik. But the woman’s words echoed in her mind: See you later. Did that mean Elecia was going to be there, too? Or was it just a colloquial saying? Why was she even talking so casually to Aldrik in the first place?

Vhalla waited in line at the cart to return the tent poles. The sun had almost come up—scaring away the storm clouds in the process—and the host was likely to begin their march soon.

“Thanks,” she mumbled to the man loading the cart. Vhalla turned and bumped into a large man with light brown hair. “Sorry,” she muttered, keeping her face down. Vhalla stepped around him to head back to her section of camp when a large hand clasped down on her shoulder.

“Well, don’t you think you’re special, black armor?” he sneered, yanking her back.

Vhalla stumbled. “I said I was sorry.” She looked up at the man in annoyance; this was not the morning to test her patience.

“Really? I didn’t hear you.” He leaned down.

“I’m sorry,” she forced through grit teeth, not wanting to make a scene before the small crowd gathering.

“It’s bad enough we have to deal with the Black Legion at all,” the man grumbled. “Now I’ve to take sass from little girls?”

Vhalla frowned.

An armored arm slung itself around her shoulder, and Vhalla blinked in surprise. “Now, now, don’t take it personally, Vhalla. Grun here hasn’t eaten yet, and he’s really grumpy in the morning,” Daniel said with a grin.

“Come on, Grun,” Craig came up on the other side of the man. “Let’s get some food in that giant gut of yours.”

She hadn’t seen the two soldiers since her trial. They’d been her guards when she was in holding, the good ones. Daniel was an Easterner like her, amber-tinted tan skin and full-bodied dark brown hair. Craig’s wavy blonde hair and paler complexion marked him as a Southerner. She’d immediately liked both of them, and this morning was one more reason to add to that growing list.

“Eat with us, Vhalla?” Daniel asked.

“I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea.” She glanced over at the large man Craig was escorting away.

“Nonsense!” Craig called, and soon she was being led toward the front of the host.

“What are you two doing here?” she asked Daniel as he removed his arm from her shoulders. Craig took the behemoth a far distance ahead before rejoining them.

“We’re soldiers.” Daniel chuckled, the movement tossing his nearly shoulder-length hair. “I’d say we belong here more than you, Miss Windwalker.”

“You’re not palace guards?” she asked with genuine surprise.

He shook his head and raised up his arm. One of his gauntlets was plated in gold, the metal on his forearm catching the glint of the morning’s light. “We’re Golden Guard,” he explained.

Vhalla had heard of Prince Baldair’s personal squadron before; they were rumored to be the best of the best with only the finest lords and ladies serving among them.

As she focused on his arm he focused on her. “I like your hair; you clean up rather nice.”

She raised a hand to the frayed ends of her hair that barely touched the chainmail hood of her armor. Her hair was awful. Vhalla scowled as a hunk of cold meat was shoved into her palm. It was a little charred on one side and the natural fats had coagulated into a jelly-like film that she scraped off onto the ground as they sat around the still-smoldering remains of a fire.

“I don’t think people like that I’m here.” Other soldiers gave her looks, but none were brave enough to approach with two members of Prince Baldair’s highest order at her sides.

“Don’t you think that’s half the fun?” Craig asked with a small grin.

She shook her head.

“Plus, we look so exotic with our Black Legion friend.” Daniel took a large bite of his meat.

“Where are you both from?” Vhalla asked, picking at her own food.

“The capital,” Craig said, unsurprisingly.

“Cyven,” Daniel announced.

“Where in Cyven?” She was sincerely interested in anyone from the East.

“Most people don’t know it. It’s a small town.” Daniel laughed when he saw the squint she was giving him and proceeded, “It’s called Paca.”

“Paca!” she gasped.

“You know it?” He raised his eyebrows.

“I’m from Leoul.”

“No.” He seemed as excited as she felt.

“Yes! Yes! I went to the Festival of the Sun in Paca every year with my mum and papa.” Vhalla felt the sweet pang of nostalgia.

“With the old lady who sells the candied nuts?” he asked in disbelief.

“And the man who never stopped singing?” Vhalla affirmed.

“Oh Paaaaaaaca, don’t you go astray!” Daniel put his hand to his chest and belted before they both collapsed into a fit of laughter. “You really do know!” He flashed her a dazzling smile that was too infectious not to return.

“Oh, how adorable. You finally have someone who understands your love of farm animals.” Craig’s tease was ignored.

Daniel’s focus was only on Vhalla.

“My family’s farm is about a half day’s ride to the Hot Pot Inn. We’d stay there for the festival,” she explained.

“I knew the family who owned the inn. I’d work there sometimes when Dad didn’t need a hand in the fields. I wonder if we ever met.” Daniel gave the matter serious thought.

“Who knows?” Vhalla shrugged and occupied her mouth with a strip of meat. She didn’t remember any young boys in particular, but she didn’t want to discourage Daniel. It was nice to have a connection to home.

“Get ready to move out,” Prince Baldair boomed as he strolled through the ranks.

“I should go.” She stood, passing her mostly untouched breakfast to an eager Craig.

“Ride with us today?” Daniel invited.

“I don’t think I can,” Vhalla said uncertainly.

“They’re only strict about the formation for show. They won’t care now.” Craig was already halfway through her portion.

Vhalla opened her mouth to answer as she felt footsteps thunder over the ground behind her.

“You’re far from home.”

“My prince.” Vhalla turned, giving Prince Baldair a bow. She found his presence uncomfortable. First he’d been nothing more to her than the Heartbreaker Prince, a man straight from the lore of servants. A man she’d only briefly met in the library by chance. Then, he’d been Aldrik’s brother, and her conspirator in sneaking her into the gala at the end of the last Festival of the Sun. That had also been the Night of Fire and Wind. The last time she’d seen Prince Baldair he’d been tending to her wounds at Aldrik’s command. What did he think of her now? “I was just about to return.”

“Baldair.” Daniel stood, wiping his palms on his pants, surprisingly relaxed in the presence of his prince and commander. “Would it be trouble if Vhalla rode with us today?”

“You well know it’ll be trouble from the other soldiers if she is around.” Baldair laughed as if the idea was more amusing than off-putting. “But I don’t mind, if her superiors don’t take issue.” The prince gave Vhalla a grin as he paused over the word superiors.

“We’ll see ...” Vhalla avoided his presumptuous gaze.

“One of you two walk her back? I don’t want trouble one day out,” the prince demanded, smartly aware of the tensions surrounding her presence.

“I will,” Daniel volunteered first.

“Excellent.” Prince Baldair gave a nod and left.

“Shall we?” Daniel took a step toward the Black Legion.

“See you later, Miss Windwalker,” Craig bid her farewell with a smile.

“Take care, Craig.” Vhalla waved and fell in step with Daniel.

The camp was almost completely broken down as they walked back. Remnants of fires were doused, and people were beginning to mount their horses. The short walk was filled with talk of how his family grew potatoes and hers wheat, and the processes for each. Despite the circumstances under which they met, Vhalla felt an instant connection with her fellow Easterner.

When they came upon the Black Legion she noticed Aldrik’s tent had almost been completely loaded up into the cart with the rest of the Imperial items, but she didn’t see the man anywhere.

“Don’t let the other soldiers bother you,” Daniel said, coming to a stop. “They’re not bad people, they’re just—” he paused, looking to the heavens for inspiration, “—a little stupid.”

Vhalla grinned.

“Vhal!” Fritz ran over. “We were looking for you.” He practically skidded to a halt to give her escort a full assessment.

“Fritz, this is Daniel. Daniel, Fritz,” she introduced.

Daniel extended his palm in greeting.

“You best be nice to our Vhal!” Fritz said, ignoring Daniel’s hand and pointing in his face.

“My, you didn’t warn me you had bodyguards,” Daniel chuckled, taking Fritz’s hand from his face and shaking it. “You have my word, only kindness and care from me.” The low draw of a horn echoed through the forest and the last soldiers fell into place like a great migration. “Oops, must get back. Come up and ride with us if you can!” Daniel called, already hurrying to the front.

“He’s cute,” Fritz swooned.

“Fritz!” Vhalla scolded.

“What? Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.” Fritz rolled his eyes.

In truth, Vhalla hadn’t. She ran back over to Lightning to find Larel already on horseback, waiting along with Fritz’s mount. “Sorry,” she apologized.

“Yet again, Vhalla, you have nothing to be sorry for.” Larel’s smiled brightly. “You seem to be in better spirits.”

Vhalla mounted Lightning with a nod, concealing a guilty smile. She had enjoyed herself.

It turned out to be just as Craig and Daniel had said. The host was a slightly structured mass today compared to the neat rows and careful placement of the day before. But she, Fritz, and Larel gravitated to the same place in line. The two were instantly involved in some heated debate that carried over from breakfast and Vhalla drifted in and out of the conversation, thinking about Daniel’s and Craig’s offer.

It wasn’t until Aldrik shifted in his saddle that she even realized he was there.

Vhalla turned and her mouth dropped agape. “Your ... hair.” It was a thought that escaped as sound. His raven hair was limp, falling perfectly straight around his face. The prince had long bangs that tapered in front, falling below his eyebrows, and messy cut layers throughout. They were elements of an Aldrik that Vhalla had no idea even existed, so different from how he usually wore his hair in the palace.

He glanced at her, momentary annoyance furrowing his brow. “You did not really think I would take time to fix my hair while at war, did you?” Aldrik’s low tones betrayed his amusement, and it instantly placed her under a spell.

“Well, I may like it,” Vhalla mused. His coy smirk encouraged boldness.

Aldrik paused briefly, his lips parted. She caught his ebony eyes and Aldrik looked forward quickly, as if unable to handle being the sole recipient of her consideration. “I trust Elecia got my message to you?”

Vhalla sobered quickly at the other woman’s name. “She did. Training?”

“Major Reale said she had begun to work with you, but you still have a ways to go. I would rather oversee your progress personally.”

Had he said those words to anyone else they likely would have inspired dread. But for Vhalla, they had an odd comfort.

“Of course, my puppet master.” She had meant to reference her old fears lightly, so it surprised Vhalla to see Aldrik staring at her with a deep intensity.

“If you want me to remove myself from your life, all you have to do is say the word.” There was no levity to his declaration.

Vhalla quickly looked askance, saving them from impropriety and hiding the blush that had found its way to her cheeks at his apparent attentions.

“I think,” she started softly, “that I like playing with fire.”

He gave her a long stare from the corner of his eyes. She couldn’t make out his expression without turning her head, but what she could see was confusing and made her stomach bubble.

NOT LONG AFTER the host stopped that afternoon, Elecia made her way to Vhalla and Larel’s mostly-finished tent. Fritz stood from where he had just finished unfurling his bedroll.

The sight of the woman still sent prickles up Vhalla’s neck—a phantom warning.

“Vhalla, Larel, Fritz,” she said with a smile, oblivious to Vhalla’s unease. “The prince is waiting, and I would rather not lose first pick for dinner.”

“Where are we going?” Vhalla asked, the last to fall into step behind Elecia.

“Out far enough away that we won’t be disturbed.” They were already halfway to the edge of camp.

“So, where are you from?” Larel struck up conversation.

“Norin.” Elecia didn’t even look back to give her response.

“Fiarum Evantes,” Larel said, reverently.

Vhalla looked over at her friend in surprise. She had never heard anyone speak anything other than Southern Common. The old tongues were a fading memory across the land, cemented by the advancement of the Solaris Empire. She could only assume Larel’s words to be the language of Mhashan, the old Kingdom of the West.

“Kotun un Nox,” Elecia responded, her tone shifting to a deeper register, less haughty than the lofty accent she’d used before.

“Norin is a beautiful city,” Larel mused politely, referring to the Western capital.

“It is.” Elecia nodded.

Vhalla began to feel her unease thaw. She had no reason to distrust Elecia. In fact, she had every reason to trust her. Clearly Aldrik did, and that should be more than enough reason for Vhalla. Furthermore, if she was from Norin, that made her Western and not Northern as Vhalla had first suspected. She took a deep breath. “I’m from—”

“Cyven, Leoul,” the curly-haired woman cut off Vhalla with a glance.

“Yes.” Vhalla frowned slightly, her fluster returning. “How did you know?”

“It’s my business to know, Vhalla Yarl,” Elecia replied smugly.

Fritz linked his arm protectively with Vhalla’s, as if sensing the dread that overtook her. She realized that they were very alone with Elecia. And, even if the other woman said she was from the West and spoke with the old tongue, she was so Northern-looking that it made Vhalla more uncomfortable than she wanted to admit.

Were it not for Fritz and Larel being with her, she may have snapped.

“About time,” Aldrik’s voice echoed from across a small clearing. He leaned against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest. “Thank you for fetching them, Elecia. You can go now.”

Vhalla wondered briefly why Aldrik was not escorting them himself. Were their meetings secret?

“Nope,” Elecia practically sung. “I am not your errand girl. I want to stay.”

“Fine.” Aldrik rolled his eyes, resigned.

Vhalla brought her hands together, lacing and unlacing her fingers. Elecia had refused him openly, publicly, coyly—and he had let her. As Elecia stepped to Aldrik’s left, it dawned on Vhalla that the woman acted as the same way Vhalla did around the prince. Vhalla bit her lip; perhaps Aldrik was more familiar with Elecia than he was with her.

“Vhalla,” Aldrik’s voice summoned her attention. “I want you to see what you are working toward. Reale has informed me that you have yet to master the basics.”

Vhalla nodded and ignored Elecia’s smug snort.

“Larel, Fritz, I would like for you both to pair off as a demonstration,” Aldrik commanded.

“What about me?” Elecia whined.

“You are not even supposed to be here.” Aldrik gave her a small glare, and the woman laughed. The sound made Vhalla’s skin crawl. “I would also like to see where you both are at, so do not maim or kill each other, but do not hold back.”

Larel and Fritz nodded, their faces sobering.

“Begin on my mark, then. And refrain from embarrassing yourselves.” Aldrik lifted a hand.

Fritz and Larel took a few steps away from each other, each sinking into a very different fighting stance. Fritz was more upright, his legs wide and his hands flat and lower, near his abdomen. Larel had her knees bent and her fists near her face, ready to pounce.

Aldrik dropped his hand, and Larel charged before Vhalla could blink. She drew back a fist as though she was going to throw a right hook but, at the last moment, dropped her shoulder for a left uppercut. Fritz raised his open palm, creating a shield of ice. It hissed and shattered as Larel’s fist, now swathed in flame, slammed into it.

Fritz pushed his other hand forward into her shoulder, freezing a portion of it. Larel gasped and stepped back, the ice quickly turning into a puddle around her feet. She had no time to catch her breath as he lunged. His wrist twitched, and he suddenly wielded a dagger of ice in his palm. Larel deflected by raising up her arm, and it shattered on her gauntlet.

She dropped and swept her foot on the ground, catching Fritz’s ankle and sending him tumbling backwards. Larel pulled back a flaming fist and threw her momentum into it. Fritz moved his hands as if to block, but he was too slow.

Vhalla’s hands rose to her mouth as she concealed a cry, fearful for her friend.

Larel’s fist smashed through Fritz’s face, and his body dissolved in a puff of smoke. The Western woman turned with a groan. Vhalla caught a shift in the light behind her. There was a flash of ice and Fritz faded back to sight, holding an ice dagger at Larel’s throat.

“Every time!” Larel threw up her hands, and Fritz backed away with a grin, tossing the wickedly sharp icicle aside. “Every time!” she said again, kicking the ground in frustration.

Vhalla stared in wonder.

“The minister told me about you,” Aldrik commented, taking a step over toward Fritz. “A gifted illusionist.”

“I don’t know if I’m gifted,” he said bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What, what was that?” Vhalla forced out in shock when her tongue was working again.

“She’s like a newborn bunny!” Elecia giggled to Aldrik, as though Vhalla wasn’t even there. “She has never seen illusions before.”

Aldrik shot the woman a pointed look before turning back to Vhalla, his features relaxing. “Fritz, would you like to explain it to Vhalla?” the prince ordered the Southern man, but never took his eyes off her.

“Water affinities can use the water in the air to distort the light, to create smoke screens, fogs,” Fritz started, clearly uncomfortable by the praise and attention.

“And illusions, if the sorcerer is skilled enough.” Aldrik motioned to Fritz, directing Vhalla’s attention back to her friend.

Fritz waved his hand in demonstration and an identical image formed next to him.

Vhalla gasped softly, taking a step toward the apparition. It looked like Fritz in every way, and Vhalla raised a hand—no one stopped her. The illusion dissipated under her fingertips, nothing more than a puff of vapor.

Vhalla’s eyes widened.

She was no longer standing in that forest clearing; she was living a waking nightmare. Her twisted dreams merged with the reality before her and the horrible memories that she had pushed from her consciousness. There was wind, there was fire, there was death, and there was blood splattered across her arms and face as she watched bodies torn to shreds by howling gusts. It had been her desire. She had wanted them dead. She had wanted them more than dead, she wanted the Northerners to suffer.

Vhalla took a step back, shaking her head. That wasn’t who she was.

“No,” she whispered. Someone took a step toward her; all she saw were shadows from her dreams. Shadows she ripped apart by touching. “Don’t come any closer,” she gave a quivering warning. Vhalla brought up her hands to her ears, the screams of the people whom she had murdered filling her consciousness. She realized in horrible clarity what had been haunting her, the blood on her hands that she’d been ignoring.

She felt dizzy. Her legs buckled beneath her, and her body doubled over.

“Vhalla, what’s wrong?” Fritz asked, his voice faint.

“Go,” she panted. They shouldn’t be near her. At the edge of her guilt-shattered conscious she could hear a wind roaring. Vhalla gripped her head tighter. She had meant to kill those Northerners on the Night of Fire and Wind, but she had not known what killing meant.

Two strong hands gripped her wrists and she lashed out, shaking her head and twisting her body. Vhalla attempted to knock the person away with a strong gust, but they didn’t even seem to feel it.

“Vhalla.” Aldrik’s voice was strong and level, cutting through the din of the chaos in her head. “Stop. Breathe,” he instructed, and she forced herself to oblige. His voice rang over the storm raging within her. “Open your eyes.”

Vhalla squinted open one eye, and then the next. Even though it was almost night, the world had a hazy glow to it. Aldrik was surrounded in the golden, almost white, flame that she’d seen him in before. He burned brighter than any of the others assembled. She struggled to shift her vision back to normal, and her eyes fluttered closed.

“Look at me.” Aldrik shook her.

She opened her eyes and focused on his face, slowly regaining control of her magic sight. Her breathing was ragged, and her hands trembled. Concern was written across Aldrik’s furrowed brow.

“Mother save me, I really killed them,” she gasped.

His mouth fell open a moment, but he recovered and relaxed his grip on her wrists. Aldrik stood, helping Vhalla to her feet. When she had her balance, Aldrik finally let go of her and took a step away. “Fritz, take her back to camp,” he ordered briskly.

“Is it a good idea for me to—” Fritz was uncertain.

“Do not try my patience, Charem,” Aldrik growled. He was every inch the Fire Lord.

It was all Fritz needed to spring to life. He scampered over to her and paused. “Can you walk? I mean, do you want help?”

She shook her head. “I can do it.”

Elecia stepped toward Aldrik. Her voice was low, but it was loud enough for Vhalla to hear. “She is not ready. You need to give this up now; there isn’t anything you can do for her.”

“Neiress,” Aldrik barked out Larel’s family name, ignoring Elecia. “I could use a round, if you feel up to it.”

“It would be my honor, my prince.” Larel gave a bow.

Fritz tugged Vhalla’s attention from the scene, pulling her toward the forest that was between them and camp. She glanced back over her shoulder as a fury of flames burst out in the deepening darkness. Elecia stood, leaning against a tree. The flames lit her face, and she ran her thumb across her lips in thought. Vhalla turned forward, relieved the woman wasn’t following them after Aldrik’s dismissal.

Fritz and Vhalla walked in an uneasy silence as the sounds of clanking armor and bursts of flame began to fade and meld into the growing sounds of camp. Vhalla focused on the ground, letting him lead her by the hand. She chewed over her words, trying to find some kind of explanation.

“Vhalla, I’m really, really sorry and-and I don’t know what I did but I didn’t mean to upset you.” Fritz broke the silence like a dam shattering. “I thought it’d be interesting for you to see, and I don’t know if it messed with your magic or something, but I promise I won’t do it again.”

“It’s not your fault.” She shook her head, feeling guilty. “It reminded me of something ... You couldn’t have known. Please, don’t feel bad. It really was amazing.”

“If you want to talk about it,” he offered, returning to her side as they began to walk again.

“No.” She put an end to the notion sharply.

Fritz walked her all the way back to her tent. When she insisted she had no appetite, he went to dinner on the promise that he would set aside a portion for her. Vhalla wasn’t sure if he would be successful, but she was too tired to care. She barely found the energy to pull off her armor before collapsing in the bedroll.

Despite being overwhelmed and at the brink of exhaustion, sleep didn’t come. Vhalla watched shadows from campfires dance on the walls of her tent. She closed her eyes briefly, but every time she did a new horror awaited her. Vhalla wasn’t sure how much time had passed but Larel’s entrance was a relief.

“Welcome back,” she whispered.

“You’re awake?”

“Can’t sleep,” Vhalla explained the obvious.

“You need to try,” Larel ordered softly, putting her armor at the foot of her bedroll.

“How was the rest of the training?” Vhalla asked, changing the subject.

“Whenever the prince steps into the fray, the memory of your experience always lingers.” Larel rubbed her shoulder generously as she crawled under her blanket.

Silence settled heavily between them, suppressing the words that needed to be said. It lasted so long that Vhalla was sure Larel had fallen asleep. But the other woman took a slow breath. “Vhalla.”

“Yes?” she whispered back.

“I know it isn’t my business ...” Larel’s uneasy start set Vhalla’s heart to racing. “But you know he cares for you, right?”

Vhalla stared into the darkness at Larel’s shadowy outline. She shifted, her stomach getting that strange feeling again—likely because she hadn’t eaten. “He’s a friend,” she confessed for the first time to anyone. Vhalla thought back to the day in the chapel and her mind betrayed her by also flooding her with memories of a dance in the water gardens of the palace on the night of the gala. It all seemed like a dream from where she was now.

“A friend?” Larel mused over the notion aloud.

“A dear friend ...” Vhalla felt the strange urge to qualify.

Larel clicked her tongue but withheld further comment.

Vhalla curled into a ball with a sigh and finally closed her eyes. Horrors did not greet her. A prince with a golden circlet was painted across her memories.

“VHAL ... VHAL.” FRITZ nudged her gently.

“What?” Vhalla yawned.

“You need to eat something.”

This again. “I’m not hungry.” She rubbed her eyes with the soft leather that covered her palms. It had been three days since the night in the forest, and none of them had mentioned training since. It made Vhalla feel all the more broken, defective.

“When was the last time you ate?” Larel was in on it now too.

“I ...” Vhalla struggled to answer the question honestly. “I ate breakfast yesterday, and dinner the night before.”

“You call that eating?” Fritz shook his head. “Those were hardly snacks.”

“Let it go.” Annoyance crept into her tone.

“Vhalla,” a voice said sternly to her left.

Apprehension filled her at the sound of his voice. Aldrik had hardly spoken to her since the night Vhalla broke down, and she hadn’t had the courage to say anything to him. It was fine to imagine that she could cut her hair and become someone strong, the monster that the Senate had every right to fear. But the moment she was presented with the beast she was, she fell apart. She was weak, so it made sense that he wanted nothing to do with her.

“You are already a risk to everyone by not being skilled in combat or having a handle on your magic. The least you can do is keep your body in good condition by eating.” He gave her a long stare. “And sleeping,” the prince added, as if noticing the darkening circles under her eyes for the first time.

With a sigh, Vhalla grabbed the meat Fritz held out to her and tore into it. It was cold, and slimy, and tasteless. The food on the march had quickly lost its novelty, and now it was just another reminder of where she was, of who she was.

“Eat it all,” Aldrik instructed dryly. “It will be more graceful if you eat it yourself rather than one of us forcing it down your throat.”

She took smaller bites, but managed to get—and keep—it all down. The food settled heavily in her stomach and threatened to come up with the swaying of the horse.

As if to capitalize on her sour mood, Elecia appeared out of nowhere and wedged herself between Vhalla and Aldrik.

“Good morning!” she said cheerfully.

Aldrik gave her a nod, and Fritz and Larel offered their greetings. Vhalla focused on the road ahead.

“Come now, do not be rude,” Elecia said with a patronizing grin.

“Hello.” Vhalla did not even make eye contact.

“My, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” Elecia laughed and clapped a hand over Vhalla’s shoulder. “Don’t be so serious!” She smiled, and Vhalla continued to ignore her. “Or not.” Elecia shrugged and turned to Aldrik. “So, I don’t know if you heard, but I recently began studying remedies for Channel blockers ...”

Vhalla was forced to spend the next two hours listening to Elecia and Aldrik discuss the properties of Channels and how they could be disrupted or blocked. The discussion was over Vhalla’s head, so she tried to tune them out. It annoyed her; they irrationally annoyed her. This woman, whom she had barely met, held a conversation with Aldrik that made Vhalla feel stupid.

Eventually her nonsensical frustration finally won and Vhalla interrupted the conversations. “So, when are we going to train again?” she asked with more conviction than she felt. All four people stared at her blankly.

“Train?” Elecia laughed. “Why would you want to?”

“Because I’m going to war,” Vhalla said sharply.

“But last time—”

“Are you sure you’re feeling up to it?” Larel interrupted Elecia.

“Is that a good idea?” Fritz said uncertainly.

“I can.” Vhalla nodded to herself. “I will.” She turned to Aldrik, searching his silence for encouragement, approval—something.

“Very well,” he said after what seemed like forever. “We need to work on your Channeling first, so we shall focus on that tonight.”

“Channeling?” Vhalla repeated.

“Wait, you mean to tell me she does not even know how to Channel?” Elecia looked between Vhalla and Aldrik. “You have hope for her, and she doesn’t even—”

“It is not your decision,” Aldrik barked harshly.

Vhalla was pleased by the amount Elecia was being interrupted. The sentiment was not shared, and the other woman adjusted her red bandana before riding off in a huff.

“What’s Channeling?” Vhalla forced herself to ask. She hated herself for not knowing, but not asking would only exacerbate the problem. Aldrik had mentioned it months ago, but he’d never bothered to explain.

“It’s how a sorcerer uses magic,” Fritz began.

“I can use magic,” she retorted in a defensive and tired tone.

“Yes, you can but,” Fritz twirled his reins around his fingers, “but not well.”

His words were like a dagger to her gut. Even he saw her as useless. Vhalla swallowed the pain of that realization, forcing it away from her eyes where it may show.

“Think of it like this,” Larel started gently. “You have a pitcher and a cup. You have to get the water from the pitcher into the cup. One way you can do it is by dipping the cup into the pitcher. But this is messy and maybe it doesn’t fit right and so on.”

“So you pour from the pitcher instead,” Vhalla finished the logic. Larel nodded and smiled. It was a welcome sight that gave Vhalla some ease.

“Exactly, we can dip into our magic to accomplish things on a whim—like you’ve been doing. But it’s tiring, difficult, and normally inconsistent. That’s why we open up a Channel for it to flow—to pour—easily into us,” Larel finished.

“And, for that reason, you will be working with me tonight,” Aldrik announced, loud enough that it drew Major Reale’s attention.

“Thank you, my prince,” Vhalla mumbled.

“I trust you will not disappoint me.”

After that declaration, it was a cold silence from the normally warm man for the rest of the day. They had never had an opportunity to be talkative, not really, so Vhalla was surprised to find how much his silence bothered her. It was a weight on her shoulders until Aldrik appeared by her and Larel’s tent that evening.

“Are you ready?” the prince asked.

Vhalla nodded mutely.

“Should I fetch her dinner?” Larel asked with a thoughtful glance between her awkward companions.

“Not necessary; I will make sure she eats,” Aldrik replied in a particularly sharp tone. Vhalla focused on the dust covering the toes of her boots. “Come.”

Vhalla’s and Larel’s tent wasn’t far from Aldrik’s. The other sorcerers had the decency to smother their looks, but a few stared in curiosity at the new woman following the prince. Behind her she heard whispering and picked out the word “Windwalker” more than once. It seemed to be the explanation that was automatically assigned when anything different or special occurred near her. It was a nice excuse to prevent rumors of anything untoward, Vhalla reasoned. But the attention still made her uncomfortable.

Aldrik ducked his head under the flap and walked into the orange glow of tent beyond. Vhalla paused, assuring herself that there was no reason to be nervous. She was only about to enter the personal quarters of the crown prince of the realm, no matter how makeshift they were. Gripping her fingers tightly, she gathered her resolve and walked in behind him.

His tent seemed more spacious on the inside. To the left of the entrance, furs and thick blankets were piled on top of chopped brush to make a sleeping pallet. Her sleepless nights must be catching up to her because the sight of it was oddly appealing. Around the perimeter hung thin disks, flames burning impossibly above the steel braziers. To the right, a large rug of great finery had been unrolled upon the bare ground, a number of pillows and a small floor table atop it.

Aldrik stood on the opposite side of the room removing his greaves and gauntlets.

“Come and help me with the plate?” he asked casually, catching her off-guard.

“M-my prince?” Vhalla stumbled over her words. It was as though the second they were out of sight she was in a different world with a different man.

“Since when are you formal in private?” Aldrik arched a dark eyebrow. “Some help?”

He turned and raised his arms. Vhalla noticed a small seam on the back left of his plate. She crossed the room hastily and began fussing with the latches underneath.

“How, um, how do you get it on?” she inquired, desperate to talk over the blood rushing in her ears.

“I have help—a squire,” he explained logically. Vhalla’s clumsy fingers finally undid the last clasp and he unhinged it, slipping out through the side. Aldrik placed the plate on the ground and began to unfasten his scale.

“Aldrik, is this really ...” Vhalla swallowed, taking a step back and looking away.

“Do you think me naked under my armor?” A small grin curled up the corners of his mouth as he slid off his scale, leaving just chainmail beneath.

“Your armor is the same as mine,” she observed, inspecting the thin links curiously.

“Of course it is.” He ran a hand through his hair, and Vhalla watched it cascade back into place around his fingers.

“Why?” She felt like she was missing something obvious.

“I made it.” His eyes caught hers, and Vhalla couldn’t find words between her surprise and the look he was giving her.

“Why?” Vhalla repeated again, remembering Larel telling her once about how Firebearers were jewelers or smiths due to their ability to manage flames.

“Why? Why do I make my own armor, my parrot?” Aldrik had to know that her inquiry was more than him making his armor. “Because I do not trust other craftsmen with something as important as my life.”

There was a hidden meaning between his words, and Vhalla felt overwhelmed trying to understand its layers. Aldrik spared her from the task when he shrugged off the last of his armor—and her mind went blank. He was in a loose-fitting, long-sleeved white shirt that hung mostly open at his neck. On his lower half were a pair of well-tailored black pants that clung close to his legs. It was more casual and undressed than she’d ever seen him before, and just the sight brought a bright blush to her cheeks.

If the prince noticed her modesty, he was good enough not to comment. Aldrik sat on one of the pillows near the low table. A paper caught his eye, eliciting a small sigh.

“What is it?” she asked, still hovering.

“Oh, nothing. Just some things I need to go over with Father.” He glanced back at her. “If you would like to get more comfortable,” he offered with a gesture toward a seat. His gaze shifted back to the paper, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in thought.

Vhalla fidgeted with her fingers. It was armor; she’d normally worn less around him. But something about undressing anything, here in his tent, made her heart race. With a deep breath Vhalla reminded herself to be an adult and stop acting like an excitable girl. In the end she compromised by pulling off her boots and gloves as well as her scale, but left on her chainmail.

She sat on the pillow opposite him and crossed her legs. The pillows were comfortable, as equally fine as the rug, with tightly woven threads that seemed to be some kind of silk.

“Oh sorry.” Vhalla put down the spare cushion with a nervous laugh when she felt his stare.

“What is it?” Aldrik asked, returning the paper to the stack.

“They’re very nice,” she said truthfully.

“You think so?” He seemed surprised, as if he was considering them for the first time.

“Well, for me they are.” She smiled faintly. He forgot so easily they came from different worlds.

“In any case,” he ceased his own inspection. “Channeling. It is much like Larel explained: you will tap into the source of your power, which should be easy for you, given your Affinity.”

“How do I go about it?”

“Well, in a way that depends on you. I will help you understand the fundamentals of it, but ultimately it is your connection with yourself and the world.” It was a cryptic explanation, and Vhalla felt her chance of success diminishing to hopelessness. “Most sorcerers have a trigger that opens and closes their Channel. This is normally physical. Many find it easier to tie it to a tangible act.”

“What’s yours?” she asked.

“The major told me you are capable of magical sight?” Vhalla nodded, that much she could hang her hat on. “Very well—watch.” Aldrik held out his hands before her, palms open. Vhalla adjusted her vision and saw him bathed in the familiar golden flame. He clenched his hands into fists and suddenly the glow was extinguished across his body.

“Are you all right?” she gasped, looking at his now-dim form.

He chuckled and nodded. “I closed my Channel. Keep watching.” He relaxed and unfurled his fingers. Aldrik snapped them closed into fists again and the white and gold flames returned.

“It’s magnificent,” she breathed. The complement earned her a faint smile. Vhalla looked down from his face and paused. “Aldrik ...” She murmured as her eyes focused on a dark spot. She’d seen it before in the garden, before she even knew about magical sight. Vhalla reached out a hand to touch him, stopping herself short. She shouldn’t be so forward; he was still the crown prince.

Aldrik knew what she saw. “The poison crystalized, rooting itself enough that I could not remove it. It was the best I could do.”

“It’s not letting your Channel work properly, is it?” Vhalla frowned, suddenly realizing what that dark spot meant.

“Exactly ...” His voice began to grow heavy. “That is why I could not protect you as I should have that night.” Aldrik paused. “Vhalla, it’s my fault.”

“What is?” Apprehension trailed its icy fingers up her spine.

He took her still hovering hand in both of his. “You should not have had to kill them. If I had been more capable, you would not have been forced to.” Emotion burned behind his eyes and it struck her clear as day. Channeling was a side-project for him. The main goal was the Night of Fire and Wind. He was playing the puppet master again, and Larel was certainly helping.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Teach me Channeling or we’re done.” She wrenched her hand from his.

“I was fourteen,” he began, ignoring her. Her mouth was still twisted in annoyance. “The first time I killed a man.”

Her face relaxed.

“Looking back, I didn’t even have a good reason to kill him.”

Vhalla shifted closer to hear, his voice faint and his eyes glossy. He seemed to stare through the world around him.

“I was told that he was a bad man, that he was going to harm my family and his death would make us stronger.” Aldrik chuckled bitterly. “As if death makes anyone stronger ...”

The pressure of his gaze weighed on every inch of her body.

“I will never forget that in the end, he asked for mercy from his prince. He asked for forgiveness, and I gave him death.” Aldrik’s body was very still, and his eyes searched hers, yearning for something.

“Aldrik,” Vhalla whispered. She didn’t know what she could offer him. “I’m sorry.” She initiated contact, taking his hand in her own.

He didn’t pull away. “After that, the killing became easier. Soon, I forgot their faces, their cries, their stories. They merged into one communal grave in my mind, which became a gaping wound that everyone who perishes by my hand falls into. But I never forgot that first man’s face. I have tried to plunge him into that hollow void and push him away, but I have never forgotten.”

Vhalla stared at him in a mix of horror and pity. She squeezed his hand and was surprised when she felt a squeeze back.

“I see you taking steps down this path, and I don’t want you be lost to that darkness.” He laughed and bore the most unfiltered sorrow she had ever seen from him. “What is worse is, thanks to the extraordinary wisdom of the people’s Senate, I cannot protect you from that.”

“So, what do I do?” Vhalla finally sought guidance for her guilt.

“Never forget who you are, and do not let the dead define you.” He spoke as if he’d been reading her thoughts for weeks. “Talk to me or Fritz or Larel. I do not think any of us are prepared to lose you to your demons.”

She stared at him; she didn’t want to think about the Night of Fire and Wind. She wanted it to go away. He’d lured her into his den with his pretenses, and now she was the captive of his stares and touch. Vhalla closed her eyes and took a breath.

“Every night, I see them. I hear their screams and I feel their blood on my hands, on my face.” She shuddered as her voice broke and pulled her hand away from his to wrap her arms around herself. “At first I didn’t know what they were, but that night, in the forest, I remembered.” It seemed silly to her, to say she’d forgotten the first time she’d killed a person but her mind had been so efficient at pushing it away.

“I wish I could be better comfort to you,” he murmured softly. Aldrik leaned over and, with only his fingertips, he pushed aside some stray hair. They both seemed to catch their breath as his skin lightly brushed her face. He pulled away, his hand balling into a fist.

“You are,” she said quickly, earning herself a surprised stare.

“I am?” he repeated skeptically.

“I—” Vhalla stumbled over her words. “I am ... happier ... with you, near you.” Something about him softened, but there was a sadness to it that made Vhalla feel guilty for her confession.

“In any case.” He was back to avoiding her attentions. “My ear and my door are always open for you.”

“Thank you.” Vhalla wondered how many people he had offered that to. She couldn’t imagine it was many.

“For now though, we should make sure you know how to Channel.” Aldrik seemed as uncomfortable as she was and the moment—whatever it had been—vanished.

They set to work on what Vhalla discovered was the seemingly impossible task of Channeling. Vhalla saw shades of the phantom she had exchanged notes with months ago as he spoke volumes of knowledge worth of magical theory with deft ease. His silver tongue licked across her intellect, wetting her mental palate for new information.

But the willingness to learn and the practical execution were also much like he had told her months ago—it was harder to do than conceive. At her every attempt Aldrik instructed that she “only needed to find the magic within her” or “tap into her power.” But Vhalla felt like she was shooting for an unknown target in the dark.

By the time he fetched food, she found herself exhausted. Their conversation turned casual and Vhalla relaxed, absentmindedly consuming the meal before her. He made her sides split with laughter by telling her a story of when he taught his younger brother to ride a horse for the first time. Vhalla shared the first time she’d gone to help in the field but had ended up just playing in the mud for most of the day. He seemed to find it as shocking as he did amusing. For that brief hour the horrors she had seen, she had committed, didn’t matter.

Reality could not be escaped for long. The moment the food was finished, they returned to Channeling.

“I think it may be pointless,” Vhalla sighed, dropping her arms. She’d been waving them about like a fool trying to find the “essence of air.”

“There is one more thing that we could try, since you do not have the luxury of time,” Aldrik said thoughtfully after a long silence. “But it is not a conventional method. It is rather theoretical, actually.”

“Oh?” He knew what to say to make her insatiably curious.

“It is more on Bonding than Channeling.” He leaned forward. “Did you have a chance to read anything on Bonds before you left the Tower?”

“I couldn’t find much,” she replied.

“That is because there is not much,” Aldrik affirmed. “Bonding is a strange occurrence and difficult to understand because, to the best of every scholar’s assessments, it is the literal opening of a magic passage between two people. You opened your magic to me to save my life.”

Those words soaked into both of them for a moment.

“But, as they say, doors and gates open both ways,” Aldrik finished, easing that odd tension they flirted with every time they were together.

“Wait.” Vhalla blinked. “You’re saying I have some of your magic in me?”

“Not just some; it has the capacity to be a passage between us,” he affirmed.

“That’s amazing,” she whispered.

“That is why I do not think your magic is as effective against me as it is on others. It will not hit me as strong. Our own magic cannot hurt us.” He shook his head. “There are a number of interesting theories we could discuss and explore another time. For now, we are going to try Joining.”

“What is Joining?” she asked, braving a parrot comment.

“It is difficult to explain. Think of the Bond as a latent Channel. Joining will activate it, widen the Bond.” Aldrik leaned closer, and Vhalla’s heart beat hard. “This may not even work. But for it to have a chance—do not fight me.”

If Vhalla had wanted to, she couldn’t have. She was so stunned by his forward advances, by the fingers that lightly touched her temples, that she could barely speak. Aldrik’s eyes fluttered closed and he took a breath. She bit her lip, unsure if she was supposed to do the same. But if she didn’t, she would spend the time studying his sculpted features in the firelight—and she might die of embarrassment if caught.

So Vhalla closed her eyes as well.

At first, there was nothing. She heard her breathing and felt his hands on her. His fingertips warmed and then, faintly, she heard her heartbeat. No, she realized, it wasn’t her heartbeat, it was his. Her initial reaction was to panic at the sensation of another heart beating in her chest, but Vhalla forced herself to stay still and calm. Soon the chorus of sound extended to his breathing, overlaid on the noises of her own body. The din reached a crescendo that threatened to consume her awareness. But Vhalla remembered his words and she gave into it, into him, letting the wave crash upon her.

There was one inhale, one exhale, one heartbeat between them.

She melted into the strange warmth of the communal existence, relinquishing the last of her physical senses. It was unlike anything she had ever felt. Like life and death all bundled neatly into one moment of beauty. She tried to find where her own self ended, to find where he began, but there were no ends or beginnings anywhere. They were infinite.

She felt as he felt, and he thought as she thought.

Suddenly there was a warm breeze blowing over her metaphysical self. It was strong. Something she had known from birth, known her whole life, without ever really having words for it before. As Aldrik opened his Channel, hers opened alongside it in all its brilliance.

She felt him pulling away from her and, in her mind, she objected. There was a safety there, a reassurance, a compassion, and more she dared not give words to. It was a gentle departure, but a departure all the same. Vhalla sighed faintly as her eyes fluttered open. Aldrik stared back. His chest expanded slowly with every deep breath.

For a long time they sat unmoving. Her body felt the same, but everything had changed. His hands slowly fell away from her face, and the last connection was through their gaze.

“Vhalla, I ...” he uttered over a thick tongue.

Some madness overwhelmed her, and she grabbed for his hands. “Aldrik,” she breathed, clutching at him desperately. Vhalla searched for some validation of what she had found in their brief period of shared existence.

Aldrik stared back at her. Long before he pulled his hands from hers she saw a moment of panic, a moment of want—and he withdrew mentally. Vhalla realized he may be unable to hide anything from her again in the darkness of his eyes, she’d seen it all as though she was looking in a mirror. She wasn’t sure if this Joining was a blessing or a curse.

“I think we have accomplished enough for tonight.” Aldrik looked away, sitting straighter, more composed.

“Aldrik,” she whispered. Even his minor withdrawal hurt her more deeply than it should have. It felt like a piece of her had been carved out.

“All you need to do is repeat that process, what you felt. I think you can figure that out on your own.” He still didn’t look at her.

“Aldrik,” Vhalla pleaded.

“You can ask Larel for help also. Just pick a motion and repeat it as you Channel. Repeat the action every time you try, so when you succeed you will begin to associate the act with that trigger.” He turned back to the table, picking up the parchment he’d been reading earlier.

Vhalla wasn’t sure what she had done wrong, but he had completely shut himself off from her. He was the one who had suggested the Joining; what was he suddenly so afraid of ? She sighed and pulled herself to her feet.

Aldrik didn’t look at her as she slipped back into her armor. It was a short walk but the last thing she wanted was to leave a man’s tent—the crown prince’s tent—less dressed than when she came in. He said nothing and made no motion toward her.

“Well,” Vhalla said uncertainly, “thank you.” A splash of bitterness crept into her voice. He made no motion as she turned to leave.

“I will call on you,” he said abruptly, just as she was about to pull back the tent flap.

“What?” Vhalla turned, her heart racing on hope.

“Work on your Channeling, you will need it for what I’m going to ask of you,” Aldrik said, turning to her. “We shall begin when I am satisfied with your progression.”

Vhalla nodded and searched his guarded gaze for a long moment. She saw it there still, his turmoil. But turmoil over what? That was a question she had yet to answer.

“Very well. Goodnight, Aldrik.” Vhalla pulled back the tent flap, making her departure.

“Goodnight, Vhalla.”

THE DAY WAS overcast and hot. There was a dry breeze, but it offered little respite from the oppressive heat. It was the kind of day that one wanted nothing more than to find a cool, shady corner to curl up into. But the sun beat down on her shoulders.

She stood before a grave. It was in the center of a glass-covered garden. Many plants had been landscaped and most were hanging on despite the temperature. But the crimson flowers that surrounded the sculpted marker before her were wilted and shriveled. It was not the first time she had been in this garden of the dead.

The grave before her was shaped as an obelisk. Sitting at its top was the figure of a woman. She had long hair that hung perfectly straight, almost to her waist, and a soft, yet stern, visage cast in the flawless marble. Behind her was a golden and ruby sun that cast a red haze on the ground below.

Vhalla held out a hand and touched the familiar letters, as though it would connect her to her dead mother. There was nothing but stone beneath her fingers. She sighed, shifting her weight. She really hated being here.

“Stop fidgeting,” came a strong voice from next to her. She turned her face upward but the sun shrouded the man towering over her.

Vhalla turned and cracked open her eyes. The back of her hand rested against her forehead. She stared at the slowly illuminating canvas above her. It was a strange dream that played more like a long-forgotten memory. Vhalla ran through it again and, despite the overwhelming nostalgia, nothing seemed familiar on a second review. She was too tired to give the dream much attention and went about her morning duties.

Joining, that was what Aldrik had called it. Vhalla fidgeted over breakfast, trying to force herself to eat. She still didn’t understand the widening of the Bond, as Aldrik had put it, but it had certainly been significant. The ghost of him was still upon her. She could still feel the caress of his essence throughout her bones. Vhalla stared at her hands. Learning how to Channel seemed so unimportant in comparison.

“How did it go last night?” Fritz asked as he joined her and Larel.

“What?” Vhalla snapped herself out of her thoughts.

Larel’s interest had clearly been piqued. She hadn’t inquired last night when Vhalla returned, exhausted and bleary eyed, and had been silent all morning.

“With the prince,” Fritz dropped his voice. “Do you have a better idea of how to Channel?”

“I think so.” Vhalla nodded.

“Good, good!” Fritz beamed. “You’ll get the hang of it in a few weeks, I’m sure.”

Vhalla felt the magic crackling around her fingers. She didn’t need a few weeks, she could do it now. Her body knew it. But she didn’t have an opportunity to correct Fritz as the horns blew, summoning everyone back to their places in the host.

The soldiers moved more slowly now. A week of marching had begun to take its toll on the new recruits. Vhalla’s legs were stiff and sore-ridden from her own saddle. She had no idea how the men and women who walked were managing. How would they fight when they reached the North?

Aldrik was slow as well this morning, the host was practically moving when he rode up from the outside. Even in all his bulky armor he was still full of poise atop his War-strider. Her heartbeat began to race and, as if sensing it, Aldrik’s eyes found hers. Tension radiated between them, even across a dozen people.

He pulled hard on his reins and turned his mount, riding along the outside of the host to a few rows behind Vhalla. She watched the prince as he fell into line beside Elecia. Vhalla tore her eyes away before she saw more than a moment of their immediate and engaging conversation. There was an ugly emotion within her, one she wasn’t used to and didn’t know how to combat.

“I’m going to ride up at the front,” she announced.

“Why?” Fritz seemed startled by her suddenly declaration.

“I have friends up there,” Vhalla mumbled.

“You have friends here,” Fritz retorted, not understanding.

Vhalla wasn’t sure if she could, or should, explain it to him. From the corners of her eyes Vhalla saw Larel’s attention sweep back toward Aldrik and Elecia. The Western woman was too attentive for her own good.

“It’s nothing you did, Fritz.” Vhalla found the strength to smile, and grab his forearm supportively. “Just some people I want to see.”

There was no further protest from Fritz or Larel on the matter. As Vhalla cut through the ranks, she made sure to catch Aldrik’s eyes. It was nasty to admit, but she wanted him to watch her ride away and feel that same ugly emotion that he had evoked in her.

The Golden Guard wasn’t hard to find; a group of three surrounding the younger prince with golden plated bracers. They marched at the center of the host, and Vhalla faltered at the foul looks she received from the soldiers at the edge. She was about to ride back as the whispers started when Daniel turned in her direction.

“Vhalla!” he called, almost dislocating his arm to wave her over. Soldiers parted in shock, and Vhalla had no option but to heed him. “We weren’t expecting you.” Daniel smiled, and Vhalla instantly felt easier.

“Not in the slightest.” Prince Baldair’s words deflated her.

“I hope it’s no trouble.” Vhalla lowered her eyes.

Daniel held his tongue for the prince.

“Don’t worry yourself so much.” The prince waved away her insecurities with a full bellied laugh. “I said it was fine.”

“This may be the first time a sorcerer rode with the swords,” Craig remarked.

Vhalla believed it from the looks the other soldiers gave her.

“Vhalla, this is Raylynn.” Daniel motioned to a woman who rode at Baldair’s right. She had long blonde hair, the color of a Southerner’s. But it was straight, like a Westerner’s would be, and her skin held an olive tan.

“Nice to meet you,” Vhalla said politely.

The woman regarded her thoughtfully for a long moment. She had eyes like Aldrik, Vhalla noticed. Black and piercing, they confirmed Vhalla’s suspicion of Western blood in the woman’s veins—if her sun-kissed skin wasn’t proof enough—and cut through Vhalla easily.

“You’re the Windwalker.” It was the second time the phrase wasn’t posed as a question.

“I am,” Vhalla affirmed.

“Ray, be nice.” Daniel maneuvered his horse next to Vhalla’s. Raylynn gave Vhalla one last long assessment before unleashing a series of hushed whispers to the prince. Daniel kept Vhalla from listening in. “Ray had family on the Night of Fire and Wind,” he whispered.

Vhalla pulled taught the reins, ready to turn Lightning around and ride back to her place in line. A golden gauntlet quickly covered her hand. She looked up at Daniel in confusion and frustration.

“Don’t go. I think it’ll do her good.”

“What?” Vhalla inhaled in apprehension.

“You’re not the monster they think you are.” His declaration cut straight to her core, and Vhalla’s expression must have said it all. “I ...” He was at a loss for words—they both were as the wave of brutal honesty crashed upon them. That moment of openness had crippled her, and Vhalla was thankful for the strong legs of the steed beneath her. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I needed to hear it.” She was overcome with his truth; it was infectious, and Vhalla wanted to coat herself in it.

Daniel noticed his hand was still on hers and pulled away quickly. Judging from the sideways glances from Craig and Baldair, he was the last to notice.

Vhalla relaxed her grip on the reins. “So, I thought the Golden Guard was bigger than three.”

“There’s five of us in total,” Daniel affirmed. He seemed just as relieved to switch the conversation.

“The other two are at the front,” Craig filled in. “Head Major Jax Wendyl and Lord Erion Le’Dan.”

“Head Major Jax?” Vhalla had heard the name before. “Of the Black Legion?”

“The same.” Daniel nodded.

“But, he’s a sorcerer,” she pointed out dumbly.

“What?” Prince Baldair gasped. “He’s hid this from me this whole time?”

Daniel and Craig burst out laughing, and even Vhalla cracked an embarrassed smile.

“He’s a sorcerer.” The prince nodded, looking northward. “But he’s also a good man.” The golden prince turned back to her, looking over Craig and Daniel. “You’ll find I only surround myself with good men, Vhalla.”

Raylynn snorted.

“And women.” Prince Baldair chuckled and turned back to the swordswoman.

Vhalla spent the rest of the day learning about the history of the Golden Guard. Prince Baldair had instated it as a boy with Lord Erion Le’Dan and, at the time, it was mostly a joke between young men. But when the war on the North started, he turned to his friend to survive the front. Slowly, other men and a woman were added, those who were deemed the most skilled and valuable.

Daniel had been the most recent addition after he’d assumed command during a battle when no one else would, salvaging a brutal defeat in the North and saving the prince’s life in the process. Vhalla had no idea that the Easterner she’d been musing over growing potatoes and chatting about Paca’s festival with was a lord. Daniel seemed uncomfortable by the notion himself, assuring her that she should not treat him any differently.

She hadn’t realized how much time had passed until the horn blew, calling for the stop. Daniel laughed as well, saying that time had gotten away from him. He invited her to dinner, which Vhalla refused due to guilt over leaving Larel and Fritz for the whole day. Before she left he invited her out to ride with him again and, upon remembering Aldrik and Elecia together, Vhalla couldn’t outright refuse.

“So we found out something about Elecia today,” Fritz said as they were finishing setting up their tents.

“What?” Vhalla wasn’t sure if she wanted to know.

Larel had a cautionary glint to her eyes.

“We were talking with the foot soldiers,” Fritz continued, missing both ladies apprehension. “And apparently they’ve seen Elecia before.”

“They have?” Vhalla asked.

“She’s been in and out of the palace since the prince was a young man, one was saying,” Fritz explained.

Vhalla didn’t know why that fact would fill her with such dread.

“As if common soldiers would know anything,” Larel mumbled, finishing her bedroll.

“Yeah, but you have to admit that Elecia and the—”

“And who?” the woman herself finished, and all three turned in surprise.

“And, uh ...” Fritz was a mouse in the trap of a gleeful cat.

“And the prince,” Larel finished fearlessly.

To her credit, Elecia was only startled for a moment. Vhalla made a note that the outright mention of a connection between Elecia and Aldrik paused the woman. “Speaking of the prince, he said he shall train you tonight.” Her eyes fell on Vhalla, speaking volumes soundlessly. “So let’s get this catastrophe over with.”

During the walk to meet Aldrik in the woods, Vhalla mused over Elecia and him. People were already talking about the two of them. What if there was history between them? What if Larel was wrong and it wasn’t just camp gossip? Her mind wrapped and wandered around the ideas, only coming to a halt when Aldrik began to speak.

“Your nights will be half training your physical bodies, half training your magical prowess,” he declared while walking around Vhalla, Larel, and Fritz. “If you have any hope of making it into and out of the North alive, you will need every minute of training I can give you.”

Elecia hovered off to the side, exempt from Aldrik’s words.

“If you talk back or refuse, I may reconsider my kindness of being your teacher.”

His voice was that of a prince, not the Aldrik she knew. Vhalla glanced at Fritz, wondering if it was only for his benefit. Larel was friends with Aldrik; Elecia clearly had some connection; and Vhalla was ...

What was she?

That question echoed in her mind while they began their physical training. It ran through her head until Vhalla focused only on not getting sick from running and jumping. Aldrik refused to let them take off their armor; their physical training required it, he said. Fritz was the first to collapse, earning his ire.

“Charem, get up.” Aldrik sighed, leaning against a tree. “Or would you rather be torn limb from limb by the Northern clans? Or maybe a Noru Cat?”

Fritz struggled to his feet. Vhalla and Larel stood panting. Larel was in far better shape than Vhalla, who felt like she could collapse at any moment.

“Right, then.” Aldrik shared a long look with Elecia. “Elecia, Vhalla, pair up.”

“What?” both women exclaimed in unison.

“That is an order.” Aldrik pushed away from the tree, looking down at Elecia. “I trust you to impart your knowledge and skill.”

The dark-skinned woman rolled her eyes, but didn’t object a second time. Aldrik didn’t even look at Vhalla, giving her no say. Vhalla decided that she had done something terrible to offend the prince, but whatever it was eluded her. The only thing she could think of was the Joining. But that had been his idea. And of all the words Vhalla could use to describe what happened between them the night prior, none would be negative.

“Larel, can you tell me how a Firebearer fights?” Aldrik asked.

“Hand-to-hand combat with the occasional long-ranged attack,” Larel responded.

“And Waterrunners?” The prince nodded and turned to Fritz.

“A mixture of offensive freezing attacks and defensive illusions,” Fritz sounded like he quoted from a textbook.

“And Groundbreakers?” Aldrik turned to Elecia.

“Highly defensive magic, stone skin impenetrable to bladed and most ice or fire attacks, combined with skills in weapons.” The woman rested her hands on her thighs, and Vhalla noticed the grooves in the other woman’s greaves were not decorative. She’d overlooked it before, but Elecia had two short swords strapped to her legs.

“As for Windwalkers ...” The prince’s voice faltered slightly when he turned to Vhalla. Her chest was tight, waiting for him to finish his thought. “We will find out.”

They spent the rest of the night going over basic punches and dodges. Elecia seemed just as displeased about having to help her as Vhalla was. The woman was curt and kept her comments short. But even through pursed lips and disapproving glares, Vhalla was learning.

The curly-haired woman was clearly experienced in combat. She moved lightly, easily, and never broke a sweat. She never made a single mistake and was never out of breath.

Everything about her seemed to get under Vhalla’s skin.

It was Vhalla’s turn to practice attacking and Elecia’s to dodge and deflect. Elecia found everything amusing. She had this annoying manner that made her seem like she was better than everyone else. She took Aldrik’s time and attention. Her motions were flawless. She had an elegant ease about everything, something that Vhalla had only ever seen royalty exude. Vhalla swung wide, and Elecia gave a small jab to her open shoulder. She took a step back and stared at Elecia.

Vhalla blinked in shock that she hadn’t put it together sooner. She had no proof, but something in her gut told her she was not wrong. The rumors of her being in the palace, the casual attitude toward royalty, it all made sense. Only people who came from wealth and affluence acted the way Elecia did. As if the world was a toy for her entertainment.

“What is it?” Elecia asked. “Giving up already?”

Vhalla returned to her assault. “Elecia.” She threw a punch, the other woman dodged. “Tell me—how old—were you—when you—first came—to the palace?” Her words were punctuated with her fists.

Elecia took a step back and paused. “What are you talking about?” The woman arched an eyebrow.

“Was it for a gala? Or was your father or mother on official business?”

Elecia’s eyes widened, and Vhalla resumed the attack. The woman recovered slowly and her blocks were suddenly sloppy. “Did you sleep in a guest suite?” She threw right. “Or did your family stay somewhere else in the upper part of town?”

An annoyed frown crossed Elecia’s lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“And you’re an awful liar,” Vhalla spat back.

Elecia looked at her in shock. “What about you, Vhalla Yarl? How exactly did you, less than a slip of a common girl, catch the eye of the crown prince? A nothing like you fraternizing with him!”

That got Aldrik’s attention. He quickly approached from where Larel and Fritz sparred.

“You have to know that you don’t deserve even—”

Vhalla lunged with a shout, not letting Elecia finish another wounding word. Elecia dodged easily and put a fist in Vhalla’s stomach. The woman’s arm felt like a rock sinking into her abdomen, and Vhalla wheezed for air instead of crying out.

“Elecia!” Aldrik shouted as Vhalla doubled over, holding her stomach and coughing. He quickly crossed the remaining gap, standing between the two women.

“You think that—” Elecia cast a finger in Vhalla’s direction, “—will ever be anything?” She threw her head back and laughed.

“Elecia, stop this,” Aldrik growled.

“Oh yes, defend your pet,” she sneered back.

Larel and Fritz stared in shock.

“Elecia,” he ground out through grit teeth, his hands balled into fists.

“Are you finally going to fight me? I’ve been waiting for a real challenge.” The dark-skinned woman said, putting her fists up. “It’s been far too long since we last went a round.”

Vhalla managed to tilt back onto her feet, still holding her stomach as it spasmed in pain.

Aldrik stomped over to Elecia and grabbed her by the collar of her plate. He jerked her to him and leaned in to place his face right in front of hers. “If you want me to spar with you like an adult, acting like a petulant child is not going to yield results, ‘Cia.”

Elecia pushed him away with a frown and a shake of her head. “Fine,” she said with a glint in her eye. “You continue to play your games with them, Aldrik,” she spat back.

Vhalla felt her mouth drop open in shock at the other woman’s use of Aldrik’s name.

“But—I will tell you again—that lowborn bitch isn’t worth an ounce of what you give her.” Elecia turned and stomped through the forest noisily. The brush and trees shrunk around her before curling back even more overgrown and thorny than before.

Aldrik sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, giving himself a moment before turning and kneeling in front of Vhalla. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded. Her stomach still felt like it was turned inside-out. Fritz and Larel hovered a few feet away from them in obvious uncertainty.

“Let me see.” The prince reached out, and Vhalla removed her hand. It hurt to straighten her back. “Take off your armor,” Aldrik ordered, and she began to fuss with the latches up the front. “Here,” he said softly and reached out, helping her from the bottom. Vhalla hunched her shoulders, let her hair fall in front of her face, and hid her shame.

Aldrik took her scale from her; a few of the small plates were dented around the abdomen.

He sighed audibly. “I will fix this tonight, and have it to you by morning.”

She looked down at her chain; it appeared to be undamaged. There was a moment of silence and a soft night breeze ruffled her hair. Aldrik reached out and clasped a hand over her shoulder.

“She is ...” He sighed. “Do not pay what she says any mind.”

Vhalla nodded silently. It was a nice sentiment. But once some things were said they could never be unheard, and the brief exchange was already repeating in her ears.

Aldrik nodded back at her before standing, turning to a shocked silent Larel and Fritz. “Larel, take her back to your tent. You may have to burn through one or two of those altered shrubs.” He glanced at Elecia’s path out. “Fritz, come with me. I am sure Vhalla has internal bleeding from a hit like that, and I will not have her riding a horse tomorrow without getting a potion in her tonight.”

They both nodded, and Larel slipped Vhalla’s arm around her neck, helping her to her feet.

“It’s not that bad,” Vhalla insisted softly, not wanting to make any more of a scene.

“There’s no shame in accepting help. This march is too long to justify acting too strong now,” Larel told her sternly, yet gently.

“Listen to that one, Vhalla. She has a good head on her shoulders.” Aldrik pointed to Larel, and Vhalla saw the Western woman’s face turn up to a small smile. “Fritz, come,” he ordered briskly, and the two walked off in a different direction.

Just as Aldrik had said, the brush needed to be burnt away in some places. It was riddled with vines almost as thick as Vhalla’s wrist, blocking the most direct route back to camp. Larel used intense firebursts to incinerate a clear path.

“Groundbreakers can alter trees and plants?” Vhalla asked.

“Some can.” Larel nodded.

They didn’t speak again during the rest of the walk back to their tent. Larel offered to help Vhalla change into her sleeping clothes, but Vhalla insisted she could do it on her own. Elecia’s words ran through her head. The conversation had yielded too much information to dissect now. A sickeningly purple bruise had already formed on her stomach.

Vhalla only barely finished pulling on a long-sleeved nightshirt when there was a tap on their tent pole.

“Vhal? Larel?” Fritz asked uncertainly.

“It’s fine, Fritz,” Vhalla called, and he poked his head in. Larel shifted to make enough room for him to sit. It was crowded with three.

“Here, the prince told me to give it to you.” He handed her a small wooden vial.

“Thank you,” she said softly, taking it from him and downing it quickly. She recognized the fiery feeling of this particular potion and winced slightly. Vhalla was beginning to suspect the clerics healed everything with this one magic liquid. “Sorry to be trouble.”

“It’s fine,” Larel consoled. “This was hardly your fault.”

“What exactly happened?” Fritz asked.

Larel elbowed him in the side. “Not our business,” she scolded.

Vhalla fidgeted with her fingers.

“Fine, fine. I hope you feel better soon.” He reached out, ruffled Vhalla’s hair, and turned on his knees to crawl out of the tent.

“Wait,” Vhalla stopped him. There was a sick feeling in her stomach, but Vhalla thought it had more to do with nerves. “Wait,” she repeated again as he sat down. Vhalla passed the vial from hand to hand, unsure of her next words. But Fritz and Larel had already proven to be kind and loyal. She took a breath.

“Vhalla, you don’t have to—” Larel seemed to sense her trepidation.

“We’re Bonded,” Vhalla said directly, getting it out before she lost her resolve.

Both stared at her in shock and confusion.

“Wait, what?” Fritz had a dumb look on his face.

“You and ...” Larel whispered, her voice leaving her before she could finish the sentence.

“Aldrik.” Vhalla cursed aloud. “The prince.” She shook her head; it was too late and she was in too deep. “Aldrik and I are Bonded.” Vhalla looked away from them. She barely understood what being Bonded meant so how they would react was up in the air. They both stared at her with their mouths open, shocked into silence. “Well, say something,” she sighed.

“You’re sure?” Larel asked.

“Very,” she affirmed, recalling her Channeling lesson.

“Does he know?” Fritz asked.

Larel cuffed him on the back of the head. “Of course he does,” she chided.

“How?” Fritz asked. The Western woman shot him a sharp glance. “I know how, as in I know how Bonding works in theory. But how did you become Bonded with the prince, of all people?”

“I don’t really understand it all myself.” Vhalla thought back to a night in the library, a night that seemed forever ago. “It was when he came back.”

“From the front? In the summer?” Larel seemed to be already piecing it together.

Vhalla nodded. “I was working in the library and I—” Vhalla paused, leaving out the truth that she had thought she was saving a different prince. “I wanted to save him, I wanted to give anything to save him. He said I wrote magic, or made vessels—I’m not sure. Something about it opened a link and that was a Bonding.” She shifted, trying not to allow the conversation she’d started make her uncomfortable.

“That’s amazing,” Fritz breathed.

“So, that’s—that’s why things are different with us.” She wasn’t sure anymore why she had confided this to her friends.

“What is it like being Bonded?” Fritz asked.

“It’s hard to tell,” Vhalla confessed. “I’ve never known magic and not been Bonded. So it’s normal for me.”

“You Manifested quickly,” Larel pointed out. “Even the minister was shocked, but it would make sense if you had a Bond with someone like Prince Aldrik.”

“It was also how ...” Vhalla hesitated about sharing the previous night with them, but she was in too deep to stop herself now. “During our Channeling lesson, he showed me how to Channel.”

“Well, of course.” Fritz clearly didn’t understand.

“No.” Vhalla shook her head. “He showed me. While we were Joined.”

If Vhalla had not understood the gravity of a Joining before, she understood it then. Fritz and Larel looked at her with a combination of shock, amazement, and—what was most unnerving—a touch of fear. Vhalla brought her hands together, wringing them roughly.

“It’s ... possible?” Fritz asked, finally.

“I suppose so? I only have what Aldrik said to go off of.” Vhalla’s eyes darted between them, desperate to spark some more conversation so they’d stop looking at her like she had sprouted a second head. “What does it mean?”

“I’ve only read about it.” Asking Fritz to recite things from books had the same effect as it did on Vhalla. His mind began churning once more. “Literature on Bonding is very few and far between because most people who try to create a Bond fail, and one person dies in the process. But Joining is supposedly a state of merged consciousness or awareness.”

“That sounds right.” Vhalla nodded in affirmation.

“I can’t believe he did that.” Fritz stroked the stubble on his jaw. “It’s supposed to be a risky process.”

“Risky?” Vhalla asked.

“Again, I’ve only read ... But if the Bond isn’t solid, complete, if the two people are Bonded but not compatible, or if—” He paused, censoring himself. “Well there are other things that can help or hurt it. But I’ve heard it could result in one person losing himself in the other. You end up with one being mindless, while the other goes mad with the noise in his head.”

Vhalla stared in shock and then started laughing. “Risks are something the prince has no qualms taking,” she assured them—it seemed to adequately sum up their entire relationship.

“Why did you tell us this?” Larel asked. “I can’t imagine the prince would be pleased.”

Vhalla honestly hadn’t considered that. “Because you both are my friends. I trust you, and I want you to know I do. What are friends if you cannot share your secrets with them?”

“I won’t tell a soul.” Fritz grabbed her hand, and she smiled at his kind eyes.

“You know you have my silence,” Larel affirmed with a nod.

“But you know I’m going to be asking you about it, right?” Fritz grinned his goofy toothy grin.

Vhalla couldn’t help but smile back. “I’ll answer as best I can,” Vhalla promised. “Talking about it may even be nice.”

Fritz left shortly after. He squeezed Vhalla and Larel both tightly, and Vhalla wished he could stay with them. She selfishly wanted to spend the night tucked between him and Larel. But Vhalla didn’t make any demands. At best she’d just wake him with thrashing from nightmares.

FRITZ RETURNED VHALLA’S armor the next morning, leaving Vhalla conflicted and uncertain once more. The prince was a strange creature. At times, he seemed like he worried for her above all else, like when Elecia made her cheap shot. Other times, like the entire day’s ride, it seemed as though he didn’t even want her around.

If he was trying to avoid her, then he was destined for failure. Aldrik saw her each night when they trained together and maybe that fact frustrated him, because the prince pushed his three pupils beyond tired and into levels of exhaustion that Vhalla had never known before. The second day of training was harder than the first, and the third was harder than the second. The fourth morning Vhalla was certain that she couldn’t get out of bed; it took almost being late for her to be coaxed into the saddle.

Aldrik had the sense to not pair Vhalla and Elecia together again; they were kept at other ends of the makeshift rings they worked in. Vhalla was thankful that she had the opportunity to work with Fritz, but felt sorry for Larel for having to endure the other Western woman’s jabs and sneers. If Aldrik was upset with Elecia, he didn’t show it. He still rode with her during the day and never sent her away from the training.

In all, it made Vhalla feel worse. She still remembered what Elecia had said about her birth, her questions of why Aldrik was spending any time with Vhalla. It made Vhalla doubt everything, and then she felt guilty for second-guessing Aldrik after all he had done for her. But she didn’t know how to feel, and Aldrik wasn’t helping her sort it out.

So during the day she’d taken to riding with the Golden Guard. Daniel and Craig were always welcoming, and even Prince Baldair seemed to be more amused than put off by Vhalla’s persistence around them. Raylynn was even beginning to thaw. It was an odd routine that Vhalla fell into; she wouldn’t call it peaceful, but with time everything became easier. Even her dreams had begun to lose their edge.

Or so she had thought.

A month into the march, Vhalla woke up one night shivering and shaking, despite the warming temperatures as the host grew closer to the Western Waste. Fear clawed and bit its way through her, but she had somehow not woken Larel. Vhalla quickly gulped in breaths of air. She stared down at her wrists.

The dream was just as vivid as her memories of the Night of Fire and Wind. Her mind told her she had felt these feelings before. The noises, smells, and touch were all familiar. And yet, Vhalla had never seen or done anything like it.

She’d stood in an opulent room, dark with oppressive gloom. A thunderstorm raged against the glass windows, and she’d been soaking wet. Vhalla shivered, grabbing her arms to ward against the phantom chill. And then she’d taken a knife to her own flesh.

Vhalla was looking at her forearms again.

The crimson blood that had stained pale skin and white carpeting was not what was most prominent in her memory. It was the fear, the overwhelming guilt she had felt and—most notably—when she had caught her eyes in the reflection of the blade—they had not been her eyes.

Vhalla covered her face with her palms. It was just a dream, she repeated over and over again. But she could still feel the blade cutting into the pale skin. She could see the palace handmaiden rushing in, horrified and desperate.

Vhalla was up and out of the tent.

It was still a good hour before dawn and the world was yet dark. Vhalla ran through the silent camp, barefoot and in sweat-damp clothes. Her heart raced, and her mind didn’t allow her to calm, not until she knew he was all right. She didn’t care if Aldrik was still cross with her. She had to see him.

Knocking on the crown prince’s tent pole before dawn had to be foolish, but that didn’t stop her. Vhalla brought her hands together, fidgeting in the eternity that seemed to follow as she waited. “My prince?” Her voice was strained with tension. Vhalla fought down a whimper. “Aldrik?”

To her relief, she heard a faint stirring come from inside the tent. The canvas shifted as ties on the inside were undone. Aldrik opened the flap in annoyance. With his other hand he pulled on the hem of a shirt, situating it over his chest.

“Vhalla?” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as if he wasn’t seeing properly, his temper quickly vanishing.

She felt something in her break with relief and she covered her mouth with her hands to muffle a small cry. Aldrik took one look at her panic-stricken face and, with a quick glance to ensure there were no observers, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the tent.

The moment he released the heavy canvas flap, they were plunged into near-darkness. She blinked in the dim light. His bed was a mess of blankets; papers and empty bottles cluttered his table.

Aldrik quickly rounded her and placed his palms on her shoulders. He inspected her from toe to head. “What is it?” His voice was tense. “Are you hurt?” Aldrik moved a hand to her forehead and ran it down her face to tilt Vhalla’s chin up to look at him.

The feeling of relief was still too strong for her to feel embarrassed. “I’m okay,” she finally managed weakly. Vhalla reached up and grabbed both his wrists. She let out a noise between a laugh and a sigh when she saw the sleeves of his shirt showed no signs of blood. “I’m okay.” Vhalla breathed. “I thought, you ...”

“I what?” he asked. Aldrik was clearly confused, but the prince made no motion away from her.

“It doesn’t matter.” She laughed uneasily. “It was a dream. Something bad ... I thought you were hurt. But it was just a dream.”

Aldrik paused before moving his hands to cup her face. He ran his thumbs over her tearstained cheeks, and she relished his eyes on her for the first time in what felt like forever. “I’m fine,” he whispered. “See, I am fine.”

His tenderness set free a small hiccup in her throat, and she squeezed his forearms. “I was afraid,” she admitted. His eyes widened. “I thought ...” She choked on her words.

“What? Thought what?”

Vhalla searched his questioning gaze. “Nothing,” she said with a shake of her head. “It doesn’t matter; you’re well.”

“Vhalla,” he insisted, his hands on her face preventing her from looking away.

“I was afraid I’d lost you.” The words were an arrow into the heart of the silence that had been flourishing between them. And words, like arrows, once let go, could not be taken back. Vhalla had confessed as much to him as she did to herself. The truth of her admission slowly dawned on them both. She felt her jaw quiver. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

She released his arms and stepped away to leave. Vhalla’s ears burned with embarrassment, and she dipped her head. What had overcome her? Why had she come? He’d made it clear for days that she’d done something to offend him. That he didn’t want her presence.

Aldrik closed the gap between them. Bending over slightly, he curled an arm around her upper waist and wrapped the other around her shoulders. Vhalla gasped and got a breath of his shirt as her face pressed against his chest.

He held her there and took a few deep breaths. Vhalla felt his chest move under her cheek, and she heard his heartbeat run fast. Uncertainly, she raised her hands and grabbed the back of Aldrik’s shirt. He didn’t pull away.

“I told you, you foolish woman,” he whispered, his breath washing away the scalding embarrassment. “You have to tell me if you want to lose me.”

Vhalla tightened her arms around him and closed her eyes. His contact calmed her, and she felt her heartbeat slow with his. Aldrik’s hand shifted, and she felt his fingers lose themselves in her tangled morning hair.

“I thought you were hurt.” He laughed dryly. “I’d just been ...” Aldrik seemed at a loss for words. “I had my own dream, I suppose.”

Vhalla inhaled deeply. He smelled like smoke, sweat, metal, leather, and something distinctly Aldrik. She felt him shake his head, and they continued to stand in silence. He was warm through the thin fabric of his shirt, and she pressed herself closer.

She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, but eventually she felt his arms loosen around her. Vhalla wanted to protest, but her grip relaxed. Aldrik straightened, but an arm remained around her waist. His other hand curled around the back of her neck.

“Tonight, come to me.”

Vhalla felt the pads of his fingers indenting the nape of her neck. “Tonight?” she squeaked, her throat suddenly dry.

Aldrik was suddenly as startled as she was. His eyes lost some of their intensity to surprise and confusion, as if his mouth had spoken before his brain could process his previous demand of her. “I told you there were things I wanted to work on with you.”

“Right.” Vhalla nodded. He’d been so distant she’d almost forgotten.

“You should go,” he murmured as his hands relaxed their hold on her. Aldrik stepped away. “Before too many wake up.”

Vhalla nodded. “Again, I’m sorry for disturbing you,” she said softly, shock at their actions beginning to settle in.

“It is fine,” he said gently. “We can speak properly later.” Vhalla nodded. Aldrik walked over to the flap of his tent and looked about. “It seems clear.” He stepped aside and she stepped out.

Vhalla heard the canvas close abruptly behind her, and she walked away, only looking forward. There were a few more people up and moving about, but none paid her any mind. The sky was painted with oranges and blues; dawn drew close.

She dressed in her armor outside of her tent, so as not to wake Larel. Her skin tingled as she slipped the chainmail over her woolen clothes, and Vhalla reminded herself to breathe. A dream had sent her into a blind panic, running to the crown prince.

Why?

Vhalla’s fingers faltered on the latches of her armor. The memory of their dance at the gala rushed back to her with stunning clarity. He’d held her then also and, like this morning, she’d never wanted it to end. She pressed a hand over her eyes, blocking out the dawn with a groan.

She came from nothing, and she was no one. She had no business spending any time with the crown prince, the man who would be her future Emperor. He didn’t have time to waste on people like her. Elecia’s words cemented themselves further in her consciousness.

“Vhalla?”

She hadn’t even heard Larel stir.

“Morning.” Vhalla finished dressing quickly.

“Are you all right?”

It was annoying how Larel missed nothing. “I’m fine.” Vhalla began breaking down the tent.

“Was it another dream?” Larel asked.

“Enough, Larel,” Vhalla sighed and straightened. The Western woman was silent. Vhalla should’ve been too, but there was an aching feeling in Vhalla’s stomach that put nastiness in her blood. “Why are you always pestering me? It’s none of your concern what I dream or don’t dream, what I eat or what I don’t eat.”

Larel’s face was expressionless.

“Just leave me alone for once.” Vhalla grabbed her pack and stormed off, leaving the rest of the tent for Larel.

She hated herself for those words. It wasn’t Larel’s fault. The class Vhalla was born into, the Night of Fire and Wind, the prince’s confusing and frustrating hot and cold attitude toward Vhalla. Larel had no control over any of it. Vhalla had just taken her frustrations out on someone who wasn’t expecting it.

Vhalla marched alone. She found a random corner of the host to fall in with away from Elecia, Aldrik, Fritz, Larel, and the Golden Guard. Fritz noticed instantly and was about to ride over to her when Larel stopped him. They found themselves engaged in a heated conversation that Vhalla tried to ignore. They were clearly talking about her.

When the march finished for the day, Vhalla had imagined every possible thing Larel, Fritz, and Aldrik could’ve said about her. Some of the things she felt guilty for even thinking they would utter, but somehow it still seemed plausible. Vhalla’s shoulders hunched, and her head dipped. She suddenly felt so tired.

“Vhalla.” Her head snapped up, turning to look up at the dark prince who had materialized at her side. “After everyone is settled, come and we’ll begin work.”

He still didn’t specify what work, and Vhalla felt odd under his studying assessment. After drifting through camp, waiting for Larel and Fritz to be away to strip her armor so she could avoid any odd confrontations, Vhalla finally dragged her feet to Aldrik’s tent. She came in the same woolen clothing she’d worn in the morning—that she’d been wearing for days.

The flap of his tent was open, and Vhalla paused politely in the entryway.

“My prince?” she asked softly. “Am I too early?”

He was sitting at the small table marking a piece of paper before him. His armor was propped on its stand opposite the entry, and he sat in tan pants and a white cotton shirt. “No, you are fine, Vhalla.” He glanced at her briefly. “Close it behind you.” He motioned to a tie on the inside that held up the flap, and she obliged.

Vhalla was momentarily overcome from the last time she had been in his space. She quickly crossed and situated herself on a pillow opposite him. Tilting her head, Vhalla assessed the prince, trying to figure out what was different.

“What is it?” he asked without looking up from whatever he was doing.

“You’re not wearing any black,” she realized.

Aldrik paused and considered his attire. “I suppose I am not.” He finished what he was working on and folded it twice, placing it aside.

“It’s strange,” she said thoughtfully.

“Is it?” Aldrik rested his elbow on the table, his cheek on his fist.

“You’re always in black,” she explained.

“Not true.” He shook his head.

“Yes, you are,” Vhalla insisted.

“I wear black in public.”

“Why?”

“I will tell you, perhaps, if you tell me what cloud situated itself over your head.” Clearly her day of sulking had not been lost on him.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” she mumbled.

“I would rather you did.” He leaned forward. “Was it the dream?”

“Why is everyone so obsessed with my dreams?” Vhalla shrunk away.

“Because we care about you,” Aldrik explained.

“We?” she repeated.

“Fritz, Larel, and I.”

“Why ...” Why did he insist on caring about her? “Well, you should stop.”

“That is not—”

“I thought I came here to work on something with you.” Vhalla was on her feet. “I’m not doing this again, Aldrik. I won’t be your project.”

“Yes, yes, of course, my lady.” He waved a hand.

“Don’t patronize me.” It struck a chord with her.

“Are you not a lady?” he asked.

“I am a woman,” Vhalla said with a roll of her eyes. “But I am not a lady.”

“Fine then, my princess.” He smirked.

“Stop,” Vhalla cautioned.

“Why, my queen?”

She’d had enough and was halfway to the door when Aldrik snatched up her wrist. Vhalla didn’t even turn and look at him.

“They’re just words.” The timbre of his voice had gone low and deep.

“They’re not.” She thought of all the lords and ladies she’d seen in the palace, how different she felt on the night of the gala. Titles were more than just words. They were walls and barriers and parapets to lift up some and keep others out.

“Look at me.” He commanded and she obliged. “I could give you any of them.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“It does.” She made the mistake of giving him her focus, and Aldrik’s serious gaze consumed it whole. “One day, I will be Emperor. I could make you anything you pleased.”

“Why?” Vhalla whispered.

“Because ...” He was at a momentary loss for words. Then the prince did something he had a reputation for avoiding. He met her gaze and showed her the truth from which he spoke. “I would do it because it would please you.”

Vhalla turned to face him, searching the prince with skepticism. She opened her mouth and closed it again, unsure how to reply. She didn’t know if she was brave enough to be so bold.

He relaxed his grip on her wrist, and his hand shifted to hers. “I realized something this morning, these past days,” Aldrik murmured. “I am a spoiled prince. No matter how unfair it may be, I do not do well being denied something I want, even if it’s self-inflicted. I have hurt you, I have put you in harm’s way, and I will continue to ask this and more of you the longer you stay near me. Yet knowing this, I seem to want you closer even when sense tells me the opposite.”

“Aldrik.” All words but his name failed her.

“You asked me before for honesty; there it is.” It was his turn to search her features for her reaction.

Vhalla felt dizzy, and all she could manage was a nod. He led her back to the small sitting area and sat with her. Vhalla felt the warmth of his skin under her fingertips, and she did nothing to break their contact. “So, if it involves my feelings, trust me above all others.”

“Above Elecia, you mean.” Vhalla didn’t leave things to chance.

“Above Elecia,” Aldrik agreed with a nod.

“So then, you’re not upset with me?” If they were clearing the air, Vhalla wanted to get everything out.

“Not in the slightest.” Aldrik’s thumb ghosted over the back of her hand. “If anything, you should be upset with me for ...” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Let’s call it even.” Vhalla didn’t want to dwell. She had done enough of that all day, and she felt at ease finally knowing more or less where she stood with Aldrik. “So what are we actually supposed to be working on?”

Aldrik shared a brief smile with her before his face quickly turned somber. “I have a plan to take the North.” His eyes bore into her. “But I will need you.”

“What could I do?” She hadn’t mastered any type of combat.

“It will depend on if you are able to become proficient at Projection. I believe I am able to see you when you are Projected because of our Bond, but no one else should be able to. If you can Project, you can infiltrate the Northern stronghold undetected. Learn its passages and its weaknesses. The information you could give might make them fall in one night.”

Vhalla instantly felt uneasy at the idea. “But last time I became stuck.”

“I will help you, I will be here.” Aldrik squeezed her hand lightly. “If you are willing, we will begin practice tonight.”

After some internal debate, Vhalla finally decided. “I will.” Perhaps this would be the one thing she could do that would give meaning to her conscription into the military. “What do I need to do?”

“Well, have you worked on Channeling?” Aldrik finally straightened, pulling his hand from hers. The distance he’d previously placed between them didn’t come rushing to fill the space. It didn’t feel like he was planning for it to be the last time they touched.

“Not really.” Vhalla glanced away.

“I didn’t see you using magic when we practiced either.” Aldrik gave her a knowing grin. “So, let us practice that first.”

Vhalla nodded and thought back to the last time they had worked together. It was an easy memory to recall, given the impact the Joining had on her. Vhalla extended her hands, focusing on them. She’d seen Aldrik repeat the movement countless times.

She clenched her hands into fists, and felt a rush of power. It was the same feeling he had imparted upon her during their Joining, and it made Vhalla wonder why she’d been so fearful to attempt it. Her eyes darted back to him. “I think I did it.”

“Really?” He seemed both surprised and skeptical.

“Check,” she suggested.

Aldrik looked askance. “I cannot.”

“What?”

“I cannot use magic sight.” Aldrik seemed embarrassed to admit the fact.

Vhalla stared in shock. He couldn’t do something? More notably, he couldn’t do something that she could. His eyes failed to meet hers, and Vhalla cleared the look from her face. He’d been helpful to her when she had no idea what magic was. She’d not chastise him now.

“Well, let’s just assume I can.” Vhalla gave a small grin.

“Truly? So easily?” He was surprised.

“I have a good teacher.” She flashed him a wide smile, and his mouth curled upward in reply before he could give it thought.

“Do you remember how you Projected?” he asked.

“Vaguely,” she confessed. She remembered trying to be near him when the Emperor had returned to the capital, and Vhalla remembered stretching her mind toward the rose garden. She thought it’d been a dream then, but perhaps it made more sense as a Projection.

“Try to repeat that process.” Aldrik seemed as uncertain as she felt.

Vhalla nodded, willing to let his confidence in her give life to her attempt. She closed her eyes, thinking back to the process she had used long ago. Visualize, she instructed to herself. In her mind’s eye the room began to rebuild with a magically sharp clarity.

Vhalla allowed the world to slow and still. Farther, she needed to stretch farther. Now able to maintain an open Channel, Vhalla found it easier to construct a magical world for her to walk within. She was the air; it beckoned endlessly to Vhalla, asking for her to fill the space. Soon sound disappeared, and she stood.

Her senses rushed back to her, but they were different than before. She heard by feeling the air move; she saw by how the shimmering currents of air circled around objects. Vhalla watched her body slump limply.

Aldrik caught her physical form and shifted it to rest in his arm. A smile curled his lips at the sight of her.

“Excellent,” he enthused.

Can you see me? she asked.

He nodded. “Try walking.”

She turned in place. It was easy to cross the room, and his eyes followed her the whole time. She walked over to his armor and reached out a hand. Vhalla studied it uncertainly.

What do I look like? she asked, wondering if the ghost-like appearance of her hand was the same for him.

“Fuzzy, as though you are in a fog. How a mirage looks in the desert,” Aldrik replied.

Vhalla tried to touch the plate and found her hand passed right through it. I can’t touch things, she observed.

“Try to use your magic,” he suggested.

Vhalla held out her hand, attempting to manipulate the wind around her. It was suddenly slippery and formless, like a vat of snakes and oil. Vhalla demanded it oblige her, focusing harder.

“Vhalla, stop,” Aldrik warned.

She didn’t even look back at him. Vhalla tried to take a deep breath, to feel the air, but found she couldn’t in this form. She would just have to force it. Immersing herself in her Channel, she insisted the armor move. Her vision shifted, the world phased between light and dark.

Aldrik? she called.

“Vhalla, stop!” He sounded distant and far.

Aldrik! she cried. Vhalla stood in a world of blinding light.

“Vhalla.” Aldrik’s voice was faint. “Come back to me.” She turned in the white emptiness but couldn’t find where he was. “Listen, find your heartbeat. Find mine. Come back.” He sounded strung out, which only caused her to feel more distraught.

Aldrik? she asked into the emptiness. There was no reply. Vhalla closed her eyes, only to find more light. She listened, there was nothing. Vhalla walked for a bit, but couldn’t make anything appear before her. Time seemed to have stopped, and she wasn’t sure how long she wandered. Finally, she sat and simply listened.

Slowly, painfully slowly, she began to hear a distant drumming. It was a familiar rhythm, and it called to her. Vhalla allowed it to flow back into her, it resonating through every aspect of her consciousness. It was a slow transition as the world faded into blackness.

Her eyes fluttered open. Aldrik’s face hovered above her, and he let out a small relieved laugh. For the second time in one day she found herself pressed against his chest. Vhalla sighed softly. It was a trend she could learn to live with.

“You scared me again,” he muttered. “That’ll be the last time we do that.”

“No,” Vhalla insisted with a shake of her head. “I’ll get it, I just need more practice. I pushed too hard.”

He studied her carefully, and she yawned, suddenly feeling exhausted. She made no motion to get up, and he made no motion to remove her from his person. Vhalla’s eyelids drooped closed.

“Rest,” the prince instructed.

She shifted slightly, her ear against his chest. “Aldrik?” she inquired with another yawn.

“Vhalla?”

She struggled to find the right words. “This is a really, really awful idea.”

Vhalla felt him stiffen a moment, and he let out a small sigh. “I know.” His voice was barely audible. “I know. Now rest.”

Vhalla felt her consciousness fade as she was swathed in a comfortable warmth that only he could exude.

VHALLA WAS ONE of those perpetually cold people. With a small amount of body fat, likely due to her spotty eating habits when wrapped up in something, she was usually the first to complain about a chill. She had long since accepted it as part of her lot in life and dressed as warmly as possible to make up for it.

However, at this particular moment she was pleasantly warm. It was a surreal feeling and, in her half-sleep haze, she shifted, pressing herself closer to the source. That source adjusted itself beneath her before settling again. The unfamiliar sensation brought Vhalla back to awareness. Her mind was sluggish with sleep, and she struggled to make sense of it.

His heartbeat was the first thing she heard. Slow and strong against her right ear. The second thing she heard was the scratching of quill on paper. Vhalla cracked open her eyes and saw she rested in the crook of Aldrik’s left arm, which wrapped around her side. She was halfway onto his lap as he sat cross legged on the floor. Stretched across her was his right hand as he marked papers on the table.

The previous events came back in pieces, punctuated with a yawn.

“You’re up.” Aldrik placed the quill on the table and ran a hand through his hair. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” she responded groggily.

“I could tell.” His tone was flat but his posture had no heaviness to it. “I’m fairly certain you depleted most of your magic and fell into your Channel.”

Vhalla made a note to ask him, Fritz, or Larel about that later when she didn’t feel so sleepy. “How late is it?”

He shifted and reached out to the edge of the table. It had parchments strewn across it with all manner of scribbles on their surface. Aldrik pushed some pages aside, and a glint of silver caught her eye.

“Let’s see, eight-thirty.” He inspected the pocket watch.

“Can I see it?” Vhalla held out a hand.

He looked at her curiously but obliged. Vhalla turned the watch over in her fingers. The back was polished to a mirror finish, the front held the blazing sun of the Empire. Time pieces were rare because those who understood their strange mechanics were few and far between. Vhalla stared past her reflection in the glass that covered the obsidian and alabaster face of the watch. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Aldrik replied awkwardly.

“I’ve never held one before,” Vhalla mused aloud. The few clocks she had ever seen were large, like one at the circulation desk in the library. “It’s like holding time itself, isn’t it?”

“I suppose.”

“I wish I could make it stop,” she breathed.

His hands closed over hers and the watch, shutting the front latch closed. “If you could, what would you do?”

Aldrik’s breath was warm on her cheeks, and Vhalla was keenly aware of how close they were. He held her in one arm, the other hand holding both of hers, her side pressed along his chest. What were they doing?

“I ...” She would be lost in those black eyes if she wasn’t careful. Vhalla straightened. “What’re you working on?”

“This?” Aldrik motioned to the parchment, allowing her to save them both from themselves. “There is the exciting job of checking our stock, making sure we have enough supplies to make it to the Crossroads. There were one or two discipline reports; I screen them for Father.” He paused; she followed his stare to one piece of paper that was completely full of his slanted scribbles. “I also began taking some notes on our Bonding.”

“On us?” Vhalla glanced at the paper.

“There is not much information on Bonding. I wanted a record I can look back on later if anything strange happens.”

She bit her lip, unsure how she felt about her experiences with Aldrik potentially being read by someone else. “I suppose it makes sense. If you need any insights from me, let me know.” Vhalla offered, and he nodded. “Does your brother help you with the other things?”

“Baldair?” Aldrik pushed his hair back with both hands. For a moment he looked like the man she’d met back at the palace; at least until the hair fell back messily around his face. “He is not really the type for official business.” Aldrik’s voice was cool.

“He said you two had a strange relationship.” Aldrik raised an eyebrow at her statement. “When he came to my cell, during the trial.”

“Did he?” Aldrik chuckled darkly. “That is one way to describe it.”

“You don’t get along.” Vhalla didn’t need to have siblings to see it.

“Our relationship works when we need it to, how we need it to. We normally have an understanding.” His guarded words and tone made it clear she wouldn’t get any more out of him.

Vhalla yawned again despite herself. “I should go, I suppose.” She glanced away. In truth, she had no interest in leaving.

“You have not eaten yet.” The sentiment seemed to be mutual. “I could get us some food.”

“All right.” It was easy to agree.

Aldrik stood and stretched. He grabbed his chainmail from where it hung on a peg by his other armor and pulled it over his head.

Vhalla leaned back, studying the subtle grace to his movements. “Is chainmail really necessary in camp?”

Aldrik paused, and she watched his face become pained. “You can never be too careful,” he murmured. His demeanor changed back before Vhalla could comment on it. “Wait here, I will return shortly.” She nodded and he slipped out of the flap.

Vhalla dropped back onto the pillows strewn about rug. The whole evening, the past day, had been completely surreal, and she didn’t want it to end. He wanted her closer, or so he had said. It put butterflies in her stomach as much as it put alarms in her head.

She groaned, covering her eyes with the back of her forearm. The smart thing to do would be to end this now, whatever this was. It would be best to apologize, refuse, leave, and prevent anything further from happening. Vhalla tilted her head back and watched the flames dance in one of his hanging braziers. That would have been the smart thing to do, but what she actually did was lay there until he returned.

“My, you look comfortable.” Aldrik wore a lazy smirk.

“I’ve not had a real pillow to sleep on in over a month,” she reminded him, sitting.

“So take one.” He shrugged, placing a small sack on the table.

“I cannot take your pillow.” Vhalla accepted a roll he handed her.

“Why not?”

“Oh yes, by the way, the Crown Prince Aldrik gave me a pillow. That’s normal right?” Vhalla rolled her eyes.

“I hear it is all the rage for ladies’ gift-giving in the East. You mean to tell me my sources are incorrect?” Aldrik grinned.

“Oh cute.”

Vhalla grabbed one of the pillows in question and threw it in his face. It hit him square and the prince stared at her. For a moment Vhalla felt her nerves take over.

“You just assaulted the crown prince.” He glared, but she saw the tell-tale glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Vhalla, I think that violates the terms of your probation.”

“Oh? Tell me what will you do to me?” She did her best to imitate one of his trademark smirks, and she was rewarded by the spark turning to a fire in his eyes.

“I could think of quite a few things to do to you.” His voice was gravely and deep, and Vhalla felt a flush rise to her cheeks.

Not having a good response, she took a bite of her bread and filled the silence with chewing. He chuckled and shook his head. Vhalla finished her roll, and he passed her a bladder of water. Vhalla wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, considering the prince.

“You’re really nothing like they said,” she mused. He raised an eyebrow, prompting her to continue. Vhalla grabbed one of the smaller scraps of meat from the bag and chewed thoughtfully. “Everyone, who ever said anything about you. It was warnings, caution.” Vhalla tilted her head, thinking back. “When I had lunch with your brother, he said he saved me from you, that you’d eat me alive.” She gave a small laugh and a grin, but it quickly fell from her face as she saw him tense.

“I am sure my brother would be more than happy to save anyone from me.” Aldrik balled a hand into a fist.

“I don’t believe them.” Vhalla hoped that much was obvious.

“I know.” His voice was faint, and Aldrik avoided her gaze. “But they are right, you know. I’m not a good person to be around.”

Vhalla frowned, quickly gulping down the last of her food. She shifted closer to him, leaning over to put her face in front of his, searching his features thoughtfully. “No more of that, okay?” she whispered. “I’m not going anywhere, unless you say the word.”

His lips parted slightly as his jaw went slack. “It’s late.”

“It is,” she agreed.

The silence that settled over them was an odd mix of comfortable and painful. Vhalla found her heart trying hard to escape her chest. Hesitantly, she reached out. Her fingertips brushed lightly against his knuckles. He held her gaze, and she closed her fingers around his.

“You should go,” he breathed. There was a tension there that Vhalla had never heard before.

“I should,” she agreed.

Neither of them moved.

“Vhalla,” Aldrik whispered. Her name strained against his lips, and she found some part of her relishing the sound.

“Aldrik?” she replied in kind.

He squeezed her hand fiercely a moment, and she held her breath. But as he relinquished his hold, she felt the insanity that had overcome them in that brief exchange dissipating into the air. “I will ride with you tomorrow,” he promised. “Don’t ride with anyone else. Stay by my side.”

Vhalla nodded. “I will. I promise.”

Aldrik helped her to her feet, and she stood facing him, her fingers still in his. Slowly he raised her knuckles to his face and gently pressed his lips against them. His mouth was soft and the heat of his breath sent a small shiver down her spine.

Vhalla put on her boots and crossed the few steps to the entrance of the tent and stopped, turning. “Aldrik, tomorrow.” Vhalla paused, the words sticking to the inside of her throat, she swallowed hard to free them. “Will all this be a dream?” His brow furrowed a moment. “The next time we meet, will it be as though none of this happened?”

“Of course it will be,” he said very matter of fact. Vhalla felt her chest tighten. Aldrik crossed the distance between them and placed his palm under her ear, his fingers wrapping around the back of her neck. He leaned in close and she saw a flash of amusement in his eyes. “To everyone else, of course it will be.”

“To us?” Vhalla didn’t know how a begging tone had slipped into her voice.

“For us, it is waiting four more days until we practice your Projection again.”

She smiled faintly in relief, hoping she understood his meaning correctly. “Until then.”

“Until then.” He straightened and pulled back the tent flap to allow Vhalla to disappear into the cool night.

Her stomach was nothing but butterflies, and she suppressed a strange noise of elation as she walked back to her tent. Vhalla had never known a feeling quite like this before, and she found she enjoyed the bubbles it put in her blood. Four more days; it was far better than a month. Vhalla cupped one hand over the other, feeling phantom lips upon her skin.

Aldrik had been right, it was late. Most of the fires burned low and were located toward the center of camp. Along the edge there were few people. She made it far enough away from Aldrik’s tent before someone noticed that her presence could have been a result of any number of reasons. The quiet night began to subdue her as she neared her tent with every step. She needed to apologize to Larel.

Larel was curled up in her bedroll, and she made no motion as Vhalla changed silently. The air was cool against Vhalla’s bare skin as she undid the bindings she had begun to wear over her breasts to prevent uncomfortable chaffing in her armor. Vhalla’s mind instantly thought back to the prince’s warmth, and it sent a chill of a different kind through her. She sighed as she crawled into the scratchy wool of her blanket.

Vhalla had been content to let things with Larel go until the morning. But the Western woman had only been feigning sleep, and Vhalla was quickly locked into a staring contest. Larel regarded her thoughtfully and allowed the silence to stretch on until it was clear that she was waiting on Vhalla.

“I’m sorry for making you set up the tent alone today.” Vhalla’s ears burned with embarrassment.

“That was no trouble.”

That wasn’t, but how Vhalla had acted was. “I’m sorry also for snapping at you.” She did her best to keep eye contact with Larel, but shame eventually won out and Vhalla avoided the other woman’s gaze. “I didn’t mean it, I was just, I was exhausted and—” Vhalla swallowed her stalling “—Larel, you’re my friend. I couldn’t have done this without you. I wouldn’t have survived this long without you.”

Vhalla choked on emotion. It was true. If it weren’t for everything Larel had done and was continuing to do for her, Vhalla would have been alone. Sure, Aldrik was helping her and he could bring Vhalla as much joy as he could frustration. But things were strange there, because of their own hesitations and the world’s expectations. In comparison, the bond Larel had built with Vhalla was perfectly simple.

Larel’s hand closed around Vhalla’s tightly. “Don’t think on it any longer,” Larel said finally. “I forgive you.”

Vhalla took a shaky breath, clinging to Larel’s palm.

“You are more than a protégé to me, you know. You are a dear friend.” The Western woman ran a hand through Vhalla’s hair lovingly. “I don’t have many friends.”

“I never did either,” Vhalla laughed weakly.

“Aldrik was one of my first friends.” The prince’s name from anyone’s mouth gained Vhalla’s attention, and Larel said it even more easily than Vhalla could. “You shared your secret with the prince. I’ll share mine.”

“You don’t have to.” Vhalla could sense an unfamiliar aura around Larel, one of discomfort.

“I know.” The woman smiled. “But I want you to know I trust you as you trust me.” Larel shifted, her eyes growing distant. “I suppose nothing will make sense unless I start at the very beginning. I came from a very poor family in a small town called Qui.”

“I don’t know it,” Vhalla confessed.

“You wouldn’t, not unless you’ve studied Western mining. Qui is a town around halfway to Norin. At least, if you took the old routes before the Great Imperial Way was extended. Back then many would stop through for supplies or to rest horses.” Larel rolled onto her back, her fingers only lightly entwined with Vhalla’s.

“It’s a town that’s full of more shit than a cow pie.” The woman was uncharacteristically bitter. “My father was a miner who never amounted to anything other than turning alcohol to piss. My mother was a broken woman, and all I think she could do was stare into space, especially after my father hit her.”

Vhalla blinked in a stunned silence.

“There was no money, no future, and no joy there. Mother help me, I hated that shack they called home. One day, I was five, maybe six? My father brought home a man I’d never seen. He said that the man would give us all the money we needed and all I had to do was be a good girl and do as I was told.” Larel placed her forearm on her forehead, staring at something far beyond the canvas above them.

“I didn’t understand until I was alone with that man. I screamed, I cried, and no one came. In that moment, I just wanted them all to die.” Larel sighed softly. Vhalla could hardly process what the woman was implying. “They found me sitting among the ashen remains of that home. I don’t think I mourned once.” She turned back to face Vhalla. “That was when I first Manifested. I was just a child, and a sorceress at that. So I was given to the mines. Every day I was lowered into a hole. I dug and dug. Or made fires, melted things away, or whatever else I could do.”

“I’m sorry,” Vhalla whispered. Those two words didn’t seem to even come close to enough.

“This was a different life, Vhalla.” Larel shrugged. “Honestly, the mines paid me a copper for every day I worked. It was enough to buy dinner, and I slept in empty storage sheds.” Larel returned onto her back, her eyes glassed over with memories. “Then one day there was an Imperial company riding through. The Emperor himself was there, and they made a stop to rest their mounts and resupply their stock. I’d never seen anything as amazing as the gilded carriages and horses covered in dyed leathers.

“The Emperor said he wanted a tour of the mines. They were headed to Norin but Emperor Solaris knew our mine was one of the West’s primary silver veins and he was kind enough to at least feign an interest. Aldrik was there.”

Vhalla struggled to envision what a child-Aldrik would look like without his adult demeanor and presence.

“He was twelve and every inch the prince—even then. He followed his father around the mines dutifully. But he was still a child, and eventually he wandered on his own, well, with a guard. Though no one in the West would ever hurt him. He’s one of the West’s own, after all. I saw him making some fires to play with. I’d never seen another person like me.” Larel laughed softly.

“I was such a grubby little thing, Vhalla. I had no business approaching the crown prince. But he smiled kindly and let me show him what I could do. He told me there was a place in the castle, a Tower, where people like us were special—where I wouldn’t have to live in the dark. I remember crying; I cried because it sounded so perfect, I cried because I knew I would never go.

“He looked at me strangely. He didn’t understand why I wouldn’t. His guard explained it to him, and Aldrik just said he would take me.” Larel fussed with her blanket. “He took me to his father and told him, in front of everyone there, that I was coming back to join the Tower. At first the foreman objected, saying I was property of the mines. But Aldrik wouldn’t hear it. In the end, I was bought with seven gold pieces and an Imperial thank you. I was eleven when I finally left that town, and I never went back.”

Vhalla stared in awe, but Larel seemed to only be half-finished.

“I joined the Imperial caravan to Norin, and then back to the Southern palace. Aldrik and I were inseparable the whole time. We were kids—and, well—kids don’t understand the world and all the reasons that keep people apart. Right from the start he didn’t want me to call him “prince”, said it made him feel strange. I was happy to oblige. When I joined the Tower, he insisted we trained together. Minister Egmun didn’t—”

“Egmun?” Vhalla interrupted in shock.

Larel knew there was something more to Vhalla’s tone. “Egmun was the Minister of Sorcery before Victor.”

Vhalla sat up. “No, not the same Head Elect Senator Egmun?” It had to be a mistake.

“Yes, he stepped down from his minister position to join the Senate,” Larel explained.

“He-he—” Vhalla seethed and sputtered remembering the man who tried to beat her into a submission that would mean accepting death as an alternative to the pain.

Larel let Vhalla’s words fall away. “I hear Egmun changed a lot during his transition to senator.”

“Sorry, continue.” Vhalla shook her head, pushing away the senator whom she considered evil incarnate.

“Anyway, they didn’t think it proper I trained with the crown prince, but Aldrik is Aldrik. So we trained together anyways. Every day I got to spend with him was better than the last. Even the times he was angry or sad, I just enjoyed being with him, seeing him ...” Larel trailed away into nostalgia with a soft, sad smile.

Vhalla’s eyes widened. “Did you love him?”

It would make sense if she had. He saved her, he brought her to a new life, and he stayed by her side as he showed her an amazing new world. Who couldn’t love someone under those circumstances when they were as amazing as Aldrik was?

“Well ...” Even in the dim light Larel’s cheeks were slightly flushed. Vhalla had never seen her blush before and it made her insides clench. “There was a summer, he was barely fourteen and I was thirteen. It was that age when you first start wondering what love is. We had a moment; he was the first boy I kissed.” Vhalla shifted her blankets. “But, it faded just as fast as it came on. We both realized we were kids playing at love and laughed it off.”

Larel sighed softly.

“Right at the start of the war in the Crystal Caverns, he hit a really dark point. I tried to get to him, and he pushed me away. We had a fight, and we both said things we regretted.” She looked pained. “I was proud, I was hurt, and I walked away. I know he needed me—needed someone—more than ever, and I withdrew.” Larel’s attention was back on Vhalla, the haze of the past lifting for a moment. “I promised then that I’d never abandon someone in need, if I had the chance again. I’d never ignore a friend because of the foolish things pain could make them do.”

Vhalla quickly realized Larel was speaking about her.

“After that, for many years, things were awkward and cold between us.” Larel was back to her story. “But time heals all wounds, and we found our friendship again. It’ll never be what it was, but what we had created a strong foundation. He knows he can trust me implicitly, and I can trust him.”

Silence filled the air as Vhalla digested Larel’s story. It made her feel heavy, and it put her stomach in a knot. She felt sorrow for her friend; joy, excitement, and a touch of jealousy. She felt like a child when she wondered what it was like to kiss the prince and kept her questions at bay.

“So that’s why you’re my mentor.” Vhalla saw it with a new light.

“Yes. During your Awakening, Aldrik was obsessive with worry over you. We had to practically remove him by force. He wanted to screen everyone who was allowed to even see you, more or less touch you. Because Victor kept pushing him away, he appointed me to the task. He asked a favor. Of course, now I know why he was frantic. If you’re Bonded.”

Vhalla twisted her blankets between her fingers. It was not the first time she’d been told he called in favors for her. Vhalla tilted her head. “The Bond?”

“You know how a Bond is made,” Larel said delicately. “You are both a part of each other. There are records of people going mad because they lost their Bonded. Some theorize that, depending on the depth of the Bond, should one die the other will as well.”

Vhalla sat upright, resting her forehead in her palm. It was self-preservation for him. “He’s keeping me safe because if he doesn’t—”

“He’s keeping you safe because he wants to keep you safe,” Larel interrupted.

Vhalla looked over at the other woman, who was now also sitting. Larel wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulders, pulling Vhalla back, and engulfing Vhalla in her warm safety.

Larel’s voice was sad and sincere. “Aldrik’s been through a good deal, much of which he’s never even imparted to me. But I’ve seen the edges of the darkness he shoulders. I don’t think he worries for his sanity or his mortality. He doesn’t want you to die because he’s afraid that it would mean he’d have to live without you.” Larel stroked the top of Vhalla’s head.

“Listen close. I’ve known him for twelve years. And a good many of those were spent, dare I say it, as his best friend. I know Aldrik—the good and bad.” Larel sighed. “I don’t want to say anything he hasn’t said himself. But he cares for you, Vhalla. In a way that I’ve never seen him really care for anyone before.”

Vhalla pressed her eyes closed, imagining she was back in the palace. “Thank you for telling me all this, Larel.”

“Sweet Vhalla, you know I will always be here for you.” Larel squeezed her tightly, and Vhalla slept peacefully for the first time in what seemed like years.

THE NEXT MORNING Aldrik kept his promise and rode at her side. They talked the day away, almost exclusively with each other. He asked about her life in the East, her farm, her family. Vhalla probed him for magical knowledge that she had no other way of learning. The man was practically a walking library.

There were no remnants of tensions between her, Fritz, and Larel either. Fritz had caught on quickly that whatever oddities had been going on were resolved, and the Southerner had enough sense not to linger. Armed with her friends at her side and secure in the knowledge of the stability of her and Aldrik’s relationship, Vhalla ignored Elecia throughout training—much to the other woman’s frustration.

Vhalla used her Channeling liberally, to the surprise of everyone but Aldrik. Fritz and Larel were expectedly encouraging. Elecia was obviously perturbed and avoided her for the next three days.

Vhalla was amazed at how easily control came following those first few days of Channeling without hesitation or fear. Supported by her friends and Aldrik, Vhalla found herself finally relishing her magic. The wind slipped easily between her fingers, heeding her will, and Vhalla was quickly surpassing the basic introductions to magic Aldrik had given her months ago. Magic, she was discovering, was like poetry. Once you understood the logic, the meter, the rhyme behind it, you could embellish upon it and make it your own.

On the third night, she was setting up Larel’s and her tent with just her magic alone. That was the first time Vhalla felt eyes on her for her sorcery, eyes that weren’t daunting or scared. The Black Legion began to pay attention to their Windwalker once more, not for the Night of Fire and Wind, but for the daily feats she was beginning to be able to perform. It was a sanity-supporting confidence-booster for Vhalla.

She was in such a high place with it all that when Aldrik paired her with Elecia during training—at the other woman’s request—Vhalla didn’t even blink. She accepted the other woman’s presence opposite her. If it was an actual competition for Aldrik’s attention, it was one Vhalla was winning. The crown prince had rode at her side without stop, and tomorrow they would practice Projection again.

Aldrik had been intent on working toward more hand-to-hand combat, and Vhalla was happy to oblige. The Northern-looking woman needed to be knocked off her high horse and tonight was Vhalla’s night, Vhalla assured herself. She’d been feeling stronger with every passing week, less sore, more capable.

“You sure you want to do this, Yarl?” Elecia smirked, her eyes darting toward Aldrik.

“It’s just practice, right?” Vhalla sunk into her preferred fighting stance, one arm up and the other at chest-height.

“Oh, of course.” Elecia balled her right hand into a fist, clasping her left overtop.

Vhalla clenched her hands into fists and welcomed her magic as well. “Your mark, or mine?”

“Mine—don’t want you cheating.” Elecia laced her voice with sarcasm, but Vhalla knew it was a thin veil for sincerity, and her eye twitched.

Elecia moved, and Vhalla instantly went on the offensive.

The dark-skinned woman dodged and ducked ably. She narrowly avoided Vhalla’s hooks and jabs. But Vhalla’s punches were missing by a narrower margin than she would’ve expected.

Vhalla took a breath and focused. She began to feel the ripples in the currents of air as the other woman’s muscles tensed and pulsed before she threw a punch or kick. Vhalla’s body knew before her eyes could see. Vhalla’s heart began to race. She could do this: she could fight.

A pulse began to fill Vhalla’s ears, and she allowed herself to rely on instinct. Vhalla moved like the wind, fast and precise. Her hands swung in exact arcs, hitting their target almost every time. The constant offense had Elecia beginning to panic, and panic made the other woman sloppy. Vhalla heard nothing other than the heartbeat.

Elecia threw a fist at Vhalla’s face; knowing it was coming, Vhalla dodged at the last second. She clamped her hand around Elecia’s wrist and savored the look of pure shock as her foot kicked the other woman’s feet from beneath her. Elecia fell to her knees, and Vhalla reached for the woman’s face with her free hand, clamping it over Elecia’s mouth.

The dark-haired woman’s eyes went wide with terror.

“That’s enough,” Aldrik barked from their right. “Vhalla, let her go.”

The heartbeat in Vhalla’s ears began to fade: it was almost like coming out of a trance. As if seeing the other woman for the first time, Vhalla quickly pulled her hand away, staring at the appendage that had found a mind of its own.

“What in the Mother’s name was that?” Elecia sprang to her feet.

“Just a spar,” Vhalla said curtly. She wasn’t about to let shock give Elecia leeway to ignore the fact that she’d been outperformed. “A spar you were bested in.”

“Right,” Elecia mumbled, her eyes swung to Aldrik. “Bested by an awfully familiar fighting style.”

“I think that’s enough for the night.” Aldrik’s tone was clear: he didn’t want any further discussion on it.

“Why?” Elecia took a step forward. “So you can continue to train her in secret?” Was that hurt in the other woman’s voice? “What do you do those nights you call her to your tent?”

“That is not your concern.” Vhalla had never heard Aldrik so sharp with Elecia.

“It is, because you are my—”

“Just go, Elecia.” Aldrik pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

He was her what? Vhalla wanted to scream the question, but she was barely finding enough air to breathe through the whole exchange.

“Fine, Aldrik. If you want to train her in secret, go right ahead. But don’t think your favor heaped upon the undeserving lowborn will go unnoticed or unquestioned.” Elecia was at the insults again, and Vhalla wished they would dull just a little more instead of still feeling like daggers to her gut.

“All of you, go back,” Aldrik commanded as Elecia stormed away.

“Aldrik,” Vhalla said softly as Fritz and Larel got a few steps ahead.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” The prince stared down the bridge of his nose at her.

“Where else could I learn?” She didn’t understand why she was being given his displeasure. “You, Elecia, Larel, Fritz, Major Reale, you know everyone who’s ever taught me.”

“The way you moved. None of them could have taught you that.” He was somber.

“Well, I have a good teacher.” Vhalla attempted a smile that she quickly abandoned.

Aldrik’s eyes were dark with a tempest of emotion, none of which good. “It was more than that, Vhalla,” he pressed.

“I don’t know what else you think I’ve done.” She took a step away, crossing her arms. “If you remember, my life hasn’t been mine for the past few weeks. I’m owned by the crown, my prince.”

“Is that it? You’re just owned by the crown? There is nothing more?” Aldrik shortened the gap between them with two steps.

“What else more would there be?” Why else would she be headed to war?

His eyes widened by a fraction, and Vhalla realized that they weren’t talking about her presence in the military or combat. Aldrik stormed past her, his shoulder hitting hers lightly.

“Aldrik, you know that wasn’t what I meant,” she called after him.

He froze and looked back at her. Was that appreciation on his face? Was he impressed that she recognized the subtle shifts in their conversation?

The moment was fleeting, and he left her without another word.

Vhalla wanted to scream. The wind tickled under her palm, responding to her frustrations. For the first time Vhalla considered running and abandoning her duty.

Later, in their tent, Vhalla vented to Larel about it all. “I don’t even know what I did!” The other woman was silent. “I thought he would’ve been pleased I’m not utterly useless.”

“You were never useless,” Larel corrected unhelpfully.

“I bested Elecia!” Vhalla flopped back onto her bedroll. “I thought he’d be proud.”

Larel paused a long moment, lying on her side next to Vhalla. They set up their bedrolls against each other to give more room for their armor and things in the small tent. It seemed a much better use of space, and Vhalla had already shattered any contact barriers from the nights she’d spent shaking and sobbing in Larel’s arms.

“The way you fought, Vhalla,” Larel began delicately.

“Not you too,” she groaned.

“Well, you moved very differently than ever before,” Larel pointed out. “What happened?”

“We’ve been training for weeks,” Vhalla stressed. “I hope I’m getting better.”

“Neither Fritz nor I could best Elecia.”

“But you two weren’t really sparring.” Vhalla turned on her side to face Larel.

“We were.” Larel nodded. “How did you do it?”

Vhalla paused, trying to put her defensiveness aside and think. “I don’t know, I just moved.”

“You ‘just moved?’” Larel quickly dropped the skepticism when she saw Vhalla’s face.

“I didn’t even think,” Vhalla added softly, attempting to analyze what had happened. “It was as though my body knew what to do, and I just had to trust it.”

“You fought like Aldrik.” Larel continued before Vhalla could point out that the prince had been training her, “No, Vhalla, you fought exactly like Aldrik.”

“But—”

Larel shook her head. “You could have been his mirror. I’ve sparred enough times with the prince to know how he moves. Down to how you turned your feet, Vhalla. And then, when you grabbed Elecia’s face ... That’s how Aldrik executes his enemy.”

Vhalla remembered the Northerner on the Night of Fire and Wind, the one Aldrik had killed before her. He’d grabbed the swordswoman’s face and burned her alive from the inside out. Vhalla shivered. “I don’t know how ...”

“The Joining would be my suspicion.” Larel arrived at the obvious conclusion.

“I have to go talk to him.” Vhalla was kept from scrambling to her feet by an arm around her shoulders.

“Tomorrow,” Larel said thoughtfully. “I think Aldrik was very surprised by this turn of events. Give him some space to cool and process this.”

Vhalla frowned but obliged her friend. Larel gave the best council and had the wisdom of years with Aldrik behind her. And the dawn wasn’t that far.

But when the dawn came, Aldrik was nowhere to be seen. Vhalla scanned the campfires; the tents that were being torn down but she couldn’t find his tall shadow anywhere. She didn’t see him until she was falling in line with Fritz and Larel.

He ignored the space Vhalla had left for him, the space that had been constantly filled for days, and went directly to Elecia. Vhalla said her goodbye to Fritz and Larel and made a quick trot to the front of the line. His moods and his uncomfortable distances were beginning to wear down Vhalla’s patience. She didn’t care that by day their closeness had to be a secret—whatever that closeness even meant. She was tired of everything being on his terms and what he needed.

“Well, look who it is.” Craig was the first to notice her, and Daniel beamed from ear to ear as she approached. “We thought you had forsaken us, Miss Windwalker.”

“My favorite boys in gold?” Vhalla laughed away the tension of the Black Legion, falling in between Craig and Daniel. “How could I ever forsake you?”

“Good morning, Vhalla.” Prince Baldair gave her a smile across Daniel.

“Good morning, my prince.” Vhalla lowered her eyes respectfully. When she raised them again, they caught Raylynn’s and the Southern woman gave her a small nod. Things had dramatically improved between them. “How are the swords this day?”

“Sharp as ever,” Craig announced proudly. “Especially this one over here.” He pointed toward Daniel, and the Easterner was overcome with sudden modestly. “He’s been undefeated in the ring for two weeks now.”

“The ring?” Vhalla asked. “Sparring?”

“We must keep the reflexes sharp.” Baldair gave her a sideways glance. “Surely you have some kind of practice in the Black Legion as well.”

“We do.” Vhalla passed her reins uncomfortably from hand to hand.

“It’s strange to imagine you fighting,” Daniel thought aloud. “Not that I want to say you couldn’t or shouldn’t. When you were on trial, you didn’t seem like a combatant,” he added hastily.

“I wasn’t.” Vhalla stared forward toward the barren horizon. She’d picked the right day to ride at the front of the host. The remaining shrub trees and grasses of the forest were dissolving into the sands of the Western Waste. The Great Imperial Way cut through the pale yellow dunes like an alabaster snake, and there was nothing else for as far as she could see ahead of them.

“Would you spar with me?” Daniel asked. “I’ve never had much of an opportunity to spar with sorcerers; Jax is usually busy with the Black Legion. I’d love to have the practice.” He smiled and pushed his sweat-slicked hair away from his face.

“Sure.” Vhalla nodded and adjusted the chainmail hood Aldrik had made for her, keeping the sun off her cheeks. “When we stop, then.” Daniel seemed genuinely excited.

As a result of her decision to enter the fray, their talk settled on the history of the Black Legion and Tower of Sorcerers. Unsurprisingly, the rift between sorcerers and Commons ran deeply, and what Craig and Daniel said about it being worse in the military proved true. When the host broke for the day, the swordsmen and women regarded Vhalla cautiously as she lingered. She’d ridden with Craig and Daniel enough times to no longer receive looks or whispers, but staying with them after they stopped seemed to cross a new line.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Vhalla asked after they tied off their mounts.

“Yes, Danny, are you sure you want to do this?” Raylynn gave Vhalla a sideways glance. Things may have improved between them, but the improvement was marginal.

“I am,” Daniel laughed. “I know Vhalla won’t hurt me.”

Raylynn clearly didn’t share the same sentiment, but Vhalla found Daniel’s trust and confidence refreshing. He seemed to always give her the benefit of the doubt, to trust her without needing a reason. It had quickly devolved into a foreign feeling since becoming a sorcerer.

Vhalla and Daniel squaring off attracted the attention of more than one person, and the other soldiers began to gather, curiously gawking at the sorcerer in black plate opposite a Golden Guard.

“An easy round, then?” Daniel drew his sword. It was a beautiful blade with a golden pommel in the shape of wheat. Vhalla had admired it on many occasions as they had spoken of their homes in the East. “To forfeit?”

“To forfeit.” Vhalla nodded, clenching her fists. She was almost dizzy with power. The winds of the desert were swift, unblocked, and strong.

“Craig, if you’ll do the honors.” Daniel glanced at their friend.

“On my mark.” Craig stepped between them, raising his hand. “Mark!” He dropped his palm through the air, jumping back at the same time.

Vhalla acted on Craig’s breath and was a whole step ahead of Daniel by the time Craig was even moving. She drew an arm across her chest, sending a gust of sandy wind into Daniel’s face. Daniel, to his credit, did not falter over such a probing attack and twirled his sword in his palm for a backhanded swing.

Ducking under the blade, Vhalla spun around Daniel like a dancer. She placed a palm to the center of his back, sending him falling with a gust of wind. She was disappointed; Vhalla had expected more of a challenge from such an esteemed member of Prince Baldair’s guard.

But Daniel was prepared to show her how he had earned his golden bracer. As he fell he dug his sword into the sand, spinning around it to sweep her feet out from under her. In her surprise, Vhalla barely had time to catch herself and, when she did, the tip of a blade was at her throat.

“You’re not bad,” Daniel panted.

“Neither are you,” she replied with a sly smile.

Daniel’s face turned up into a grin as though they shared a wild secret now with each other. Vhalla would’ve never guessed it, but there was something about sparring with a person that was almost intimate.

The moment was quickly ruined as a man stepped forward from the observers. “By the Mother, what do you think you’re doing, Lord Taffl?”

Vhalla recognized the hulking form of a man. He was the one who had confronted her at the start of the march. The one Daniel and Craig had coaxed out of accosting her.

“Getting in some practice,” Daniel spoke to Grun, but he paid attention to Vhalla, helping her to her feet.

“With that?” Grun pointed at her.

“The lady graciously agreed to give me some experience against a sorcerer,” Daniel bristled.

No one spoke; it was eerily quiet as every onlooker seemed to hold their breath. All seemed equally fearful of what the pieces would look like if the tension broke between the two men, Vhalla included.

“I should go, I think.”

“Vhalla, no—” Daniel turned quickly.

“No, I should. Larel’s likely setting up the tent without me.” Vhalla smiled in an attempt to sell the poor excuse.

“I want to practice against a sorcerer,” Grun said before Vhalla could walk away from the makeshift ring. “Spar with me.”

Vhalla regarded him cautiously. She didn’t think for a minute he’d suddenly accepted her. But maybe she could show him she wasn’t dangerous, that she meant him no harm. “Very well,” she said before Daniel could object.

“Vhalla, you don’t have to.” The Eastern man took a step closer to her, dropping his voice. “Don’t feel pressured into this.”

“I don’t.” She shook her head, whispering, “Maybe it’ll be good to show him.” “Well ...”

“Are you two done whispering your sweet nothings?” Grun asked dryly, drawing his sword opposite Vhalla.

Daniel stepped away quickly, his movements jerky and nervous. Was it the heat of the desert or was there a blush across his cheeks? Daniel lifted his palm; their mark to begin sparring would be when he lowered it.

She noticed how his dark brown hair moved as his hand cut through the air, his hazel eyes darting toward hers.

Distracted, Vhalla didn’t hear Grun move until he was upon her. She turned back at the last second, making a weak attempt to dodge. He smashed the pommel of his blade against her cheek in a back-handed swing, sending Vhalla flying into the sand.

“Grun!” Daniel and Craig both called.

“Just a spar.” The mountain of a man laughed. “If she wants to forfeit, she can.”

Vhalla coughed blood onto the sand. Her lip was split, and her face already felt swollen. She blinked away stars, trying to get her feet back under her.

Grun’s boot connected with her side, echoing against her plate as he kicked her. Vhalla rolled across the sand, the wind knocked from her. She curled in on herself, phantom blows attacking her body. Gasping, she tried to push the memories of Rat and Mole’s assault out of her mind.

“Really, this is it?” Grun laughed, goading some of the onlookers into cheers. “This is the fearsome Windwalker?”

“Vhalla, forfeit.” Daniel ran over to her side.

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed, holding out a palm. Something in her eyes froze Daniel in place as Vhalla pushed herself to her feet. Vhalla turned to Grun, feeling the wind at her back. Her heart began to race just by looking at him.

“Oh, still have some fight in you?” Grun chuckled as Vhalla stood. “Well, at least our Black Legion makes good punching bags. We should thank the Fire Lord for the only thing he’s ever given us.”

“Take it back.” Vhalla could barely hear herself over the racing heartbeat in her ears.

“Or wha—” Grun didn’t finish his sentence as Vhalla’s fist met the side of his face.

The man was built like a rock, and Vhalla could feel the bones in her arm compress through her shoulder as she punched his cheek. Her hand stung but she ignored it, quickly landing from her leaping punch and darting back.

Grun let out a cry of rage and swung his sword at her.

“Why do you hate me? Why do you hate us?” she cried, her body deftly dodging the swings of his blade.

“Because you’re abominations!” Grun shouted, attempting to grab her plate.

Vhalla was too fast and batted his hand out of the way, spinning around his side. “We are your comrades! We don’t want to fight you!”

“Says the woman who killed countless people on the Night of Fire and Wind!” Grun raised his blade over her head and brought it down on Vhalla’s shoulder. The clang of metal on metal was sharp and set her ear to ringing as she crumpled.

They thought she was a murderer.

“I didn’t kill them,” Vhalla whispered.

“Liar!” Grun raised his blade again. “They should’ve killed you that night!” The goliath swung, straight for her head.

Vhalla stared at the blade as the world devolved into chaos at Grun’s clearly murderous intentions. This was not a spar; the man intended it to be an execution.

Vhalla raised her hand and the wind ripped Grun’s blade from his fingers, sending it far off into the sand in the distance. She swept her palm in front of her body and a secondary gust knocked Grun on his side. As Vhalla stood, she pressed her hand downward, holding the man to the ground despite his struggles.

“I am not your enemy,” she whispered in a disturbingly calm voice. “So I cannot die this day. I will not die until you see the truth.”

“What’s going on here?” a voice bellowed. Prince Baldair stomped through the crowd that had gathered, Raylynn at his side.

Vhalla relaxed her hand, allowing Grun to spring to his feet.

“She attacked me!” The man made his accusation to the prince.

“Liar!” Daniel shouted. “My prince, Vhalla was gracious enough to spar, and Grun took advantage of the situation. He made an attempt on her life.”

Grun shot the Eastern lord daggers with his eyes. “It was just a spar,” Grun countered with an annoyingly loud laugh. “She was the one who threw the first punch; look at my face.”

Grun indeed had a bruise forming where Vhalla had hit him, but she could lick her lips and taste blood.

“She’s a monster, and if she could’ve she would’ve killed me—it was self-defense,” Grun continued.

Vhalla saw shades of the Senate as a few soldiers began to nod.

“That’s not true!” Daniel drew his blade, his voice coarse. “Continue to lie and I will cut out your tongue.”

“Defend your freak.” Grun reached for his own sword, forgetting Vhalla had disarmed him completely.

“Enough!” Prince Baldair yelled. The men fumed but were silenced. The prince turned to Vhalla. “Do you have anything to say on your behalf ?”

Vhalla met the prince’s endless blue eyes, considering his question. Her side throbbed where Grun had kicked it, where Rat and Mole had kicked it. She clenched her fists, letting go of her magical Channel—and with it her fight. “No.”

“No?” The prince was startled.

“I’ve learned the Empire,” Vhalla turned, staring down the soldiers, “the people, have no interest in the truth.” Vhalla met Prince Baldair’s eyes coldly. “I am property of the crown, and property doesn’t talk back.”

The spite surprised even her, and everyone stood in a stunned silence. It was the first time she’d said it in a public place, the first time she’d assumed her new identity. They would think what they would about her—words would not change her reality. So why fight that battle? She had enough to worry about just surviving.

“Come with me, sorcerer.” The prince had clearly taken offense with her directness. “Grun, Daniel, I’ll deal with you later.”

“Baldair—” Daniel took a half step between Vhalla and the prince.

“Silence, soldier!”

Vhalla had never seen Prince Baldair so harsh. Daniel looked at her hopelessly as she followed the prince into camp. She knew she should feel guilty, but she didn’t. And her mood soured up until the point that Prince Baldair ushered her into his tent.

His tent was completely unlike Aldrik’s on the inside. He had an actual table and three chairs positioned around it. A single brazier made of bronze hung from the center of the tent and lit the room. Prince Baldair’s bed was larger—for reasons Vhalla could guess, given his reputation with women—and it appeared to be an actual mattress. She wondered how difficult it was for the horses to carry it all.

The prince closed the tent flap behind him and did a short circle around her, assessing Vhalla from head to toe. “Sit.” He motioned to a chair. “Or perhaps you’d rather I threw some pillows on the floor?”

Vhalla’s eyes widened, hearing the meaning between his words.

“You look uncomfortable.” The prince paused, his eyes reading hers. “I would think you’d be more at ease in a prince’s tent. Or is it just my brother’s?”

“What do you want?” she demanded.

“Today, I saw him in you.” Baldair squinted his eyes, as if he was trying to imagine Aldrik imposed atop her. “The way you moved, the way you were rushed by the fight. Tell me, is that the only way he’s been in you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vhalla hissed.

“I can’t recall the last time I saw Aldrik with a woman, at least one who wasn’t bought or given to him by our father as an attempt at finding a future Empress.” Baldair took a step closer to her. She didn’t know this prince. There was something turning him sour. He grimaced as he spoke, as if instantly regretting his words.

“Not another word,” Vhalla cautioned.

“Oh? Did you think he was some paragon of purity? I’ve seen him kill girls younger than you. I’ve seen him wind women up to crawl to his bed.” Prince Baldair frowned.

The tension in her muscles became so great that Vhalla feared it would snap her bones. “Speak about him again and I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Prince Baldair’s expression clashed darkly with his usually handsome exterior. “Get yourself together, Vhalla. Have you forgotten the terms the Senate gave you? Have you considered that your actions may force his hand?”

Horror stilled her, and her hands relaxed. He wouldn’t. “What do you want from me?” she whispered.

The prince leaned toward her to whisper in her ear. “Whatever you have with him, end it now.” His voice was quiet and it sounded sincere and pained. “If not for your sake, then for his.”

Vhalla’s chest tightened, but she didn’t have an opportunity to ask him what he meant. The rumble of a single horse and the whinny of an abrupt halt could be heard from outside the tent.

Prince Baldair straightened as the tent flap was thrown open. Vhalla turned and a wave of relief crashed over her as she saw the dark figure step inside.

“Ah, brother.” Prince Baldair rested his palms on his hips. “We were just talking about you.”

ALDRIK’S EYES FLICKED from Vhalla to his brother. Vhalla met his gaze and pleaded with him silently to get her out of there as fast as possible. She saw him collect his emotions as he folded his hands behind his back.

“What is going on here?” His voice held a deathly stillness.

“She was caught in a brawl.” Prince Baldair glanced at Vhalla. “I was administering discipline.”

Vhalla’s head snapped back to the younger prince with a glare. Is that what he called it?

“I believe discipline falls to the subordinate’s leader.” She could hear the stress under Aldrik’s cool voice.

“Normally, yes,” Prince Baldair agreed. “But I think her leader is rather biased, don’t you?”

“Baldair ...” Aldrik didn’t even try to hide the threat in the depths of his voice.

“I think you’re confusing the woman, Aldrik. We both know how a man’s needs must be met, but she’s too young for you and your games.” Prince Baldair crossed his arms over his chest.

Vhalla refrained from pointing out that she wasn’t that much younger than Baldair himself.

“What is this?” Aldrik crossed over to his brother, stopping just short to stare his brother down. “Misplaced jealousy?” Aldrik sneered. “That a woman may prefer me over you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” the blue-eyed prince scoffed. Prince Baldair drew his height and still came up a hand shorter than his brother. “This isn’t about me or you, this is about her.” His eyes shifted to Vhalla. “She was kind, shy, and sweet the first time I met her. Less than a year with you and look at what you’ve done to her Aldrik. She’s in black—”

“Baldair—” Aldrik snarled.

“—she’s fighting and liking it,” the younger prince continued.

“Baldair!” Aldrik’s hand balled into a fist.

“She has blood on her hands!” Prince Baldair’s face jerked back to Aldrik’s. “Do you have the audacity not to feel guilty?”

Aldrik’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

The younger prince shook his head. “At least you do.” He turned back to her with a sorrowful expression. “Vhalla, you don’t need him to shine. I tried to tell you that before the gala. Especially now, you don’t have to force yourself to stomach his presence after what he—”

Vhalla had heard enough, she briskly took the three steps between them, raised her hand and brought her open palm hard across the younger prince’s face.

Vhalla had never slapped anyone before. Perhaps Prince Baldair was right that she had changed significantly these past few months. If it was a change, she decided it was for the better as she felt a deep satisfaction course through her.

His hand went up to the red mark on his cheek, and he stared at her wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Even Aldrik was shocked into a gaping silence.

“Enough!” Vhalla fumbled over her words, her emotions running high. “Don’t you ever make him feel, or suggest that he should, feel guilty for me or on my behalf.” She glared at the golden prince. “And don’t pretend like you somehow know, know how ...” Vhalla felt her insides twist, the currents in her mind cloud. “How I, or, how he ... How we ...” She heard her voice crack, she didn’t want to confront this here.

Prince Baldair’s face fell.

Aldrik spared a glare for his brother before turning his back on him to face Vhalla. He placed one hand on her shoulder, the other gingerly atop her wounded cheek. Aldrik tilted her face to his, and she met his eyes shakily.

“Vhalla,” he whispered, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “It’s all right, that’s enough.” She relaxed under the familiar warmth of his gaze, and Aldrik gave her a small smile that was weakly returned.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Prince Baldair murmured.

Aldrik’s hand dropped from her face, but his left remained on her shoulder as he turned to assess his brother.

The younger prince stared at the scene before him with wide eyes. “You really do care for her.”

She felt Aldrik tense at the statement, but he made no motion to move away; if anything, his hand tightened slightly. Vhalla’s heart beat hard. She desperately wanted to leave, to get away as fast as possible. As much as she wanted to hear the bare truth of the answer to that accusation, she didn’t want it to be like this.

“And you ...” Prince Baldair stared at her.

Vhalla mustered the last of her courage to look at him unfaltering. She succeeded well enough—the prince was the first to look away with a shake of his head. He walked heavily over to a chair and slumped into it. The prince rested his temple on his fingertips, staring in disbelief at Aldrik.

“I’d only meant to help her. I thought you were—Aldrik, you’re too smart for this.”

“I know,” Aldrik replied quietly, the tension seemed to have vanished, and sorrow filled his eyes in its place.

“And here I thought, thought you ...” Prince Baldair chuckled and shook his head again. “Ah, never mind.”

“Prince Baldair.” Vhalla took a step forward, and Aldrik’s hand fell from her person. “I’m sorry for my actions today. More importantly, I am sorry for striking you.” She took a breath. “I would appreciate it if-if it isn’t used as a reason to end my life.”

The prince began to laugh; he placed a palm on his stomach and let the melodic sound break the tension in the air.

“No, I rather deserved it, didn’t I?” Vhalla stared at him, stunned. The prince turned to his brother. “It wasn’t her fault today, Aldrik. I think some of what she said actually may have gotten through to the men. You would’ve been proud if you’d seen it, I think.” Prince Baldair shifted to rest his cheek in his hand. “And Vhalla, I’m sorry. That was not a princely way to act.”

Vhalla studied him carefully. On the whole, this man had done more good by her than ill, and he had earned credit while she was on trial that he was spending now. He may be an emotional fool, but Vhalla wasn’t certain he was malicious.

“I forgive you, my prince,” she said. His words still stung but Vhalla put it out of her mind, at least for now.

Vhalla turned back to Aldrik—her tall, wonderful, dark prince—and gave him a relieved smile. His eyes fell softly on her, and it felt as though the tension that had been building between them was close to breaking. It was not an unwelcome feeling.

“Let’s go?” she asked.

He nodded, shooting a final glare at his brother before stalking out.

Vhalla paused briefly, turning. She assessed the fair-haired prince who stared curiously back. “What you wanted from me, I’m afraid I cannot give it.” Vhalla had come to accept that whatever happened, whatever they were, she would not be the one to end it between her and Aldrik.

“Tread carefully, Vhalla,” Prince Baldair cautioned. “I know a lot more about my brother than you. I may seem like an ass.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“I am an ass at times,” he corrected with a chuckle. “But I am exactly what you see. He’s not. There are things about him you still don’t know.”

Vhalla pulled back the tent flap. Even if there were things, Vhalla wasn’t going to hear them from Baldair. Aldrik would tell her, in time.

“And Vhalla?” The prince stood. “Ride up at the front again. Don’t let this dissuade you.”

“Why?” she asked skeptically.

“Because I think it does the men good to see you with me.” He sensed her confusion and continued, “You are a symbol, Vhalla. And, despite what some may have you believe, you have more control over what you symbolize than anyone else.”

“I am no one,” she muttered, hearing Aldrik mounting his War-strider.

“Even something very small can cast a large shadow when it is close to the sun.”

Vhalla considered this for a long moment, searching the prince’s face for a hint of insincerity. She could find none and left him behind her before he had a chance to say something else that could potentially throw the fragile peace into disarray. For everything Prince Baldair was, and had been, somehow he didn’t feel like her enemy.

Aldrik took a foot out of his stirrup for her to use, offering her a hand to mount his horse. Vhalla’s cheeks grew hot as she swung up behind him in the saddle. Her hands fell lightly on his armored waist for balance.

“Where’s Lightning?” she asked.

“My brother’s Easterner rode him back when he went to get Fritznangle.” Aldrik spurred the mount forward.

The wind was fresh and warm on her cheeks after the oppressive atmosphere in the tent.

“Daniel?”

Aldrik nodded mutely.

“Is it a good idea to ride like this?” Vhalla asked softly, noticing the glances from the soldiers.

“I want them to see you with me.” He responded so quickly that there couldn’t have been any thoughts into his words.

“Why?” she breathed.

“Because I want them to know that if they lay a hand on you again, they will deal with me directly.” Aldrik’s voice was deep and harsh, and it made her want to grab onto him and never let him go.

He took them directly to his tent. Black Legion soldiers who had just finished setting it up were beginning to dissipate, and they all peered at her curiously as Aldrik ushered Vhalla within. Getting away from the world’s prying eyes was a relief, but it was equally nerve-wracking to have those prying eyes watch her being led with the prince’s palm on the small of her back.

The moment the tent flap closed, the braziers lined along the perimeter lit with flames. Aldrik didn’t seem to even think about using his magic. “Take this off, I’ll fix it.” He placed a palm on her wounded shoulder.

Vhalla nodded, beginning to unclasp the scale mail as Aldrik did the same. She felt comfortable and nervous at the same time. Aldrik took the plate from her as Vhalla shed her chainmail.

“So what happened?” Aldrik asked.

“Well ...” Vhalla sighed and recounted the events leading up to Baldair’s tent.

“You bested him in the end, though?” he asked after she had finished her story.

“I did.” Vhalla nodded.

“How?”

“I just moved ...” She wasn’t sure what answer he was looking for with such a question.

“Like with Elecia?” Aldrik glanced up from his work on the plate. His thumbs ran over the red hot metal.

“Yes ...” Vhalla trailed off, waiting for him to fill in the blanks. He didn’t, and frustration snuck up on her. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“Keep doing what?” He seemed startled by her tone.

“You can’t keep asking cryptic questions and storming off to sulk without giving me answers that I know you have.” Vhalla was no one, and yet she fearlessly made demands of the crown prince.

Aldrik just sighed and let her. “Fine, stubborn woman.” He placed her repaired armor off to the side. “Do you not think it strange that you are suddenly capable of besting soldiers with years of practice?”

“We’ve been training.” It was a cringe-worthy excuse when Vhalla actually thought about it.

“You were sloppy, at best.” When Aldrik was honest, he held back nothing. “I was beginning to fear for what we would need to do to keep you alive when we reached the North.”

“So, what happened?” Vhalla pressed.

“You fight as I do.” Aldrik met her eyes.

“Of course I do.”

“No, Vhalla.” He shook his head. “You fight exactly as I do.”

“Why?” she whispered.

“I can only assume it to be the Joining,” Aldrik mused.

“But, we’re not Joined anymore.” They had not attempted it either since that first night weeks ago.

“No, but the Bond was widened, our minds were—” Aldrik paused, closing his eyes with a soft sigh. “Our minds were linked. It was a reckless thing to do on my part given how little is known about its effects.”

“So, then,” she fumbled, her words struggling to find the source of his discomfort. “Why don’t we close it?”

“Even if we could, I would not.”

“But ...” It seemed to be causing him so much distress, why not end it?

“Because now I can have some measure of security that you will make it through this war alive.”

Vhalla was stunned into silence. She couldn’t take the weight of his gaze and engaged in a quick staring contest with his table. “I know,” she began her confession. “Larel told me about Bonds. That, if I die, you’ll die.”

“That’s just a theory.” Aldrik brushed away the thought easily. “And not by any reputable scholars.”

“But—”

“I want you to worry about yourself.” He sensed the remaining fight in her. “Vhalla, please, promise me that.”

The firelight played tricks on her eyes. It made the man who was nearly seven years her senior look like nothing more than a frightened child. Vhalla moved without thought, taking his hand in hers. Aldrik gripped her fingers tightly, and she erased all thoughts of doubt.

“I will promise you, if you promise me that you will stop running away and hiding these things. I don’t want to feel shut out from you.” Vhalla’s voice had dropped to a whisper, and Aldrik nodded silently, sparing her any further explanation.

“We should practice your Projection.” He broke them out of their trance.

“Oh, right.” Vhalla had completely forgotten they’d actually planned to work together that evening.

“Let’s put magic aside, for now, and focus on seeing how far you can go.” Aldrik situated himself before the table, adjusting his papers.

“Sure,” she closed her eyes.

“Would you care to lay down first?” Aldrik reminded her that her physical body went limp the last time. He grabbed one of the pillows and propped it against his leg.

Vhalla hesitated, the invitation clear. The prince feigned attentiveness to his paperwork, clearly apprehensive of whether she would accept or reject him. Prince Baldair’s words of caution frustratingly replayed themselves in Vhalla’s mind and she lay down quickly, her head resting on his leg. She would not let the younger prince and his games get in her way.

Vhalla slipped out of her body shortly after closing her eyes. It was surreal to see her physical form so still, as if barely breathing. Aldrik watched her closely, waiting for any signs of trouble.

I think it’s easier, Vhalla said with a thought.

“It seems so,” he agreed.

Can you hear me even if I’m far away?

“One way to find out. Go slowly,” he cautioned, but didn’t tell her to stop.

Vhalla passed through the canvas of the tent flap. There was some resistance, but nothing unmanageable. People walked about from one campfire to the next, but no one noticed her.

Can you still hear me?

“Without a problem.” Aldrik seemed excited by her progress, and it encouraged her onward.

She progressed forward in a straight line and discovered that it was only uncomfortable when someone walked through her. It was a strange chill, and the world became disoriented for a moment. But after the third time, Vhalla was beginning to adjust her magic accordingly, recovering faster.

“Are you all right?”

Yes. I’m on the edge of camp now.

“Go a little farther.”

Vhalla walked into the desert until the sun had dipped below the horizon. She called out to him regularly, but the link was consistent and strong. By the time she returned back to her body, there was little question that she’d begun to master the art of Projection.

Returning was simple; she listened for the pulse that had guided her back the first time and let go of her magical hold. But when her real eyes fluttered open Vhalla let out a soft groan at how the world spun.

Aldrik shifted, leaning over her. “What is it?”

“I think my brain is just-just returning slower from the distance.” She wasn’t sure if it made sense. There was a scratching noise, and she saw he was back to making notes. Vhalla struggled to sit.

“Lie down, Vhalla,” he scolded. She returned to her former position, his left hand ran over her hair gently. “You are amazing.” Aldrik’s voice was breathy and he focused on the papers instead of her. Vhalla stared up at him but he seemed to be talking more to himself. “Atop everything else, you will be the key to ending this war.”

“Do you think so?” Vhalla mumbled tiredly.

“I do.” There wasn’t a trace of doubt. “Now rest.”

Vhalla obliged and closed her eyes.

The weeks slipped by like the sand across the dunes. The desert was bleak and empty, but Vhalla’s days were full. Be it at her request or of his own accord, Aldrik recovered quickly from the shock of the effects of their Joining. Privately, he encouraged her to liberally rely on her link with him. He assured her that it did not affect him in any way.

Vhalla was cautious—at first. But the more she allowed that pulsing beat to take over her ears, the stronger and faster she became. It was as though her body was re-learning what it already knew, making every movement sharper and more precise.

Aldrik still rode with Elecia some days, and Vhalla up with the Golden Guard. Prince Baldair seemed pleased by her presence. The more time she spent with the younger prince, the more time she wanted with him in private. She had questions for his cryptic messages and sloppily veiled warnings. She wanted to ask him outright what he knew, what he meant. But their time together never extended beyond the march.

Vhalla’s evenings were spent sweating and pushing her body past its limits at the demands of the elder prince. Vhalla was thankful for the mix of gentle and forceful encouragement from Aldrik and her friends. Her body was beginning to fill out once more, muscle defining in places she had never known it could.

The atmosphere on the march began to shift as they neared the Crossroads. There was a palpable relief among the road-weary and sunburnt soldiers to be close to a resting point.

“How much longer do you think it will be?” Vhalla asked her companions.

“Perhaps a day, maybe two,” Aldrik answered. His attention on her was now a regular occurrence.

“A bed,” Fritz said wistfully.

“A bath,” Vhalla sighed happily at the thought. “There will be water at the Crossroads, right?” The host had been reduced to water rations from the wells that lined the Great Imperial Way in long intervals. None of them had washed for weeks, and Vhalla couldn’t imagine how badly they all smelled to someone who wasn’t accustomed to the stink.

“Of course there will be water,” Larel laughed. “The Crossroads is a magic place, Vhalla. It’s the middle of the world.”

“I can’t wait.” She was genuinely excited after being on the road for so long. “What will you all do first?”

“The first thing I am going to do is drink a Crimson Dragon,” Fritz proclaimed.

“You’re such a drunk,” Larel teased.

“A what?” Vhalla asked.

“A Crimson Dragon is a type of drink,” Aldrik answered from her left. “It is made with Western spiced alcohol, has a sharp taste, and is very strong.”

“I want to try one too, then.” She smiled back at Fritz and the messy-haired Southerner went off planning a grand adventure for the three of them to have. Larel tried to wrangle in his grandiose dreams and the two were bantering back and forth within minutes.

“Vhalla,” Aldrik said in a voice that was meant only for her. She swung her eyes up to him. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

“Yes?” His tone made her pulse race.

“At the Crossroads, I have some ... business I will attend to with Elecia.”

Vhalla was more worried at how delicate he was being with the subject than the words themselves. What had him looking so uncomfortable? “What is it?”

“You do not need to worry about it.” His eyes were guarded.

“Aldrik, you promised me—”

“Vhalla,” he hissed. She brought a hand to her mouth glancing around quickly to see if anyone noticed her slip in forgetting his title. “I will tell you, I promise. But only when the time is right.”

“When will the time be right?” she pressed.

“When it is over and sorted.” His tone told her she’d get no more information on the matter. Vhalla sighed softly. “It should only be two days, three at most. I will find you after and tell you everything.”

“All right.” Vhalla nodded and put on a brave face for the rest of the day. But his words rattled in her brain with every step, echoing into the night.

THE DAY WAS sticky, and her hair clung to her face and neck with sweat as she pulled off the helm. She looked up at the dense trees overhead, gnarled and thick with brush and vines. Her mind lamented over the last time she had seen the unbroken sky. A bird darted between the foliage before breaking through to the heavens above. She found herself wishing she could do the same.

The smell of ash and fire filled her nose, an all too familiar scent that she barely noticed anymore. Her gaze returned to the earth, and back over the destruction that had been wrought. The last of the survivors were being put to the sword. Blood was splattered over her own armor, the crimson turning dark against the black of the scale and plate.

Vhalla vaguely recognized something being distinctly off. The edge of awareness of something amiss crept upon her.

She walked back to her tent. No, not hers; or was it? Trying to think was too difficult, like she was fighting the obvious.

Inside was the same familiar area on the floor with pillows and a small table, though this time it was near the bed. A large rectangular table and chairs dominated the other space. It was messy with papers that spilled onto the floor, and she pulled off her large gauntlets, dropping them haphazardly.

Her breath became ragged and she turned. With a sweep of her arms she pushed all the papers and documents onto the floor with a grunt. She slammed her hands down on the table and felt her shoulders shake.

This town had not been part of the militia. Perhaps a few had joined the resistance, but all had been put to flame and steel. Her nails dug into the wood of the table as she muffled a frustrated cry. No one could hear her pain. She couldn’t let the soldiers catch wind of her turmoil. She never could.

The eyes of the dead lingered with her, their pleading, fearful eyes as she rounded them up in flames and burned them alive. It never got easier with time. The memories were never lighter to bear.

Regaining control, she began to pull off her armor. She really needed someone’s help for the larger plate but she couldn’t be bothered as she burned through the leather clasps hidden beneath it. She’d fix it later.

If her sins were as easy to remove as her armor, she may be able to sleep at night. She rubbed her eyes tiredly. With a sigh she began to rummage through a bag hidden by her bed, fishing for the only thing that could wash away her pain and drown their cries. A call halted her actions.

“My prince.” The voice was familiar, one of Baldair’s men.

“Enter.” Her voice was deep. A man with dark hair and eyes entered the tent, and she assessed him viciously, uninterested in entertaining company and fully hoping he would realize this. “How may I be of assistance?” she asked briskly.

“Today,” he took a step forward, his movements jerky; she wondered if he had beaten her to the bottle. “Today you led the assault, did you not?” He was still in his armor, covered to his elbows in blood and ash.

“I did.” She was already annoyed with this discussion. Despite what the soldiers thought of her, the last thing that she wanted to do was re-hash her murders. “If there is nothing else ...” She turned her back on the man, pretending to be interested in picking up the scattered papers. Just the limited words he said had brought the horrified faces back to her mind.

“H-he would’ve been twenty-two,” the man rambled. “He had dark hair, like us; he was of the West.”

She picked up a paper, continuing to ignore him; the man didn’t seem to get the hint.

“He married when he was young, a Northern bride.” Something twisted in his voice.

“I am afraid I do not know who you are talking about,” she said, returning a handful of papers to the table.

“My son.” The man gave a twisted cry and lunged for her. The dagger dug into her side, just above her hip.

There was a man’s cry that was one of the most horrifying awful sounds Vhalla had ever been forced to hear, and she screamed with him. She began to fight against the mental prison which confined her. She didn’t want to see anymore.

She felt the poison, a sickening dizzying feeling washed over her almost immediately. She looked at the man in shock as he took a step back. Her hand reached out for his face and soon he was aflame, his features twisting before they burned away.

Her feet began to stumble and give out. She placed her hand on the dagger. Removing it would prompt blood loss, keeping it in continued to inject more of the searing poison into her veins. She cried out, leaning against the table. With a shaky hand, she grabbed for the dagger, making her decision as she pulled out the wavy blade. It bit into the flesh again as she ripped it from her side.

Her hand was pressed against the gaping wound. A soldier rushed in. “About time,” she wanted to say, but her jaw was clenched taut, blood soaking through the thin shirt she wore and oozing between her fingers. Her vision began to blur and she shifted her power inward, feeling the fire burn through her veins as she tried to purge the poison.

Vhalla woke with a cry, her hand on her hip. She tossed aside the blankets, looking at her body. Vhalla lifted her tunic, seeing only smooth unmarred skin where she expected blood. She raised her hand to her forehead and wiped away cold sweat.

She felt sick. Her brain eased itself back into place as she struggled to find her breath. Vhalla tried to tell herself that it was just a dream, that it had only been a dream. But she had felt every minute of it. She had heard Aldrik’s voice.

Suddenly a memory of a night long ago returned to her. She wondered how she could have forgotten. It had simply vanished from her mind into the chaos that her life had unraveled into.

Echoing through her mind were the Northerner’s words during the Night of Fire and Wind.

“Of course, we also hoped that if the poison failed to kill you, the shame of one of your dear sweet brother’s men stabbing you in the back would be enough.”

It hadn’t made sense. It didn’t make sense, she reminded herself. Her mind had dredged up an explanation for that confusing moment and played it for her. Vhalla wrapped her arms around herself. The alternative explanation was too impossible. Like the last fractured dream, she wanted to go to him. Every heartbeat made her struggle with the distance between them.

“Vhalla, what is it?” Larel rubbed sleep from her eyes.

“Nothing,” she panted.

“Are the dreams returning?” The Western woman sat also.

“No.” Vhalla shook her head. “It was a dream, but not that dream. Just a random nightmare.” She began pulling on her armor, hasty to get the day started and shake off the remnants of the vision.

She was so relieved to see Aldrik later that she wasn’t even bothered when Elecia rode up and wedged herself between them. The sight of the prince soothed her nerves and fears, reassuring her that her dreams were nothing more than night terrors. They spoke about some Western holiday, and Vhalla savored the sound of his rare laughter. Much to Elecia’s annoyance, Aldrik worked to include Vhalla in the conversation.

“You have never been to the West before, correct?” he asked across Elecia.

“I have not.” She shook her head.

“A shame we cannot make it to Norin,” he said thoughtfully.

“I would like to see it someday.” Aldrik smiled at Vhalla’s statement. “What is Norin like?”

“Norin is settled in—“Elecia began arrogantly.

“The great oasis by the Western Sea,” Vhalla interjected. “The sea breeze helps keep the city cool despite the desert heats, and the castle of Norin is one of the oldest in the world. Or so I read.” Vhalla savored the look of satisfactory pride the prince was giving her.

“Well, much of Norin is the oldest in the world. There’s a reason why it took ten years for it to fall to the Empire.” Only Elecia could turn a defeat into a point of pride and she turned up her nose at Vhalla.

Vhalla paid Elecia no mind, her attention only on Aldrik. His mother had lived in that castle as one of Mhashan’s princesses. He was a prince of two worlds. “What is the food like?” she asked, deciding to stay involved in the conversation.

“Western food is cleaner than the things you have in the South. We use less butters and oils,” Elecia proclaimed haughtily.

Vhalla barely refrained from rolling her eyes.

“There is a dish I think you would like, actually,” Aldrik hummed. “They take the peel of lemons and candy them with sugar.”

“That does sound delicious.” Vhalla smiled conspiratorially, remembering the lemon cake they shared in Aldrik’s garden.

“Perhaps we can find some at the Crossroads.” The prince removed his helm a moment to run a hand through his hair. Sweat made it stick to his head and Vhalla debated which style was better.

“And what about Eastern food?” Elecia asked, interrupting Vhalla’s admiration of the prince.

“It’s simple, I suppose.” In truth, Vhalla’s family had never had money for expensive or fancy foods. “I’ve never had a better bread than from home around harvest time. But I grew up mostly in the South.”

“Oh yes, library apprentice,” Elecia said matter-of-factly.

It annoyed Vhalla that this other woman just happened to know things about her and never explained how.

Vhalla opened her mouth to speak when a horn blew out from the south of the column. They were not more than a few hours into the march; surely it could not be time to stop. Everyone turned when the horn blew again in warning.

Vhalla heard Aldrik curse loudly before his horse broke into a run, sprinting through the ranks toward his father in the legion ahead of them. Elecia squinted at the horizon. Vhalla looked also.

“What is it?” she asked, trying to discern the reason for the sudden change in mood.

“It looks like a sandstorm. Mother save us.” Elecia’s head turned forward and back again. “There’re too many on foot ...” she mumbled and her head snapped to the right. “Larel!” Elecia called. Larel caught the other woman’s eyes. “How far out is the first barrier wall of the Crossroads?”

“An hour, maybe, of hard riding,” Larel replied, squinting over her shoulder.

“A closer town?” Elecia gripped her reigns.

“None that I know of.” Larel frowned, her face pulled taut.

“We’ll have to make a run then.” Elecia cursed and sped forward toward the Imperial family.

“What’s going on?” Vhalla was confused.

“It’s a sandstorm, Vhal.” Fritz looked back again uncertainly. “It’s far off, but we don’t want to be tangled up in one of those. They’re temperamental and fast. If we can make it to shelter, it may only kill a few from suffocation. There’s a lot here the wind could pick up and turn into projectile nightmares.”

“Is it that bad?” she asked in shock.

“The Western winds are known to be strong enough to rip trees from their roots and sweep grown men off their feet like ragdolls. They normally blow with the summer air. It’s abnormal for a winter one. We’re not prepared,” Fritz replied gravely.

Vhalla twisted in her saddle, looking at the dark point on the horizon. At best it may kill? That didn’t sound like a best case scenario to her. She wondered if she imagined it growing in the southern skyline. Another horn blew out, a series of blasts and others picked up its call. Aldrik and Elecia rode back together.

“We make haste for the Crossroads!” the prince shouted, calling attention of all the soldiers in the Black Legion. “Speak not another word and listen for orders.”

It seemed as though everyone understood at once what was happening and the host picked up its pace. But with so many soldiers on foot, they were severely limited in speed. Vhalla glanced over her shoulder. It seemed like they were making headway against it, or it wasn’t coming their way.

Then the wind shifted.

She felt it there, the raging angry mass behind them. It was a fury unlike any Vhalla had ever felt before. It was pure power and wind that pushed forward to consume every last person in their host. Vhalla turned back and saw it again. It appeared no bigger, but she knew better.

“How much longer until the Crossroads?” she hissed to Fritz and Larel.

“I don’t know. I’ve only been this way once before,” Larel whispered back. Her voice was barely audible over the horses’ hooves on the stone road.

“How much longer?” Vhalla tried Elecia, the other woman glanced at her in annoyance but Vhalla gave her an unwavering stare. She’d have none of it.

“Maybe less than thirty minutes?” Elecia said.

Vhalla cursed. They wouldn’t make it. She felt it.

“My prince!” Vhalla called. Aldrik glared at her sharply for speaking out of turn, she ignored it. “We’re not going to make it if we don’t go faster.”

Seriousness furrowed his brow. “You’re sure?” he asked gravely.

Vhalla ripped off her gauntlets and stuffed them into her saddlebag. Clenching her hands into fists, she let go of the reins completely and held them in the air. Closing her eyes, Vhalla unfurled her fingers, not caring how silly it may look. The wind pushed through and around her hands, she felt the storm’s power at the end of every gust.

Her eyes snapped open. “We won’t make it!”

Elecia’s attention darted from her to Aldrik. “Aldrik, there’s no other cover but the barrier walls for the Crossroads.” Tension brought Elecia’s voice to a tremble.

Vhalla scanned the landscape around them. It was true. Sand and sand as far as the eye could see. She glanced over her shoulder. The dark spot had turned to a wall on the horizon.

“Damn it!” Aldrik spurred his horse forward again and Vhalla saw him race back to his father. For just a brief moment she saw the Emperor look back in her direction. Aldrik’s horse dropped its pace and the host sped around him as he returned to his place. Another horn blew out followed by more.

The Imperial army was in a run along the Great Imperial Way. The rumble of horses and the chorus of armor cut through the slowly increasing volume of the wind. Vhalla looked back at the sections of carts, those horses couldn’t be pushed any faster without losing their load. Foot soldiers were already being left behind as those who were mounted began to panic and push faster. She saw the roaring wall behind them, blotting out the sun ominously.

A heavy realization pulsed through her. They still weren’t going to make it. Horses wouldn’t outrun this wind. Even for a single rider it was too large and too fast. Vhalla absorbed the panicked faces of the people around her, the strained expressions of her friends.

Not a single word was said among any of the soldiers. It seemed as though she wasn’t the only one to come to the sobering awareness of their plight. It didn’t require magic to feel the ever increasing gusts that began to make men and women stumble and mounts falter. A horn blew out, a frantic pulsing sound. Everyone turned. Vhalla’s heart beat in her throat.

A swirling mass of sand and death cut from earth to sky. The wind howled and consumed everything in its path, plunging the world into darkness. It stretched out on either side of them. The storm meant to swallow them whole and was about to begin its meal with the last rider at the end of the host.

Vhalla’s saw the faces of those around her as they confronted their own mortality. Her gaze swept back until it fell on Aldrik. He had a tormented expression of frustration and desperation. Vhalla felt something pulse through her frantically; she would not let him die.

As if feeling the intensity of her attention, Aldrik’s head snapped back at her; something on her face made panic overcome him. She barely saw the movement of his lips as he was going to say something. Vhalla turned Lightning hard to the right, cutting between the legions.

They could do nothing; none of them could do anything. If she didn’t try, then it was over. Vhalla dug her heels into Lightning’s sides as she cut through the shocked expressions to the outside of the column. Somewhere, someone was calling her name.

Vhalla didn’t look back.

The wind was in her ears, it flowed through her and, despite all her fears, she did nothing to suppress it. This would not be like the last time. She would find the wind and use it to save, not to kill.

Vhalla snapped the reins. “Faster,” she demanded. “Faster!” she cried, watching the sandstorm creep toward the end of the column. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest, and Vhalla blinked the sand from her eyes.

The solders of the rear legions stared at her in shock as she ran headfirst toward the storm. There was more shouting now from behind her. Vhalla glanced back. The Black Legion was a roar calling for her. She turned her head away from them, almost at the end of the host.

The wind whipped her hair, and soon Lightning began to spook and fight her pushes to advance. Vhalla cursed at the beast, begging it to carry her just a little farther. Through her words or her heels at his sides, Lightning obliged. She cut back onto the road when the last of the legion sprinted past her in the opposite direction. Their horrified expressions were all they could give her.

Vhalla pulled hard and dismounted ungracefully, stumbling and recovering. Turning Lightning back to the host she gave him a slap on his rear—the horse needed no further urging to run from the swirling sands. The soldiers kept going.

She breathed a small sigh of relief. They needed every chance they could get. If she should fail, they needed to keep pressing on. At the very least she would buy them time. Vhalla turned and looked up at the titan of wind and sand.

And she felt very small.

Vhalla spread out her feet and planted them, bracing herself. She held out her bare hands into the wind. If she could make a storm, she could end one. Vhalla felt the wind through her fingers, she felt the currents, they were part of her—and they would answer to her.

Nothing prepared her for the impact of the storm. It was as though she was thrown from another roof and Vhalla felt her shoulders pop from the strain. Her whole body was pressed down, and her knees trembled.

Vhalla closed her eyes and grit her teeth. There was sand all around her, in her hair, in her ears, and in her nose. But it would end here, with her. She leaned into the storm, pushing back with all the force she had. In the chaos of the sand and the roar of the wind, she couldn’t open her eyes. Vhalla tried to reach outward to see if she had even managed to stop or slow the storm, but her senses were jumbled with the raw power she was trying to draw from.

The first time she cried out was when one of her fingers snapped back. The sharp and sudden pain of her bones being pulled from their joints made her focus falter—she felt the wind collapse in on her, almost losing her balance. Vhalla forced her legs to straighten, straining against the pain. Another finger went, and then her shoulder threatened to give out.

Her hands trembled and Vhalla felt herself at the edge of exhaustion. With a cry she did everything Aldrik had cautioned her against since her very first lesson with him. Vhalla threw herself into her Channel with the singular thought that this storm ended here, that it would not reach her friends—it would not reach him.

The moments that followed were a strange dichotomy of feeling, like her body was dying and her mind was being born again. Light seared at the edges of her closed eyes and flooded her senses. With an almost audible click she felt herself connect to the storm through her Channel. She felt every edge of it, understood its violent gales. It was hers now, an extension of her magic that she possessed a fragile measure of control over.

She struggled to move her arms. Vhalla felt the connection with her physical body wavering. She cried mentally, straining against the impending failure of her systems. A little more—it was both a prayer and a rally—a little more. Her arms out at her sides, Vhalla took a deep breath and felt the sand fill her lungs. She gave one last push to make the storm a part of her. And then turned that power inward, pushing it down into her Channel and smothering it.

The winds died and silence filled her ears. Vhalla’s legs gave out, and she collapsed to her knees, her arms dropping to her sides. Cracking her eyes open she saw the blazing brightness of the sun against a blue sky. A small sob escaped her mouth and she coughed, her lungs on fire. There was still a strange blur of light and dark playing at the edge of her vision. Vhalla felt her shoulder hit the stone of the road, then her temple—and the world went black.

A SINGLE FLAME danced at her bedside and the moon shifted through foreign curtains as Vhalla drifted in and out of consciousness. She shifted restlessly, trying to free herself from the prison of exhaustion and the twilight state of dreams.

A warm palm touched her cheek, followed by the whispering of soothing words. She stirred at the rustle of the blanket being pulled over her. Vhalla cracked her eyes open.

The room came slowly into focus. Vhalla didn’t recognize the tasteful decoration or sumptuous décor. But she did recognize the woman tending her bedside.

“This is getting old,” Vhalla whispered weakly, nearly startling Larel out of her skin.

“You’re awake,” the Western woman breathed with a sigh of relief. “This is getting old. Stop beating yourself up.” The levity was not lost on Larel, and the woman was joyous just at the sight of Vhalla’s open eyes.

“Where are we?” Vhalla asked between a fit of coughing. It felt as though her insides had been shredded.

“The Crossroads.” Larel held a cup of water to Vhalla’s parched lips.

“We made it?” she sputtered in surprise.

“We did.” Larel passed the cup to Vhalla’s eager hands, standing from her place at the bedside. “And there’s someone who has been very eager to see you.”

Larel left the room without further explanation, but Vhalla wasn’t surprised when a raven-haired prince silently slipped through the door a short time later. He turned and Vhalla’s breath hitched. His hair was fixed in place, and he was swathed in finery, not armor. He was every inch the prince she’d met months ago. Every inch the prince she had risked her life to save.

“Vhalla ...” Aldrik croaked.

She saw dark circles beneath his eyes as he staggered toward her. Vhalla sat straighter, wincing slightly at the pain in her back and shoulders as she placed the mostly empty cup on the bedside table. Two obsidian eyes consumed her hungrily, though Vhalla knew she looked a mess.

As Vhalla opened her mouth to speak, the prince collapsed to his knees at her bedside. She was stunned into silence, and Aldrik buried his face in his forearms. She watched his shoulders tremble for a moment and heard ragged breathing. Unable to bear his meaningless pain, Vhalla reached out a bandaged hand, placing it on his hair.

The prince’s face jolted upward, startled by her touch.

“What happened?” she whispered, unable to logically piece it together.

“You foolish idiot,” he suddenly rasped, drawing himself to his feet. “You went without orders from your superior. You ignored the call. You could have killed yourself, you dumb girl.”

Vhalla shrunk back as though he’d slapped her.

“And you stopped the storm.” He sat heavily on the edge of her bed. Without hesitation, Aldrik reached up and cupped her cheek gently. “You foolish, amazing, astounding woman, you saved us all.”

Vhalla let out a small sob of relief. That truth could be assumed by his presence, but hearing him say it made it all the more real. She hung her head and covered her mouth with her palm, trying to restrain her emotions. Aldrik shifted and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him. It hurt to move her body in some places, but Vhalla ignored it easily as she pressed her face into his shoulder.

“You were wondrous, Vhalla,” he breathed deeply into her hair. “And I swear, if you ever do something like that again.”

Vhalla pulled her face away in surprise, his hands wrapping themselves around her shoulders.

“When you ran off, I couldn’t follow you; I couldn’t send anyone for you—I should have. I’m sorry, Gods I wanted to ...” Aldrik breathed deeply and fought for his composure.

“Aldrik,” she said, moving his hands from her shoulders into her grasp, barely containing a small wince. “I didn’t want you to follow me.” Hesitantly she reached out a bandaged hand and caressed his face. It was the first time she could remember touching his cheek and instantly regretted that half her hand was wrapped. Vhalla gave him a small smile. “I wanted to keep you safe. That’s my job right? Keeping you alive?”

Aldrik let out a chuckle and shook his head. He shifted, leaning toward her. Her fingers fell from his face into both of his hands. Vhalla felt lightheaded from sitting as she became aware of his proximity.

“Vhalla,” he murmured softly, tightening his grip. “I thought I might never have another opportunity to see you, to talk to you.” Aldrik stared at their laced fingers; his thumbs stroked the backs of her bandages. “I thought you would ride away and I would never ...” His voice trailed off to barely more than a whisper. He braved giving her his attention once more, and Vhalla felt something flutter frantically. “I would never have the opportunity to tell you that ...”

Vhalla leaned closer to him, savoring every word. She could almost feel his breath on her face when he spoke.

“That I ...” Aldrik was suddenly keenly aware of her attentiveness and there was something that resembled fear at the realization. Aldrik’s lips parted.

Vhalla held her breath.

He promptly closed his mouth and looked away as the rumble of heavy footsteps drew closer. Vhalla followed his eyes to the doorframe.

“Lie back down,” Aldrik mumbled with resignation.

Vhalla obliged and stared upward, hoping she’d feel less dizzy soon. Aldrik sighed and stood, moving to a cleric’s chest that sat open on a nearby dresser. He was picking out a bottle filled with a clear-syrup when the golden prince burst in without a knock.

“Vhalla, the hero!” he enthused. “I heard you had woken!”

“Word travels too quickly,” Aldrik cursed under his breath.

“How do you feel?” The younger prince walked over, ignoring his brother.

“Tired,” she said simply, truthfully.

“Yes,” Aldrik crossed the room to hand her the vial, and she took it without question in one gulp. “She should not be entertaining company right now.”

“Oh?” Prince Baldair cocked an eyebrow. “What are you then?”

Aldrik glared at his brother.

“Boys, don’t fight,” Vhalla muttered; she was too tired for their nonsense. Aldrik blinked at her in surprise and Prince Baldair chuckled. “How can I help you, my prince?”

“Our father would like to host you for breakfast.”

Vhalla blinked at the prince, fairly certain she heard him wrong. “Wh-why?” She stared in shock. The last time Vhalla had seen the Emperor up close he was passing judgment on her for an attempt on his son’s life. Vhalla sought silent guidance from Aldrik, but he had that stony walled-off glare he got around his brother.

“To thank you, I am sure,” Prince Baldair answered.

“She needs her rest,” Aldrik objected.

“Surely she has to eat?” the younger prince protested.

“I’m not in a state that is fit to see—” Vhalla paused; she couldn’t say “royalty” as half of the Imperial family was before her. “—to see the Emperor,” she finished.

“Father understands your situation. Don’t fret over decorum,” the golden prince countered with a smile.

Vhalla picked at the bandages around her fingers. “I suppose I cannot refuse my Emperor,” she said softly.

Aldrik looked at her with marked concern. “I will speak to my father.”

“It’s just breakfast.” Vhalla tried to reassure herself more than anyone else. Aldrik stared hopelessly at her, and she gave him an apologetic look.

“Excellent! An hour then.” Baldair clapped his hands together and left.

Aldrik shifted, pulling a chain that ran from a button to his pocket. He glanced at the silver pocket watch she’d admired on more than one night after their Projection practice. “You shouldn’t have agreed,” he murmured and returned to his prior position.

“Aldrik, when will you understand?” She struggled to sit again, pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead with a sigh. “I am never in a position to refuse your family.”

“What?” He seemed honestly confused.

Vhalla smiled tiredly, it was cute how clueless he was at times. “I am nothing, no rank or title. More so, I’m property of the crown. You or any of your family could order anything of me, and I would be forced to oblige.” Vhalla ran a hand up his forearm, but he pulled away briskly.

“Do you just oblige me?” Aldrik asked coolly.

Vhalla laughed. “Of course not. I enjoy being near you, hearing your thoughts, spending time with you. You’re one of the best things that have ever happened to me.” Vhalla smiled at him, and she saw the prince relax. How had she never realized how insecure he was?

“You’re so funny. Do I oblige you? Aldrik, I—” Vhalla stopped herself, her smile slipping in the wake of a revelation. “—I—”

Love you.

That’s what her mind wanted to say, and it hit her harder than the sandstorm.

“You?” He let the word hang expectantly.

Vhalla inhaled sharply. “I ...”

It was hopeless; she was hopeless. She loved him, and she couldn’t deny it anymore. One look had spurred her to race to a likely death on the notion of saving him. Now that she realized it, she realized how long she’d been hopelessly falling for this infuriating, charming, enigma of a man.

“Well, I ...” Vhalla met those dark black eyes. All the moments of his gaze came back to her in a flood of emotion. She remembered a night forever ago when he had held her with his stare alone in the library, pulling her from a dream. Vhalla remembered gazing into them as he’d held her during the gala, how she’d wanted him. She remembered waking up to them, more than once now, and wanting to see nothing more every time she roused.

“I really, truly ...” Vhalla reached out and touched his cheek lightly. His gaze had turned serious, and his breathing was shallower. Her stomach twisted in a knot. She could never, she would never, should never, have this man. And, for once, Vhalla gave into the alarms in her head.

“I love to be someone you consider your friend.”

Aldrik considered her for a long moment. His lips parted slightly and his eyes scanned her face. Vhalla wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Aldrik inhaled sharply, opened his mouth. Vhalla’s heart skipped two beats. He deflated and avoided her expectant stare.

“You should get ready to meet Father,” he said softly. Aldrik stood and adjusted his double-breasted coat without so much as a glance back at her. “I will return in thirty minutes.”

Vhalla tried to get in another word but the door had already closed behind him. She drew a quivering breath. “I love you, Aldrik,” she whispered into the silent air. The next breath was shakier than the last, the breath after was stuck in her throat with a pained whimper that she could only dislodge by releasing the tears.

Vhalla balled her hands into fists and buried her eyes in them. She had to compose herself; this was not the place or time to lose her wits over being in love with the crown prince.

First, she attempted denial. It wasn’t possibly love. She’d almost died, and he’d held her, he’d given her comfort. She was just clinging to him in an emotional state. Vhalla laughed with a hiccup and a rasp. She wasn’t sure if she had ever loved before, but she knew that this was it.

Then she tried to blame it on the Bond or the Joining. Clearly, it had affected both of them in multiple ways that was barely understood. It was creating something out of nothing. It had always been there as long as she had known him.

No, for as little she knew about the Bond academically, Vhalla was confident in her feeling of it. She felt the extension of herself into him, the calm his proximity brought from having that piece near her again. The Bond was a door, a window, a Channel; it didn’t alter them, it just gave them access to what lay beyond in the other. It let the truths they tried to keep hidden be exposed.

Finally, she attempted reason. Vhalla assured herself that it was simply a result of spending so much time with him on the march. Even Prince Baldair mentioned the needs one will have naturally. She saw him every day, he was her teacher, and it was easy to develop feelings for someone in such a position. Vhalla looked down at her palms. It wasn’t just the march.

Vhalla sighed, reclining onto the bed. She wasn’t sure when it had happened. Closing her eyes, she let the memories come in a painful flood of quiet sobs, looking at them in a way she never had before. Was it the moment he dropped those papers everywhere, when she stayed in that rose garden a minute longer than she had planned, his apology? Perhaps it was the moment he had run to her side, casting away whatever official duty he had when his brother and father returned South. Was it the minute her heart fluttered when he confessed he wanted to see her again? Or knowing he had begun to go out of his way for her? Could it have even started before she knew who he was but relished his mind through that beautifully curved script?

She realized that whenever it had happened, she had loved him before the moment he had seen her with Sareem. When her heart tightened with worry that he would think she was someone else’s. She had loved him when she had chosen to wear the black gala gown rather than an appropriately colored one. She loved him when she wanted nothing more than for him to stay by her side in the palace and never go off to war again.

Everything after had just been denial.

Vhalla opened her eyes and placed a hand over her mouth, muffling her tears. Now she knew. She knew that she was hopelessly in love with a man who would eventually leave her life. It was an earth-shattering revelation. Even if somehow they managed to stay near to each other by living in the palace, he would someday be the Emperor. He would marry someone befitting of his station, and she’d have to kneel before him and the woman who would be her Empress and mother of his children.

He had said titles didn’t matter, that he could give her any he wanted as the prince or Emperor. She’d believed him because she wanted to. She wanted to think it could be simple and beautiful. Vhalla had never told him why she was so wounded by Elecia’s words. That she wished for nobility to make it acceptable in the eyes of society for her to be around him. Not just as a friend, but as a lover. If he knew, he likely would’ve never said anything of granting her whatever title she wished.

The door opened suddenly, startling her. Snapping her head to the entry she saw Larel holding a small bundle of clothes. Vhalla tried to smile, she tried to be strong, but she only found herself crumbling again.

“Larel,” she choked out weakly. The other woman ran over, dropping the clothes on the foot of the bed and placing her hands on Vhalla’s shoulders.

“Vhalla, what is it? What hurts?” Larel inspected her bandages quickly.

Vhalla shook her head, dropping it into her hands. She couldn’t handle the concern; she couldn’t handle the shame for why she was breaking apart.

“Vhalla, please,” Larel pleaded.

“I love him,” she whispered through a ragged breath.

“What?” Larel asked, leaning closer.

“I love Aldrik.” Vhalla searched the other woman’s expression for something, anything.

“Oh, Vhalla,” Larel enfolded her into a warm hug. The motion shattered her control and Vhalla openly sobbed into Larel’s shirt. “Hush, hush ... What’s so awful about that?” Larel leaned back slightly, tilting her head to look at her.

“Because, because he will never want someone like me. Because I am not good enough to even deserve half of what he’s given me. Because, at the end of everything, no matter what we are, he will leave. Because I think he’s wonderful, and everything I will never have. Because ...” Vhalla took a shuddering breath. “Because, I don’t know if I’ve ever loved like this before and it terrifies me.”

Larel gave her a kind, tired smile. She ran her hand through Vhalla’s hair and pulled her close again. Larel stroked her back, and Vhalla allowed herself to shamelessly take in every comfort the other woman offered and then some. Eventually her initial panic—compounded through fear and despair—weakened and her tears returned to the realm of control.

“Vhalla,” Larel finally said. “I will not tell you what way is best. I cannot even pretend to know.” She sighed. “I will tell you that once something is broken with Aldrik, it is very difficult to fix it.” There was a sincere sorrow in the softness of Larel’s voice. “I will also tell you that you’re right, in this way it’s likely impossible for you to be anything permanent in his life. That if you try, you’re probably going to be met with heartbreak. You have to decide if the moment, however long it lasts, is worth overcoming that fear. Is worth him.”

Vhalla sighed, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. She wondered when Larel became so insightful and wished that the wisdom had been in her life much earlier than just the past year.

“To him, I’m just a—” Vhalla wasn’t sure what she was to the crown prince. She was more than his subject. Student didn’t seem to quite cover the extent of their relationship. A friend? Even that seemed laughable; she couldn’t ever recall holding her friends as she had held him before. “A ...” Vhalla paused, she didn’t have a good answer.

“I wouldn’t say just anything about you, Vhalla. I think you’re a lot more than you give yourself credit for. Especially to him.” Larel met her eyes with an unwavering stare. When it became clear she had no more words, Larel shifted, picking up the clothes.

“You’re going to meet the Emperor soon. I figured you’d want a change of clothes; I hope I chose all right, half isn’t dry yet.”

Vhalla considered Larel’s choice. Tan leather leggings with a gray woolen long-sleeved tunic. They smelled like crisp morning air, and the lack of grime further confirmed that they had been washed.

“How did you know?”

“Aldrik found me.” Larel smiled softly, and Vhalla gave a weak laugh. “Do you want help changing?” the older woman asked.

Vhalla shook her head. “Compared to some other experiences I’ve had when I’ve used that much magic, this isn’t that bad.” She could already feel the potion Aldrik had given her working.

Larel nodded. “All right, I’ll leave you to it then. I’d recommend this one before you go.” Larel pulled a vial of purple liquid and placed it by the chest of medicinal items. “It’ll numb things a bit and should level your head, if you need.”

“Thank you,” Vhalla said earnestly.

“Of course, Vhalla. Fritz and I are staying in this inn also. Your friends in the Golden Guard as well. We’ll be here when you get back. Good luck.” The woman smiled and departed.

Vhalla wondered what she was really being wished luck for.

She dressed as quickly as possible but it was also an opportunity to take stock of the condition of her body. Her shoulders were stiff and felt swollen; her elbows also reminded her of the pressure she had placed them under. Her hands were a bit of a mess, but on a positive side, nothing seemed broken.

There was a mirror in the room that instantly caught Vhalla’s attention. It was full-length, and she saw herself for the first time in months. Her hair had grown, down to somewhere around her shoulders, falling in tangled brown waves. Her face had thinned and her eyes seemed to have sunken slightly, the shadow of her brow bringing out the flecks of gold around her pupils. Muscles she didn’t even know she possessed were beginning to take form beneath taught skin. Even bandaged, she had a sharp and strong appearance, more confident than she felt.

Aldrik returned as she was taking an assessment of her condition. An odd mix of emotions overtook him the moment he saw her, and Vhalla’s heart instantly raced. She took a step toward him, swaying slightly at the pain in her knees. He was there in an instant, his arms supporting hers for balance.

“This is a bad idea.” His voice was low and it rumbled through his chest.

“I have a lot of those lately,” she said softly. Vhalla regained her footing and stepped away. She was afraid of what those dark eyes might see if she lingered too closely for too long. “Shall we?”

He pursed his lips together for a tentative breath but said nothing.

Aldrik walked first, holding the door open for her and leading her down a short flight of stairs. He wrapped an arm around her waist and held one of her hands in his as she hobbled downward. Daniel, Craig, Fritz, and Larel were milling about in an upscale lobby, clearly waiting for her. Aldrik made no haste in dropping his hands from her person.

“You really are alive,” Daniel whispered, as though she was a ghost.

“Vhal!” Fritz threw his arms around her shoulders, nearly knocking her off her feet.

“Fritznangle,” Aldrik cautioned, taking a step toward the Southerner.

“Vhal, you were stunning! It was like the Mother banishing the night. Just this tiny little thing against that huge, massive, gigantic, storm!” Fritz babbled like a madman.

Another walked from a corner of the room, someone that Vhalla had not noticed before. Two emerald eyes assessed Vhalla thoughtfully.

“You’re one of the craziest people I’ve ever met.” Elecia placed a hand on her hip and shifted her weight to extend the other to Vhalla. “And because of that, I owe you my life.”

Vhalla reached out, clasping her bandaged palm against Elecia’s.

“Thank you, Vhalla Yarl,” Elecia uttered the most sincere words Vhalla had ever heard from her.

Vhalla was in a daze as she headed for the door. Aldrik held it open for her and she stepped out into the dawn. Red streaked across the horizon, washing a crowded square in oranges and pinks. Large buildings constructed of marble and sandstone glittered in the twilight. They sported proportionally sized pennons, reds and blacks of the West and whites and golds of the Empire. The ground beneath her was polished stone, and Vhalla looked upon the center of the world in wonder.

“That one.” Aldrik pointed to a building on the other side of the square with three large, circular stained glass windows upon its front. “Do you need me to help you?”

“No.” Vhalla shook her head. “Just knowing you’re here is enough.” She allowed him to read into it as he liked.

Vhalla had taken no more than three steps when the first member of the Black Legion noticed her. He walked over, giving her the salute of the Broken Moon. This inspired the next to come up and offer her thanks and praise. Her eyes caught Aldrik’s in confusion and wonder. He heaped silent admiration upon her, and Vhalla felt a flush rise to her cheeks.

It was slow going due to being stopped at every step. The Black Legion had been waiting at the door, but Vhalla noticed that the majority of the people in the square were soldiers. They paused what they were doing, stopping at the sight of her.

A man of rank drew the sword that was strapped to his hip. She glanced at Aldrik nervously, remembering the last time she’d encountered the swordsmen. The man brought his feet together and stood tall. His left hand went to the small of his back as he raised his sword over his chest and face in a pristine salute with his right.

She wasn’t certain what he wanted from her, and Vhalla nervously took another step. An older woman repeated the motion. Swordless, she brought her right fist to her chest in salute.

Vhalla took another step. Two more stepped forward in salute.

Every step Vhalla took there was another, and another, and another. They began to line her path, holding their salutes in reverence even after she’d moved on. Vhalla turned as the entire square—man, woman, child, soldier, and citizen—showed their own display of reverence.

“Do they always do this for you here?” Vhalla whispered to Aldrik. The attention made her nervous.

He stared at her, bewildered. “Vhalla,” Aldrik leaned close to her ear. “They are not saluting me, they are saluting you.”

No one said a word; they held their honors quietly, and their silence spoke so loudly in her ears that Vhalla wanted to cry. For the first time since becoming a sorcerer she felt a mass looking at her with respect, with praise. As much as it hurt her body, she held herself taller.

The Emperor and Prince Baldair were waiting on the outside the building Aldrik was leading her toward. Emperor Solaris surveyed the scene with his ocean-blue eyes, landing on the woman who was being led by his eldest son and saluted by his people. He folded his hands behind his back in a position that struck Vhalla as very Aldrik.

“If it is not the hero of the day.” The Emperor spoke loud enough that most of the square heard.

Vhalla dropped into a clumsy kneel, her knees popping and aching.

“My lord, thank you for your invitation,” she said respectfully, lowering her eyes.

“Stand, Vhalla Yarl. You are the most welcome savior of my army,” he commanded lightly.

Vhalla put both hands on her upward knee and struggled to stand, grimacing at the creaking in her legs. She felt much older than her eighteen years and could feel the tension radiating off Aldrik at her pain, but he made no motion. Vhalla was thankful he allowed her to do it on her own before his father and all those who had assembled.

“Come, I wish to bestow my thanks upon you.” The Emperor took a step back, and Prince Baldair held open the doors for them.

THE BUILDING SHE entered was like a small palace. Alabaster, marble, silver, gold, and gemstones glittered everywhere. As the sun rose, it was piped in through portholes in the walls, giving the opulence new life. The Emperor led her into a side sitting room. There were couches and a table to eat at, opposite a tall, standing table cluttered with papers.

To her surprise the Emperor walked over to the table that did not hold the food. Prince Baldair walked around to his father’s right side, Aldrik hovered near her. He didn’t move until she did, her silent shadow.

“I would like to show you something.” Emperor Solaris motioned to her.

Vhalla walked over, Aldrik stood on her other side, leaving her right open to the Emperor. She assessed a large map and the Emperor pointed to a spot on the Great Imperial Way, just south of the Crossroads.

“This is where we were, when the sandstorm was upon us.” Vhalla’s eyes swung back to the Crossroads; they had been so close. As if reading her thoughts the Emperor continued, “The men at the front of the host were less than five minutes to the storm break walls.”

Vhalla stared at the map. She remembered the column running, but so many wouldn’t have made it.

“Tell me,” the Emperor asked as he stroked his beard and assessed her, “what orders would you have made?”

“Orders for?” she asked, not sure if she understood his question.

“If you were in my position, what call would you have made?”

She looked up at the man and then back to the map, taking a breath that was followed by an annoying cough at the feeling of sand in her lungs.

“Excuse me,” she mumbled. Keeping her face toward the table Vhalla tilted her head to the side. “I would have split the line.”

“Split the line?” It was Prince Baldair who asked.

Vhalla nodded. “One,” she pointed to the younger prince. “Two,” she turned to the Emperor. “Three,” she pointed to Aldrik. “Split it three ways. Keeping you central may make sense for a march; perhaps even in combat settings for protection, but for this, we’d be playing odds.”

“What odds are those?” The Emperor rested his hands on the table. Vhalla felt very short as the tabletop came up to her waist rather than her hips or lower like the taller men.

“Your lives,” she said matter-of-factly, surprised at the coolness her logic created in her voice. Prince Baldair actually had a somewhat horrified expression. Vhalla met the Emperor’s eyes. “If you three stayed at the center, you would have been in the middle of the storm, little more than a dozen horse lengths apart. If one of you died there is a great chance that whatever killed that person would kill those near him; the closer the proximity, the greater the odds of death. You three die, we all lose. If the Emperor and all heirs were suddenly lost, this realm has more than one battlefront.”

The Emperor rubbed his chin. “Go on.”

“You would all run in different directions with the fastest riders prepared to give their lives for you. It would be the best chance for survival,” Vhalla explained simply.

“You know that means half the host would be left behind on foot.” The Emperor regarded her thoughtfully.

“I know that.” She nodded. “They would be left to chance.” The word chance sounded nicer than death.

The younger prince seemed horrified, and Vhalla would have to turn to see Aldrik’s expression. The Emperor was almost too analytical in the way he seemed to calculate her words against an invisible tally. Vhalla brought her hands together, wringing them.

“You do have some intelligence to you,” the Emperor said lightly.

“My lord, if I am intelligent it is because you have filled your castle with good teachers.” She thought back to Mohned with a pang of homesickness.

“Ah, Vhalla, do not be so modest. Knowledge and power are a dangerous combination, and you appear to have both in quantity.” The Emperor turned and motioned toward the table that had been set with food.

Each person sat in turn. Aldrik pulled out her chair for her, though he didn’t offer her so much as a glance. Vhalla wondered what exactly had changed his demeanor. Clearly, whatever his concerns were they factored in calculated restraint. Aldrik sat to her right, Prince Baldair to her left, and the Emperor across.

Vhalla had not seen food so fine or a table so cluttered with silverware, glasses, and plates since she had dined with Prince Baldair back at the palace. The meal was hot and fresh and she barely managed to contain a particularly loud stomach grumble by placing a hand over her abdomen. She was careful to eat after the three royals had served themselves. Propriety was a convenient excuse. Vhalla had no idea which forks were meant to be used when or why they used a different fork for every dish—she just followed.

“This is an incredibly peculiar situation, don’t you think, Miss Yarl?” the Emperor started.

“Vhalla is fine,” she said, unsure if it was appropriate to offer. It felt weird having both of his sons call her by her first name and to have the man who sat above both of them be more formal.

He ignored her and continued, “It is not normal for someone to sit on trial for murder and treason and then dine with the Emperor only a couple months later.”

“Very few things I find in my world are what I would call normal at this moment, my lord.” She nibbled on bread, her brain continuing to obsess over being in love with the crown prince.

The Emperor chuckled. “Yet you rebound and become stronger. I knew you had strength in you when I saw you in that cage.”

Vhalla continued to try to eat politely, struggling with her bandaged fingers. She didn’t want to think of her trial. She didn’t even really want to be sitting at this table.

“I am prepared to pardon you for your crimes,” the Emperor mused, sipping his wine.

She stared in shock. A pardon? Someone needed to pinch her, she was dreaming. “My lord?”

“You earned sufficient trust for a second chance by saving the life of one prince. I think potentially saving the life of the Imperial family, perhaps the Emperor himself, earns you a clean slate.” He wore a smile beneath his beard but his eyes were detached from any levity.

Vhalla paused. Saving the life of one prince? Did that mean Aldrik had told him what had really happened on the Night of Fire and Wind? She refrained from looking over to the crown prince.

“Thank you, my lord.” Vhalla lowered her eyes.

“But you see, my hands are tied.” The Emperor chewed thoughtfully on a piece of dark meat, before dabbing his mouth with his napkin and continuing. “The Senate, the voice of the people, they saw your military service as the fitting punishment, and I would not want to betray the trust of my loyal subjects.”

“Of course not ...” Vhalla said numbly, the word pardon echoed over and over again in her head.

“Don’t be fooled, Vhalla. They’re as hungry as ever, and if I pardoned you now those same people out there who were saluting you would turn again.” The Emperor glanced up at her.

From the corners of her eyes she could see Aldrik shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“But if you were to give us victory.” The man chuckled. “Now that would be something worth reward.”

“Victory? I don’t know how I could ...” Vhalla fumbled. Her sentence seemed to be increasing, not diminishing. Before she was only meant to serve in the war; now she had to bring victory? Had they ever planned on freeing her?

The Emperor’s icy blue eyes flicked over to Aldrik. The eldest prince took a very long dreg of his wine. “My son tells me he’s been working with you on something important.”

Vhalla said nothing for fear of incriminating her and Aldrik with something he’d yet to mention to his father. But there were things she couldn’t imagine him ever saying. Despite herself, she glanced at the dark prince.

“He tells me you can give me the North with your powers as a Windwalker.” The Emperor leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table.

“I am still learning most of my own abilities myself,” she hedged carefully.

“I have been made aware.” The Emperor waved the concerns away. “Aldrik has sent me detailed reports of your investigations into them.”

“I see ...” Vhalla murmured, looking at the man in question curiously. Aldrik did not seem to stop occupying his mouth with his wine glass.

The notes Aldrik had been taking on their Bonding flashed in her mind. He said he was going to use them for reference. He had told her that he had a plan to take the North using her power. So why did she suddenly feel betrayed?

“While I am extensively impressed with your abilities to command wind and storms, what I am most intrigued by, Vhalla, is this ability to place your mind beyond your body. It seems too astounding to be real. How confident are you in your control?” The Emperor finally reached his point.

Vhalla swallowed hard and reached for her glass of water, ignoring the alcohol. This was not a polite call to thank her for saving his army. That was a pleasant excuse for him to sit her down and formulate battle strategy.

“I suppose the crown prince would have a better judge of my control, he is far more experienced than I.” Vhalla muttered as she stabbed at some food on her plate, chewing through the silence that followed.

“You think she will be ready?” The Emperor turned to Aldrik.

Vhalla’s eyes drifted upward just in time to catch his as they fell on her with a frown.

“I think she will be,” Aldrik replied, turning to his father.

“Then I’d like a demonstration before we leave the Crossroads.” The Emperor sat back in his chair and folded his hands.

“A demonstration? Why?” Aldrik asked, bolder than Vhalla could ever be.

“I need assurance.” The Emperor did not look pleased at being questioned by his son.

“In light of recent events, I’m not sure if magically that’s—” Aldrik started.

“You will have your demonstration.” Vhalla focused on the Emperor, ignoring Aldrik and the fact that she had interrupted him.

“Ah, there is the fire I saw at the trial.” The Emperor smiled. She glanced at Aldrik, he barely constrained his frustration. “There are opportunities in your future, Vhalla Yarl. Obedience is rewarded.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Vhalla was suddenly ambivalent to it all. She felt maneuvered and played, but she wasn’t sure by whom.

Aldrik had been honest with her about their meetings. So why did it hurt so much? Vhalla wrung her hands in her lap.

The second the food cleared Vhalla was eager to make her escape. “Please, forgive me my lords, I feel quite exhausted.”

“Certainly. Recover quickly, Vhalla Yarl.” The Emperor and his sons stood as well. “We shall reconvene in a few days.”

Vhalla nodded mutely, gave a small bow, and turned to the door.

She felt him before Aldrik even moved.

“I will make sure she returns to the inn,” the crown prince declared.

“Aldrik, I would like you to go over a few plans for managing the troop additions. They will arrive within the next few days, and you have your matters with Elecia.” The Emperor’s voice was definite.

Vhalla bristled at the other woman’s name. She’d all but forgotten Aldrik’s business.

“I shall just be a moment,” the eldest prince protested.

“It is not necessary, my prince. The walk is not far and I don’t mind being alone for it,” Vhalla countered.

Aldrik’s eyes squinted slightly in confusion or agitation. “I would much prefer to leave nothing to chance,” he said tensely. “The Crossroads can be full of unsavory characters.”

“My brother, ever concerned for the well-being of his subjects.” Prince Baldair strolled to her side. “Luckily, you have two sons, Father. I would be happy to make sure our little Windwalker makes it home safe and sound.”

Vhalla looked up at the golden prince in confusion. She was fairly certain she’d just said that she would walk alone.

“Excellent suggestion, Baldair.” The Emperor walked over to the large table and motioned for Aldrik to follow. “I look forward to your demonstration, Miss Yarl,” the Emperor said before turning his attention to the maps and papers on his table.

Aldrik stared at her hopelessly, then glared at his brother, but he went obediently to his father’s side.

Vhalla felt Aldrik’s eyes on her as Prince Baldair’s hand fell lightly on her hip, and he led her out of the room into the morning sun.

“Please remove your hand from my person,” Vhalla mumbled to the Heartbreaker Prince.

He flashed her a toothy grin. “Now, now, be more gracious,” he said charmingly. “People are watching you.” He smiled at a few soldiers as he began leading her back across the square.

“Exactly,” she replied. People watching was precisely what she was worried about.

“Oh? Don’t want them to think that you’re involved with me?” Prince Baldair returned a wave. “Just my brother?”

Vhalla glared at him. “Let it drop,” she cautioned. Her pace quickened to cross the distance faster.

“Not until you realize he’s playing you.” All jest, all joy was gone from his voice, and Prince Baldair’s face had turned serious.

“It’s not your business,” Vhalla argued.

“I thought he wasn’t. I thought maybe he had changed.” The prince held the door of the inn open for her, and Vhalla all but flew up the stairs. “But from what I saw, what I’ve heard, this past day—that’s not the case.”

Vhalla bit her tongue and swung open her door, hoping Larel would be waiting and would save her. She was not. The prince caught the closing door with a hand, and Vhalla turned sharply.

“I am still recovering, my prince, and would like to rest. Please, excuse me.” She mustered the last of her polite decorum.

“I am trying to help,” he said.

Vhalla saw concern marked across his pained expression. “Oh?” Her patience ran thin. “Like you helped the last time we had a little chat?”

“Everything I told you then was true.” Something in his tone gave Vhalla pause, she swayed slightly. “Vhalla, please sit. My brother and Father will give me hell if something ill befalls you on my watch.”

Vhalla eased herself onto the bed, pulling off her boots and lying down. She rolled on her side, her back to the prince. Everything hurt the moment she began to relax, but there was not much opportunity to do so as the prince rounded to sit on the edge of the bed, facing her. Vhalla glared at him.

“Vhalla, please listen. I want to tell you something,” Prince Baldair implored.

She sighed. “If I listen, will you go?”

He nodded, and Vhalla waited expectantly. “My brother and I are three years apart, which is a significant gap when you are five and eight, or twelve and fifteen, but at fifteen and eighteen and up it becomes less and less significant.” She wondered why he was exhausting her with trivia about their birthdays. “Not long after my ceremony of manhood there was a year where my brother and I decided to engage in some friendly competition.”

“Friendly competition?” Vhalla braced herself for what that meant between these men.

“I’ve always been ... charming.” Prince Baldair smiled at her, and she didn’t even refrain from rolling her eyes. At least he laughed. “My brother grew as a strange, sad child. At one point it seemed as though he hit a new low and just gave into the darkness and distance surrounding him. To be honest, I never saw him leave it.”

Vhalla found it interesting how Prince Baldair’s and Larel’s descriptions could be both similar and different.

“At some point we had a row, and doesn’t really matter about what, he was eighteen and I was at the ever hot-headed age of fifteen. I said he could not even get a woman to so much as glance at him because of how he was.” Vhalla stilled, beginning to listen intently. “For whatever reason, my brother took the challenge.”

“Challenge?” she repeated softly.

“For one year, it was a challenge for who could have the most women agree to share their bed.”

Vhalla’s eyes widened. “That’s ... awful.”

“It is certainly not the worst thing either of us have done to pass the time. Nor the worst thing young princes have ever, or will ever, do.” Vhalla saw the likely truth of his words with horror. “At first, I was an overnight favorite. But I underestimated my brother. One by one, like flies in a web, they began to offer themselves to him. I didn’t understand and it frustrated me daily. How my lanky, awkward, depressing shell of a brother managed to reclaim a solid lead.”

“Enough, I get it.” She pressed her face into her pillow.

“No, we haven’t gotten to the point yet.” He had a grim expression and Vhalla obliged silently. “I thought it was simply because he was the crown prince. But that wasn’t the case as the ladies seemed to call long after their turn was up, ever hopeful. Eventually I found he was not actually taking them to bed. They agreed to it, which given the wording of our bet placed him in the lead. But he never actually took one of them.”

Vhalla’s brow furrowed. “Why not?” Of course, she felt happy hearing that he hadn’t slept with a host of women, though luring them in like cattle seemed bad enough.

“I finally asked him once when I confronted him about the terms of the challenge. I’ll never forget what he told me.” Prince Baldair looked away. “He told me that it was the hunt that he relished. That none of them were good enough to merit his touch. That he did not have to kill the prey to have the satisfaction of the win. It was amusing; it was sport to watch them fall. For the next six months after, I watched him skillfully play every eligible woman he met. Somehow he knew what they wanted to hear, how they wanted to be led, and he did it with a complete mask of sincerity. He took things from them, but not their bodies. Their dignity, their time, their dreams ...”

“Please, I understand,” Vhalla breathed and was too tired to be as strong as she wanted to be.

Prince Baldair sighed and reached out, placing a large palm on the top of her head. Vhalla tensed at the momentary foreign touch.

“I thought maybe he’d changed.” The prince’s voice was soft. “But then I overheard a conversation between him and Father. Aldrik swore that he would be the one to make you obligated to gain victory. That you would be mindlessly obedient to him above all else and that he had you under his command without question. That the sandstorm was an example of this—and I realized he’d never relinquish the control he has on people.”

“Prince Baldair, I am very tired,” she whispered. The notes on the Emperor’s table returned to her, the mention of reports being given. Had she been a puppet for Aldrik and his father the whole time? Paying the greatest actor in the world with her emotions?

“I do agree with them—Aldrik and my father. You are smart, Vhalla. Please, just see him for what he is?” Prince Baldair searched her.

Vhalla closed her eyes, wanting nothing more than to cower. “I appreciate your concern, my prince.” It was all she could say in the end.

He sighed heavily. “Rest well, Vhalla.” Prince Baldair stood.

She relied only on the sounds of his departure.

Vhalla shivered, despite the room being warm. Of course, the day she realized she was hopelessly in love with a man was also the day she would be given additional proof of his being a rather twisted ass. At least, if one considered Prince Baldair’s word as proof. Vhalla laughed, and coughed from the state of her lungs.

Had Aldrik not warned her of all this? Hadn’t he said on multiple occasions that he was not a good man? Vhalla sighed again and wondered if it was even fair of her to hold it against him. All their meetings had been an excuse to test her abilities. She was foolish for thinking they—she—meant otherwise. Vhalla took a delicate breath and fought against tears until exhaustion claimed her.

“VHAAAAAAAL ...” FRITZ SUNG softly. “Vhaaaaaaallaaaaaaaaa.”

A finger poked at her cheek. She groaned, rolling away from the source.

“Let her sleep,” Larel scolded.

“But she’s slept the whole day, and it’s our first real night in the Crossroads,” Fritz whined.

“You two are so loud,” Vhalla cursed softly.

“One of us is,” Larel corrected with an offended note.

“Vhal, don’t you want to wake up?” Fritz crawled into bed with her.

“No.” She didn’t feel like it in the slightest. After Aldrik and Prince Baldair that morning, and the Emperor’s proclamations and demands, she had half a mind to spend the rest of her life in bed.

“What’s wrong, Vhal? The world is celebrating you right now, you need to celebrate with them.” Fritz grabbed her with both arms, sitting her up.

Larel took the opportunity of Vhalla being upright to coax two elixirs down Vhalla’s throat.

“So, we’re all going out.” Fritz crawled around the bed, situating himself in front of her.

“Out?”

“He got the idea from your friends in the Golden Guard.” Larel sat on the edge of the bed. It wasn’t a large piece of furniture, and they were all crowded around each other. “They’re going out to celebrate their first full night in the Crossroads. Apparently there’s to be some celebration in the Windwalker’s honor.”

“In my honor?” Vhalla blinked.

“Yes, in yours.” Larel beamed. “You saved hundreds of lives—understand that.”

Vhalla nodded mutely.

“We want you to come.” Fritz grabbed her hands.

“We?” Vhalla looked to Larel. She couldn’t imagine Larel partying in the streets.

“I’ve nothing else to do,” the woman laughed lightly. “And the Windwalker they are honoring happens to be my protégé. It’d be a shame if I didn’t at least have one drink in her honor.”

“Will you come with us?” Fritz asked again.

“I ...” Vhalla sighed, looking at the setting sun through her curtains. She thought of Aldrik and the Emperor once more, conspiring in that opulent palace of a building. A small spark of anger flared in her, and Vhalla gripped Fritz’s fingers. “I’d love to.”

“Are you sure you feel well enough?” Larel sensed something was wrong, but the other woman seemed to be mistaking Vhalla’s wild emotions over the prince for physical pain caused by her injuries.

“I’ve felt worse.” Vhalla put on a brave smile. “Who knows, perhaps the company could do me good?”

It would have been more convincing if she didn’t dissolve into a coughing fit. But Fritz was her champion for the evening, linking elbows with her and helping Vhalla into the hall and down the stairs. Larel must have agreed with the assessment because she didn’t object.

Once her body was moving, Vhalla found she felt better, proving her physical wounds were superficial. They likely had refrained from forcing any potions down her throat when she was unconscious; but now that the clerics’ concoctions were working, her body was rebounding quickly. No one was waiting for her outside the inn this time, and for that she was thankful. Vhalla didn’t want any more attention.

The Crossroads was a place unlike any Vhalla had ever seen. The capital was crowded, but not like this. It seemed like every person of every shape, shade, and size was crowded into the streets, and the streets were packed with tempting markets that didn’t seem to know what closing meant. The three went down a small side road, following the instruction Craig and Daniel had given Fritz.

The bar was noisy, and the sounds of men and women singing, laughing, and talking drowned out any of Vhalla’s thoughts and doubts. She was in a foreign land as a celebrated hero. And, if Fritz and Larel were to be believed, the source of all these people’s joy was she. Even if that was only half true, Vhalla had vowed to live in spite of the Senate, and she now vowed to be happy in spite of whatever game the Imperial family was playing.

“You guys made it!” Craig waved them over.

Daniel was out of his chair the moment he saw them. He crossed to Vhalla in a step. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” she answered sincerely.

“I didn’t expect to see you out.” He somehow wedged himself between her and Fritz.

“Well, Larel and Fritz tell me that this is my party,” she said with sarcastic haughtiness.

“It is indeed!” Craig laughed loudly. He quickly downed the contents of his metal flagon, and slammed it against the table a few times for the bar’s attention. The Southerner jumped up onto his chair, swaying alarmingly for a moment. Raylynn was on her feet, ready to catch him. “Good people, fellow soldiers! It is our honor tonight to drink with the Windwalker herself !”

Vhalla’s cheeks burned scarlet as the room recovered from its stunned silence and burst into cheers.

“But, I regret to say, she does not yet have a drink!” Craig laughed.

Like magic, there were three glasses of varying shapes and sizes before her.

“Try this one.” Daniel placed a fourth glass in front of her; it was only the height of her fist and filled with a syrupy red liquid.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A Crimson Dragon.” He tapped his nose. “The West is known for them.”

Vhalla recognized the name and took a timid sip. It was icy cold and burned the back of her throat. She blinked away tears and held in a cough.

“Not a drinker?” Craig laughed.

“Nope!” Vhalla took another sip for good measure.

The Crimson Dragon was gone and the alcohol in two other glasses went quickly after. She and Daniel had found themselves engaged in an intense argument over the weight of a prize pig at one of Paca’s infamous festivals. Vhalla leaned on the table for support as she turned to face him.

“No, hundred,” she insisted. “I swear, I swear, that pig was a hundred stone.”

“Vhalla, you crazy Leoulian,” Daniel laughed and took another long gulp from his flagon. She watched the bump on his neck move as he swallowed. “No pig weighs anything close to a hundred stones.” He pointed a finger at her.

“Don’t you point at me.” She grabbed his index finger, a fit of the giggles overtaking her. “It is so rude.”

“Unhand me, woman.” Daniel tried to make his face serious, and Vhalla laughed at the way he pursed his lips together. Somehow everything was awfully funny right now.

“Fine. Fine. But you’re wrong, and you know it.” She leaned back into her chair.

“Vhalla, Daniel, we’re going.” Craig shook her shoulder.

Vhalla blinked, wondering when the rest of the table had stood. She’d only just started talking to Daniel.

“Where?” Her fellow Easterner was as confused as she was.

“Dancing!” Fritz twirled.

Vhalla burst out with uncontrollable laughter, almost spilling drink number ... something, everywhere.

“Do you want to go?” Larel laughed. The Western woman was looking out for Vhalla even when she had a flush to her cheeks. The big sister Vhalla never had.

“Of course!” Vhalla chirped cheerfully.

She attempted to jump to her feet and almost fell. A muscular arm quickly wrapped itself around her shoulder. Vhalla caught Daniel’s eyes in surprise. He was a lot sturdier than he looked.

“This is a bad idea,” he laughed.

“You—you will learn this the longer you’re around me: I am the queen of bad ideas.” Vhalla barely suppressed commenting about Prince Aldrik.

Daniel led her out into the night behind Fritz, Larel, Craig, Raylynn, and others Vhalla couldn’t even name.

The dance hall they ended up in was hot and hazy. Even though all the large doors on the ground floor were open to the cool night breezes, steam from sweat hovered in the room. It was a large, open, wooden space with a stage on one wall, a bar on the other, and benches lining the border—a place to rest exhausted feet.

Vhalla collapsed with a fit of laughter onto one said bench. The mass of people continued to move to the music before her. Somewhere in there Fritz was making a fool of himself with his third or fourth boy, and Larel, Craig, and Raylynn were nowhere to be found. Western dancing had loud drums, brass horns, and favored a strong rhythm. As such the steps were faster compared to the Southern style, people twisted and turned, kicked and spun around each other.

Daniel sat heavily next to her, his thigh touched hers, and he wiped sweat from his brow. He passed her a mug. Vhalla took a long drink and peered at him.

“Water?” She frowned.

“For your head, tomorrow. Start now,” he panted.

“I don’t want water.” She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed.

“Fine, but don’t cry to me in the morning.” He handed her his ale, and she took a sip before passing it back to him.

“It’s hot.” Vhalla swayed back and forth.

“Want to get some air?” he asked.

She nodded.

Instead of leading her out the main doors, he went up a side staircase. Vhalla slipped on one of the steps, and he caught her as they both burst into laughter. She leaned against the wall, trying to get her giggles under control.

“Vhalla, you’re too smart to be this stupid when you’re drunk,” Daniel wheezed between laughs. Something about the giddiness was infectious, and Vhalla slid against the wall. He caught her arm, pulling her to him. “Come on, we’ve barely taken ten steps.”

Daniel helped her upward, and the stairs led them onto the roof. They weren’t the only ones with this idea as a few others milled about enjoying the night air. Vhalla walked out to an empty corner of the roof and gasped faintly.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered in misty awe. The Crossroads was lit up across the horizon. The rectangular windows of the flat-roofed square buildings glittered across the black desert. In some windows, bright curtains of reds and maroons tinted the light; in others, stained glass projected colors onto the roads and nearby buildings.

“It’s your first time, right?” Daniel sat onto the small ledge that bordered the edge of the roof. Vhalla sat also, swinging her legs over the side. “Vhalla, careful.” He grabbed her upper arm.

“Silly,” she laughed, swaying and placing her hand on the stony clay to lean close to him. “I can’t be hurt falling—well I can’t die.” He tilted his head curiously. “Fire can’t hurt Firebearers, water can’t hurt Waterrunners, earth can’t hurt Groundbreakers, I guess?” Vhalla found herself giggling again, she had no idea. “But wind can’t kill me; I’ve fallen from higher places and lived.” She began to ramble, turning away from him.

“It’s how I had my Awakening, actually. An Awakening is when a sorcerer first has their powers really shown in full to them. Before then they just Manifest in some ways here or there without control. This is the second time a man took me to a roof. But, the last time Aldrik decided to push me off.” She made a pushing motion with her hands and started laughing. “By the Mother, I was cross with him. I was a mess too. He gave me a pretty good apology after though. Aldrik’s wonderfully complex, had a reason for most of it, even if it’s still pretty awful knowing the reason. I wish more people could’ve seen his face when he apologized—he looked like a little kid!” Vhalla roared with laughter. Hadn’t she been upset with him a few hours ago? Slowly, her giggles faded as she caught a glimpse of Daniel’s face. “What?”

“Vhalla—” he murmured, bringing his heavy flagon to his lips, “—you’ve drunk too much.” He smiled tiredly and reached over. Daniel placed his palm on her head and stroked her hair once. “No more of that, before you say something you’ll really regret in the morning.”

She found she was somehow still holding the mug of water, and she drank deeply. Vhalla found herself swaying slightly in the breeze, or perhaps it was the feeling of ale in her head. She leaned to the side and her temple found his shoulder. They sat silently, he looked back toward the roof, and she looked out over the city.

“He’s lucky,” Daniel whispered.

“He doesn’t want me,” she said for the first time aloud. Daniel’s silence was an invitation for her to continue. “I think I’m a burden, or a tool, or an amusement. Nothing more.”

“I don’t think so,” Daniel murmured. “I’ve seen him around you—we all have.”

Vhalla wondered if she imagined the swordsman leaning toward her a fraction.

She took a deep breath and grabbed for his flagon, the water forgotten a moment. Daniel relinquished it. “He wants me for his father, for their war, that’s all.”

“Then he’s more of a fool and an ass than people give him credit for.” Daniel’s fingers brushed hers as she passed the flagon back to him.

“Do you have someone?” Vhalla already was certain she knew the answer was not going to be affirmative. If she was honest, she’d already begun to see the way her fellow Easterner looked at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention.

“I did.” He took a long drink. “I returned from my last tour and found she’d decided that ‘when the war is over’ was too long to wait.”

“I’m sorry,” Vhalla sighed, accepting his flagon back.

“I’m getting over it.” He shrugged. He wasn’t convincing in the slightest.

“You know what will help?” She swung her legs back around and stood with a stumble and a laugh. “More alcohol, more dancing.” She held out her hands for him and he chuckled, resigning himself to her.

They both had something to run from, Vhalla realized, or rather someone. He ran from the shroud of this other woman, and she ran from the painful possibilities that surrounded her and Aldrik. Vhalla took the stairs with resolve, his hand wrapped in hers as she led him back below. Tonight they would run together.

The first stop was the bar. Just because she realized she was running didn’t make her judgment any more sound. Her hand was in the air and she ordered two shot glasses of a liquid that burnt all the way down.

Daniel coughed. “How are you drinking this?” He slammed the glass back down on the bar.

“You’re drinking it too,” she coughed. Vhalla felt the alcohol hit her system and she swayed, laughing again. “Come on.”

Daniel paid the bartender and they were on the dance floor anew. He took her hands and spun her three times. Vhalla’s insides bubbled, and she was laughing again. Her hips swayed and her hands clapped to the music as they stepped and twisted their hips. She kicked to his left and he to her right, before changing directions.

They came back together and one hand was wrapped in his, the other on his shoulder and his on hers. Vhalla found herself beaming from ear to ear. They were both awful dancers. But she was completely intoxicated on the alcohol, on the crowd, on the heat, on Daniel’s sweet smiles, on his gentle admiration, and on his hands.

Finally her feet felt as though they were on the verge of falling off, and her joints screamed in protest of further movement. Vhalla fell out of step by placing her hands on his shoulders, leaning on him for support. She felt Daniel’s palms fall on her hips.

“I’m so tired,” she shouted in his ear over the music and noise of the people.

“Thank the Mother, me too.” He laughed and led her off the dance floor. They walked over to the main entrance and hovered by the door.

“Where is everyone else?” The band never stopped playing so the floor never stopped moving. They both tried to locate just one of the people they came with.

“Who knows? They know their way back.” Daniel yawned, he turned and stumbled into the street. It was his turn to almost collapse, and Vhalla ran up beside him, throwing her arms around his waist. He grabbed her for support and they almost fell together.

“You-you’re drunk.” She punched his gut.

“Ungh,” he grunted. “Don’t do that or I’ll be sick on your shoes.”

“You wou-oudnt,” she laughed and slurred her words, her arm situating around his waist and his around her shoulders.

“Now who’s drunk?” He put his thumb on one side of her mouth and index finger on the other, pinching her lips together to make a talking motion.

Vhalla laughed and slapped his hand away. “Don’t make fun of me,” she pouted.

“Now there’s a face that could break the strongest of men.” He grinned. Vhalla noticed one side of his mouth went up more than the other. It didn’t have the same curl as Aldrik’s but there was something similar and charming in it.

They stumbled through the streets teasing each other and grabbing at walls and railings for support. In all it was rather a miracle that they didn’t end up horribly lost. On the way they passed a public fountain, and Daniel insisted she drink liberally.

“I can’t drink anymore.” She lay out on the dusty ground, her face wet.

“Get up off the ground,” he laughed.

“No, it’s nice here.” She grinned, which was interrupted with a yawn. The fuzziness in her head was beginning to change to exhaustion.

He extended a hand to her. “It’s not far now, Vhalla. Bed is better than the ground. Plus, I think there are a few people, whom I’m rather fearful of answering to, that would be cross if I let you sleep on the road.”

She found her feet again, and they stumbled into the inn not long after. The main lobby was quiet, and he helped her upstairs. Vhalla dissolved into a fit of giggles, collapsing against the wall.

“You’re so loud,” he scolded between uncontrollable laughter.

“No, you are!” She covered her mouth with a hand, her sides aching from bruises and amusement.

Daniel smiled down at her charmingly. His hair hung around his face. He was plain looking, normal for an Easterner. But for Vhalla he was handsome with nostalgia, and his voice, worn from too many years of calling across battlefields and training grounds, was beginning to sound smooth. “Come on, to bed with you.”

“Thank you, Daniel,” Vhalla whispered, pausing in front of her door.

“For what?” he asked.

Even drunk, she wasn’t naive. This would be the moment most other men would ask to come into her room. Vhalla leaned against the door with a sincere smile. The glitter of intoxication would fade with the dawn. But the sweet wash of his presence already promised to linger. “I haven’t had that much fun in a long time.”

“Me neither.” Daniel took a few more steps backwards. “If you need anything, I’m upstairs, first to the right on the landing.”

“Thank you.” She yawned.

“All right, to sleep, you beautiful Windwalker.” He gave her a lazy smirk and Vhalla reciprocated before slipping into the dark room.

She didn’t even find it in her to change. Vhalla headed straight for the bed, collapsing on top of another comatose body. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Welcome back, Vhalla,” Larel mumbled groggily.

“What are you doing here?” Vhalla relaxed, wiggling under the blankets.

“I wanted to make sure you made it back,” the Westerner yawned. “How was the rest of your night?”

“Fun.” Vhalla snuggled up to the familiar warmth of Larel.

“Fritz?” Larel closed her eyes.

“Don’t know,” Vhalla said honestly, and wondered if she should feel guilty.

“He’s likely still trying to pick up boys,” Larel laughed tiredly. Her words slurred slightly—Vhalla hadn’t been the only one drinking. “Daniel?”

“Yes, he walked me back.” Vhalla rubbed her face on the pillow.

“He didn’t do anything untoward, did he?” Larel cracked her eyes open to study Vhalla.

Vhalla laughed. “No, he’s wonderful actually,” she admitted treacherously. “I should be with someone like him ...” When Vhalla thought about it, he’d be a sensible choice for her. Only just above her station, Eastern like she was, thoughtful, kind, handsome. She felt strange just musing over the growing list of reasons why Daniel was a good match.

“Aldrik?” With the name alone Vhalla’s rationalization over Daniel and her halted.

“I love him,” she sighed. She loved him so much her heart ached at the thought. One night and too much alcohol couldn’t change what had been growing and building for months, even if it may be for the better. Vhalla picked at the blanket. “What did you feel for Aldrik?”

“What did I feel?” Larel shifted onto her back. “I felt like he was one of the only people who I really had in the world, who really cared for me. I suppose that’s why I called it love.”

“How do you mistake love?” Vhalla asked. Maybe she was mistaken also?

“There are many kinds of love,” Larel said.

“Are there?”

“Do you love Aldrik as you love your father?” A grin was in Larel’s voice.

“Family is different!” Vhalla pushed the other woman’s shoulder.

“I love you,” Larel said softly, stilling Vhalla. The Western woman leaned close, placing a gentle kiss on Vhalla’s forehead. “I don’t love you as a lover. But I love you wholly and completely nonetheless.” Vhalla suddenly felt like crying. “And I love Aldrik—but as my friend; I didn’t and don’t want him between the sheets. When I kissed him, it was strange, awkward; there was nothing to it other than a kiss.”

“I see,” Vhalla barely said over another yawn. She wondered if she kissed Aldrik what she’d feel.

“Let’s go to sleep, Vhalla. It’s late.” Larel shifted closer, before settling.

Vhalla closed her eyes. She imagined Larel’s slow and steady breathing to be Aldrik’s. She imagined it was his warmth radiating close by. Vhalla sighed softly. There was an ache that made her legs shift under the covers. If it was the alcohol or the exhaustion that brought her to admitting it, she knew without doubt, she wanted the crown prince as a woman—as a lover—would.

THROUGH THE OTHERWISE dark room a slit of light streamed between the curtains, causing Vhalla to blink blearily and her head to pound.

“I feel sick,” she groaned softly.

“You drank too much,” Larel mumbled.

“You two, silence,” an agonized whisper ordered.

Both women sat up at the sound of the male voice.

Vhalla peered over the edge of the bed to see a disheveled Fritz collapsed on the floor. “When did you get here?” She paused. “Why are you here?”

“Larel wasn’t in our room, and I was worried. Then I got sleepy,” Fritz groaned, rolling away from the light. “No more talking.”

Just when Vhalla was going to give into the idea of sleeping the day away, there was a knock.

“Damn that person to the Mother’s fiery justice,” Fritz spat spitefully.

“Vhalla?” It was Daniel.

Vhalla pulled herself to her feet and tugged at her rumpled, alcohol-smelling clothing. Larel and Fritz had already collapsed again when she opened the door. Daniel seemed to be in a better state, but not by a large margin. His hair was wet, and Vhalla guessed a bath would likely help her also.

He chuckled when he saw her. “Still sleeping?” he remarked rather obviously.

“No, practicing an ancient Tower ritual,” she retorted with a tired grin, leaning against the doorway. Vhalla scanned the tray he held in his hands. “You come bearing gifts?”

“A little something. May I?” Daniel held up his offering of food, water, and some vials.

She nodded and stepped aside for her fellow Easterner to slip into the dark room. Larel and Fritz stared at him red-eyed and squinting but didn’t question.

“I thought you two might be here.” He shook his head in amusement. “I brought water for each of you and some potion that’ll help with your heads. I managed to find some before they were all gone.”

“And man’nik.” Larel was on her feet, headed for the tray. She grabbed a steaming bun, biting into it ravenously.

“That.” Daniel didn’t even try to pronounce the name of the Western food. He glanced at Vhalla’s confused face. “It’s filled with meat.”

“Eat one, Vhalla.” Larel shoved one into her hands, grabbing for the water.

“Thank you, Daniel,” Vhalla said sincerely, downing the potion and chasing the taste with water.

“It was my suggestion to go out last night.” He grinned as Fritz dragged his feet over. “And I could tell none of you were really used to that type of affair.”

“And you are?” Fritz took his share of Daniel’s gifts.

“Not really.” Daniel chuckled. “We’re going out for a quieter night tonight, if you’d all like to join.”

“No alcohol,” Larel mumbled.

“No alcohol,” he confirmed. “I’ll be back around dusk. We’re all meeting in the lobby downstairs.” Daniel started for the door.

“Where are you going now?” Vhalla asked.

Daniel paused, his gaze questioning. “I thought I’d go to the main market today.”

“Can I come with you?” She wasn’t sure what overtook her in that moment.

“I don’t mind if you come along.” Daniel flashed her a toothy smile, and Vhalla found herself unable to stop herself from smiling back.

“I need to change ...” Vhalla pinched her rumpled clothes, catching a whiff of herself. She felt as gross as she smelled from dancing last night. “And bathe.”

“I’ll wait downstairs,” he said, opening the door. “Take your time.”

“Daniel, huh?” Fritz gave an appraising hum.

“What?” Vhalla asked, defensive.

“Nothing, just a shame he doesn’t seem interested in boys. The march is long,” Fritz sniggered.

“Oh quiet.” Larel shook her head at Fritz. “You have someone.”

“You do?” Vhalla blinked. The Southerner seemed so intent on finding men all night.

“Not really ...” Fritz was more uncomfortable than Vhalla had ever seen him.

“Grahm, it’s Grahm.” Larel rolled her eyes.

“Grahm?” Vhalla remembered the Eastern man Fritz was rarely seen without in the Tower. How they’d sit, thighs touching, shoulders brushing. “You and Grahm?”

“It’s nothing official, I don’t know ...” The scarlet on Fritz’s cheeks told Vhalla everything she needed to know. Whatever was “not official” about them wouldn’t be that way for long when Fritz returned.

“If you’re going to the market, you’ll need these.” Larel tapped three golden coins on the dresser.

“Where did those come from?” Vhalla had never seen so much money at once in her life.

“Pay,” Fritz yawned, making for the door.

“Pay? For what?” Vhalla was confused.

“Soldiers get paid.” Larel smiled.

“But I’m not a soldier.” Vhalla fidgeted with her fingers. “I’m owned by the crown.”

“I think saving the army deserves three gold coins.” Larel patted her shoulder and ushered Vhalla off to the bathroom.

It was a shared bathroom for the floor but it was thankfully empty. The tub was sized for one and Vhalla took her time. Someone, she suspected Larel, had bathed her when she was unconscious but it didn’t compare to how clean she felt when she could be thorough.

When Vhalla returned to the room, Larel was still waiting persistently to check her injuries. Vhalla doubted she could dance the night away if her wounds were still significant, but she indulged Larel anyway. Larel saw her dressed and then used magic in a way Vhalla had never conceived.

She ran her palms through Vhalla’s hair and the heat instantly set the water to steam. Larel explained how it took many tries to get the right balance of tension and heat, but it was a useful trick when mastered. As Vhalla looked at her hair in the mirror, suddenly smooth and straight, she easily agreed.

Daniel was sitting, charcoal moving without pause over the pages of a worn-looking leather book, when she arrived downstairs. He had a canvas bag slung across his chest, a bag into which the book quickly disappeared upon his noticing her. Vhalla adjusted her pack on her shoulders, empty save for a golden coin.

“Sorry to make you wait,” she said apologetically.

“Not a problem.” Daniel stood with a shake of his head. “Ready?”

She nodded.

The alleyways of the Crossroads were completely different in daylight. Most of the stores that had been shut by dusk were now open and alive. Tables were set out with all manner of jewelry, food, baubles, and trinkets. Vhalla found herself slowing down by every other one to inspect something she’d never seen.

“We’re never going to make it to the main market like this.” Daniel chuckled.

“Sorry!” she said, skipping to catch up with him. “It’s just all so, so different.”

Vhalla made it a point to keep step with Daniel and not lag behind. Eventually his roundabout way led them to a wide road—the East-West Way. Vhalla gasped at the hive of people that bustled within the greatest market in the world. Everything was busy, everything was colorful, everything was alive, and everything seemed to have a price.

People pressed in against each other and pushed purposefully to get to wherever it was they were off to next. Some carried large baskets on their heads, others held platters, and some had cages with wild beasts that Vhalla had never before seen. A man pushed between them and Vhalla glanced back for Daniel, but the crowd had enveloped him.

She scanned her left and right, trying to find where he may have gone. Vhalla walked in his general direction. “Daniel?” A few passersby looked at her strangely but kept going. “Daniel!” she tried a little louder.

“Vhalla!” A hand shot up from the edge of the crowd. “Over here.” Vhalla had to jump to see where he was, and she pushed through the mass to get to him. He chuckled. “Sorry about that.”

“Not your fault.” She shook her head.

“Let’s look in here.” He held back a heavy curtain to a dimly lit shop.

Vhalla’s eyes adjusted slowly to the lighting. A dense haze hovered in the air that held the smell of spices and wood. Glass cases lined the walls and a few stood freely in the middle of the room. Vhalla ran her hand over them, looking at the treasures within.

“Irashi, welcome.” A young woman wearing a robe revealing her generous cleavage—too much revealed, in Vhalla’s opinion—sauntered over to them. She had long, straight black hair. Half was down flowing over her shoulders and back. The other half was braided like a spider’s web on top.

“Welcome to the finest Curiosity Shop in all the land.” She leaned against one of the cases, the tan skin of her leg slipping out through a slit in her bright ruby robe—a stunning contrast. “And what can I help you with today?” The woman smiled thinly.

“I think we’re just looking.” Vhalla took a step closer to Daniel and away from the woman. He seemed to be unbothered, but something about this woman put Vhalla’s hairs on edge.

“No one is ‘just looking.’ All desire.” The woman folded her arms under her breasts. “Tell me, what is yours?”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Vhalla dodged her question and looked at Daniel. “Let’s go, I’m hungry.” She grabbed his arm and turned to leave.

“There is not one curiosity you have, Vhalla Yarl?” Vhalla stopped short. “I know your winds will not tell you what the flames will tell me.”

Daniel took a step forward; he put his body half in front of Vhalla’s, an arm stretched across her protectively.

“How do you know my name?” Vhalla whispered in shock.

“I can know many, and tell more, if you wish it.” The woman flipped some hair over her shoulders. “The fire burns away all lies.”

“You’re a sorcerer,” Vhalla stated; it was as though she could smell the magic radiating off the woman.

“I am a Firebearer,” the woman affirmed with a nod.

“What is your name?” Vhalla pushed Daniel’s arm down, taking a step forward.

“I’ve had many names, I could give you one, or I could let you chose a name for yourself. Then it will be something we alone can share.” The woman continued to lounge against one of the cases.

“Tell me the name you would like me to call you. Invented or otherwise.” Instinct told Vhalla to make as few choices as possible when interacting with this woman.

“Vi,” the Westerner said simply. “Would you like me to read your curiosities?”

“Read our curiosities?” Daniel asked.

“I am a Firebearer, I am one with the flames, and with my eyes I can see into the future. You come with curiosities, questions, in your heart and I will give you answers,” the woman proclaimed.

Vhalla was skeptical, but the woman had known her name. “I’ll do it.” She felt overcome with bravery.

The woman gave her a knowing smile. “You must pick four things: three to burn, one to hold.” The Firebearer motioned around the room at the cases, and Vhalla understood. These things weren’t for sale; this was a fortune teller and these were tools for her trade. Vhalla began to stroll about the space, Daniel hovering over her shoulder.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he whispered directly into her ear so the woman would not hear. His proximity was warm, even compared to the heat of the day.

“It’ll be fine. Why not live a little? I am here, and somehow she knew my name.”

Vhalla scanned the strange objects; there was an impossible amount of knickknacks at random order in the cases. A jar of quills caught her eye. Vhalla reached over, thumbing around. Selecting a gray silver plume Vhalla brought it to the counter the woman rested on.

Then Vhalla was wandering again. A bunch of wheat—home—and rose petals, a different feeling of home, collected on the counter. The last thing—something to hold—was the hardest to find. She spent far too long going from case to case looking at this or that.

In the end, it was a fine silver chain that was draped out of a halfway closed jewelry box that caught her eye. Vhalla slid open the glass of the case and pulled lightly on the chain. It was a simple, silver pocket watch that was designed to be worn around the neck. Vhalla stared at it closely. The links were oddly familiar. It reminded her of Aldrik’s, she realized. “This ... this is what I will hold.” Vhalla walked back over to the woman.

“An interesting spread.” The Firebearer sounded amused. “Come.” Vi carried the burning goods into an even smokier backroom. Their shoes were removed as though it was a sacred place. Tapestries and rugs covered the floor and walls, making it feel very small and intimate. They each took a place on either side of a smoldering fire pit.

“Are you certain you wish an observer?” she asked, looking at Daniel. “I will read the futures as I see them.”

“I suppose ...” Vhalla looked up uncertainly at Daniel. “If you don’t mind?”

“I’ll wait right out here.” Daniel slipped back out of the heavy curtain, and Vhalla heard his footsteps fade away.

The woman knelt over the fire pit and reached into the smoldering coals. She lifted them up and dropped them, their orange-hot glow bright in the dim light. Flames licked around her fingers and soon her arms up to her elbows were covered in soot. The woman reached across and held out her thumb, marking Vhalla’s face.

“Vhalla Yarl, blessed bird of the East. The one who can soar without wings. The first chick to fly the cage. The first to return to our land.”

The woman leaned back. Taking the quill, she threw it into the fire pit. Flames roared white. Vi grabbed the wheat, adding it to the fire. The color changed to orange. Finally the rose petals were sacrificed and the fire changed a deep unnatural crimson, almost black.

Vhalla held her breath as the woman eased her face into the flame. Face-down she opened her eyes to the fire, and Vhalla let out an uneasy sigh as the Firebearer was completely unaffected by its heat. Slowly the flames began to die down, leaving a light-purple ash at the bottom of the pit.

“The present burns away, leaving the future to rise from its ashes.” Vi leaned over and took a large handful of the ash and threw it into the air over them. The fine powder began to slowly swirl and trickle down, lighter than snow, and hovered before her, making unknown shapes before finally settling to the floor. Vi’s eyes burned a bright red color.

“You will march to victory, and it will be won upon your silver wings. But the winds of change you will set free will also shatter that tender hope upon which you fly. You will lose your dark sentry,” the woman foretold.

Vhalla clutched the plain pocket watch, her heart beginning to race.

“Two paths will lie before you: night and day. Go west by night. Fade into the comforting obscurity of a shroud of darkness. You will find a familiar happiness there, if you can ignore yearnings for the sun.” Vi paused, looking at the glimmering ash about the room. “The other road will burn away your falsehoods by the light of dawn. You will own your wants for all to see. But take caution, for the fire that will expose you will give birth to an even greater power that will consume the land itself.”

A silence fell over the room as the last of the ash fell to the floor. Vhalla breathed shallowly. Each of the woman’s words seemed to have been carefully and perfectly chosen for an exact meaning. But what that meaning was Vhalla still considered. Vi’s eyes slowly faded to black again.

“And now, for payment.” The woman settled into a more comfortable position.

“Ah, right.” Vhalla put down her sack and reached for her gold.

“I do not want coin.” Vi stopped her.

Vhalla paused, an unsettling feeling worming its way into the back of her skull. “What, do you want then?”

“That watch.” The Westerner pointed to the one which Vhalla was holding.

“This one?” Vhalla held it up; it was the woman’s to begin with. Vi nodded. “All right, of course.”

Vhalla passed it over. She had never expected to keep it, but something strange tingled across her fingers as Vhalla gave it up. It was physically difficult to see it in the other woman’s hands.

“Our current business has concluded.”

They both stood, and Vi held open the back curtain while Vhalla slipped into her shoes. “Heed my words, Vhalla Yarl.”

Vhalla could only nod at the cryptic message and walked out into the shop proper. She rubbed the soot off her face, trying to figure out how much the woman’s fortune telling bothered her. Vhalla nodded to Daniel and they left silently, back out into the chaos of the market. Somehow, she felt the fiery glow of the woman’s stare halfway down the street.

Vhalla linked her arm with Daniel’s to avoid getting separated from him again. He was also steady and, in truth, she felt a little shaken. Vhalla flexed, gripping him tighter.

“How did it go?” he asked as lightly as possible.

“It was an experience.” Vhalla attempted a chuckle. She could tell he didn’t buy the brave front, but he didn’t follow up with any questions on what type of experience it was.

Daniel was in good form the rest of the day as he showed her the market. He let her walk as close as she liked to him and neither pushed her away nor pulled her closer. Normally they were arm–in-arm for practicality, but if she was completely honest, she was enjoying the position of being physically close to someone who wasn’t confusing or frustrating.

They stopped at a food stand and purchased balls of rice that had vegetables inside. Vhalla laughed as she fed him a bite of her flavor and half dropped out onto his lap. For dessert, they tried a square sweet had a strange stiff, jelly-like texture. Vhalla bought a small box to bring back to Larel and Fritz.

After the morning’s affair finally faded, the day gave way to an all-around positive experience in the market. Vhalla purchased a small bottle of perfume and a potpourri ball for her bag from a scents shop, thinking they may come in handy during the rest of their march in the desert.

They passed a candy shop and found the lemon peels that Aldrik had mentioned. Vhalla picked up two bags, one for her and one for him. He had brought them up, and he had liked the lemon cake. Daniel purchased a new dagger that could be worn on the leg and short swords that he insisted were worlds better than his own. When Vhalla told him she had no weapons, he was aghast and that hunt absorbed the rest of their afternoon.

She finally decided on a thin, almost needle-like dagger that was just a little less than the length of her forearm. It came with a holster to wear on the arm, the hilt right near the wrist. Daniel pointed out that she’d lose a lot of stability and strength choosing such a small option. But as Vhalla clipped it onto the underside of her forearm and rolled her sleeve down over it, she instantly liked her choice. With a normal shirt, it was perfectly concealed. The hilt was just the right length to not impede her movement. Yet in a quick motion she had it drawn.

In all, the day cost her almost all the money she had brought. But they were only in the Crossroads for a few more days and most things seemed to have been taken care of for her.

Even outside the market her arm still lingered around Daniel’s. The night chill was setting in and he was familiar and warm. Vhalla smiled, fussing with the dagger strapped to her left arm.

“It doesn’t work as a concealed weapon if you’re showing people it’s there,” Daniel scolded with a grin.

“You’re right, I suppose,” she agreed with a laugh. He hadn’t touched the new dagger strapped to his calf for hours.

They strolled through the market and back to the central square, where the East-West Way met the Great Imperial Way. Firebearers walked about lighting the lamps, and Vhalla found it amazing to see a society that had sorcerers so integrated in helpful ways. She smiled, eyes following one in particular for no reason. He moved to a building with large circular stained glass. Vhalla paused shifting her bag on her shoulder.

It was a bad idea. She was having another moment where she needed to admit it, and stop herself. Vhalla took a breath. “I—” She paused, glancing between Daniel and the building. “I need to make a quick stop. The inn is right over there. You can go ahead.”

“No, I’m not letting you walk alone in the Crossroads at night,” he said definitively. “It can be dangerous.”

“Very well,” she sighed softly. “Then wait out here for me?”

“That, I can do.” There was apprehension locked in his eyes, but Daniel kept it away from his tongue and spared her comment.

Vhalla took a breath and summoned her courage, walking to the front doors. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to see Aldrik again. Wasn’t she mad at him? But at the root of all her conflicting feelings was the need to see him, to say what needed to be said: the truth.

Soft music, a Southern sound, played from one of the rooms off the main lobby. Vhalla looked uncertainly at the shut doors and opulent parlors. A man cleared his throat from behind the front desk.

“I have a delivery for the Crown Prince,” Vhalla announced.

The older man folded his bony fingers and regarded her skeptically. “What could you possibly have?”

“I’m the Windwalker,” she declared, attempting to use credentials to dodge the question.

“That is most excellent, and what is so important that he would not leave word?”

Deflated that her approach hadn’t worked, she lost her resolve and mumbled, “He ... We have work to do ... for the Emperor.”

“I’m sure ...” The man didn’t believe her in the slightest. “Unfortunately the prince has explicitly asked not to be disturbed. Do take care.”

Vhalla sighed softly, resigned.

“Vhalla?” Prince Baldair stopped in a hallway joining the lobby with other rooms, walking over to her. “What’re you doing here?”

“My prince, I was just leaving.” Vhalla keenly remembered the last time she and Prince Baldair had spoken.

“She was asking to see the crown prince,” the treacherous clerk informed.

“Vhalla.” The golden prince frowned, glancing at the man and thinking better of continuing. “I’ll take her there myself.”

“You will?” Vhalla and the desk man said in unison.

“He’s shut himself up; I’ve not seen him once. Company is a good thing, no?” Baldair placed his hand on the small of her back and practically pushed her up a wide staircase.

“You’re really taking me to see him?” Vhalla asked as they reached the second floor landing.

“Of course not, but I am going to ask you what you think you’re doing here.” In private, the prince dropped all decorum.

“It’s nothing important,” Vhalla muttered. She was already second guessing her mission.

“I thought I told you to stay away.” Baldair frowned.

“It’s not your business.” Vhalla pulled the bag of candy from her pack. “And I also wanted to give him these.”

“Lemon peels?” Prince Baldair recognized the sweet shop’s marking. “Vhalla ...” he sighed. “I don’t know what kind of relationship you think you can have with my brother—”

“I don’t want one,” she said defensively. The words crossed her lips before Vhalla could think about them, fueled by spite.

“No, you do. He has you under his spell,” the golden haired prince insisted.

“What are you talking about?” Vhalla took a step away.

“Why else would anyone want my brother?”

He caught her wrist as she tried to leave. “Let me go.”

“I’m trying to help you.” Somehow, Prince Baldair managed to sound sincere.

“Let me go!” Vhalla tugged against his firm grip.

“What is all this commotion?” a voice called from the end of the hall. Vhalla’s blood turned to ice in her veins. Elecia, in a loose sleeping tunic and nothing else, stood barefoot and groggy eyed. She yawned as she came closer. “Vhalla? What are you doing here?”

“Nothing!” Vhalla said, trying to make a hasty retreat. “I’m trying to leave right now.” She clutched the lemon peels to her chest and tried to turn, but Prince Baldair still held her wrist.

“You’re still in there? At this hour?” Prince Baldair’s surprise at the sight of Elecia caused him to ignore Vhalla’s tugs against his grip.

“Baldair, quit being an ass-face, take the girl, and go,” Elecia snapped. She seemed exhausted and worn thin. Somehow even her hair seemed less fluffy than normal.

“Just what have you two been doing all this time?” Prince Baldair inquired.

“Can your curiosity be satiated solo?” Vhalla asked weakly, still attempting to leave.

“Brother, by the Mother, I swear ...” A low voice, rough sounding, as though it hurt to speak—yet still very clearly annoyed—came from the back of the hall. Elecia turned and sprinted back to Aldrik.

“You need to go back to bed.” The other woman stood in front of him, a dark-skinned palm contrasting with the pale skin of his bare chest.

Vhalla’s eyes widened as she took them in. Elecia barely dressed, tired, her hair a mess. Aldrik looked as close to sleep as she’d ever seen him—and half-dressed. His pale, well-sculpted chest brought a hot flush to her cheeks. Aldrik didn’t just tolerate the contact; he didn’t seem to mind Elecia’s proximity, her touch. He moved his hand to place it on the other woman’s shoulder.

The bag of lemon peels slipped from Vhalla’s hand and dropped to the floor.

The noise of the bag dropping and the candy scattering silenced all parties involved. Aldrik’s eyes were the last to find Vhalla but they met hers with a mix of surprise and confusion. Vhalla took a quivering breath.

There was nothing to say. The silence stretched another painful minute. Just before it was about to break she turned on her heels, wrenched her hand from Prince Baldair’s slack grip, and sprinted.

Vhalla ran down the stairs, out the doors, and into the square. She tilted her head back and took a deep breath. The cool air hitting her lungs made her choke, and Vhalla doubled over. The sobs had already started. She pressed her eyes closed and felt her whole body trembling.

A pair of hands tentatively placed themselves on her shoulders, hovering a moment before making contact.

“Vhalla,” Daniel whispered.

She spun. Her cheeks soaked with her barely-silenced crying. “I told you, I am the queen of bad ideas.” Vhalla tried a smile that was quickly consumed by the tears.

Daniel pulled her to him and wrapped his arms gently around her shoulders. He whispered soothing words into the crown of her head and held her. Vhalla pressed her face into his chest, clutching his shirt. She felt her knees give out.

Daniel supported her. He held her, saying nothing, asking nothing, as she sobbed. Vhalla didn’t care who saw her. Behind her eyes was the singular image of Aldrik and another woman. A woman whom she knew had been in the palace for some time, of some noble birth if every suspicion was correct. They were both adults, of the right age, and of the right breeding. They were together, interrupted from something, in the night. She thought of his bare chest and it stirred something within Vhalla, which only made her weep more.

Vhalla clutched Daniel as though his arms were the last thing holding her sanity together.

THE SUN WAS setting over the rooftops of the Crossroads. Vhalla raised her hands to his face. Aldrik leaned into her, took them in his, and kissed her palms lightly. She whispered to him and he whispered back, the words which she had been longing to hear. She shifted closer to him, his lips parted.

Then Vhalla was only watching, Elecia’s beautifully long fingers were across the pale of his face. They leaned closer, and Vhalla let out a cry.

She gasped in the night air, waking with a start. Vhalla looked around frantically, remembering where she was. Daniel was fast asleep in the chair Larel had previously occupied. The Westerner and Fritz were still out eating dinner, oblivious to Vhalla’s shattering world, and Daniel had refused to leave her alone. Vhalla collapsed back onto her pillow, forcing her eyes closed.

The next time, her hands were his. The fingertips ran over a shadowed face in the dark. She couldn’t make out the features but Vhalla knew they were not her own. Were they Elecia’s? Her mind wandered while trapped in the prison of the dream. Her heart beat fast and she felt blood shifting its attention. There was a carnal desire it wanted to attend to.

Vhalla rolled over and opened her eyes, staring blankly at the wall. She whimpered softly and pulled the blankets over her head.

She ran through streets of fire and death. The bodies were already mutilated, their battered limbs and shattered skulls littering the ground. Vhalla sprinted through the streets, through the shadow people. Tonight, tonight she would be fast enough, her feet told her, and she allowed the wind to pick up beneath her.

Vhalla came to a skidding halt before the demolished building and she tore at the debris. Each rock that moved made her heart beat a little faster. Eventually she saw a face beneath the rubble. Vhalla paused; he wasn’t supposed to be there. She tore away the remaining remnants and took Aldrik’s body into her arms, weeping.

She awoke for a third time, and then a fourth and a fifth. Her mind was too heavily armed with the stuff of nightmares. Daniel was gone, and she heard talking muffled through the door. Vhalla instantly recognized one voice as Larel’s and waited for the other woman to slip silently into the room.

“Larel,” she whispered weakly, feeling the bed shift to accommodate the new person.

“What happened?” Larel ran her hands through Vhalla’s hair lovingly.

“Aldrik—” Vhalla choked on his name. “He and Elecia ... they ...”

“They what?” Larel coaxed gently.

Vhalla recounted the events from earlier in the evening, and Larel listened dutifully. She said nothing, good or bad, absorbing the whole story. Vhalla broke down again when she retold the moment of seeing Elecia and Aldrik together.

“I know she’s noble. The way she acts around him, the way she calls him by his name ... There’s something there, Larel. I just—I didn’t want to see it.” Vhalla sniffled loudly.

“She is,” Larel said softly.

“She is what?” Vhalla rubbed her eyes.

“She’s noble,” Larel confirmed.

“What?” Vhalla stilled. “How can you be certain?”

Larel sighed and averted her eyes. Whatever she was about to say Vhalla knew she wouldn’t like. “She didn’t start coming around until he was older. During the few years we were very distant from each other. He spent a lot of time with her, when she was around. I didn’t remember until I heard the reception for her here in the Crossroads. She’s a Ci’Dan, a noble family from the West with ties to the crown. I never really studied history—that’s Fritz’s area—but I always assumed she was a potential bride, given his age when she appeared.”

“You knew.” Betrayal was a hot poison. “You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

“Vhalla, listen,” Larel demanded, pinning her to the bed with an arm. “Listen.”

Vhalla stopped fighting, but that didn’t stop the anger pulsing through her veins. The world was out to lie and cheat her; maybe Prince Baldair was right.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t believe—I still don’t believe—that you have anything to worry about.”

“How can you say that? She’s a noble woman, she’s known him for years—I saw them together!”

“Hush.” Larel tried to calm Vhalla’s hysterics. “When you are together, Aldrik looks for you, only for you.”

“He spent a lot of time with her.”

“He did,” Larel conceded. “But he never looked at her the way he looks at you. He never reached for her the way he reaches for you. Vhalla, Aldrik cares for you deeply, I know he does.”

“You don’t know anything,” Vhalla mumbled.

Larel just sighed and rubbed Vhalla’s back as the younger woman cried softly.

Vhalla was shocked later when a messenger brought her an Imperial summons. It was a tri-folded card sealed with the blazing sun of the Empire in black wax.

“Are you going to open it?” Larel asked after Vhalla’s tenth lap of the room.

“I will,” she said with false confidence.

“Today?” Larel had the audacity to tease her.

Vhalla shot the other woman a glare, and Larel was only moderately apologetic. The Westerner hadn’t changed her tune that Aldrik had no interest in Elecia.

“I will,” Vhalla repeated, placing her finger under the seal. She took a breath and unfolded the note before her hands dropped it from shaking so much. “Your presence is requested,” she read aloud. “Prince Aldrik C. Solaris.”

“That’s it?” Even Larel seemed surprised.

“It’s better this way.” Vhalla threw the note onto her pack, rummaging through the clothes on the floor that had never made it into drawers. “It is. I’ll go and tell him I know everything.”

“Vhalla,” Larel sighed.

“We can stop this sham, and I’ll just do what I need to for my freedom,” Vhalla vowed, tugging on a clean shirt and leggings.

They walked down the stairs in silence, Larel seeing her out of the inn and all the way to the fancy hotel where the Imperial family was staying. Vhalla spent the walk attempting to shield her heart as much as possible. She imagined each rib a barbed wall that nothing could enter into or get out of. She would do whatever Aldrik and the Emperor needed, and then she would go. She didn’t even want to bring up what she’d seen. It wasn’t her business after all; she had trespassed on his privacy.

By the time Vhalla arrived at the glittering building on the main square, she had scripted and repeated so many conversations in her head that she felt prepared for every possible outcome. No matter what, she would keep it together and leave as quickly as possible. Yet none of this stopped her heart from threatening to burst out of its thorny cage as she pushed open the door, leaving Larel behind.

“How may I assist?” the woman behind the desk asked stiffly.

“I’ve an appointment with the crown prince.” Vhalla didn’t allow herself to say his name. “Vhalla Yarl, the Windwalker.”

The woman pulled out the same ledger as the man from the night before and ran her finger down the pages. “Ah yes. Go ahead—second floor, right wing,” the woman instructed needlessly. Vhalla had already started up the stairs.

Each step coincided with the pounding in her ears. Every scrap of common sense screamed for her to leave a message that she was indisposed. But she knew she could only run so long. In four more days they would be riding together, with Elecia too.

Vhalla paused and took a deep breath, focusing only on the sound of the air moving. She could do this.

Arriving at the landing, she stilled. Vhalla shook away the image of Elecia and Aldrik standing in the night and proceeded to the door. With the last of her resolve, she gave a few short knocks.

It was a tense minute as she waited; she was fully prepared to make a hasty retreat and explain she thought he was out. The door handle turned. Aldrik stood against the colored light of large stained glass circles that dominated the wall opposite the door. He wore a black leather jacket that went to his knees with a single line of gold buttons opened at the collared white cotton shirt underneath. Well-fitted trousers fell straight to bare feet, Vhalla noted curiously. His hair was fixed again, and just the sight of him was painful because it now contrasted so sharply from the disheveled man who had been woken from sleep, likely from lying in the arms of his lover.

“Hello, Vhalla.” He seemed as happy to see her as she was him.

“My prince,” Vhalla glanced away, unable to keep eye contact any longer.

“Come in.” He took a step back and turned.

Vhalla let herself into the room, closing the door softly behind her.

It was an astounding space. High ceilings with mosaics of classic stories along with some characters Vhalla had never before seen. There was a large sitting area with two lounging chaises that faced a large couch, a table between them. A stocked bar dominated the wall to the left of the door—Vhalla instantly wished for something strong—and a large standing table with all manner of papers and uncorked bottles was to the right. To her left was a wall with open sliding doors that revealed an additional room with a large bed covered in blankets and pillows. Perhaps the most astounding feature was a window, which was one she had seen from the square. It was big enough that pillows were piled up on the windowsill, and it looked like it could easily seat four.

Vhalla took another tentative step, instantly uncomfortable being in his space. She couldn’t help but look at the bed, wondering if Elecia had shared it with him the night before. Aldrik had crossed to the table and was shuffling the papers.

“You are quiet.” He glanced at her from the corners of his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she replied, unsure of what else to say.

“Sit,” he ordered curtly.

Vhalla waded through the tension between them, nearly drowning before she managed to sit on one of the chaises. Aldrik found the paper he was looking for, placing it on the lower table before the couch as he sat opposite her. They stared at each other, waiting for someone to say the first word. Vhalla swallowed.

“This is for the demonstration? For your father?” Work, she had to stick to work.

“What else would it be for?” he mumbled, the words like needles.

“Of course,” Vhalla replied weakly.

“My father will want us to play a game of scavenger hunt.” Aldrik looked at the paper as though it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “Based off what I told him you are able to do at present, first he will have you Project to a person who will tell you a location and an item. You will return to me and direct me to something—unknown to me at the start of the demonstration—based on the instructions.”

“It seems simple enough.” She nodded.

“Does it?” Aldrik arched an eyebrow at her.

Vhalla shifted under his skepticism. “We’ve been doing things like this for weeks.”

“What exactly have we been doing, Vhalla?” Aldrik’s voice was void of any familiar warmth.

She didn’t know how to answer. He wasn’t asking about the Projection, he was asking about the dance they’d been doing around something both of them had been too terrified to name. Now, it felt like he was accusing her.

“Never mind.” Aldrik stood. “Do not answer that. I already know.”

“What?” She was on her feet also. “What do you think you know?”

“You think I would not find out?” He glared at her.

“Find out what?” Vhalla’s voice had a shrill edge from the tension his eyes evoked in her.

“You are not the first one who has used me to get to him.” Aldrik looked away in disgust.

“What are you talking about?”

“You and Baldair.”

Vhalla’s mouth dropped open in shock. “What?”

“I caught you both together last night, your hand in his.” Aldrik drew his height, his body language was imposing.

“My hand in his?” Vhalla balked. “You mean him grabbing my wrist? Him holding me in place so that I’d be forced to witness you and Elecia?” she accused, pointing at the crown prince.

“Elecia?” Aldrik seemed to forget the other woman was even with him the night before.

“Were you even going to tell me?” Vhalla’s lower lip quivered, and she swore she would not lose it, she wouldn’t cry in front of him.

“What does Elecia have to do with this?” Confusion eased his shoulders.

“No.” Vhalla shook her head. “No more, I can’t. I’m done.” She turned, starting for the door.

“Vhalla!” he snapped. “You asked me for no secrets, for the truth, and you’re turning your back on me?” Aldrik chuckled darkly. “The irony of that.”

“The truth?” She stopped, only ten paces from the door. She should just leave. But something made her turn. She stared at him in hopelessness. It would all be better if he’d just admit it. “The truth is ... the truth is ...” Something in her snapped. “The truth is that every time I close my eyes all I see is you and her!” Vhalla’s voice broke halfway through and she threw her arms up in defeat. The tears burned at the corners of her eyes and she sniffed, keeping them at bay.

“Why?” Aldrik took a step toward her.

“Because—you know why!” Was he really going to make her say it?

“Why would you care about Elecia if you desire my brother?” His voice was losing its edge, his probing becoming more exploratory over jabbing.

“Aldrik,” Vhalla covered her eyes with her palm. “You are a fool.” She gave him a defeated laugh. “I don’t want your brother, my dear Prince Aldrik C. Solaris. Not every creature with breasts thinks Prince Baldair is a god among men.”

“Then why, why do you care?” He took another step closer. Vhalla opened her mouth and shut it, turning for the door. “Tell me, why does Elecia matter?” Aldrik grabbed her elbow, stopping her from fleeing from the room.

“What does she matter?” Vhalla wasn’t sure if she had ever met a man who could be so astonishingly smart about seemingly everything and yet so daft about the person whom he was supposed to be more connected with than anyone in the world. She twisted to face him, tearing her arm from his grasp. “She matters the same as titles do. The same as my birth and yours does. The same way it matters why your brother insists on tormenting me with awful stories about you.”

“Stop avoiding my question!” he demanded.

“I am not!” The last of her resolve shattered and her control slipped away. Tears were going to fall at any moment, and if the two of them were going to break they may as well shatter. “I love you, Aldrik!”

Her voice echoed on the shockwaves that shook them both. Vhalla’s palm clamped over her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say it, and Vhalla stared at him wide eyed. She watched his face closely. She witnessed the words settle in on him, the shock that started in his eyes, raised his eyebrows, and dropped his mouth open.

Vhalla’s heart raced, and she felt a soft whimper rise in her throat. She wanted him to say something, anything. If he would pass judgment she could leave and finally move on from all he was. She could leave his ink black hair and dark eyes behind. She could let his voice fade away from her dreams and let his form no longer haunt her in the daylight.

Aldrik’s mouth closed. He swallowed hard.

Vhalla couldn’t tolerate the silence any longer, and she grabbed for the door handle as though it was her only lifeline. She would walk away now, and let it all stay broken.

The prince had other plans, and he grabbed for her.

“Aldrik wh—” She half turned, and he spun her the rest of the way.

His hands released her arms and cupped her cheeks in a single fluid motion. Vhalla had only a half a second to register his face closing in on hers. She inhaled sharply at the shock of feeling his lips on her own. His scent, his breathing, the warmth of his palms, the feeling of his mouth, all assaulted her senses and Vhalla closed her eyes, leaning into the kiss.

VHALLA SIGHED SOFTLY, her mouth still gloriously occupied with his. Something audibly clicked back into place, and suddenly her head silenced the noise of the past few months. His palms were hot on her cheeks, and they stayed the tears that had so insistently found their way out seconds before. She felt him pull away slightly, but Vhalla pressed forward, stealing one more moment of his lips. Her eyes opened and met his. Despite being the initiator of the kiss, he looked as bewildered as she.

Still holding her face, Aldrik sighed softly and leaned forward to press his forehead against hers, their noses barely touching. “Say it again ...”

Vhalla closed her eyes. “I love you, Aldrik.” Saying it out loud, to him, sent sparks up her chest.

He pulled her face back to his, claiming her mouth again fiercely. Vhalla’s hands found their own life, meeting his fervor. They pressed against his chest, her palms running up to his shoulders. Vhalla buried her fingers in his hair at the nape of his neck, itching to unravel his pristine visage. Her nails ran against his scalp, and his hands dropped from her face to her waist.

Aldrik pulled her closer and her arms bent. She felt her hips meet his, and her chest brush against the warm length of his body. Vhalla shivered—and he held her tighter. She broke the kiss for a moment, taking a shaky breath. Just as she opened her eyes, his mouth was on hers again and he annihilated her every thought with just his taste and touch.

The time that passed between them wasn’t nearly enough before she felt his neck push against her fingers and his lips pull away from hers. Vhalla resigned as gracefully as possible, barely restraining herself from clutching him and holding his mouth to hers forever.

Aldrik stared down in bewildered adoration; she’d never seen a flush to his cheeks before, but now it was a soft rosy color that looked almost healthy on the natural pallor of his skin. His lips parted and he breathed heavily. A hand shifted from her waist back to her face, and he stroked her cheek with his fingertips.

“Aldrik,” she whispered, her lips aflame. She still felt inebriated on his nearness; however, without the immediate distraction of his mouth, confusion began to slip back into her brain. “What about Elecia?” she whispered—just the name made the happy bubbles in her stomach settle.

“Come,” Aldrik said, taking her hands in his as he led her back to the couch. This time she sat next to him. “Who do you think Elecia is?”

“I don’t know.” Vhalla didn’t want to play guessing games, and her theories on Elecia ran as long as the Great Imperial Way. Thankfully, Aldrik didn’t drag her along.

“Elecia is my cousin.”

“What?” Vhalla asked on a quick inhale of air.

A knowing grin curled up the corners of his mouth at her obvious shock. “My mother, as I’m sure you know, was a Western princess. When the West was overthrown, her father was removed from his throne as king. But in an effort for a peaceful transition, his eldest son—my Uncle Ophain—was appointed as the Lord of the West. My uncle had a son who later married a Northern woman and had a daughter.”

“Elecia?” Vhalla whispered, wide-eyed, mentally following along. It explained everything about the woman. Her appearance, her demeanor, her protectiveness of Aldrik, Vhalla understood it all.

Aldrik nodded. “She was born when I was seven. We made a trip back to the West not long after but she was only a toddler. I didn’t know her well until we were adults,” he continued.

There was a ringing in Vhalla’s ears and relief tingled across her skin. Elecia wasn’t a lover. She wasn’t his betrothed. She was his family.

“I thought you already knew.”

“How would I have known?” Vhalla asked, a touch exasperated. She read a lot of books but it wasn’t as though she specifically studied lineages and would just happen to recall that bit of information.

“We have the same name,” Aldrik said, matter-of-factly.

“What?” Vhalla regarded him as though he was crazy.

“Ci’Dan, my mother’s family name.”

The mysterious “C” finally had an explanation.

“Aldrik Ci’Dan Solaris,” Vhalla whispered. “Then, what was she doing in your room—at night?” Vhalla refrained from commenting on their extremely casual state of dress.

“Ah, that.” Aldrik glanced away. “I didn’t say anything before because I was worried it wouldn’t work.”

“What?” Vhalla asked, wondering what other obvious thing she could have missed.

“Elecia is a Groundbreaker. She’s talented in a great many things, but healing is something she has a natural gift for. She reads bodies like books.” Aldrik smiled and stood. “Vhalla, look at me.” She pursed her lips together, seeing nothing. “With magic sight.”

Vhalla shifted her vision and saw a sight unlike any she’d seen before. His body was swathed in a golden-white flame, so brilliant that his skin glowed faintly. She’d never seen him so bright. It was then she realized the reason. The dark spot at his side was gone.

Vhalla was on her feet, reaching out and placing her hand on his hip. She shifted back her vision and looked up at his face. Aldrik continued to smile through Vhalla’s surprise.

“Y-you’re cured?” she asked tentatively.

“I am,” he beamed. “It was a process, though; it took almost two days of her work and mine. She was here around the clock.”

Vhalla breathed slowly. She had never seen the prince smile so much. Laughter bubbled up from her stomach and escaped with a joyous melody. As long as she had known him he had been suffering from this wound. It was literally a dark spot on him for months. Now he was free.

“I wish I could’ve helped,” she said softly.

“I didn’t want to tax you,” he replied, timidly running his fingers over her cheek. They left a flush in their wake. “Especially not after the sandstorm.”

“Next time, at least tell me,” she said sternly.

“I promise,” Aldrik vowed.

“I thought ...” Vhalla shook her head with a small laugh. “I thought you were with her,” she confessed, looking away.

“I thought everything was obvious to you,” he said softly, astounded at her confusion. “Not just about Elecia, but—” Aldrik ran a hand across his hair, noticing the mess she’d made in the back earlier with a small smile, “—with everything. I was certain that, with how I acted toward only you, you knew.”

Vhalla blushed and stared at her toes. Larel had tried to tell her. It would be false if Vhalla said she hadn’t hoped. But of course she had never thought it was true. There was always a more likely, convenient explanation. Something else crossed her mind and her eyes snapped back to his.

“If you’re cured, then the Bond ... is it?” She felt a small panic rising in her.

Aldrik chuckled. “It is still there. My sincere apologies, Vhalla Yarl, but to the best knowledge of the academic community of sorcerers, we are Bound for life.”

“Forgive me for not being torn up over that.” She smiled from ear to ear.

He chuckled and squeezed her hand lightly.

Vhalla sat back onto the couch with a relieved sigh. The past half hour hit her all at once, and she suddenly felt exhausted. Aldrik returned to his place next to her, placing his arm behind her, his side flush against hers, and she leaned into him instinctively. Her head rested on his shoulder, and she was pleased to find he made no motion away.

“Vhalla,” he whispered softly.

“Aldrik?” she replied, her eyes dipping closed as she allowed herself to enjoy his warmth.

“Did you mean what you said? Or was it just a moment?”

Vhalla sat up straighter to study his face. “What?”

“Earlier.” Aldrik glanced away. “You told me that, your feelings ...”

Vhalla paused, hesitant. Was he giving her the choice? Was he asking her to decide? He seemed unable to meet her gaze and looked across the room at nothing in particular. Vhalla took a shaky breath. Reaching out, she put her fingertips under his chin and guided his eyes back to hers.

“Aldrik, it was not an impulse,” Vhalla spoke slowly and deliberately. “It was not even the first time I had said it aloud.” She smiled softly at his surprise.

“When?” His lips barely moved.

“When did I admit it? Only after the sandstorm. When did it happen? Long before that.” She shrugged slightly; it was hopeless to attempt denial. Vhalla returned her hand to his, looking at their intertwined fingers. The sight of that alone filled her with joy.

“I tried,” he sighed, the sorrow in his voice contrasting starkly the tone of their conversations prior. “I didn’t expect it, then I didn’t want it to happen. I tried to explain it to you the day of the verdict. Being involved with me at all is dangerous.”

“I don’t care.” It came out of her mouth before she had time to filter it. But as he shook his head at her she found she didn’t regret it.

Aldrik chuckled softly and stood. “You’re a rather impossible woman.”

“Pot meet kettle.” Vhalla gave him a snarky grin.

She was rewarded with the rich sound of his laughter as Aldrik helped her to her feet. “I must do some work,” he explained his apologetic look.

“On what?” Vhalla stalled him, not ready to be dismissed.

“Strategy, planning for the troop addition, acquiring any extra rations we may need,” Aldrik listed.

“Could I help?” Vhalla was glad that she hadn’t thought the words through first, otherwise she may not have said them. Offering to help the crown prince with matters of state was too bold, too far beyond her station. Then again, so was kissing him. Vhalla shifted her weight from one foot to the other, weighing his surprised stare.

“Actually,” Aldrik thought aloud, “you could.”

Aldrik led her over to the table eagerly. He scattered the papers and began to give her an overview. Vhalla was surprised to find how good it felt to use her mind again. For months she’d been out of her element, away from books and knowledge. It was like stretching a muscle that’d been languishing for far too long.

He twirled a gold-tipped raven’s feather quill between his fingers as he spoke, and Vhalla chewed thoughtfully on the end of a spare she’d made her own. One positive, she discovered, about her intellect was that she could focus on what he was saying and his dexterous fingers at the same time. Vhalla missed nothing, his knowledge or how nimble his long hands actually were.

“How many stone’s worth of smoked meat is being provided by the West?” Aldrik asked from the other end of the table.

“Two-thousand,” Vhalla replied, quickly marking the numbers on a new list as he’d showed her.

“That’s not enough,” he mumbled. “We’ll need to ask the Western lords for more.”

Vhalla stopped her quill, looking across at the dark-haired prince who was deep in thought. She could almost hear the words echoing through his mind. “I know how you could get more.”

“What?” Aldrik looked up, startled.

She took a deep breath, hoping she’d arranged her thoughts well enough. “The West survives off shrub game and fishing from the coast as well as imports from the East and South.” She recalled reading. “You can’t ask for any more from the lords and ladies this far into the Waste. They’re likely already worried about making it through the off-seasons of trading.”

“So then what do you propose?” Aldrik rested his fingertips on the table, assessing her as a prince.

Vhalla faltered, but only briefly. She knew what she’d read and lived. “Every year in Paca, Cyven, there’s a Festival of the Sun with prize hogs. They’re slaughtered shortly after and smoked in the winter to be sold at the Crossroads. It’s part of a sort of meat migration that supports the West.”

Aldrik’s eyes glittered, suddenly following along.

“The Empire buys eighty percent or so, of this influx in the market and you’d likely have your difference for the war. But, to make sure the Western lords and ladies don’t worry about their storehouses, you should send the farmers back to the East with orders to return with extra grain and subsidize the cost of the farmer’s travel,” Vhalla finished.

“Yes,” Aldrik breathed, a wide smile arcing across his lips. “The double round of trading should also help the economies of both East and West.”

He was furiously scribbling, folding three quick letters, and sealing them with some heated wax. Vhalla watched his golden seal move in shock. Had she just done that?

“I should get these off immediately.” Aldrik started for the door, pausing briefly to stare at her in what Vhalla dared to say was awe. “When I return, I’d like to run a few more thoughts by you.”

“Of course, my prince.” Her own smile broke through her daze.

Aldrik returned in record time and their previously quiet work was suddenly very chatty. Vhalla learned quickly that the prince wanted her to challenge him. It went against everything she’d ever been taught to oppose the prince’s word, but Aldrik thrived off it. He held nothing back, and Vhalla had to draw from every book she’d ever read on the geography, history, economies, and people of the Empire to keep up.

It was exhilarating, and exhausting.

Vhalla put her hands on the small of her back and stretched. The sun had begun to hang low, turning the room into a kaleidoscope of rich colors cast by the stained glass window. “Do you ever stop working?”

He grinned at her. Aldrik couldn’t hide his enjoyment all afternoon and neither could Vhalla. “An Empire doesn’t run itself.” He tapped his quill on the table twice. “And, I’m three times as productive with you around, so I must take full advantage of that. I had no idea I was with such a natural stateswoman.”

Vhalla blushed.

“Are you hungry?” He stared at the stained glass a moment before pulling his watch from his pocket. Time had crept up on him as well.

“A little.”

“What would you like? I will get you anything you desire.” Aldrik grabbed the coat he’d discarded on the floor at some point in the afternoon and shrugged himself into it.

“Anything?” she asked.

“I am the crown prince,” he smirked.

“Such an abuse of power,” she scolded teasingly.

Aldrik straightened, finishing the buttons at his neck. “The things we do for love.” He shrugged, running his hands over his hair.

Vhalla’s eyes widened. She stared at him as he turned back to face her, struggling with the meaning of those words. “Aldrik,” she whispered.

He paused, his hands dropping to his sides. “Food?”

“Surprise me.” Food had become the farthest thing from her mind.

He nodded and strode briskly out of the room.

Vhalla stared at the door dumbly before turning to one of the candles on the table. She watched the flame, losing herself to her thoughts. It seemed to radiate his essence, echoing Aldrik’s words in every flicker. Vhalla reached out a hand, running it over the top of the fire absentmindedly.

Aldrik returned faster than expected. “It will be up—” His words faltered. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, something that children dare each other to do. Well, children who aren’t Firebearers.” Vhalla laughed, quickly stopping when Aldrik’s intent expression hadn’t changed. “It doesn’t hurt,” she explained, thinking he may have no idea what non-Firebearers could manage when it came to fire.

“Are you certain?” His eyes flicked to her hand.

Vhalla returned her attention to the appendage in question and stared in shock. Her fingers had been directly atop the flame the whole conversation, frozen from the moment he’d caught her. She stared dumbly, watching the fire flicker over her skin as nothing more than heat.

“What ...” she whispered in confusion, pulling her hand from the candle. Vhalla stared at her fingers; they weren’t even red. Aldrik crossed the room, inspecting as well. “Why am I not burned?”

“Likely the Bond,” he whispered, suddenly fishing for a blank piece of parchment to scribble across. “You have some of my magic in you, and I have some of yours in me, maybe more than some with the Joining. I cannot burn myself with my own flames so it stands to reason that such protection could extend to you.”

“My wind has never affected you like it does others.” He considered her thoughtfully and Vhalla used his paused expression as an invitation to continue. “The twister on the Night of Fire and Wind.”

It surprised her the ease to which the infamous event could roll off her tongue. It still left a lingering sour taste in Vhalla’s mouth, the reminder of something foul. But it no longer repulsed her.

“Let’s test it?” she suggested. “Your fire is easier than my wind.”

Aldrik held out a fist, opening it for a dim spark, mostly red with a hint of orange. She knew he could make the flame surround her hand just as easily but instead it remained in his palm. He looked to her uncertainly and Vhalla realized he was waiting for her.

She wanted to laugh. Wasn’t that how it always was between them? He held out knowledge, power, desire, in his palm just before her. But he never took the step forward, he never forced it upon her. Their whole relationship he stood waiting. Every time, she met him.

Vhalla sunk her fingers bravely into the inviting warmth. It wasn’t quite like the wind, but something tingled on the edge of her senses that she could only describe as the essence of fire. She smiled in awe.

Aldrik’s hand closed suddenly around hers. Tongues of flame slithered between their fingers, eagerly tickling up her arm and singing her tunic. At such close proximity they cast a breathtaking array of reds, oranges, and yellows over the angular visage of the crown prince. He raised his other palm to her cheek, fire glittering under his thumb as he ran it over her flesh.

Vhalla’s eyes fluttered closed, his magic rubbing against hers like a whispering invitation. It was a foreign and savory sensation that quickly enthralled and commanded her. She obliged his light tugs on her chin, guiding her forward and upward. Aldrik’s lips ghosted across hers and Vhalla inhaled sharply, breathing fire imbued with his raw essence.

A knock on the door startled the two apart. The flames vanished quickly. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I am always a private person so that no one questions when I have a reason to be.” The prince wore a conspiratorial grin. “Leave it,” he called through the door.

Vhalla ran her fingers over her lips. Food was the last thing on her mind. She’d found a different sort of sustenance.

Aldrik pushed in a rolling tray with a veritable feast, quickly motioning to it when he caught her hungry look. Vhalla witnessed the instant flush on his cheeks, his shorter breaths. She knew if she were to put a palm on his chest his heart would be racing, racing at the same speed as hers.

“We’re going to waste so much food.” With a light laugh, she eased away from the heated moment.

They ended up pushing together the two chaises, making a platform upon which they dined. Aldrik sat in one corner of the half square the backs made when put together and Vhalla occupied the other. He told her the different foods that surrounded them with expert precision, offering insights onto their origins or the best way to enjoy them. They spoke about dining etiquette and differences in cultures.

“Do you like the West or the South more?” she asked between bites.

“For what? Food?” He spooned a bit of rice.

“Everything,” she specified.

“That is a hard choice. Sorcerers are undoubtedly treated better in the West; I’m generally more loved here as a result. But I grew up in the South; my ties here are only through visiting. The palace is my home.” Aldrik turned the question to her. “And you? East or South?”

Vhalla chewed on her food a moment to give herself time to think. “It’s not too difficult really ... I come from very little in the East.” Vhalla looked down at the food; she hated the reminders of who she really was at times like this. They shattered her fantasies. “The palace is home for me also in most ways.”

“What is your childhood home like?” Aldrik stretched to reach a platter.

The idea of home held a bittersweet sort of beauty. “My home, it’s a small place. It’s stone, a roof that was badly in need of replacement the last time I was there. We’ve a wooden barn to keep a horse for plow.”

“I would like to see it,” he said casually. Vhalla couldn’t stop herself from laughing, and he frowned at her. “I would.”

“The crown prince? In Leoul? In my home?” Vhalla’s laughter rang out again. “My father may disown me for letting someone like you inside.”

The rest of the conversation was relaxed and easy between them. They spoke, lounged with food about them on the chaises and table, and talked well into the evening about everything and nothing. When it was clear they’d both had their fill, he got up to clean the plates and Vhalla helped. Old habits died hard; it felt strange to see the prince of the realm cleaning his own food when she was there. He insisted he could do it himself—she insisted she would help him.

She hovered as Aldrik returned from placing the cart in the hall for the wait staff to take care of. The outside of the stained glass was dark and Vhalla knew it was late.

“I should go,” she whispered.

Aldrik stared at her silently for a long moment, taking both hands in his. “Stay.”

“Aldrik?” Vhalla questioned.

“Stay here,” he affirmed. Vhalla bit her lip, unsure of what he was really asking. “I have more than enough space. Elecia said the chaises are comfortable.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you near me. I don’t want you to leave.” His directness pierced her and she felt her heart begin to pick up the same speed as earlier.

“I shouldn’t.” Her words were weak and faint. Was he asking what she thought he was?

“You’re right.” He nodded, his voice was soft and deep. “Will you?”

Vhalla tried to find grounds to object. Fritz and Larel surely wouldn’t care, and there were few other people who would notice her absence. He hadn’t explicitly spoken of her sharing his bed, but would it happen? Vhalla swallowed hard. If it did, was she ready for it? If she wasn’t, she knew Aldrik wouldn’t force it upon her. All of Vhalla’s reason objected that it was a poor decision.

But she was too overwhelmed by his proximity.

“I will. I’ll stay,” she whispered.

He laughed softly with a shake of his head. “It’s the first time.”

“What is?”

“That I’ve asked a woman to stay with me while being completely uncertain about how she will respond.” Aldrik looked at her in relief. It was an odd thing to say, but Prince Baldair’s words came back to Vhalla. His stories of the hunt, of his brother knowing exactly what would happen, exactly what even she would do. Yet, it seemed like the infamous silver-tongued prince hadn’t calculated what was happening between them. Her own relief spread over her.

“How many times have you asked a woman to stay with you?” she teased gently.

“Well,” Aldrik seemed to be at a loss for words. “Before this? Not many who mattered even slightly.”

Vhalla felt a flush rise across her whole body. She took a half step closer, closing the gap between them. Aldrik tilted his cheek into her bold fingertips as they made feather-light trails over his pronounced cheekbone. Vhalla outlined his brow, down over the bump in his nose, the edge of his jaw, she wanted to remember every detail exactly. Her thumb brushed the corner of his lips and she felt herself move without thinking.

Aldrik tilted his head to meet her halfway, ensnaring her in a slow and purposeful kiss. Every shift, every brief opening of his mouth, made her ache for more. Aldrik’s fingers buried themselves in her hair. She was pulled against him, sighing in soft release as she felt his magic slip over her skin once more.

The prince pulled away suddenly.

Vhalla swallowed, blinking. “Aldrik ...” Her voice was strange even to her own ears, desire changing it.

“I love you, Vhalla,” Aldrik forced himself to say.

Vhalla pulled her head back in shock, her eyes wide. Her heart pounded and she repeated his words in her mind. “What?” Somehow she’d pushed from her consciousness the notion of him having the same feelings for her as she had for him.

“I love you,” he repeated, a determined fire lighting his eyes. “It is one of the worst things I could ever do,” Aldrik confessed. “I swear to the Mother, I have tried not to damn you with it. But you’re a rather persistent, beautiful presence in my life. And, for once, the silver-tongued prince is tired of pretending.”

VHALLA SHIFTED A pile of blankets about her. Her head was hazy with sleep as she rolled over. Long fingers ran through her hair, snagging lightly on tangles. She nestled into the pillow, not opening her eyes. Vhalla reached out for Aldrik under the covers, finding him but unable to touch. Her eyes cracked open.

“Good morning.” Aldrik sat next to her on top of the blankets. He leaned against pillows and the headboard. His far knee was bent, a board with papers on top of it. Vhalla noted the fingers of his right hand were already stained with ink; he must have been at it for a while.

“Good morning, my prince.” She smiled up at him. Vhalla remembered curling up with him on the chaises for a thousand kisses the night before, but she couldn’t seem to recall how they’d made it to the bed. However, it was a mountain of fluff that she could sink into; her clothes were still in place; and she didn’t recall taking anything that would have made her lose her head, so she wasn’t particularly worried about anything untoward.

Vhalla propped herself up on her elbows, rubbing her eyes. The curtains in the side room had been pulled back a tad and the beam of sunlight cutting through the air told her that it was sometime past dawn. “What time is it?”

Aldrik shifted. He only wore a cotton shirt—black this time—and black pants. Vhalla mused over how she had never seen him in anything less than long sleeves and long pants, save for the night with Elecia. He pulled a familiar silver watch from his pocket.

“Just after eight-thirty.” He clicked the watch closed and stashed it away.

“Just after eight-thirty and you’re up and working. And you’ve bathed.” She noted his hair was fixed. “Do you sleep?” The pillow muffled the end of her words as she fell back into it.

“Normally, not very much.” His quill scratched against the parchment.

“Normally?” she repeated, twisting her face to look at him from under the blankets.

“I slept well last night.”

“How did we make it to the bed?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“I brought you in when I noticed you’d passed out. I suppose my story on the Kingdom of Mhashan was that boring.” Aldrik glanced at her from the corners of his eyes.

Vhalla laughed guiltily.

“Elecia was right though,” he continued. “I couldn’t find one complaint with the chaises.”

Vhalla chewed that over for a second. “Wait,” she paused, “you slept on the couches?” Vhalla rolled onto her side to look up at him.

“Of course.” His brow furrowed slightly. “Did you think I would creep into your bed as you slept and spend the night lying with you without your permission?”

Vhalla stared at him. She had assumed falling asleep in his arms after kissing half the night away to be permission enough, but the chivalry in the statement was noted. However, any tenderness over the sentiment was quickly lost to laughter.

“What?” he asked, staring at her queerly.

“I kicked the crown prince out of his bed.” She rolled onto her back with laughter. “Oh, that is a story I wish I could share with someone.”

Aldrik grabbed the blankets and threw them over her face. “You’re annoying in the morning,” he said with a hint of amusement.

It sent Vhalla into a fit of giggles. “Oh I am sorry, mighty Aldrik.” She sat up, throwing the covers off her. “Am I a disturbance to your routine?” Vhalla put her hands on the bed between them and leaned over.

“Very much so,” he smirked.

“Fine, then I shall leave promptly.” Vhalla swung her feet off the bed.

She heard the rustle of his papers as he reached and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her onto his lap. He leaned over, and his lips were on hers. Vhalla sighed softly, she could get used to waking in this manner.

“I haven’t cleaned my mouth yet.” She quickly covered it with her hand as he pulled away.

“I know. It’s foul too. Washroom is there.” He grinned and pointed at an adjacent door.

Vhalla glared at him as she stood. She never knew a man who could be such an ass while still being so handsome. The moment the bathroom door closed, Vhalla suppressed another fit of giggles.

It was absolutely insane what was happening. It was absolutely insane how happy she was. Vhalla hummed as she ran her hand across the counter. It was a dark black marble, and the spigot was cast in gold. The tub was large enough for four people to sit comfortably, like a small pool carved from stone. There was an adjacent closet filled with more clothing than she knew he carried with him on the journey. The whole room was as opulent as the building itself, and Vhalla couldn’t believe that she had a place here.

There were a few bottles on the counter. She noticed one or two mostly empty clerical elixirs among them. Vhalla mused over which one he used for his hair, smelling a few that had the fresh scent of eucalyptus, as she located the one to cleanse her mouth with. Vhalla washed her face and ran her wet hands through her hair. It stayed back slightly from the dampness and she laughed.

“Look, I’m you.” Vhalla opened the door.

He glanced at her and then returned to his papers. “It looks awful,” he murmured.

“Now, now, don’t be mean to yourself,” she laughed lightly, sitting across from him on the end of the bed. “I think it’s striking on you.” Vhalla ran her fingers through her hair, teasing it back into its normal mess. Aldrik looked over his papers at her and said nothing, though she could have sworn there were the makings of a smile on his face.

“So what will you be doing today?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. I suppose I’ll go back and ... see what everyone else is up to.” Vhalla shrugged.

“Will you return tonight?” Aldrik paused, searching for her reaction.

“Tonight?” She hadn’t thought of it.

“Yes, my parrot.” He grinned at her scowl. “Tonight, will you come back?” Aldrik placed his papers carefully on the pillows she previously occupied. He returned his quill to the inkpot on the bedside table.

“Do you wish it?” Vhalla wanted to hear him say it directly.

“I do.” Aldrik nodded.

“Then I will.”

“Do you wish it?” he returned the question.

“Of course I do.” Aldrik seemed relieved by her response. “Being near you is—”

There was a pounding on the door; they both looked out to the other room. Vhalla turned back to him, a deep scowl written across Aldrik’s features.

“Brother?” a voice boomed from the hallway. “Are you awake?”

“Stay here,” he said softly to her.

Vhalla nodded silently.

Aldrik swung his feet off the bed and stood. He started for the door and paused briefly. Wrapping his hand around the back of her head, Aldrik leaned down and kissed her forehead lightly. She beamed up at him and he gave her a tired smile.

He closed the sliding paper-screen doors behind him as he left the room. Vhalla fell back on the bed with a contented sigh. She would be happy to never leave the Crossroads. The war could just go on as it was, and the Emperor could return back to the South to rule. She would be happy if she and Aldrik could hide away here forever.

Vhalla held her breath as she heard the door open.

“Good morning, brother.” She could hear Prince Baldair entering the room as he spoke, even though Vhalla was fairly certain that he hadn’t been given permission to by his older brother.

“Baldair,” Aldrik said curtly. Even she had a hard time imagining that voice belonging to the man who laid kisses upon her moments before. “To what do I owe this ... pleasure?”

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” the younger brother inquired.

“Clearly not,” Aldrik sighed. “Is that all you came for?”

“Ah no, scouts have arrived. The Western forces will be joining us within an hour, two at most.” Vhalla heard Prince Baldair’s voice drawing closer.

“Oh? Excellent, I shall need to prepare for their arrival then.” Aldrik’s voice was also louder.

Vhalla sat. Should she hide?

Aldrik’s shadow appeared on the other side of the carved doors, blocking his brother’s path. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Good morning, Vhalla,” Prince Baldair called.

Her stomach turned to stone. One night, she had indulged herself for one night and the world couldn’t even give her that.

“You look rather foolish shouting at empty rooms,” Aldrik drawled.

She wondered how he kept his composure so well.

“You look rather foolish, brother, for being caught with something so simple,” Prince Baldair retorted. “You picked this place for their security, for their record keeping.” His laughter rang out and Vhalla winced, wondering how she ever thought it to be a charming sound. “It’s amazing for you to make a mistake so simple.”

“And what, pray tell, is that mistake?” Aldrik growled.

Vhalla’s heart raced. She didn’t have to see him to know his jaw was clenched tight; he might even have a hand in a fist, he was telling his brother exactly what he wanted to hear without using a single word.

“A one Miss Vhalla Yarl was recorded in last night, but was never recorded out,” Prince Baldair proclaimed, almost victoriously. Vhalla wanted to panic, but the first emotion was a strange curiosity—Prince Baldair was checking on his brother. That wasn’t information he could have accidently happened across. “Really, brother, it isn’t like you; it’s sloppy.”

“It sounds like all that is sloppy is their record keeping,” Aldrik attempted.

She wondered if it sounded more convincing to a person who wasn’t her.

“What do you both think you’re doing?” Prince Baldair retorted. He was clearly not buying what Aldrik was selling.

“Nothing that you need to concern yourself with,” Aldrik snarled.

Vhalla cringed, realizing what was coming.

“Oh? No more denials?” Aldrik’s brother had caught him in his own words. “Do not let yourself be played by him, Vhalla.”

She bit her lip to keep from calling out and putting the younger prince in his place.

“Enough of this. Out, Baldair.” Aldrik’s patience was almost gone.

“Fine, Aldrik, if you wish to be that way.” She heard the click of Prince Baldair’s boots fading away. “But you should doctor the book before Father has a chance to see.”

“Thank you,” Aldrik said begrudgingly.

Vhalla blinked. He was thanking his brother, after all that? She couldn’t fathom a reason.

“I’ll see you within an hour.” The door closing signaled the younger prince’s departure.

Aldrik pulled back the sliding doors, and Vhalla stared at him hopelessly. He picked up on her emotion and crossed quickly to sit next to her, taking her hands in his.

“It’s okay.” He raised her knuckles to his lips. “It’s all right.”

“But ...” she protested weakly.

“I’ll change the book. It will be no trouble.” Aldrik cupped her cheek.

“Your brother?” she asked.

“Ignore him,” Aldrik sighed.

“Why is he like this?” Vhalla asked, allowing her prince’s touch to calm her.

“It’s a long story between us. But for now, I must go change that book before it has a chance to be brought to my father’s attention.”

Judging from the way Aldrik spoke, it was a long story she would not be hearing. “What would happen if your father saw it?” Vhalla knew Prince Baldair entertained women all the time. While she hardly wanted to be thought as that type of woman, especially to Aldrik, it seemed rather unfair one brother could get away with having women in his room and the other could not.

“Don’t worry yourself with it,” he sighed.

“What would happen?” she pressed. “Aldrik, stop shutting me out. Even if you think it’s for my own good.”

He averted his eyes. “I need to prepare for the troop arrival.”

“What would happen?” she snapped. He looked back at her, startled. Vhalla took a deep breath, calming herself. “Just tell me.”

“After I gave my testimony at your trial, my father spoke with me.” The prince’s voice was faint and his eyes never found hers. “He asked if you were going to be a problem.”

“A problem?” she whispered. Something about his tone unnerved her more than the entire exchange with Prince Baldair.

“A ... distraction from my obligations.” He finally turned back to her. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Vhalla was confused.

The prince just sighed and rested his forehead in his palm. “I told my father that I saw you for what you were. A tool that we needed and nothing more. That I had you in my palms, and you would do as I told you. That it—we—were nothing more than a means to that end.” Her chest tightened at the weakness in his voice. “Vhalla, I don’t—”

“I know.” She cut him off. It hurt to hear he said it, but she knew he only did what he felt was best. Or at least, she hoped. He looked at her skeptically and she squeezed his hand lightly.

“My father told me that he hoped I was correct because too much rested on my shoulders for the Empire to exhaust or invest much on a common girl, no matter how magically special.” Aldrik rolled his eyes at the paraphrased statements.

“Your brother was there, wasn’t he?” Vhalla realized.

Aldrik gave her a small nod.

If not for your sake, then his, Prince Baldair’s words repeated in her mind. He’s using you, Vhalla. It made her pause. Baldair would’ve seen all of Aldrik’s interactions with her in a very different light than she did—as the object of the crown prince’s affections.

“What will your father do? If he ...”

“If he found out you stayed the night with me?” Aldrik asked. “Or that I’ve fallen in love with that special common girl?” He smiled sadly at her.

“Both?” Vhalla reminded her insides that now was not the time to be fluttering.

“The former, I may be able to talk my way out of.” Aldrik pinched the bridge of his nose. “The later, I’m not sure.”

Vhalla took it for the truth, though something in the distance of his eyes made her suspect that he had a guess. She let it drop; perhaps some things were better left unsaid. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For telling me honestly.” It wasn’t lost on Vhalla how hard it likely was for him.

Aldrik laughed and shook his head. Vhalla pulled him closer to her and he obliged, leaning forward. Their lips met briefly, but that was all it took to reassure her about almost everything she thought she knew in the world.

“You need to get ready and edit that book.”

Vhalla stood, and he grabbed her wrist. “Will you come again tonight still?”

She blinked at his question. After all he just told her?

“I don’t know if that’s really—” she started, knowing full well now that it wasn’t just a bad idea, but a potentially dangerous one.

“There’s a secret entrance,” he said quickly.

Vhalla stared incredulously at him. “If there was a secret entrance, how come I didn’t use that to begin with?”

“Because I had a reason to see you.” A sly lopsided grin tugged at his lips. “Because I wasn’t expecting you to stay the night.”

Vhalla blushed and averted her eyes from his handsome face. “It’s still a poor choice,” she whispered.

“It always will be.” Aldrik stood. Her breath quickened by his proximity alone. He hooked his fingers under her chin and pulled her face upward gently. “If you want to make the widely accepted appropriate decision, then leave now, have mercy and end this before you entice me further. Because I promise, this will never be easy—for either of us—and I refuse to love you halfway.”

Once again, she felt the choice given to her. The problems were nothing she hadn’t told herself before. The challenges nothing she didn’t already realize. Yet, hearing him say it made it all the more terrifying. He seemed frightened as well, and if it frightened him, she had every right to be scared. But he also acknowledged it, telling her that he would fight if she would. There were a thousand things she wanted to reply with.

“What time?” were the only words that left her mouth.

“Six?” Aldrik’s face found its smile again, and Vhalla felt warm knowing she contributed to it.

“That’s fine.”

Aldrik nodded and led her out into the main room and behind the bar that occupied the space to the left of the doorway. Walking over to a shelf, Aldrik pulled a bottle and Vhalla was surprised to see it attached to a hidden metal lever. There was a click from somewhere in the wall, and he tugged open the shelves to reveal a passage. As they descended the short distance, a mote of light appeared over his shoulder.

“How did you know this was here?” she asked.

“I don’t enjoy feeling like I could be trapped somewhere. We stayed at this hotel at the start of the war, and I’ve insisted on it ever since after the owner showed this to me,” Aldrik explained as they reached the ground floor. “Six,” he affirmed.

She nodded.

“Be sharp, I’m the only one who can open this door.”

“I’ll be here, I promise.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Take care, lest I have to burn the Crossroads to the ground in a rage.”

Vhalla laughed softly, very well realizing that it may not entirely be a jest. She grinned up at him playfully. “Take care yourself, lest I have to blow the Crossroads away in a rage.” She was rewarded for her cheekiness with his laugher and another firm kiss.

Aldrik placed his palm on the door and pushed. Vhalla realized the truth of what he said earlier as the metal where a lock or knob should be began to melt around his hand. The molten metal parted and the door swung open. Vhalla stepped into the light beyond. She said nothing and he gave her a nod, closing the door that looked like the stone of the outside wall.

Vhalla waited a moment, her head reeling from all that had happened. Taking a breath, she turned and started the walk through the alleyways around the building and back to the main square. Somewhere along the way she found herself unable to contain giddy laughter.

Her hotel’s lobby was quiet, and Vhalla was thankful she could sneak up the stairs and into her room. Vhalla turned around the door, leaning against it with a blissful sigh. If this was a dream, she never wanted to wake.

“Fritz, get up; she’s back.” Larel stirred.

“What are you two doing here?” Vhalla blinked at the two people occupying her bed.

“Fritz, up.” Larel shoved at the man sleeping next to her.

“Larel, nooo ...” Fritz pulled the covers over his head.

“She’s back,” Larel hissed.

Fritz was suddenly also sitting at attention.

“Good morning, Fritz, Larel,” Vhalla greeted them like a girl caught out late by her parents.

Fritz was across the room in a moment, his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t you ‘good morning’ me.” He peered at her. “You were out all night! We were worried!”

Well, that explained why they had decided to occupy her room. “I’m sorry,” she said honestly.

“We couldn’t even ask someone because, well, we didn’t know if ...” Fritz glanced back to Larel.

“If you stayed with him,” Larel finished.

Fritz gaped at the Western woman but then turned back to Vhalla with a nod. “So?” Fritz asked.

Even Larel examined her quizzically.

Vhalla sighed. It wasn’t that she had never planned on telling them, or that she hadn’t expected them to find out, but it felt like half the world had discovered her secret within the first few hours of it happening. “Yes, I did.”

Fritz squeaked. He seemed to vibrate with excitement. “Tell—us—everything.” He punctuated his words, making each a demand.

“She doesn’t have to tell us anything,” Larel scolded. He whimpered at the other woman.

“I’m sorry for making you worry, foremost,” Vhalla apologized. “It kind of just, happened ... obviously.” Fritz’s excitement put the giddy feeling back in her chest. “There’s not much to tell, though. We didn’t ...” Vhalla blushed, realizing what people would likely think. “We didn’t even share a bed.” It was a half-truth, they didn’t share a bed for the whole night but she had fallen asleep in his arms and woke up with him next to her.

“Elecia?” Fritz asked.

Vhalla shook her head. “Elecia Ci’Dan is his half-Northern, half-Western, cousin. Aldrik Ci’Dan Solaris,” Vhalla explained. If her face had looked anything like theirs at the revelation of that fact then it was no wonder Aldrik had gained amusement from it.

“Of course,” Larel groaned and put her face into her hands. “We’re so dumb.”

“So then, if you didn’t share his bed ... what did you do?” Fritz seemed genuinely confused.

“He worked, some magic,” Vhalla outlined vaguely.

“You’re adorable,” Larel said knowingly, earning a look from her and Fritz. “You’re going back tonight, aren’t you?”

“How did you ...?” Vhalla wondered if the woman was psychic.

“You are?” Fritz asked, dumbstruck. Vhalla could only blush. “By the Mother, this is the most insane thing I’ve ever heard of ! Prince Aldrik? The Fire Lord? The black prince? He whose temper is short and his wrath is long?”

“And your point is?” Vhalla peered at him.

“He’s acting like a normal man!” Fritz laughed.

Even Larel found a conspiratorial smile. Vhalla hid her face, embarrassed.

Vhalla avoided filling them in on many more details. She’d already inadvertently revealed more than she intended, and she wanted some things kept private. They spared her further inquiry and kept Vhalla company as she filled her pack with a few things for the night.

Hours later, and Vhalla was slipping back into a side alley off a cart path. She glanced about—not a soul was nearby. Vhalla’s heart beat nervously as she prayed that she arrived early enough and hadn’t missed him.

The passage entry swung open and Aldrik wore an excited grin. Vhalla slipped inside and he closed the door, welding it shut. Vhalla placed her hands on his hips and leaned up. He obliged, tilting his head down. Kissing him enflamed a hunger that had been growing throughout the day. Now that she had him, all she wanted was him. Her need was insatiable.

The crown prince sighed softly into her mouth, a deep noise rumbling the back of his throat that she hungrily consumed. Vhalla moved her hands to his neck and he eagerly scooped her up. Vhalla tried to use the passion-heat between them to fuse their bodies from hips to chest. Aldrik clutched her tighter, his fingertips pressing against her woolen tunic as if to bore holes in pursuit of her skin. Vhalla’s lips parted slightly, but he pulled away quickly with a shake of his head.

“We can’t.” His voice was deliciously thick, making her want to be all the closer to him. “Not right now. I have someone I want you to meet.”

Vhalla’s curiosity hid the resentment for having to stop what they had started. Aldrik intertwined his fingers with hers as they walked up the stairs.

“I want you to know,” he said softly, “I trust him completely, so don’t fret. I would’ve told you earlier, but his presence was a surprise for me also.” He didn’t give her a chance to ask who he was talking about as Aldrik pushed open the portal to his room.

Vhalla stepped in first, tentatively. She set her bag next to the hidden door as Aldrik settled it back into place. Vhalla scanned the room, her gaze falling on a man sitting on the couch in its center. There were papers and ledgers spread out on the table, and Vhalla could instantly tell the chaise Aldrik had occupied by the gold-tipped quill and ink that sat out without an owner.

The man stood, and Vhalla brought her hands together, pulling at her fingers. He was as tall as, or maybe even a little taller than, Aldrik. His black hair was cut very short and it seemed to spike up slightly in odd directions. He had a closely trimmed dark beard that ran along his jawline and up his chin to his lower lip. None of this was what startled her though. His eyes were like looking into a mirror image of a very familiar set that she was particularly fond of.

Aldrik walked behind her, placing a palm on the small of her back to help her find her feet again. The man studied her with a guarded gaze as she rounded the bar and crossed the room over to the sitting area. Aldrik held out a hand in the man’s direction.

“Vhalla, meet Ophain Ci’Dan, my mother’s brother and Lord of the West.”

She glanced between the men; Aldrik had a relaxed smile, the other man continued to assess her with interest.

“Vhalla Yarl,” the lord said slowly, his voice was among the deepest she’d ever heard. “I have been looking forward to meeting you.”

VHALLA SOUGHT REAFFIRMATION, and Aldrik gave her a small nod. The Western man extended an open hand to her, and Vhalla tried to smile politely as she took it. The lord’s skin was just as warm as her prince’s, and she wondered if he was a glimpse into Aldrik’s future. He was beginning to grey by his ears, but it gave him a handsome and stately appearance. His shoulders were broader and seemed to carry more muscle.

“My lord, it is an honor to meet you.” Vhalla told herself not to be nervous.

The man nodded and sat upon the couch across from her in an open stance, his arms splayed across the back. Aldrik returned to the chaise he had previously occupied. Vhalla sat on the remaining chaise and folded her hands in her lap, attempting to sit nicely and not fidget.

“I cannot recall any other time when one of the first words out of my nephew’s mouth has been a lady’s name. Combined with hearing that same name on the Emperor’s and the other prince’s lips, well, needless to say, I had no choice but to meet this woman.”

Vhalla wasn’t sure what to feel, knowing she was the subject of so much chatter.

“Then again, had none of this been true, I would have insisted upon meeting you anyways.” Lord Ophain placed his elbows on his knees, folding his hands between them and leaning forward. “After all, you are the first Windwalker in the West in over a hundred years who was not brought in wearing chains.”

“Well, I don’t know if I am free from chains.” Vhalla could not stop the dry remark from escaping.

“Why so?” he asked. Even Aldrik was curious.

Vhalla focused on the prince as she spoke, praying he did not twist her words. “I am the property of the crown. My chains are invisible, but just as heavy.”

Pain flashed through Aldrik’s eyes briefly, but there was no hostility at the truth she bore.

“You did tell me she had a bit of fire in her.” Lord Ophain chuckled at Aldrik before returning his attention back on her. “I know of the accusations against you. And I know of the magic you wield. But what I wish to know most is about the woman behind it all.”

Vhalla noted that he used the word “accusations” instead of “crimes.”

“Well, I was born in an Eastern town called Leoul. It’s west and a little south of Cyven’s capital, Hastan. About three day’s travel from the Western border?” Vhalla had never travelled it herself, but she had heard about the journey from farmers. “When I was eleven, I was brought to the capital by my father and ended up working in the palace as a library apprentice.”

“Which explains how you could come into contact with a prince,” the lord mused.

Vhalla nodded, curling and uncurling her fingers. “Yes, my lord, though it was all rather strange and lucky.”

“There is no such thing as luck, Vhalla.” She prompted him to continue with an inquisitive stare. “The Mother has given us a line to follow until the end of our days. It is filled with meetings and partings, none of which are chance.” He paused before adding, “At least, this is what I choose to believe.”

Vhalla paused, trying to decide how much of that curious statement she considered to be true. “I see, my lord.” She was unsure of what else to say.

“You are skeptical,” he stated with a grin.

“There are a great many things I do not understand; it would be presumptuous to rule out any superficially,” Vhalla retorted, both a truth and a polite response.

“I am sure you are made all the wiser for such an attitude. I can offer you proof, however; should you take it.” She tilted her head, listening intently. “I believe were such things not a fact, then some Firebearers could not use these lines to peer along into a person’s future.”

“Firebearers can?” Vhalla interjected eagerly.

“Some,” Lord Ophain nodded.

“Very few,” Aldrik scoffed. “Most are curiosity shop charlatans with smoke-and-mirror parlor tricks.”

Vhalla decided then to keep the incident with the Firebearer named Vi to herself.

“Fine. Since my nephew seems keen on dismissing that theory.” The lord looked between them knowingly. “The ties that Bond two people together are made of the same red lines of fate.”

Vhalla’s eyes grew wide. Lord Ophain allowed himself a satisfied smile. Her heart began to race and she glanced over at Aldrik. Her prince chuckled softly and shook his head.

“Don’t worry, Vhalla. I trust him,” Aldrik reaffirmed.

She stared in shock at the prince and then back at Lord Ophain. It spoke volumes of the relationship these two shared if Aldrik trusted him with the knowledge of their Bond. Vhalla began to immediately warm up to the Lord of the West.

“To not even be Awoken and form a Bond.” Lord Ophain ran a hand across his chin. “You are a curious creature indeed. I am truly excited for your demonstration tomorrow.”

“It’s tomorrow?” Vhalla asked the room.

“Father told me earlier.” Aldrik nodded.

“Have you thought of introducing her to crystals for all this?” Lord Ophain asked Aldrik.

“No, and do not breathe a word of it to my father,” the prince threatened. “As far as he is concerned, she cannot handle them without risk of taint, just like any other sorcerer.”

“And how did you get him to believe that?” The Lord of the West seemed impressed.

“I told him I tried.” Aldrik shrugged. “I have been providing him carefully doctored notes based on my own to paint the picture I want him to know.”

“Clever,” Lord Ophain praised.

Vhalla ignored the guilt she felt for ever suspecting that Aldrik would share the intimacies of their Bond without care. “But, I can handle them ...” Vhalla thought back to the stones Minister Victor used on her after she was first Awoken. They had worked so effortlessly with her magic it was as though they’d been made especially for her.

Lord Ophain grinned broadly at Aldrik, clearly excited by her admission. The prince pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Vhalla, don’t repeat that out of this room.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Do you know how the War of the Crystal Caverns was started?” Lord Ophain asked her.

“Well, my father was a soldier during the war ...” Vhalla thought back to what he and her mother had told her. Aldrik was suddenly fascinated with a corner of the room, avoiding the conversation as though it weren’t happening. “He said that it was because of the chaos locked in the crystals escaping and disrupting the Mother’s day and order. That we were fighting the darkness. I read that it also had something to do with sorcerers meddling with forces they shouldn’t.”

“But why were they meddling with those forces? What prompted them to be there?”

Vhalla didn’t have an answer for the lord’s question.

“Uncle, enough of this!” Aldrik was on his feet, his hands clenched into fists. Vhalla could feel the power radiating off him.

“Aldrik, relax. I know when a story is not mine to tell.” The man’s voice was stern, yet it had a gentle touch to it. Aldrik stood rigidly for another moment before his hands fell limply to his sides. His eyes were tired and distant as he huffed over to the bar.

“The Crystal Caverns have long been a mysterious enigma,” Lord Ophain continued, ignoring his temperamental nephew. “Some claim it to be the gate to the dark realm that the Father built to keep our world separate. Others theorize it’s solidification of raw magic from when the Gods created life. No matter what you choose to believe, there is something about the properties of the stones that can be found there which can alter a sorcerer’s natural abilities.” The lord took a sip from his drink. “The war was started because people had returned to the Caverns in another failed attempt to claim its powers for their own selfish greed—powers that have the potential to warp even the strongest of sorcerers, faster even than a Commons because of a sorcerer’s magic Channels.”

“What does this have to do with me?” It was interesting history, but she didn’t know why it was relevant.

“Why did the West want Windwalkers?” Lord Ophain returned her question with a question. She was beginning to see where Aldrik got his teaching style from.

“For their magic,” Vhalla said uncertainly. She’d only read one book.

“To access the caverns.” The lord leaned forward with grave seriousness.

Aldrik nursed a drink from behind the bar, still ignoring them.

“Why ...” Her voice had dropped to a whisper.

“Because Windwalkers are the only ones, of all sorcerers or Commons, who cannot be tainted by the crystals.” Lord Ophain finally gave her the answer that she hadn’t wanted to see on her own.

“So then—” Vhalla looked to Aldrik and stole his attention. “You don’t want your father to know because you don’t want him to have this power.”

“If he can have it or not is irrelevant.” Aldrik topped off his glass before returning to his seat. “I don’t want you used by anyone.”

Vhalla’s heart couldn’t even skip beats at his words, her mind was too heavy. She had a power that could give access to an even greater, ancient magic that had the ability to warp the hearts, minds, and bodies of men. Vhalla gripped her hands tightly. Minister Victor had asked her to bring him a crystal weapon. She now knew why, and why it had to be her.

“But enough on history and dark ‘what ifs.’” Lord Ophain attempted to disperse the cloud that now hung over the room. “May I have a demonstration of your abilities, specifically this Projection I have heard of, in advance of tomorrow?”

Vhalla obliged him and was better for it. The wonder and excitement Lord Ophain had toward her magic helped Vhalla overcome the worries and fears of the Crystal Caverns. The war was over and people had learned their lessons when it came to crystals. While Vhalla agreed with Aldrik’s decision to keep secret the fact that they did not affect her negatively, she also decided not to worry about it.

They talked over dinner and into the evening. Vhalla began to contribute more yawns than words to the conversation, and Aldrik finally noticed their dozing companion. “You should rest.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine.” It would have been more convincing if she hadn’t punctuated the statement with a yawn.

“You need your energy for tomorrow.” The prince stood, offering her a hand. “Get some sleep.”

Vhalla realized with the way he turned his body that he was about to lead her into the bedroom. “I could go back to the inn,” she said quickly.

“No, I want you here with me.” He paused. “If you still wish it also.”

Vhalla smiled softly at his addition; in a way, it was adorable to watch a born and bred royal attempt to be less princely. “Of course I wish it.” She squeezed his hand lightly. “I’ll sleep out here tonight,” she offered.

“No.” Aldrik shook his head. “I will be burning the midnight oil with my uncle. I have not seen him in too long. Take the bed, it will be much quieter.”

Vhalla nodded, and Aldrik relinquished his hold on her, satisfied that she was not about to leave. Vhalla turned toward Lord Ophain as the prince went to retrieve her pack from behind the bar. The Lord of the West had a knowing smile.

“Lord Ophain, it has been a delight to meet you,” she said earnestly.

“I can only say the same, Vhalla. A friend—of Aldrik’s is a friend of the West. I will see you tomorrow.”

Vhalla noticed his smirk and couldn’t stop herself from blushing. All too eager to hide her embarrassment, she grabbed her pack from Aldrik, bid them both goodnight, and slipped behind the wooden sliding doors into the dim bedroom beyond. A flame flickered by the bedside and in the bathroom, hovering above a metal dish that had been set out. Vhalla made a note to someday ask Aldrik how Firebearers left their flames, but for the time being she was grateful for the light.

Knowing Aldrik was going to take his time, Vhalla decided to take hers, enjoying the luxury of his bath. The water came out piping hot and she let it seep into her bones. The heat relaxed her and staved off the tension in her muscles from turning into fear and worry at the unknown of what the Emperor’s impending demonstration would bring.

She was wrinkled in her fingers and toes when she emerged. Drying and dressing in basic sleeping clothes, Vhalla dragged her feet back into the bedroom. Dim lights still flickered beyond the sliding doors that did almost nothing to block the deep resonance of Aldrik’s words.

“Would you like another one?” he asked, likely from behind the bar with the way his voice carried.

“No, we have a long day tomorrow. You should stop too,” his uncle warned.

“Just a nightcap,” Aldrik assured.

“You were past a nightcap two drinks ago.” There was a tone of scolding in Lord Ophain’s voice that made Vhalla grin slightly.

“Don’t fault me for this.” She heard Aldrik crossing the room, the sound of the furniture scraping as he sat heavily.

“You know I do. And I will especially if you are in an alcohol haze and can’t perform as you need to tomorrow,” the lord said sternly. “I do not think you want to be the cause of her demonstration going poorly.”

“I would never do anything that could jeopardize her,” Aldrik said sharply.

Vhalla took a step closer to the doors, her heart racing. She knew she shouldn’t be listening, that it was an invasion of his privacy. But she couldn’t stop her feet from carrying her up to the papered and carved screens.

“It sounds as though you already have.” Lord Ophain’s words were strong, but his tone was not.

“Don’t you dare tell me—”

“What?” the older man cut off the prince. “That you have clearly broadcasted your relationship with the woman to your men, your leaders, your father of all people?”

Aldrik was silent.

“He mentioned the trial in a correspondence. He asked me to come and speak sense into you.”

“And here I thought you were paying your dear nephew a friendly visit.” Aldrik punctuated his words by bringing his glass down upon the table a little too hard.

“Your father summoned me to reject this. But, you summon me seeking my advice and my approval. Why else would you bring her before me as you have?” Lord Ophain had a point.

“Well,” Aldrik asked finally, “what is your advice?”

“Make her a ward of the West.” Vhalla inhaled sharply at Lord Ophain’s words. “Send her back to Norin with me to study at the Academy of Arcane Arts. Put her out of your father’s reach, and yours.”

“That would be the smart thing, wouldn’t it?” Aldrik sighed.

Vhalla gripped her fingers so tightly she thought one may break. She should be happy. Being sent to Norin to study at one of the oldest academies in the world, nevertheless an academy for sorcery, should sound like a dream compared to marching to war.

But it would not be by his side.

“You’re not going to do it, though.” Lord Ophain heard something in Aldrik’s words that Vhalla hadn’t. The clanking of ice in glasses filled the silence. “What is this woman to you?”

“Vhalla, I need her in so many ways, Mother help me,” Aldrik groaned. “I need her as my redemption, I need her kindness, I need her forgiveness, I need her smiles, I need her humanity, I need her ignorance, I need her innocence, and, yes ... Mother Sun, yes, I need her as a man.”

Her breathing was short as she leaned closer to the door. Vhalla’s heart threatened to beat over Aldrik’s soft words.

“You love her.”

It was not a question, but Aldrik answered it anyway. “More than I ever thought possible.”

“Aldrik,” the lord said thoughtfully. “You have yourself in quite a spot, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what to do.” His voice sounded weak compared to its normal fullness.

“You know your place in life, your duty to your people.” Vhalla didn’t like where Lord Ophain was headed with his logic. “Someday you will be Emperor and no one will be able to question your decisions. No one will question them if they feel that your law comes from a place of honor, sensibility, and compassion. The crown is a heavy burden and you will have to make choices between your wants and your Empire.”

“I know all this, Uncle.” Aldrik’s voice was muffled a moment as he buried his face in his hands. “But I can’t.”

Vhalla released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“I know,” said Lord Ophain. “You remind me so much of your father.”

“What?” Aldrik’s anger was quick at the comment.

“Calm down.” The lord laughed. “You never saw them together, but he was over the sun for your mother. Of course, she was still a princess, but the logical choice would have been one of your older aunts. He should not be so hard on you because it is not as though he has been exempt from chasing a stolen heart.”

Vhalla blinked, she’d never heard anything of Aldrik’s mother. She should leave now; this was certainly a private moment.

The lord sighed. “She was too young, younger than you now ...”

“Enough,” Aldrik said softly. There was a long pause.

“We have quite the day ahead of us.” It sounded like Ophain stood. “And you have a beautiful woman in your bed,” he added with a chuckle.

Vhalla fought a blush.

“There she will stay without me,” Aldrik sounded resolute.

Vhalla fought unladylike disappointment.

“You and your nobilities. You are a prince, Aldrik, people expect you to enjoy yourself when no one is watching.” The lord’s voice diminished as he headed for the door. “It is a true shame that the seat of power was not kept in the West. Our people would be all too eager to accept a woman like her as their princess.”

Vhalla tried to absorb what the man was implying, what he was outright saying.

“One step at a time ...” Aldrik’s voice faded as she padded over to the bed.

Vhalla settled the covers around her. Her blood felt on fire with shame for listening in on a conversation that wasn’t meant for her ears. But that was not the only thing burning her. She wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to let him know that she felt much the same and more and that she was never going to let the world rip him from her needy grasp.

The sound of wood on wood filled the silence as the door was slid open and Vhalla sat.

“You’re awake.” His cheeks were lightly flushed and his lips parted.

“I am.” All eloquence left Vhalla when she looked at him.

“I ...” He glanced between her and the sitting area in the main room.

Vhalla saw the debate on his face and put an end to it. “Stay with me.”

“I shouldn’t.” His focus was now solely on her and it sent sparks up her chest.

“You shouldn’t? Just like you shouldn’t have me in your bed right now, or kiss me, or love me? I’m not, I’m not asking for—” Vhalla gripped the covers and blushed, forcing herself to act a woman, “—for you to make love to me tonight. But I want you near me.”

Aldrik sighed heavily, and Vhalla prepared herself to see him leave for the other room. But he crossed to the bed, crawling over the sheets on his hands and knees to her. Vhalla felt deliciously ensnared, pinned to the pillows before a predatory beast.

The lights extinguished magically as he kissed her, his weight assaulting her senses. Vhalla snuck a hand around his neck, holding his face to hers. He tasted of sweet liquor and every delicious dark dream she’d ever had. She wanted to lose herself to him, to give him everything she had. When he pulled away countless kisses later it didn’t feel even close to enough.

“Aldrik,” she sighed breathlessly.

“No, I won’t. You said not tonight.” The prince read her mind.

“But—”

“No,” Aldrik repeated. He scooped her up into his arms and twisted onto his back, pulling her half onto him. “I also don’t want you to think that I take women to bed lightly.”

“You don’t need to worry. I know.” Vhalla caressed up his stomach, feeling the groves of muscle carved by years of duty through the thin fabric of his shirt. “I don’t care how many it has been, or why. I just want to be here now.”

“How many do you think it has been?” He actually sounded amused.

“I told you, I don’t care.” Her movements stilled.

“Ah-ah, Vhalla, I practically invented dodging questions. You’ve much to learn yet.” He tucked some hair behind her ear.

“I don’t know,” Vhalla resigned. She didn’t want to offend him with her guess being wildly off. He was six years older than she was, and judging by his brother’s comments he had been significantly more active from a younger age. “Eight?” She took a stab at a number, thinking it would be too low as it was less than one a year since his coming of age ceremony at fifteen.

His laughter rang out through the darkness. “Three.”

“Three?” she repeated. It was more than her grand total of one, but it was far fewer than she had expected.

“Is that a pleased repeat, my parrot?” He pressed his lips to her forehead.

“I suppose so.” She shifted slightly closer to him. “More than me.”

“I’d assume so.”

“What does that mean?” Vhalla huffed in mock offense.

“I used your lack of experience to throw you off balance right off, remember?” He ran his hand down her arm to intertwine his fingers with hers.

“Two isn’t that big of a difference,” Vhalla muttered, unsure how it had become a contest.

“Two.” The simple math took Aldrik far too long. “You mean, you have ...”

It was Vhalla’s turn to laugh. “The East doesn’t really have your Southern notions of a woman’s virgin blood. Yes, one man.”

“And here I thought I was corrupting you.” Vhalla heard the grin in his voice, and she moved her hand to his cheek, feeling how his mouth curled.

“I’m fairly certain you are,” Vhalla teased lightly.

“You’re right,” he teased back. “I am out to dine upon your still beating heart.”

“If that’s all you wanted, you should know I gave it to you a while ago.” Vhalla was confused when she felt the grin slip from his face. “What?”

“How have you not seen it yet that I am not worthy of you?” He grasped her hand, pressing his lips against her fingertips.

“How have you not seen it that you are and more?” Vhalla retorted.

He gave a huff of amusement and squeezed her hand tightly. “I love you, Vhalla Yarl.”

“How fortunate for me.” She yawned. “For I love you as well, my crown prince.”

His breath ruffled her hair slightly as Vhalla pressed closer to the prince, and he filled her senses as she drifted to sleep.

SHE STARED AT the face of a man who was painfully, horribly familiar, and yet was completely different. Egmun wore his hair cropped short to his head, though the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were smoother, the lines around his mouth lighter, and he wore a hint of stubble across his chin. The sight of the younger senator sent Vhalla into a rage-filled dread, the emotion conflicted with what her dream-self was feeling, a sense of calm trust.

Vhalla fought against the vision, struggling to escape, to push Egmun away. She pulled and pried and twisted mentally until something fractured at her raw panic. She stood outside of the body she previously occupied, what should be her body in any other dream.

Aldrik looked like he could be no older than fifteen. His hair was longer, down to his shoulders and tied back at the neck. Messy bangs framed his face, and Vhalla looked on with a strange mixture of love and fear for the wide-eyed boy alone in this dark place with a man she hated more than anyone or anything else.

The room was filled with a haze that mingled ominously with the darkness, making only certain details easily distinguishable. There was a single flame flickering in the cavernous space, and wherever it was, neither the ceiling nor walls were visible by the light. The floor was stone, inlaid with what seemed to be shards of shimmering glass. She tried to get a closer look but a fog covered them every time she tried to focus. There were old looking markings carved beneath their feet, spiraling toward the center where a man was kneeling, bound and blindfolded. He shivered and shook. The fabric covering his eyes was wet with tears.

“Prince Aldrik.” Egmun took a step forward. He wore a formal black coat and dark trousers; there was no sign of his Senatorial chain. “Someday, you will be Emperor. Do you know what that means?”

“I-I do.”

Vhalla turned to the stuttering child.

“So you know that justice will fall to you.” Egmun took another step forward, and Vhalla’s heart began to race, feeling hopelessly trapped. She didn’t want to be here, she didn’t want to see this. “It was your mother’s last request for your father to spare you these duties as long as possible.”

“My mother’s?” Vhalla saw a sad flash of hope in the boy’s eyes at the mention of the mother he never knew.

“But you will soon be a man, won’t you?” Egmun asked softly.

“I will.” The boy prince took a deep breath, as if to grow into all his height in one moment.

“It is rather unfair, no? For your father to be treating you like a child?” Vhalla watched the man grin, and she knew this Aldrik had not yet perfected his powers of perception and manipulation. If she could see Egmun for what he was in that moment, she had no doubt the adult Aldrik would as well. “Are you prepared to be the crown prince this realm needs?”

“I am,” Aldrik repeated through obvious doubt. Even though the space was cold, sweat dotted his brow.

“Then, my prince, for justice, for the strength of Solaris, for the future of your Empire, slay this man.” Egmun dropped dramatically to a knee. He pulled at the rope which attached a short sword to his belt and held out the blade expectantly.

Vhalla wasn’t sure if it was her heart that was racing or if it was the young Aldrik’s.

“But ...”

“This man has stolen from your family; it is a treasonous crime. He is not an innocent,” Egmun assured.

“Should my father not—”

“I thought you were a man and a prince. I did not take you as someone who shied from justice or power, Prince Aldrik.” Egmun seemed to stretch his arms to hold out the sword further. “Why are you here?”

“For my father, to conquer the North,” Aldrik said uncertainly. The war on the North had only started four years ago. Aldrik should be twenty, not a child.

“With this, all will bend to you.” Egmun smiled encouragingly, and Vhalla was reminded of a serpent. Aldrik took the sword hesitantly.

No, she whispered mentally. She was, of course, helpless and unheard. Aldrik turned to the kneeling man.

“M-my prince, m-mercy please. T-take my hand for m-my theft. Spare m-me.” Vhalla heard the rough voice of the man through his tears. Aldrik looked back to Egmun.

“Minister ...” he said weakly.

“The guilty will say anything to you, my prince, to save their skin. This, too, is a lesson.” Egmun returned to his feet, he seemed to be holding his breath.

Aldrik unsheathed the sword, passing the scabbard back into Egmun’s eager palms. The blade shimmered as though it gave off its own light.

Egmun, stop. Vhalla shouted.

“M-mercy,” the man begged. Aldrik stared at Egmun hopelessly.

“Kill him, Aldrik.”

Vhalla gaped in shock at the sudden harshness in Egmun’s tone. His patience had finally run thin. Aldrik didn’t seem to notice. She only had a moment to contemplate what, exactly, had the senator so eager before Vhalla saw the boy set his jaw in grim determination.

No. She felt Aldrik’s terror, his uncertainty, his youthful hopefulness, the ever encroaching end of his innocence, and she felt herself at the point of weeping.

Aldrik raised the blade. It hovered, just a moment above his head. The young prince stared at the helpless man before him, the life she knew was about to be cut short. Vhalla saw the flash of the firelight on the surface of the sword as he brought it down clumsily onto the man’s head.

No, she repeated as she saw the man shudder violently at Aldrik’s weak and clumsy swing. Aldrik raised the sword again.

No! Vhalla cried as he brought down the sword again, blood splattering across his perfect, youthful face. Aldrik raised the sword again.

“No!” Vhalla shouted, lunging forward at a figure that disappeared with the opening of her eyes.

An arm wrapped itself across her shoulders, holding her tightly to a man’s chest. A hand clamped over her mouth firmly. Her mind was in a daze and she cried out again, muffled by the fingers covering her lips. She twisted and kicked to free herself from the person’s clutches, instantly thinking of Egmun, her cheeks wet with tears.

“Vhalla.” A voice that was made of midnight itself soothed from behind her. It broke through the chaos in her head. “Vhalla, stop. It’s all right. It’s me.”

She gave a small whimper of relief and took a breath through her nose. Then another, until Aldrik finally removed his hand from her mouth, assured she would not alert the whole world to her presence in his bed. In her sleep she had rolled onto her side and Aldrik had curled behind her. Vhalla rolled to face him.

“Aldrik,” she said weakly. Vhalla scanned his face. After seeing his younger self, he suddenly appeared every year of his age and too many more. She choked down a small cry of relief to see his cheeks free of blood. “Aldrik,” Vhalla whimpered before using his chest as a shield from the world.

The prince’s arms closed around her, and he kissed the top of her head. “I’m here. You’re safe. It was just a dream. It isn’t real,” he reassured, running a hand up and down her back.

“It is.” Vhalla choked out in-between shaky breaths and the remnants of tears. She couldn’t deny it any more. The earlier dreams had been too mingled with his consciousness to know for certain, but now she was sure.

“Vhalla, I know of a great many powers in this world ...” He pulled back and ran a thumb over her wet cheeks. “I know of powers to see the future in flame and ash. I know of powers to listen to echoes of the past in waves. I know of powers that can heal almost any illness. I know of powers to walk outside of one’s own body.” Aldrik smiled gently at her. “But I know of no power of dreams.”

“It-it was real.”

“Hush, you’re not making sense. Take a breath and go back to sleep. It is barely dawn, and my father didn’t speak of having your demonstration until noon.” He kissed her forehead lightly, and Vhalla’s guilt made her pull away from him to sit up.

“You don’t understand. It was real. My dreams, they’re not—” A shiver ran down her arms. “They’re not always dreams.”

“Come, you’re cold,” Aldrik sighed. “What is it you think they are?” He yawned, blinking sleep away and propping his head up with his elbow.

She relented, lying back down into the covers but avoiding his embrace. “They’re,” Vhalla sighed and closed her eyes, bracing herself. “They’re your memories.”

“What?” Aldrik studied her.

“My dreams, at least sometimes, are your memories. I don’t know how, or why, or when they will happen, but they do.” She gulped at his silence.

“Why do you think that?” he asked, turning serious.

“Because there’s no reason why I should dream anything like what I see,” she whispered.

“Dreams are strange, Vhalla. Who knows why we dream what we do.” Aldrik laid back down.

“No,” she snapped; he wasn’t taking her as seriously as she had wanted. She recalled a prior vivid dream. “The man who stabbed you was your brother’s guard, he was a Westerner, and his son was in the town that you attacked.”

Aldrik’s eyes grew wide. “Did Baldair tell you that?”

“No!” Vhalla fought to keep her head from turning into an emotional mess. “Aldrik, they are my dreams! You were at a garden in the West with the sculpture of a woman on an obelisk with a gold and ruby sun. There was a man there who told you—of all people—to stop fidgeting.”

“My mother’s grave.” Aldrik’s lips barely moved. His eyes were suddenly burning with a dark intensity, and he grabbed her shoulder. “What else?” he demanded. “What else have you seen?” His fingers dug into her skin.

She struggled to remember anything else but her most recent dream. “You in the dark, with another woman ...”

“Mother ...” He hung his head in shame.

“With, when-when Egmun made you ...” Vhalla struggled to find words, still reeling.

“When he what?” Aldrik’s teeth were clenched. “When he what?”

For the first time, Vhalla felt a small twinge of fear at his quivering hands. “When-when he made you kill that man,” Vhalla whispered, her lips barely moving.

Aldrik stared at her. “Is that all? What do you know? Tell me, Vhalla, and do not lie to me.” His voice was rough and void of compassion.

“I have never lied to you!”

“Of course not, just rummaged through my head,” he raged.

“How dare you!” Vhalla jerked out of his grasp, offended by his presumptions. “I only just realized it. I was only now, this morning, able to separate myself enough from you in the memories to realize.” She saw the recognition of those facts calm his anger some.

“Was that all you saw?” he repeated more calmly.

“Of that dream? Yes,” she sighed. “I don’t even know where it happened. It was all dark.”

The prince sat and brought his forehead to his palm with a heavy sigh.

“Aldrik,” she whispered. “There’s another ...”

“Gods, what?” he sighed. “Vhalla,” he urged softly.

Vhalla bit her lip. She wasn’t sure how to form the words. Something about all that had been said, her recent dream, his low opinion of himself, placed this singular memory in the forefront of her mind. Vhalla sat and took his hand gently in hers, bringing it to her lips first in reassurance. He looked at her, a mix of pain, shame, and anger furrowing his brow. She sighed and turned his hand over, so the inside of his wrist faced upward. With her free hand she placed an index finger just below his palm running it up his forearm. Her fingertip caught on his sleeve and pushed it upward, revealing the ghost of a scar which she knew would be there. It was so faint that on the pale of his skin it was nearly invisible, but she knew to look for it. Vhalla brought her gaze up to his slowly.

Aldrik’s face drained of all the other emotions except horror as his lips parted. Vhalla held her breath, letting the shock hit him in silence. He wrenched his hand from her fingers, as though she had actually cut along his forearm. Vhalla could only look at him sadly before his eyes bore into her long enough that she was forced to avert her attention.

They sat facing each other on the bed as the silence dragged on into eternity. His breathing was rough, and he clutched the arm she had touched as though he was in pain. Vhalla couldn’t bring herself to look at him as she awaited the verdict.

“I never meant to violate you so,” she said weakly. Intentional or not, it remained that she had forced herself upon his most private of spaces, pilfering things that were not freely given.

Aldrik said nothing; he continued to attempt to get his breathing under control as his eyes fixed on her. Vhalla felt power radiating off of him; he was angry, he was hurt, and it made her feel all the more awful.

“I never wanted to.” She tried to explain, “I would’ve never done so—”

“Of course not,” he spat. “Who would ever want to see the twisted broken histories that lurk in my head? Only one person in this world should deserve to endure it.” That brought her eyes back to him.

“Aldrik, don’t say that,” she whispered softly, breaking under the anger in his gaze that she saw wasn’t really directed at her.

“Oh?” He laughed dryly. “How can you think so? You know what’s there now. What’s worse, you’ve lived it. Tell me, Vhalla, what’s it like to find out your prince is a coward? Is weak? Is scared? Is wicked? Is—”

“Human,” she said firmly, cutting him off. Aldrik paused. “Aldrik, I don’t know why ...” She took his hand in hers again, looking down at his arm.

“I won’t tell you,” he said sharply. Vhalla shifted, startled, she had hardly been about to ask. “Damn it.” He stood, pacing the room. “Even if I don’t tell you, every time you sleep it’s a roulette to see if you’ll find out.” He spouted a series of foul words.

Vhalla grabbed the blanket tightly; she’d never heard him use such vulgarity. “I wouldn’t say anything to—”

“Not even my brother knows, Vhalla.” He turned back. “Not even Larel knows, and she’s the closest person I’ve ever had to calling a true friend. I tried to tell her once and that just went over awfully.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes with his palms.

Vhalla had come to think of Aldrik as one of the strongest people she knew. Seeing him so close to his breaking point pulled her to her feet.

“End the Joining.”

He grimaced, shook his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It only started after the Joining.” She pleaded, “Aldrik, please, I don’t want to hurt you. I want you to close what was opened.”

“And I want you to survive this war!” he nearly shouted.

Vhalla blinked as his words stung the corners of her eyes. Still, he still was mindful of her wellbeing. Even when he was in so much pain, even when she had pilfered intimate knowledge of him, he refused relief for her sake.

“Mother Sun, woman,” Aldrik groaned. He crossed the room and stood before her, releasing his tension with a sigh. Slowly, gently, Aldrik wiped her cheeks. “Why are you crying?”

Vhalla hiccupped. “Because you may be the most amazing person I have ever met.”

“I am not. If it had been anyone other than you, I likely would have killed them on the spot and burned their body until there was nothing left but dust,” Aldrik swore darkly.

She knew it shouldn’t, but just hearing it put that way brought a small smile to her mouth.

Aldrik sighed. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be inclined to talk about these things.”

“That’s fine.”

“Tell me, from now on, no matter what they are. Whatever you see, I need to know,” he said gravely.

“I promise.” She nodded, apprehensive of what was locked away in his memories that gave him such fear.

Aldrik sighed and stepped away. “Vhalla, I need some time.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I understand you didn’t choose this.” He swallowed hard. “I-I am not angry at you for it. I am not blaming you. But, this ... this, letting someone in is already so far beyond what I am accustomed to.”

“I didn’t realize.” Vhalla rubbed her eyes, hanging her head.

Aldrik tapped her chin, summoning her attention. “Good. It’s been better than good.” He shook his head. “I can’t even ... form sentences. This, you and I, my being pushed beyond the personal hell I built for myself, has been good. I’ve felt more like a man in the past months-weeks, in the past days being with you, than I have in years. As though I can enjoy things without—guilt. Good isn’t even the right word to say for it. You’ve let me be the person I always wished I could be and, I ...”

“I understand.” Vhalla spared him further struggle. “I’ll wait, take your time.”

“I just need to really understand what it’s like to have someone whom-whom I trust.” Aldrik avoided her gaze, scowling at himself. “Someone who knows my dark truths and who isn’t seeking something from me or is trying to use something against me.”

Vhalla nodded, taking a breath for courage. She pressed her palms against her eyes briefly to hold in more tears of hurt and frustration. Intentional or not, she had hurt him and that ground her heart into pieces. And now she had to leave him at his request; even if he needed time, it didn’t sit well with her.

Aldrik’s form was hunched and his eyes were somber as he led her down the passageway. There was a sorrowful resignation between them at the suppression of something that had just begun to blossom. It may be stinted, but Vhalla vowed she wouldn’t let the flame that burned between them be extinguished.

As if reading her mind, Aldrik turned. “Thank you.”

“For what?” She blinked at him.

“For not fleeing my side after you ... had to experience all that.” Aldrik rubbed his forearm.

Vhalla wondered if he even realized he was doing it. “I may not understand it all,” she whispered, braving a step closer to him. “But who you were made you who you are now. I wish you’d never had to suffer. But I’ll take the past gladly so I can share the present.”

She saw the beginnings of a smile that he quickly abandoned. Aldrik pulled her in for a tight embrace, and she heard his breath quiver. Before he could lose his composure, he turned and pushed open the secret door.

“Return at noon. My father will be expecting you then.” His voice was distant.

“I will see you then,” Vhalla said hopefully.

But the door had already closed.

Larel and Fritz were playing a game of Carcivi when Vhalla mindlessly stumbled into the downstairs of their inn. She gave them one glance, nothing more than acknowledging they were there, before dragging her feet toward the stairs. A chair scraped against the ground.

“We’ll finish later,” Vhalla heard Larel saying. The woman was quick on Vhalla’s heels.

“Larel,” Vhalla whispered weakly.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Larel rested her hands lightly on Vhalla’s quivering shoulders.

“I hurt him, Larel ...” Weakness burst forth from her, and Vhalla relied on the other woman’s support once more to put her back together in time to face the Emperor.

VHALLA OPENED HER eyes to the stunned faces of royals, lords, and ladies. The only person in the room who wasn’t impressed was Aldrik. Despite her demonstration being better than even she expected, the prince maintained his withdrawn and ambivalent look. She knew he couldn’t show her favor in front of the nobles, especially after hearing Lord Ophain speak on how careless he’d been with the affections he’d already displayed, but there was a larger wall there than just acting. Be it the Joining, the Bond, time spent together, or a combination of it all, he was poor at hiding his feelings from her, and Vhalla could see the hurt and fear in the depths of his eyes every time he looked her way.

Everyone gave her space as she pushed herself off the plush furniture. No one said anything. The majors who had been assembled, the highest of the Emperor’s command, looked between her and their leader, reserving all judgment until they had heard his assessment.

The most powerful man in the world leaned forward, his eyes glittering. “Well, Miss Yarl, that was certainly impressive.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Vhalla lowered her eyes in respect.

“This demonstration is replicable an infinite amount of times?” The Emperor turned to his eldest son.

“As long as her magic Channel is not blocked in some way, like depletion or Eradication,” Aldrik affirmed with a nod.

The Emperor stroked his beard and turned to the nobles assembled. “My son has already formulated some plans on how we will be able to use this power effectively in the North. However, I would like each of you to put together your own strategy before we reach the Northern border.”

They spoke as though she wasn’t there. Vhalla shifted in her seat, folding and unfolding her hands in her lap. She was a tool to these people, designed to be used in whatever way they saw fit.

A pair of eyes caught her attention. The only person focused on her was the younger prince. She met Prince Baldair’s gaze and was surprised to see sympathy there. Vhalla averted her eyes. She didn’t want his pity.

“Very well, this is sufficient for today. You are dismissed, Miss Yarl.” The Emperor waved a hand in her direction.

“Thank you, my lords and ladies.” Vhalla stood, keeping her eyes downcast.

“Ah, one more thing,” Lord Ophain interjected.

Vhalla searched him with a questioning stare. What was he doing?

“This is the first Windwalker in the West in decades.”

The other nobility were confused; even Aldrik didn’t seem to understand why his uncle was approaching her.

“Vhalla Yarl,” Lord Ophain began, looking down at her. “I cannot correct the mistakes of my forefathers. I cannot expunge the blood of Windwalkers from the stones of my castle. What the Knights of Jadar did to your brethren can never be remedied.”

Vhalla shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Speaking of the genocide of her people after learning more about the reasons behind it put an uncomfortable feeling in her gut that tingled down to her toes. It wasn’t something she even wanted mentioned.

“But what I can do is be a catalyst for a future of hope, peace, and prosperity between sorcerers of all types and Commons. To show that the value I see in you is far greater than your magic.”

She wondered if he was sincere. But the second Lord Ophain’s eyes darted over to the Emperor’s, she had no doubt. This was a statement, one which Vhalla wasn’t sure she was prepared to be involved in or even fully understood the implications of.

“Therefore, it is my honor to bestow upon you a Crimson Proclamation.”

Murmurs clouded the air the moment the words left the Western Lord’s lips. Vhalla shifted uncertainly. Even Aldrik wore a look of dumb shock on his face. Some nobles were confused, but the other Westerners seemed quick to fill in the blanks.

Lord Ophain focused only on Vhalla as he produced a crimson ribbon from his inner coat pocket. It was just over half the length of her forearm and as wide as three fingers. He handed it to her, and Vhalla instantly ran her fingers over the silk. Upon it were Western symbols in silver thread, on the bottom was an ink seal bearing the flaming phoenix of the West.

Vhalla looked back up to him quizzically.

“In truth, this is a hollow title.” Lord Ophain did not make her ask outright. With a nod in the Emperor’s direction, he continued, “Only the Emperor may elevate lords and ladies to the court of nobility. But the West maintains its traditions and honors the old ways. Any who are able to read those words will know that the Lady Vhalla Yarl is considered a Duchess of the West by Order of Lord Ophain Ci’Dan.”

Vhalla stared in awe. Hollow title or no, it was more esteem than she had ever contemplated in her life. She made the mistake of looking to the Emperor and resisted the urge to push the fabric back in Lord Ophain’s palms. Emperor Solaris’s eyes were steely. She gripped the ribbon tighter. It meant nothing, it was a symbol of good faith, of righting wrongs of the past. It posed no threat of change to her current status. Surely the Emperor knew that?

“You honor me, my lord,” Vhalla mumbled, lowering her eyes.

“If you are quite finished, Lord Ophain,” the Emperor said coldly, “Miss Yarl has other places to be.”

Vhalla didn’t, but she was eager to be out of the suddenly oppressive room. She gave one last bow and noticed that suddenly the Western nobility gave her small nods of their heads. All, save for one; a mustached major, whom Vhalla had never so much had laid eyes on before the demonstration, regarded her with thinly veiled contempt.

It was impossible to leave the room fast enough, retreating back to her inn.

Larel and Fritz were waiting for her when she returned. They lounged in a sitting area to the left of the lobby’s entrance. Daniel and Craig occupied the Carcivi board to the right. All of them looked up in interest the moment she entered.

“How’d it go?” Fritz was the first to ask.

“Well,” Vhalla held up the ribbon in white-knuckled grip. “I got a Crimson Proclamation.” “A what?” Larel asked.

Daniel and Craig seemed equally lost.

“A Crimson Proclamation?” Fritz was on his feet, rushing over to her. “I didn’t think the West gave these anymore.”

“What is it?” Larel asked, crossing over to Vhalla and Fritz.

“Crimson Proclamations were how the old kings of the West built their court. They raised people to noble status with them,” Fritz explained.

“So, are you a noble now?” Daniel went to get a look himself.

“Not really,” Vhalla remembered what Lord Ophain said.

“The Emperor abolished the Western Court,” Fritz continued. “When Mhashan was absorbed into the Empire and became just ‘the West,’ the Emperor didn’t want an uprising from the people who were old nobility. So he formed the Imperial Court as a way to appease them, giving the old nobility new Southern titles and elevating his own lords and ladies to sit among them.”

“He took control of their power then?” Craig rubbed his chin.

Fritz nodded. “And, in effect, absorbed the wealth of the oldest families in the West. But why did you get one?”

“Lord Ophain said it was a gesture of good faith, for the Burning Times,” Vhalla summarized.

Comprehension sunk into Fritz’s face.

“The Burning Times?” Daniel asked.

That launched Fritz into a whole new history lesson. One that, given Daniel’s interest in Windwalkers, took significantly longer. Vhalla listened quietly, still digesting the afternoon.

The Emperor seemed pleased with her demonstration ... but his eyes. She suppressed a shiver. His eyes were void of all emotion each time they fell upon her. The more interactions she had with Emperor Solaris, the less doubt Vhalla had that her place beneath him would never change.

“So, they just, killed them all?” Craig leaned back in his chair in shock.

“Yep.” Fritz nodded. “And Vhal’s the first one since.”

She met her friend’s proud smile with a tired curl of her lips.

“However ... horrible that is, we can’t change it now, and I think we should celebrate Vhalla’s proclamation.” Daniel leaned forward in his chair.

“I don’t know if I can handle another night of celebration,” Larel said uneasily.

“Something quieter. There’s a delicious Western restaurant not far from here.” Daniel stood. “I’d love to treat the Windwalker and her friends.”

Daniel extended a hand to her, and Vhalla stared at it. She wished she could feel his joy. She wanted the excitement that had been evoked in her the first night in the Crossroads, excitement in spite of the sea of power plays and manipulation that she found herself adrift in. Vhalla took Daniel’s hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Sitting and brooding wouldn’t help her find that joy again, and Daniel had been a catalyst for it before—maybe he would be able to summon it again.

The Crossroads did not disappoint. The night was warm, interrupted by a cool breeze drifting through the dusty streets and alleys. Colors were splashed upon every building in the forms of bright murals, tapestries, and awnings. Music and laughter could be heard all around, in harmony with gambling parlors and pleasure halls—it was a good place to forget who you were, Vhalla decided.

The restaurant was nicer than Vhalla expected, and she was instantly overwhelmed by the menu and table setting. Fritz seemed equally lost and Larel surprisingly comfortable. Vhalla could only suspect that growing up the friend of the Crown Prince gave the Western woman insights into etiquette she wouldn’t have otherwise.

Vhalla leaned back in her chair, nursing her drink between plates. She was on the edge of a haze that seemed very inviting and, while she did not want to induce morning-after headaches, she did want to take the edge off the day. Daniel leaned back as well, allowing the table conversation to continue before them.

“What do you think of Western food?” he asked soft enough to be heard only by her.

Vhalla was startled out of her thoughts. “What? Oh, it’s delicious.”

“I think so too,” he agreed. “I didn’t know what to expect the first time I tried it.”

“When was that?” she asked.

“My first campaign.” He sipped his glass thoughtfully. “It was my first time into the West. My family never travelled much.”

“How did you end up in the palace?”

“I enlisted.” Daniel shrugged and added, “I thought it’d be a chance at a better life.”

“Hasn’t it been?” She heard the edge of disappointment in his voice.

“On paper, I suppose. I am a lord now, after all.” He had the look of someone who was seeing shadows of the past rather than the glittering splendor that surrounded him in the present. “But at night I wonder, if I had never left the East if I would still have her.”

His tone made Vhalla’s chest ache. “Don’t think that way.” Vhalla shifted in her chair to get a better look at her fellow Easterner. Daniel regarded her thoughtfully, his complete attention a heavy load. Vhalla swallowed, hoping she could find the right thing to say to support her friend. “I-I almost Eradicated my magic.”

“Eradicated?”

“Got rid of.” Daniel gaped at her in shock, as though the notion was incomprehensible to him. “I was scared when I found out I was a sorcerer. And then, the Night of Fire and Wind, I thought—I thought everything was the fault of my magic.” Food was placed in front of them but neither made a motion toward it. “My friend died because of it.”

“Vhalla ...” he said with a sympathetic tone.

She shook her head, dismissing his sympathy. “I can’t go back, and neither can you. We both have to move forward and find what beauty we can in the world as it is.”

Daniel stared at her in awe. His gaze brought a heat onto her cheeks, and Vhalla quickly placed her glass on the table, digging into the plate before her. She felt the weight of a second stare on her shoulders, and Vhalla looked up, surprised to find Larel’s waiting eyes. The Western woman smiled gently at Vhalla.

When they were done with dinner and had returned to their hotel, Larel followed Vhalla to her room following bathing. Vhalla sat on the bed, the other woman behind her, combing through her wet hair with magic fingers. “Did you mean what you said at dinner?”

“To Daniel?” The question was pointless, Vhalla knew what Larel was talking about.

Larel hummed softly behind her in confirmation as she continued to dry Vhalla’s hair.

“I did.” Vhalla nodded.

“I’m glad.” Larel pulled Vhalla in for a tight hug. “I’ve been worried for you.”

“You have?” It was a dumb question and Vhalla knew it. This was the woman who had held her through shivers and shakes. Larel had been the one who pieced her back together after the Night of Fire and Wind. She knew every jagged piece that was still cutting into Vhalla’s heart.

“You’re not someone to live in darkness or sorrow.” Larel reclined on the bed, inviting Vhalla to do the same. “You’re a light that can shine brighter than even the sun.”

“That sounds treasonous,” Vhalla teased.

“I mean it all the same.” Larel leaned forward and pressed her forehead against Vhalla’s a brief moment. “You have something in you, Vhalla, something most never have or lose quickly. I cannot wait to see when you realize it yourself.”

“I’m nothing ... I’m not even myself, I’m property of the crown.” The more she said it, the deeper it sunk into her. She needed to accept this truth to make it through the war.

As if sensing that fact, Larel didn’t outright object. “You are, for now. But soon you’ll be back in the capital studying and doing great things.”

“But I can’t—”

“Oh, stop arguing.” Larel laughed lightly, running her fingers through Vhalla’s hair lovingly. “You’ll see it eventually.”

Vhalla closed her eyes. “What if I don’t?”

“You will.”

“Will you still be there to help me? Even if I don’t?” Vhalla asked softly, feeling like a child who still needed her security blanket to face the monsters that lurked in the night.

“You know I will be,” Larel promised.

“Thank you,” Vhalla whispered. “Good night, Larel.”

“Good night, Vhalla.” Her friend replied, holding tightly to Vhalla’s hand as she drifted into sleep.

The door eased open quietly and the soft sigh of the hinges lingered on Vhalla’s ears. Fritz had stayed out with Craig and Daniel after the restaurant. Vhalla wondered how drunk he was to come crawling into her room again. She rolled over, pressing her face into the pillow.

The footsteps barely made a sound. Her ears picked up the movement of air more than the noise upon the floor. There was something amiss, but her sleep-filled mind couldn’t quickly place what it was. Something about the footsteps ...

Footsteps. Two sets of footsteps.

Vhalla yawned, bringing a palm to her eyes. She expected to see Craig and Daniel, or some combination of them with Fritz. But when Vhalla blinked the sleep from her eyes, the figure standing at her bedside was a nightmare come to life.

She recognized the Northerner staring down at her. Vhalla remembered a night of fire, a night of running through burning streets with a prince on her heels. She remembered being attacked but cautioning the prince that despite there being four assailants, two were still missing.

Moonlight glinted wickedly off the wavy blade the Northerner raised. Vhalla stared in frozen shock.

Another sword cut through the air, and Vhalla turned instinctually toward the sound. The first blade sliced deeply on her back, narrowly missing impaling her due to her sudden and unpredicted movement. The pain of the weapon digging into her flesh didn’t even register as Vhalla’s mind tried to process what was occurring.

She stared at the blade of another swordsman, plunged straight through Larel’s stomach. Blood, inky black in the darkness, poured out from the wound. Larel’s dark eyes were jolted open in shock. A strangled gurgling noise accompanied the loll in her friend’s eyes as they drifted to Vhalla, blood bubbling through her gaping mouth.

Vhalla screamed.

THE NOISE VHALLA released sounded more animal than human. It was a high-pitched shriek, wordless but perfectly expressing the agony that rushed through her veins on the back of adrenaline. The sword was pulled from Larel’s stomach and the assassin twisted it through the air quickly, preparing for a second attack. The woman behind Vhalla was doing the same.

A singular instinct overtook Vhalla: the instinct to survive. She launched herself at the male assailant before her, scrambling across the bed and over the body of her friend. The swordswoman’s blade narrowly missed for a second time, slicing Vhalla deep across the calf as she was mid-lunge.

Vhalla tumbled with the swordsman, biting and scratching like a rabid beast. A heartbeat overwhelmed her senses, and Vhalla allowed Aldrik’s knowledge of combat to take over. She wanted to know every horrible way he could ever conceive to reap pain and torture upon these vile creatures.

She moved a hand, quickly disarming the man. He was well-trained and swung with his opposite hand, sending Vhalla off him with a jab to her face. She rolled, recovering quickly despite the searing pain in her calf.

The woman was upon her, and Vhalla barely had time to wave her hand through the air and deflect the blade mid-swing. That movement allowed the man to recover his weapon, and Vhalla was forced to duck to miss another attack. She was outmaneuvered and outnumbered in the small room.

Vhalla made a dash for the door, having to push it open from her knees to avoid the blade that sunk into the wood where her head had been moments before. Vhalla scrambled into the hall, other guests of the inn opening their doors in confusion as the Windwalker sprinted down the narrow stair. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping her upright.

The female assailant let out a cry of frustration, quick on Vhalla’s heels. “Die, Wind Demon!”

Vhalla half-turned to dodge a dagger thrown at her, tripping down the last of the stairs. The night owls roosting in the lobby were quickly pressed against the outer walls as the Northern assassin and Windwalker rolled head over heels. Some were soldiers who quickly reached for weapons that weren’t there. One lunged bare-handed only to be cut down by the Northern man.

She had no time to consider the demise of the nameless Southerner. Her calf burned with what Vhalla suspected was more than pain. Her movements were becoming sluggish and delayed, despite Aldrik’s instincts remaining sharp with every pulse of her heart. She bumped into a chair and lost her balance. The swordsman raised his sword as the woman recovered from a gust of air Vhalla had sent her way.

A woman plowed into his side, knocking the Northerner off-balance and sending his blade in a wide arc. Vhalla met the unfamiliar pair of eyes. “Run!” That was the last word the brave woman said as the Northerner plunged the curved blade through her throat.

Vhalla didn’t know what running would do, but she did so anyways, barreling through the doors of the inn and into the square. The army was unarmed and off-guard. The soldiers were fat and lazy from the days of peace and relaxation that the Crossroads had afforded. It was so far from the North that they’d all so wrongly assumed they were safe. Even if they had been armed, half of the Crossroads was drunk by this time of night anyways.

But there was one ally ready to greet her. Vhalla felt the wind and quickly turned it on the man racing out to her. It sent the Northerner tumbling head over heels, his head cracking hard against the wall of the inn.

She had expected that to kill him, knock him out, daze him at least, but the man seemed to be made of metal or stone as he just blinked and rose again to his feet. She took a step back, sending another gust of wind at him, but it was equally ineffective. She had killed these people before—why couldn’t she kill them now?

A bloodthirsty cry summoned Vhalla’s attention as the Northern woman was nearly upon her. Vhalla swung out her hand, preparing to deflect the attack. The numbness that had been seeping from her calf had spread into her fingers and the wind didn’t heed her call.

“The eyes!” a voice cried from behind her.

A dagger crafted of blue ice shattered on the assassin’s face, narrowly missing her cheek. The distraction gave Vhalla enough time to roll out of the way of her blade. Vhalla turned, breathless, toward the source of the voice.

Fritz pulled back his hand, another ice dagger appearing in his fingers. He threw and missed again, leaving Vhalla to roll helplessly between sword swings.

Daniel charged as the woman lunged a third time. He had a breathtaking command over his body as each tight step narrowly preempted the assassin’s motions. Vhalla recognized the dagger he wielded as one he’d purchased when they’d gone shopping. The soldier had been wearing it under his pants leg since.

The Easterner demonstrated how he earned a golden bracer by not even blinking as he sunk the dagger to its hilt into the Northerner’s eye. The woman shuddered but didn’t make a sound as her body limply fell to the ground, sliding off Daniel’s blade. Vhalla stared at the lifeless body but found no sympathy. Instead she turned her rage to the remaining target.

The other assassin, seeing himself outnumbered against the army that quickly gathered with weapons in hand, turned to run.

Vhalla tried to jump to her feet, throwing out a hand uselessly. Whatever poison that they had laced the blade with sent shivers up her spine that blocked her Channel. However, as if summoned from her fingers, an inferno sprang up, sending the Northerner tumbling backwards as he tried to avoid running into the flames.

She twisted on the ground, looking for the origin of the fire. The crowd scattered like rats, fearing the blinding light of the fire that burned from Aldrik’s fists to his elbows, searing off the rumpled shirt he wore. His dark eyes were alight with flame and pure malice. Vhalla did not recognize the man before her as the man she had held and kissed a day prior.

This was the Fire Lord.

Aldrik’s focus was past her, toying with the Northerner as he sent the assassin scurrying to avoid one blindingly powerful magic flame after the next. Baldair was quick to follow behind his brother, freezing in his step as he took in the carnage before him. Vhalla pushed against the ground, trying to keep herself even partly upright. She was safe now and the heartbeat was beginning to fade. Behind it lurked an agony that threatened to tear her apart.

Aldrik had finally made it to her, and she saw his shoulders quiver with rage as he looked down upon her mangled and bruised body. “Lord Taffl, Baldair,” Aldrik spoke to Daniel and his brother but his eyes never left her. “Apprehend that man and bring him here—alive.”

The prince knelt at her side. “Vhalla,” he whispered.

“Aldrik,” she choked out, emotions overwhelming her. Vhalla’s face twisted in agony. “Aldrik, she’s-she’s-I, it’s my fault, it’s my fault.”

“Vhal ...” Fritz had been the only one of the steadily growing onlookers to approach the two. He sunk to his knees as well.

Vhalla hung her head between her shoulders and wailed in mourning.

“Mother, no ...” Fritz gasped. Vhalla expected him to be staring in horror at her. But he looked beyond.

She followed the Southerner’s gaze over her shoulder, past where Baldair and Daniel were dragging the overpowered assassin toward Aldrik. Her eyes followed the bloody trail she’d left to the inn that was now in need of repair from where she’d slammed a stone-skinned Northerner into its side. Vhalla’s eyes fell on a small row of bodies that was being lined up before the doorway. There was the man who’d been cut almost in half through the abdomen, the woman with the wound to her neck, another two Vhalla didn’t even remember falling in the scuffle, and then a Western woman.

Vhalla scrambled to her feet, Aldrik and Fritz in too much of a daze to stop her. Limping the pain away, she broke into a clumsy run. Daniel tried to grab her as she passed but his hands were too busy keeping the Northerner under control.

She pushed away the man who was situating Larel’s body in the line of the fallen, collapsing at her friend’s side. “No no no no no Larel.” Vhalla pressed her palms against the woman’s mortal wound, as if she could somehow heal it now. “You can’t, you can’t do this to me!”

Her throat was raw from screaming, but Vhalla’s ears could barely make out any sound. She leaned forward, pressing her face into Larel’s still warm shoulder, gripping onto the shade of her friend. It was too much. She rocked back and forth with every sob. It was too much.

“Vhal,” Fritz placed his palms on her shoulders. Vhalla didn’t move. “You-you need to get tended to.”

“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked, twisting out of his grasp, pressing herself closer to Larel.

“Vhal.” He grabbed her.

“I said, don’t touch me!” Vhalla twisted, swinging at him. She didn’t have the strength for an even halfway decent attack, but Fritz still took it upon his tear stained cheek. Quiet sobs heaved his shoulders.

Vhalla stared up at him at an utter loss.

“Bring the Windwalker.” The Emperor’s voice cut through the rising commotion of the square. His icy blue eyes found hers.

Vhalla gripped Larel’s arm tighter. “No,” she whispered.

“Vhal, you need to go,” Fritz pleaded, kneeling quickly to block the Emperor’s view of her disobedience.

“No,” she pleaded with Fritz, shaking her head. “I can’t, I can’t leave Larel like this. She needs me.”

“She’s dead, Vhalla.” Fritz’s harsh words were a knife that cut through the last scraps of hope in Vhalla’s heart. “And you might be dead too if you don’t heed the Emperor’s call.”

Fritz pulled her upright and herded her toward their ruler.

“It’s my fault ... It’s my fault ...” Vhalla whispered, repeating the mantra over and over in her head.

“What happened here?” the Emperor demanded as she arrived.

All eyes were on her. Vhalla swallowed and turned to the Northerner. “He was a juggler, at the festival.”

“Speak clearly, girl!” the Emperor took a step forward.

Aldrik stepped forward as well, wedging himself protectively between his father and Vhalla.

“The people who attacked on the Night of Fire and Wind, they were the jugglers from the festivals, the ones who came to the capital. There were two missing in that attack.” Vhalla’s voice echoed emptily in her ears.

“And our attack was a success! We had no idea Emperor Solaris was growing Wind Demons,” the man spat. His accent was thick and heavy and it would have been difficult to understand if its inflection hadn’t already been seared on Vhalla’s ears from that fateful night long ago.

“You speak forcefully for a man who is about to die,” the Emperor said quietly.

“A warrior doesn’t fear death,” the man replied haughtily.

“How about dying with the shame of failing to kill the one who slayed your comrades?” The Emperor gave a tilt of his head toward Vhalla.

That set the man off, and he was suddenly raging against Craig, Daniel, and Baldair, who all struggled to keep him on his knees.

“Let him go,” the Emperor commanded.

“Father—” Baldair began in shock.

“I said, release him!” Emperor Solaris was not to be trifled with, and they released the Northerner.

The assassin sprang forward like a sprinter from the blocks. But he did not lunge for the most powerful man in all the realms, the man who had killed his people and invaded his homeland. The Northerner lunged for Vhalla.

She didn’t even flinch when the flames erupted right before her. They singed her tattered sleeping clothes and licked by her face. But they did not burn her.

The man seemed to resist the heat as well, but only for a brief moment until he was magically overpowered and set to writhing and rolling on the ground. His flesh bubbling and singed.

The Northerner began to rasp, pulling himself into a seated position. “Tiberum Solaris, the mighty Emperor, chosen of the sun, hiding behind his son and a child.”

“I am not a child,” Vhalla threatened. Her whisper was heard by all and even the Emperor stilled his tongue.

“You think you will lead them to victory?” the man sneered up at her, his face a mess of mutilated flesh. “We sent birds, we reported, we have friends here in the West who hold no more love for you. Every sentry; every soldier; every man, woman, and child will aim their arrows, their blades, their stones, their axes, their fists, their picks, and their poisons at you. You cannot comprehend our power, and you will die.”

“Daniel, give me your dagger,” Vhalla demanded softly.

“Vhalla—”

“Give it to me!” She pried her eyes away from the Northerner, the pain manifesting as hot rage.

Daniel looked hopelessly to Baldair, who turned to the Emperor. The royal considered it only briefly, before nodding at the Golden Guard. Daniel flipped the weapon, carefully grabbing the blade to hold out the hilt to her.

The metal of the hilt felt like her magic did the first time she’d opened her Channel. It was a rush of power. But this was darker, of a more twisted and primal nature. Vhalla limped forward toward the disabled man, her calf beginning to protest her weight. Her clothes were soaked in blood, her own and otherwise, and her shoulders were heavy with guilt.

The Northerner squinted up at her with hatred and rage. For the briefest of moments, Vhalla wondered if he had loved those she’d killed on the Night of Fire and Wind the same way she had loved Larel. If she simply stared into a mirror of herself, she just happened to be on the lucky side of the reflection.

The man snarled and lunged. Vhalla moved to meet him. She did not need the Joining; she would do this alone. Vhalla remembered what Daniel had said as she felt the resistance of the blade sink straight through the man’s eye, embedding itself into his skull.

There was no sound but the wind as Vhalla remained frozen in time, staring at the remaining wide-eye and lifeless face of the man she had killed. This was not a blind rage, it wasn’t a burst of power, and it was not a memory her mind would later block. It was the deliberate end to a life, and it had been horribly simple.

Vhalla suddenly felt sick, and she swayed as her whole body trembled. She felt empty and yet so full with agony that she was certain she was going to split apart at the seams and die.

Her calf gave out with the waning resolve, and Vhalla staggered, falling.

Daniel moved to catch her, but Aldrik was faster. The prince caught and twisted her. Vhalla found herself weightless as Aldrik hoisted her into the air, holding her to his chest. She grimaced as he shifted his arm around the severed flesh of her back, finding a way to hold her with the least amount of pain possible.

When the prince turned, Vhalla could see the face of the Emperor. It was deathly still and the malice in his eyes at the sight of her in Aldrik’s arms was palpable, but the prince said nothing. He looked past his father and started for the hotel in which he’d been staying. Vhalla felt every wide eye and saw each gaping mouth as the people parted to make way for the crown prince and Windwalker.

“Aldrik,” she breathed, trying to be quiet enough that only he would hear. “Aldrik, you-I-they ...”

“Let them say something,” Aldrik ground out through a clenched jaw. “Let one person say something and give me a reason to burn it all.”

Vhalla felt the heat in his palms, the raw strength he wielded that promised to make good on his threats, and she closed her eyes. Vhalla leaned against the shoulder of the crown prince as he carried her into the temporary home of the Imperial family. She pressed her face against him and allowed his strength to shield her weakness as her shoulders began to shake and tears fell once more.

ALDRIK LAID HER down gently on a chaise, a boneless shell of grief and tears. Vhalla curled on her side, almost choking as she sobbed. Aldrik sat next to her, his fingers lightly caressing her hair.

Whatever peace he could offer her was quickly ruined by the door slamming open.

“You have lost your mind!” Lord Ophain took giant steps toward his nephew.

“Leave us, Uncle.” Aldrik didn’t pull his eyes away from her, his fingers losing themselves in her hair.

“I thought you wanted to protect her—”

“And she is clearly nowhere safer than at my side.” There was a foreboding calm to Aldrik’s words.

“No, what you did just now was put an even bigger target on her back by showing everyone that she’s the chink in the crown prince’s armor!” Lord Ophain pleaded, “Aldrik, you need to move her to a clerical room and cover for your actions. That you acted as you did only because we need her for the war. You want her to think that—”

Fire erupted next to them as the opposite chaise burst into flame. The sudden brightness and flames at Aldrik’s back made Vhalla stir.

“Uncle, I swear to the Mother, if you or anyone else tries to take her from me—”

“That’s enough, Aldrik.” Vhalla rested her hand over one of his clenched fists. The flames instantly extinguished. She slumped against him, his arm quickly wrapping around her shoulders. Vhalla didn’t know which one of them was shaking. “He’s trying to help. Should I—”

Aldrik tightened his arm, half-pulling her onto his lap. He held her against him as if he was desperately trying to piece back the broken thing she was with his quivering caresses. One arm clutched at her waist, and he drew a shaky breath. “No, I will not.” He scowled at the Lord of the West as he spoke to her. “I will not let you go.”

“You’ll need to let her go if you don’t want her to die from infection.” Prince Baldair stood in the doorway. “I’ll see to her here.” He crossed over, placing one of the largest cleric’s boxes Vhalla had ever seen on the ground by the chaise.

The two brothers regarded each other, and Vhalla began to think Aldrik was going to make good on his promise. But his arms finally relaxed, and he eased her back into a reclining position. Aldrik quickly resituated himself so that her head could rest on his thigh.

The younger prince pulled at the hem of her shirt, slicing through the tatters in the back all the way to her collar. Vhalla didn’t have the energy to worry about her modesty. She didn’t have the energy to do anything other than cry and let Aldrik wipe away the tears.

“Father is assembling the majors,” Baldair said finally. “You need to go.”

“I’m not leaving her,” Aldrik repeated.

“She needs to rest,” Prince Baldair retorted.

“You should go, Aldrik.” Lord Ophain was much more collected. “If you want to protect her then you must go. You are the only one who can represent her interests at that table, both of your interests.”

Aldrik’s hands stopped moving. His pain palpably washed over her and numbed Baldair’s probing in the gash on her back. Vhalla clutched the crown prince’s thigh with white knuckles. Her fingers would leave bruises in their wake.

He was going to leave her. She knew he had to but that made it no easier. The world was taking him from her too. Vhalla couldn’t handle it.

“Baldair,” Aldrik choked on the a but quickly recovered.

Larel had been his friend too, his only friend in many ways. Vhalla had taken her from him as well. It was all her fault. Vhalla pressed her eyes closed, her whole body shaking.

“You don’t let her out of your sight. You protect her with everything you have. You see her healed and well. Do this for me and I will never ask a single thing of you again,” Aldrik’s voice was raw as it forced through tears he wasn’t letting fall.

Prince Baldair’s ministrations paused as the two princes shared a look of understanding that had not been there in some time. “You have my word, brother. On my honor.”

Aldrik began to pull away from her. Vhalla gripped his hands with both of hers, willing him to stay. “D-don’t, Aldrik. Please, don’t leave me yet. I know you have to but not, not yet.”

Her eyes nearly broke him.

“Aldrik, please,” she pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks.

He eased her back down onto the chaise, standing at its side. Aldrik leaned forward, smoothing her hair away from her face one more time and pressed his lips to her temple. Vhalla sobbed.

“I will return as soon as I can.”

“Promise me.” She gripped for his fingers again. “Promise, and I’ll believe it.”

“I promise, and I will never break a promise to you, my Vhalla.” He took his hand from hers and straightened. Vhalla watched as the stony façade of the crown prince slipped back into place. He wore the distance of nobility, the ferocity of the Fire Lord, and the armor of his title. He was a warrior ready to do battle.

Vhalla balled her hands into fists and buried her eyes in the pads of her palms, letting out a wail the moment the door closed behind Aldrik and his uncle. “It’s my fault, it’s my fault.”

“It is not.” She hadn’t been speaking to the younger prince, but he responded.

“What do you know?” Vhalla spat bitterly. “You know nothing about your brother, nothing about me. You’ve never even tried to know. You were too busy with your misplaced warnings. So just be quiet for once.”

The prince obliged her for a time as he placed gauze over the wound, coating it in a sticky substance that turned icy as it hardened. He pressed on her shoulder lightly and Vhalla understood that he needed her on her stomach to access the wound on her calf. The prince began stitching the deep wound without even warning her first.

“That one had poison in it,” she mumbled.

“What?” His fingers stopped. “Are you sure?”

“It was affecting my magic.” Vhalla nodded, her tears subsiding into numbness.

“I’ll need to get someone else to see to that.” The prince fumbled among the vials of elixirs, salves, and antidotes. “I have no idea which is which for poisons.”

“Aldrik will know.” Vhalla was certain. Prince Baldair returned to his stitching and packing the wound with a thick salve. When he was finished, he came around the chaise to kneel before her face. The prince dipped his first two fingers into the tin and began to massage the ointment over Vhalla’s black eye. “Thank you, my prince,” she begrudgingly offered.

“Baldair,” he corrected.

“Baldair?” The name sounded surprisingly easy on her tongue.

“You call Aldrik by his name; it’s weird to have you continue to call me by my title.” Baldair packed up his case and stood. “I’ll fetch Elecia; she’ll see about an antidote.”

“I said Aldrik would know.” Vhalla had no interest in seeing the Western woman.

“And Aldrik will not return for many hours,” Baldair replied firmly. His tone softened when he saw her deflate. “Elecia will help you.”

Vhalla nodded and began mentally withdrawing herself to endure the assault Elecia was likely to heap upon her. It had been days since they spoke, and in such time Vhalla had become the secret lover of the crown prince, Elecia’s cousin. Vhalla closed her eyes and attempted to think about nothing.

When the door opened again Vhalla didn’t even turn. She held herself tightly, trying to fight away the shivers. Her fault, her fault, it was all her fault.

“Vhalla.” Elecia touched her shoulder gently, and Vhalla spooked, nearly jumping out of her skin at the contact. “Let me see you.”

Elecia’s manner left no room for objection, and the Westerner’s hands were suddenly wrapped carefully around Vhalla’s neck. She moved her fingers up Vhalla’s cheek, the other hand ghosting over her shoulders, down the middle of her chest and on her thigh.

Vhalla pressed her eyes closed.

“It’s the same nonsense they used on Aldrik,” Elecia sighed. “But much weaker. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

It was weaker than what Aldrik had endured? He had more and could still use his magic, where hers had already faltered. Vhalla had a whole new appreciation of the crown prince’s strength.

“Where is Aldrik?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

Elecia sighed, rummaging through the small bag she’d brought.

“Figuring out how to keep you safe.” Elecia sat down next to her, inspecting Baldair’s work and making her own additions. “You and him ...”

“I love him.” Vhalla shook again, the words bringing a fresh batch of tears to her eyes. “I love him, but I am only death. I am death to everyone I love. Someday I will be the death of him.”

Elecia grabbed her face roughly, turning Vhalla to face her. The woman’s emerald eyes burned red at the edges from exhaustion or tears. “You will not be. I will not let you be.”

“But—” she whined.

“If you are going to be with him, then you will find the strength to wear that mantle. You don’t get it both ways, Vhalla Yarl,” Elecia said fiercely. “He’s risking everything for you tonight, so you better be ready to do the same. Because if you hurt him, I swear I will kill you.”

Vhalla made a choked noise when her lips failed to form words. Elecia put her hand on Vhalla’s back with a frustrated sigh, creating a tingle as her magic activated the salve she had applied. She repeated the process on Vhalla’s calf and forced two more vials down Vhalla’s throat before thrusting the third into her hands.

“Deep Sleep?” Vhalla instantly recognized the smell from what Baldair had given her months ago during her trial.

“You can’t heal if you don’t sleep. Get the rest while you can.” Elecia stood.

“Wait, don’t leave me.” Elecia was the last person Vhalla ever expected to cling to. But grief wasn’t logical.

“I can’t do anything more for you.” Elecia frowned down at the Eastern woman, but didn’t pull her hand away.

“Don’t leave me alone, please.” Vhalla bowed her head again. Larel, she wanted Larel. She wanted to feel safe and warm and unconditionally loved. She wanted Larel.

“Lie down,” Elecia sighed and sat. The woman didn’t offer her any further comfort. She didn’t whisper soothing words or wipe Vhalla’s tears away. But she stayed until the Deep Sleep took effect, and Vhalla’s mind was finally forced to shut down. And Elecia never untwined her fingers from the grieving Easterner.

Vhalla stirred some time later when she was lifted into someone’s arms. The momentary panic was quickly quelled the second she felt his warmth, heard his matching heartbeat slow and strong through his chest. Aldrik carried her off the chaise to the bed, settling her beneath the covers.

She whimpered pitifully. It hurt so much to be awake after sleep had been so blissfully void of everything. The bed sagged as he curled around her.

“Aldrik,” Vhalla murmured, pressing herself into him.

“My Vhalla,” he sighed heavily. “Sleep, it’s not yet dawn.”

Vhalla shook her head, earning another sigh. She needed to know what had happened. Cracking open her eyes, she was met with an exhausted shadow of the prince she knew. Dark circles perched upon his cheeks, taking up residence under his tired eyes. His hair was limp and tangled. She saw the makings of a bruise on his jaw that she wasn’t sure she wanted to know how he got.

“Aldrik.” One of the larger remaining pieces of her heart cracked and fractured at the sight of him. It was her fault, it was her fault he looked as he did; she had put him in this position.

“Sleep. You need your rest,” he insisted again. No matter the state of his appearance, his voice was calm and level.

Vhalla pried herself away. “Don’t you care?”

“What?”

“Larel, Larel is dead and I killed her!” Vhalla’s words were wet with tears. “Don’t you care?”

Aldrik pulled himself into a seated position, staring down at her. “Don’t I care?” he breathed sharply.

She could hear the quivering tension he barely controlled. Vhalla instantly regretted her words but he spoke too quickly for her to revoke them.

“Do you still think I am the heartless Fire Lord?”

The look on his face alone made Vhalla hiccup with tears. “Aldrik, no ...” She shook her head.

“Clearly you must if you somehow think I am blissfully unaffected by-by her death,” he snapped.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

“Do you even know how we met?” Aldrik stood and began to pace the room. “How I met Larel?”

“She told me once,” Vhalla whispered, feeling the anger radiating off of him.

“She told me I saved her, that I was the prince from all the stories who saves the helpless girl.” Aldrik chuckled; sorrow waged a war against self-loathing in the darkness of his eyes. “I always told her she was foolish, and I never told her how much I needed those words. I never even thanked her for them. How silly she was thinking that I saved her when she was the one saving me.”

“I know, you were close ...” Vhalla pulled herself into a seated position.

“You have no idea.” He rounded to face her. “You likely grew up surrounded by friends and people who enjoyed your company. Even in my best of years I was strange and distanced by nobility and magic. There was only one person among my peers who saw me as anything but their prince. I had Larel. And even-even after I pushed her away she came back. She was a far better friend than I ever deserved.”

“That’s not tr—”

“And when she came to me, paper in hand to march with you, I told her she wasn’t ready.”

It was her fault.

“I knew she wasn’t trained enough, wasn’t built for war. But I thought—” His hands gripped her shoulders suddenly. “I thought I could protect her. Just like I thought I could protect you.”

Vhalla couldn’t find words.

“But here you are, bruised and sliced open by an attempt on your life. There is no reason other than just ... luck that you were not also in a pool of blood next to her. Don’t you know I saw that?” He shook her and it made Vhalla wince from the pain in her back. Aldrik stopped and stared into her wide eyes, dropping his head. “Larel is dead and you may as well have died—I protected no one.”

He sat gripping her shoulders, his hair covering his face. At the first breath she thought he was going to speak more, but he let it out slowly, then another shaky breath, filled with more silence. The quivers were small at first, and started in his shoulders before finding their way to his hands despite his fighting.

She heard it, that breath, the one his tears were let loose upon. Vhalla heard the strange, choked noise rise from his throat as he finally gave into his own overwhelming grief. He was tired, he was over-worked, and he had lost the person whom he had considered his best friend. Aldrik—the crown prince, the future Emperor, Fire Lord, ruler of the Black Legion, sorcerer—was only a man. And men could be broken.

His grip loosened and his hands slid down to her arms, but he still held onto her. It was the first tear that fell onto the bed sheet that finally drew Vhalla out of her own shock and pain. She reached out her arms and pulled him to her without hesitation, pressing his face against her chest to hide him. She knew in all his stubbornness he was likely shamed for simply showing his grief.

As his tears began to heave his chest, she found her own pain refueled by his. She held him tightly, stroking his hair, wanting to offer him all the comfort he would never demand himself. His arms moved and wrapped themselves around her waist as he finally gave in. The wound on her back protested as he grabbed onto her but Vhalla said nothing. He may not allow himself a second chance to cry, she realized, so she would do nothing to stop his grief.

She never fulfilled his original order of sleep as the sunlight began to fill the room. Even after the tears subsided, he remained curled in her arms. Vhalla knew the way he was twisted couldn’t be comfortable, but she found as much comfort from him as she gave so Vhalla made no suggestion to move.

When Aldrik finally withdrew, he looked away before standing. He raised a hand to his face and Vhalla averted her gaze, allowing him his privacy. He turned back to her.

“We have a long day today.” His voice sounded hollow and detached.

“What will happen?” She wasn’t actually sure if she wanted to know.

“You heard it yourself; the attacks on you will be frequent and without mercy.” He leaned over her, tilting her chin to look at him.

His face had already recovered itself and, other than red in his eyes, he didn’t have the appearance of a man who had just cried for more than an hour. His jaw was set in determination, his brow furrowed with the weight of calculated planning. Vhalla wasn’t sure what she felt when this desperate mix of emotion was directed at her.

“Today we are making three doppelgangers for you.”

“Doppelgangers?” She blinked.

“Last night, the majors discussed who else among the host was the closest to your look, size, and build. Those women will come today, one by one, and we will turn them into you.” He spoke with such precision that Vhalla knew this was not the majors’ plan but his. “Each will ride with me, my brother, or my father, so from the beginning your exact location will be a mystery to everyone, including the soldiers.”

“If there are three women, where will I be?” she braved.

“You will be hidden in plain sight.” He caressed her cheek gently. “From today, your doubles own your name. It is no longer yours.”

“What?” Vhalla was overwhelmed and confused.

“By tomorrow, one of them will be the real Vhalla Yarl. But none of them will be the real Vhalla Yarl. You will be a swordswoman of no merit or worth. You will have come with the Western footmen so no one will question not knowing you. Make up any name and story you would like but you will need it soon.”

“I can’t ...” she whimpered softly, she didn’t even know how to hold a sword.

“You can, and you will,” he said firmly. Aldrik shook his head. “This is the best chance we have now, and I will not lose you.”

“What about the other women? They will be targeted,” she whispered.

“Exactly, and if one of them is slain the North may just believe they have killed the Windwalker,” he said coldly.

“Aldrik, that’s someone’s daughter, maybe someone’s mother, or someone—”

“I don’t care!” Vhalla jumped at his sudden intensity. Aldrik stormed to the opposite side of the room. “I have to make a choice, Vhalla. That choice is your life or theirs, and it is no question for me. If they die, then they will die honorably for their Emperor.” He turned back to her and she saw—to her horror—that his words were true, he really didn’t care about their lives. They had been written off as expendable.

She fidgeted with her fingers.

“You will ride with Baldair—”

“What?” Vhalla exclaimed, jumping to her feet. Her calf stung in pain and Aldrik was quickly supporting her. “Aldrik, no, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone!”

“Quiet. Hush.” It was a command but his soothing words had their desired effect. “You must ride there for the illusion of a swordswoman. But it is only until we reach the North.” Aldrik smoothed her hair away from her eyes. “When we reach the border, the host will split into smaller groups for movement through the jungle. You’ll be with me then.”

She sniffled loudly, tears returning anew.

“You’ll be with me then, my Vhalla, my lady, my love.” Aldrik pressed his lips firmly against hers, silencing any further objections.

“Do you ...” she sniffled.

“I promise.” Aldrik’s jaw quivered briefly, and he was kissing her again. His mouth tasted like resignation, and Vhalla knew that was the flavor he would leave her with. “Now, promise me you will be strong.”

“I promise.” Her face twisted in agony.

Aldrik pressed her against him, and Vhalla clung to him so tightly her hands shook. His long fingers snaked through her hair. “I will sacrifice anything that must be sacrificed to keep you safe.”

She believed him completely—evoking a new terror to swim through her veins.

He led her to a different room on the same floor and instructed her to wait. Vhalla had no idea what to expect when he reappeared later with the Emperor.

She clutched at the blanket Aldrik had placed over her tattered clothing. The Emperor regarded her with thinly veiled contempt. Aldrik was completely closed off.

“Well, let us begin.” Emperor Solaris walked over to a table, opening a folio he was carrying, sitting before a handful of papers.

One at a time, Aldrik brought in majors who escorted women under their command. And one at a time Vhalla told them what it meant to be Vhalla Yarl. She told them of her childhood, her home in Cyven. She told them of the library, Mohned, her apprenticeship, Roan, and Sareem. She told them of the Night of Fire and Wind and of her trial. She laid herself bare to them with the Emperor and majors watching.

It felt like a Projection. She spoke and moved but her mind was more detached with everything that was said. Every word gave away pieces of herself and she became less and less Vhalla Yarl.

The last was a woman almost identical to her short stature. She appeared to be a mixture of Southern and Eastern with long dark blond hair. Vhalla felt she was the closest to her looks, despite her lighter hair and blue eyes. That woman thanked her before she was ushered out of the room. Vhalla was certain the woman had not listened to a thing Vhalla had said about her life if the woman was thanking Vhalla for the opportunity to be her.

Between Vhalla retelling her story to each doppelganger and the secrecy required to sneak each woman in and out of the room, it took all morning and into the afternoon to accomplish the task. By the time the last woman was led to her holding room Vhalla was exhausted.

Aldrik and the Emperor favored the same woman as Vhalla, which meant that woman would be the double who would ride in Aldrik’s company. Vhalla was given the woman’s bag as her new clothes. Aldrik also thrust a dagger and a bottle of black ink into her hands, telling her to do whatever she could to change her appearance.

Trembling and alone in the washroom, Vhalla carefully sponged away the dirt and blood from the night before. She watched carefully as she applied the ink to her hair, changing the brown strands to black. After letting it sit for a moment she rinsed and repeated the process three times. She inspected her progress in the mirror; her hair had indeed changed color.

Vhalla bit her lip, remembering how straight and tame her hair had been when Larel had used her heat upon it. She choked down a sob and raked her fingers through her hair with pockets of wind trapped underneath. It was clumsy and took a few minutes to be met with any success. But it dried straighter, more Western looking, taking out her normal wavy texture. It was longer this way, and Vhalla made the conscious decision not to cut short it again. She had done so once and become no one. This time she would grow into her new skin.

But Vhalla still grabbed for the dagger. Pulling her bangs in the front Vhalla made a straight horizontal cut just below her brow. For the second time in a year, Vhalla was unable to recognize the person staring back at her in the mirror. She leaned over the washbasin, muffling her mouth with her hand as she struggled to suppress tears for the woman whose memory she had decided to honor.

Keep it together. Vhalla Yarl’s friend died, Vhalla Yarl would mourn. She was not Vhalla Yarl. She looked back to the mirror, steeling her resolve. Looking at the hard eyes and foreign face she repeated to herself, she was not Vhalla Yarl. She cleaned up the bathroom quickly, changing into the other woman’s clothes—she corrected herself—her clothes.

She left the washroom and returned to where the Emperor and Aldrik waited. Both men looked her up and down. The Emperor leaned back in his chair.

“It will do,” he said, rubbing a finger against his lips.

“What is your name?” Aldrik asked her.

“Serien,” she replied without hesitation.

“Serien, what is your family name?” he questioned.

“Serien Leral,” she said and realized the moment he recognized her name.

Aldrik struggled to keep his composure. “Where are you from?” His jaw set firmly.

“A town called Qui. It’s a mining town that I hope you never have to go to,” she recited. Her story had been built for her.

“Where is Qui?” The Emperor leaned forward, folding his hands between his knees.

“It’s about halfway to Norin, if you take the old roads.”

“Your parents?” Aldrik asked.

“My father was a miner, and a drunk. My mother was a broken woman who left her home in the East because she thought it was love. They died when I was young, and I worked in the mines.” Despite her small changes to account for her eyes she wondered if the Emperor would see the source of inspiration for her story. She smiled coldly; of course he wouldn’t. Larel had meant nothing to him, she doubted he even remembered the girl his son saved from the silver mines of Qui.

“Why are you here?” The Emperor questioned her confident gaze.

“For a better life, to serve the Emperor,” she said easily.

“Well done, Miss Yarl.” The Emperor sat back in his chair.

She stared at him curiously. “Miss Leral,” she corrected.

The man simply chuckled.

“Your armor is here.” Aldrik stood to the side and allowed her to approach the table that was behind them. Basic plate and silver chainmail was displayed upon it. Vhalla was stunned a moment, one of the women would be wearing the armor Aldrik had made for her. No, she reminded herself, Aldrik had made that armor for Vhalla Yarl, and she was not Vhalla Yarl.

She scooped up the chainmail. This was Serien’s armor, simple and unadorned. It was the kind of armor that would slip into a mass of soldiers and be undistinguishable from the next. Aldrik silently assisted in showing her how to strap on the plate. It was heavier than her scale, and the weight made her favor her uninjured leg as she pulled on the gauntlets.

He turned and presented her with a sword. Thankfully, it strapped over her left leg, her good leg, so she could draw it with her right hand. She shifted, adjusting to its weight on her hip.

“Any questions?”

There was a notable pause and their eyes met. She wondered what he saw in her then, who he saw then.

“Serien?”

The name was strange to hear coming from him, addressed to her. But if anyone could say it and make her believe that it was her new identity, it would be Aldrik. She shook her head no.

“Good, you’ll be reporting under the Golden Guard. You are dismissed.”

She nodded. Her eyes reflected the empty distance she saw in his. Grabbing her canvas bag off the floor, she turned and gave a brief salute. Her knuckles were white from attempting to walk down the stairs wearing armor with her injured leg. She was determined, but mindful not to rip her stitches.

It was almost sunset when Serien left the hotel though a backdoor.

THE RIGHTS OF the fallen were held at sunset so the Mother could usher the souls of the dead to the Father’s eternal realms. Serien attended with the masses in the central square of the Crossroads, though none looked at her twice. She stared at the carefully crafted platform that held five bodies shrouded in red cloth.

One of them was Larel Neiress, the woman whom had spent countless hours putting Vhalla Yarl back together after the world had broken her. But this time, her hands had not been there, and Vhalla Yarl shattered into three pieces.

The crown prince stood before the bodies, stoic as a hooded crone sang the funeral dirge. Serien grit her teeth and walled her heart. She would not cry. She could not cry for a woman she had never met.

But her eyes were attentive and she saw as the crown prince was fixated on the fourth body. She felt the way his flames moved toward it at a base level that could not be explained away. She finally stepped out of the crowd as her stomach began to knot.

She was a drifter, a loner, the specter of the Crossroads with nowhere to be and no one to look for her. Serien perched herself under an archway of one of the many buildings, returning twice after being shoo’ed away. Eventually the owner finally stopped trying.

She watched the crowds move, blissful as life returned to normal. She saw a messy-haired Southerner go to the hotel with three large windows four times, returning to a familiar inn dejected and alone each time. The twinge of sadness crept up the back of her throat, which she quickly squashed—emotions of another woman.

When the army finally amassed in the square, prepared to march, Serien was an exhausted husk of a woman. She had barely slept out of fear, fear of what her treacherous mind may concoct and fear of sleeping in the open. She had no mount to speak of but instinctually fell into place in the center of the column. It was odd being surrounded by so much silver plate, but she quickly worked to accept it as her new normal.

Cheers erupted for the family Solaris as they left the hotel in full regalia. Six steeds had been lined up before the hotel, three were for the royals, the other three were for the dark-cloaked figures who walked at their side. Three women, almost identical in stature, with black hooded cloaks shrouding their faces walked next to each one of the royals. On the backs of their cloaks was a silver wing. It made for a beautiful target.

With vapid interest she watched one mount a black steed that had a white strip running down its face, like lightning. The woman was situated to the right of the crown prince, and Serien watched as the prince glanced at the woman before trotting toward his place in line.

“They could have at least tried to hide it,” one of the soldiers around her remarked.

“Not very hard to tell which one is the Windwalker,” another agreed.

“As if the Fire Lord would let his dark darling out of his sight.”

Serien didn’t join in their speculations as to the real relationship between the crown prince and the Windwalker Vhalla Yarl, but her ears heard. Most seemed to be in agreement that there was something between the two, but their theories were wide-reaching. Two men and a woman joined the younger prince as he fell into line with the hooded Windwalker.

“That’s enough, shape up!” an Easterner commanded.

Serien stared up at him as his horse found its way near her. The man with the golden bracer glanced down, meeting her stare. His eyes squinted slightly, and he opened his mouth to say something.

“Daniel, what is it?” a Southerner to his left asked.

Serien quickly returned her attention forward. She shouldn’t have picked the center of the column. Serien tried to bring her hands together to fidget but it was difficult in the heavier gauntlets. She bit her lip instead.

“Nothing,” the Easterner replied. “Sorry, it’s nothing.”

Keeping up with the horses was difficult as they marched double-time in full regalia, leaving the Crossroads. Serien’s calf screamed in pain, and sweat poured off her from the exertion of smothering her cries. Even when the call to slow was made, it wasn’t any easier. She was certain she had ripped her stitches.

Serien kept her eyes forward the whole day. The Great Imperial Way was going to stop soon. They would reach the last outpost before the North, and then it would be dangerous territory. Her somber mood didn’t match any of the other soldiers’, and she remained in her trance until the call to stop.

That was the first moment Serien felt lost. All the others knew what to do, where to go. They had their tents and their assignments. There wasn’t any hesitation as they dissolved into normal life for swordsmen.

She moved slowly, trying to overhear a bit of conversation that would confirm if she could just go up to the tent cart and ask for one or not.

“Soldier,” a man called from behind her.

Serien turned and her chest ached at the familiar eyes.

“You’re a new recruit, aren’t you?” Daniel stopped before her, a hand on his hip.

“I am,” Serien mumbled.

“Your name?” The question was clearly forced.

“Serien Leral,” she replied, hoping he’d take note.

“Let me see you use that thing.” He pointed to her sword.

She looked back at the Easterner. What was he thinking? He was going to ruin her cover less than one day in. One or two others glanced at the Golden Guard addressing her, but it seemed normal enough that they didn’t give it much heed.

Serien drew her sword, determined. It was too heavy, and she was instantly off-balance. She gripped it with two hands, trying to steady herself. Daniel drew his sword and in one fluid motion he sent her weapon flying from her hands and into the sand.

“That wasn’t fair!” she protested.

“Do you think our enemy will be fair?” Daniel took a step closer. “How long have you practiced?”

Serien averted her eyes. She shouldn’t have said anything. “Not long.” It sounded a lot better than “never.”

“The West is really letting their standards drop.” He sheathed his blade, crossing his arms over his chest. Serien regarded him cautiously. “You are from the West, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Thought so.” He sighed dramatically with a roll of his eyes. “Fine, I’ll teach you.”

“What?”

“I’m not letting a soldier under my command go into war helpless.” A familiar tone echoed under his words. “Let’s get out of the tents.”

She followed him into the desert on the outside of the host. They didn’t go far, just far enough that there was room to move in a wide circle and not fear for swinging their blades.

“You don’t hold it like that. Look at how I hold mine.” He demonstrated on his own blade and ended up moving her hand placement anyways. “There, like that.”

“It’s heavy,” she whispered.

“It’s forged steel.” Daniel chuckled. “Now, to swing.”

If Serien had been exhausted, in pain, and sweat drenched from the march, it was nothing compared to working with Daniel until sunset. Every limb ached, her shoulders screamed in protest, and she could barely grip the blade to sheathe it.

“That’s enough for today.” Daniel made note of her condition.

Serien nodded in thanks. “Daniel,” she said softly as they started back for camp.

“Yes?” His tone had changed to something she knew.

“Can I just get any tent?”

“You didn’t already get one?” He seemed startled.

“No, I didn’t. They didn’t tell me anything.” She bit her lip.

“There aren’t going to be any left.” Daniel ran a gauntleted hand through his hair. “Would you like to stay with me?” His question was so soft he clearly doubted it.

“I can’t.”

“Why?” Daniel asked sincerely. “Why can’t you?”

“Because I ...”

“I won’t let you sleep in the sand, alone.” It hardly sounded appealing to her either. “Are you travelling with someone, Serien?”

Daniel stole her eyes, and Serien struggled with finding an answer. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Serien pushed ahead of him and didn’t look back.

It was just as he had said. She slept out in the open with her pack as her pillow. Even though the South would be in the throes of winter, it was hot in the Waste and that heat lingered through the evening. It wasn’t until the moon was half in the sky that she began to shiver.

When Serien woke, a blanket covered her shoulders. There was no name stitched upon it, but it was finer than standard issue. Serien looked around, as if she could find the phantom who had placed it upon her in the night. But no one came forward.

She used it the next night, and the night after that. Once, Serien thought briefly about the other woman’s powers, about reaching out her mind from her body in the cover of darkness to a certain prince. But the idea was quickly squelched. That prince did not belong to her, he and Serien were nothing. She drifted to sleep that night debating with herself. If Serien and Prince Aldrik were nothing, then why was she sleeping alone in the cold?

By the third night the other soldiers had begun to notice that she was aloof and different.

“You practice with Lord Taffl a lot,” remarked one of the soldiers who marched next to her.

“It is an honor,” Serien said dryly.

“You someone special to the lord?” they asked.

She didn’t say anything.

“Hey, I asked you a question.” The soldier waved his hand in front of her face.

She continued to look forward.

“What’s wrong with you?” the man huffed.

“Leave the lady alone,” Daniel ordered from atop his horse.

“Definitely someone special,” the soldier mumbled to his friend.

The words stayed with Serien the whole day, and she confronted Daniel about them later. Serien threw her sword into the sand. Her leg was throbbing, likely from not taking off her greaves for nearly a week straight. Her calf was a mess she couldn’t bring herself to look at.

“They think there’s something between us.”

“And?” Daniel sheathed his sword, picking up hers.

“We can’t keep doing this or they’ll think—”

“What?” He handed the sword back to her. “What will they think?”

“That there’s something between us.” Serien didn’t take the weapon.

“So what?”

“They can’t,” she insisted.

“Why not?” Daniel shrugged but his eyes betrayed hurt.

“Because we’re ...” Her voice faded as he took a step closer to her.

“What? What are we?” he asked softly.

She finally took the sword sheathing it in frustration.

“I don’t have words for it either, yet.” Daniel laid himself emotionally bare before her. “But I want to help you, I want to look out for you. I know I’m not even supposed to know who you are, but I do and I’m thankful for it.”

Serien shook her head, trying to unhear his words.

“Look at me,” he said softly. She shook her head again. “Vhalla, look at me.”

Her attention snapped to him at the mention of her real name. It crumbled her mask and tore down the walls she’d tried so hard to build. It made the pain worse and the truth harder to bear.

“Don’t call me that,” she begged. “Please, Daniel, don’t call me that.”

“It is your name.” He quickly pulled off his gauntlet. She stilled when his skin made contact with hers, his hand along her jaw. “Why did they take it from you?”

“To keep me safe,” she hiccupped softly, losing the fight with tears.

He sighed, unable to argue. “Then let me keep you safe as well. Don’t sleep outside on the ground again tonight. It has carved a hole into my chest that gets deeper each moment I think of you there.”

“You know why I can’t.” She wasn’t sure if it was Vhalla or Serien who looked at him then, but Daniel was unable to meet her stare.

“He would want you safe,” Daniel mumbled. His hand fell from her face with the weight of resignation. “I won’t touch you, I swear it.”

The sun was setting over the dunes, turning his Eastern skin golden. Vhalla swallowed, trying to find Serien in her once more. Her heart hurt, her mind was heavy, but she didn’t want to sleep in the cold another night and she was so tired.

Serien nodded.

Daniel stared at her in disbelief for a long moment. He was quick to lead her back to camp. Serien’s heart raced as he led her toward a modestly-sized tent near the center. Two similar ones were placed near it, Baldair’s not far away.

Her eyes lingered on the younger prince’s tent. He would know. He would find out about her and Daniel, if he hadn’t already. What if he told Aldrik?

She searched the soldiers in paranoia. But none paid her any mind. She was invisible, a no one. Daniel may be a lord and a major, but he was a freshly minted one and clearly not considered to be much above the common soldier. No one cared who went into his tent or why he took them there.

Inside it was larger than the average soldier’s, comfortable for three people. Serien sat dumbly, her eyes adjusting to the fading light. Daniel wasn’t a Firebearer, he couldn’t summon flames for them to see by, so they were left to the remaining light of the sun and growing light of the moon.

“Do you know how to take this off ?” He was already halfway out of his plate.

“Not really.” She’d forgotten what Aldrik had shown her. It was more complex than the simple hooks he’d fashioned for her scale mail.

“Let me show you.” Daniel moved slowly, as though the slightest motion could send her running. The moment he lifted the plate off her shoulders, she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d forgotten how heavy the blasted armor was. Serien was quick to shed her chainmail.

“What—” Daniel lifted her pant leg before she had time to object. Serien saw what had commanded his attention. Her calf was caked in blood, the bandages hanging limp and useless, her flesh was shredded from the stiches she’d ripped. “By the Mother, how are you even walking?”

“I’ve gotten used to it.” There was a horrific fascination with seeing her own body mutilated. Serien wondered if she felt so calm because even her body didn’t feel like hers. Nothing belonged to her anymore, not even her name.

“No, this is bad.” Daniel rummaged through his pack. “I need to go to a cleric.”

“No!” She gripped his wrist. “They’ll ask questions.”

“No, they won’t.” Daniel assured her. “Serien, you’re no one. I’m mostly no one. Soldiers get hurt all the time. Stop worrying.” He rested a palm on her head and quickly departed.

Serien struggled with the emotions silently warring in her that followed his absence: guilt, shame, pain, exhaustion, and relief. She was happy not to be alone.

Daniel re-bandaged her leg and refused to train with her for a week after that. She spent most of the time making up lost hours of sleep. As soon as his tent was erected, she disappeared and hid from the world. In the darkness she didn’t have to be Serien or Vhalla. She could be no one, and that was the only thing that brought her peace enough to close her eyes.

Patrols and sentries were increased around the host, but there weren’t any further attacks. The march toward the North seemed so peaceful that it was unnerving. The soldiers were beginning to bore, and with their boredom came gossip.

“I hear he finally started taking her to his tent again.” The chatty one next to Serien had been very excited for this particular piece of gossip.

“Who?”

“The crown prince and the Windwalker. Who else?”

Serien glanced in the direction of the talking soldiers.

“But I hear he’s going through twice his usual spirits.”

“Enough for him and her?”

“Well I can’t blame her. I’d have to be out of my mind drunk to even think of sleeping with the Fire Lord!” They all laughed.

She wondered how Vhalla Yarl had been so deaf to their words. But those words stayed with her. They stayed until she practiced with Daniel that night, letting them go through her gradually less clumsy swings and footwork.

“You’re getting better, you know,” he encouraged as they rested side-by-side later.

“Am I?” She rolled to face him.

“You are.” He smiled.

Serien did something she hadn’t yet done. She smiled in reply.

The expression melted from Daniel’s lips as he stared at her, as if realizing the same thing. “Vh-Serien,” he corrected himself, remembering how she had pleaded for him not to the last time he’d used her name. It took away Serien’s strength and reminded her of all the things that were broken in the world. Being Serien was becoming easier.

“Yes?”

“May I touch you?”

The question caught her off-guard, and she blinked at him, trying to see his face clearly through the darkness. She shifted closer in her attempt, but it was pointless. The moon was beginning to wane and with it their nights had become heavier.

“What sort of a question is that?” she whispered.

“I swore I wouldn’t,” he reminded her. “But I wish to.”

“How?” Her heart was beginning to beat furiously in her chest.

“I don’t know, just yet.” Daniel shifted closer. “But, I want to find out. May I?”

Serien swallowed, her throat gummy. “You may.”

The words escaped—she hadn’t even known they had been hiding within her. The rough pads of his fingers, calloused from years of the sword, brushed up against her forehead, feeling where her face was in the darkness. They stilled, slowly tracing down her temple, over the curve of her cheek, along her jaw, to her chin. They brushed over her lips, and up her nose, as though he was an artist trying to recreate her likeness.

“Daniel ... I ...” her voice cracked. Tears threatened to spring forth from the ache in her chest that could split her in two. He was too kind.

“What? You what?” Sand ground beneath him as he shifted closer still. Serien could feel his warmth now. He was warmer than she expected him to be and it was such a soothing comfort. “What are we?”

Serien opened her mouth, trying to formulate an answer—but she didn’t have one. She didn’t know what she should call him, call them. He had gone beyond his call of duty as a friend and without her noticing he had begun to fill the holes her prior life had left in her. He comforted her in the night and he soothed away her fears for the day.

She pressed her eyes closed and pulled away. “I’m tired.”

Daniel didn’t ask the question again.

It took just over two weeks for Craig to finally confront Daniel about his new aloofness and odd habits. At which point Craig was finally in on the plot. It shocked Serien that it took his being sat down before her and practically told to notice the woman whose body she was inhabiting.

The moment he realized who she was, he pledged to protect her as well, and she had two teachers after that. Serien hadn’t realized her monopolization of Daniel’s time had been taxing on him, but the moment he didn’t have to be with her every second following the march, he was off doing other things, tending to Baldair’s demands or helping run the camp. She was cross with him for not telling her she’d been a burden and made sure he knew it.

Daniel only laughed. He would have done it for her no matter what, he assured her.

Serien had been born of blood and death, but even she was beginning to see the sun rise in all its colors. Perhaps it was the tireless support of Daniel—and Craig. Or perhaps it was because every day carried her closer to the final outpost of the West, where the host would split, and she would be with Aldrik again.

Some soldiers had called the final outpost a “fort” but that term was a very loose one. It had a makeshift wall constructed of giant timbers and packed clay, but within it was little more than the glorified tent cities she had come to know. There was no pomp or circumstance here, no cheers or pennons or ceremony. This was the edge of war, and there wasn’t time for such frivolous notions.

“We will rest here for the night,” the Emperor shouted over the troops, his voice carrying across the desert. “When we march tomorrow we will move as three hosts.”

The Emperor’s sons flanked him to his left and right. Each of the royals had the black shadow that had never left their sides. Other than the dust on their capes, the Windwalkers appeared no different than they had when they left the Crossroads.

“Each legion will be divided among my sons and me. We three will each take a separate route to Soricium to increase our odds of all making it.”

Serien recognized the name of the capital of the North, the last major blockade to the Empire’s victory. She crossed her arms over her chest. Using the memories of the other woman, a smirk appeared on her face knowing that Vhalla Yarl once advised the Emperor about splitting royalty.

“Your commanding majors will announce your assignments tomorrow. Prepare for war.”

SERIEN LAY AWAKE, listening to Daniel’s breathing. She watched as his chest rose and fell in the moonlight, punctuated by the soft sighs of dreamlands. She wondered what he saw behind his closed eyes. His dreams could in no way be as tortured as hers.

Being next to him was becoming painfully normal. She missed Fritz and Larel with an ache that could never be filled. But Daniel was kind and attentive. He was thoughtful and preempted her needs to a surprising degree.

Serien rolled onto her side. If things had been different, what would they be? She bit her lip.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Even as a hushed whisper, Prince Baldair’s voice carried.

“How many times must I tell you?” A voice, deep and dark as midnight, replied—its whispering tones echoing straight through Serien and into a woman who had been suppressed for weeks. “I will accept it no other way.”

“You and her ...” The voices grew near and Serien heard two sets of footsteps in the sand pass by Daniel’s tent.

“Again, how many times must I tell you?” She could see him pinching the bridge of his nose in her mind’s eye.

“I know,” Baldair muttered in disbelief. “You’ve thought this through, right?”

The question went ignored. “How is she?” The voices began to grow faint.

“Well cared for. I have my own looking out for her. They’re reporting into me and I’ve kept my promise, brother: she’s had everything she’s needed to be well.”

Serien glanced at Daniel.

“You mean the Easterner.”

“How did you know?” Baldair seemed as surprised as Serien.

“I must speak with ...” Their hushed whispers were almost out of earshot.

He was there. He was right there, a voice in the back of her mind echoed. If she moved now she would see him. Serien knew she couldn’t let herself. She’d been so careful to avoid the Black Legion at all costs. She knew what the sight of him would do to the other woman within her.

When his voice faded away entirely, her feet were under her, moving without thought. Serien made haste from the tent, praying she didn’t wake Daniel. She saw them in the distance, the two princes side by side, walking toward Baldair’s tent. A tiny mote of flame lit their path, and Serien staggered toward it, hypnotized.

His lean frame was swathed in black as if cut from the night itself. His elegant fingers curled around each other at the small of his back. His presence radiated the essence of poise to all who gazed upon him.

“Aldrik,” she breathed.

It should have been impossible for him to hear, but he turned anyway. He stilled as though he saw a specter. Baldair turned as well, curious to see what had so enthralled his sibling. The second he saw her, he knew.

She took another step forward, and Aldrik said nothing, his arms suddenly limp at his sides. Serien staggered across the gap between them. Her eyes were lost in Aldrik’s and the crown prince seemed to see nothing else either. They were both oblivious to Baldair’s nervous glances for any onlookers.

“Vhalla,” he whispered, holding out a hand to her.

Prince Baldair gripped his brother’s wrist. “In my tent.” He gave her a pointed glance, and she quickly followed behind them.

The moment they were both inside, Aldrik’s hands were in her hair. His long fingers wove themselves into the dark strands, as if trying to entangle himself with her very essence. She felt Serien melt away and, without the other woman’s armor, Vhalla was as naked as a babe, raw to the world and the emotions fighting within her.

She tilted her head upward, grabbing Aldrik’s face and pulling it toward her. The prince obliged, dipping his tall frame to crash his lips against hers. His chainmail dug into her chest and her fingers scratched against it, searching for a grip to cling to. She was desperate for him, for the life only he could instill in her.

Baldair cleared his throat for their attention. Aldrik pulled away only a fraction, his eyes searching her face. His hands ran over her cheeks, down her neck and shoulders. He stared at her, at the broken and scarred creature that she was, in amazement.

“I’ll go stay with Raylynn tonight, I think,” Baldair announced.

They both turned to see the tent flap falling back into place. Vhalla felt a blush sneak across her cheeks for her forwardness in front of Aldrik’s brother. But the hand that hooked her chin brought his lips to hers once more erased all thought of it.

Every slight turn of his head, shift of his wet lips over hers, was an ecstasy she had not known until the first time she had kissed him. It was the sweetest taste she had ever tried, one that only improved in flavor with each passing moment. It was the perfect thing to lose herself in and forget the pain. Aldrik pulled his body away, eliciting a whimper from her.

The arrogant royal grinned against her mouth. His hands fumbled with his chainmail, pulling it over his head between kisses. It fell heavily to the sand, and he pressed his body against hers once more.

It was a dance that only they knew the steps to, each movement purposeful. His hands, her hands, his mouth, her mouth, their bodies, all moved with perfect precision. The backs of her ankles hit Baldair’s bed and Vhalla was forced upon it. Carrying such a thing on the march now seemed much more pragmatic than she had first given the younger prince credit for.

Her hands fell on Aldrik’s hips, her thumbs finding their way under the hem of his shirt. Soft, Mother, his skin was soft. His palm ran lazily up and down her side, catching on her shirt now and then, pushing it up and exposing her own raw skin to the hot pads of his fingers.

Aldrik broke the kiss, breathless and flushed. Vhalla’s chest heaved as she stared up at him, their faces close. He said nothing, but his eyes told her the promise of a world of barely containable desire. Vhalla hooked his neck and pulled his lips back to hers. He couldn’t look at her like that without kissing her. Aldrik obliged her hungrily, and he discarded any previous timid notions of invading her mouth.

Her fingers walked around his neck, down his collarbone, and into the wide opening of his shirt. She indulged upon the exposed skin of his chest. He tilted his head, devouring her collarbone.

“I want to feel you,” she moaned softy. It was a noise that she should be embarrassed at herself for making. But her head was too clouded for that. Her head wasn’t in control.

Aldrik straightened, his knees on either side of her legs at the edge of the bed. He looked down at her uncertainly, insecurely, processing her words. Grabbing the back of his shirt he leaned forward, tugging it over his head and discarding it with the chainmail on the ground.

Vhalla stared at him. Her heart could drum or she could breathe, doing both was too much for her body right now. He was lithe, sinewy muscle cutting into and curving under the ghostly pale of his skin. The tiny flame cast deep shadows into his abdomen. There was an ugly scar on his right hip, another on his shoulder and a few minor ones here and there. He was almost too thin and the luster of his flesh could be borderline unhealthy. His nose was a little crooked and his face was angular and sharp.

“You’re perfect,” she whispered.

Aldrik seemed utterly taken aback. Other women clearly hadn’t thought so.

Vhalla reached for him and he conceded, scooping her up and situating her farther on the bed. His mouth was on her once more, his palms exploring her form.

“I want you,” he uttered huskily.

“Have me.” Vhalla had never been so brazen. But this man was fire. He was life. He was the only thing that had felt good or right in weeks, and she loved him so deeply it made her ache to think of parting with him ever again.

“No,” he said, as if the word was a curse.

“What?” Her eyes fluttered open to see him staring down at her.

He was heavy-lidded as well, he’d been indulging in the same cup of passion as she. “I won’t take you like this.” He caressed her cheek.

“Why?” she groaned.

“Because I care too deeply for you to have you in such a wanton way.” He kissed down her jaw, his actions completely contradicting his words.

“What if I want you to?” Vhalla couldn’t believe she was almost at the point of begging.

He couldn’t either and Aldrik chuckled darkly. “Will you want me less come the dawn?”

“Mother, no.” She pressed her eyes closed—the thought of dawn, of being Serien again, of being distant from him threatened to crush her spirit.

“Will you want me less come the next dawn?” He nipped lightly at her collarbone, pulling back her shirt with his greedy fingers. “Or the one after?”

“No, no, no,” Vhalla uttered, praying he never stopped his ministrations upon her.

“Then it shall be a fruit that will ripen with time and patience.” Aldrik pressed his cheek against hers, his lips moving against her ear as he spoke. “And it shall be all the sweeter when it is finally plucked.”

There were dark promises heaped between his words that were sealed with his actions. With nothing more than kissing and timid explorations he had a flush from her chest to her cheeks and her breathing heavy. Vhalla was driven crazy every time her fingers ran over the taut muscles in his shoulders. She was ready to scream his name when his fire glittered across her skin, crackling against her magic.

Eventually he rolled to his side, scooping her half onto him, his arms around her hips. Aldrik ran his hand along her back as she kissed him leisurely. Vhalla wasn’t sure when or why the heat faded, but when it did she found herself curled against his bare chest, her head tucked up by his neck and chin and his arm around her. The passion had settled into a warm honey, simmering at the pit of her stomach.

“Aldrik ...” Her whisper transformed into a yawn.

“Yes, my Vhalla?” he replied.

She felt his voice reverberate in both his neck and chest, and it made her shiver. “Nothing ... I just wanted to hear you say my name.”

“Vhalla, Vhalla, Vhalla,” he obliged, punctuating each with a kiss on her forehead.

“If morning never came, I think that would be all right ...” Her body was beginning to calm down, and the yawns becoming more frequent.

“I think it would be,” he agreed, pulling her closer.

“We will be together, from tomorrow?” She hadn’t dared ask, fearful of the answer. But if she had to brace herself for the worst, she wanted to know now. She would need the night to prepare herself.

“I wrote the list of soldiers myself.” Aldrik nodded. “We will not be apart ever again from tomorrow.”

“Isn’t that a nice dream?” She yawned again.

“My Vhalla, my lady, my love.” His words smoothed away the rough edges of her heart. “You make me do things far more dangerous than dream. You make me hope, you make me want.” He sighed a sound that was part bliss and part pain. “Mother, I have yet to discover if you will be my salvation or my demise.”

She twisted to look up at him, his dark eyes intense.

“I would never bring you harm.” She pressed her lips against his.

“Salvation, then.” He grinned against her mouth.

Morning threatened to burn through the canvas of the tent, and Vhalla felt as though the world began and ended with the man she was curled up against. His steady breathing and heartbeat were in perfect time with hers and created a melody that had a sweet timbre. Not quite awake, but no longer sleeping, Vhalla drifted through a blissful haze.

A haze that was abruptly interrupted by a broad-shouldered prince entering the tent. Vhalla sat quickly, as if doing so could hide the truth of spending the night in the crown prince’s arms. It was a contest to see whose face turned the reddest—hers or Baldair’s.

“Good Gods, you’re still here?” He cast a hand over his eyes as Aldrik sat as well, the covers pooling around his waist to reveal him only half clothed. “Brother, your debt to me is unfathomably great.”

Vhalla looked back at Aldrik in alarm, only to see that he had a lazy grin spreading from cheek to cheek. He turned to her, looking five years younger with a good night of sleep. Aldrik grabbed her for a brief kiss—startling in its passion, given their audience.

“My brother is right,” Aldrik whispered. “I must go or they’ll wonder where I am.”

She nodded.

“Wait for me until tonight?”

“Tonight?” She blinked at her prince.

“We will be together again with far fewer eyes upon us.” Aldrik grinned.

“In enemy territory!” She punched his shoulder, surprisingly playful given the subject.

“I’ll put the best men on watch.” He gripped her hand, bringing it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles.

“Any time now,” Baldair muttered, clearly uncomfortable by the lovers who had shared his bed.

“Unfortunately, no one will think twice about a woman leaving your tent,” Aldrik muttered, standing and dressing. “So I’ll go first.” He turned to Baldair. “Thank you, brother.”

There was a raw sincerity that Baldair was clearly not used to receiving from his brother. It brought a smile to Vhalla’s lips to be privy to it. The two of them weren’t so bad when they stopped fighting.

Aldrik gave her one last look, as if memorizing her form. Vhalla nodded. She only had to be strong for a short time more, she could do it. Then, that night, she’d find her way into his arms again. That knowledge alone kept her sane.

Baldair crossed over to the bed the second his brother left, assessing her. Vhalla regarded his gaze warily. “It’s real then.”

“What is?”

“You and Aldrik.” Baldair could barely say it, as if the words would bring the Mother’s wrath upon him.

“I love him.” She nodded. “And he loves me.”

“Vhalla ...” Baldair sighed and sat beside her on the bed. “Please, be careful.”

“More warnings?” She frowned.

“Not like before.” Baldair shook his head. “I’ve never seen Aldrik like this, I know his feelings are not mirrors and manipulation.”

“I tried to tell you that.” She was unable to hide her frustration. “He would never hurt me.”

“That’s not what I now fear for.” Baldair shook his head. “Vhalla, he is the crown prince.”

“I know that.” She gripped the blanket with white knuckles. “Why is it that you can be the playboy prince, chase whatever strikes your fancy, and he’s chastised for spending time with me? We haven’t even—” She stopped herself with a blush.

“Because I will not inherit the crown.” The prince regarded her with a heavy sincerity. “I’m the spare, Vhalla. No one cares what I do, they care what he does.”

“But they love you.” It was no secret who the common people’s favorite was.

“They love me because I never have to heap punishments upon them, or carry out executions, or levy taxes. I host parties and open casks of wine.” Baldair shook his head. “They don’t like him because Aldrik will be a fair ruler. He doesn’t care about being loved, he cares about doing what’s right.”

“And what’s wrong with—”

“Until you.” Baldair placed his palm on the top of her head. “You’re the first thing I’ve ever seen him want to take for himself.”

“What’s your point?” Vhalla knew already she wasn’t going to like it.

“That it also means that you are the first thing the world knows it can take from him.”

She froze in place and remembered Lord Ophain’s words: the chink in his armor. As deeply as their Bond ran, she was still learning about her prince and Vhalla saw the man known as the Fire Lord in a new way. His reputation, his titles, they elevated him and protected him better than forged steel or boiled leather.

“But I’ll try to make sure that doesn’t happen.” Baldair stood, helping her to her feet.

“Why?” She looked at him skeptically. “I have no interest in creating debts.”

He chuckled aloud. “That isn’t why I’m doing it. I have much to atone for when it comes to my brother. Maybe I didn’t realize how much until I saw him happy again. Either way, consider me your sword, Vhalla Yarl.”

She assessed him thoughtfully. He could be lying. But Baldair had never seemed to be intentionally malicious. Even the actions that had previously displeased her she couldn’t resent him for. If he was to be believed, it all came from a good place.

Vhalla raised her hand. “Then consider me your wind.”

Baldair smiled and clasped his palm against hers.

It was hard to be Serien when Vhalla was so happy, but she donned the guise of the other woman—mentally anyways. Serien was what she had to be, it was all she could be by daylight. To be anything else would make her worth noticing, and she was beginning to discover she enjoyed not being important.

“There you are!” Daniel waved her over for breakfast, and Serien sat between him and Craig. “I was worried.”

“Sorry about that. I went for a walk,” she lied easily and neither man questioned her. Serien wondered if Vhalla’s old friends would call her a bad liar now.

Daniel and Craig were easy going when other soldiers were beginning to fray at the seams. This was the two men’s third tour, and they knew what to expect. Serien thought about asking what she would see, but doing so was pointless. What awaited her would be there no matter what words they shared. But she knew who she would face it with.

So when the host was being divided, Serien walked with confidence to Aldrik’s group. None of the majors had instructed her to do so, but one catch of the prince’s eyes and she knew she was in the right place. They would face the North together. Serien balled her hands into fists, opening a Channel she shouldn’t possess.

The army began to settle, and the Emperor rode to the front. “Before we march, there have been a few changes to the groupings to better leverage the skills of our soldiers,” he announced. “The following people will move to Prince Baldair’s group ...”

The Emperor listed off a few names and a handful of soldiers from his and Aldrik’s groups found a new place.

He listed off a few more names, “... will move to Prince Aldrik’s group.” More shuffling followed. Serien shifted her weight from one foot to the next. She was ready to leave.

The Emperor continued with a few more names, suddenly drawing her attention, “... and Serien Leral. Will be under my command.”

The most powerful man in all the realms had somehow found her among the hundreds of soldiers, though it couldn’t have been hard as she had foolishly placed herself near Aldrik’s side. Serien looked up at the prince, panic originating from the other woman and rising up like bile in her throat.

The prince alternated between glaring at his father and looking hopelessly at her.

She couldn’t refuse, and her prince couldn’t speak for her, not in front of all these people. Serien dragged her feet to life. They were being separated. The Emperor had done this just to spite them. Serien wanted to scream, she wanted to blow the Emperor off his high horse with the strongest gale he would ever feel.

Vhalla’s emotions crept up on her: the fear of abandonment, fear of her friends dying while she was distant and helpless. Later Vhalla and all her emotions would escape. That shivering and shaking woman would break through Serien’s strength and claw her way to the surface. She would cry at the injustice of it all, at the unheeded warnings and blind hope.

But at this moment, she would keep herself together. She would be Serien, and she would keep her dignity. Serien held her head as high as possible, high enough that it tightened her throat and held in the tears and screams. She would not give the Emperor the satisfaction of seeing the last shred of her hope being crushed under his boot.

THE JUNGLES OF the North were unlike anything Serien had ever seen before. The Southern forests were tall timbers with a few low shrubs and trees but mostly a carpet of twigs and leaves covered the ground. The North was a dense and oppressive contrast. Bushes and trees closed in at every level, vines as thick as her arm spider webbed across the branches high above.

The ceiling the trees created was deep, and everything was cast in a hazy green shade. Despite the fact that it was the middle of winter, the humidity in the air instantly made it a little too warm for the amount of armor she wore.

The terrain slowed them, and everyone had been deathly silent from the moment they entered the forest. It was an abrupt line in the sand of the Western Waste. A clear marker created by burnt and cut down trees where the Empire ended. It was strange to think of herself as no longer being in the Solaris Empire.

With a step, the world she had always known ended.

But it hadn’t just been one step. It’d been countless steps that had taken her here, and they’d all begun with a rainy night and an injured prince. Not all the steps had been made with confidence, and some had led her to pitfalls, but she was strangely glad she had made them.

Now, however, she didn’t know where her feet would take her. Serien stood a stone’s throw from the Emperor and fake Windwalker. She glanced at the man from the corners of her eyes. He rode confidently atop his War-strider, but his shoulders betrayed him. Despite his age he was attentive, alert, mindful of every place a threat could appear.

War was his arena, his art, and his legacy. He had laid siege to an entire continent and swept it under his banner in one lifetime. Serien turned forward again before he had a chance to see her attention. She wished an attack would come. She wanted to see this man at work with her own eyes.

But the day was uneventful, and by the time night fell there had been no attacks. They slept under fallen trees and huddled beneath brush. There were no fires or jovial discussions. There weren’t even tents set up. Serien made herself small underneath a sapling, pulling moss around her. The nights outside had prepared her for this. She hardened herself and stayed the tears for one more hour, then the next hour, and the hour after.

By the third day she had yet to cry. Her emotions toward the Emperor and his switch were beginning to cool and mimic those of her feelings toward the Head of Senate, Egmun. She had seen it as Vhalla, and now as Serien, the actions of men who wanted to break her.

Unfortunately for them, one couldn’t break what was already broken.

It was on the sixth day that Serien’s ears picked up movement in the brush above. She looked upward to see the currents of air moving throughout the boughs of the trees. There was something unnatural that lingered on the edge of the wind, and Serien recognized a moment too late that it was the sound of breathing.

Northerners descended upon them in freefall. They rained daggers that immediately found their way into the skulls of unfortunate soldiers. Serien reached for her hood of chainmail, forgetting with a curse that she was not in Vhalla Yarl’s armor.

“Firebearers!” the Emperor shouted.

The Black Legion soldiers ran out to the perimeter creating a wall of flame. The Northerners were assaulted by arrows and magical tongues of fire to burn away the brush that reached out unnaturally to catch them. One fell straight before her, the body nearly exploding upon impact with the ground after such a long fall.

Serien took a breath, trying to assess their situation. The wind whispered to her once more.

“Incoming left!” she cried. Serien drew her sword as everyone, including the Emperor, stared on in confusion.

But her warning was validated the second Northerners were carried through the flames atop the backs of giant beasts unlike anything Serien had ever seen. It was a cat-like creature with double-jointed back legs and claws larger than a man’s thigh. Its thick fur was slick and whatever was atop it was impervious to the flames it had leapt over.

Two more came, carrying even more riders, who quickly dismounted, entering the fray with their double-sworded stances. The first one was barreling toward the Emperor and Windwalker, their target clear. The Emperor drew his sword, positioning his mount fearlessly to face the Northerner head on.

It wasn’t even a competition. The horse moved at the Emperor’s command, and Emperor Solaris moved as if his enemy had told him all the attacks they would make. He sliced the man’s head clean off, dodging all blades.

The Northerners didn’t seem interested in engaging any of the soldiers, and the Imperial army was left to struggle to impede the enemies’ leaps and jumps toward the Windwalker. Yet somewhere amid the chaos, she managed to hear the sound of a bowstring. Serien turned, finding the archer immediately in their roost.

The arrow was headed straight for the Emperor, who was engaged in heated combat. She swallowed her pride and stuck out her hand. The arrow stopped just as the Emperor was about to turn his face into it. He wasn’t able to conceal his amazement as the arrow dropped to the ground harmlessly.

Two cerulean eyes found hers. There was no love there, not an iota of appreciation. Serien set her jaw and missed the sound of another arrow being set loose.

By the time any of them heard it, it was too late.

The false Windwalker was knocked off her mount, she fell backwards and out of her saddle, an arrow protruding from her face. The Imperial company stared in shock, and the Northerners hollered in victory, making a calculated retreat. One by one the Imperial soldiers turned to the Emperor with apprehension.

“Leave her.” The Emperor turned his horse forward.

Serien lingered, longer than she likely should have, to stare at the body of the dead woman. It could have been her. That woman had died for Vhalla Yarl, and Vhalla Yarl didn’t even know her name.

The land became rockier as it elevated. Serien knew there weren’t mountains in the North, not like the South, but some of the bluffs were beginning to grow to an impressive scale. That night they had the fortune of caves and caverns to hide within. It was the first time the soldiers could relax and most capitalized on the opportunity.

Serien huddled in a nook in the rock face, protected on all sides. She rested her elbows on her knees and stared listlessly into the sunset haze. They were already a week into the march. Another two weeks and they should make it to Soricium. She gripped her arms tightly. She’d see Aldrik then. Considering the alternative would be too much for even Serien to bear.

Given the fact that it was the first opportunity at privacy, she shouldn’t have been surprised when a messenger tracked her down not long after sunset, leading her around the corners of boulders and into a small cave. He left quickly after.

“You wanted to see me, my lord?” she said, giving a formal salute—the salute of a soldier and not of the Black Legion.

“Yes.” The Emperor stood, placing his hands behind his back. “I suppose you want thanks for your act of heroism.”

She pursed her lips, waiting for him to get to the point. Waiting for him to arrive at the reason why he waited for days after that battle, why he waited for privacy.

“It’s not every day a commoner has the opportunity to save the life of the Emperor.” He walked to the opposite side of his small campfire. With the way the light illuminated his face she could almost see Aldrik’s brow in his.

“It was my honor.” He was going to make her play the game.

“Indeed,” the Emperor agreed. “It was because you are mine. Your freedom, your life, your future rest in my hands, Vhalla Yarl.”

The use of her name shredded through Serien, and it sapped the strength of her alter ego.

The Emperor didn’t miss the wavering in her eyes. “I want you to be very clear on why you are here.”

“I know why.”

“Why?” he pressed.

“To win you your war.” She didn’t even bother with the nonsense of atoning for her crimes. Serien—Vhalla—wondered if he had decided her fate the moment he laid eyes on the whirlwind.

“Yes, very good.” He began walking once more. “They said you were smart.”

There was a predatory glint to his eyes that had Serien’s hands balling into fists.

“Do you know who ‘they’ are?” the Emperor asked.

“Who?” She tried to stand to her fullest height so that he had less of a distance from which to look down at her.

“My eldest son.” The gauntlet was thrown.

Serien’s blood boiled. That’s what this was about. “He is very smart, my lord.”

“Usually,” the Emperor murmured as he inspected her from head to toe. She already knew she wouldn’t measure up. “Speaking of him, our two groups will merge again after the pass, during the final leg of the trip.”

Serien struggled to keep her face neutral; she was sure she failed. The Emperor continued to stare her down. “Is that why you called me here, my lord? To tell me that?”

The Emperor chuckled in amusement at her bold front. “No, I simply wanted to thank you for your attentiveness. It is good to know that when you focus on your duty that you are, indeed, not useless.”

“Thank you.” She took a step away, feigning the dismissal that wasn’t in his voice.

“Oh, and Miss Yarl.” She paused. “I recommend you keep that focus where it should be, on making it to the front and giving me my victory. I will not tolerate your entertaining girlish fantasies or misplaced notions.”

Serien clenched her hands into fists so tightly that the straps on her gauntlets threatened to break. She grit her teeth and set her jaw. She heard his threats loud and clear.

“Do you understand me?” The Emperor’s voice was deathly quiet.

“Perfectly.”

The conversation lingered with Serien as she stormed through camp back to her hideaway. It played on repeat through her mind as she struggled to find a position comfortable enough to sleep in. And, when she did fall asleep, the Emperor greeted her in her dreams...

The Emperor sat next to her. No, not her. Vhalla pulled herself away from Aldrik’s dream form. His face was hard, and fire lit his eyes. She followed the line of his attention and saw herself, part ethereal and part concrete, in an all too familiar cage. She was huddled and shaking, blood dripping from the back of her head along her jaw and onto the floor. The strength that sparked in her brown eyes was a shadow play, it lacked true substance behind it. That much was apparent, not only to her, but to the man whose memory she was occupying.

His hand balled so tightly into a fist that the skin had gone ghostly from lack of blood. It was impossible for Vhalla to have seen from across the courtroom during the original trial but his jaw was clenched to the extent that his face shook and trembled. The Emperor was speaking, but to Aldrik’s ears the words were blurred over the rush of hot anger in his head.

Aldrik’s emotions radiated clearly, unfiltered through the Joining-induced memory, as he left the courtroom. He couldn’t look at her. If he looked at her he would break. If he looked at her they would all know his worry on her behalf.

The moment the doors to Imperial quarters closed behind him and his family, Aldrik increased his strides, doubling the distance between him and his father. Vhalla could feel his magic trembling and pulsing with an undeniable need—a need to get to her.

“Aldrik,” the Emperor called.

He froze, turning. His face was expressionless, but she could feel the tornado of emotion ripping through his chest. The sight of his father filled him with panic.

“I need you in the war council; the North is getting too bold, and we will need to counter this aggression with force.”

“I will be there shortly,” Aldrik replied stiffly.

“You will come now.” The Emperor’s tone was casual enough, but something dangerous shone through his eyes.

She could feel Aldrik gather his courage, a strange thing she never thought the man known as the Fire Lord would need to do. “Clearly the guard’s definition of care is lacking,” Aldrik’s voice dripped venom. “I plan to educate them.”

“That is not your concern.” The Emperor waved the notion away, starting down a different hall.

“It is.” Desperation flooded Aldrik’s chest and overflowed into hers. “I told you, she can win you your war. I am merely protecting our interests.”

“Which is why I didn’t have the monster killed before she saw the light of day again.” The Emperor paused, glancing at his son. “The Empire’s interests, Aldrik?”

“Always for the greater good of our Empire.” The words were rehearsed. They’d been said so many times they spewed from Aldrik’s mouth without thought, completely void of emotion. They were so hollow that Vhalla could sense the dam that trembled in the prince, holding back a plea of, let me go to her. “You do not want her to die, Father. I told you, I can train her, mold her—”

“Right, right.” The Emperor turned to Baldair, who Vhalla had almost completely forgotten was there. “Baldair, fetch a cleric to tend to Aldrik’s pet.”

“Father...” Baldair frowned.

“Thank you.” The Emperor completely ignored the disapproving tones in his younger son’s voice.

Aldrik continued to stand silently as the Emperor walked away. Vhalla felt his resignation. She knew his acceptance of a deeper truth that, despite all his wants, he couldn’t go to the woman he wished to be nearest to.

“Baldair,” Aldrik whispered once the Emperor was just far enough away.

“What do you want?” Vhalla felt a twinge of disappointment in Aldrik toward the disgust that laced Baldair’s words.

“Go to her yourself,” Aldrik demanded.

“What?”

“Go to her yourself, damn it,” Aldrik hissed. “You owe me.”

“I don’t owe you anything.” Baldair crossed his arms on his chest.

“What happened to being the noble knight who proclaims protection of the weak and innocent?” Aldrik sneered. Vhalla felt his satisfaction when he saw Baldair’s expression change. The prince knew just what words to say to goad his brother in the direction he wanted. “You owe me for the last six Elixirs of the Moon I pilfered from the clerics without their noticing. Unless you’d like me to reconsider that arrangement.”

“Fine, but not for you,” Baldair huffed. “For the girl.”

“Fine.” Aldrik strode off, satisfied for the moment. His father was a few steps ahead and seemingly oblivious to the muffled exchange. Aldrik clenched and unclenched his fists.

He damned everything he ever loved. How could he have even thought being near her could end well? How could he have let himself blur the lines with the girl so far?

The questions radiated through Aldrik’s mind and into Vhalla’s consciousness as he stormed through the hall. A chair burst into flame by him, an outburst of emotion that couldn’t be tamed. Aldrik scowled at it and extinguished the fire.

Vhalla woke shivering in the North with thoughts, pilfered from Aldrik’s dream consciousness. He had to get control. He couldn’t let them see. He couldn’t let them know what she was.

THE SOLDIERS SAID that “the pass” previously was the greatest river in the world. But it had long since dried up. It was hard for Serien to believe that the deep, rocky ravine could’ve ever held water.

But somewhere across the chasm was Aldrik. The Emperor may have wanted to threaten her into submission, but all he did was give her a point in time to wait for. Another day, maybe two, and they would be across the pass; she would be with him once more. She would be careful, but she would tell him of his father’s threats, and somehow they would overcome them.

Serien looked at the Emperor from the corners of her eyes. He wouldn’t get in their way, no matter how long and hard he tried. He couldn’t fathom what his son felt for her and what she felt for him. But someday he would see.

It was halfway through the day when she first heard steel on steel and the sounds of combat echoing through the winds of the pass. Serien shivered, suddenly cold despite the jungle’s heat.

Aldrik.

She wanted to run, to sprint, her heart beginning to race with a wild beat. He needed her. He did. She just knew it. Vhalla could feel it through the Bond.

Neither Vhalla nor Serien were prepared for the moment the troops rounded a curve in the pass. Fire burned the treetops as soldiers engaged on the opposite side of the pass. It was an all-out assault, and she was uselessly far. Vhalla searched frantically to try to find Aldrik among the chaos.

The North, however, was taking no chances with what side their query would approach from, and the Imperial soldier’s shock was the ideal opportunity for a second surprise attack. Men and women, warriors in boiled leather, charged from the brush before them.

The Emperor frantically tried to call out orders but they were too disorganized and flat-footed. The Northerners cut through the front of the ranks with ease. The Imperial soldiers tried to compose themselves, the second and third rows of men and women drawing their swords. But shock made them clumsy and the points of their blades chipped off their enemies’ magic stone skin.

What was an organized unit was quickly devolving into chaos. Trained soldiers tried to call for the new recruits to hold the line, but the battlefield was already stained with blood that was turning men mad. The Emperor shouted from atop his mount, trying to reclaim order. The might of the North pressed upon them, determined otherwise.

An odd calm had overtaken her. The bursts of flame across the ravine shone in her eyes, illuminating a deeper truth resonating within her. You are a symbol, Baldair’s words echoed through her subconscious. Vhalla’s fingers went to the belt strapping on her sword, dodging the first Northerner’s blade in the process.

She would not meet these people in terror. If she was going to die, then she would die with dignity. Vhalla dashed backward and pulled off her gauntlets, feeling the wind beneath her fingers as they unlatched her plate. She would not die as Serien. If she was going to die, then she would die as the Windwalker.

The Northerner who had been attacking her charged forward and Vhalla’s hand thrust forward to meet the woman. It was as if the wind had missed her commands and it responded in full force, knocking the woman off her feet and several other Northerners along with her. Vhalla swung another arm, sending the Northerners tumbling.

“The Wind Demon!” one shrieked, pointing at her.

Vhalla didn’t shrink away, she charged forward. The wind was under her feet, and Aldrik’s heartbeat in her ears. She drew from his strength. Together they would confront their foes. Together they would be invincible.

She moved effortlessly around the blades as they came. They couldn’t touch the wind. Vhalla disarmed them with flicks of her wrists and waves of her fingers.

It was the first time she had truly fought without fear. Every time before, even sparring, she had been afraid. Her power had been strange, then the Joining, then the fear of killing once more ... But she had learned how to shield her heart as Serien and she was a truly an agent of death now.

She’d show the Emperor, she’d show the world that they had finally gotten what they wanted in her.

Vhalla lunged for one of the warriors, and her palm covered his mouth. It was how Aldrik had killed the Northerner on the Night of Fire and Wind. But, from her, there would not be flame. The air trapped within the man’s neck budged at her command. His eyes lolled in his head as it pressed outward, stretching the skin to its limit. The wind exploded free, taking strips of skin and hunks of meat with it, spraying blood over her face and arm.

The man fell before her and there was an almost audible hush as everyone seemed to pause and stand in horror. Vhalla looked at the soldiers, her allies. Her eyes met the Emperor’s, who seemed equally stunned.

“Fight with me!” she cried. They needed a leader, they needed a symbol that was more than a man in golden plate. They needed a Fire Lord. Or, a Wind Demon. “Fight with me!” Vhalla punctuated her statement by lunging for another Northerner, who exploded at her hand.

Imperial soldiers sprang to life around her, heeding her wind, taking care to account for her movements. The Emperor wanted her to bring him victory. She would show him what it would cost.

All else faded to the drumming in her ears. She gave herself to her Channel with the wind and to her Channel with her prince. She dodged faster than a person should be able to, she jumped farther, and she lost count of how many died by her hand.

But she had never used her magic like this before—consciously—and Vhalla finally felt her power waver. What should have knocked back several soldiers only stumbled them. She paused, inspecting her hand, as if it had consciously betrayed her.

A large flame from the other side of the chasm demanded her attention and, for the first time since the fighting broke out, she looked across to Aldrik. Everyone, even across the ravine, stumbled at the wave of heat. Vhalla took a step in his direction. There were more Northerners, a lot more, on the other side of the chasm. She wondered what happened to all the other soldiers. Aldrik seemed to have five on him at once.

He was like poetry through fire. His body moved deftly, countering and parrying with flame. The fire swirled around him, and his dark armor seemed to be alive with it as Aldrik spun, commanding the blaze with his hands and thoughts.

She threw a hand, the sight of him inspiring her power again. A soldier was knocked into the flames, and they blazed about him as her air and his fire mingled. Aldrik turned instinctually and his eyes found hers.

His expression quickly turned to horror, and Vhalla felt the blade move through the air behind her. She dropped her shoulder and rose her hand, wondering if Aldrik saw the Northerner’s face explode. Vhalla turned back to check, and her heart began to race for a different reason entirely.

He was being bested by two from either side. Aldrik dipped and swung, he dodged, but they were both clearly highly experienced combatants. Vhalla took a step forward. It was then she noticed four more had closed in, making a semi-circle around the prince and two Northerners. He was pinned against the edge of the ravine, occupied entirely by the two who dipped and dashed for any opening they saw.

Vhalla saw as Aldrik was forced back another step. The others on the edge of the semi-circle moved their lips fervently.

She took another step forward. Aldrik didn’t notice them. She had to tell him.

Suddenly, the two soldiers jumped away, tumbling backwards. All six raised their fists in unison. Aldrik seemed too stunned to move. He barely was able to take a step as all the Northerners dropped their closed hands into the ground.

A groan, a rumble, and the ground rippled under his feet.

“No,” she breathed.

Aldrik tried to run as the edge of the cliff cracked beneath him. He clamored, heavy in all his armor.

“No!” Vhalla cried, sprinting forward, past the blood and gore in an attempt to reach him. The swords faded away, the cries of the soldiers. She only saw her prince, losing his footing as the first large rock slid down into the pass below.

“No!” Vhalla screamed as she saw Aldrik tumble backwards.

The next thirty seconds stretched into eternity. Vhalla ran blindly to her prince, thinking of nothing but getting to him. His feet finally left the ground as the whole of the cliff shook away before the half-circle of Groundbreakers. Aldrik was falling, plummeting among the loose earth to the ground far below.

Her feet sped beneath her, carrying her away from the cries of the Imperial soldiers at her back. The wind was tangled around her ankles and caught beneath her heels. She had to get to him, she would save him. Vhalla leapt into the air, the wind at her back pushing her forward.

Aldrik was opposite the wide mouth of what was once a great river. And yet, with an expel of her power she crossed to him, propelled on the air, tilting forward. His hair whipped around his face and his dark eyes locked with hers in shock.

His lips formed a single word. “Vhalla,” he whispered into the rush of wind around his plummeting body. Vhalla stretched her hand forward, desperate. She would reach him. The ground was coming up fast, and Aldrik finally began to reach for her as well.

His body tilted and twisted over the pockets of air she tried to create beneath him. There were too many unpredictable factors, she wasn’t strong enough, and she wasn’t skilled enough to stop a body like this. Panic propelled her to exhaust the last of her magic trying to slow him.

His hand groped at the air. Vhalla extended her arm, she had to reach him. The tips of her fingers touched his and Vhalla felt her body magically beginning to slow, the wind refusing to harm her. Aldrik stared at her, and she saw an emotion completely consume him that she had never seen from him before: fear. Vhalla’s arm threatened to rip from her socket, his hand was so close. She almost had him, a moment more, a moment further, an ounce of energy that was not used to push the wind around her and him. The ground was relentless in its desire to violently meet their falling bodies, and she only had one last attempt before they were crushed upon it.

Vhalla took her chance.

She grasped the empty air, his fingers slipping past her bloody ones, and she screamed. The last thing Vhalla saw was the moment when Aldrik’s body met the ground, blood pooling instantly about his broken and lifeless form, before everything went black.

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For Katie and Nick,

for all the late nights you held together

this Windwalker’s sanity.

VHALLA WAS FALLING.

The wind roared past her ears as she dove headfirst into the greatest ravine in the world. Her magic sparked and sputtered as she tried to push herself closer to the man tumbling through the air below.

She extended her arm to the point of pain and her eyes met his. She would make it. She would reach him—she had to. Her dark-haired prince stared up at her in world-shattering panic, uttering her name like a prayer on the wind.

When Vhalla’s blood-coated fingers grabbed the open air, barely missing his, she screamed in anguish, trying to extend her arm for one more futile attempt at catching him—as his body violently met the rocks below.

Vhalla lunged forward, throwing off the covers piled on top of her. Her hand stretched out before her, empty. A cold sweat rolled down her brow, and her head reeled with dizziness. Two hands clasped her palm, and Vhalla followed the Southern pale skin up to a pair of cerulean eyes.

“Fritz?” Vhalla breathed in confusion.

“Vhal, thank the Mother!” Fritz released her hand to throw his arms around her shoulders.

Vhalla tried to clear her hazy mind and force it to work once more. She was in a field tent, light filtering through layers of branches and moss piled atop the canvas. Vhalla rubbed her head, feeling bandages wrapped tightly around it.

Bandages . . . Blood . . . A broken man in black armor in a pool of his own blood.

“Aldrik?” She turned to Fritz with purpose.

The Southerner jumped at her sudden intensity. “Vhal . . . You . . . Elecia will need to check you now that you’re up.” Fritz would not meet her eyes.

“Aldrik?” Vhalla repeated, her voice shrill.

“I can go get her. You’ve been asleep almost two days now and—”

Vhalla lunged for her blubbering friend, grabbing his shirt just above his chainmail. She wrenched him forward with it, twisting her fingers in the fabric. Fritz had a mix of sorrow and fear she’d never seen on his face before. Vhalla’s heart couldn’t decide between hurtful beats or stopping completely.

“Where is Aldrik?” Her hands shook with the force of holding the Southern man—shook with terror.

“Vhal, the prince, the fall, he . . .” Fritz’s eyes told her everything.

“No . . .” Vhalla hung her head as shock set in. She hadn’t been fast enough. She hadn’t been fast enough, and now Aldrik was—

“He’s alive.” Fritz placed his palms on her arms gently, and Vhalla was grateful because she needed the support.

Her trembling fingers ran over Fritz’s cheeks as though to erase the truth his lips had just imparted. Vhalla’s joy was stinted by the worry that clouded her friend’s eyes. “What?” she croaked. “What is it?”

“He’s not good.” Fritz shook his head slowly.

“Where is he?” Vhalla demanded.

“Vhal, you can’t.” Fritz gripped her shoulders tighter.

“Where is he?” She couldn’t breathe. There was suddenly no air, and she was going to suffocate if she didn’t find her way to his side. “I must see him.”

“You can’t—”

Vhalla wouldn’t hear another refusal. She was on her feet and out of the tent before Fritz could finish. Her whole body ached, and the quick movements made her head spin all over again. Cool realization numbed the pain as Vhalla took in the camp. They were entrenched. Camouflage was piled upon tents, archers were roosted in the trees, and a clear perimeter was established—the soldiers settled in to stay for some time.

“Vhalla, please, you need to lie back down,” Fritz pleaded.

“Which one is he in?” Vhalla tugged her arm from Fritz’s grasp, trying to determine which tent would most likely hold the crown prince. Her eyes fell on one with two soldiers on either side, and Vhalla ran.

The soldiers moved too slowly, and Vhalla almost made it into the tent.

Almost.

She slammed into the body of one soldiers as he put himself between her and the entrance. Vhalla blinked up in shock. “Let me pass,” she demanded dangerously.

“We are under orders that no one other than the Emperor, his family, clerics, and advisors are to enter.” The soldier clearly didn’t enjoy giving her this news. The ghost of sympathy drifted through each word.

“Let me pass.”

“I’m sorry, but we can’t. We’re under orders.”

Vhalla knew he was pleading with her to understand. She understood perfectly. She understood that they were keeping her from Aldrik for no good reason. She had to see her prince; he wasn’t really alive until she saw him.

Vhalla planted her feet in the ground, balling her hands into fists. Her magic had yet to replenish from the fight she’d engaged in prior to the fall. Coupled with her body still being on the mend, Vhalla felt weak, but she wasn’t about to let anyone else see that. “Let me pass or I’ll—”

“Or you will what?”

Vhalla’s blood froze in her veins. She turned slowly to face the most powerful man in the world, the Emperor Solaris. Aldrik’s father regarded her with thinly veiled contempt. He blamed her for the state of his son. Well, they finally had something they could agree upon.

“You are to return to your tent, Yarl,” he commanded.

Vhalla took a few deep breaths. She was still the property of the crown. This man owned Vhalla until she gave him his victory in the North. And, if the ultimatum he gave her a few days earlier still stood, her freedom also hinged on ending all affiliation with his son—an affiliation that had begun nearly a year ago, an affiliation that had turned her into the secret lover of Crown Prince Aldrik.

“Was I unclear?” The broad-shouldered Southern ruler took another step closer.

Tension was heavy in the air, and the soldiers behind her held their breaths.

“Vhalla, good—you’re awake.” Vhalla turned to see Aldrik’s tent flap closing behind Elecia. “I need to check your condition.” The woman passed between the soldiers, linking her arm with Vhalla’s. It was the most contact the dark-skinned woman had ever initiated. “Come.”

It was the order in Elecia’s voice that Vhalla finally heeded. She let the other woman lead her back toward the tent she’d just left. But her eyes remained locked with the Emperor’s in defiance. He could not keep Aldrik from her, not so long as she drew breath.

“Get in there,” Elecia muttered, practically throwing Vhalla into her tent and on top of Fritz in the process.

“What’s wrong with you?” Vhalla blinked up at the glaring woman, who looked nothing like the concerned cleric who had just escorted Vhalla across camp.

“What’s wrong with you?” Elecia hissed, dropping to her knees across from Vhalla. “Did you lose what little intelligence you had in that fall? Now is not the time to be testing the Emperor.”

“I don’t give a damn about the—” Fritz’s palm clasped forcefully over Vhalla’s mouth, stopping her treasonous words.

“Can we all take a breath, please?” Fritz held out his free hand toward Elecia.

Vhalla glared at the curly-haired woman. Friend or foe, she still didn’t know where Aldrik’s cousin stood. The pain and anger glittering in Elecia’s emerald eyes revealed to Vhalla that the other woman shared the same difficulties figuring out their relationship.

“How is Aldrik?” Vhalla asked the one thing they could easily discuss.

“No.” Elecia shook her head. “I will ask the questions.”

“Excuse me?”

The other woman had succeeded in catching Vhalla mentally off-balance and seized the moment. “How did you and my cousin become Bound?”

Out of all the questions Vhalla would have guessed Elecia would ask, that one she wasn’t expecting. Vhalla choked on her words, blindsided. “H-how?”

“I would have expected you not to tell me,” Elecia sneered. “But him?” The woman tugged on her dark corkscrew curls, overcome by doubt. She recovered quickly, turning the emotion into rage. “What did you do to him? What did you threaten him with to make him keep silent?”

“How dare you!” Vhalla wanted to claw the other woman’s accusatory eyes out. She wanted to tear her limb from limb. “If you think I would ever do anything to hurt him . . .” She could barely form a sentence she was so angry.

“Both of you, stop.” Fritz had never sounded so commanding, and both women startled at the sudden interjection. “You’re not each other’s enemy, you fight the same fight.”

Vhalla scowled at Elecia, and the other woman mirrored the expression.

“Elecia, you know Vhal wouldn’t do anything to harm Aldrik.” Fritz turned to Vhalla. “And Vhal, you must know how worried Elecia has been, for the prince and for you.”

Elecia pointedly glared at a corner of the tent, clearly frustrated she’d been outed by Fritz.

“How did you know?” Vhalla swallowed her prior frustration.

“I wouldn’t have, if I wasn’t healing you both. Most clerics, sorcerer or otherwise, wouldn’t have.” Elecia didn’t miss an opportunity to brag. “But I noticed that as you improved, he did as well. His magic was also different when I inspected him closely with magic sight. I’d seen it at the Crossroads when I was healing him, but I thought it was the effects of the poison; his strength masked it when he was well. So, I wasn’t sure until Fritz confirmed it for me.”

Vhalla glared at Fritz, and the Southern man suddenly became very obsessed with the dirt under his nails.

“How did it happen?” Elecia took a deep breath. “I know it wasn’t from the Pass. This is a deeper connection, an older, more stable one.”

Vhalla sighed, rubbing her eyes with her palm. She wanted to see Aldrik. But if that couldn’t happen, Elecia was her best chance at learning the truth about his condition. If finding out that truth meant appeasing the frustrating noble, then Vhalla would do it. “I was the one who formed the Bond . . .”

The story wasn’t new for Fritz. Vhalla had confided in him and her now-dead friend, Larel, months ago. But there were details she’d never shared with him, and he listened with interest. Elecia regarded Vhalla skeptically, as if only half believing the tale of the library apprentice who created magic Vessels that formed a connection—a Bond—with the crown prince and saved his life in the process.

Once she began, Vhalla found she couldn’t stop. The weeks and months poured from her and she told Elecia and Fritz everything. The Bond, the Night of Fire and Wind, how she and Aldrik had widened the Bond with the Joining; how his magic could no longer harm her. Vhalla bore it all before them. They were secrets she’d held so closely and now would give them all up just to confirm he was alive, just to regain the trust of the one woman who held that information.

Elecia raised her thumb to her mouth, biting her nail in thought after Vhalla finished. “Well, that explains a lot,” she mumbled.

“Now tell me.” Vhalla repeated gently, “How is Aldrik?”

“Not good.” Elecia shook her head.

Vhalla noticed the other woman’s tired hunch and braced herself.

“He shouldn’t be alive.” Elecia sighed heavily. “But now I understand why he is. As I said, the Bond you share is a deep connection between you both. I’ve never seen anything like it, though, I’ve not had much experience with Bonds . . . Either way, I have little doubt that you are keeping him alive.”

“What?” Relief gave way to a new fear.

“Being the one who created the Bond, your magic is serving as an anchor. I told you, as you improved so did he. As you grew stronger, you had more to give—”

“So he’ll be all right?” Vhalla interrupted, too eager to let Elecia finish.

“I didn’t say that.” The other woman’s words were a knife to Vhalla’s chest.

“But, I-I’m better,” Vhalla sputtered uselessly.

“No, you’re far from it.” Elecia spared no truths. “You’re barely healed, and sustaining him put you out an extra day—at least—compared to what your body truly demanded to mend. One person can’t sustain two: you’re not strong enough.”

“He will be fine.” Vhalla wouldn’t believe anything else.

“You haven’t seen him!” Elecia spat. “I’m doing all I can, but our supplies are diminishing. He’s weak and fading—at best, I’m maintaining his stasis. But he doesn’t wake. He lost so much blood and the wound to his head was substantial.” The other woman’s clerical demeanor was beginning to crack under the strain of truth. “I don’t know if when he wakes he will even still be Aldrik.”

Silence settled upon the three of them as they all processed Elecia’s words. Vhalla gripped her shirt over her stomach. The world was cruel, too cruel.

“No,” Vhalla whispered. She refused to believe the Gods would allow him to live only to have her watch him die or have him return a different man. “What is the next course of action?” It didn’t take a military expert to know that lying prone in the heart of enemy territory was not a good idea.

“I don’t know yet. The Emperor was still discussing it with the majors last I heard. He’s not telling me anything.” There was genuine offense in Elecia’s tone.

Vhalla’s mind began to move faster than it had in a long time. She felt as though she was once more processing the depths of knowledge housed by the Imperial Library. Her thoughts whirred, focusing on a single instinct; to save the man she loved.

“What do you need to save him?”

“More medicine, clean bandages, real nourishment—even if I’m forcing it down his throat—a place for him to rest where we aren’t constantly worrying about being attacked.” Elecia didn’t say anything Vhalla hadn’t already come to assume.

“The Northern capital, Soricium.” Vhalla knew the army had settled in for siege months ago. It was one of the first things the Emperor had announced when he returned to the Imperial Capital, before Vhalla was even known as the Windwalker.

Elecia nodded. “But that’s the problem, we can’t move him as he is. He needs to be more stable for that. And when we do move him, we don’t have enough men to fight off attacks as we’ll be moving slowly.”

“Then we need to get better medicine here to heal him; medicine and more soldiers, for protection when he’s moved,” Vhalla thought aloud.

“What are you thinking?” Fritz finally noticed the expression on Vhalla’s face.

“Someone has to go deliver the message.” Vhalla didn’t know why she even bothered saying “someone”. “How long does he have?”

“I don’t know; he should’ve been dead already,” Elecia said grimly.

“How long does he have?” Vhalla repeated.

“Without medicine, maybe a week?” The words were a death sentence and they all knew it.

“And it’s a week’s march to Soricium.” No one corrected Vhalla’s assessment of where they were. She had correctly remembered what the Emperor had said before they started down the Pass. Vhalla balled her hands into fists. “I’ll go.”

“What?” Fritz balked. “Vhal, it’s a week through hostile territory to a place you’ve never been!”

“No one will ride faster than I.” Vhalla focused on Elecia as if her whole plan hinged on the woman’s approval. “I can put the wind under the horse. It’s a week for a group of soldiers, some on foot; it will be less than half for me.”

“Impossible.” Elecia shook her head.

“Your confidence is uplifting,” Vhalla said trenchantly. Elecia appeared startled to hear the tone come from the Eastern woman’s lips. “I will go, and I will send the fastest riders back with medicine, the men you need behind them.”

“Why would I condone you going on a suicide mission?” Elecia frowned. “I know you’re the main thing keeping him alive.”

“You said it yourself, I can’t keep him alive.” The truth was a hard potion to swallow. “Our Bond may have kept him from falling into the Father’s realms of the afterlife. But I can’t save him. If I go, maybe I die, maybe he loses that link, and maybe he dies.” The words cut her lips as they passed. “But if I don’t go, he will certainly die.”

Elecia hesitated for another long moment. “Assuming I indulge this insanity,” she paused to chew on her thumbnail, a tic the woman had never let Vhalla see before, “there is no way the Emperor is going to let you go. I don’t know what you did to cross him, but he will not let you leave his sight.”

“Then I’ll leave tonight while he sleeps.”

“You’re serious?” Vhalla saw a new emotion cross Elecia’s face, one she’d only seen once following the sandstorm: respect.

“What will he do? Send riders after me?” Vhalla smiled; madness and desperation were a calming concoction. “What is the fastest horse?”

Elecia hardly thought about it before answering, “Baston.”

“Baston?” Vhalla didn’t recognize the mount.

“Aldrik’s . . . but the beast won’t let anyone touch him. We couldn’t even lead him. He just walked obediently behind the horse Aldrik was thrown over.”

Vhalla pushed the thought of Aldrik—bloody, dying, and unceremoniously thrown over the back of a horse—out of her mind. It would all be a bad dream by the time he woke. He would be safe, and he would wake. “I will ride Baston then.”

“Have you lost your hearing along with your mind?” Elecia rolled her eyes. “Baston won’t—”

“He will let me ride him.” There was a calm certainty to Vhalla’s voice that gave Elecia pause. She’d ridden alongside the beast for the length of the continent and part of its master lived in her. “I’ll go after it’s dark. I’ll need some kind of map to find the way.”

“Easier still, I’ll get you a compass,” Elecia thought aloud. “Soricium is due north from here.”

“Wait, you’re agreeing with this?” Fritz blinked at Elecia before turning to Vhalla. “No, Vhal, you can’t.”

“What?” Vhalla glared at her suddenly traitorous friend.

“No, I-I thought I lost you, too . . . and now you’re okay . . . you can’t leave . . .” Her friend’s voice weakened to a whisper.

Vhalla realized that she may have exposed herself as the Windwalker in the Pass and cast off the guise of Serien Leral, but she still needed that other persona’s heart. Vhalla still needed the steel and blood-forged emotional armor that she’d crafted as Serien. If she couldn’t find that, she wouldn’t be able to leave.

“Fritz,” Vhalla whispered, reaching out to him. She pulled Fritz into a tight embrace. Somewhere deep within, Vhalla was holding herself, holding within the girl who was still shivering, shaking, and crying with all her might. “It will be all right. I must do this.”

“Why?” Fritz sniffled.

“You know why.” Vhalla laughed softly. “I love him.”

“Love has made you stupid,” her friend muttered into her chest.

Vhalla met Elecia’s eyes as she answered, “I know.”

The half-Western, half-Northern, woman assessed Vhalla levelly, as if passing judgment on what Vhalla was about to say.

“But if I’m going to be stupid for anyone, it will be for him. I’ve fallen too far into him to give up now, to let him go.”

“You’ve changed, Vhal.” Fritz pulled away, rubbing his eyes.

“I know.” Vhalla had no other option but to admit it.

She spent the rest of the day with Fritz and left him with the promise that she would be waiting for him in Soricium when he arrived. They had no option but to put faith in that promise. Fritz seemed calmer—resigned—when Elecia came for Vhalla that night.

“Where are we going?” Vhalla whispered to Elecia, noticing the tent they were walking toward.

“You think I wouldn’t let you see him before you left?” Elecia glanced at Vhalla from the corners of her eyes, cementing their unorthodox relationship into friendship.

“If the Emperor finds out . . .” Vhalla glanced over her shoulder, remembering what Elecia had said earlier.

“He won’t.”

Vhalla saw the source of the other woman’s confidence standing on either side of the tent. The two soldiers were dressed entirely in black plate, identifying them as members of the Black Legion—sorcerers. They were unfamiliar to Vhalla, nameless, but Vhalla tried to remember their faces as they let her pass silently. These were the faces of good men.

A single flame, hovering over a metal disk in the far corner, barely gave enough light to see by. It was so small that the tent had looked completely dark underneath all the camouflaging brush. The atmosphere was oppressive. It stank of blood and body and death.

Vhalla fell to her knees at the sight of him, a hand covering her mouth to keep from crying out with joy, with anguish.

Aldrik’s eyes were swollen closed with the bruising on his face. Blankets were piled high atop him, but every now and then his body would shudder as if cold. That and the slow rise and fall of his chest were the only signs of life. Every part of him was covered in yellow gauze, stained with puss. But the most concerning thing of all was the large wound on the side of his head that relentlessly seeped blood.

Vhalla reached out and grabbed the prince’s bandaged hand, clinging to it. His right hand, the hand that had written her letters, the hand that had tangled itself into her hair as she slept, the hand that held her face when he kissed her; it was a wonderful hand of endless possibilities that now rested completely limp in her grasp.

“How could you do this to me?” Vhalla rasped, trying to keep sobs from escaping her chest and waking the camp.

“To show you,” Elecia said solemnly.

“To break me.” Vhalla brought her eyes up to Aldrik’s face once more, the sight of it slicing like an invisible sword from her throat down into her stomach. All the strength she had mustered was gone. The resolve had vanished with his nearness. She couldn’t leave his side now. She couldn’t.

“To show you that if you don’t do this, he will die,” Elecia whispered. “Your attempt is foolish and very likely to kill you and him. He would be upset with me for supporting it. But I value his life far more than yours.”

Vhalla gave a weak little chuckle. “We have more in common than we previously thought.” She smiled and received a small smile in return.

“I will hold up my end of the bargain; I will keep him alive for seven more days, at least. You have my word,” Elecia vowed.

“It won’t be that long.” Vhalla stared at her prince, her chest filling with painful longing. She cupped his cheek gently, but he didn’t stir. “I will be the wind.”

“Here.” Elecia held out a few papers. “That’s what I need from the first riders and the main host behind them. Take that to Head Major Jax; no one else.”

Vhalla recognized the name of the Head Major of the Black Legion and accepted the parchment along with a compass.

“Jax will take care of Aldrik. I trust him.” Elecia’s confidence made Vhalla take note of this person. Clearly he had passed some tests with this woman, a woman with whom Vhalla was working to build a rapport.

The Windwalker turned once more to the comatose prince. She wasn’t going to say that fateful word of farewell. Instead, boldly, Vhalla leaned forward and placed a kiss on his chapped and broken lips. Elecia didn’t move or make comment, her silence speaking volumes of her acceptance of Vhalla’s relationship with the crown prince.

Baston was kept on the edge of camp, and Vhalla walked from Aldrik’s tent in dread-filled silence. There was a woman in Vhalla who was self-assured, confident, and capable. It was a woman who would save her prince—again—and conquer the North. She clashed starkly with the girl who wanted to hide her grief-filled face from the world, to curl under Aldrik’s blankets and leave their fate to the Gods. If they lived or died they would do it at each other’s side.

The War-strider didn’t neigh or stomp as Vhalla approached. She held out her hand and it waited expectantly. Her palm rested on Baston’s large nose, dwarfed by its size. The horse huffed impatiently. Vhalla’s mouth curled upward in sorrowful understanding. She was impatient as well.

“I’ve never seen him let another approach him,” a woman whispered in the night.

Vhalla and Elecia turned, panicking that they had been discovered. Major Reale stood a few steps away, her arms laden with chainmail and a small messenger bag. Neither said anything to the older woman.

“You think you can go like that?” The major assessed Vhalla with her one good eye. “The Northerners will strike you down in no time.”

“I’m lighter this way.” Vhalla remained by Baston’s side, ready to mount and run if the woman before her was some kind of trap.

“Wouldn’t you rather have the chainmail he crafted protecting you, at least?”

Vhalla’s hands froze.

Major Reale laughed deeply but kept her voice hushed. “You think we haven’t put two and two together? We’re all loyal to the prince, but I’m not sure if any of us would jump off a cliff for someone we weren’t in love with.” She crossed to Vhalla, handing over the chainmail Aldrik had made before Vhalla left the palace.

“Where did you get this?” Vhalla whispered.

“Our fake Windwalker has your armor,” Major Reale explained. Vhalla was shocked to hear one of her doppelgangers was still alive. “I’ve been in the Tower for some time—many of us older sorcerers have. I helped train Aldrik when he was a boy.”

Surprise stilled her. It was always strange to think of Aldrik as anything other than the stoic prince she’d come to know.

“I’ve seen our prince grow. I’ve seen him high and low, strong and not as strong as he wanted people to think.” There was a glimmer of truth in the major’s Southern blue eye. “I have never seen him act as he does around you, Vhalla Yarl. And I am smart enough to know that you also happen to be our best chance of saving his life.”

Vhalla put on her chainmail in numb humility. It still fit her perfectly.

The major handed her the bag next. “A small bit of food—don’t worry, not enough to laden you—and a message from me for Major Jax.” At Vhalla’s inquisitive stare, Major Reale explained, “I want to make it well known what you did—are doing—for our prince.”

Vhalla was putting Elecia’s note and compass in the bag as her eyes caught a glint of silver.

“And a weapon.”

Vhalla retrieved the small throwing dagger she had purchased with Daniel in the Crossroads. Elecia quickly helped her strap it to her arm.

“Why are you doing all this?” Vhalla whispered. This was more than a subject’s love for their prince. Major Reale knew she would face the Emperor’s displeasure for helping Vhalla run.

“Because no matter how far we go, the Tower takes care of its own.”

The major’s words stilled the tempest of emotion in Vhalla’s heart, just for one moment. The soldiers on both sides of the tent, Elecia, and now the major; Vhalla had no idea how many countless others were fighting their own battle as sorcerers in a world that held no love for them. She clenched her fists.

“Now, go.” Major Reale gave a quick glance over her shoulder. “Everyone will wake when that monster stomps out of here. But you don’t look back, Yarl, do you understand me?”

Vhalla nodded, swinging up into Baston’s saddle. It felt like she was on the back of a giant. The War-strider was taller than some men she had known, and the power beneath her was reassuring.

“Keep your word,” Elecia whispered as she stepped away.

“You keep yours.” Vhalla met those emerald eyes for one last moment as she and Elecia sealed their pact for the prince’s life.

Major Reale and Elecia quickly disappeared under brush cover, leaving Vhalla alone. Vhalla took the reins in her hands, gathering her courage with them. She gave one last glance to the makeshift shelter where the crown prince rested. Her heart pumped the pain and guilt from her chest into her veins and Vhalla felt it bubble throughout her body with agonizing speed.

She kicked Baston’s sides and felt the horse sway as Vhalla put the wind under his hooves. But the War-strider was a smart beast, quick to trust the rider he had deemed worthy, and he carried Vhalla away from the camp that was quickly waking into chaos, past the black-plated solders on the perimeter, and into the dark unknown.

THE DENSE FOREST canopy barely allowed any moonlight to reach the floor below. Tree branches scratched Vhalla’s legs through her clothes as she rode, nearly blind, away from camp and into the dark wood. The noises of the Imperial soldiers waking were quickly left behind, their echoes fading into the whizzing of underbrush on either side.

Vhalla’s heart competed with Baston’s hooves for the loudest sound in the forest. This was either the smartest or the dumbest thing she had ever done. Vhalla pressed closer to Baston, trying to make herself as small as possible to avoid being de-horsed by a low tree limb. She was abandoning her post; she was ignoring the will of the Emperor—the man who owned her.

One act of defiance after the next, she had made her choice. From the moment she had rallied the troops at the Pass, she had drawn a line in the sand between her and the Emperor. He may own her physical being, but he did not own her heart or mind.

The terms of her sentence echoed in her ears. If she should run she would be put to death by Aldrik’s hand, a hand that couldn’t actually harm her due to the magical Bond that existed between them. Vhalla clenched her palms tightly, opening her Channel as much as possible. She would succeed and they would live, or she would fail and they would both die. There was no third option.

She wasn’t worried about the noise of the horse through the dense brush. Vhalla was certain it sounded like thunder and felt like an earthquake. But she was nothing more than a black streak in the night. Nothing would catch them with the wind beneath them.

Vhalla pulled the compass from her bag, waiting for a glint of moonlight to check her heading—due north, she confirmed. If a host of people could make it in seven days she’d make it in three. Vhalla shook her head, disagreeing with herself. She’d make it in two.

At the pit of her stomach a seed had begun to take root, a seed of doubt watered by fear. If she wasn’t fast enough, if Elecia couldn’t keep her vow, then Aldrik would die. The first man she ever truly loved would die while she was days away. He’d die without her ever saying goodbye.

She shook the treacherous thoughts from her mind. No! He would live. Every pulsing beat of her heart told her so. She felt his heartbeat through their Bond, a reassuring response to her desperation. The Joining still lived, the Bond still lived, and thus Vhalla knew he still lived.

Baston ran hard through the night. The horse seemed tireless, allowing Vhalla to succumb to twilight exhaustion in the saddle without stopping. She watched the branches of the giant trees above her blaze with the morning sun, the colors fading into oranges and daylight. Vhalla didn’t relent.

She kicked the horse’s sides again, snapping the reins. By daylight, they had to go even faster. Doubly noticeable with sight and sound, they were forced to outpace any potential foe.

The sun was beginning its journey downward when the trees began to thin and Vhalla was forced to slow Baston. Vhalla stared in shock at the water that stretched into the horizion, rocky finger jutting out into its mirror-still surface. Frantically, she checked the compass. But her eyes had been obsessive on the needle all day and she hadn’t gone off her heading.

Was it the coast? Vhalla had heard stories of the sea. A vast body of water so large it was incomprehensible. Sailors told stories of its dangers, waves big enough to swallow a ship when they broke, sea monsters, and the pirates that lurked on the outer isles between the mainland Empire and the savage Crescent Continent. Some sailors even said there was more than that to the world, but most regarded such ideas as an impossibility.

Horse and rider were mortal, and they both needed to rest. She could tell by Baston’s heaving sides that the horse was nearing his limits. Vhalla blinked her eyes, activating her magic sight.

The world rebuilt itself around her, the trees and plants appearing in hazy shades of gray. She didn’t see any movement, Commons or sorcerer, anywhere near her. Vhalla braved out onto the open rocky beach.

She led Baston to the base of a small bluff that curved away from the forest, retracting into a small cove at the water’s edge. It was enough for horse and rider to remain hidden from sight.

Vhalla’s legs almost gave out from exhaustion as she dismounted. Even if she had ridden halfway across the world, what she had just done was a very different type of riding. Her thighs were torn up and sore. Vhalla waded into the water and found it as cool and soothing as she’d hoped.

That was when she noticed that it was fresh. The sea she’d always read about was salty and not potable. But, as Vhalla discovered by dunking her head beneath the glassy surface, the water was indeed easy to drink.

It was a sweet taste that revealed to Vhalla how parched she was, and she struggled not to gulp down too much too quickly. She wouldn’t be able to heed the call of nature riding again and her stomach would be bloated and sick.

Vhalla tilted back her head so she wouldn’t guzzle any more and stared into the bright blue sky. It had been over a week since she’d seen the unbroken sky, and Vhalla hadn’t realized until that moment that her heart had been aching for it.

She dragged her waterlogged feet back toward the beach, collapsing near Baston. The stony emotional protection of Serien fractured and crumbled, leaving Vhalla feeling as though she’d just washed up from the lake. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes.

Vhalla pulled her knees to her chest, resting her forehead on the wet wool. Rather than thinking of the pain she’d been harboring for weeks—the pain of Larel’s death, of being so far from everyone she ever loved and everything she knew, and now of Aldrik’s situation, she thought of maps, of everything she’d ever read about the North.

Vhalla ignored the tingling of her lips when she remembered the kisses she and Aldrik had shared the night before they had entered the North. She thought, instead, about where she must be, deciding upon Lake Io. Vhalla banished the image of Fritz’s worried eyes and tried to recite all the information she had surrounding the largest freshwater lake in the world.

Vhalla didn’t remember falling asleep, but when her eyes blinked open again the sun hung low in the sky. It had been three hours, maybe. Vhalla uncurled her stiff legs with a grimace. It’d have to be enough.

“Aldrik,” she whispered, “I’ll get you help soon.”

The declaration restored her resolve, and Vhalla echoed it in her mind as she forced her muscles back to life. Aldrik, Aldrik, Aldrik. His name punctuated every agonizing movement as Vhalla worked to find her rhythm with Baston once more. All the aches she felt, from her muscles to her heart, she would relish. She didn’t rely on the icy and barbed heart of Serien. Vhalla had to do this on her own. Aldrik’s life would be won by her hand.

Vhalla blindly raced into the day. Baston swerved and dodged around trees and low branches. The horse found a second wind and spurred its feet to a run again. Her Channel still felt weak, but Vhalla used that magic to put the wind at his hooves. She ignored the mental debate of whether she was depriving Aldrik of strength by using her magic. She was damned no matter what she did, so all Vhalla focused on was moving forward.

Dusk came upon her, the day sinking into night, and Vhalla’s eyes began to droop closed. She hadn’t made it away from the fall unscathed, and every wound she’d endured, however superficial, was ripped open and bleeding. Eventually Baston’s and her exhaustion forced them to slow. Vhalla would rather walk or trot if it meant avoiding stopping again completely. The hours she had slept already weighed heavily on her mind.

Blinking away exhaustion, Vhalla tried to find her headway. The canopy was particularly dense and she couldn’t catch one glimmer of light to see by. Tilting her head back, Vhalla looked up to try to find a break in the trees, to see by the light of the moon.

And her heart stopped.

High above, blocking the moon, were the silhouettes of houses and walkways built into the branches and the trees themselves. Vhalla had read about the sky cities of the North. But the books read more like fantasy than fact. Even standing below one, Vhalla couldn’t believe her eyes at the expanse of buildings built in, and around, the treetops.

She slowed Baston to a walk, barely inching the horse forward. Vhalla dared blinking her eyes, shifting into her magic sight, and she choked on shock. High above her, in the darkened outlines of the buildings, was the unmistakable glow of people. Not just a few, but many across every tree and in almost every structure. She was surrounded from all sides in the dead of night.

Slowly drawing on her chainmail hood, she pulled back on the reins. The horse barely inched forward, making almost no sound. Vhalla breathed shallowly and her heart raced frantically.

By the time she was almost out from under the dwellings, her lungs burned from trying to take only shallow breaths despite her panic. Their escape went smoothly until Baston let out a whinny, caused by Vhalla’s nervous tugs on the reins, shaking his head in protest. The clatter from his bridle rang across her ears and seemed to echo for eternity. It echoed into every ear as the people above stirred, lighting fires.

Vhalla snapped the reins and dug her heels into Baston’s sides, forcing him into an all-out run. From above, she heard the shouts of her waking enemy.

Thick and melodic calls erupted in the night, a language completely foreign to Vhalla’s ears. She didn’t have to know the words to know they weren’t friendly, so Vhalla pushed harder, pressing herself to Baston. Vhalla took a breath as she heard arrows being knocked overhead.

The sound of bowstrings being drawn in mass made gooseflesh dot her arms. Another shout, a single word and arrows cut through the air, determined to rain death around her. Even if Vhalla was certain her chainmail would shield her, the horse was completely unarmored; if Baston died, she was as good as dead. Vhalla twisted in her saddle, sweeping a hand through the air. The curtain of wind sent the arrows scattering harmlessly.

They shouted in protest, angst-ridden that she continued on unscathed.

The second assault came faster and hastened Vhalla’s mounting frustration. She had to be out of their range soon. More lights began to blaze above and behind her, casting the ground below in a faint glow. The light illuminated the edge of the city, and Vhalla was forced to stake her life on the hope that once she was out they wouldn’t catch her.

The arrows soared through the air once more and Vhalla twisted, knocking them away in mass. She expected to hear a cry for a third assault, but instead what she heard was even more disheartening. Two words that someone said in a thick Southern Common.

“Wind Demon!”

She became their prey. The sound of thundering hooves came from the direction of where the city first began.

Vhalla crossed under the edge of the city, plunging into the welcoming darkness. Had it been a day ago, Vhalla would not have given those riders a moment’s worry. Baston would outrun any normal horse, plus with her wind he was faster than thunder across the sky. But Baston had been ridden hard with only a brief rest.

Vhalla shifted her vision and peered over her shoulder. In the distance she saw them, riding relentlessly after her.

Sweating, panting, clutching the reins with white knuckles, Vhalla pushed all her energy into the wind at Baston’s and her back. More—they both had to give more. In her blind determination she almost missed the whiz of an arrow through the air.

Vhalla thrust out her arm and stopped the arrow midflight. She closed her fist and threw her arm backwards. The arrow turned and sped back at its original owner. Vhalla watched it soar straight into the Northerner’s eye, the one she pointed a finger at. The man slumped, and then fell off his saddle. She swallowed hard, looking away as the others’ cries grew louder.

Eyes, she would always go for the eyes. Whether someone was or wasn’t a Groundbreaker with stone-like skin was a risk she couldn’t take; she wouldn’t have many shots. Another archer held his bow, waiting for a different opportunity to take his chance.

Baston was already breathing heavy, and Vhalla knew she had to get them off her tail. The four riders behind her rode on fresh mounts and had the advantage of their night’s worth of sleep. Vhalla turned and pointed a finger. Sweeping her hand upward, an arrow freed itself from the other archer’s quiver. With a twist of her wrist, and the keen focus of a killer, Vhalla sent it into the unsuspecting Northerner’s eye.

One of the remaining two riders fell away as they swerved through the trees, his companion pushing forward. As the man swung wide, Vhalla realized they were trying to flank her. Vhalla grabbed for the dagger strapped to her wrist, sending it straight for his eye.

In the process, the woman rider had caught up with Baston, raising a wickedly curved blade toward his haunches. Vhalla threw out her other arm, sending the rider toppling head over heels. It wasn’t chance that the assailant’s blade slit her wielder’s throat in the fall.

Vhalla held out an expectant palm, her own dagger returning to it after a moment. Wiping the blood on her thigh, she quickly sheathed it against her wrist before grabbing the reins once more. Vhalla swallowed a cry for speed; shouting at the horse would not make it go faster. It would only further compromise her position.

Vhalla pressed her lips together, forcing herself to keep her composure. It was not the first person she had killed. She had killed on the Night of Fire and Wind, she had killed the man who had murdered Larel, and she had killed with her bare hands at the Pass.

What had sunk deep into her bones was the acceptance of what she must do. It was knowing she had become a killer. It was how easy it was for her to slay her foes without even thinking of each of them as a whole person that showed Vhalla she’d gone far down a path she’d never wanted. They were entities, enemies, barriers, but they weren’t human.

Distracted by her inner conflict, Vhalla was caught completely off-guard by the first assault coming from the trees. A Groundbreaker swung down from the air, bringing his sword against the back of her head. Vhalla attempted to dodge at the last second, but it was too late. The blade slipped off her chainmail but it left her vision blurred and her ears ringing.

She blinked, trying to sort her senses as she pushed Baston onward, putting the assailant behind them. Groundbreakers jumped from limb to limb in the trees above her—free and fearless. Vines came to life to meet their extended hands, allowing them to soar through the air. With a twist or a tug, their lifeline shrunk back, curling around branches to pull them upward.

She wanted to feel amazed; perhaps she would have, if these people weren’t out to kill her. Another swung low, and Vhalla dropped off to the side of the saddle to dodge. Righting herself, Vhalla redrew her dagger in one quick motion as a third swung forward to attack. She sent the blade soaring through the vine the Groundbreaker held.

The man fell through the sky; Vhalla’s mind betrayed her, showing a different body plummeting through the air.

With a growl, she turned her blade to the next Northerner she saw, relying on the same tactic. She would show them why one did not hang above the head of the Windwalker. The other body fell with a sickening thud, and Vhalla left them behind her. With a twitch of her wrist, her blade returned to her hand.

Baston’s pace had slowed, and Vhalla snapped his reins again. This was the first time the beast did not heed her command, and she felt uneasiness settle across her.

Five Northerners still jumped from tree to tree overhead as dawn began to fade into early morning. Vhalla wondered if they were biding their time for rider and mount to tire. If she were they, she’d do the same thing. Baston’s sides heaved with exhaustion.

Their presence began to wear on Vhalla, and she watched them with bated breath, waiting for the next assault. Another hour passed and Baston slowed to a trot; she expected this to be the moment they attacked. But the Northerners held fast, following from welcoming branch to welcoming branch, each bent to meet their feet and hands.

They were toying with her, like cats with a mouse.

It was a game now, a game of who would tire first. Who would make the first mistake that would result in a kill?

Vhalla slowly reached into the bag at her hip—no change above. She spared a moment to glance at the compass; relieved her direction had not changed.

A silent command must have been given around noon and the shrub trees on the forest floor began to close in around her, slithering toward her as though they were alive. Vhalla snapped the reins again and the horse thankfully heeded her demand. She dug deep into her reserves when Baston began to run, putting the wind to his hooves.

Perhaps she would outrun them yet.

Her hope was dashed with a root, sharp as a spear, twisting up from the ground. The horse gave a terrible scream and shuddered, impaled upon the wooden pike. Vhalla cried out, seeing her hopes die with the mount’s steaming blood spattered upon the ground.

This had been the moment her enemy had held out for, and she heard all of them drop at once. Vhalla turned, pulling her leg out of the stirrup. In the same motion, her hand was at her wrist, drawing the only weapon she possessed. Vhalla threw as she fell backwards off the side of Baston. The dagger swung in the wide arc of her hand. It sliced through the first vine and mostly through the second before being caught in the vine’s recoil, bending and breaking in two. But it had done its job, and both Northerners fell.

Vhalla rolled, hearing a faint, weak, beating on the edge of her mind. It was the sound of the heartbeat of the man she was trying to save, protecting her in his own way despite her distance and his injuries.

One Northerner swung back up, but two landed around her. Baston continued to stomp his last protests, trying to writhe free of the barb that was slowly killing him.

“Wind Demon,” the man growled, his sword at her chin. The other Northerner was behind her. He allowed Vhalla to sit, which was his first mistake. He spat a few words at her in a language she didn’t understand, and Vhalla took the opportunity to twist her wrist and magically jerk the sword from his hand. Vhalla turned her head and watched it impale the eye of the Northerner behind her.

A boot met her temple and Vhalla rolled, overcompensating for the man’s second sword plunging into the ground next to her. Vhalla grasped the weapon from the fallen Northerner’s face, then stood on shaky legs. The man took a careful step in a wide arc, and the forest seemed to hold its breath as she stared him down.

The tension quivered, then broke.

Vhalla lunged, letting the man disarm her. He grinned wildly in false triumph and Vhalla’s palm clamped over his mouth. His face exploded with Vhalla’s cry of anguish as she forced every last ounce of power she had in her down his throat and outward. Covered in blood, shaking, Vhalla turned her eyes skyward.

“Run!” she screamed. “Run or suffer the fate of your friends.”

The last warrior hovered in the trees above her. Vhalla didn’t know if they understood her words, but she knew what they had seen.

“Run fast, for you will need to outrun the wind!”

Vhalla clenched her fists and stood as tall as she was able. The blood of the man she had killed decorated her like war paint. It must have made a fearsome picture, for the last pursuer made a tactical retreat.

She watched him go. She watched as the last of the trees bent and swayed in the enemy’s departure. Vhalla was not naive, not anymore. He would leave and return with more men and women. More she would not be able to handle.

There was one thing that stalled her forward progression. Grabbing one of the fell Northerner’s blades, Vhalla hardened her heart completely and drew it across Baston’s throat. A horse had more blood than she expected, and it coated her hands. Vhalla considered the War-strider, the noble steed of Prince Aldrik. Baston deserved to die a quick death rather than lie writhing on the ground in agony. She was beginning to have a suspicion that she would not be so lucky.

Vhalla checked her bag, running her bloody fingers through the papers. They were all accounted for. The compass in hand, Vhalla began her march upon wobbly legs. She stumbled and tripped over roots. After an hour, she collapsed for the first time. Dirt and blood mixed with hopelessness as the real possibility of death closed in upon her.

The image of Aldrik, prone and wounded, flashed before her eyes. Vhalla cursed. Elecia had been right to let Vhalla see him. With a grimace of mad determination, Vhalla pushed herself to her feet once more.

She relished the pain. Vhalla would buy his life from the Gods, her payment being her body if that must be the price. The cruel and unfair Gods, demanding and relentless; Vhalla would have thought that two lovers trapped in an eternal distance as the Mother and Father were would earn her more pity for her plight.

The day had faded to late afternoon, and her whole body hurt so much that it gave way to numbness. Her feet tingled at first, but now dragged like stones along the ground. She was thirsty, she was tired, and she was hungry. Her hair clung to the dried blood on her face, and she lacked the strength to wipe it away. Sweat drenched her clothes under her armor, and her breathing was shallow and weak. The world was reduced to her left foot, and then her right foot. Vhalla pressed onward and onward to somewhere that she had never been. Somewhere that might not exist.

Somehow, even in the midst of exhaustion, her ears picked up the murmur of motion from behind her. It was the whisper of the forest, indicating that people were after her again. The one who had fled had made it back to his tree city, and Vhalla’s enemy was already advancing with reinforcements.

The sounds began to grow and the sun hung low in the sky. A walk turned into a run and Vhalla realized that this was it, the last of her energy. When her feet stopped they would not move again for some time. In truth, if she fell, she would likely not ever rise as they would be upon her.

Judging from the rustle of trees and the consistent din of horses, the Northerners were gaining—and fast. Vhalla cried at the futility of her mission, agony coursing through her. All at once she broke through an artificial tree line into a blackened arc of earth.

The sunset was painfully bright compared to the dim forest, and Vhalla blinked in confusion as she heard a horn ring out to her right. It was a familiar sound that sparked hope in her once more. She turned to see two riders making their way toward her.

It only took a short assessment for Vhalla to be overwhelmed with relief; she collapsed to her knees as they came close enough for her to see that one’s armor was cast in black steel. She looked upon members of the Black Legion and the Imperial swordsmen.

The swordsman dismounted and gracefully drew a thin rapier. Vhalla blinked in a daze. He had a strong jaw, angular features, and straight black hair that fell around his ears. He was so familiar that it was almost like looking at a ghost.

“Who are you?” The man’s sword was at her chin and all familiarity to the crown prince vanished as Vhalla was absorbed by his cerulean eyes.

“Head Major Jax,” she croaked. “I must . . . get to Head Major Jax.”

“Who are you?” the Firebearer demanded.

“I must get to . . . Head Major Jax.” Vhalla pushed against the ground, ignoring the sword at her neck. Surprisingly, the man let her rise. He was silent and Vhalla’s eyes fell to his sword hand. His gauntlet was plated in gold. “You . . . You’re . . .” She struggled to remember everything Daniel and Craig had said about the Golden Guard on the march.

“Who are you?” Fire crackled around the fists of the Black Legion soldier, but Vhalla remained focused on the man before her.

“Lord Erion.” She finally remembered the name of the other Golden Guard still at Soricium. The Western man’s eyes grew large with surprise. “Lord Erion Le’Dan of the Golden Guard. Take me to Head Major Jax. The Northerners are coming and we don’t have much time.”

“They won’t cross the patrol line,” he said, neither confirming nor denying his identity. “They know this is our territory now.”

He didn’t realize how sweet the words were to her, and Vhalla swallowed relieved laughter. She kept her face from crumbling into a mess of emotion. “I have a message I must deliver to Head Major Jax. Take me to him now.”

“Who do you think you are? This is Lord Le—”

Erion held up a hand, stopping the man’s defense of his nobility. “I’ll take you to the camp palace.”

“You will?” Vhalla and the Black Legion soldier asked in unison.

“You speak in Southern common with a Cyven accent, and I assume you are meant to deliver whatever is in that bag?” He pointed to the satchel Vhalla didn’t realize she held in a death grip. She was clearly not about to hand it over.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” The Firebearer asked as the Golden Guard mounted his steed.

“A ragged girl? I’ll kill her if she tries anything,” Erion arrogantly proclaimed while reaching out a hand to allow Vhalla to mount.

Vhalla swallowed her pride, and accepted his help into the saddle. He forced her to sit in front, his arms on either side, gripping the reins. Erion spurred his horse forward, and Vhalla gripped its mane.

“What’s your name?” he asked out of earshot of his comrade as they worked their way across the large burnt trek.

“Serien.” Vhalla didn’t know why she lied.

“Serien . . .” He sounded uncertain.

“Leral.”

Further conversation ceased as they reached the brim of the valley Soricium sat within. Vhalla stared in awe as she saw the full Imperial army for the first time. Hundreds, no thousands, of tents and hovels were constructed down a shallow basin. Vhalla’s heart raced as she saw the true force of the Empire, the greatest achievement of the Emperor Solaris.

At the center stood a giant walled forest, trees even higher than the behemoths Vhalla had witnessed in the jungle. It was the last stronghold of the North. The final remnants of the once legendary sky city and the place Vhalla had been brought to conquer: Soricium.

Soldiers stared in curiosity as they rode down through camp toward a roughly built T-shaped building. Clearly the term “camp palace” had been used in irony. She’d made it, she realized in shock. She’d actually made it to the North.

“Major Jax is inside.” Erion dismounted, offering a hand to help her down.

Vhalla ignored it, walking ahead of him past the two confused guards on either sides of the door to the building. The room within was nothing more than makeshift walls and packed dirt, long tables at varying heights flanked either side of the hall. Men and women moved between papers and diagrams, leisurely discussing things. All turned as she entered.

“Head Major Jax,” Vhalla demanded as Erion entered behind her.

“Erion, how many times must I tell you not to bring me wild women until after dark? It’s distracting.” A man grinned wickedly. He had long black hair that was tied up into a bun, black eyes, and olive skin: a textbook Westerner.

Vhalla crossed over quickly, pulling the satchel off her shoulder. She held it out to him with trembling hands, suddenly filled with nervous energy. The head major cocked his head to the side, assessing her before prying it from her white-knuckled grip.

He placed it on the table, pulling out the parchment that was stained red at the edges. Jax moved from one paper to the next with increasing speed, the arrogance and humor of earlier falling from his face in favor of emotions Vhalla would deem far more appropriate.

Two dark eyes snapped up to her. “You . . .”

“You have to send help, now.” Vhalla took a step forward. Her whole body had begun shaking. “Send him help. You can, right?”

“Erion, Query, Bolo!” Jax slammed the papers down on the table. “Assemble seven hundred of your best.”

“What?” One of the other majors gasped in shock. “Seven hundred?”

Jax didn’t even indulge the question. “Xilia!” A woman crossed over. “I need these clerical items, in duplicate for good measure.”

“In duplicate?” the woman repeated. Vhalla saw the long list of Elecia’s scribbling.

“Everyone else, go find your fastest, most reckless riders. Bring me the men and women who will put themselves and their mount’s lives last and their mission first.” The room stared at the Western man, open-mouthed. “Now!” Jax shouted, slapping his palm upon the table. “Go now!”

That was the first time Vhalla saw the true diligence of the Imperial army. Despite the confusion, the question, and all the vast unknowns, the soldiers moved. They did as their superior told them, and it was a sight so sweet that it made her want to cry in relief.

“They-they’re going to go?” Vhalla whispered, staring at the doors the last soldier had disappeared from.

“Yes, within the hour.” The major rounded the table slowly.

Exhaustion rode the wave of relief as it crashed upon her and her knees hit the ground. Vhalla braced her fall with an arm, the other clenching her stomach. She couldn’t breathe, but she felt dizzy with air. She wanted to laugh and sob and scream at the same time. She’d made it to the North.

Jax crouched before her. Vhalla’s gaze rose from his boots to his face. The Western man squinted.

“Vhalla Yarl, the Windwalker.” Her name on the lips of a stranger made her uneasy, and Vhalla sat back onto her feet to assess him with equal interest. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t you.”

She laughed bitterly, remembering Elecia’s first unappreciative assessment of her months ago. “Sorry to disappoint.”

The man tilted his head. “You show up as if you materialize from the wind itself, to save the life of the crown prince whom you jumped off the side of the Pass in an attempt to save. You’re unassuming, you’re filthy, and you’re soaked in what I can only presume to be the blood of our enemies.” A grin slowly spread across Jax’s face, like that of a rabid beast. “Who said anything about being disappointed?”

“THE WASHROOM IS back here.” Jax led her toward the upper part of the T Vhalla had seen from the outside.

She nodded and followed him mutely. In the wake of accepting her and Aldrik’s death, she was experiencing difficulty processing the concept of salvation. The hall perpendicular to the public area had one door at the end on the left side and two on either wall to Vhalla’s right with a fourth before her. The shoddy construction made it easy to tell that soldiers, not craftsman, had erected the building.

“Not really fitting for a lady, I know,” Jax chuckled. The bathroom was the bare essentials, and he quickly had a large wooden barrel filling with rainwater from a rooftop reservoir.

“I’m not a lady.” Vhalla shook her head. “This reminds me of home, actually.”

As a child, she’d bathed with her mother in a barrel not unlike the one she was faced with now. Thinking about her mother was odd. Vhalla wondered if the woman who had scolded her daughter for climbing too high in the trees and had sung lullabies would recognize the woman Vhalla had become. It was crushing how different Vhalla was from the last time she’d been home.

Jax leaned against the wall by the soaking barrel. “That’s not what Elecia wrote.”

“What isn’t?” She was jarred out of her thoughts.

“She said our Lord Ophain made you a Duchess of the West.” Jax folded his arms.

It took Vhalla too long to remember that Elecia was Lord Ophain’s granddaughter. Of course she would have found out. “A hollow title,” Vhalla laughed.

“And you’re quick to offend.” He stilled her amusement. “I take Western tradition quite seriously, and I will be the first to tell you I’m not alone.”

Vhalla remembered how Daniel had been elevated to lordship upon joining the Golden Guard. A fellow soldier would likely take such things seriously. “Sorry, I hadn’t meant—”

Jax roared with laughter. “You think I actually give a damn about those crusty old nobles? Reddening their cheeks and pretending their hair still grows in black?” All amusement fell from his face as suddenly as it appeared. “But seriously, some would take offense.”

Vhalla opened and closed her mouth, but words failed to form.

“Well, darling, I’d love to stay and join you, but I need to see those riders off. I’ll find you some fresher clothes on my way back.” Jax made for the door, stopping just in its frame. “You’ll be well enough alone?”

Vhalla brought her hands together, meeting the man’s eyes as he peered down at her over his shoulder. It was a serious question. There was something about his madness that called to her own.

“Yes,” Vhalla said with more confidence than she felt. “I’ll manage. Send the riders.”

Jax nodded, clearly understanding her priorities, and left.

Vhalla turned to the steaming tub of water. Jax must be a Firebearer, she mused. He heated the water just as Larel had heated the streams and ponds they bathed along the march. Peeling off her clothes was like shedding the shroud of the other woman. For weeks Vhalla had worn the memory like a shield, Larel’s last gift: her name in the form of Serien Leral.

The water was just shy of scalding hot but Vhalla still shivered. She was alone. Larel and Sareem gone, Fritz far away, and her library with its window seat . . . Vhalla’s eyes fluttered closed with the pang of nostalgia. She allowed herself the sweet agony of dreaming, of thinking of returning to the palace in the south. Of sitting with Aldrik once more in his rose garden. Of finding something that was different from all she had known but was still something she could call normal.

Two quick raps on the door was the only warning before it pushed open again. “I brought you clothes.”

“I’m not!” Vhalla pressed her naked body to the side of the barrel, trying to hide it in the curve of the wood.

“You’re as red as Western crimson.” Jax laughed at the color of her face. “What? If you have something I haven’t seen, then that would be a real treat.”

“This isn’t . . .” Vhalla was about to die from embarrassment. She’d bathed in group baths before, but with other women.

“I thought you weren’t a lady?” He grinned wildly. “Certainly acting like a noble flower with all this modesty.”

“I don’t know you!” she balked.

“Do you want to?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Out!” Vhalla demanded.

“If the lady commands.” Jax left, unapologetic.

Vhalla dunked her head under the water. This man was nothing like any noble she’d ever met. Any sane person she’d ever met!

But he was thoughtful as well, she discovered. The water steamed at a perfect temperature once more. There was a mostly clean drying cloth waiting for her atop two different options for shirt and pants. Both were oversized on her petite frame, which had been narrowed by a long march and lean food. The shirt wore like a tunic, and the pants needed to be rolled. But with a belt they would sit on her hips rather than slide off.

The major stood waiting for her across the hall when she exited. Vhalla’s face was instantly scarlet again, and she pursed her lips to keep in her frustration.

Jax pushed away from the wall, keenly picking up on her emotion. “What do you know, there was a woman under all that blood and grime.”

Vhalla shifted her chainmail tunic awkwardly in her hands.

“Right, this way.” He turned away from the side of the hall that ended with a single door. There was a door on either side of them, and Vhalla quickly realized whose quarters these were.

“Is this Prince Baldair’s or Prince Aldrik’s room?” She paused in the doorway Jax was leading her through.

“Baldair’s. He won’t mind, and you look dead on your feet.” Vhalla stared across the hall, and Major Jax didn’t miss the obvious thoughts floating across her face. “Unless you’d rather stay in the crown prince’s room?”

“I would,” she whispered.

Jax let Vhalla wander across the hall alone. He hovered in Baldair’s doorway, watching the Windwalker as she slowly pushed up the simple wooden latch that held the crown prince’s door closed. His eyes followed her as she comfortably, almost reverently, entered the quarters of the most private man in the Empire.

There was nothing notable about it, a few chests against one wall, a bed opposite, and a desk positioned near a shuttered window. Vhalla stopped to engage in a staring contest with an empty armor stand waiting for its owner’s plate to return.

Aldrik’s mangled face flashed before her eyes, and Vhalla gripped her shirt over her stomach, willing the sickening feeling away.

“Here.” Jax placed a palm on her shoulder, causing Vhalla to nearly jump out of her skin.

She stared down at the vial in his hand. “Only one?” Every time she’d been wounded, half a cleric’s box was forced down her throat.

“Are your wounds severe enough to merit more?” Jax asked earnestly. Vhalla shook her head. “Not the physical ones at least, right?”

Vhalla pulled away from him, squaring her shoulders toward the Western man, defensive of her feelings. He was like wildfire, unpredictable, burning through one emotion and then the next. She squinted up at him and opened her mouth to speak.

A silent knowing gleamed in his eyes, a depth that both stilled and humbled her. His fingers wrapped around hers, closing them around the vial. “Drink, Vhalla Yarl, and get a good night’s sleep. From the looks of you, it’s been a while.”

Jax left her before she could respond. Vhalla stared at the vial in her hand and wondered just what the man could see in her, what the world saw in her now. Her thoughts spun like a top, faster and faster, out of control until she eagerly brought the potion to her lips, drinking it in a gluttonous gulp.

Vhalla collapsed upon the bed, his bed.

It smelled stale. The linens hadn’t been washed in a long time, if ever. They had a dry crunch and gave off a damp and earthy aroma. But somewhere under the musty scent was a musk that Vhalla knew well. She curled in on herself, clutching at the mattress, pillows, and blanket. Leather, steel, eucalyptus, fire and smoke, and a scent that was distinctly Aldrik—a combination that overwhelmed her.

When Vhalla woke next, she expected to have only slept for a few hours. The sun hung low in the sky and the room was dim with the orange light that penetrated the slats of the window shutters. She dragged her feet to the main room; it was mostly empty, save for two men having a drink at the end of one of the long tables.

“Sleeping beauty wakes.” Jax grinned, his hair was loose and it fell straight to his lower chest.

“It hasn’t been that long.” Vhalla sat a good space away from Lord Erion and across from the head major.

“Only a day,” Erion mumbled over his drink.

“What?”

“You were out a bit. Guess I was right about that whole sleeping thing,” Jax said proudly.

A day . . . She had slept for a whole day. Vhalla quickly did the math in her head. “Any word from the riders sent?”

“It’s only been a day. They can’t even be halfway.” Erion set his flagon on the table.

“I made it in two days,” Vhalla felt the need to point out to him.

“Well, you must not be human.” He glanced at her sideways. “Maybe you’re half-wind, Serien.”

Vhalla ran a hand through her hair, checking it from the corners of her eyes to see if the black ink that masked her Eastern brown had washed out from the bath. It hadn’t completely, but it had faded enough to contribute to the Western man’s suspicions. She looked across to Jax, but he had already begun the swift process of changing the topic.

They were both Golden Guard, but Jax hadn’t shared her identity despite Erion’s clear suspicions. Vhalla could guess why it would make sense not to prematurely reveal her true name, but she didn’t have a reason to expect such loyalty from a man she hardly knew. They placed food in front of her, and Vhalla stared at it listlessly. Her mind was full, which meant it silenced the grumbling of her stomach. But Vhalla knew she must be hungry.

Slowly, diligently, she cleaned her plate. In the forests to the south, there was a dying prince depending on her strength. Elecia had said that one person couldn’t sustain two, and Vhalla meant to prove her wrong. At the least, she’d buy them all more time.

Vhalla returned promptly to Aldrik’s bed and buried herself under the blankets. She slept as long as her body demanded, which proved to be a fair deal, and ate everything she could in the following three days. Vhalla worked to restore her strength and conserve her energy, avoiding any undue exertion or risk. It meant most of her time was spent within the camp palace among the other majors, but Vhalla quickly found herself of use.

During the day, she transcribed notes for Jax as he helped manage half the army. He and Erion had been left in command alongside a grizzled old major whom Vhalla had yet to interact with. There were no objections from the majors toward their current commanders in the stead of the Imperial family. The only time questions arose was from trying to decipher Jax’s notes, and thus Vhalla had found an immediate use.

The Black Legion’s Head Major’s penmanship was laughable, and the majors were grateful for Vhalla’s cleaner lines and tidier letters in their ledgers and records. The appreciation was mutual, as it gave Vhalla the opportunity to learn about the siege and the army in a way she never had before. Her prior readings on military tactics and methodologies began to make more sense when given the framework of a real life situation. Vhalla saw how troops were managed on the perimeter. She sat quietly and let the men and women talk about rationing and sending hunting parties into the surrounding woods. She also began to see the lines between theory and actuality. Vhalla repeated in her head the information she gleaned, quickly committing it to memory and filing it away for later use.

Her days were quite full, which only made the empty nights harder. Without distractions her mind began to wander. The silence seemed to stretch into eternity and seeped into her Bond with Aldrik, making her question if it was finally beginning to waver. Nothing about the Channel between her and Aldrik felt as it had been. Like the dormant earth in winter, she had no dreams of his memories and no heartbeat in her ears other than her own.

Vhalla prayed that it was the distance and his weakness taking their toll. But she didn’t know for certain. Not knowing, combined with the emptiness, threatened to drive her mad.

On her fourth day, she’d indulged in a mid-day sleep, only to be woken by trumpets in the late evening. It couldn’t be Aldrik returning, she reasoned. At the earliest, he’d be ten more days, so Vhalla rolled over and pulled the blankets over her head. She felt amazing with all the rest and proper eating, but Vhalla remained determined. The seven days Elecia had promised were almost up and somewhere on the far edge of her consciousness was an exhausted wavering of magic.

The door opened and Vhalla turned groggily, not expecting the man who entered.

“Well, I can’t recall the last time I caught a woman in my brother’s bed.” Baldair laughed summer into her frozen world.

She sat quickly, letting the sound wash over her. Vhalla stared in shock at the golden-haired prince. She and Prince Baldair hadn’t had the most stable or conventional of relationships, but he had given her and Aldrik one last night before they entered the North—before they were parted, potentially forever. The younger prince likely had no idea the place he had earned in Vhalla’s heart with that.

“Baldair,” Vhalla breathed, a sigh of relief. The sight of him was warm familiarity. Vhalla never thought she’d say it, or even think it, but Prince Baldair was the most comforting thing she’d seen in weeks.

“I hardly expected to find you here,” he chuckled. “I imagine it’s quite the story.”

Vhalla frowned. He was carrying on as though there was some wild tale to her presence that they would share and laugh at over a hearty drink. Her eyes darted to where Jax hovered in the doorframe. “You didn’t tell him?”

“The second I told him you were here he asked to come see you,” Jax explained.

Vhalla looked back at the younger prince, dread filling her. Why was she to be the one to bear this news? “Baldair,” she started slowly.

“What?” The broad-shouldered man glanced between her and Jax.

“I tried to save him.” The words brought a bundle of emotion with them that Vhalla choked on momentarily. “I tried, and I failed.”

“Mother, woman, you’re scaring me.” Baldair sat heavily on the bed and scooped up her hands in his. Vhalla didn’t know who he was comforting, but it seemed to go both ways. “What are you talking about?”

“Aldrik’s dying.”

The words slapped Baldair across the face, and his head jerked toward Jax. “What is she—”

“She’s being dramatic.” Vhalla scowled at Jax’s words. The man raised his eyebrows. “You somehow have more insight than I even though we’ve been side-by-side for days?”

Vhalla opened her mouth and thought better of telling him exactly what and how she knew.

“But,” the Westerner relented with a sigh, “things aren’t good.” He produced some familiar blood-stained papers from the inner breast pocket of the tired military jacket he wore and handed them to Baldair.

Vhalla focused on a corner of the room, unable to bear Jax’s frustrating nature or Baldair’s expressions as he read through the accounts from Major Reale and Elecia. The prince sighed softly and relaxed his grip on the letters. “Vhalla?” Baldair asked. He had a lost and fearful look that matched her heart perfectly. “Did you really do all this?”

“Did what?” She shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Baldair’s stare.

“You jumped from the Pass and ran through the North, alone?”

“Someone had to.” The feat didn’t seem nearly worth all the amazement in Baldair’s eyes—of course she would do those things.

“Has there been any word from the host or riders?” Baldair asked Jax.

The head major shook his head. “None from the riders . . . the host marches forward as planned.”

Baldair stood, handing the papers back to Jax. “Aldrik is strong, and I know that he will not let himself die now. Not when he finally has a reason to truly live again. That brother of mine is likely just trying to get out of marching the rest of the way here.” Baldair’s laugh was forced.

“But for the here and now, food and company will do us all some good.” The golden prince extended a calloused hand to her, and Vhalla took it. The prince’s strength was often touted as being physical. But Vhalla was beginning to learn that the man known for breaking hearts seemed to have a rather large one of his own.

Baldair paused at the door. “Ah, it’s Serien still, right?”

“For now. I thought it safer that way,” Jax confirmed. “Best not to let the camp rumors start until we have the Emperor’s input on them.”

“What happened to your Windwalker?” Vhalla asked as they left the room.

“She was killed.” Baldair glanced at her, and Vhalla was surprised to find a protective edge to his manner.

“The Emperor’s was also,” she reported.

“Aldrik’s?”

“Not as of when I left.” Vhalla shook her head.

“If he was putting on a show, he was likely protecting her as he would have you,” Baldair thought aloud. They rounded the corner for the main room. “Sorry to keep you waiting, friends!”

There was laughter and japes at Baldair’s expense for being held up with a mystery woman as he started for a table with his Golden Guard. The room was filled with more majors and soldiers, all seeming to celebrate the return of the favored prince. Jax and Baldair were halfway to a table before they realized she was not walking with them.

Her eyes were affixed upon an Eastern face and a rainbow of emotion burst into color within the dark hollow of Vhalla’s chest. Daniel stood slowly, staring at her in shock. Vhalla remembered the last time she’d seen him, the weeks they’d spent together the last time she had been Serien. It brought the mask of the other woman back to her in a rush and all the conflicted feelings along with it.

The room instantly noticed the odd exchange, adding their glances and whisperers beneath the conversation that politely continued on. Daniel rounded the table in a daze, his focus only on her as if she was the last thing on the earth. Vhalla swallowed. She didn’t know what he saw—who he saw in her.

Daniel’s feet went from dragging to a near run as he crossed to her in desperately wide steps. His body crashed against hers and his arms swept her into an all-encompassing embrace. Her arms responded before she could think, ready to welcome the only person who had been there when the world had taken everyone else from her.

“You’re alive.” Daniel’s breath was hot on her neck.

“I’m Serien . . .” she whispered dumbly, reminding herself and him to play the necessary part.

“I don’t care what name.” He squeezed her tighter, if it were possible. “You’re you, and that’s all I need.”

“HOW ARE YOU here?” Daniel pulled away, blinking at her in awe. “They said we were the first group to arrive.”

Vhalla opened her mouth to speak but could only make a strangled, choking noise. The sight of him was wonderfully familiar, so much so that the relief it inspired nearly made her feel guilty. Vhalla stepped away and loosened her grip on him so that she could take his hands.

“Somewhere private,” she whispered, attempting some secrecy. Half the room was close enough to hear.

Daniel nodded. “Erion, Jax, I’ll have that drink with you later.”

“The shacks are as you left them.” Erion sipped his drink. He, Raylynn, and Craig were all intently watching Daniel and Vhalla’s intertwined fingers.

“Our little Danny grew up! Stealing women away!” Jax cheered, and Vhalla’s cheeks burned at the laughter that erupted in the room following such a proclamation.

Daniel quickly led her out, sparing them further embarrassment. The sun had almost completely set and, in the fading light, Vhalla could see his face competing with hers for the deeper shade of red.

“Jax, he’s-he’s a few pieces shy of a whole Carcivi board and he’s like that,” Daniel said quickly and apologetically.

Vhalla nodded, that much had been apparent from the moment she’d met the head major.

“But he’s a good man, truly, just a little . . .” Daniel sighed, slowing and turning. As if suddenly remembering he held her hand, he quickly pulled his away, plunging his palms into his pockets.

Vhalla said nothing, staring up at the Eastern lord.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispered.

“I’d rather not be . . .” Vhalla stared southward.

“Right.” He nodded, catching himself distracted again. “Let’s get somewhere we can talk.”

Daniel proceeded down and to the right of the camp palace. It was the first time Vhalla had walked among the soldiers and, while most were indifferent to her, they were certainly not to Daniel. He did his best to keep their pace, but it took nearly double the time it should’ve to transverse the short walk to a series of shacks with a communal fire pit that had a tarp suspended over it. It seemed every soldier wanted to welcome back the member of the Golden Guard.

Vhalla’s suspicions that these were the temporary homes of the most elite fighting force were validated when Daniel led her into one of the shacks. A curtain was the only barrier between his space and the rest of the world. But Vhalla instantly found herself relaxing.

“It’s not much.” Daniel rubbed the back of his neck.

It was nothing more than four walls and a roof. His supplies had already been dropped, armor on a simple stand, a few personal effects on a small table. His bedroll was open on a low platform, keeping it off the dusty ground.

“It’s perfect,” Vhalla countered.

The room was so far removed from anything she’d ever known that it held no meaning for Vhalla. The camp palace was filled with Aldrik, with why she was in the North. Here was a place where she could be Serien, someone else, or no one—it didn’t matter.

“Why are you here?” he rephrased his earlier question, taking a step toward her.

If Baldair hadn’t known about Aldrik, then it made sense that none of the recent arrivals would.

“There was an attack at the Pass.” She tried to harden herself in the way she’d learned as Serien, to speak as though the memories didn’t threaten to crush her with every word. “Aldrik fell—” Vhalla’s eyes widened realizing that she hadn’t used the crown prince’s title. She shouldn’t have been shocked to see that Daniel was completely unsurprised. He already knew. “I tried to save him, but I couldn’t. He was barely alive and dying. I came ahead for medical supplies.”

Daniel stared at her in shock. “When you say you came ahead . . .”

“I ran.” Her words were firm, with a defensive edge in case he challenged her decision. “I rode Baston, put the wind to his hooves until they killed him—”

“They?”

“Northerners.” Vhalla thought it obvious.

“You faced Northerners?” Daniel took another step closer.

“I fought and I killed them to make it here.” She didn’t have to amplify the truth to feel its gravity. “I’ve been here, alone for days, and I don’t even know if I have anything to show for it. I don’t even know if he’s alive.”

His arms encircled her for a second time and, for a second time, her hands sought him out. “You did well.” His palm rubbed her back. “It was enough, you did enough.”

She pressed her eyes closed and relished in his words. Maybe they were empty praise. Maybe they were right and maybe wrong. But she still had wanted to hear them.

“Vhalla, I . . .” Daniel began to pull away.

“Don’t,” she whispered. He stilled. “No names, no more words. Let me hide for a while, comfort me as you would anyone.”

Daniel straightened just enough to meet her eyes, their faces nearly touching. The sight slowed her heart enough to find peace, enough to ignore the conflicted mess of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. “You’re not just anyone. But, whatever you desire.”

“Thank you.”

“You have nothing to thank me for.” Daniel timidly rose a hand. Gently, the pad of his thumb stroked across her cheek.

He obliged her wishes and neither said anything for the rest of the night, everything was somehow understood and beautifully simple. Daniel held her and warded away the emptiness that she’d been struggling against for days. It was a selfish comfort, but one she’d so desperately needed.

Erion didn’t seem surprised the next morning when she crept out of Lord Daniel Taffl’s tent. “Breakfast,” he said softly, drawing Vhalla’s attention to the skillet that cooked over the central fire.

The food actually smelled good. It was barely dawn, and she had nowhere else to be yet, so she sat on one of the tree stumps opposite the Western lord. War was an interesting equalizer in the world. It made lords and ladies prepare food like common folk, and the only things that were had were earned or taken.

“How do you know Daniel?” Erion focused on the fire and the food cooking over it.

“We . . .” She paused. “We met when I joined the Empire’s army in the West.”

“The West, hmm?”

Vhalla nodded, discovering the guise of Serien no longer fitting as it once had.

“Where in the West are you from?” A pair of cerulean eyes assessed her thoroughly.

“Qui.” She knew a test when she saw one.

“Qui?” Erion whistled low. “How did an Eastern woman end up in Qui?”

She realized he was appraising her amber-tan skin color and not-black hair. “Never asked. Mother didn’t talk much before she died. Father was too drunk to ever bother saying.” Before Erion could get in another word, Vhalla made note of his Southern blue eyes and continued, “And how did a Southerner end up . . .”

“In the Crossroads?” Erion smirked and she realized how poorly her attempt at a counter at his parentage had failed. “Certainly you know where I am from.”

Vhalla frowned at herself. The past days’ work with the army had made her dredge up all the military history she’d read, which was mostly on the Western expansion. She’d almost let him catch her. “Of course I do, there’s not a Westerner alive who doesn’t know of the Le’Dan family.”

Erion gave her an approving glance, reaching over to the skillet. “Not a citizen of the Empire who doesn’t know, given the story of Leron Ci’Dan and Lanette Le’Dan.”

Vhalla nodded half-heartedly. The story of the star-crossed lovers was one she’d only consumed once, its romantic tragedy making for a long and exhausting read. Most never used the family names of the ill-fated souls. Ci’Dan, Aldrik’s family . . . She focused on the fire. The thought of the crown prince sparked an uncomfortable sharpness on the edges of the memories of the night prior. Suddenly, a night of what had seemed like harmless comfort between close friends felt very wrong.

“Thank the Mother you still cook.” A drowsy Daniel stumbled over, as if summoned with her thoughts.

Vhalla watched the way his shirt moved as he ran a hand through his nearly shoulder-length brown hair. It had ties mostly open down the front, stopping somewhere before his navel. She knew it to be thin cotton, not wool, by the amount of heat that had radiated off his body the night before. She forced her focus on her fingers, folding and unfolding them between her knees.

They’d slept side by side on the march from the Crossroads. He hadn’t thought of her as Vhalla, she’d been no one the night prior. It was a thin excuse for something deeper and more troubling, and she knew it as certainly as daylight.

“Serien, do you want some?”

She blinked at the plate of food being handed before her.

“Serien?” Daniel repeated.

“No, no I . . .” Vhalla stood with a shake of her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“You must be famished; we didn’t eat anything last night.” Daniel frowned.

“I need to go see someone,” she lied, partly.

Vhalla moved quickly, leaving them behind without further word and heading toward the camp palace.

“Halt!” One of the soldiers on either side of the camp palace’s doors stopped her progress. He assessed her thoughtfully. “What business do you have?”

“I was staying here.”

“I received no mention. Camp palace isn’t the place for you, majors and royals only.” He waved her away.

“No, you don’t understand.” She shook her head, suddenly remembering that her chainmail—the chainmail Aldrik had made for her—remained forgotten in his room. “You must let me through.” She took another step forward, and the soldier stepped in front of her.

“Soldier, you’re out of line.”

“It’s too early to be causing trouble.” Jax startled her with his proximity. Both soldiers saluted the Head Major of the Black Legion.

“What are you doing here?” she questioned.

“I could ask the same of you.” Jax cocked his head to the side. “Well, let us through,” he ordered the guards.

The soldiers obliged the head major, letting them enter without problem. The long hall was empty, paper and ledgers spread upon tables. She had underestimated how early it really was.

“Well?” Jax folded his arms over his chest.

“I need to see Baldair,” Vhalla explained.

“That much I’d figured.” He grinned. “Moving from one man to the next very quickly, aren’t you?”

Vhalla lashed out as fast as the wind, so fast that even Jax stared wide-eyed as she gripped the collar of his shirt. “Don’t you dare,” she snarled.

Surprise retreated from his face. His black eyes grew even darker with an intensity she’d never seen before. It sent his jovial exterior running in terror. A grin spread across Jax’s cheeks slowly, barring his teeth like an animal. “Do you want to do this, here, now?” he asked softly. “I’ve been a very gracious host to you so far and am happy to continue to be.”

Her grip faltered. This man’s moods swung like a pendulum and, in this moment, she had a very clear picture as to how and why he had become Head Major of the Black Legion. Jax raised his hand slowly, placing it on her shoulder. Even with the telegraphed movement, she still jumped.

“Let’s not, shall we?” His other hand rested over her wrists, pushing them easily away.

“It’s not what you think,” she said, still defensive.

“I promise you, you have no idea what I think.” Jax wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Now, let’s go get you your prince.”

Vhalla withheld comment, deciding not to retort that the golden-haired prince was not her prince.

Every step began to add another doubt as to her chosen course of action. What did she plan to achieve? As Jax went to knock on the door, she nearly stopped him. But the opportunity was eliminated as his knocks faded into silence.

“Who?” A sleep-hazy voice called.

“Your blushing princess,” Jax called in a girlish falsetto.

“Go away, Jax.”

She could hear shifting from within.

“Alas, darling, it’s not just me.” Jax glanced down at her. “You’ve a certain lady looking for you.”

There was some mumbling and distinctly feminine whispers before a set of heavy footsteps marched over to the door. The latch was lifted from within, and it opened a crack for the prince. “You?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, my prince. I forgot my armor here.” Her resolve had vanished.

“Why did you seek me out if you just wanted your armor?” The question was gentle when it could’ve been annoyed.

She didn’t have an answer.

“Wait for me in his room.” Baldair nodded his head toward the door across the hall.

Vhalla paced a groove into the floor as she waited. With each step, she oscillated between every mantle that had been thrust upon her over the past year: the library girl, the sorcerer, the soldier, the agent of death. Part of her sang her innocence in it all, including the straw that had broken her back with sudden guilt, Daniel. The other part intoned how she had a hand in crafting it all. She tugged on her fingers in thought.

“Yes, I’ll make it up to you tonight and then some.” She caught Baldair’s melodic chuckle through the thin walls of the camp palace.

When the door opened to Aldrik’s room, a much more properly dressed prince stood in its frame.

“Vhalla?” Baldair closed the door behind him, waiting for her to explain her reason for seeking him out.

“Am I?” she whispered.

Confusion furrowed his brow as the prince frowned.

“What am I?” She shook her head. “Am I Vhalla? Am I owned? Am I free? Am I Serien? Am I strong or weak or . . . I don’t know.” She stared at her hands, as if confused as to where they had come from. “I can kill and love with the same heart. I don’t find fear in the things I should and yet can be terrified of the fact. Baldair, I don’t know what I am—who I am—anymore.”

The words had been a long time coming, but Vhalla hadn’t even thought them before they crossed her lips. She’d fallen in the Pass and had risen as someone different. She was no longer Vhalla Yarl the library apprentice, and she no longer needed the shell of Serien Leral. She was more than the tool the Emperor saw her as and less than the woman she’d hoped she’d become. The in-between was threatening to smother her.

“I do,” Baldair said gently and took her hands in his steady ones. “I know who you are.”

She peered up at him. What could he possibly know about her heart that she couldn’t figure out herself ? He was the brother of the man she loved. He was the son of the man who owned her. But, really, until now he had been nothing of particular importance to her. He was about to define himself.

“You are as unrelenting and determined as the wind itself. You are doing what you must to survive. It’s what we’re all doing, leaning on what we must to keep the pieces together.”

She shook her head, her guilt wouldn’t allow her to accept it. “That’s just an excuse.”

“An excuse for what?” he asked gently.

“An excuse for . . .” Vhalla dropped her face in her palms, “For the things I have done.”

“What things?”

She shook her head.

“Is this about Daniel?” It was phrased as a question, but by his manner Baldair clearly already knew the answer. Vhalla raised up her eyes from her hands. Baldair sighed. “Vhalla, have you thought that this could be a good thing?”

“Don’t you dare say that!” Fire pulsed through her veins.

“My brother isn’t—”

“I love him!” Vhalla cut off Baldair. “I love Aldrik.” Saying it aloud reaffirmed the source of her most immediate guilt.

Baldair stared at her, a sad sort of hopelessness pulling on his shoulders. Vhalla turned, grabbing herself. She didn’t want to be around this prince if that was all he had to say.

Two strong arms wrapped around her, and Baldair pulled her back to his chest. “All right, all right, I know you do.”

“Then why do you . . .” Her words collapsed into a heavy sigh.

“Because I hate sitting by and watching something destined for so much heartache. Because I remember the first time we met.” Vhalla smiled faintly at the memory of the Imperial Library. “Gods, you were this tiny, nervous thing. I thought I’d have you halfway to ecstasy or agony by touching you and, Mother, it was fun to toy with you.”

“I’d never met a prince before.” Vhalla squeezed his forearm and laughed lightly. His touch did not bring ecstacy or agony for her. It was an easy, uncomplicated comfort.

“And now look at you.” He walked around, his palms on her shoulders. “It pains me to see world-weariness in someone who shouldn’t have lost their innocence. But I see that it is well and truly gone, and trying to stop the forces in motion is futile now.”

Baldair held her face gently with a wide hand. “I admit my methods have not been the best. But I never wanted to hurt you. I only ever wanted to keep you from all this. If I had known my amusement of inviting you to that gala just to see what my brother would do would’ve led you to war . . .”

Vhalla shook her head, unsure how they’d arrived at clearing the air between them. “I don’t blame you.”

“Thank you.” The prince sounded sincere. “Now, I have promised Aldrik I would see you well. And I will keep that promise, no matter what happens to him.” The fact that Baldair had to add such a caveat to the end of his vow brought a pang of pain straight to her heart. “So I need you to keep moving. As Vhalla, as Serien, as the Windwalker or as no one, however you find the strength to wake up each morning and move.”

“How do I know if I’m doing the right thing?” She wavered, uncertainty creeping in and chipping away at the strength her voice had been building over the past week.

“You don’t, you never will.” Baldair wore a sincere smile. “We’re all trying to find our way, no one has it figured out any more than you do. You’re not that special, Miss Windwalker.”

The prince gave her a friendly nudge, and Vhalla was brought to laughter. Things still felt unresolved but, if she’d understood the prince correctly, it was fine to leave them that way for a bit. She couldn’t spend her days collapsing into a heap with worry over Aldrik, just as she couldn’t let feelings for Daniel grow from her desperation for validation and comfort.

So, Vhalla continued to masquerade as Serien and kept her hands busy. They didn’t yet know what her future would be and it seemed premature to give up the guise. It went unquestioned, even by Erion—whom Vhalla was seeing a lot more of since she decided to continue training in the sword. Erion had a very different style than Daniel and was eager to “correct” all of the skills Daniel had previously imparted to her. Daniel, in turn, adjusted her movements back.

She didn’t quite know if she could trust herself to be around Daniel, though that didn’t stop her. A small pile of clothes, raided from military storerooms, grew in Daniel’s shack, a mirror to what grew in Aldrik’s room. An extra bedroll was a secondary nest on the floor, where she slept when the nights were too quiet and her chest felt too empty to be alone. Daniel never asked what made her come to him. He never asked about the nightmares that sent her silently slipping into bed next to him.

Daniel was ten times the gentleman than the rest of the Golden Guard. Everyone else had made comment about their unconventional relationship, while she never heard even a word of pressure from Daniel. It quickly came to weigh on her.

She had taken to eating dinner with Baldair. The prince carved out time for her, which was when he probed gently into Vhalla’s mind, like a doctor inspecting a wound to see if it was healing or festering. She’d begun to open up during these meals, sipping on spiced alcohol or playing Carcivi. Enough so, that when things with Daniel were becoming even more confusing than they had been, Vhalla confided in Baldair.

The prince suggested simply asking Daniel outright about the true nature of his feelings. It was a simple idea, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it for another full day. It had been a dream of red-eyed and twisted monsters shining with blueish wickedly gleaming stones that had brought her disturbed and shaking into his bed and arms. While she waited for the irrational and intense fear to subside, Vhalla focused on his warm breath on the nape of her neck.

“Daniel,” she whispered into the darkness, hoping he was asleep.

“Yes?” he replied.

She swallowed her trepidation. “What are we?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to tell me,” he replied after a long moment. “But I’m not in any hurry.”

“Why?”

He gave a raspy laugh. Vhalla had noticed his voice was more raw these days, as he led more drills than he had on the march. “Why, indeed?” He shifted behind her, and Vhalla felt his thigh brush against hers. He lay a hand’s distance away, as chaste as possible while still offering comfort. “Maybe because I’m afraid if I force you to choose, I won’t like the result.”

Vhalla bit her lip.

“I’d rather have this, whatever this is, than nothing. It’s nice to have someone with me, even if that someone is ‘no one’.” Daniel pressed his forehead between her shoulder blades and Vhalla stiffened briefly at the contact. “Don’t I sound pathetic?”

“No . . .” Her hands sought out his and their fingers intertwined. “You sound honest.”

His words lingered with her over the next few days. Did she have the strength to accept things as they were? To enjoy them for whatever they could be without care for what tomorrow may bring? It was a luxury she didn’t think she possessed.

Aldrik lingered on the edge of her thoughts. He was there when she saw Erion out of the corners of her eyes, his high cheekbones and black Western hair playing tricks on Vhalla’s mind. He was there when mentioned on the others’ lips. Aldrik was there every dawn and every sunset when Vhalla turned her eyes south, praying to see the host returning.

In some ways, she grew more in two weeks than she had in some years of her life. But no amount of training or mental fortitude could have prepared Vhalla for the night the crown prince returned to her life.

The curtain of Daniel’s shack was thrown back without warning. Vhalla blinked awake, confusion thick in her sleep-hazed mind. Jax stood in the doorway, a small flame burning over his shoulder, and she was instantly grateful it was a night she hadn’t decided to share Daniel’s cot.

“By the Gods, man, what’s wrong with you?” Daniel swore groggily.

“Vhalla Yarl, you must come with me.” There was no familiar glint to Jax’s eyes. Nothing to indicate the friendship she had been building with the man.

“What is it?” Her heart began to race.

“I said come with me, now.” Jax had a conflicted restraint to his movements.

“Where?” Daniel asked on her behalf, sitting.

“The Emperor requests your presence.” Jax was focused only on her. Five words had never brought Vhalla so much hope and dread.

“What’s going on, Jax?” Daniel asked, dropping his voice. “It’s just us, you don’t have to follow his commands like an automaton among friends.”

“I said now.” Jax walked in, grabbing her by the arm and tugging her forward.

“That’s enough, Jax!” Daniel was on his feet.

“Don’t interfere with Imperial orders!” Jax barked back, pushing her out of the shack. Vhalla stumbled but quickly righted herself. Jax didn’t place his hand on her person again, he didn’t need to as Vhalla fell in line obediently.

They were both pawns of the crown, she realized. But there was no time to process that revelation as her eyes fell on the mass of people before the camp palace. She clenched her hands into fists and her heart began to race. If the Emperor was here, then that meant Aldrik would be as well.

Vhalla turned to Jax suddenly. “Before we’re there, tell me, is the crown prince . . . is he alive?”

The Head Major of the Black Legion said nothing, but he did not scold her for pausing her forward progress either.

“Jax, tell me, please,” Vhalla pleaded.

“The crown prince lives,” he affirmed with a nod. That was the only hope he gave her before they continued onward.

“The Windwalker!” A soldier noticed her when she drew close to the crowd. It was strange to have someone identify her as Vhalla Yarl on sight. But these soldiers had been present for the fight in the Pass: she had already cast off the guise of Serien before them.

The crowd parted in awe.

“She lives,” someone whispered.

“It’s true: she flew like a bird.”

“The wind protects the crown,” another told their friend proudly.

Vhalla stared at them, shades of the sandstorm returning to her. She didn’t know the cause of their reverence. She had no doubt that these people held little love for Aldrik. But they stared upon the person who had saved their prince as though she were the first ray of dawn.

“Windwalker,” one called as she approached the doors of the camp palace with Jax. Vhalla paused and the Westerner didn’t force her forward. “Will you be able to wake the prince?”

The question was a crushing blow and the person delivered it with so much hope.

“I . . .” she faltered in her response.

“The Emperor has demanded the Windwalker’s presence,” Jax announced, sparing her from any explanation as he ushered her into the long hall.

The Emperor stood over one of the tables, alone. “Jax, leave us.” He didn’t even turn to face them.

Jax gave her one more guarded look, and then departed.

“Do you hear how they call for you?” The Emperor sighed. “Do not let their praise go to your head, girl. They only do so because I had to claim that I was the mastermind behind your little quest.”

The Emperor turned, and Vhalla felt as small as a field mouse under his stare.

“You.” His eyes raked over her. “You, a nothing, forced the Emperor to lie to his people. Are you proud of that fact?”

“No.” Vhalla averted her eyes for the illusion of respect. The last thing she wanted to do was aggravate the man further. She knew her actions were going to earn his ire as a soldier that had refused orders. But she hadn’t considered how they could be viewed as a challenge.

“I do not like being forced to do anything, especially by a no one.” The Emperor slowly approached her. “Have I not been merciful? I asked you only to remain focused, to give me the North, and in return I would give you back your freedom.”

His palm rested on the crown of her head in an almost fatherly manner. Vhalla wanted to swat the offending contact away.

“And how do you repay my benevolence?” The Emperor’s voice had taken a dangerous turn. His fingers clenched into a fist and with it a handful of hair. Vhalla yelped as she was pulled to her toes to keep half her scalp from ripping off her head. “Look at me when I speak to you,” he snarled.

Vhalla pried her eyes open, blinking away tears from the pain. She wouldn’t cry in front of this man.

“You repay me with disobedience. Theft and death of the crown prince’s horse—a horse worth more than your miserable life—ignoring orders, conspiracy. You revealed yourself as the Windwalker. You needlessly put your life in danger, a life that belongs to me.”

Vhalla scowled. Trying to save his son was “needless”?

The Emperor frowned, as if he could sense her rebellious thoughts, and tossed her backward. Vhalla stumbled, dropping to a knee. “All for what?” Emperor Solaris raised his boot, placing it over her face. “To save life of a man whom you should have nothing to do with. Whose name your lips are barely worthy to speak, even should your small mind actually remember the proper title.”

He extended his foot, and Vhalla was forced backward to avoid breaking her nose on his heel. The Emperor regained a two-footed stance when she was sprawled before him. His presence was overwhelming, as though she was truly nothing more than the dirt beneath his boots.

“I am going to give you one order, an order so simple that it should get through even your thick skull.” Emperor Solaris spoke slowly, as though she were daft. “Spring will be upon us in a handful of weeks, and I promised my people that Soricium would fall before the winter was out. You have until then to deliver me that city or I will see you hung and quartered, magic be damned. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly.” Venom laced the word. How was it possible to love the son and hate the father with equal passion?

“As far as my men are concerned, you are my hero. I strongly suggest you play that part.” The Emperor was almost nonchalant as he returned to the table. “But understand it is only an illusion. You will never experience freedom again.”

He was revoking his word, she realized. It no longer mattered if she gave him the North or not. Her choices were no longer freedom or servitude. Her choices were servitude or death.

“Now get out of my sight.”

Vhalla didn’t need to be told twice.

VHALLA HEEDED THE Emperor’s advice and tried to smile bravely and accept the soldiers’ compliments and praise as she left the camp palace. Her exterior seemed to project the desired message, but inside, bitterness churned roughly against anger and betrayal to create a sour poison. The return of the Emperor and the soldiers who knew her true identity had lifted the guise of Serien once more, and with it her lies of freedom and hopes for the future had been torn away as well.

“Vhal?”

Through her internal chaos and the commotion of the soldiers around her, a soft voice echoed straight to her ears. Vhalla turned frantically, trying to find the source.

“Vhal!” Fritz thrust his arm into the air, drawing her attention to him.

“Fritz!” She rudely pushed past people to get to her friend. Vhalla practically tackled the messy-haired Southerner, who appeared tired but in one beautiful piece. “Thank the Mother, you’re all right.”

“I should be saying that to you.” He laughed lightly, but his arms told a different story as they clung to her. “You’re the one who ran through the North.”

“It was nothing,” Vhalla mumbled.

“Hah, ‘nothing’ she says.” He pressed his forehead against hers briefly. “I was worried.”

“I know.” She straightened.

“You had us both worried.” Vhalla wondered if Elecia had been standing at Fritz’s side the whole time.

“You, worried about me?” Vhalla laughed. “I doubt it.”

“Not about you.” Elecia shook her head haughtily. “About your failing and what it’d mean for our prince.”

Vhalla smiled faintly. First Baldair and now a fondness for Elecia; what was happening to her?

“Excuse me, everyone, I am stealing away my friend,” Fritz announced as he linked his arm with hers.

Arm in arm, Vhalla entered the camp of the Black Legion for the first time. She’d avoided it while under the guise of Serien. People Vhalla didn’t know—and was fairly certain she’d never met before—recognized her. She could only guess it was due to her proximity to Fritz or Elecia or both, and that the soldiers had spread the word like wildfire. Most seemed shocked, and mildly offended, that she’d been in the camp for weeks and had yet to seek out the Black Legion. The few majors she had worked with alongside Jax had a deeper level of shock. But it was a welcome sort of offense, one that stemmed from caring about her wellbeing and not from formalities or falsehood.

“You two are staying together?” Vhalla blinked at the single tent in surprise.

“This one here couldn’t handle being alone.” Elecia rolled her eyes, but her words lacked bite, clearly only pretending to be put out.

“I was worried,” Fritz said for a second time, sitting heavily. “I thought I was going to lose you too and be alone.”

The words were more chilling than a dagger made of ice, and Vhalla moved quickly next to her friend, her side flush up against his. “I’m sorry.”

“I still can’t believe you made it.” Fritz shook his head and, with it, cast aside his worry. “You’re amazing, Vhal.”

“What happened after I left?” Vhalla braved the question, thinking once more on the Emperor’s actions upon seeing her.

“The Emperor made it out that he had sent you.” That much Vhalla had already been told, but there was a heaviness to Elecia’s words that didn’t sit well with her. “But he knew someone in the Black Legion had orchestrated your escape, and there was an accident.”

“An accident?” Vhalla glanced at Fritz, who hardly moved.

“Major Reale was killed.” Elecia didn’t have to say any more—neither of them did.

Vhalla hadn’t known the major for long, but she had known Reale to be a tough-as-nails woman who exemplified what it meant to be a soldier. From Elecia’s tone, Vhalla knew the major hadn’t gone out in the blaze of glory she’d deserved. There was a time that the guilt of the major’s death would’ve crushed Vhalla. But now it only added force behind the winds that were beginning to howl for blood in the back of her mind.

“The Emperor . . .” Elecia glanced at the open tent flap, searching for anyone who may be within earshot. “Vhalla, I would be very careful. He’s suspicious of even me and has been obviously cutting me out of meetings,” she huffed. “And I’m kin to the crown prince. He has no reason to even pretend to care for you.”

Vhalla leaned back on her palms. “He’s already taken everything he could from me.”

“No, he hasn’t.” Elecia knocked Vhalla’s arrogance right off her face with her words. “The man owns the world. There will always be something he can take from you.”

Vhalla looked away rather than arguing. Any protest would serve no purpose; the woman was clearly convinced. “How is Aldrik?” she asked about the only thing that was a balm to the rage within her.

“He healed well,” Elecia reported. “But . . . I still fear for his mind. He hasn’t woken.”

“Not once?” Vhalla frowned.

Elecia shook her head.

“What can we do?”

“The clerics and I have already tried everything. He can live until the natural end of his days as he is, but . . .” Elecia’s face was as pained as Vhalla felt.

“There must be something else.” They had come so far. Vhalla wasn’t about to give up now.

“There is nothing else.” Pain made Elecia short-tempered.

“So you’re giving up on him?” Vhalla snarled, letting out some of her own frustration.

“How dare you!”

“There is something else.” Fritz placed a hand on each of the women’s shoulders.

“What?” both snapped in unison.

“There is something else that hasn’t been tried,” Fritz repeated.

“Fritz, you know I’ve done all I could.” Elecia was honestly offended that he could even suggest she hadn’t.

“You have, I know,” Fritz agreed. “But that’s not everything that could be tried . . .” He turned to Vhalla, and she instantly knew where his mind was.

Vhalla’s heart betrayed her at the idea. It pulsed with a hope, a hope that was ignorant of all the flaws to the plan. It was a beam of light cutting through the darkness that had been slowly suffocating her.

“You mean their Joining.” Elecia fearlessly gave words to what Vhalla was still chewing over. “Absolutely not. It’s far too risky.”

“We’ve already Joined,” Vhalla reminded.

“Every time is a risk,” Elecia insisted. “His mind isn’t strong. You could get lost in that void or—I don’t even know what. A Joining is dangerous in the best of conditions.”

Vhalla brought her hands together. She wondered why she was even debating. The moment Fritz suggested it, she had known it would be the only course of action.

“Why do you think it would work?” Vhalla turned to Fritz.

“You can’t be serious,” Elecia balked.

“It’s only a theory.” Fritz suddenly seemed insecure, glancing between the two women. “But a Joining is essentially a merger of two minds, right? I thought that, perhaps, you could go into his mind and bring him back.”

“I’ll try,” Vhalla resolved before Elecia could get in another objection.

The woman was clearly not to be easily dissuaded. She gripped Vhalla’s shoulder. “Are you even listening?”

“There’s nothing more the clerics can do; you said it yourself.” Vhalla was not backing down, not until she’d tried. “If not this, then what? We let him spend forever locked away in the prison of his mind? We watch him waste away into nothing, sustained by potions and your magic?”

Elecia dropped her gaze, her hand going limp.

Vhalla pulled away, rising to her knees.

“Where are you going?” Fritz asked.

“To try.” Vhalla turned.

“Do you think the Emperor will let you anywhere near him ever again?” Elecia frowned.

“Do you think he’ll stop me?” Vhalla peered over her shoulder at Elecia. She’d never had any intention of asking the Emperor for his permission to see Aldrik.

“How are you getting in?” Elecia countered.

“Don’t worry about that.” Vhalla shook her head. “Elecia, if something goes awry, I trust you to take care of him.”

“If I can . . .”

Vhalla’s eyes landed on Fritz. He had a sorrowful acceptance about her decision, despite being the one who suggested it. Vhalla sighed and pulled him in for a tight embrace. “When this is over, Fritz—when it’s all over—we’ll work together in the Tower again.”

He laughed weakly. “Of course we will, if your recklessness doesn’t kill me with worry first.” The Southerner sniffled loudly. “When did the library apprentice become so wild?”

“Who knows,” Vhalla said. She kissed his cheek lightly, her lips sealing in the truth. She hadn’t studied and trained to be the woman she had become; it had been carved into her by the world’s demands.

Vhalla had learned the camp and avoided the main roads through it. She kept her head down and her pace just fast enough to be heading somewhere with a purpose, but not too fast that she’d raise suspicion. She rounded the camp palace, swinging wide to the back hall. The tents stopped a moderate distance away, and the full moon was unkind to her intentions.

Thinking quickly, Vhalla walked around a different wall, grabbing some spare planks of lumber that had been stacked. As nonchalantly as possible, she leaned them against the building near Aldrik’s window. Most of the soldiers slept on, and the few who were awake didn’t notice or didn’t question the confident woman going about her business.

Two boards were enough to shield her from prying eyes and Vhalla squatted down against the wall in the small triangle of space they made. She held her breath, closed her eyes, and listened. With her Channel open, she became the wind’s confidant, listening to its secrets. Delicate pulses along it, pushing outward and pulling back to her, told her that there were three people sleeping in the camp palace.

Vhalla glanced at the camp, looking for anyone who was awake and paying attention. Finding no one, she crept from her hiding place, pulling open one of the slatted shutters over the low window. Vhalla sat on the ledge of the window and swung her feet inside, pulling the shutter closed behind her.

The room was plunged into near darkness, the shutters mostly thwarting the silvery light of the moon. It was a familiar space to Vhalla after the days she’d spent curled in the bed. But this time, the bed was occupied.

Five shaky steps and she was at his side. All strength left her, and Vhalla collapsed onto the edge of the bed, her hand to her mouth. Her shoulders lurched as she brought her forehead to his chest. She felt his breathing, much steadier than the last time, and she turned her eyes back to him only when she was certain she could control herself enough not to cry aloud and alert everyone to her presence.

The relief was overwhelming. There was still a bandage around his head, but it no longer appeared to be oozing blood. Most of the other bandages, including on his arms, had been removed. His face had returned to a mostly normal color, and the swelling had gone down. He wore a stubble on his cheeks that she’d never seen before; Vhalla couldn’t prevent herself from touching it, from touching him.

“Oh, Aldrik,” she whimpered into the humid night air. “Aldrik . . .” Her fingertips ghosted over his face, and Vhalla inched closer to him. “My love.”

Vhalla felt exposed and naked, raw to the world. She pressed her quivering lips to his, delighting in the unique lightening his skin could spark across the storm clouds of chaos that brewed within her. He was the start and end of her world, the glue holding together her fragile sanity. He was everything, and without him she was lost.

Vhalla straightened, looking down at him. He was all that to her. So she had to be the same and more for him. She absorbed every inch of his face, of the exposed collarbone and chest just above the blanket. He needed her to be strong, he needed her in a way he would never need anyone else.

She shifted her fingers to his temples, pressing lightly into his hot flesh. Vhalla closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. It was like Projecting; she wanted to push herself outward, but not into the open air, into him, into them.

Their breathing echoed in perfect time; their heartbeats drummed a knowing rhythm of two people who had become so linked that even death itself couldn’t separate them. Vhalla lost herself in the symphony of their essence, allowing herself to mingle with him. She felt her body slip away and entered a place that only they knew.

For a moment, Vhalla lost all sense of purpose. The missing piece was found; the hollow void that had been consuming her was filled. That satisfactory wholeness put all other desires to shame. Why would she want to escape? Why would she want to take him from this place of warmth and love into the harsh world waiting beyond?

But she didn’t let herself indulge too much. She was here for a reason. As much as she wanted to run from the world and retreat into him, the world still needed its prince. It needed the heir, the wonderful man she had come to love.

Aldrik, her thoughts ripped through the world that existed only between them. You need to wake up now.

Somewhere on the horizon of her perception, a hot wind swept up toward her. Fire followed, setting the world ablaze around her: a mental defense.

Enough of this! she called, not allowing the childish protest to overwhelm her. Don’t fight me.

He was here. Vhalla’s heart—their heart—began to race and, with it, her metaphysical feet took flight. She ran through the flames that did not burn her. Through the darkness that spun into light.

In those flames, she saw the flickering outlines of figures. She saw a man she knew well and the boy he had grown from. Shadows of Aldrik’s past danced beyond her reach, too hazy to decipher, the glittering specters trying to distract her from her mission.

Aldrik! Vhalla cried once more. She was losing all sense of time. Seconds or days could have passed in the real world and she would not have known it. Vhalla raised her hand to her shoulder, sweeping it across her chest.

The wind scattered the flames, pushing them away. Vhalla turned and repeated the process, snuffing the burning memories. She rotated, banishing the horrors he worked so hard to keep confined within the dark corners of his mind. Vhalla removed everything, until all that was left was him.

There was nothing around them; they had no real bodies, but the illusion of Aldrik sat curled in on himself, his face hidden against his knees. Vhalla stepped forward slowly, or perhaps she willed the world to move around her. Either way, she reached her destination.

Dropping to her knees behind him, Vhalla wrapped her arms around the hunched man’s shoulders.

Aldrik, she whispered his name as soft as a lover’s caress. Come back with me. Please come back.

The world rippled around her in protest.

I know. I know, it’s awful out there. But you can’t stay here. Everyone needs you. Vhalla felt their heartbeat slowing. I need you.

The ground, which was not really ground, began to grow hazy. It steamed like hot stones after a short summer shower. He resisted their Joining or she was losing her magical strength to maintain it. Either way, she was running out of time.

Please, wake up. Come back with me, she urged. Vhalla knew she had to withdraw; if she didn’t now, she’d really be lost with him. Aldrik, I love you.

Her physical eyes fluttered open and her head swam. Vhalla swayed, her hands falling on either side of his head, gripping the pillow for support. She gulped down air, wondering if her physical body had even been breathing the entire time. Returning from a Joining that deep was cold and empty.

“Don’t make me do this alone,” she murmured. Aldrik was still, the moonlight freezing his face in time. “Aldrik, don’t do this to me.”

Vhalla dropped her forehead onto his chest. What a fool she’d been for thinking it’d work. For thinking she could bring him back. She had long accepted that she was a bringer of death.

Tears fell freely. Vhalla didn’t even try to stop them. Her lips curled and her breaths ran ragged as she tried to mourn with her entire soul while not making a sound.

He twitched.

Her eyes shot open, and Vhalla shot upright again. Aldrik remained motionless. Was it her exhaustion playing tricks on her? She gripped his fingers so tightly she might break them again.

His hand tensed under hers.

“Aldrik,” she breathed. Vhalla watched his face with avid interest, but there was nothing more. “Aldrik,” Vhalla demanded firmly. The Gods would give her this. They would give him back to her. “Damn it, open your eyes!” her voice rose to a near cry.

The door on the other side of the hall opened. Vhalla’s head snapped in the direction of the sound.

“What?” a weak voice muttered from the bed.

Vhalla turned back to Aldrik in bewilderment, her prince. Rough-faced with the makings of a newly-grown beard, greasy-haired, and eyes that were exhausted despite his sleep, he looked positively awful.

He looked perfect.

The door to the room swung open without a word; another slammed against the wall on the opposite end of the hall. Vhalla met Baldair’s eyes as he stood, candle in hand, so shocked that he didn’t notice the wax running over his fingers. Vhalla spun off the bed, darting for the window.

“What is going on?” the Emperor called from the hall.

She closed the shutter and shrunk against the wall behind the boards she’d placed earlier. Vhalla gripped her shirt over her racing heart, praying it did not give her location away. She tilted her head back against the wood of the building and listened to the wind for the first time in weeks. It sang such a beautiful hymn of joy that harmonized with her heaving breaths and silent tears.

Her prince had returned.

“Aldrik, you . . .” Baldair eloquently ended what Vhalla presumed to be a staring contest between the three men. She could hear them without problem through the slats of the shutter.

“It is good to see you, son,” the Emperor said, having more control of his thoughts.

“Where are we?” Aldrik asked weakly.

“We are at Soricium,” the Emperor responded. His tone was gentler than Vhalla had ever heard it and, for all the anger she harbored for Emperor Solaris, she was relieved to hear a glimpse of his soul that love for his first born son could bring forward.

“Soricium?” Aldrik mumbled. “No, we were . . . I was just . . . Were we not at the Crossroads?”

Vhalla turned toward the shutters. Elecia had said they wouldn’t know the state of Aldrik’s mind. What if he had forgotten their time together?

“We haven’t been at the Crossroads for months, brother,” Baldair said delicately.

“No, we were . . . We were . . .” Aldrik sounded lost.

“There is no point in taxing yourself,” the Emperor soothed. “The events of the Crossroads and after are inconsequential.”

Vhalla wanted to scream in objection. The Crossroads had formed her and Aldrik’s shifting feelings, after which they had shared what had been the best night of her life.

“No,” Aldrik breathed. Vhalla heard his protest upon the evening breeze, echoing from his heart to hers. “No, the Crossroads, and then . . . Then you took Vhalla from me.”

“Son.” The Emperor’s voice had completely changed.

“And we, the Pass . . . I . . .” There was a sudden commotion from within the room. “Where is she?” Aldrik demanded.

“Lie down. No, Aldrik, do not try to stand.” Baldair fell into the role of the cleric.

“Where is she? Is she all right? Baldair, you swore to me you would protect her!” Aldrik’s words sounded half mad with worry.

Vhalla pressed her eyes closed, her heart aching at being unable to reveal herself to him.

“Tell me!” Aldrik cried.

“Why must you do this?” The Emperor’s voice was so soft that Vhalla could barely hear it. “What is your unhealthy obsession with the girl?”

“She lives?” Even having just woken from a long sleep, Aldrik missed nothing. The Emperor’s anger would not exist had Vhalla died cleanly in the Pass.

“She lives,” the Emperor confirmed. The room settled. “For now.”

“What?” the crown prince uttered in shock.

Vhalla didn’t want him to ever find out the Emperor’s ultimatum, but she especially didn’t want him to find out like this. Her fingers twitched, wanting to reach for the shutter, to pull Aldrik from the room and from his father’s reach.

“She understands that she must focus on the task before her—and nothing else,” Emperor Solaris began. “She knows that should she give into distractions, it will have grave consequences for her.”

“Father, what are you talking about?” Baldair asked.

“We had a very productive conversation, the girl and I,” Emperor Solaris’s voice echoed ominously.

That was certainly one way to put it.

“And now I hope to have an equally productive one with you, Aldrik.”

Silence was the crown prince’s response.

“She has until spring to deliver me the North or she will be hung and quartered.” It wasn’t any easier to hear the second time. “But I fear she has become too much of a risk. So, even if she does succeed, I trust you will decide what to do with her when her usefulness has run its course.”

“What to do with her?” Baldair was the one who was brave enough to ask for clarification.

“She is a liability. She can listen in on conversations, walk through walls. There is no secret that could be kept from such a creature—”

“She’s a woman,” Aldrik corrected firmly.

“—creature,” the Emperor continued. “I should not think I would even need to mention the Crystal Caverns.” There was a long pause. “I did not think so. I am not so certain your tests were conclusive enough, Aldrik. Perhaps she can manage crystals. If so, she becomes an even greater risk to us all if someone decides to use her to unlock the power that sleeps there. War is full of casualties; no one expects her to leave this battlefield.”

Vhalla pressed her eyes closed tightly, feeling sick.

“She saved Aldrik’s life, Father.” Baldair’s defense was heartwarming, however useless.

“It was her duty! That is the role of subject and lord. A role I feel is being blurred.” The Emperor let his implications hang in the air. “Well then, I look forward to your plans on the matter.”

“I will not,” Aldrik said softly as the door opened.

Vhalla’s heart stopped.

“Excuse me?” the Emperor asked coldly.

“She has done too much. We need her. I need—”

“In what ways do you need her?” Emperor Solaris finished for his son, cruelly skewering the words that Aldrik was letting get away from him.

“You know in what way!” Aldrik lost his control. The silver-tongued Fire Lord, the fearsome prince had been stripped away to a desperate man.

Vhalla pressed her eyes closed. How had the world tilted so far off-balance?

“Yes,” the Emperor said slowly. “I am afraid I do.” Vhalla could imagine the Emperor crossing the room to stare down his son as he had her when she heard his footsteps. “She clearly can’t be tamed, so she dies, Aldrik. And I have every suspicion that it will be a far gentler death if it is done by your hand than mine.”

“WHAT WILL YOU do?” Baldair asked, finally breaking the silence and spurring Vhalla to action.

“Baldair, go,” Aldrik demanded sourly.

“Brother, we can—”

“I said leave me!” the crown prince seethed in pain.

Both royals turned quickly as the shutter opened. Vhalla quickly hopped over the window ledge before anyone below would notice her silhouette against the candle-lit room. She eased the shutter closed as softly as possible, straightening.

Aldrik stared at her wide-eyed, his gaze heaped adoration upon her as though she was the Goddess herself descended upon the earth and made mortal. “Vhalla,” he croaked.

“Aldrik.” Spider-webbed fractures stretched across the ice she’d packed around her heart, shattering under its own weight. She sprinted to him and his stiff muscles prevented him from rising too quickly to meet her. That didn’t stop Vhalla from pressing herself atop him at an awkward angle, half seated at the edge of the bed.

His arms slowly heeded his commands. They worked themselves around her, holding the shaking Windwalker with all the strength the crown prince could muster. Vhalla hiccupped softly, hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

“My Vhalla,” he whispered, gripping her. “My lady, my love. You, you . . .” His voice broke and he drew a shuddering breath.

She pulled away, staring down at the prince. “You’re here.”

“As are you.” His palm cupped her cheek, and Vhalla leaned into it, savoring his touch.

“You wouldn’t be, Aldrik, if it weren’t for her,” Baldair reminded them both of his presence.

“What happened?” Aldrik glanced between the two of them. “Tell me everything.”

“You shouldn’t tax yourself.” Vhalla was suddenly worried about the smallest thing breaking him.

“Tell me everything,” he repeated firmly.

“After you fell . . .” Baldair began, obliging his brother.

Vhalla glanced at him askance. She had no interest in hearing of how she had disobeyed the Emperor or her frantic run through the North. She also prayed that Baldair mentioned nothing of the confusion surrounding Daniel. The younger prince didn’t betray her trust.

The crown prince absorbed his brother’s words silently. His eyes shimmered as his beautiful mind began to wake once more. Vhalla allowed herself to be distracted by how wonderful every curve of his face was, and by his thumb running over the back of her hand.

“Vhalla.” He summoned her attention when Baldair had finished. Aldrik opened his mouth, and his words faltered. “You woke me also, didn’t you?”

She searched his face, reading the meaning hidden in the depths of his eyes. It had been real then, what she had witnessed during the Joining. He had been there as much as she had been. Vhalla nodded.

“Thank you,” Aldrik whispered, almost reverently.

“Of course, my prince.”

“Now, we must find a way to deal with my father.” Aldrik closed his eyes as if in pain.

Vhalla’s stomach clenched. “If the Emperor demands my death . . . there isn’t much hope is there?”

“No. We will win this war and then your freedom—”

“I heard.” She couldn’t handle the flash of hopelessness in his eyes, the flash of truth, when he realized she knew his father’s demands of her death no matter the war’s outcome. “I will fail before I force your hand.”

“I couldn’t.” Aldrik shook his head. “You know I can’t.”

“He hates what I am to you,” Vhalla breathed in realization. “Well, if my crime is love, then I am indeed guilty.”

“I will not let it happen.” Aldrik tried to push himself up into a seated position. He grimaced, and Vhalla quickly adjusted the pillows to try to give him support. “I promise you.”

“Don’t.” Her hands faltered. Vhalla straightened and stood, her arms were limp at her sides. “Don’t cheapen our promises. Some can’t be kept.”

“No!” Aldrik’s voice rose slightly, and Baldair made a shh-ing sound with a nervous glance toward the door. “If I must, I will take you away myself and hide you.”

Baldair leaned forward in obvious surprise.

“Then you’ll be hunted also.” Vhalla shook her head. “Don’t be rash about this. It’s what’s meant to be and—”

“Don’t do this.” Anger flared in his eyes, and it made the timbre of his voice deepen. “Don’t you dare do this to me, Vhalla Yarl.” With more speed and strength than Vhalla thought he currently possessed, Aldrik pulled her back onto the bed. “I told you this would never be easy, I warned you. I begged you to spare my heart if you weren’t ready for this fight.”

She glanced away, unable to bear the burden of guilt.

“Look at me,” he demanded softly. She obliged. “You do not give in. You disobeyed the Emperor himself, you ran alone through the North, you—who was once a library girl! You’re smart and capable and strong and beautiful, and I will not let you forget those things now. I will not let them be diminished.”

Aldrik gripped her hand as though he was physically holding onto the scraps of her humanity. Vhalla’s chest ached. “I’m tired of fighting,” she sighed. The memory of the Emperor’s boot on her face was fresh. Vhalla hated that the man could make her feel so little. “I would rather he continue to hate me and spend the end of my days as I choose than fight the Emperor in agony until my final moment.”

“No.” A smile spread across Aldrik’s face. It was tired, but it had a hopefulness Vhalla had never quite seen behind it. “I swear with you and Baldair and the Gods as my witnesses that you shall be at my side. I will think of something, I will find an opportunity. I do not know what that is yet, but I will find something that will be worth more to my father than this foolish notion of killing you. Whatever that thing is, I will threaten him with it. I will show him—the world—the astounding woman who has stolen my heart.”

“But how long will it last?” Vhalla hated herself for objecting to the words she had been so longing to hear. “Until you must find something else to barter or sacrifice just for my sake?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Aldrik shook his head. “I will fight to keep you until the end of my days.”

“You’re a fool,” Baldair declared, stealing the words right out of Vhalla’s mouth. He leaned back in his chair, considering his brother. But his words were betrayed by the appreciative gleam in his eyes as he switched his attention between the two lovers. Vhalla was still learning the nuances of the younger prince, but it was easy to guess that he was impressed.

Aldrik chuckled under his breath. “If I am, then the blame falls entirely with my lady here.”

A gentle warmth gave color to Vhalla’s cheeks.

“Well, you won’t be launching any suicidal campaigns if you can’t even get out of bed.” Baldair stood. “I’ll go fetch the clerics.”

“Go, but wait to fetch the clerics.” Aldrik ran his hand up Vhalla’s arm, his attentions returned to her.

“Dawn is only an hour away.”

“Then get them in an hour,” Aldrik said as though that should have been obvious.

“You need medical attention,” Baldair insisted. “Your body is mostly healed. You should just need some strengthening potions for you to be close to normal.”

“I don’t need my strength just yet. I’m not leaving this bed,” the crown prince observed. “What I have here now will be far more effective than anything the clerics can bottle.”

Baldair gave a resigned huff of amusement and shook his head. “Gone by dawn,” the younger prince cautioned before leaving them alone.

Vhalla turned back to Aldrik as the door closed, but the man had other intentions as the hand that had been drifting up her arm tugged lightly on her shoulder. The moment the back of her neck was in his reach, his fingers were curled around it, and Vhalla met his lips.

His mouth had the faint traces of herbs, what Vhalla suspected to be remnants of medicine or sustaining potions that had been forced down his throat. The hair on his face tickled her strangely. But nothing could have made that kiss anything less than perfection.

“I love you,” he uttered like a prayer.

“And I you,” she affirmed.

“Don’t give up on me.” Aldrik pressed his eyes closed tightly. “I am not worthy of all you have done for me . . . but, you, this is the first thing to make me feel human in almost a decade, to make me want to strive for something more. You are the first person to make me truly happy, to make me want and hope again.”

“I have never given up on you,” Vhalla pointed out gently.

“You are the only one.”

“Larel didn’t either,” she mused.

“No, Larel never did . . .” Aldrik tugged on her gently and Vhalla understood his demand. She curled at his side, her head tucked between his chin and his shoulder to barely fit on the small bed. “I can’t believe you rode through the North. Gods, woman, have you no fear?”

“I was terrified,” Vhalla confessed softly. “I was just more terrified of living without you.”

Aldrik laughed, a deep throaty sound. He ran his fingertips over her arm and shoulder. “A terror I know well.”

Vhalla pressed her eyes closed. Her mortality stared down at her from the other side of an abyss. But his arm around her firmly kept her in place, kept her from tumbling down that dark chasm.

She relinquished doubt and embraced hope. Her hand snaked around his waist, and Vhalla listened to his heartbeat while feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest, perfectly in time with hers. They would fight together now.

“Stay with me today.” Aldrik pressed his lips against her hair.

“I don’t know if your father . . .”

“After the clerics have done their dance, I’ll command that you be brought to me. My father won’t dare reveal our family rift to the world by objecting, not after I’ve made a public command. He won’t undermine me before the subjects he intends I rule,” Aldrik stated with confidence.

“For how long?” she asked.

“All day today, tomorrow.” There were the makings of a deeper current powering his words. There was a plan formulating in his puppet-master mind. “I want the men, women, majors, and nobles alike to continue to see you are under my protection. I want them to see me value your brilliant thoughts. And,” Aldrik paused, as if bracing himself, “I want them to see my compassion for you. Most of all, my father will see that he will not take you from me with mere threats.”

“This is an awful idea.” Vhalla shook her head, pressing closer.

“It is brilliant,” he insisted. “Will you?”

Vhalla’s hand drifted up over the blankets to his exposed collarbone, running her fingers across the firm line in his skin. “I will,” she breathed in reply.

His arm tightened around her, and he hooked a finger under her chin. Aldrik tugged her mouth toward his once more, and Vhalla gripped his shoulder tightly. The world blissfully faded away as his lips parted.

Vhalla could have laughed, she could have cried, as each kiss reaffirmed their madness. A bundle of nerves began to tangle in her stomach. Each kiss undid a knot, each breath added two. Today, they would draw a line in the sand. On one side, they would stand, on the other, the Emperor and her death.

As true as it had ever been, dawn came too soon. Vhalla peeled herself away after they had both reassured themselves of their plans. His arms were hesitant to relinquish her, and Vhalla was reluctant to plunge herself into the suddenly cold world again.

After slipping out of his room, she drifted through camp, not paying attention to where her feet carried her. Doubt traded places with hope, and her thoughts ranged from horror, to cautionary urges, to elation. Somehow, she navigated back to Fritz’s tent.

“What in the sun?” Elecia exclaimed as Vhalla practically collapsed atop her.

She couldn’t say anything; the magical toll of Joining was mixing with lack of sleep, resulting in a potent exhaustion. Vhalla rolled off Fritz and onto her back, staring up at the lightening canvas with a small grin. No matter what happened, he lived.

“You two are so annoying,” Fritz mumbled from Vhalla’s right, still half asleep.

“He’s awake,” she intoned.

“What?” Elecia sat upright.

“He’s awake,” Vhalla repeated, sitting with a foolish grin. She grabbed the other woman’s hands, beaming. “Aldrik’s awake.”

“You . . .” Elecia didn’t even pull away. “You actually did it?”

Vhalla nodded and let out a small yelp in surprise as Elecia pulled her in for a bone-crushing hug.

“You’re so infuriating, Vhalla Yarl,” she laughed.

“You’re pretty annoying yourself,” Vhalla responded lightly, and both women shared a moment of sincere elation.

Vhalla had just turned to Fritz, beginning to share with them the broad strokes of what had occurred, when Jax’s voice carried through camp.

“Lady Ci’Dan! Lady Yarl!”

Vhalla exited the tent behind Elecia. “We’re here.”

“Why am I not surprised to find you both together?” the Westerner asked with a smirk.

“You should be.” Elecia placed a fist on her hip, shifting her weight with a familiar grin. “I can’t stand this woman.”

“A new development then?” Jax cocked his head to the side.

Elecia hummed, starting in the direction of the camp palace without needing to be told. “I assume our prince has summoned me?”

The Western man nodded. “I’m surprised he brought you out here.”

Vhalla walked curiously behind the two. They spoke like old friends.

“He clearly needs me.” Elecia’s haughty voice sounded hollow to Vhalla’s ears. There was a sense of sorrow there. Elecia didn’t want Aldrik to need her to be there, Vhalla realized. Elecia would rather if he was in a position that didn’t require her expertise as a healer.

“So what is your grandfather up to with this one and her duchessness?” Jax nodded in Vhalla’s direction.

“Far be it from me to know.” Elecia glanced over her shoulder at Vhalla. “I found out after he’d decided to issue the first Crimson Proclamation since the West fell.”

Vhalla avoided the woman’s stare. She really didn’t want to know about the Crimson Proclamation any more than necessary. It made for unwanted attention.

“I doubt he got the Emperor’s permission first,” Jax’s voice dropped.

“He shouldn’t have to.” There was a bite to Elecia’s words that Vhalla liked. “He’s the Lord of the West; he can give them out as he pleases.”

Jax caught Vhalla’s shifting eyes. “Told you some people took it seriously.” He grinned.

All conversation ended as they entered the camp palace. Thirteen men and women surrounded a tall-standing table in the far left corner. They stopped studying the maps before them and turned to the people who entered. At the head of the table was the Emperor, Baldair to his left, and a much stronger-looking Aldrik to his right.

Vhalla’s eyes didn’t miss anything. She saw the slight sway to his movements just from turning to look at her. She saw the way Aldrik’s hands gripped the table for balance. She had to bite her lip to keep from scolding him for leaving his bed.

“My apologies for my delay.” Jax walked straighter, shifting into his role as head major. “I was on an errand for our prince fetching Lady Yarl and Lady Ci’Dan.”

Aldrik gave Jax a nod as the head major fit into the table. Elecia immediately started for Aldrik, her mission clear. Vhalla’s feet stilled a few steps from the table, trapped in the Emperor’s glare.

“Vhalla, to my right,” Aldrik announced, and all heads turned.

Vhalla took a deep breath, gripping her hands over her abdomen. She kept her head as high as possible and walked with purpose. But, even knowing Aldrik’s plans, her breath had a soft tremble to it.

Elecia glanced at Vhalla as she switched which of Aldrik’s hands she was holding. But the Western woman didn’t say anything as Vhalla assumed the place of honor at the prince’s right hand, nudging out a familiar old and grizzled-looking man.

“Aldrik,” the Emperor began ominously, “do you not think the girl would be better served elsewhere?”

“No.” Aldrik brushed off his father’s words as if they were nothing more than a half-hearted musing. “I think it wise to keep her informed on our preparations as the Lady Yarl’s knowledge of our forces will likely prove essential to her success.”

“Do you?” Emperor Solaris’s words practically dripped malice.

“The Lady Yarl?” Raylynn asked from Baldair’s left. Vhalla realized the whole of the Golden Guard was there, including a wide-eyed Daniel.

Time seemed to hold its breath as she met the other Easterner’s eyes. He was just diagonal to her right, not more than a few arm’s length away, but she felt like he was on the other end of the world. His hazel eyes drifted over to Aldrik at her side, clouding darkly before he averted his stare, making Vhalla’s chest tighten uncomfortably.

The rest of the table seemed oblivious to the silent conversation between the two Easterners. They focused on what Aldrik was saying, “. . . gave her a Crimson Proclamation.”

“A hollow title,” the Emperor scoffed with a shake of his head.

“I respectfully disagree.” Erion had an amused grin playing at the corners of his mouth as his eyes darted about the table like he was watching a spectacular play unfold before him. “As a proud member of one of the oldest families in the West, I would take care to honor the Windwalker as a lady, if the Lord Ci’Dan has so decreed.”

Despite gaining support, Vhalla was surprised to see Aldrik’s mouth tense briefly into a frown. The two Western Lords stared at each other for a long moment. Even Elecia seemed to pause her inspection of Aldrik to squint at Erion with apparent distrust.

“I would agree as well,” another Western man vocalized.

“I welcome the Windwalker into the Western Court.” A woman gave Vhalla a small nod of her head.

The Emperor scowled and opened his mouth to speak.

“Excellent. Now that that is settled, shall we resume?” Aldrik got in the final word and the table awkwardly turned back to the papers at hand, beginning to discuss something about the training schedules for the troops.

Vhalla braved a glance at the Emperor. His jaw was set and his eyes hadn’t left Aldrik. He saw right through what they were doing, Vhalla was certain of it. They weren’t exactly being subtle.

“. . . the question remains, do we invest in building weapons of siege or training the soldiers?” One of the other majors slid down a piece of paper that had been marked again and again.

“If she opens the doors to Soricium for us,” Erion retorted with a motion to Vhalla, “then siege weapons seem a waste of time. We should begin preparing for battle.”

Vhalla leaned toward Aldrik, peering at the paper he’d been presented. The prince made no sign of discomfort at her proximity, accommodating her interest. Elecia had finished her brief inspection and had run off somewhere.

“If she opens the palace,” stressed the grizzled major to Vhalla’s right.

“I will open it.” Vhalla was so engrossed in understanding the document that she missed all eyes turning to her in surprise at the confidence in her voice. “Here.” She pointed to the far side of the palace on the diagram. “Why aren’t there any siege weapons here?”

“They sealed off the back entrance with rock and rubble in the third year so, they only need to protect one entrance,” Aldrik explained.

“So then we would enter from here.” She placed a hand on the table to lean over the large piece of parchment. Her index finger swept to the opposite end of the palace.

“The girl can deduce we should go through the working door. Why don’t you leave this to the adults, child?” a mustached Western man sneered.

“We need to move something here.” Vhalla tapped at the back gate, pointedly ignoring him.

“What? Why? They closed off that entrance,” Raylynn commented from across the table.

They all looked at Vhalla like she was stupid. She looked back at them much the same.

“They are called Groundbreakers,” she observed. “Do you think some rubble would stop them from making that entrance usable again in a moment?” The sight of the cliff falling out from under Aldrik’s feet was in her mind again.

“Like the battle of Norin.” She boldly brought her eyes to the Emperor. These men and women would never respect her if she didn’t stop hesitating in showing them what she knew, what she’d learned and studied. She needed to turn book knowledge into something practical, something useable for action. “You charged with only a quarter of the host at the main gate. The rest flanked from behind.”

His eyes studied her coldly, and Vhalla swallowed, hoping she did not mix up her facts.

“No one expected you to come from the sea. You had the advantage and swept them from all sides.” She turned her eyes back to the map below.

“This could be the same, but a little reverse. We are weak on that side, unsuspecting. If we rush in with the main host through here, they run out this old entry, close it back up, split, flank us, and surround us. After that they can pin us in and massacre us at their leisure.” Vhalla took a breath and brought up her eyes. Everyone stared at her. Some wore expressions of shock, one or two appeared upset, Jax was wickedly amused. She turned to Aldrik; he stood with his hands folded across his chest, smirking proudly at his father.

“Would this be within the realm of a Groundbreaker’s abilities?” the Emperor finally asked.

“Oh, completely.” Jax laughed. “Don’t we look dumb for not thinking of it sooner?”

“Then if we move these here . . .” someone started.

Vhalla’s head was reeling from the rush of her success that she faded out of the conversation for a few minutes as the majors debated how to reorganize their weaponry most effectively. She regained her focus when the argument became heated.

“Moving a single archer’s wall would take days,” Daniel objected.

“But it makes more sense to keep the trebuchets on the sides. If they retreat out the back it will likely be on foot, and the trebuchets would not be of use anyways,” an opposing major snapped.

“At least they have wheels.” Daniel scratched the back of his neck.

“I could move what you need,” Vhalla contributed suddenly, earning everyone’s attention. “Well, I could try.”

“You? You look like you’d fall over with a broad sword.” The grizzled major to her right gave her an unappreciative appraisal.

Vhalla pursed her lips together. “My magic is my muscle,” she said as confidently as possible.

“You weren’t there, Zerian,” Baldair finally joined in, giving the older man a name. “Vhalla stopped a winter sandstorm in the Western Waste by herself. The woman has power in that petite frame.”

Vhalla blinked. Zerian, the head major behind the Western Campaigns. The man was a legend in his own right.

“And what a frame it is,” Jax snickered under his breath, earning a roll of Aldrik’s eyes.

“Let me try tomorrow,” Vhalla insisted to Major Zerian, more politely. “If I cannot, then we can revisit the matter.” Her use of we seemed to be accepted by the group.

“Excellent. That seems to be resolved.” Aldrik slid the map back toward the opposite end of the table. Vhalla’s heart almost stopped when his eyes caught hers as he straightened. The corner of Aldrik’s mouth tugged upward in the most apparent smile that one could expect from the crown prince. She pressed her lips together and let out a hint of her satisfaction. He turned back to the table, his emotions falling from his face. But Vhalla knew that the people at this table had spent ample time with Aldrik; she doubted even the tiniest display of affection wouldn’t be missed. “What’s next?”

They discussed more about the castle, and each of the majors seemed to have something they wanted Vhalla to explicitly search for during her Projections. She was humble enough to admit to not knowing certain things, but she made sure that she understood before she allowed the conversation to move on. After the second major discussion, she realized that she needed to take her own notes, so Vhalla fished for a scrap of clean paper on the table. Aldrik moved his inkwell and quill toward her, and she nodded in thanks.

Vhalla worried he was being too forward as the prince’s golden-tipped quill scratched under her fingertips. She nodded at the major who was speaking to her, returning her attention to the parchment. These were men of war, but they were also nobles; they were born and bred to subtlety as much as they were to the sword—or any other weapon of choice.

They worked until lunch, when food began to fill an adjacent table; everyone heeded the silent call to break. Aldrik was the last to move, and Vhalla lingered by his side, watching him carefully from the corners of her eyes. He seemed to move well enough. Whatever potions the clerics had given him were clearly taking effect.

Elecia may have disagreed with Vhalla’s assessment, as she returned with her own bundle of potions that smelled tangy and freshly concocted. The woman sat on the other side of Aldrik, stealing his attention. The prince took the potions without question, Elecia activating each with her palms on his neck, chest, and stomach. Aldrik began to sit straighter after the last one.

“You’re a clever one, aren’t you?” Erion drew her attention as he rested his chin on the back of his hand, leaning forward with a grin.

“I’m not sure about that,” Vhalla denied with a glance at the Emperor, trying to gauge his reaction.

“Too humble!” Jax laughed. “You’ve surprised me these past weeks. Where did all those brains come from? Did the Tower change that much while I was gone?”

“I haven’t spent that much time in the Tower yet.” Vhalla allowed others to serve themselves first, following their motions on what was the proper approach.

“Oh?” Jax raised an eyebrow.

“I was only Awoken this past year,” she explained, wondering how much of her story had traveled to the North; it seemed to vary. “Before that, I was a library apprentice.”

“A library apprentice?” One of the Western noblewoman squinted her eyes, as if trying to imagine it.

“You can’t tell from the woman she is now,” Craig interjected. “Trust me, I was there during the trial from the Night of Fire and Wind.”

“As was I,” Daniel mumbled, earning a confused look from Craig at his tone.

“Is Mohned still haunting those shelves?” Major Zerian asked from his seat to the right of the Emperor. Somehow, Vhalla and Aldrik had ended up on the opposing end.

“As of when I left.” She nodded, nostalgia sweetening her smile.

“Ha! Old bastard won’t die!” the man chuckled.

“Vhalla’s well-read also.” Daniel’s voice was thoughtful. His tongue formed her name delicately, stilling her. “On the march, she’d tell me of her readings. Everything from war tactics to fiction.”

Vhalla engaged in a staring contest with her food. It was very uncomfortable suddenly to be in the same room as Daniel. The bold looks he kept giving Aldrik weren’t helping.

“What’s your favorite book?” Erion asked.

Vhalla opened her mouth to speak, only to have Daniel steal the answer. “The Epic of Bemalg.” His hazel eyes met hers thoughtfully. “Unless things have changed?”

“No,” Vhalla confirmed with a shake of her head.

“The Epic?” Raylynn raised her eyebrows. “You actually read through it?”

“Of course.” Vhalla couldn’t fathom who wouldn’t finish a book once they’d started.

“Not everyone is as illiterate as you,” Craig teased the other member of the Golden Guard, earning a glare from the blonde woman.

“Quite a few talents you have. What others are there, I wonder?” Jax waggled his eyebrows lecherously at Vhalla.

“Mother, Jax,” Elecia groaned. “Can you grow up just a little?”

“You wouldn’t love me if I did.” Jax made a kissing face toward Elecia, who scrunched her nose in disgust.

“I find it beautifully tragic,” Vhalla confessed, shifting the conversation back to books.

“I remember when I was forced to read that for ‘culture building’.” Baldair laughed and shook his head. “If I recall, you enjoy the story, too,” he said to his brother.

“I do,” Aldrik affirmed.

Vhalla gazed at her prince in honest surprise. She realized that she had never asked about his taste in literature. It made her want to laugh that the most obvious thing they had in common had never been discussed.

“I think ‘beautifully tragic’ is a perfect way to describe it, also.” Aldrik’s lips curled into a smile at her, and Vhalla fought to hide her blush when she caught the looks of the table.

“How quickly can we expect the attack to launch?” One of the other majors turned the conversation away from personal matters.

“Given my previous indisposition, we have yet to explore the palace. Vhalla will need to learn it confidently enough to lead us through as needed,” Aldrik responded.

“Is that days? Weeks? Months?” Major Zerian asked.

Vhalla was startled to find he addressed her directly over the crown prince. “I should hope it would not be months,” she answered. She didn’t have time for it to take months. “I will not be so bold as to promise days, however.”

“So then we should plan for about a month until the attack.” Zerian nodded as he mentally began to plan.

“For that reason,” Aldrik pulled himself to his feet, “I think our time will be better spent elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?” the Emperor questioned.

“I have all the faith in the world that the majors can adjust the rations appropriately and plan for the proper distribution of new blades,” Aldrik flattered the group. “However, we do have a castle to take, and there is only one among us who can offer it neatly.” His eyes fell back on her.

“Of course, my prince.” She gave him the smallest of smiles as she stood as well. Vhalla savored the fact that she had changed a term of formality to a form of endearment. He was, indeed, her prince.

“We will report our findings at the next meeting,” Aldrik announced in a tone that suggested it was not up for discussion. He did not even glance back at the Emperor before turning, placing his palm at the small of her back—for everyone to see—and leading Vhalla away.

ALDRIK DID NOT turn back, he did not look back, nor did he say a single word all the way to his room. Vhalla studied his profile nervously. His strides appeared more confident after Elecia’s ministrations, but his face was still gaunter than she would’ve liked. She wondered if he’d eaten enough for lunch. She wondered if her performance had only created a new stress for him. She continued to find herself fretting over everything when it came to his wellbeing.

Opening the door to his room, Aldrik strode within, leaving Vhalla to latch it behind her. Her hand had barely left the handle when his palm pressed against the door to the right of her head. Aldrik leaned down, his fingertips at her chin.

“You. Are. Astounding,” he whispered, punctuating each word. They were slow across his tongue and flowed hotly from her ears to the pit of her stomach. The prince leaned forward, tilting his head to the side. His jaw brushed against her cheek as he spoke. “Who would have thought the slip of a girl I found tucked away in the library had such a woman within her?”

Vhalla took a breath, leaning against the door for support. His voice was a silken spell that held her in perfect thrall. Vhalla couldn’t be sure she was even breathing. Aldrik’s palm rested on her hip.

“How did it feel, to be called a lady before them?” His hand savored her side before curving around her waist.

“I-I know it’s nothing . . .” Vhalla was surprised she could even make something that resembled a sentence.

He had a heavy-lidded look about him, as if he was drunk on her proximity alone. “It is not nothing, my Vhalla.” Aldrik shook his head. “I want you to become engrained in high society. We have no court or functions here for me to present you to the world. But all of those men and women will return home to the Imperial Court. They will take with them stories of you. I want to make them sing your praises.”

“Why?” she whispered.

“My father needs them. They feed his army, they supply the men and women he uses as soldiers, they own the industry of our land, and they are the figureheads that the Empire thrives upon.” Aldrik rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closing as his voice became somber. “The more people who look to you, who admire you, the more who will mourn you should something befall you. It would mean an ‘accident’ would raise too many questions.”

“Protection.” Vhalla didn’t know why they were speaking strategy for how to keep her alive beyond the war while pressed against a door, their whole bodies nearly flush against each other. But she didn’t presently have enough mental capacity or want to stop it. The heat of him was beginning to bring a flush to her chest.

“In part.” Aldrik pulled far enough away to gaze into her eyes once more. “I also want to see them bask in your brilliance as I do. I want to see them treat you as their equal, to never question your power and grace.” His mouth was nearly touching hers. Vhalla’s eyes flicked down to watch his lips form the words. “I want them to beg my father to make you a Lady of the Court.”

That stole back her attention. Vhalla stared at him, her heart racing. What was he saying?

Aldrik paused, searching her gold-flecked brown eyes with his dark irises, so dilated that she could see beyond the blackness to the fire that burned within him.

If he didn’t touch her she may go mad, but if he did . . .

“If you are a lady, my love, no one will question us.” Time itself halted to hear the crown prince’s impassioned utterance.

Vhalla couldn’t handle the tension any longer. Her hands sprang to life, gripping his shoulders and half pulling herself up to him.

He met her kiss with near-painful vigor, as if he intended to devour her whole. It was the crescendo of the orchestration they had been crafting for over a year. He twisted his head, sucking and nibbling on her bottom lip in such a way that almost made her knees give out. Vhalla fought for stability in the euphoria-induced vertigo and used his body to ground her.

Aldrik spoke and sealed his words with kisses, “I will place you by my side, Vhalla. I will shower you with every trimming that the world has so woefully denied I give to you thus far.” Her head was pressed against the door as his eager tongue rubbed against hers before he pulled away again. “You will be a paragon for the world to see. The future Emperor’s guiding sun. A goddess among woman, a lady, an idol . . .”

Vhalla’s breathing was uneven, hitching at his words and his movements. She clawed in desperation at his clothes. A groan of frustration resonating from her throat was quickly swallowed by his mouth.

There should have been little surprise for Vhalla, but as his hand shifted to the back of her head, she was truly shocked at how badly she wanted him. She had never felt desire before, Vhalla was forced to admit. This was beyond the play or curiosities she had engaged in the past. This was a want that had taken root deep within her. A need that would only be satiated by one thing and would continue to multiply until it was had.

“Do you have any idea how difficult this is for me?” he asked, his voice deepening with every breath.

“Difficult?” Vhalla’s lips were swollen from their heated kisses and his eager nipping.

“Being near you is more than difficult.” A hand drifted from her thigh upward, long fingers working their way under the hem of her shirt. Vhalla pressed her eyes closed, the feeling of his skin on her bare flesh sending lightning through her. “Agonizing, suffocating, overwhelming, oppressive.”

“Then let me ease your pains,” she replied as she ran her palms up over his chest, savoring the curves of his lean shape.

Neither the prince nor the Windwalker was thinking of anything other than the overwhelming need for the other. As they approached the bed, Vhalla’s mind was overtaken by the raging fire of something she had no hope of extinguishing now. It had consumed her too perfectly.

Her head hit the pillow in a daze as his warmth surrounded her from above. Aldrik’s lips did not return to hers, and she gasped softly as he kissed under her chin and down her neck.

“I want to mark every inch of you as mine,” his voice rumbled across her like low thunder, gooseflesh rising in its wake. There was a predatory growl that punctuated his decision—an animal on the hunt, about to gorge himself on the savory heat building between them.

Vhalla sighed softly, tilting her head to expose more neck for his waiting lips. “Aldrik . . .” she pleaded as his mouth reached her collarbone.

“My lady.” A kiss. “My love.” Aldrik whispered over her skin between heavy lips.

Vhalla’s hand found its way into his hair, shamelessly tousling it as she grabbed. He was always the paragon of perfection. The imperial crown prince, buttoned and shined into an untouchable idol. She wanted to wipe it all away. She wanted to have the man beneath. Vhalla wanted to bring out the rough edges of her prince and rub herself against them until they fit hers flawlessly. She wanted to make him hers.

His hands were all over her, as though he was molding and shaping her form from clay. Vhalla pressed her eyes closed, giving into the new sensations. Every prior experience with men became hazy shadows. Aldrik’s every movement was as much for him as it was for her, and when his hands pulled away, Vhalla couldn’t suppress a groan of surprise and frustration.

“What?” she said, breathless. Had she done something wrong? Her hands hadn’t yet wandered anywhere too forward, at least nowhere his hadn’t been exploring on her.

“You are divine,” Aldrik revered before glancing away ashamed. “And I want you.”

Vhalla swallowed. “Then have me.”

Aldrik tugged away from her groping with a shake of his head. “No, I. . . You deserve better than this.”

“It is not up to you to decide what I deserve, that’s my choice,” Vhalla observed. “I want you, Aldrik.” Somehow he had the audacity to appear surprised at her confession. “I need you. I love you. You love me. That’s exactly what I deserve.”

Vhalla left the other truths surrounding them unsaid: the fear of her own mortality, of having almost lost him. Any day could be the day this beautiful yet fragile thing they were creating could break. The number of things trying to pull them apart was daunting, which made every heated desire to come together even stronger.

She felt the same way she had at the gala, what seemed like a lifetime ago. Vhalla wouldn’t let him be taken from her, in any capacity, without really knowing him first. She had wanted him for so long without realizing it, and now she had. She was going to be lost if she wasn’t able to use his skin as a roadmap back to sanity.

“I don’t want you to be some cheap camp whore on the wrong side of the sheets.” Aldrik’s thumb stroked her cheek.

“Then have me as your lady.” Her soft laughter turned into a cooling sigh as she relented to his protests. “Aldrik, if you don’t truly want—”

Vhalla tasted the kiss he gave in on. She felt the final scrap of his self-control dissolve and his hands were moving once more. They were hasty and desperate to cast aside the last of the physical and mental barriers that separated them.

Everything culminated in stunning intensity. Vhalla was certain the men and women in the other room would hear each piece of clothing that was discarded on the dusty floor, the falling fabric rang so loudly in her ears. He swallowed her every moan and she breathed out his air.

His hasty words, asking once more for her consent were almost lost to the heartbeat in her ears. Vhalla wanted to scream it to him: yes! She wanted to shout to the Gods above that the man in her arms would never be stripped from her again. But a gasp of affirmation was the only noise she could manage.

They were a tangle of limbs, kisses, and magic. It was like the Joining all over again, compounded with the taste of skin and sweat and heat. She lost herself in him, in that place of peaking emotions and sorcery. Vhalla gave into a bliss that was far too sweet to last.

Boneless and spent, Aldrik’s arms curled lazily around her. Her legs snaked with his, and she rested her head on his chest, two forms of unbroken skin. The prince pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Vhalla,” he whispered.

“Aldrik?” she replied softly.

“Are you all right?” His fingers ran thoughtfully though her hair.

She laughed. “How is that even a question? I am beyond wonderful,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, even to her own ears. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

“Would it scare you if I told you I felt the same?” Aldrik’s voice was a tender whisper, soft as silk. It was a voice she doubted anyone had ever heard before. “Vhalla, Gods, Vhalla.” He sounded frightened, lost, and nervous. She tightened her grip on him and held onto the closeness they had cultivated. “I know I am not supposed to love you. But I do, and nothing will change that fact now.”

It was a pained confession, and his arms tensed. He acted as though his brain fought an internal struggle, a struggle to which his body firmly objected. Vhalla shifted closer to him and took a deep breath. The world was full of the heady smells of him—smoke, sweat, and fire—combined with the tangy notes of sex. It was a scent of their making that carved a satisfied little smile into her lips.

“I love you, too,” she whispered.

His throaty laughter was like music. “You are mine.”

“You are mine.” Vhalla was eager to lay claim to the man in her arms.

Aldrik paused, as if bracing himself. But when he opened his mouth to speak, nothing more than a large yawn escaped his lips.

Vhalla giggled softly. “I think you should sleep, my prince.”

“Stay with me?”

“Where else would I go?” Vhalla nuzzled closer to him, her eyelids growing heavy.

“I don’t know, but anywhere else would be wrong.” Aldrik’s words grew sluggish with sleep.

Vhalla wasn’t sure if she spoke her agreement or just thought it. But she was too tired to confirm either way as sleep took its hold on her.

She shifted with a yawn. Warm, she thought as she nuzzled her face into him. Her prince was so warm. Underneath the covers, it was like sleeping with a small furnace, and Vhalla wiggled closer against him, her legs still wrapped around his.

“My love.” His voice was thick with sleep.

“Aldrik?” She rubbed her eyes tiredly. The afternoon was turning the slats of the window’s shutter bright orange.

“You are soft.” He nuzzled her hair.

“And you are warm,” she said groggily, her palm caressing him stomach to chest. A low chuckle rumbled through him. Vhalla paused her movements. “Are you ticklish, my prince?” She tilted her head up with a grin.

“Not really.” Aldrik smirked before kissing her lightly. “I simply cannot recall the last time I slept midday.”

“What time is it?” Vhalla yawned, feeling like she’d be perfectly content to sleep the rest of the day and night away in his arms.

“I would love to tell you, but my pocket watch is in my trousers, and I’m not sure where they are at present.” He laughed again. “Would you like me to leave to locate them?”

“Of course not.” She smirked, her hand snaking around to hold him tightly.

“Am I your prisoner, Lady Yarl?” Aldrik grinned.

“Quite so!” Vhalla laughed.

“And here I was of the mind to turn you into my prisoner when we returned to the palace.” Aldrik shifted onto his side to face her.

“I suppose that would be allowed, if you kept me places as beautiful as your rose garden,” she mused.

“You only have to ask to receive.” The crown prince leaned in to place a sweet kiss upon her mouth. “I could think of no better way to ignore my succession duties.”

“Succession?” Vhalla moved, tilting her head to look up at him, confused. She’d heard nothing of it.

“It’s rather hush yet.” Aldrik ran his fingers over her temple. “Father told me of it not long after the war started. He plans to step aside.”

“He does?” Her heart began to race. Vhalla had imagined a middle-aged Aldrik ascending the throne, not anything like the man she was presently holding in her arms.

“He said he wanted to show the people a proper succession. That he would be the Emperor of War, working to unite the whole world beneath a single banner. But I would be an Emperor of Peace and rule on his behalf. One man could not be both to the people.” Aldrik’s hand stopped on her cheek. “He said by the time I was thirty, if the wars were finished here and I had fulfilled my obligations, he would want to see me on the throne.”

“Thirty?” She did some quick math in her head. “Six years?”

“Five,” he corrected.

“Five?” she questioned.

“Well, I have not consulted a calendar in over a month, so perhaps six yet.” The corners of his mouth curled up into a grin.

“Your . . . birthday?” Vhalla’s mind began to grind into action.

“Just after the new year.” He gave her a tired smile. “I fear you are with an old man.”

“I didn’t know!” She gasped. “I didn’t prepar—”

His lips silenced hers with a forceful kiss. “You have given me my life, given me your love and your body,” he whispered across her mouth before pulling away. “If I took anything more, I would be grossly selfish.”

“But—”

“No.” Aldrik shook his head, kissing her again.

“But . . .” She forced a grin off her lips as his mouth came to hers to prevent her objection. “But.” He kissed her again, faster. “But . . .” Vhalla whispered again, and he chuckled lightly, realizing her game.

Aldrik pulled her halfway on top of him as he rolled onto his back. Her palm pressed against his chest for support, and his hand drifted lazily through her hair. The sensation of his skin was still an exotic feeling, one that brought a delicious tingle across her body.

“Will you really be the Emperor?”

“Is that not what being the crown prince means?” The right corner of his mouth curled upward into one of his trademark smirks.

“But, so soon . . .” She bit her lip.

“You are not pleased?” he asked, studying her thoughtfully. The prince could read her like a book.

“I am.” Vhalla fussed with a lock of his limp hair up by his shoulder, noting that he’d washed it before meeting the majors. “It’s so . . . soon.”

“What is wrong with soon?” Aldrik arched an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” she murmured.

“You do not think that word will fool me, do you?” He tightened his grip around her briefly, forcing her to look back at him.

“I’m—” She paused. “I’m trying to focus on the now, over the later.”

“Vhalla,” his voice had a serious severity to it. “Earlier, did you think I was uttering sweet words to seduce you into my bed?” Aldrik studied her reaction. “This is not temporary. Unless . . . you wish for it to be?” She shook her head hastily. “Good. You are my lady, and I will see the world knows it. I will place you by my side, I promise.”

Vhalla stared at him in awe. Things had changed between them. Aldrik knew, she saw the glint in his eyes that told her he understood all too well the forces that had pushed her over the edge and into his bed. Her overwhelming adoration for him combined with the sickening worry that every moment could be their last. She knew he understood it because he had similar emotions clouding his eyes.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips firmly against his. He owed her nothing. The pleasure of knowing and loving him was enough.

Aldrik sighed softly, his eyes fluttering open after the kiss. He drew a slow breath, opening his mouth to continue—only to be interrupted by a knock on the door.

Vhalla stiffened in panic. He shook his head, forcing her to trust in whatever he would come up with. The visitor knocked again.

“Brother?” It was Baldair, and they both breathed a sigh of relief in unison. “Brother, the meeting is breaking for dinner. Would you care to join us? Is Vhalla Projecting?”

Aldrik was visibly conflicted. Finally making up his mind, he pulled away from her, scanning the room for his trousers. Vhalla drew the covers up to her ears as he tugged on the pants, returning to a somewhat decent state. His hair, however, was an awful mess, and Vhalla’s eyes fell to his shoulders. She opened her mouth to stop him just as he opened the door a crack.

“Is Father still there?” Aldrik asked. Vhalla’s eyes widened. He clearly expected his state to convey the rest. There was a long silence.

“Oh, oh. Oh! Oh, Mother!” She heard the cringe in Baldair’s hasty whispers. He paced away from the door before returning. “Gods, Aldrik! Really? Here?”

“Is Father still engaged?” Aldrik repeated, though from his profile in the halfway opened door, Vhalla saw the makings of an arrogant smirk curling his mouth.

She grinned wickedly, feeling like a wild youth.

“I can see her pants on the floor!” Baldair’s hand appeared in the doorframe as he motioned toward the foot of the bed. Vhalla sat, holding the blankets to her chest. That was indeed where they had ended up. “And, you have—Gods, Vhalla, I didn’t know you were rough!”

Vhalla bit her lip, but it couldn’t suppress a small giggle. She looked back to Aldrik and the red lines she had left on the skin of his shoulders. The crown prince smirked proudly, as if they were badges of honor.

“Father?” Aldrik said again, folding his arms over his chest.

“Yes! Father is there. Do you still need privacy?” Baldair struggled with the notion.

“Perhaps,” Aldrik mused. Vhalla shifted her legs, wondering if he was serious or simply teasing his brother further. Her face flushed red hot at the implications and his boldness.

“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Baldair forced out.

“Blame the woman in my bed.” Aldrik shrugged, dropping his hands to his sides.

“I have little other option!” Baldair said, exasperated.

Aldrik ran a hand through his hair with a chuckle, and Vhalla savored the way his muscles moved, the exposure of his side, how his hair almost stayed in place. She wanted him all over again.

Vhalla swallowed the desire, suppressing it. It didn’t matter what she wanted. They were playing a dangerous game with certain expectations, and they had already taken far too many liberties for the day.

“You should eat,” Vhalla started. Aldrik’s face fell into a disappointed frown. “You’ve been sleeping for almost two weeks, Aldrik. You need real food.”

He pouted like a petulant child. “Come to me tonight?”

“I don’t think that’s . . .” Vhalla’s words burned away in the blistering want that his eyes radiated. She nodded. “When everyone is asleep.”

“We’ll be out shortly, then.” Aldrik turned back to Baldair, who disappeared with another shake of his head. Aldrik dragged his feet back over to the bed. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I don’t want to.” Vhalla couldn’t help but laugh at his pouting. “But we have no excuse, my prince.” Vhalla ran her palm up his arm to his shoulder and back down to his hand.

“You’ll be with me again soon,” he reassured them both as he brought her fingers to his lips.

They both dressed slowly, giving into distractions. But only so many kisses could delay the inevitable, and Vhalla found herself buttoned up once more, in tow behind him. Aldrik paused just before they neared the entryway into the main room. The sounds of the men and women laughing and drinking, giving into the evening revelries, were dull compared to the beautiful chorus she and Aldrik had sung the whole afternoon with their muted sighs and hushed whispers.

“I love you,” he breathed, glancing down at her.

“I love you, Aldrik,” Vhalla repeated back, not appreciating the nervous glint to his eyes.

They plunged into the room, made bright by hovering flames, and all eyes instantly went to them. Vhalla wished her face didn’t immediately flush such an incriminatory shade of scarlet. She averted her eyes, hoping no one would notice.

“So good of you to join us,” the Emperor finally spoke.

“I hope we have not been the cause of any delays.” Aldrik’s mannerisms clearly conveyed that he didn’t care if they had been.

“I would like a primary report of your findings.” The Emperor froze them both in place.

“Well—” Aldrik began.

“From her,” the Emperor interjected.

Vhalla tore her eyes off the floor in surprise, only to find all attention on her. She suddenly wondered if she’d smoothed her hair enough, or if it still bore remnants of Aldrik’s eager hands. She wondered if there was a bruise somewhere visible from his ravenous hunger to taste her. She wondered if she smelled of him.

“My lord, it’s all, it’s very complex . . .” Vhalla struggled to say something, anything.

“Is it?” The Emperor arched an eyebrow. “Did you not see within Soricium castle with your own eyes?”

“I did,” she lied.

“Then tell me what you saw; I so long to see the inside those walls.” A predatory sneer spread across his lips. Vhalla knew she was being tested, and she knew she was failing.

“I saw. . .” Her eyes flicked to Aldrik and hopelessness filled his expression at the inability to help. Her treacherous mind was filled only with images of his naked form. “I saw . . .”

Aldrik’s lips parted. His mind raced behind the dark of his eyes, trying to formulate an excuse for her that wouldn’t incriminate them both.

“Mother, Jax!” Daniel suddenly jumped out of his seat at the crash of a flagon.

“Sorry, sorry!” The Westerner stood also, eagerly patting at the Easterner’s soaked crotch.

“Jax!” Daniel jumped back. “I don’t need that. I need a new pair of trousers.”

“Could I help you change?” Jax straightened and cocked his head to the side.

“Gods, no!” Daniel groaned.

“Fine, fine.” Jax sat with his hands in the air in a sign of defeat. “But if you’re going, take the Lady Vhalla with you, she looks like she hasn’t slept in days.”

Vhalla blinked at her name. Her attention slowly shifted to Daniel, whose expression was icy and guarded. Her heart began to race, and every beat whispered, he knows.

“Fine.” One word unleashed an avalanche of unexplainable guilt upon her shoulders.

Aldrik used the opportunity to start toward the table, turning away when Vhalla looked back to him for some sort of input on the situation.

Elecia gave Vhalla a cool and cautionary assessment from Aldrik’s side but said nothing.

“Miss Yarl, you have not—”

“Let her go, Father,” Aldrik drawled. There was a bitter edge to his voice. “She’s clearly exhausted from her Projections and isn’t thinking straight. She needs rest.”

Vhalla glanced between the prince and the Emperor. Daniel was already halfway to the door, and she was missing her opportunity to flee. Nodding her head in a hasty bow, she made her escape into the night at Daniel’s side.

It felt like a decade when it had only been a day since she had last seen Daniel. It was amazing how much could change in hours. Vhalla struggled to break the silence.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Thank Jax,” Daniel muttered.

“You played along,” Vhalla pointed out.

“My pants are soaked with ale; I would change with or without you.” Daniel focused forward, avoiding her.

Vhalla didn’t know why she continued to follow him, but she did almost instinctually. “Daniel, what’s wrong?” She hated herself the moment she asked, the moment they entered his shack and he turned on her with pain-filled eyes.

“Really? Must you even ask?” All the nights he’d whispered comfort to her were cut away by the blades hidden between his words. “Don’t bother lowering yourself to trouble with me.”

“What?” Vhalla blinked at the caustic tone. He’d known, hadn’t he known all along, how it was between them?

“I know you’re rather busy attending to the demands of the royal family.” The statement was harmless enough, but the way Daniel said it.

“Don’t do this,” Vhalla snapped. She wasn’t going to let him make her feel guilty for Aldrik. For the bliss they’d shared. “You knew how it was between us.” Vhalla didn’t clarify who she meant by us.

“You misunderstand me,” he mumbled.

“No, I understand you perfectly.” Vhalla grabbed up her small pile of clothes and chainmail from the corner she’d been occupying. “I understand you’re presuming too much from simple comfort.”

“I was just comfort? Well, isn’t that something I could brag about, being the comfort of the first woman the Fire L—”

“Don’t you dare.” Vhalla inhaled sharply, staring down daggers at him.

Daniel blinked at her, as if catching himself. As if logic and reason suddenly snapped back into place, locking down the jealousy he’d been letting get away from him. He moved to touch her.

Vhalla turned quickly and plunged into the night air. Of everyone, thoughtful Daniel was the last person she expected judgment from, and it hurt. She pursed her lips in frustration, and her feet quickened beneath her, carrying her faster and faster from him.

“Vhalla, wait! I’m sorry, I don’t want it to be like this.” The flap of his shack door swayed behind him. “I didn’t—” The words stuck in his throat when Vhalla didn’t stop. “I didn’t mean it, Vhalla!”

She didn’t look back. She didn’t want to let him see the confusion in her eyes.

IT SOUNDED AS though Daniel was going to pursue her, but only for about ten steps. Vhalla kept her eyes forward, her nails digging into the chainmail buried within the bundle of clothing. In frustration, she threw the bundle into the closet military storehouse she could find, all but the chainmail Aldrik had crafted.

Vhalla wiggled into the armor, glaring at the soiled fabric. It wasn’t hers. The clothing had been pulled off the dead bodies of soldiers and given to a communal pile Vhalla had been forced to leech off since arriving in the North. It was a pile she’d weeded through with Daniel.

Nothing was hers anymore. Her name had been taken and given, time and again. Her appearance had been borrowed. Even her magic wasn’t hers to use at will.

She rubbed her eyes with her palm, suddenly feeling exhausted. Vhalla wondered what would happen if she ran. She had already proven she could be faster than anyone else with the wind underneath a horse. If she left, would the Emperor catch her?

Vhalla gazed at the camp palace in the fading light. Her feet had been carrying her toward it on instinct. Even when she was fantasizing over the idea of fleeing, she moved toward to the man who held the chains that ensnared her—just to be near his son.

The Bond she held with Aldrik was stronger than any threats the Emperor could make. Yet despite that resounding truth, the chainmail felt heavy on her shoulders. Aldrik had promised her it would never be easy, but she wasn’t sure how much longer they could keep fighting before something broke. What would the cost be, when all was tallied?

“Can you at least tell me where she is?” A small commotion at the entrance to the camp palace distracted Vhalla.

“We don’t know the whereabouts of the Windwalker.” The guards couldn’t have been less interested in helping the dirty-blonde Southerner seeking entry.

Vhalla paused, standing at the fork that would carry her around to the back of the camp palace and Aldrik’s window.

“I’m trying to return her things,” the woman explained. “Can I at least bring them here?”

“Do we look like help to you?” The other guard yawned. “You know none of us want this job . . .”

“Listen.” The woman took a deep breath and puffed out her chest. “You two are going to help me find the Windwalker. She’s gone long enough without her armor, and I know she’ll want it back.”

“And we told you—”

“You have my armor?” Vhalla called, halfway across the distance.

The woman turned, and a vague recognition crossed Vhalla’s mind at the sight of the woman’s face. She had been one of Vhalla’s doppelgangers. The woman stared at Vhalla like a frightened doe, suddenly stumbling over her words. “It-it’s you.”

“Do you have my armor?” Vhalla repeated.

“I do.” The woman nodded. “I do! At my tent.”

“Great, you two run along now.” The guards shooed them.

Vhalla shot the offending guard a pointed glare at the wave of his hand. She was surprised when it actually gave the man pause, and he quickly snapped to attention under the weight of her stare.

“You’re really her.” The woman peered at Vhalla from the corners of her eyes as they headed in a direction of camp Vhalla had yet to wander.

Vhalla was less shy about sizing up her companion. “Her?”

“Vhalla Yarl,” she spoke as if the fact should’ve been obvious.

“We’ve met before,” Vhalla reminded her.

“That didn’t really count though,” the woman mumbled. “You were . . .”

“A mess.” Vhalla laughed bitterly at the other woman’s shock toward her self-depreciation. “I lost a dear friend that night.”

Mentioning Larel flashed pain across the scar on Vhalla’s memory. But it felt like the right pain. It felt like a pain that was turning into a bitter ache that would make her stronger, not the crippling sort she’d been wallowing in before.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You know?” Vhalla asked skeptically.

“You, her, the Southerner, the lady . . .” It took Vhalla a moment to realize her companion was speaking of Larel, Fritz, and Elecia. “You were the Black Knights.”

“The Black Knights?” Vhalla laughed.

“That’s what the other soldiers called you.” The woman was laughing, too, realizing how silly it sounded as well. “The Black Knights, the start of the dark prince’s personal guard.”

“That’s an interesting thought . . .” Vhalla smiled tiredly. She couldn’t imagine Aldrik creating a rival to Prince Baldair’s infamous Golden Guard. “What’s your name, by the way?”

The other woman paused, as if surprised Vhalla didn’t know it. The woman didn’t know Vhalla had made it a point not to learn the names of her doppelgangers. They became people when she did, they became deaths that could hurt and inspire guilt.

Then again, Vhalla inwardly cringed at the memory of the Emperor’s Windwalker look-alike. Dead, shot down, and left to rot in the jungles of the North. She hadn’t known that woman’s name, but the guilt remained. For better or worse, Vhalla realized, she had too much of a soul left to ignore sacrifice. The least she could do was learn the names of those who were making that sacrifice.

“Timanthia,” she said with a small cringe. “But I hate that name; Tim is fine.”

“Tim, then,” Vhalla affirmed with a nod. They’d come to a stop before a small tent.

“I’m glad I could get your armor back to you.” Tim began rummaging through the inside of the tent, passing out the scale mail.

Vhalla ghosted her fingers over the steel. It felt almost warm, as if Aldrik’s forging fire still lived within it. Tim allowed Vhalla a moment, stacking the gauntlets and greaves between where Vhalla knelt and the tent.

“I know it’s important,” Tim’s voice had dropped to a whisper. Vhalla’s eyes flicked up, clearly hearing the underlying current that there was more to be said. Tim paused, caught in conflict at Vhalla’s expectant stare. “He told me he’d made it for you.”

Vhalla’s nails scraped against the armor as she instantly tensed.

“Don’t worry,” Tim reassured her.

Vhalla wondered how much the other woman knew in order to be reassuring her.

“No matter what the rumors are, he only called me to his tent for show.”

The words stung, and Vhalla averted her eyes to hide the warring emotions. Aldrik had been doing what he had to. She’d been doing the same. They were both so guilty they were innocent.

“I want you to know . . .” Tim clearly forced herself to continue, she looked as awkward as Vhalla suddenly felt. “If he remembers anything he said when he was halfway into the bottles . . .” Tim’s eyes were suddenly shifty. “Like his strange dreams . . . Anyways, I won’t tell anyone.”

Vhalla assessed the other woman with a probing stare. She wanted to ask what Tim was talking about specifically, but at the same time she wanted to foremost ensure the woman’s sincerity. Vhalla knew what little love people held for their crown prince. “Why would you protect his secrets?”

Tim surprised her. “Because he’s not like people think, is he?”

Vhalla’s mouth dropped open, stunned.

“Sorry, I won’t say anything more; it’s not my place.” Tim stood, dusting off her legs. “I’m glad I could return your things.”

“I appreciate it.” Vhalla nodded dumbly. Someone else had seen Aldrik like she had. Another person had burrowed underneath his fiery, arrogant exterior into the man she knew. Part of Vhalla wanted to embrace the woman for it, for being an unlikely companion in a knowledge that was dear to her heart. A very different part wanted to claw Tim’s eyes out and rip the thoughts from her mind.

She wanted to know what Tim was hiding. Vhalla wanted to know if she already knew that secret. But if she didn’t, it could be worse, so Vhalla held her tongue.

The armor Aldrik had made for her was like a safety blanket. Vhalla swaddled herself in it, clipping every clasp with silent reverence. It fit perfectly as it always had, as if to say, you are still the woman you were.

“If you ever need anything, or find yourself in Mosant after the war is over,” Tim was speaking, “don’t hesitate to seek me out.”

“I won’t.” Vhalla took the other woman’s hand, slinging her pack over one shoulder. She wasn’t sure if she’d actually take the woman up on her offer, but it couldn’t hurt to file the information away in the corner of her mind.

As Vhalla turned, a shadow blocked her path, and she instantly recognized the bushy-mustached Western man. He had a smirk pushing up the corner of his most recognizable feature.

“Major Schnurr.” Tim saluted.

Vhalla begrudgingly mirrored Tim’s movements, distinctly remembering the man’s harsh words hours before.

“Lady Yarl.” The title sounded like a slur when it slithered across his lips. “What do you think you’re doing in my ranks?”

“I was returning her armor,” Tim spoke easily. It made Vhalla question if the other woman felt the oppressive presence from the man or if it was only Vhalla.

“So I see.” The man raked his eyes from Vhalla’s toes to her forehead.

Vhalla clenched her fists.

“Since you don’t seem to be doing anything at present, you can assist Tim here this evening with her patrol,” Major Schnurr ordered.

“What?” Vhalla blinked.

“Oh-ho, does the Windwalker think herself above some basic labor?” He leaned forward. “Want to enjoy the protection of the army without contributing your share?”

Vhalla smothered a smart remark of how she had contributed quite a bit. She doubted Major Schnurr could tout saving the lives of the Imperial family on his list of accomplishments. As much as she wanted to argue, she saw the sun continuing its downward journey. Aldrik was waiting for her.

“Yarl,” the major folded his arms over his chest. “You misunderstand me. I’m not asking, I’m telling you.”

“Of course,” Vhalla was forced to begrudgingly agree.

“Two rounds for your hesitation,” the major said off-handedly as he walked by.

“Major, she won’t sleep if she does two rounds—” Tim made a weak defense.

“Then the Windwalker will learn not to question her duty to the militia and learn her place.”

Tim asked Vhalla later, during their patrol out along the scorched earth that served as the barrier to the Imperial camp, if Vhalla had done something to offend the major. Seething, Vhalla struggled to find a reason, but couldn’t.

The first time she’d even seen Major Schnurr was during her demonstration for the Emperor at the Crossroads. He had been one of the assembled majors, but he hadn’t said anything then, and she certainly hadn’t paid him any mind. Tim was an archer, so Vhalla had no idea who the major reported to. Likely through Baldair, if she was forced to guess. But Vhalla couldn’t come up with a reason why Baldair would slight her, especially not after how close they’d become.

No, there was only one person Vhalla could think of who would to go to any lengths to make her life as difficult as possible. And that man was above them all. It put Vhalla into a sour silence that Tim futilely tried to battle against with small talk.

Eventually the large, burned track around the outmost upper ridge of the camp curved and Vhalla could see the pale outline of stone ruins illuminated in the moonlight. An overgrown skeleton, half destroyed and reclaimed by time, it was like something from a storybook. The stone felt out of place compared to the wooden structures Vhalla had seen Northerners use for building. As if in agreement, those same trees were determined to take root within it and branch through the ancient construction, returning it to the earth in pieces.

As they drew near, Vhalla asked Tim what she knew about the ruins. In its shadow, there was something uncomfortable that hung in the air, making Vhalla shift her pack on her shoulders. All Tim knew was that the soldiers called it the ruins of “Old Soricium.” But how old was “old” and why it was left to crumble seemed to be a mystery.

As they passed, Vhalla turned her gaze upward at the structure that must have once stood as tall as the giant trees, like the base of a massive pyramid. She wracked her brain for any information she may have gathered while working in the library. But everything Vhalla had ever read on the North spoke of the “sky cities” built within trees. She remembered nothing that would resemble the building before her. It was beyond Southern construction; the stones fitted together so tightly that it was as though it’d been carved from a single piece.

She resisted the urge to halt her step and study it further. It held that dangerous kind of beauty that promised problems in exchange for the wonders it whispered. Much like a certain prince she knew.

Aldrik, Vhalla tried to push him from her mind. The thought of her prince waiting up for her made her want to scream and tear at her hair in frustration. Would he worry?

Tim appeared relieved when she left later. Vhalla’s company had turned even more somber and silent the longer her thoughts spiraled around the crown prince. As the archer dragged her feet to bed, Vhalla entertained the idea of asking the other woman to get a message to Aldrik. But Tim had been having such a hard time of convincing the guards at the camp palace to take Vhalla’s things that there would be no way they’d carry a message to the crown prince in the dead of night—not without solid reason. Vhalla wondered if Aldrik somehow thought she’d left him.

Vhalla dragged her feet through the night hours. Her second round companion seemed as thrilled as she was about having the late patrol, and Vhalla didn’t even learn the man’s name. Once he’d gotten over his jumpiness at being around the Windwalker, they both marched in wordless misery.

She could maintain her Channel easily, monitoring the wind for any sounds. For an hour or two, Vhalla tried to identify the patch of forest she had run through, but it was hopeless as all the trees appeared identical—a giant black wall separating them from every remaining Northerner who would cut them down.

Her thoughts jumped from one bitter, exhausted emotion into the next. By the time the sun crested the horizon, Vhalla’s limbs were numb and she was in a foul mood. She dragged her feet toward Fritz’s tent, not even bothering with the camp palace.

Fritz and Elecia were both fast asleep when Vhalla pushed her way into the tent. Throwing her pack into a far corner, she collapsed, armor and all, half on top of the tent’s actual occupants. Fritz didn’t do anything more than groan and roll away. Elecia woke with a start and was ready to choke Vhalla in surprise.

“By the Gods, what’s wrong with you?” Elecia groaned, flopping down indignantly when she realized who had half fallen on her.

“Silence.”

“You smell like a dog, and you’re covered in mud.” Elecia sniffed.

It had begun drizzling on and off for the second half of the night. Vhalla had hardly paid it any mind as the air was so thick in the jungle that it always felt damp. But now that she wasn’t moving, she could feel her clothes were soaked and clinging underneath her armor.

“Move,” Vhalla muttered her one word command, sitting. “I need to change.”

Vhalla opened her pack, running her fingers over the leather flap. It felt so good to have it back that she almost forgot the frustrations she’d fostered throughout the evening. The clothes were mostly clean, and they were hers, threadbare holes and all.

She tugged off her armor and peeled the wet tunic off her pale and wrinkled flesh. Elecia raised her eyebrows, glancing at Fritz as Vhalla began to undo the bindings around her breasts.

“What?” Vhalla gave Elecia a tired grin. “He’s sleeping, and even if he wasn’t, he’s hardly interested.”

“Even so,” Elecia huffed. “You’re a Duchess of the West; have some modesty.”

“We’re friends, and you’re a woman as well.” Vhalla shrugged and made a show of her changing. The West had their notions of modesty and the South had their ideals of ladyship. Vhalla was Eastern, so she wasn’t constrained by either. More importantly, it annoyed Elecia. And that energized Vhalla’s tired body.

Clipping back into the armor Aldrik had made for her, Vhalla felt more herself than she had in a long time. It wasn’t the same self she’d been the last time she’d worn the clothes. She was different now. Part Serien, part Vhalla, and part a woman who was still emerging.

Elecia waited until Vhalla was done before speaking again, barely audible. “By the way, Aldrik asked me to get this to you.”

Elecia held out a small vial. If Vhalla didn’t know better, she’d think it was poison given the nearly murderous glint in the Western woman’s eyes. Vhalla took it hesitantly, raising her eyebrows and waiting for an explanation.

“Elixir of the Moon,” Elecia explained, frowning.

Comprehension chased skepticism from Vhalla’s brow.

“It’s for—”

“I know what it’s for.” Vhalla grinned at Elecia. The other woman’s cheeks flushed, and Vhalla realized that the noble had yet to have a reason to take the potion herself. Vhalla had only had one real occasion to prior, but she hoped the potion Elecia made tasted better than the sewage she’d forced down before.

It didn’t, and Vhalla grimaced sourly.

“You’ve had it before?” Elecia was too surprised to keep decorum.

“Twice, one man.” Vhalla nodded.

“Low-born Easterners with their affections,” Elecia mumbled. “Does Aldrik know?”

“Of course he does.” She was offended. Did Elecia really think Vhalla wouldn’t tell Aldrik that?

The curly-haired woman shook her head. “Be careful with him, Vhalla.” Elecia glanced over at Fritz to make sure the Southerner was still sleeping. “His heart isn’t as strong as he’d like people to think it is. He’s not actually made of stone and fire.”

Vhalla didn’t know why she was compelled to touch the other woman, but her hand grabbed Elecia’s forearm reassuringly. Aldrik’s cousin met her eyes and searched. “I know he’s not. That’s one of the many reasons why I love him.”

Both Vhalla and Elecia turned as the tent pole vibrated from a few knocks.

“‘Cia,” Jax said softly. “Is Vhalla there?”

“I am.” Vhalla moved to repack her clothes when a glint of silver caught her eye.

Jax stuck his head into the tent, crouching on the outside. “You have someone worried about you.”

“I bet I do,” Vhalla agreed tiredly.

“Where were you?” It suddenly dawned on Elecia that Vhalla wasn’t where the other woman had assumed her to be: Aldrik’s bed.

“I got put on patrol.” Vhalla rolled her eyes, fishing out the dark fabric at the bottom of her pack.

“Who put you on patrol?” Elecia seemed surprised.

“Doesn’t matter.” Vhalla shook her head, deciding it was best to ignore the Western major who seemed to hold a grudge against her for no reason. The man was likely just trying to glean favors from the Emperor. Their leader’s distaste for Vhalla was becoming more apparent by the day, and she had no doubt that a sum of gold may be given to someone who made Vhalla’s life miserable.

She ran her fingers over the silver stitching that affixed a piece of the wing design sewn onto the back of the cloak her doppelganger had worn. This was the last cloak; the other two had been lost when their wearers had fallen.

“Well, he’s called you for breakfast.” Jax didn’t need to explain who he was.

“I’ll come too.” Elecia was quick on Vhalla’s heels as they left the tent.

Fritz groaned and rolled over, sleeping on.

“He’ll likely need another round of potions. And if he was worrying . . .” Elecia glanced between Jax and Vhalla, biting on her thumbnail lightly. “Likely something for his head, too.”

“It wasn’t too many cups. I already took care of that.” Jax waved the notion away.

Vhalla stared at the rolled up cloak a moment longer, debating if she should put it back or not. It would be a rather bold statement to wear. But there was a deep satisfaction at the idea of the Emperor seeing her wear it. She would don the thing he had used to take her name.

As the cloak unrolled, Elecia let out a soft gasp. Jax’s eyes narrowed. And Vhalla gripped the garment tightly.

A deep gash started from the middle of the silver wing that was emblazoned upon it. It tore through the fabric before being joined by other slashes. It was as though someone had taken a dagger to the cloak, tearing it to ribbons from the chest downward.

“Where did you get that?” Jax asked darkly.

Vhalla stared in dull shock at the strips of black. Had it been Tim? The girl had seemed so friendly. She’d walked and chatted with Vhalla for half the night.

“Someone is trying to send you a message.” Elecia finally gave words to what they all were thinking.

Vhalla absorbed the situation for a moment longer, before throwing the tattered cloak over her armored shoulders. She tied it in the front and let the shredded fabric fall to her ankles. It gave the appearance that she had endured some violent assault.

“Good.” Vhalla tightened her hands into fists, letting her Channel cut through her exhaustion. She hadn’t slept more than a few hours the last two nights, and something told her it was going to be another long day. “I have a message of my own to send.”

She started for the camp palace, leaving Elecia and Jax to catch up behind her. Vhalla squinted in the morning sun, steeling herself for whatever the day would bring. It didn’t matter who was threatening her now, Emperor or otherwise; they’d all end up disappointed when the battle was done and she was still standing.

A surprisingly chill wind swept through camp, sending the remnants of the robe fluttering around her like the wings of ravens.

THE CAMP PALACE was empty inside, save for one man. Aldrik turned from where he had been pacing the room, his face crumpling into relief at the sight of her. Vhalla gave him an apologetic look, any verbalization cut short by being pressed into his chest.

She panicked, quickly squirming to step away.

“No one else is up yet,” he whispered into her hair, soothing her worries over his father seeing them.

Vhalla relaxed slightly, watching Jax from around Aldrik’s arm. He stared with interest, but there wasn’t the same shock as all the others who had discovered her and Aldrik’s relationship. There was a sorrowful understanding to his shoulders. It unsettled her more than anyone else’s reaction toward the relationship ever had.

Aldrik pulled away, his palms resting on her shoulders. “What happened?”

“I got stuck on patrol,” Vhalla explained.

“Patrol?” Aldrik frowned. “I would have thought it explicitly clear that you are not to be put on any sort of patrols. It’s too dangerous for you.”

“Hardly,” Vhalla protested the ridiculous notion.

“Vhalla, I don’t want anything happening to you.” A frown tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Aldrik,” she said stubbornly, “I survived the Night of Fire and Wind, an assassination attempt, a fall from the Pass, a run alone through the North.” Vhalla took a step away and pulled his hands from her shoulders. “I’ve killed more people than I have fingers. I’m not the girl you found in the library, and I can protect myself.”

He stared at her in disbelief, but the glimmer in his eyes began to ignite with admiration. Aldrik focused his attention upon her to the point that Vhalla felt herself glow. She smiled bravely up at him, squeezing his hands lightly.

“Well, now that that’s settled.” Elecia cleared her throat uncomfortably. She resonated exasperated disapproval at Vhalla’s hands intertwined with Aldrik’s. “Sit, cousin, and let me see you.”

“I’m quite well—”

“Not yet to my satisfaction.” Elecia rolled her eyes. “Now sit.”

Aldrik obliged his cleric, and Elecia was quick with inspecting the crown prince.

“Jax, get us food, would you?” Elecia instructed.

Jax left with a nod.

“What are you wearing?” Aldrik asked, just noticing Vhalla’s attire.

Vhalla adjusted the cloak over her shoulders. She explained the evening with a turn, showing him the slashes down the back. Aldrik’s eyes darkened, and he was immediately back to his determined defense of her.

“Major Schnurr,” Aldrik muttered. “You should stay away from him.”

“But—” Vhalla’s protest was interrupted by Elecia.

The dark-haired woman turned, looking Vhalla up and down. “He’s right,” she corroborated.

That gave Vhalla pause.

“The major is old West,” Elecia explained when Aldrik’s attention had retreated within his own thoughts.

“I’m a lady of the West though,” Vhalla observed.

Elecia snorted. “Look at you, Miss Lady.” A wicked little smirk told Vhalla this was how the Western woman teased.

“He’s the wrong sort of West.” Aldrik had finally returned, whatever he was mentally working through resolved for the moment. “Old West, Vhalla. Not like my uncle.” Her prince regarded her thoughtfully. “Like the sort that still holds the banner of the dead King Jadar and seeks to bring back the days of xenophobia toward the South, the monarchy of the West, enslaving Windwalkers and using them for their own nefarious purposes . . .”

Vhalla paused, the cloak suddenly feeling very heavy on her shoulders. The Burning Times, the genocide of the Windwalkers, had been almost one hundred fifty years ago. It was inconceivable to her to think the sentiment still lingered on in anyone.

But Vhalla remembered the Crimson Proclamation that Lord Ophain, Aldrik’s uncle, had given her. He had said it was to heal old wounds and move toward a new future between East and West. Vhalla had thought it a hollow symbolism. She’d never thought it truly had modern day meaning.

Jax returned with food, picked up on the mood in the room, and set his burden silently on the table.

“I’m not afraid,” Vhalla said finally, sitting next to Aldrik. “I’m just one Windwalker, and it’s been a long time.”

Aldrik was about to disagree when Elecia cut him off. “You need to eat more than that.”

“I should think I can decide how much food I can eat.” Aldrik glanced sideways at the young woman.

“Right,” Elecia snorted and grabbed another root vegetable for Aldrik. “Seriously, cousin, why do you bring me if you’re not going to listen?”

“How long have you studied healing arts?” Vhalla asked around the resigned prince.

Elecia paused, thinking.

“All her life.” Jax sat across the table.

“Really?” Vhalla was impressed.

“Natural talent is nothing if you do not hone it.” Elecia never missed an opportunity to brag.

“For her age, Elecia is one of the best healers in the world,” Aldrik boasted.

Vhalla thought Elecia’s face was going to explode from all the pride that lit it up. As annoying as the other woman could be, it was nice to see someone so fond of Aldrik. Considering this, Vhalla began to begrudgingly reevaluate all of Elecia’s actions, viewing them from the place of a protective family member—someone who seemed more like a little sister than a cousin.

“Good morning, all.” Baldair yawned from the entry into the back hall, a disheveled Raylynn at his side.

“You two at it again?” Jax japed. “You must show me sometime how you keep getting the Heartbreaker Prince to invite you to his bed.” Jax leaned away from the table to speak to Raylynn behind Baldair’s back.

To her credit, Raylynn held her composure well. Vhalla was almost envious of how the woman seemed to be able to not care what others thought about her pursuits of pleasure and companionship. “Skills you will never learn.”

“But then how can I get Baldair to invite me to his bed?” Jax whined playfully.

“Mother, Jax, it is too early.” Baldair buried his face in his palms.

Infectious laughter suddenly overwhelmed Vhalla.

“What’s wrong with you?” Raylynn turned up her nose at Vhalla as she reached for one of the steaming root vegetables.

“Oh, my dear prince.” Jax sighed dramatically at Aldrik. “I fear the girl has lost her mind.”

“This is crazy,” Vhalla snorted with laughter.

“The only thing crazy is you.” Elecia rolled her eyes.

“I’m eating breakfast with half the royal family, Golden Guard, and a Western noble, at the siege of Soricium,” Vhalla wheezed. “And it feels perfectly normal.”

Aldrik’s deep chuckle harmonized with hers. “Well, I am glad you could find some ease.”

“The most backwards family you could ever meet.” Baldair grinned.

“But a family nonetheless.” Jax nudged Baldair, and the prince chuckled, giving him a nod. Vhalla remembered Daniel and Craig both praising the Golden Guard as being more like kin than soldiers.

Baldair turned to Aldrik, pausing. He took a deep breath, and Vhalla held hers for the younger prince’s words. “Then again, I suppose we always were. We’re hardly what could be called conventional. Do you remember those awful dinners your uncle would take us to when we visited the West, Aldrik?”

Elecia scoffed at the notion.

“Speak for yourself,” Aldrik said haughtily, bumping his side against Elecia’s in silent agreement.

“No, no, there was the one . . .” Baldair hummed. “The one when we got into that alley fight.”

“An alley fight?” Vhalla couldn’t imagine the princes brawling like thugs in the back streets.

“Oh, that.” Aldrik’s voice was flat, but not with displeasure.

His younger brother grinned wildly. “Ophain thought it’d be good for us because there were boys somewhat near our age.”

“When was this?” Elecia interjected.

“You were still a child,” Aldrik elaborated. Vhalla used the information to envision a thirteen year old Aldrik in the story.

“Those two boys were so full of themselves,” Baldair explained to Raylynn. “They were completely asking for it.”

“Why do I have a feeling this ends up being your fault?” Vhalla covered her mouth to hide her half-chewed food when she spoke.

Baldair gripped his shirt over his chest. “You wound me, Vhalla! Why would you assume it was my fault?”

“I can see why you like her,” Jax snickered to Aldrik, tossing his head in Vhalla’s direction.

Aldrik smiled smugly at Baldair, doing nothing to object. Vhalla ran her greasy palms over her loose-fitting pants. She saw Baldair roll his eyes at his elder brother before continuing the story, but Vhalla was momentarily lost.

Was she accepted among this group? Was she accepted at Aldrik’s side?

“. . . but if they hadn’t said Solaris was a dumb name, I wouldn’t have needed to take them out back,” Baldair was speaking.

“So then I find him, bruised and bloody.” Aldrik’s eagerness to continue the story betrayed his forcefully uninterested tone.

“And he says,” Baldair interjected while pointing at Aldrik, “‘No one can beat my brother but me!’ and charges! He punches the bigger of the two in the face!”

“You?” Vhalla and Elecia gaped in unison.

“A crown prince must demonstrate that he doesn’t tolerate others questioning his command.” Aldrik took another nonchalant bite of his food, which sent Vhalla into more pearls of laughter.

“I don’t think anyone has ever questioned your command.” Baldair rolled his eyes, but his smile betrayed him. It was a smile Aldrik shared, and both brothers paused. The other four at the table were forgotten. “Brother, when was the last time we talked like this?”

The second his sibling mentally reached out, Aldrik withdrew. It was heartbreaking to witness. His expression fell behind the mask that had been crafted as a survival mechanism over the years. But, Vhalla realized, she still didn’t understand why.

Even not understanding, she wanted to bridge that gap more than ever. She wanted them to often smile like they did. Their ease seemed so much more natural than the tense silence currently surrounding them.

“Aldrik.” Her fingers boldly slipped around his, where his hand rested on the table. “Your brother asked you a question,” she encouraged gently.

“Yarl,” the Emperor’s voice slithered across the room, and all levity shriveled up and died.

Vhalla turned slowly with the rest of the group, staring at the Emperor, who had somehow crossed half the distance between their table and the back entry. How long had he been there?

“I believe you meant, Prince Aldrik.”

Her hand slid slowly off her prince’s and into her lap. It was too late, however. The Emperor had seen. His frigid, unforgiving eyes hadn’t missed anything. Vhalla tightened her jaw, trying not to shiver as Emperor Solaris stared her down.

“Now, I think it is best if you leave,” the Emperor commanded.

Vhalla stood, allowing the scraps of her cloak to fall over the opposite side of the bench, accentuating the slash marks.

“Vhalla, no, you—” Aldrik turned between her and his father, too caught off-guard to conjure his usual elegance.

“It’s fine, my prince.” She saved him from himself. Vhalla was sure to caress the words, my prince, as she spoke them. She treated them with all the care that his love deserved. She would give the Emperor what he asked for, she would use Aldrik’s titles, but not in the way he wanted.

“I do not expect to find you lingering here again.” The Emperor sat.

Raylynn and Jax were already making for the door. Even Elecia was quick on their heels.

“I would not want it to cause any confusion,” the Emperor explained.

“Confusion?” Vhalla repeated.

“Among the other commoners,” the Emperor said with emphasis. “They may get this mad notion that you are one of us.”

“Of course not, my lord. That’s a rather asinine notion.” Vhalla was unsuccessful at hiding all the bitterness from her voice.

“I think it also.” The Emperor’s eyes shone with malice. “Now, I suggest you spend the day proving to me why it is that I continue to let you live—”

“Father!” Aldrik slammed his palms on the table.

“—and move the archers’ wall using your magic, as was discussed,” the Emperor finished, deftly ignoring his son’s outburst.

Aldrik stood.

“Where do you think you are going?” Emperor Solaris asked.

“I think it obvious.” Aldrik drew his height. “She is too valuable to go unprotected.”

“I need you this morning.” The room temperature seemed to rise as the current and future Emperors locked eyes in a staring match.

“I would rather go with Vhalla.” Aldrik threw the gauntlet.

The Emperor’s eye twitched. “Your brother’s Golden Guard will be sufficient. Won’t it, Baldair?”

“Yes, we’ll look after her.” Baldair was quick to stand—quick to flee, more like—and he joined Raylynn and Jax.

“Father, this—”

“My prince,” Vhalla dared to interrupt. “I think, you must be tired still from your long sleep.” She tiptoed delicately with her words. “Your concern on my behalf is beyond what one like me deserves.” Vhalla lowered her eyes, hating herself immediately for the necessary act of humility. She wasn’t beneath Aldrik any longer, and the last man she wanted to humble herself before was the Emperor. “But I understand you have other duties. Please, consider them.”

“What a day, when the crown prince is reminded of his duties by a low-born girl,” the Emperor sneered. “Now sit, Aldrik. We have much to discuss.”

Vhalla watched Aldrik sink onto the bench. His shoulders were heavy, but his eyes were aflame. She let Baldair usher her into the sun. Vhalla searched for Aldrik’s image even as the door closed, praying he would continue the necessary dance. Her stomach tightened.

“So what needs to be done?” Vhalla asked no one in particular. One of the Golden Guard, Elecia, someone around her would know what was next. Her brain wasn’t working properly, she was so tired. All she could think of was Aldrik and his father alone in that overwhelming room.

A man pushed off from where he leaned against the side of the building next to the door. “I’ll show you what we need moved.”

Vhalla tensed instantly. Daniel. His dark brown hair was tied at the nape of his neck today, stray pieces floating around the stubble on his jaw. Vhalla’s lips pursed into a thin line. No one else spoke. Jax, Baldair, Elecia, Raylynn, half the army could’ve been standing there, but none of them saved Vhalla.

“Not you,” she breathed.

“I’m sorry.” Daniel took an unwelcome step toward her. “Let me apologize.”

Vhalla bit her lower lip to keep it from quivering in frustration. She wanted so badly to hate him. It would be so much easier if she could hate him for his petty jealousy.

“No one else knows?” Vhalla sought help from Baldair and Raylynn. Jax and Elecia had already vanished—the traitors.

“Daniel?” There was a whole language of words around the man’s name from Baldair’s mouth. The prince peered at the guard, apparent concern in his eyes at Daniel’s continued involvement with Vhalla. Raylynn seemed to hear the meaning as well, gazing expectantly at the Easterner.

“I know what I’m doing,” Daniel asserted to his friends. “I’ll show her what the majors decided to move.”

“I leave you in his care,” Baldair said after a long internal debate.

Vhalla wanted to scream at the prince’s back as he walked away. What did he think he was doing? She was going to find Baldair, sit him down, and make him tell her everything that went on in that confounding head of his.

But, for now, Vhalla’s attention finally returned to the inevitable: Daniel. His eyes shone with earnest remorse. She crossed her arms.

“Let’s talk as we walk,” he suggested.

Vhalla nodded and dragged her feet half a step behind him, focusing on the ground.

“You were right,” Daniel began. “I was the one who presumed.” He tilted his head up to the sky, watching the cloud wisps drift through a canvas of endless blue. “You owe me nothing for spending time with me. You can do so without it meaning anything, or, well, anything that you don’t intend for it to mean.”

His apology was both justifying and guilt inducing.

“Truthfully, I think we both wanted the same thing: forgetfulness of the holes in our hearts left by others.” Daniel paused briefly, glancing down at her. Vhalla met his eyes. Their hazel colors were nothing special; pull any ten Easterners and nine of them would have some variation of the shade. But the way they shone then, the way the sun hit his raw honesty and sincerity. He was stunning. “I can’t fault you for seeking something to fill the void when I was doing the same.”

“Well, that doesn’t make it right,” Vhalla finally spoke. She brought her hands together, paying attention to her feet more than the soldiers around them, the camp, or wherever it was he was leading her to. “You just said so yourself. I was using you for something.” The confession was barely a whisper.

“Just because something isn’t right doesn’t make it wrong.” Daniel’s tone shifted, and it sent a small tingle up Vhalla’s spine. “Tell me something. During all this ‘using’, were you unhappy?”

“No, but—”

“Then it couldn’t have been wrong,” he spoke with confidence. “I was happy, you were happy. Let’s not worry so much over what it was or is. Let’s not try to make it into something it’s not. You can make your own decisions, and trust that I know such. You can do what you wish and—” he faltered briefly, but long enough for Vhalla to witness, “—with whom you wish. So, let’s put it all behind us?”

Vhalla reflected on the time she’d had with Daniel. It was strange to think that, were it not for the war and her situation, she would’ve never even met him. Marching with him, training with him, as both Serien and Vhalla, had been enjoyable. Maybe more than she should’ve enjoyed. Vhalla’s cheeks felt warm. “All right.”

Daniel assessed the large tower that had appeared before them. But his eyes weren’t seeing it. They had a look that instilled the same feeling Vhalla had felt when she saw Elecia and Aldrik together, before she’d known of their kinship.

Her throat felt gummy. She didn’t want to do this to him; Daniel was her very dear friend, and there was something that felt so wrong about the position he was in.

As if sensing her concern, Daniel returned his attention to her, laughing lightly at her terror-stricken face. “Don’t be so worried, Vhalla.” He slung an arm around her shoulders and shook her lightly. “I won’t utter a word and am still your ally. I can remain that for eternity. Or perhaps something more if you ever desire it and the mutual opportunity arises.”

Vhalla opened her mouth, but she wasn’t even sure what she would’ve said and the world spared her from figuring it out. It preserved the delicate stasis between them that Vhalla was more than relieved to have back.

“So, that’s what the majors decided was the most important tower to be moved.” He pointed, and Vhalla realized instantly why he had been against moving it in the first place.

She had thought it some kind of other structure, it was so tall. The battle tower was a large triangle with landings for archers to hide within and slats on the side. Extending from it were large spikes that reached outward in all directions, ready to impale any who may have the misfortune to be thrust upon it.

“How does it move?” Vhalla walked around the growing crowd. It appeared while she was wrapped up in her and Daniel’s hushed conversation, the other soldiers had taken notice of the Windwalker in her dramatically tattered cape. They showed a mix of awe and a dark sort of fascination.

“We didn’t build them with the intent to move them.” Daniel grinned.

“Is it structurally sound?” she asked.

“Likely,” Daniel apologetically replied.

“Lovely.” She rolled her eyes. “I accept no responsibility if I break it.”

“Now you’re speaking like a lady.” He grinned.

Vhalla ignored the statement, the Emperor’s comments too fresh in her mind.

“Clear out!” she called, clenching her fists. Her Channel rushed to meet her, and Vhalla took a breath.

“You heard her, clear out!” Daniel shouted in the voice that was easily heard over men and women sparring. Soldiers began to scatter. When he turned back to her, she gave him a nod in appreciation. “At your leisure, Windwalker!”

Vhalla took a step into the circle of people toward the tower wall. She felt their eyes on her. Some were the excited ones who’d seen her prior feats, eagerly whispering to their friends. Others were the skeptics with their heads cocked and their arms folded.

She saw Tim and faltered. The girl seemed horrified at the state of the cloak she’d returned. Tim couldn’t have been the one to send the message, Vhalla tried to tell herself. But whoever was behind it, Vhalla hoped they understood her blatant reply.

Holding out her hands, Vhalla tested the structure with small bursts of air. The wall creaked, and puffs of dust sighed out of its corners. Vhalla felt out where it seemed to withstand the most pressure.

A few chuckled and Vhalla smirked; they thought that was her attempt. She pressed her palms down—even, she had to keep her movements even. Vhalla swept up her hands at the same time and the building lifted a hands length off the ground.

More pressure, more upward current. She tapped farther into her Channel. The wall groaned and swayed. Soldiers scampered fearfully out of the way as it tilted midair. Vhalla moved her hand as she felt a bead of sweat trickle down her temple.

Upright again, she realized she had to apply force on all sides at the top for stability, but the majority of the force needed to be applied from the bottom for lift. She got control of it in the air and allowed herself to turn to Daniel and the other majors that had amassed, including the full Golden Guard. If she wasn’t putting forth so much energy into lifting the structure, she would have laughed at their expressions.

“Lead on,” she called for anyone to move.

Vhalla had control, but it was difficult at best, and she wanted to move as quickly as possible. Thankfully, Daniel recovered from his awe faster than others, and he strode forward. Vhalla watched in her own amazement as he walked directly under the tower, putting total faith in her magic. Her chest swelled at the healing symbolism of the act. Daniel’s hair whipped around his face from the torrents of air at the base of the tower before he crossed to the other side.

Magic and walking, or moving in general, always had its own complications. Vhalla’s first steps were more like a shuffle across the dirt. Eventually she managed to hold the tower up and push it forward without knocking it over at the same time, but it was a delicate process that left Daniel glancing down constantly to see if she was too far behind.

They continued curving around the fortress, one slow step at a time. Vhalla was panting when she realized they were only halfway. One foot, and then the next, she followed dutifully, and the mass of people seemed to follow her at her pace. The minutes crawled alongside her tiny steps.

In the distance, Vhalla saw an empty clearing that she could only hope was their goal. Vhalla praised the Mother that it was not a windy day. Otherwise keeping the giant wall steady may have proved impossible. She was exhausted.

“Vhalla!” Daniel called. “Here, put it down here.”

The tower groaned loudly as she returned it to the ground. Vhalla held out her hands for half a breath before dropping them limply at her sides. Daniel began walking back to her, clapping his hands slowly. She tilted her head up to the sun with a small laugh of triumph—and relief.

The soldiers surrounding her burst into applause, and Vhalla smiled brightly. Her eyes met a familiar set as she scanned the gathered crowd. The Emperor and Aldrik had joined them at some point during her slow walk, and they stood surrounded by the majors. Emperor Solaris had donned his full armor, and the white of his helm glistened in the sun.

“Well done, Miss Yarl.” The praise was cheap on his lips, and Vhalla found more satisfaction in the fact that he was forced to give it.

“I live to serve.” She gave a small bow.

A sharp whizzing sound cut the air. Time felt like it slowed around her. Her head dropped backward as she twisted and her hand swung up. Vhalla inhaled sharply. The Emperor’s words and the distance across camp had hidden the twang of the bowstring. The arrow shot upward, grazing her fingertips and leaving a dark trail of blood. She fought to catch her balance after such a wild dodge.

Daniel’s arm caught her shoulders and he knelt, allowing her to fall backwards into his arms to rest delicately on his knee. Tucking her head to his chest, he placed his armored body between her exposed head and neck and the fortress. Another arrow clanged loudly as it lodged itself between his breastplate and pauldron.

“Daniel!” Vhalla struggled to stand, to fight. Her heart was racing.

“I’m fine, it’s just stuck. It didn’t get through the chainmail.” Daniel stared with surprise at her fear-stricken eyes. Fear for him. “You stay down.”

Vhalla heard another bowstring on the wind, and she struggled to figure out how she could deflect the arrow. Everything was happening too fast. People were moving, but they seemed sluggish and useless with shock.

The arrow fizzled in the wall of fire that suddenly surrounded her and Daniel. Aldrik stepped through the flames in a truly fearsome display. It licked around his face and armor, so he was beautifully illuminated and completely unburnt.

“My lady,” Aldrik forced through clenched teeth as he extended a hand to her. Daniel sat back, beads of sweat rolling off his cheeks and neck as if he was cooking alive in his armor. Vhalla accepted Aldrik’s hand and stood. The prince half pulled her to him.

They were in their own world. Even the sizzle of one last arrow flying uselessly into the fire didn’t distract any of them. Daniel stared at her dry brow, how the flames didn’t burn her as they crackled around Aldrik’s fingers, fingers she held. He was no fool.

“Thank you, Lord Taffl,” Aldrik said with forced formality.

“It is a pleasure to do my duty, my prince,” Daniel returned, finding a chill even within the inferno.

“You are dismissed.” Aldrik had yet to let go of her hand, and Vhalla withdrew it slowly.

The flames shrunk to a wall facing the fortress and Daniel stepped away.

Aldrik motioned for her to fall in at his side. “My lady.”

Vhalla fell into step with him and the fire wall followed as they walked.

“Do not waste your arrows and efforts,” Aldrik commanded the soldiers who had scrambled into battle ready positions. “They are not making an attack. They were after the Windwalker.”

One by one people seemed to relax, though they continued to stare. Vhalla focused forward, her eyes fixated on the prince’s back, making a futile attempt to still the racing of her heart. The romance, the joy had made her forget the truth: she was death.

She could’ve killed Daniel. Vhalla clenched her fists. She hated it, she hated it all. There would never be an escape from who she was; all that was left was to embrace it, to wear it like the tattered cape upon her shoulders.

Aldrik paused briefly, giving a pointed look at his father. Somewhere in their nonverbal exchange Vhalla could almost hear the challenge from the prince, the invitation for the Emperor to say or do anything against his open display of affection for her. The muscles in the Emperor’s face spasmed as he tightened his jaw.

Aldrik continued onward in silence.

The people parted for them as he escorted her back to the camp palace. The prince maintained the flame wall the entire time. Vhalla hardly noticed the increasing distance between her and the walled city of Soricium. Her hands trembled from squeezing them so tightly.

“Raise your hood.”

Vhalla obliged, pulling the heavy chainmail hood over her head. It was something she should’ve done from the start, she scolded herself angrily. Aldrik finally relaxed the flames a few steps away from the entrance to the camp palace. He ushered her within quickly, and she let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. It quivered, barely.

She struggled to keep up with his long strides as the room of majors and tables passed in a blur. They were suddenly in his room. Aldrik hastily closing the door behind her. His palms clasped over her trembling shoulders.

“Vhalla, my lady, my love, you’re fine now,” he soothed.

She shook her head. “I may be, but they will not be.”

Aldrik rounded her, staring into her tearless eyes.

“Can I go nowhere without someone trying to kill me?” Vhalla whispered. “The Emperor himself wishes it; some clearly side with him.” She motioned to her tattered cape. “The North thinks I am not even human.”

“I should have never let you go alone,” he cursed softly. “Not all wish you dead.” Aldrik’s mailed hand smoothed out her frizzy hair, unruly in its awkward length just beyond her shoulders. The ink she had used to dye it had almost faded, and Vhalla had given up trying to tame it into a Western style. “Some look to you, they admire you. There are some who think you a demon and others a goddess.”

“I want to go home.” Her fingers scraped against his armor, desperate for purchase.

“I will take you there.” Aldrik grabbed her hands. “We will go together. We will return South, and you will stay by my side.”

Vhalla stilled.

“I need to Project.” She released her hold on him and whatever words had been brewing behind his eyes. It wasn’t the time for them. “No one can return until this ends.”

Aldrik nodded and helped her out of her armor before sitting at the small desk, already cluttered with papers. He pushed them around until he had a blank sheet before him. His quill was at the ready.

Vhalla sprawled out on the bed and took a deep breath. Home, Vhalla paused over the thought, staring at the ceiling. Somehow, she realized, home was no longer the farmhouse in the East or the four grand walls of the Imperial Library. Vhalla turned to Aldrik, but he was oblivious to her momentary attentions. Home had become wherever he was. And she would do what she needed to do to return to the palace with Aldrik.

Vhalla closed her eyes and slipped out of her body.

VHALLA STOOD BEFORE the massive entrance to the fortress. A dry moat had been dug out at the base of the stone walls, wide and deep. It was ready to swallow any who dared attack, ready for archers to rain arrows down from the walls upon the unfortunate souls.

The drawbridge was closed, a massive stone archway that was slotted nearly perfectly into the wall. The wall resisted her presence, and Vhalla had to force her way through. It was definitely something that had been crafted in part with magic.

I’m in, she reported back to Aldrik when she was stable again.

“Excellent,” his voice echoed through her physical ears and back to her as clearly as if he stood alongside her. “Tell me what you see.”

It’s a dark and narrow hall. Some kind of pot hangs above, and it appears they also have rubble piled in chutes behind wedges that are attached to rope. Vhalla listened to the sound of his scratching quill, speaking only the necessities so he could keep up.

“They plan to close the gate as defense against a first wave,” Aldrik observed. “You have already earned your merit and you are only a step in.”

Forward, she spoke her progress, it opens up. There’s space before the second wall.

“Second wall?” Papers shuffling.

Yes, my parrot.

Aldrik’s deep chuckle resonated through her. “We’ve heard no mention of a second wall. Describe it.”

After the first wall there’s a stretch, maybe the width of four men, stretched head to toe, and then a second wall. There are catwalks connecting to the outer wall. But I only see one ground entrance. Vhalla proceeded around the perimeter of the circular city.

The walk was unnatural, and not just because she experienced it through Projection. The space between the walls hummed with magic, one radiating off the next. Vhalla stilled. There was an old power here. It seeped from the depths of the earth and fertilized the soil and the people who lived upon it.

Two Northerners passed on a catwalk above, engaged in a heated conversation in a thick language foreign to Vhalla. It wasn’t the strange and melodic dialogue that had entrapped her. It was the bow in the hand of one.

They repeated one word over and over with particular venom, Gwaeru.

Do you speak the tongue of old Shaldan? Vhalla asked as the two archers passed across the catwalk and into the interior wall.

“I barely speak Western,” Aldrik sighed.

I think Gwaeru means Windwalker.

“Now how could you possibly come across that tidbit?”

I believe I just saw the woman who tried to shoot me down, Vhalla thought darkly.

“Remember her face so that I may have the pleasure of killing her myself.” Protectiveness gave an edge to Aldrik’s voice that would sound bitter to anyone else. But, to her ears, it resonated warmly.

I’m going to go through the second wall. It seems older, made of a different sort of stone than the outer one. It feels like solid magic. Vhalla stood at the oppressive wall. The shifting currents of magic Vhalla saw all seemed to be stilled by the stone.

“We will need our best Groundbreakers then.” She could hear the scratching of Aldrik’s quill again.

Vhalla paused their conversation to pass through the wall. It completely muddled her magical senses and, for a panicked moment, Vhalla thought she’d somehow fallen into her Channel again. She pushed forward, desperate for air. The ground would smother her magical form alive if she let it.

On the other side, Vhalla thought she could breathe again—metaphorically speaking at least—until she saw the scene before her. By the Mother . . .

“What is it, Vhalla?” Aldrik asked worriedly.

Aldrik . . . Vhalla tried to process what she saw.

The palace was a magnificent display of architecture, like the grandest tree house a child could ever dream. Stone and wooden buildings were connected by arched walkways suspended at every level. It was as if someone had hollowed out the palace in the south and exposed its innards on the outside, a spider’s web of narrow footways and tunnels. The trees were so old and tall that some had been fossilized, or magically turned to stone, others had been carved into and hollowed out to make living spaces.

The castle grew denser as it moved upward and inward. The highest center point had a long, single catwalk extending from it, an access point that had only walkways leading into it. Connected to the access point were other rooms and buildings. Vhalla had no doubt that the Chieftains made their bed in the highest point.

But it was not the architecture that gave her pause. Nor was it the seemingly impossible construction. What made Vhalla stop in her tracks were the people.

“Vhalla, what is it?” Aldrik repeated into the silence.

Vhalla continued to ignore him as the scene settled on her.

Northern men and women of every shape and size had built hovels within the inner wall, a tent city that mirrored the surrounding Imperial army’s. The palace seemed to be housing more than just the people who had lived and worked there previously. A great number of refugees had set up camp, fleeing from the encroaching Southern army. There were too many people, even for such a massive space, so everyone seemed to be on top of someone else.

Their quiet and somber faces imprinted themselves on her memories. Life continued. People went about their daily tasks. Children played, women tended to livestock, men cooked and mended things that needed mending. But all the shoulders sagged with the heavy weight of truth.

It hit her at once. It was an earth-shattering and humbling revelation. It made the anger and bloodlust vanish in the wake of shame. It made every night she’d spent wishing the Northerners dead for Sareem, for Larel, seem less meaningful.

These people were not mindless killers.

They were not a faceless enemy that was half wild and half mad. They were not less than human. They were not different from her just because they came from somewhere else, spoke differently, dressed differently, or looked different.

They were just like her. They were people who had lost their homes, their possessions, and likely their families as they fled to the last safe place they had, the last sacred place that was still their home before the Southern Empire swallowed it up and took their names and history and consumed them, turning them into “the North”.

Everything Vhalla had heard and learned about the war had been from the mouths of the Empire. It was the collective tongue that wagged on behalf of the Emperor. It had been watered down through excuses and explanations to seem logical. But there was nothing logical about this. This was not for faith, or peace, these people died for greed.

“Vhalla, say something,” Aldrik demanded.

She had thought she knew what war was, but as their empty eyes and too-thin bodies etched themselves onto her soul, Vhalla realized she knew nothing at all. They were all boys and girls playing at war, writing their own songs the bards would sing. But the bards never sang about this.

Suddenly the faces of the people she had killed came back to her.

We are monsters.

Vhalla was frozen in time. Those people, it had seemed so justified, so logical at the time. She realized she was the one who had invaded their home. She rode with the people who were destroying their way of life. Now she came to help deliver the final blow. Shaldan had not been a war-torn state until the Empire had made it that way.

“Vhalla, you are not a monster,” Aldrik said firmly. His voice was louder and she felt a strange warmth wash over her cheeks. “What do you see?”

She knew he was away from his papers by the proximity of his voice, by his hands on her face. He asked for her sake, not for him or the war.

They’re huddled in mass. There are so many people, but most don’t look like they are warriors. She began to walk through the tent camp. There are children, Aldrik.

“Inside the walls?” he asked.

Yes, with their families, or perhaps not. I don’t know . . . They’re so thin. Vhalla saw the way the clothes hung off some of them.

“The siege has gone on for more than eight months now,” he explained. “But we pressed upon them more than a year ago. Their stocks must be low. Can you find out where they keep their food stores?”

There are children! Vhalla exclaimed, horrified. She watched two boys play, somehow oblivious to the adults around them whose eyes were empty from staring so long at bodies that would too soon be corpses.

“That doesn’t matter.”

Vhalla knew he was forcing himself to be stoic and strong, to be the prince that had to make a decision when there were no right answers. She heard the emotion under his words, the pain at having to say them. But she suddenly felt so angry at the fact that he could say them at all.

It does matter! I won’t murder children, she exclaimed.

“You don’t have a choice.”

Vhalla tried to regain her composure. She fought and struggled with the scene before her, to justify it with the reasons the Empire had fed her all her life. The Empire fought for peace, but all Vhalla saw were desperate civilians clinging to weapons they’d never been trained to use. The Empire fought for prosperity—and children starved. The Empire fought for justice—and broke the laws it touted in the process.

Murderers, they were murderers under the command of the greatest murderer of them all.

I can’t, I can’t do this, Aldrik. Vhalla didn’t pull into her body once more; she didn’t go forward, she didn’t do anything.

“You can,” Aldrik encouraged.

We’re taking their home from them!

“Their home is lost,” the prince said grimly. “What do you think will happen if you refuse? Do you think you can stop the inevitable? This was set into motion long before we met, long before you had Awoken to your powers. The North was going to fall from the start. They dragged this out with their resistance.”

Of course they did! It’s their home. Vhalla had never imagined she could find any understanding for the people she’d been brought here to kill. But in that moment, she wondered if she would fight with the Northerners if given the choice.

“Their Chieftain did this. She put her people here. And now she’ll see them starve before she forfeits her city.”

Did they have a choice?

“All leaders have the choice to take responsibility for their people,” Aldrik affirmed. “The North is a beast that’s wounded and bleeding. They’ll die with or without you. If they die faster, they’ll suffer less. You can give them that, my love.”

That’s horrible.

“It’s the truth,” Aldrik insisted defensively. But he did not deny that it was horrible.

She knew it was the case, but to hear it from his lips was harder than Vhalla could imagine. This was worse than anything she’d ever been put through, but he didn’t understand. Vhalla had envisioned she would be fighting on a battlefield. In every mental preparation for the battles to come, Vhalla had imagined herself squaring off against a faceless enemy. Something shapeless and corporal, she envisioned herself battling against the North as an entity, not as lay people.

This was an enemy who couldn’t stand. It was an enemy that was bent over and begging. Pleading for the last scraps of happiness they could stitch together with the remnants of their lives. She wasn’t here to be the Empire’s soldier or champion. She was here to be the greatest executioner the Empire Solaris had ever deployed.

It wasn’t war any longer: it was an impending massacre.

“The food stores,” Aldrik reminded, the magical warmth of his palms tingling across her Projected cheeks.

She had to move. He was right. This would end with or without her and she could ease the suffering by hastening it. Vhalla wanted to sob and scream with each step forward. The people were oblivious to the enemy in their midst. Vhalla steeled her heart. She’d learned to do it as Serien and the shadow of the other woman protectively hovered over her.

As Vhalla ventured deeper, searching for a location where they kept their primary food stores, she heard something she hadn’t expected: Southern Common. Vhalla stilled, trying to make out the origin of the familiar words. The speaker was one of the Northerners, judging from their heavy accent.

Vhalla walked unimpeded into one of the massive trees. It reminded her of the Tower of Sorcerers, a large central room and a curving stairway that led up to the next landing. Vhalla followed the sounds upward and across an exterior hall to one of the constructed rooms attached to the outside of the tree.

“. . . you said they would be dead.” Vhalla passed through a door to see the archer from earlier pacing the small room.

“And you had promised to deliver the Windwalker to us, alive.”

Vhalla’s blood ran cold as she turned her attention to the other half of the space. A Western man, dirty and tired looking, sat on one of the low, flat benches. His hair was greasy and his face gaunt. But he didn’t seem uncomfortable. He wasn’t chained nor bound. He sat easy in the Northerner’s company despite his Southern-style armor clashing oddly with his surroundings.

“Why do you have such love for the Windwalker?” the woman sneered in her thick accent.

“My men kept their part of the bargain; they disoriented the troops at the Pass despite yours having gone rogue at the Crossroads and deciding to kill the girl after we had so generously hid and tended to them.”

Vhalla’s world stilled as the man spoke.

“Gwaeru,” the woman said a series of impassioned words that Vhalla could only assume were profane.

Vhalla studied the Northerner carefully. Long black hair was coiled into many braids, pulled into an intricate knot at the back of her head. She had skin the hue of dark melted chocolate, rich and glistening with the heat of the day. She wore the similar clothing of the other Northern warriors Vhalla had encountered: wrapped leathers and what seemed like an intricately embroidered pennon with a hole cut for her head, belted at the waist.

Vhalla noted the stony-looking pieces of bark that had been strapped over her shoulders as armor. She’s not a Groundbreaker.

“What was that?” Aldrik’s voice layered over the conversation.

Vhalla had forgotten her thoughts would echo back to him. I’ll fill you in soon. I need to listen, Vhalla said hastily, not wanting to miss any more of the discussion before her.

“We will help you see that the Imperial family is slain in their beds as long as you deliver the Windwalker to the Knights of Jadar; this has always been our deal. And need I remind you again before you run off to fire more arrows, we want her alive.” The man leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Any further attempts to kill her and we’ll be forced to assume the deal is off.”

This sent the woman into a rage. “You south peoples make no sense!” She stomped around the room. It was strange for Vhalla to hear a Westerner be referred to as southern. “We make new deal. You kill the Solaris family without the Shaldan’s help and take the Demon when she is unprotected. In thanks, Shaldan will give you Achel.”

This made the man pause with thought.

“You have the axe?” he asked with genuine interest.

“Shaldan knows its history. We have not forgotten like southern peoples,” the woman answered cryptically.

Vhalla’s mind made a sudden connection. The axe they were speaking of, it couldn’t be the same one as what Minister Victor had mentioned to her, could it? He had told her it was an axe that could cut through anything, that would make the wielder invincible.

“Why have you not used the axe, if you have it?” The Westerner raised his eyebrows. “The Sword of Jadar helped the knights stave off the Empire for ten years.”

Vhalla had never read of any special sword in the battles of Mhashan.

“You think we keep such a thing here? Inside sacred Soricium?” The woman scoffed, “No, that monstrous blade rests where it should under watchful eyes of ancients.”

“If what you say is true—”

“I speak true.”

“I shall need to consult with my comrades.” The man stood, favoring his right leg. “You will send the message tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.” The woman nodded and cursed under her breath as she stormed past Vhalla’s Projected form and into the hall, slamming the door behind her.

Vhalla followed the man with her eyes as he walked slowly over to the window, a slight limp to his gait. She raised her hand, seeing his form blurred on the other side. If she could use her magic in this form, she could blow him out the window. She could send him tumbling head over heels down the side of the tree and into the unforgiving ground four stories below.

“Vhalla?” Aldrik distracted her from her murderous thoughts. “Have you found the food stores yet?”

No, I’ll look again. She dragged herself from the room with every ounce of willpower she possessed and back downstairs.

“Again? Have you not been searching for them?” His concern was apparent.

I’ll tell you when I’m no longer Projecting. I’m very tired. Vhalla looked up at the sun when she reemerged on the bottom floor. She’d spent longer Projected than she had before; returning to her physical body was already going to be difficult.

Aldrik stayed silent while she wandered the camp once more. The conversation she’d overheard only served to darken her mood and confuse her feelings further. She was back to loathing the Northerners, but only the select group who furthered the war for their own personal agendas.

Vhalla was discovering that it was not a region or race of people that soured her, it was a type. It was the leaders who would do anything for their legacy. She hated those who clung to the past at the expense of the future. More than anything, she couldn’t stand the type of person who cared only for themselves at the expense of others.

Vhalla wondered which type of person she was. Did her sympathy for the common man absolve her for being the executioner for the crown? Did her hatred for the Emperor expunge the guilt of twisting the knife into the dying belly of the North? Did her love for Aldrik justify accepting his words that this was how it had to be? That the momentum headed toward another slaughter could not be halted?

Vhalla returned to her body slowly. Her head felt heavy and her eyes blurred with tunnel vision. Aldrik was at her bedside, but her ears had yet to click back into alignment and his words were muddled. Vhalla focused on finding her heart, then her lungs, then everything else.

“Aldrik,” she rasped.

“My love,” he whispered, the sun illuminating his face through the open window.

Tears burned up her chest and streamed down her cheeks in rivulets. Vhalla hiccupped and reached for him as Aldrik pulled her into his arms. She clawed for the tightest grip possible on his shirt. Vhalla pressed her face against him and let everything he was engulf her. She drew strength from his warmth, stability from the heart that beat in time with hers, comfort from the way he smelled.

Aldrik said nothing as she cried. He shifted slightly, allowing her to burrow into him, but didn’t try to stop her tears. He knew better; Vhalla realized with a dull ache that there was a time he had cried these tears. He had mourned the loss of his humanity, sacrificed at the altar of duty that forces beyond his control had constructed.

His fingers untangled her hair lovingly, and he kissed the top of her head. Vhalla pulled away, looking at his ghostly white Southern skin turned orange in the light of the setting sun. It was as though the fire within him burned right beneath his flesh, glowing far too beautifully for the ugly corner of the world they found themselves within.

“We must help them,” Vhalla whispered. “The Northerners.”

“Vhalla.” Aldrik’s lips parted in surprise.

“We must,” she insisted. “No one else will. I know, Aldrik, I know.” Vhalla shook her head. “But I cannot turn a blind eye to them.”

Aldrik took a slow breath, and Vhalla braced herself for an objection. “What would you have me do? How do you think I can help them?”

His face blurred through her tear-rimmed eyes. He was offering to help. Vhalla had expected to see him withdraw, to insist upon the inevitable. There was a lost sort of confusion on Aldrik’s face, but her prince was sincere.

“You will be the Emperor of Peace.” Saying it sent a small shiver down her arms and into the hands that were wrapped tightly around his. He was going to be the Emperor. This man, her love, was going to be the Emperor. “Start cementing your place as such now.”

“If I call for leniency in battle, I will lose the respect of all the soldiers.”

Vhalla glared at the corner of the room, frustrated at his truth. “I know. But when the war is over, commit to rebuilding the North, their homes.”

“The cost of that, Vhalla—”

“Did your father and brother not bring spoils back with them from the warfront?” She straightened, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palm. “Has the Empire not profited in land and pillaging?”

Aldrik was silent.

Vhalla was tired, beyond tired, but resolute. “Return that wealth to them and rebuild this land. Show them that the Empire they have every reason to hate is not purely evil.”

Aldrik stared at her as though he had never seen her before. His hands were on her face, cupping her cheeks. “Yes. Yes, my lady, I will.”

“What?” Vhalla hadn’t expected his acceptance with such ease.

“You’re right. I promise you I will see this done.”

“Truly?” she asked skeptically.

“Have I ever broken a promise to you?” The corner of Aldrik’s mouth curled upward. Vhalla shook her head, his thumbs still caressing her cheeks. “And I never will.”

Aldrik brought her face to his, and Vhalla met his mouth with a firm, waiting kiss.

“You will return the heart to this Empire, my lady.” Aldrik pressed his forehead against hers. “I will try to see this war end as quickly as possible, and when it is done, I will speak for the North and its people.”

“Thank you.” She pressed her lips against his in gratitude.

It was a cheap demonstration. Vhalla knew it didn’t absolve them. It was like trying to wash the blood off their hands with mud, no matter that they were filthy with the acts they were performing. But it was all that could be done.

It was better than nothing, she insisted to herself. There would be time after the war was over to figure out how else she could help. For now, she would focus on ending it as quickly and cleanly as possible. “Let me tell you where the food stores are.”

Aldrik spent the next hour hunched over her shoulder as Vhalla drew lopsided diagrams of what she’d seen. She did her best to label everything, from livestock pens to where the densest collection of civilians was. The quill paused.

“There’s something else,” Vhalla began slowly, unsure of how to proceed.

“What?” Aldrik could infer a good deal by her tone.

“I found a Western man among them.”

“Likely a prisoner of war.” Aldrik rested a palm on her shoulder. “We were probing Soricium for months before we could cut a path to lay siege.”

“No, he was not being held against his will.” Vhalla stared at the paper before her, and Aldrik’s grip tightened. He was too smart not to instantly understand what she was saying. “He’d made a deal with them, on behalf of the Knights of Jadar, that if the North gave me to them alive, they’d kill the family Solaris.”

Vhalla gazed up at Aldrik. The prince had a murderous stillness about him. She held her tongue, letting him formulate the best response.

He whirled in place, fire crackling around his fists, starting for the door. Vhalla was on her feet as well; the room spun from exhaustion and she gripped the chair for support. Aldrik stopped, assessing her tired form. He was back at her side, scooping up her messy drawings.

“When was the last time you slept?” Aldrik half supported her, turning for the bed.

“Some, the night before last,” Vhalla admitted. “With you, yesterday.”

“You must rest,” he whispered over her lips, sealing his demand with a kiss.

“It’s evening, I should—”

“You’re staying here now.” Aldrik pulled back the covers on the bed.

“What?” Her face had gone scarlet at the idea.

“It’s not safe, not with the Knights making an organized play. I won’t have you far from me again. As far as my father is concerned I will be staying with Baldair.” Aldrik paused, helping her under the blankets. “But I will come as often as you’d like.”

She was too tired to fight him and the pillows were already casting a spell on her. Vhalla gripped his hand tightly. “Your father,” she gave her objection.

“Vhalla, I am not going to ask him for this. I am going to tell him,” Aldrik spoke in a tone she hadn’t heard before. Vhalla stared, stunned, as he straightened away. “I’ll be back later, to check on you at the least, but rest for now. No matter what, I won’t be far.”

Vhalla nodded and Aldrik disappeared out of the room. He stood taller, he walked with a sort of confidence she’d never seen about him before. Vhalla didn’t know what exactly was changing her prince, but there was a change—she’d heard it in his words.

He hadn’t spoken like a prince. He’d spoken like an Emperor.

SHE STIRRED AS the door opened. Vhalla remembered the day in panic, immediately envisioning a dagger-wielding cloaked figure coming for her. Taking a breath she sat, her muscles taut—ready to fight or flee.

Aldrik’s eyes picked up the faint moonlight and flashed in the darkness. He stilled, as if waiting for her to send him away. Vhalla held her breath. The crown prince was sneaking to her side under the cover of night. It felt like another world, as though the day was the dream and this moment was real.

The door sighed softly as he closed it the rest of the way. Aldrik crossed to the bed, his breathing slow and heavy. He stared down at her with eyes she’d only seen once before but was pleased to already see again. Vhalla propped herself up onto her elbows, pulled by attraction to meet his mouth as it descended upon her.

The mattress yielded at his weight, and the prince chased away all thoughts by heaping his adoration upon her. He tasted of metal and smoke and of the sweet tang of liquor. Magic was hot on his tongue, and it melted across her skin. Vhalla relinquished her control, tipping her head back and allowing the prince to take what he had wanted.

She savored the confidence of his palms as they smoothed away the toils of the day. They discarded the ugly scraps of fabric that confined her, leaving Vhalla’s emotions bare before him, the raw essence of who she was.

The dexterity of his fingers and hips had her breath hitching in seconds. Now that the initial fears of having her faded, there was a new flame ignited in the crown prince. He moved leisurely, exploring Vhalla as though she were an enigma crafted for him—and only him—by the gods themselves.

Deeper than physical, her magic called out to and coiled around his. It tangled hopelessly across their Bond, their Joining, and made a raw and beautiful mess out of them. Aldrik was wonderfully fearless. He didn’t wall off her body or mind, and Vhalla explored and savored every dark and secret corner of him.

By the time the first rays of gray sunlight crept into the room, they had only managed a few hours of sleep. She lay on her side, Aldrik’s face buried in her hair and his breath hot on her neck. One of the crown prince’s arms was snaked around her bare torso, the other underneath the pillow.

Vhalla blinked tiredly at the unrelenting dawn. The light was so harsh, burning away the fever-heat dreams of the night. She felt Aldrik stir.

“Don’t go,” she whispered.

“It’s dawn and my father thinks I’m staying with Baldair.” His voice was thick and graveled with sleep.

“I will go mad if you leave this bed.” She gripped his hand tightly.

“And I may go mad if I stay.” Aldrik sunk his teeth into the tender flesh where her neck met her shoulder.

“You couldn’t possibly . . .” Vhalla’s words trailed off when he ground his hips into her. “You’re insatiable!”

She wriggled in his arms to face him. Aldrik had a half-drunk smile, lazily tilted between his cheeks. His hair was a mess of raven, spilling partly over his shoulders, tangled against the pillow. Vhalla had discovered a prince no one knew existed, and she had made him hers.

“I had the most wonderful dream,” he breathed.

“Did you?” Vhalla ran her fingers through his hair, catching on a snare. “What did it involve?”

“The most wonderful thing I have.” The prince caught her hand, bringing it to his lips. “You.”

Despite everything, he could still make her blush. “Do you have such dreams often?”

Aldrik paused, answering hesitantly, “I actually do.” He pressed his mouth against hers. “Then again, maybe that isn’t so surprising, for I am quite enamored with you.”

Vhalla grinned against his lips, and Aldrik ate her elation hungrily. They delayed the dawn as long as possible, but the moment was shattered with the sound of the door down the hall closing. Vhalla’s blood cooled, and Aldrik tightened his grip on her. This time the motion was purely protective.

The Emperor’s footsteps grew closer, before turning into the main room.

“I should go,” he hastily whispered.

Vhalla sighed and gave no further objections. Aldrik stood and Vhalla shamelessly watched him dress.

“I will see you shortly.”

She lay in bed, ignoring the rising sun for longer than was proper. Vhalla finally pried herself away when the covers relinquished his warmth. She dressed slowly, pleased to discover that the small pile of clothes she’d generated from staying in Aldrik’s room before he’d arrived hadn’t been removed.

Vhalla was met with an almost empty main hall when she finally emerged. Baldair sat alone, perusing some papers, mostly empty plates scattered around him.

“You missed breakfast.” He glanced over at her.

“I can see that.” Vhalla sat down at an untouched plate, one she could only assume was for her.

“It was a real treat too.” Baldair rolled his eyes.

“I bet.” Vhalla tore off a hunk of stale bread unceremoniously. Silence passed between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Vhalla had begun to understand Baldair, at least she thought so. In the time she’d spent with his brother, and with the man himself, she’d begun to learn and see more about how the younger prince ticked. “So he told you then?”

Baldair nodded. “He told me and Father last night. Is it true?”

“Is what true?” Vhalla was left wondering if he had somehow misunderstood her.

“That there’s this Western group helping the North to kill us?” Baldair asked gravely.

“Do you think I would lie about something like that?” She frowned.

“Well, it would be a convenient way for you to get to spend every night in his bed.”

Vhalla rolled her eyes. “I would stay in his bed every night if it pleased us. Honestly, I would rather be sneaking in to do so than having to face your father’s ire.”

“That’s a very good point,” Baldair laughed. “But unfortunately, I don’t think it’s a point you’ll be able to use to convince my father of the truth of your claims.”

“Your father decides what he will think of me and ignores all else.” Vhalla pushed around some meat and gravy on her plate, hoping it would soften the stale hunk of bread.

“You know, I’ve decided I like this side of you.” Baldair regarded her thoughtfully, and Vhalla gave him a look that encouraged him to continue. “The bold confidence,” he clarified. “I see shades of Aldrik to the point that I know your boldness will give me a headache sooner or later—when it’s directed at me. But, at the same time, it’s opposite him. It’s far more vivacious. You’ve become quite headstrong.”

“Have I?” she asked, unconvinced.

“You have,” Baldair declared with conviction. “And I see it putting life back into my brother, which I haven’t seen in years.”

Vhalla didn’t want to miss an opportunity. “Tell me more about you and your brother.”

“What do you want to know?” Baldair mustered all the tact he possessed to ask so delicately.

“What happened between you both?”

He sighed.

“You both seem to be fighting for the same things, even for each other’s happiness, or so I’ve seen and heard you claim,” Vhalla observed. “So why do you treat each other as though you’re enemies?”

“There’s some ugliness underneath that question that I’m not sure you want to see.”

“What? Do you think it’s going to shatter the beautiful picture I have of my sovereign family?” Vhalla asked incredulously.

Baldair was laughing again. “Why not ask Aldrik?”

“I will, later.” She wanted to hear what both princes had to say. “But I’m asking you now.”

“You’re insufferable.” There wasn’t even a hint of malice.

“So I’ve been called before.” Vhalla grinned wildly.

“Oh Mother, I don’t want to even think what my brother has called you.” Baldair shook his head and hung it a moment, taking a breath. “We were closer when we were boys.” The golden prince tilted his head back. “I looked up to him. He was everything I thought was admirable in the world. He was magical, powerful, kind, and composed, even when he was a boy. He was going to be the Emperor, and he was my brother.”

Vhalla chewed quietly, not wanting to distract Baldair from his memories.

“All the servants would remind us that someday Aldrik would become a man, and he wouldn’t be able engage in child’s play with me. So I always knew such a time would come.” Baldair took a deep breath. “But it wasn’t as they said.”

“What wasn’t?” Vhalla asked quietly, not wanting to break the younger prince out of his memory-induced trance. It was the most she’d learned, outside of off-handed stories from both princes, and Vhalla knew there was something important to be said here. In the back of her mind something lingered hazily, something that wanted her to remember an important piece about what Baldair would say next.

“I expected it to be when he became a man, after his coming of age at fifteen.” Baldair shook his head. “There was a rainy night, he was still fourteen. I don’t even know what happened, but everything changed. He shut himself in his room and refused to leave for weeks. Clerics came and went with somber faces, but I never found out what he was sick with.

“He ignored me the whole time. No matter how many times I went to his door calling for him.” Baldair’s tone turned bitter. “When he finally left that room, he was no longer my brother.”

The words made Vhalla’s heart ache for both of them. Something had gone wrong, horribly, unnaturally wrong.

“He spent more time in the Tower. He did nothing but haunt the library, even after our lessons were over. He was an automaton, an empty shell.” Baldair clenched his hand into a fist and slammed it down on the table. Vhalla jumped, but the prince didn’t even seem to realize his action as he continued. “That’s when I knew, I knew it was because he was the crown prince, and I was just the spare. I wasn’t good enough. I’d never be good enough.

“I began fighting, I took to women the second I was old enough to even know what they were. And that felt good—still does.” Baldair chuckled, but it was a sad, hollow sound, void of its usual melodies. “Why did it matter? No one cared, they still don’t.

“I called him the black sheep.” Baldair paused, as if thinking about it for the first time. “I told him the black sheep was an unwanted person. Someone who wasn’t right and didn’t belong. That he was the black sheep for his dark hair and sorcery. None of the rest of our family looked as he did, after all. I think it was after that, that he started wearing more black.”

The golden prince’s eyes were suddenly filled with a child-like panic. “You don’t think that he, that now he wears black because I . . . do you?”

Vhalla opened her mouth, instantly censoring the truth. She knew enough of her prince to have no doubt that Aldrik’s choice in clothing had been directly influenced by his brother, even if it wasn’t the only catalyst. “You should ask him.”

“Haven’t you been listening? Haven’t you seen it?” Baldair shook his head. “We don’t talk. There isn’t a happy end to this, Vhalla. This isn’t the story where the two estranged family members come back together, apologize, and build a new bond.”

“Why not?” Vhalla asked.

Baldair seemed at a loss for words.

“Why don’t you start writing a new chapter?” She smiled. The instant flash of emotion, of hope, on the younger prince’s face gave him away. “Aldrik’s more trusting than you think.”

“Of you,” Baldair pointed out.

“Then I will help.” It wasn’t her business to do what she was doing. The lives of the princes had been set a decade before Vhalla had even met either of them. But she was too committed to stop. There was an odd sense of absolution in helping them, as if it could shelter a small part of her soul. “If you sincerely want to build a new bridge with him, I’ll help.”

“Why?” The younger prince seemed at a loss for all other words.

“Because I love him.” To Baldair’s credit, he didn’t startle at her words. “Because he’s not as smart as he thinks, not when it comes to this, and you’re too emotional to say it the way you really mean.”

“You wound me,” he scoffed with a laugh.

“Right, right.” Vhalla waved her fork through the air, scooping another bite into her mouth.

The doors on the far end of the hall opened for Aldrik, the Emperor, and a host of majors behind them. Vhalla’s eyes fell instantly on Major Schnurr, and she rose to her feet with muscles taut. The man clearly didn’t like her, given the look he wore upon seeing her. Vhalla regarded him with equal skepticism, remembering that anyone among them could be a spy. If she were a betting woman, her money would be on him.

“I am glad to see you awake, my lady.” Aldrik was a half-step faster than his father and a breath quicker.

“Good morning, my prince.” Vhalla lowered her face respectfully but kept her eyes up, to see what information she could glean from his expression. Aldrik beamed down at Vhalla, genuinely happy to see her.

“The majors have some questions regarding your Projections that I could not answer over breakfast.” Aldrik led them toward the standing table. Vhalla recognized her sloppy sketches of the interior.

“You have informed them of my findings?” Vhalla asked delicately, glancing up at Aldrik from the corners of her eyes.

“The relevant information about the interior of the palace,” he affirmed.

Vhalla translated his words to mean that the majors at large didn’t know that there were traitors among them. It was likely for the better. Sending the majors into a frenzy would only make the person—or people—harder to find if the majors tipped off the spies that they’d been discovered

“From here to here.” Erion pointed from the exterior to interior wall. “How wide is it?”

“About four men, toe to head,” Vhalla replied, ignoring the Emperor settling in at the end of the table. She was thankful for Aldrik positioning himself between her and his father.

“And here to here?” Craig’s golden bracer shone as he pointed to one of the shacks she’d marked as food storage.

“Another ten men, maybe?” Vhalla guessed.

“The trebuchets will reach, then,” Craig assessed.

“They should,” Erion agreed, and both men turned to the Emperor.

“Miss Yarl,” the Emperor ground her name like glass between his teeth. “Are you certain of the locations of the food stores?”

“I am,” she firmly replied.

“Their construction?”

“Similar to what we have here. Canvas, hide, leather, wood.” Vhalla gripped the table, knowing what orders were about to be called. She stared at the maps she drew. The ink that had sealed the fate of the Northerners she’d walked among.

“It has been proposed that we launch flaming debris or dead livestock to destroy and or poison their food stores. Prolong the siege and starve them out, instead of risking an all-out attack,” the Emperor stated, affirming her suspicions. “What do you think?”

Vhalla studied the Emperor’s face. What answer would he want her to give? This was a game, it was all a game. Vhalla planted her feet and held her head high.

“It will not work,” Vhalla proclaimed boldly, much to the shock of the table. “We must attack them outright.”

“Excuse me?” The Emperor was too startled by her tenacity to formulate a sufficient counter.

Vhalla reminded herself of what she was. She was death; she was the executioner of the North. Well, if she held their fate in her hands, she would swing the axe as fast and as cleanly as possible.

“What is this treason?” Major Schnurr sneered. “Do you speak against the will of the Emperor?”

“I speak for what will lead us to victory,” Vhalla shot back.

“Victory?” the major scoffed. “What does a little girl know of battle and victory?”

The Western major knew just what to say to make Vhalla’s blood boil. “I know plenty.”

The rest of the table remained silent, not daring to enter the foolhardy volley of words the Windwalker had decided to engage in.

“You? A lowborn library apprentice? Taught your letters when you were fifteen, no doubt.” The major had no interest in conceding.

“I was taught my letters when I was six,” Vhalla interjected.

A number of eyebrows raised.

“Impossible, you—”

“Major, with all due respect, you know nothing about me. I credit you, I credit you all.” Vhalla regarded the table, her neck long and chin strong. She was sure to elongate her words and avoid conjunctions like the upper classes did, like Aldrik and the Emperor. “You were raised in nobility. You know a world I do not. You know what forks to use at a formal settings, and you do not hesitate in battle. But I was raised in a world none of you can fathom.”

Vhalla turned back to Major Schnurr, refocusing her frustrations on him alone. “I was raised in a world where I had thousands of friends, each one waiting for me on a shelf every day. While you practiced with the bow or sword, I read. The Imperial Library houses my confidants, and I spent nearly a decade hanging onto their every word. I know them well, and if you will stop questioning me, I will be so kind to impart their secrets to you.”

Slack-jaws stayed silent, and wide eyes watched her intently. Vhalla swallowed hard. She still hadn’t slept enough. She was tired from lack of sleep and from being seen as the girl she was no longer.

“Continue, Vhalla Yarl. We all want to hear what you have to say,” Major Zerian finally spoke for the table.

Vhalla nodded in relief at him. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. No one would take her seriously if they considered her overemotional.

“We are not going to starve them out. We are not going push them to forfeit by making their lives difficult. The army has been doing that for eight months with no real results.” Vhalla motioned to all the papers of the table. “To the clans of Shaldan, Soricium is life.” She was not about to discredit their proud history by blanketing them as the North.

“In Shaldan’s lore, Soricium is the birthplace of the world. They consider that forest to be the primordial trees the old gods made first.” Vhalla racked her brain for every dusty book in the archives that she’d ever read. She pulled facts from the night Aldrik returned, the night she’d read more about the North in one sitting than ever before. The night that Vhalla had saved the prince, she prayed she’d also gained the knowledge to save countless more by ending this war quickly.

“The head clan is said to have descended from these original peoples, a pure line dating back to the beginning of time. They are a people who see their leaders as descending from gods. Expecting them to abandon their land, their home, their lineage is setting you up for failure. Soricium is Shaldan, and the Head Clan is Soricium. If you don’t understand that, you cannot comprehend why the clans continue to fight when the Empire has taken so much of their land.”

“So, what do you propose we do?” Baldair asked.

Vhalla gave him a small nod of appreciation for backing her. “To win this war, we must crush them. We must level Soricium and kill the head clan. Otherwise, they will have cause to rise again.”

“It seems an easy enough victory,” a woman mused.

“Do not expect it to be,” Vhalla cautioned. Hadn’t they been listening? “The Northerners will defend Soricium and the head clan until every last dying breath. If we were to gain a surrender, it would not be in awe of our power, or tactical prowess, or advantage in training.”

Vhalla turned to the Emperor, loathing simmering hotly in her veins. She saw what his mission was so clearly. He didn’t desire peace, he lusted for subjugation. He craved power and the ownership it gave him. His eyes shone dangerously at her, and Vhalla decided not to heed the warning in them.

“They will lay their swords at your feet and bend knee to salvage the last of their history, to protect the last tree standing from the savagery that we will show.”

Vhalla should have stopped herself, but she commanded the moment. This genocide had created an unlikely connection with her own history. She was of a people who had been used as slaves and burned for their existence. It made her disgusted with the ugly business she had sunk neck deep in.

“Doing this—hitting them when they are weak, damning the people who pose no threat—will send a message about the monster that has been unleashed upon their land. They will know true hopelessness as their symbols and culture are crushed into a bloody smear upon their sacred ground. So, the North will feed that monster to quell its appetite for conquest, and you will have your fat-bellied victory.”

Vhalla’s words faded away into the stunned silence, and everyone held their breath, watching for the Emperor’s reaction.

VHALLA FELT LIKE she was ready to burst from trying to keep all her nerves tightly bundled and stashed away. The Emperor had yet to display any reaction and everyone remained locked in limbo. She had just called Emperor Solaris a monster to his face, and now they waited for his reaction. His blue eyes studied her and she studied him. Vhalla searched for any scrap of humanity that lived within the man who was on the verge of conquering three countries, an entire continent, in his name. If he had any humanity, it was so far pushed away that he would not show it to her.

The Emperor finally opened his mouth to speak.

“Are we in agreement then?” Aldrik spoke over his father. The table looked between the current and future Emperors in confusion and uncertainty. “That we will prepare to launch an all-out assault of Soricium?”

“I thought that’s why she was brought here to begin with.” Jax nodded at Vhalla. “Not to just tell us where they’re keeping their vegetables.”

“Unsurprisingly, Vhalla’s logic is sound,” Daniel voiced his support.

Vhalla was surprised by the other majors who nodded their heads. She tried to find any who opposed her or who could be the potential spy. She had no luck.

“Zerian,” the Emperor finally spoke, having noticed the appreciative affirmation the grizzled major was giving Vhalla. “You side with her?”

“I do, my lord.”

“You side with a little girl?” the Emperor nearly sputtered.

“I side with the course of action that I feel will best lead you to victory.” Zerian was too old and too tested to fear the Emperor.

“We will plan to attack in less than two months’ time,” Aldrik declared. “I see no reason to draw this out to spring.”

Her head darted to Aldrik in surprise. It clicked together, all of it. The puppet master’s plans had come to fruition so effortlessly that no one had seen their invisible hand.

“Agreed,” Baldair voiced his support of his brother.

“Excellent.” Aldrik assessed his younger sibling. “Baldair, I trust your guard to begin assessing how we need to mobilize the troops for such an attack.”

The Emperor glared openly at his oldest son. A dangerously bold rift was growing between them. Other majors noticed, and Vhalla was beginning to see them shift with the tides of power, casting their lot in for whoever seemed a better bet long-term. Right now, that was Aldrik. But what if it changed?

“Lady Vhalla, if you will come with me.” Aldrik stepped away from the table. “Your time will be better spent in the fortress learning as much as you can.”

Vhalla nodded in agreement, following behind Aldrik.

“We look forward to your insights again, Lady Vhalla.” Major Zerian didn’t even glance up from the paper Daniel had handed him when he spoke. But the declaration earned Vhalla a few other nods of support.

She followed Aldrik down the back hall, gripping and un-gripping her fingers nervously.

“Did you intend for that to happen?” Vhalla spoke first when they entered the room.

Aldrik arched a dark eyebrow questioningly.

“When you asked me to find the food stores, did you really want to know in order to destroy them? Or did you have me find them so you could lead someone else to suggest it? So you could squelch the idea of prolonging the siege past your father’s deadline on my success?”

The prince crossed over to her, a wicked and appreciative gleam in his eyes. “You put that together?”

Vhalla swallowed and nodded, his expression making her skin flush.

“You are brilliant, my love.” Aldrik descended on her and Vhalla’s body became centered on how her mouth fit against his. “But,” his expression changed as he pulled away, “you must be careful. You speak like a lady—they are beginning to see you as one—but we are not there yet.”

“You’re talking about your father.” Vhalla stepped away, tugging off her armor in frustration.

“He is still the Emperor,” Aldrik sighed, sounding no more pleased than Vhalla felt.

“Why is he the way he is?” Vhalla turned. “How is he so cruel?”

Aldrik stilled, and Vhalla bit her lip. He cut off her hasty apology for speaking about his father. “He wasn’t always like this.”

Vhalla stilled, hanging on Aldrik’s words.

“When I was a boy, he hardly spoke of war or conquest.” Aldrik stared straight through her. “But, it changed . . .”

“What did?” Vhalla encouraged.

“Emissaries from the North, long ago, refused something he wanted, and it turned my father sour.” Aldrik was so still his lips barely moved.

“What did they want?”

“The knights had one, and they—So, Egmun told him that it was necessary. He told Father the history of the continent and Egmun had said, he said it was necessary, that it was the last one. Father would never let it fall into the knights’ hands . . .”

“What, Aldrik?” she pleaded, waiting for the prince to form cohesive sentences. Her flesh crawled at the name of her most hated senator. “What did Egmun want?”

“Knowledge,” Aldrik pressed his eyes closed tightly. “Above all else, he wanted knowledge—and then me.” The prince’s eyes snapped open, and there was something crushingly horrible about the way Aldrik looked at her. “When the North refused, Egmun said I could help, that I could still make my father proud. I gave it to him. I gave him that glimpse of truth, and I turned my father into this.”

“What?” Vhalla gripped his hands tightly. “Aldrik, you’re not making any sense.”

“No.” Aldrik shook his head and pulled out of her grasp. The action seemed so foreign now that they were so close; Vhalla didn’t even know how to react. “I won’t speak on this.”

“Aldrik—”

“I said no, Vhalla!”

She shrunk away.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Aldrik shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. “I told you, there are some things that I will never want to talk about. I need—” He swallowed thickly. “I need you to just accept that.”

Vhalla studied his face as he continued to avoid eye contact with her. There was a dangerous line she’d toed up against. The last time he had acted so out of sorts was the time she had confessed to having knowledge of his suicide attempt.

Taking a step closer, Vhalla reached out and pulled him to her, resting her cheek against his chest. His arms hung limply for a few breaths before sliding around her shoulders. Vhalla closed her eyes. “I accept it. I’m sorry for prying.”

“My Vhalla, my lady, my love,” he sighed.

“It’s all right; I understand.” In truth, she didn’t. Vhalla didn’t have any dark secret so horrible that it scrambled her mind. She didn’t have anything that would shut her down and turn her to stone at the mention of it, not even the Night of Fire and Wind.

But she understood that whatever it was must be horrific. Anything that could inspire someone to take their own life must be. Vhalla swallowed. There was a darkness at the very deepest part of her prince she had yet to penetrate. The fear it ignited in her paled in comparison to her desire to spend enough time with him to bring light into that void.

Their exchange raked against both their thoughts, making them silent throughout her Projection. Vhalla mindlessly traversed the long distance between the camp palace and Soricium. She kept her thoughts locked away within the innermost part of her mind to prevent any from reaching outward to him.

That cloud hung over them into the evening. Her time in the palace wasn’t very fruitful, some basic tidbits of information but nothing that could shift the tides of war in their favor. Aldrik told her to try to find out more information on the spies, but she couldn’t even find the Westerner. Wherever he was, the informant did an unintentionally good job of avoiding her.

In all, it felt disappointing and useless, and Vhalla was forced to swallow the fact that she couldn’t find a wealth of information every time she walked Soricium. Aldrik managed to swallow the same facts, with the help of a strong drink or two, and slowly the cloud dissipated. Their days fell into a repetition of short meetings with the majors in the mornings and evenings and of Projections during the day.

They tried to weed out the spy and debated it often in private, but to no avail. However the spies were communicating, it was well-orchestrated, and they seemed to have it down to a science. Vhalla would scan the faces of the majors at meetings, wondering who among them would put a knife through Aldrik’s shoulder blades. But nothing ever came of their search.

It was the monotony that finally began to rake against Vhalla’s brain. Her curiosity and hunger for new knowledge was stinted by the fact that she seemed to be taking a lot of steps to get nowhere. It didn’t help that Aldrik was intent on keeping her under house arrest. After the attempt on her life while moving the tower and the knowledge of spies in camp, he intentionally kept her busy within the camp palace at all times.

After two weeks of it she was ready to go crazy, and the fates took pity on her.

Vhalla pushed herself through the stone walls of Soricium as she had before, ignoring the oblivious Northerners. She wandered upward, through the various stairways within the trees and onto the platforms and walkways beyond.

She was beginning to learn the palace well enough that she would soon feel confident telling Aldrik she could lead someone through its walls. That was a whole different fear. She knew who would be leading the charge, and it stayed her tongue when Aldrik would ask how well she had learned the maze-like passageways.

He would be at the front. He would trust no one else at her side, and the idea of leading him headfirst into the most hostile environment in the world filled Vhalla with uncontrollable dread.

Up, around, countless switchbacks, and up further still, Vhalla retraced the previous days’ steps until she was in uncharted territory. She came to a wide platform with a low and intricately carved rail. Leaning against a beautifully sculpted alcove was a lean and sharp-looking woman, the archer Vhalla had seen before, and a younger girl no older than fourteen. The archer was on one side of the alcove and the girl on the other, the woman between them.

“Why do they move as they do?” the lean and sharp-looking woman asked.

Vhalla assumed the woman was the head clan’s Chieftain due to her delicate headdress.

I finally found him, Vhalla reported to Aldrik. She stared at the Western man addressing the three woman.

“The Westerner?” Aldrik asked.

Yes, but I need to listen.

Her prince withheld further comment.

“Have you considered our new deal? Perhaps my insights could be improved then,” the Westerner responded.

“You dare withhold information from me?” The woman’s Southern Common was clearer and finer than the other Northerner’s.

“Most certainly not, my lady. I only meant certain things could further improve our relationship.”

“My lady,” the woman repeated with malice. “Spare me your Southern notions of nobility.”

“I am not Southern.” The man bristled. “My people were enslaved by the greed of Solaris, much as yours are currently threatened by it. He turned Mhashan’s rich history into nothing more than a compass point on his map. I know your suffering.”

“You presume too much.” The Chieftain tilted her head back only so that she had further to stare down at the Westerner. “All are southern to Soricium.”

“Will you give us the axe?” the Western man asked, shifting the conversation back to its original topic.

“The axe. Tell me, what do you want with Achel?”

“That is inconsequential.” The man folded his arms over his chest.

“The Emperor brought war because we refused him Achel. But Achel sleeps in its stone tomb, under the eye of the gods. It has slept there since the days of great chaos when light was dark.” The Chieftain fingered the carved archway behind her. “We will not let it be taken by southern hands who have lost the old ways.”

“Are you going back on your offer?” the man asked with a frown.

“Za had no place offering Achel,” the Chieftain said with a sideways look that radiated displeasure.

The archer Vhalla had seen before, Za, averted her eyes in clear shame. Vhalla followed the woman’s emerald stare to what they focused on instinctually. The Imperial camp stretched out below, a long distance to the burnt track that ran around its outer rim. But at the top of that rim was a splotch against the forest.

The same sensation Vhalla’d felt on the night of patrol lingered on the wind. Old Soricium, that’s where the archer was looking. Vhalla had no doubt.

“If Achel is out of the deal, then I will need to contact my allies in camp,” the man threatened to stall further.

“Go ahead, southerner. We would never give Achel to you.” The Chieftain sent the Westerner off in a huff.

Vhalla pulled back from her Projection, blinking her eyes slowly. Aldrik sat at his small table, pinching the bridge of his nose. He seemed more exhausted as spring inched closer.

“Oh, welcome back.” He noticed her as she sat. “You found the Westerner again?”

“I did, but nothing productive in finding out who his informants are or how they communicate.” She’d been trying to uncover it each time, to no avail. Vhalla was beginning to suspect they already had Windwalkers communicating for them.

Aldrik cursed. “Father is beginning to think there aren’t any.”

“There are,” Vhalla insisted, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

“I believe you. He’s just searching for any opportunity to undermine you.” Aldrik stood and stretched.

“Aldrik.” Vhalla ignored the mention of the Emperor. “Crystals—”

“What?” He ceased all movement.

Vhalla knew she would get such a reaction, but she had no idea why. She took a deep breath, bracing herself. “Can crystals be used to make weapons?”

“Did you hear that in the fortress?” Aldrik asked.

Vhalla nodded. “They’re talking about something called Achel, a crystal axe. . .”

“The world has lost its mind.” Aldrik rolled his eyes, making a valiant attempt to shrug the tension out of his shoulders. “Crystal weapons from the days of early magic, forged by gods and given to the original leaders of each kingdom. It sounds like something the Knights of Jadar would believe could be used to ‘reclaim the West’ or some other equal nonsense. Don’t believe a word of it.”

“Before I left, Victor said—”

“He said what?” Aldrik turned on her, a cautionary glint in his eyes.

“Something about a crystal axe.” Her prince was making her nervous. Vhalla had rarely seen Aldrik so tilted off balance. She remembered exactly what the Minister asked. He wanted her to bring home a crystal weapon with legendary power. But those words remained hidden behind her lips.

“Victor can be a fool, the one thing I wish he hadn’t learned from Egmun, especially so when it comes to things that illustrate what he sees as the great power of sorcerers.” Aldrik ran a hand through his hair. “He spoke of it to my father, and now Father has it in his head to find the thing.”

That was the last person Vhalla wanted to gain any weapon with epic power.

“Why do people want it so badly?” Vhalla stood. “I’ve never heard anything about crystal weapons.”

“They’re whispered rumor, even among sorcerers.” Aldrik paced as he spoke, releasing nervous energy. “Crystals, as you know, can easily taint sorcerers through their magic Channels. Even Commons can be corrupted with enough time and strong enough exposure.”

“Like the War of the Crystal Caverns.” Aldrik stilled as Vhalla elaborated, “Sorcerers were trying to unleash the power locked within the caverns, and it corrupted them, it turned them into monsters, and then those who tried to stop them, until it was barely contain—”

“I know the history!” Aldrik snapped, whirling on her.

Vhalla took a step back.

“Do you think me simple?” He scowled.

“Aldrik, why are you so upset?” Vhalla frowned.

“Why must you continue to bring up such things?” he exclaimed.

“Why do they bother you so?” Vhalla stood straighter, matching the prince toe-to-toe.

“I told you, I told you not to probe. It’s bad enough that any night you could dream and invade my memories,” Aldrik spat.

Vhalla deflated. She hadn’t even thought about that for weeks; since their Joining, her dreams would sometimes hold the prince’s memories.

“How dare you use that against me,” she whispered.

Aldrik pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Vhalla, I am tired. Just go for a while.”

She obliged him with a pointed glare and a huff, departing the room with a not-quite-gentle closing of the door. The Emperor was thankfully absent from the main hall. Majors came and went as they always did, most nodded in acknowledgment, but none bothered her or stopped what they were doing to strike a conversation.

Vhalla sat in the far corner, picking listlessly at some food. The constant Projection and not leaving the camp palace because of Aldrik’s concerns for her wellbeing all combined to make her mood rather foul. She was going to go crazy before the war was over, and wondering what the prince insisted on hiding from her wasn’t helping.

If only she could sleep and dream of the memory he wanted so badly to keep from her.

Elecia sat next to Vhalla, seeming to materialize out of nowhere. She was often in the camp palace; being the cousin of the crown prince and a noble earned her unquestioned entry. But she was always busy with the clerics, and Vhalla hadn’t had much time to talk with her other than in passing. Often, the woman seemed to only appear to slip Vhalla a vial containing a certain awful-tasting potion without a word.

“You’re not eating enough,” Elecia observed.

“I’m fine.” Vhalla rolled her eyes.

“You’ve been eating less and less. Why?”

Vhalla cursed the woman’s clerical attention. “Bugger off.”

“If you’re going to be a lady, you should at least learn some better insults.” Elecia hummed, “It’s likely this food.”

“It’s not—”

“You should eat something fresh off a campfire—much better.” Elecia stood. “Cleric’s orders.”

Vhalla stared up at the other woman in surprise. She slowly stood, swinging her legs over the bench. Elecia started for the door.

The night air hit Vhalla’s lungs and filled her with life once more. The camp palace was so stale, Vhalla realized. Leaving with her Projected form hadn’t been enough. She needed the wind.

“My cousin can be foolish.” Elecia started in a familiar direction. “He means well—we both know that. But he isn’t graceful when he deals with the things he wants having their own needs and desires.”

Vhalla was forced to sigh in agreement. “You sound like you speak from experience.”

“I am his most favorite cousin,” Elecia declared. “But he’s never quite had the desire or opportunity to consume my attention and time like he can yours.”

Vhalla curled and uncurled her fingers as Elecia spoke, enjoying the wind.

“He doesn’t know he’s smothering you.” Elecia blinked her eyes at Vhalla.

Elecia was checking her Channels, Vhalla realized.

“Your magic already looks better now that you’re outside.” Elecia turned forward again, satisfied. “Now, there’s someone who’s been chewing my ear off to see you.”

Fritz nearly tackled Vhalla the moment he saw her. Vhalla squeezed him as tightly as he did her. It felt surprisingly good to hold someone other than her prince, she realized.

“I was beginning to think that Aldrik really had conjured you from the wind, and you’d just been my imagination before.” Fritz linked arms with Vhalla.

“What?” Vhalla laughed, letting them lead her toward a campfire.

“The soldiers, they’ve every theory under the sun about you two,” Fritz explained.

“They do?” Vhalla blinked with surprise.

“Oh yes, that he conjured you from the air to fight for the Empire Solaris. That you are actually a Wind Demon. That you were gifted by the Mother herself to fight at his side.” Fritz counted his fingers as he listed. “And that you’re his secret lover and your power is magnified with your coupling.”

Vhalla turned the color of Western crimson.

“I think it’s the last one,” the Southerner sang to Elecia.

Elecia thumped Fritz on the top of his head with a fist. “That is the very last thing I ever want to think of my cousin doing,” she proclaimed, despite being the one who provided Vhalla with a consistent supply of Elixir of the Moon. Elecia sniffed at Vhalla. “Especially with her.”

“The stories I could tell you.” Vhalla sniggered, watching as Elecia paled in horror.

“It is true then?” Fritz seemed like he was about to explode.

Vhalla’s face was back to burning, and she’d never been more thankful to arrive at a campfire surrounded by soldiers.

As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Elecia had been right: Vhalla needed the wind in her hair again. She also needed the casual company of commoners. She needed laughter. She needed to pretend she was free.

Fritz was also right: the soldiers seemed to have every theory about her, and they asked about them with varying levels of bravery. Vhalla did her best not to discourage their questions. The last thing she wanted was to turn herself into a distant figure. She’d spent her whole life struggling from the other side of nobility; she still struggled with Aldrik, and she vowed to not let it happen to her.

Eventually, unsurprisingly, Jax came looking for her. Vhalla begrudgingly agreed to return, which wasn’t easy when Fritz clung to her arm until she swore to come back soon. The sorcerers asked her to come and train them, and Vhalla vowed to do that as well.

The camp palace was quiet as most of the majors had retired. The Emperor and Baldair were also absent, so Vhalla excused herself directly to the back hall. She paused briefly before Aldrik’s door, sighing. She’d been wrong to push him about something she knew bothered him. She’d apologize.

His head turned up the moment she entered.

Aldrik stood and swayed slightly, his fingertips resting on the desk for stability. Vhalla took a deep breath before crossing the room. They engaged in a staring contest: the loser would be the first to break the silence.

“I was worried about you,” Aldrik breathed in relief.

“You should’ve come out.” Vhalla’s mouth curled up into a tired smile. He appeared exhausted.

“Not . . .” Aldrik shook his head. “Not a good idea. I’m glad Jax found you.”

His shoulders were slumped, and Vhalla’s eyes drifted to the desk. There was a nagging in the back of her mind. His actions, all the not-so-small signs, began to knit themselves together in an obvious pattern of behavior that was pinned in place by the cup, halfway full with liquor.

Vhalla remembered all the other times she’d seen alcohol around him. There was the morning she’d run to him after dreaming of his suicide attempt, the bottles on the table then. Dreaming as him and seeking out alcohol to blur the pain of his kills. His uncle had scolded him for it and the soldiers had whispered of it. Elecia fearing for his head after a night of worrying. She’d heard it all and ignored each time as one-off moments.

“Why?” she whispered, her eyes darting up to his. Vhalla saw Aldrik fail at hiding the shock and fear at realizing she’d put it together.

“It’s not that often,” he said hastily and took an uneasy step closer. “I was worried for you, is all.”

The pain of finding out about yet another shadow suffocating the prince’s heart felt nothing compared to the stabbing realization that he was trying to lie to her. “Don’t you trust me?”

“You know I do.” Aldrik reached out to her, and Vhalla stepped away. She wouldn’t let his hands soothe away this pain, not that easily.

“I’m tired of saying this: don’t lie to me,” she demanded. Hot anger surged through her veins. After everything they’d been through, he was going to attempt to gloss over the truth? She worked to keep her voice calm and level. Raging at him would solve nothing. “How often?”

Aldrik sighed and pulled at his hair, debating with himself for a long moment. Vhalla briefly thought he was going to retreat to the callous man she knew he could be. Her surprise that he didn’t was outweighed by heartbreak at his answer. “I don’t keep track. It dulls the pain when I need it to. When I can’t think on something any longer and I need to let it slip from my mind.”

“Aldrik.” She took his hands gently in hers, sparing his hair from their nervous fidgeting. “You don’t need it.”

He considered the cup on the table a long moment and shook his head. “You don’t understand. You don’t understand what lurks in my mind. You don’t understand how fast my head spins when it’s not weighted down.”

“Help me understand,” she pleaded and fought to keep her own emotions in check. “You love me. You love me, don’t you?”

Aldrik stilled.

“If you love me, then help me understand.” His grip relaxed at her words, going slack. Vhalla knew that love wouldn’t be enough to fix it, that change could only come from him. But love could be a catalyst for the process he would have to accomplish on his own, and she would push for that. “We’ll talk about it, I’ll support you and—”

“So I’m to be your pity project?” Aldrik snapped.

“No.” Vhalla frowned at being the target of his temper. “People who care about each other support each other, Aldrik. This is natural.”

“Natural for you.” He pulled his hands away, stalking over to the window. “You’d never understand.”

“I can’t if you don’t share,” she persisted.

“This isn’t up for discussion!” His voice deepened a fraction.

Vhalla stared at his back in frustration. As disconcerting as the realization of his drinking was, it was worse that he was shutting her out. The distance and attempts at subterfuge competed for what was hurting the most. “Aldrik—”

“I said no!” He didn’t even look at her.

Vhalla gripped the door handle and stepped into the hallway before he snapped her patience and heart in two. By the time Aldrik even realized the door was open, Vhalla had already closed the door to Baldair’s room behind her.

“What in the name of the Mother!” Baldair sat quickly, ensuring his waist—and his bare and blushing companion—were covered.

Vhalla focused on the golden prince, not even feeling the slightest bit sorry for interrupting him. It wasn’t as though he’d have a hard time resuming his festivities another night. “I need you.”

The younger prince took one look at Vhalla’s face and moved. He got out of the bed, unabashed, and Vhalla averted her eyes. Seeing Baldair naked felt like she was looking at a close family member. It was awkward, but not for the usual reasons women felt flustered around the Heartbreaker Prince.

The beautiful Western woman didn’t move until Vhalla wasn’t looking, much more shy than the Heartbreaker Prince she’d been caught in bed with. The door at Vhalla’s back attempted to open. Vhalla leaned against it, giving Baldair a pointed stare to hurry up.

“Out the window, love, and not a word,” Baldair ordered the woman.

The Westerner nodded and disappeared as she was told. Discretion must be mandatory for those wanting a firsthand opportunity to find out how the Heartbreaker Prince earned his title. Vhalla didn’t think any further on it as there was a soft rapping.

“Brother,” Aldrik called, not nearly soft enough. The last thing Vhalla wanted was for the Emperor to wake.

“What is it?” Baldair whispered.

There was a time when Baldair’s shirtless presence would’ve made Vhalla tongue-tied. Now, Vhalla couldn’t have felt more relieved at the sight. “I don’t want to be around him right now. He’s being stubborn, and I don’t know what to do, but I can’t lie with him when he’s like this.”

“Like what?” Baldair seemed almost afraid to ask.

“Drunk enough to try lying to me,” Vhalla snapped tiredly.

Baldair’s eyes widened in surprise at her admission. He put his palms on her shoulders and positioned her away from the door, standing protectively in front of her before opening it.

“Quiet, or you will wake Father,” Baldair whispered firmly.

“Is Vhalla—”

“She’s staying in my room tonight,” Baldair announced.

“What?” There was a nasty note to the word.

“And I’m staying with you,” the younger prince clarified.

“No, I’ll be staying—”

“With me until your head clears enough that you see what a fool you’re being.” Baldair pushed his brother back into Aldrik’s room, leaving Vhalla alone.

Vhalla listened to their whispers through the door before dragging her feet toward Baldair’s bed. She pulled the covers over her ears and shivered slightly. Staring at the wall, she started on the long process of trying to sort through her conflicting emotions.

VHALLA AWOKE TO a palm gently rubbing her back. She blinked tiredly, confused as to why the chests were on the side of the bed, rather than in the corner of the room. Then the night came back to her in a rush.

Turning quickly, she locked eyes with Baldair, who was seated at the edge of the bed. The prince gave her a tired smile. It betrayed his exhaustion and disappointment that, Vhalla had no doubt, was directed at a certain older brother.

“Good morning,” he whispered.

Vhalla knew how he kept women crawling back to his bed if he spoke to them in such velvety tones first thing in the day. “Aldrik?”

“He’s still asleep.” Baldair shifted so Vhalla could sit. “It’s barely dawn.”

Judging from the dim light filtering through the slats, what Baldair said was true.

“What happened?” Baldair asked softly.

Vhalla focused on the gray morning. “I realized I hadn’t been seeing him with both eyes open. How long has he been like that?”

“How long has Aldrik liked the spirits?” Baldair asked for clarity, and Vhalla nodded. “Mother, not long after he became a man.”

Vhalla frowned. Since about fifteen?

“It’s always been to varying degrees,” Baldair conceded. “Sometimes it’s no more than any other man or woman has. Other times . . .”

“He must stop turning to it to manage his problems,” Vhalla decided. She had no issue with liquor, even the occasional indulgence that crossed the line of too much. But Aldrik didn’t see drink as casual entertainment now and again. He was trying to turn cups into solutions to problems, and that was dangerous.

“He won’t just stop.” Baldair squeezed her arm. “He doesn’t know how to function without it when he’s up against a wall. It’s hard to make a case because he can function surprisingly well with it.”

“No, it’s not functioning if he thinks he needs it to get through a tough time.” Vhalla shook her head and swung her feet over the side of the bed.

“Where are you going?” Baldair asked. He made no movement.

“To my friends.” Vhalla paused at the door. “If Aldrik asks for me, you can tell him that he can come get me himself if he wants to see me again, with an apology, and a new promise.”

“You’re going to kill him if you force him to stop drinking altogether,” Baldair cautioned.

“He at least needs to stop thinking he needs it. He has me, he has you and Elecia.”

Baldair seemed surprised she included him. “He might beg to differ.”

Vhalla stared incredulously at the younger prince. How could anyone justify Aldrik’s actions? “He commits to fixing this, or we’re done.”

She was out the door before the prince worked through his surprise at the proclamation. The main hall was empty, and the camp was quiet. She headed toward Fritz’s tent without hesitation, crawling between him and Elecia upon arrival.

“What the—”

“You’re so jumpy.” Vhalla shook her head at Elecia.

“I don’t expect people crawling into my bed!”

“You let this one.” Vhalla pointed at Fritz, who continued to sleep. The man was seriously one of the heaviest sleepers Vhalla had ever met. “And he smells like sweaty boy.”

Elecia sighed and laid back down. “Speaking of sweaty boys and sharing beds, what are you doing here?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Vhalla pressed her eyes closed and was surprised when Elecia only spoke one more word on the matter.

“Fine.”

She managed a few more hours of sleep, better sleep than she’d gotten the whole night. Elecia was surprisingly snuggly when passed out, and Vhalla promptly used this knowledge, confirmed by Fritz, to tease the Westerner viciously. Vhalla had never seen Elecia so flushed with embarrassment and anger.

The morning progressed into the afternoon, and Vhalla braced herself for Jax to come looking for her at the crown prince’s request—but he never did. It made Vhalla wonder if Baldair had gotten word to Aldrik. Then Vhalla felt frustrated for thinking of the man and threw herself into some debate on magical theory with Fritz. It didn’t take long before the cycle repeated.

Elecia left eventually to do something with the clerics, but Fritz continued to lounge with her. He appeared eager to skip training for once.

“She’s been such a slave driver,” Fritz bemoaned the moment Elecia was gone. “All she wants me to do is train.”

“Well, we are at war,” Vhalla teased.

“A war you will end.” Fritz smiled brightly at her.

“You honestly believe that?” Vhalla rolled her eyes.

“Of course I do!” Fritz seemed shocked she’d think otherwise. “And I’m not the only one. You only got a small taste last night. The soldiers really think you’re something special.”

“I’m not, though.” Vhalla sighed, an odd pressure settling on her chest at that notion. She withheld any bitter comment about how any one of those soldiers could be a spy evading capture.

“You’re amazing.”

She snorted.

“You are!” Fritz insisted.

“You sound like my father.” Just mentioning her father made Vhalla ache for the East. But it was an odd sort of nostalgia. Vhalla didn’t think she could go back there for some time. She was too different; she wouldn’t have a place there any longer.

“Then your father is a genius,” Fritz insisted.

“He’d tell you my mother was the smart one.” Vhalla rested her forearm on her forehead.

Fritz rolled onto his stomach, propping him up by his elbows. “You never talk about her.”

“Nothing to say.”

“That can’t be true,” Fritz probed.

“She died when I was young, autumn fever.” Vhalla knew she’d told the Southerner that much before. “But,” Vhalla sighed sweetly. “She could coax a plant from the sandiest soil in the driest of years. She had strong legs that were never afraid to climb up to where I’d roosted in our tree, or on the roof. And she had the loveliest singing voice.”

“Do you sing?” Fritz interjected.

She shook her head. “I inherited my father’s voice, not hers.”

“Sing me a song.”

“No,” Vhalla laughed. “You don’t want to hear it.”

“Please,” Fritz begged.

He insisted until Vhalla finally agreed. The melody was slow and low, the lullaby her mother had sung every night. It told the story of a mother bird keeping her chicks in the nest, of plucking their feathers so they’d never fly. Vhalla didn’t even get to the part where the baby birds began to wear the other animal’s pelts when Fritz burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry,” Fritz wheezed. “You’re right, your voice is awful.”

Vhalla rolled her eyes. “I told you so. My mother kept her singing voice, but she gave me her mind. She was the one who taught me how to read.”

“How did she learn?” Fritz asked. It wasn’t common for people of Vhalla’s status to be literate.

“Her parents worked at the post office of Hastan.”

“Did you know them?”

Vhalla shook her head. “They didn’t approve of her marrying my father. They’d hoped her literacy would let her marry someone ‘better’ than a farmer.”

Vhalla wondered if her grandparents were even still alive. If they were, she mused over what they’d think of her being involved with the crown prince. The thought brought a pang to her stomach.

As if on cue, the tent flap was thrown open. Jax grinned at the two of them. “Told you she’d be here.”

Vhalla sat and Fritz followed as a bewildered-looking Baldair knelt at the entrance to the tent. His endless cerulean eyes absorbed hers, and Vhalla shifted uncomfortably. There were unspoken volumes within them.

“He’s lost his mind,” Baldair whispered.

“What’s happened?” Vhalla scrambled out of the tent. Even after all her frustrations, she was ready to run to Aldrik’s side.

“I went to his room to check on him and he was gone, bottles smashed.” Baldair placed a palm over his forehead in disbelief.

“Alcohol?” Vhalla whispered.

Baldair nodded.

“He’s helping run drills with the Black Legion now,” Jax contributed.

“Which he hasn’t done in years.” Baldair tilted his head to catch Vhalla’s bewildered eyes.

Her heart was racing in her chest. She had to see it—to see him—to believe it. “Where is he?”

Jax and Baldair led her toward one of the many training rings where the Black Legion worked. Firebearers sent tongues of flame racing toward each other, kicking and punching with blazing hands and feet. Aldrik walked among them, the fire glittering off of his armor.

Vhalla saw the bags under his tired eyes, but no one else seemed to. All the other soldiers cautiously admired their prince. Vhalla remembered what Major Reale had said about the Black Legion growing up with Aldrik.

He was trying, she realized, in more ways than one. Aldrik was trying to be their prince, to be a better man, and—if she dared believe it—to be better for her. He was serious about making an effort for her and for them.

“Remember, a Firebearer must always be on the offensive.” Aldrik’s hands were clasped at the small of his back. “Our skills are best for a relentless pursuit.”

The soldiers nodded in understanding, continuing their sparring.

“If you’re magically superior, you can burn through a Groundbreaker’s stone skin or take control of another Firebearer’s flames; if not, you’ll need to go for the eyes like a Commons. A Waterrunner’s ice is no trouble, either, unless they are particularly strong.”

“And what about a Windwalker?” Vhalla called out.

Everyone stalled, noticing her presence alongside the Head Major of the Black Legion and the younger prince. Aldrik turned with desperate, searching eyes. Vhalla swallowed and allowed a knowing smile to grace her lips.

“That, Lady Yarl, is not often a problem,” Aldrik replied tentatively, probingly. “There aren’t too many Windwalkers about.”

“Sounds like a nice way to say that you don’t know, my prince,” Vhalla jested boldly.

The soldiers’ collective gaze swung back to Aldrik, looking with nervous concern. They seemed to hold their breath for the usually temperamental prince’s reaction. Aldrik missed their looks, his attention only on the Windwalker advancing toward him.

“Perhaps we should find out, then?” Aldrik smirked.

“For scholarly curiosity, I think we must,” Vhalla agreed coyly.

They had a ring of people in moments, and Jax was to be their mark. Vhalla squared off opposite Aldrik for the first time. She could feel his magic crackling off him in warm waves; the subtle pulse as he commanded it, shifted it, and honed it like a swordsman with a whetstone.

She clenched her fists, and Jax signaled for the spar to begin. Vhalla moved, Aldrik moved, and their magic lit up the small circle. His flames danced along her winds, and Vhalla moved and dodged fast, wearing only her chainmail, faster than he in all his plate.

The prince took a step backwards, raising a wall of flame. It was bold and potentially dangerous move, if his fire could hurt her, if she wasn’t as fast as the wind itself. Vhalla threw out a hand, trying to trip him as he moved backwards. Aldrik shifted from foot to foot, gracefully keeping his balance. She laughed, and he gave a small smile for the sight of her joy.

They were an equal match with his heartbeat in the back of her mind. His combat prowess flowed through her veins, coupled with the skill Vhalla had gained from months of her own training. They both missed the slack-jaw amazement from the other soldiers. That the Windwalker danced toe-to-toe with one of the greatest sorcerers in the world, that she could best Aldrik as often as he bested her, that the prince seemed to find amusement—even joy—and not frustration at that fact.

She was breathless and exhausted. Vhalla didn’t know how long they’d sparred, but she’d reached her limit several gusts prior and finally held up a hand in forfeit. Vhalla panted, gripping her knee with her other palm, trying to catch her breath and to slow the wild heartbeat in her ears.

No one spoke as Aldrik approached her.

“Lady Yarl,” Aldrik folded his hands over his chest.

Vhalla saw the amusement lighting his eyes. She grinned in reply. “My prince?”

“I don’t know if that test was quite conclusive.”

“Perhaps we’ll have to do it again?” she reasoned.

“You try me.” Aldrik allowed his princely tone to overshadow his playful streak.

“Forgive me,” Vhalla straightened. A broad smile plastered across her lips. She heard his meaning. She knew how she tried him. “But I may enjoy it.”

The crown prince snorted, turning to the soldiers. “The lot of you, practice. I expect you to be as skilled as Lady Yarl by the next time I return.” Aldrik turned back to her. “I am famished.”

“Me, too,” she agreed and accepted his invitation as Aldrik began leading her back to the camp palace next to a bewildered Baldair.

“You two move well together,” Baldair said ineloquently.

“Must have great sex,” Jax snickered from Aldrik’s right.

“Jax!” Baldair groaned.

Vhalla’s face flushed redder than the setting sun. Her breath was still quick from the fight. Her fingers suddenly itched to take Aldrik’s.

“Vhalla.” The crown prince summoned her attention with an awkward cough.

“Lady Vhalla!” a voice called, interrupting them.

Vhalla turned to see Timanthia running up from one of the side pathways of the tent city. She heard Aldrik take a sharp inhale of air.

“My prince.” Tim skidded to a halt, giving a clumsy bow. Her attention turned back to Vhalla. “I’ve been trying to find you.”

“Yes?” Vhalla thought of the shredded cape the girl returned to her.

“Since your demonstration, since I saw . . .” Tim smoothed some stray strands of dark blonde hair away from her eyes. “I don’t know what happened to your cape. It was fine when I rolled it up, when we returned to Soricium.”

“I see.” Vhalla debated if the girl was to be believed.

“But, well, it was amazing what you did, moving the archer’s wall.” Tim fumbled in her pockets. “My friends started asking me about you; they wanted to know more about your magic, about being you.”

Tim pulled out a dark scrap of cloth from her pocket. Painted upon it with some thick white paste in a rough hand was an attempt at the feather symbol that had been emblazoned upon the original cloak.

Vhalla stared at it in confusion.

“We started making them, my friends and I.” Tim passed it from hand to hand.

Jax and Baldair took a step closer. Even Aldrik leaned in to get a better look.

“I know it’s not very good, it’s just the stuff they use on tents to make them waterproof. There’s no actual paint here.”

“Why?” Vhalla asked, bewildered. “Why are you making these?”

“Well,” Tim mumbled. “We all, we think it’s lucky. You’ve survived so much, the attack on the Capital, the sandstorm, the assassination attempt, getting through the North. And, no offense, but there’s no reason a library girl should have survived all that.” Tim covered her mouth in shock. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you’re right,” Vhalla laughed.

“Anyways, I guess, we feel like there’s something blessed about the winds of the Windwalker, and that this will protect us in the battles to come.” Tim focused uncertainly on the cloth in her hands.

“I don’t think—”

“You may wear it,” Aldrik announced from Vhalla’s side, cutting her short.

Vhalla’s attention jerked toward the prince in surprise.

“Really?” Tim brought her eyes up to the prince’s.

“It was my design; I should have to give just as much permission,” Aldrik said flatly, looking away.

Vhalla stared up at him in shock that he would openly confess such a thing. “I suppose it is fine, then.” Vhalla smiled, trying to reassure the girl.

“Thank you!” Tim beamed. She glanced at the princes, as if suddenly remembering herself. “I’m sure you have business to attend to. I shouldn’t keep you.”

Vhalla’s smile slipped from her face the moment Tim had vanished. “It won’t protect them,” she whispered to no one in particular.

“Neither will their prayers to the Mother. Will you tell them not to pray?”

Vhalla blinked at Aldrik; it seemed an odd thing for a prince to say about the religion of the Empire. “No, but—”

“Vhalla, soldiers need hope, and there is such precious little to go around,” Baldair explained. “They need courage, motivation, the belief in a greater force—any greater force. They need symbols and beacons for that hope.”

Vhalla nodded, her thoughts a step behind Jax and Baldair. She chewed over the words. Baldair was seeing something she didn’t. He had been for some time.

“I find joy in knowing others turn to you for courage and inspiration,” Aldrik spoke only for her and caught her startled eyes. “I am sorry for how I acted last night. And for, well, you know,” his silver tongue failed him. Aldrik paused, and Vhalla stilled as well. “You were—are correct. And I promise, if you will still have me, I will work to stop turning to it.”

“Of course I will have you.” It was easier to forgive him than it was to be angry. It felt right to be at peace with Aldrik. Fighting, no matter how justified, was an unnatural state for them. It was like her left hand picking a conflict with her right. They were both part of her. “Though, I do expect we will speak on it.”

He stiffened.

“Eventually, when you’re ready,” Vhalla conceded with a gentle smile. It would do nothing to push him further for the time being; this was an issue that would benefit from small steps, time, and patience. Trying to take it on at a warfront was not the most ideal of situations.

He gave her a warm and deeply appreciative look, and she barely kept herself from slipping her hand in his, but Vhalla walked closer to the prince than was proper. Her side almost brushed against his with every step. Aldrik wasn’t shy with his smiles, and Vhalla beamed from ear to ear. They were so overcome with relief that they missed the startled looks from soldiers all the way back to the camp palace.

They spent another two days in a relative peace. Mornings were spent with Baldair, Raylynn, Jax, and Elecia. On the second morning, Elecia boldly brought Fritz along into the camp palace, and the Southerner’s tenacious and outgoing personality fit in easily with the odd mix of nobility.

The afternoons she spent Projected in Soricium, but not much had changed. Their preparations for an attack were going ahead as planned, and Vhalla knew they’d strike in a few short weeks’ time. The army was almost honed to fighting perfection.

It was four days later when Vhalla finally found the Chieftain on the woman’s viewing platform, as Vhalla had dubbed it.

“They prepare to ransack Soricium,” the Western man reported.

If only Vhalla could figure out where his information came from. It was becoming almost too easy to accept a spy in their midst.

“The Windwalker is an informant. She could be here right now.”

There was a dark amusement in knowing the man’s words were true.

“This is the wicked power I cautioned you of.”

“It is no matter.” The Chieftain ran her fingers over the carved wood behind her. “We will be far from her reach soon.”

“How? You cannot outrun the wind.” The man squinted, trying to call a bluff.

Vhalla didn’t expect to find herself agreeing with a Knight of Jadar, of all people, but there she stood.

“The head clan will live. We will take our knowledge, our trees’ heart seeds, and flee Soricium.” The girl and Za on either side of the Chieftain grimaced at the notion.

“Do you think the army will let you leave?” the man questioned.

“They will have no choice. The might of the North comes to overwhelm them, to free us, to take us to a place where we can lead and drive out the sun emperor from our lands.”

“Impossible,” the knight scoffed. “There’s no way you could coordinate such an assault.”

“You southerners and your small minds. It must hurt to be so disconnected from the old ways.” The Chieftain raised a hand and swung it behind her, slapping against the carved designs of the wood.

Vhalla watched as the archway lit up with some sort of magic she’d never seen. It glowed faintly before fading. Nothing else changed.

“When will we be leaving?” The Western man seemed impressed enough with the display.

“We?” The Northern woman raised her eyebrows. “I never said ‘we’.”

Za drew an arrow from her quiver.

“No, no, you still need us.” The man stepped backwards nervously.

“We never needed you, and what usefulness you had has run its course.” The Chieftain caressed the wood behind her, glittering pulses lighting up from her fingers.

“We can help you. The Knights of Jadar are the allies of—”

An arrow flew into the man’s mouth as he spoke, piercing straight through and out the back of his head. He fell to his knees, clawing at his neck, grasping at the arrow.

“We do not need you,” the Chieftain corrected. “Seven more sun falls and their army will know the might of my people, and we will be free to fight another day.”

Vhalla pulled back into her body as Za was notching a second arrow.

“Call the majors, now.” Vhalla pulled herself into a seated position. “Get your father,” she added begrudgingly.

“What is it?” Aldrik stood from his place at the desk where he’d been working, sans any form of drink.

“Time is now precious.” She was tired from her Projection, but Vhalla had a growing fear that rest would be a rarer commodity in the coming days. What did this mean for the Empire’s plans? Vhalla stood. “I’ll explain to everyone at once; it’ll waste time and effort to pass along the information one at a time.”

“It’s that urgent?” His words were heavy.

Vhalla nodded gravely.

She waited at Aldrik’s right hand, standing at the center of the table as majors filled the room. Most wore confused looks but didn’t question the will of the prince and heeded his messengers. The Emperor entered shortly after, his usual sour look overtaking his face when he saw Vhalla at Aldrik’s side.

“Why did you call a meeting?” The Emperor turned to his son.

“Vhalla has something to report,” Aldrik replied.

“Which is?” The Emperor didn’t seem pleased with Aldrik’s reply.

“I have yet to be filled in on all the details myself,” Aldrik confessed.

The Emperor stared at him blankly, and Vhalla realized how far her liberties with Aldrik had been stretched. She had made the crown prince call a meeting entirely on her word. He had bent everyone to her will with his power.

“Miss Yarl—” the Emperor started, interrupted by the entrance of Baldair and his Golden Guard.

“What is the meaning of this urgent meeting?” Baldair asked as he reached the table, looking to his brother.

“Aldrik does not seem to know entirely himself,” the Emperor said coldly. “I do hope it is important, Yarl. We are all too busy to play your games.” His eyes swung back to her, and she felt his threat.

“I am not playing games,” she said firmly. Now was not the time to back down, doubt, or show weakness, she reminded herself. She had previously been bold before the Emperor, and she could do it again. “The Northerners are planning an attack.”

“What?” The word exploded across the table.

“That’s preposterous,” Major Schnurr scoffed.

“I heard it with my own ears. Seven more sun falls, said the Chieftain of Shaldan,” Vhalla reported.

“Leaders lie to their people all the time.” The Emperor waved a hand.

“Do they?” Vhalla didn’t miss the opportunity for the slight jab, and the Emperor started in angry shock. Before he could recover she continued, “The Chieftain wasn’t speaking to her people. She was speaking to the Westerner who has been working alongside her on behalf of the Knights of Jadar.”

Whispers and uncertain looks rippled across the table. The majors still hadn’t known. It seemed pointless to keep it a secret now. Furthermore, secrecy hadn’t exactly been doing them much good.

“Lies! Lies and slander are all that can be expected from the Windwalker.” Major Schnurr slammed his fist on the table.

“Major Schnurr,” Aldrik nearly purred, taking a half-step closer to Vhalla. His fingertips brushed against the small of her back. “I would be very careful with your next words.”

“There was a Knight of Jadar working with them?” Erion frowned from across the table.

Vhalla nodded solemnly.

“I must send word home to my father,” Erion mumbled.

“Can I tell my uncle that we have the Le’Dans beside us against this menace?” Aldrik asked Erion.

“The Le’Dans are friends of the Windwalker.” Erion nodded at the prince and then at Vhalla.

Vhalla watched as Major Schnurr stilled at the far corner of the table.

“How are they coordinating such an attack?” Raylynn asked.

“Some type of magic.” Vhalla shook her head. “I’ve never seen it before. Something with the trees.”

“You’re sure?” another major asked her.

“I am.” Vhalla nodded.

“But if you don’t know the magic—”

“I am telling you all I know.” Vhalla placed both palms on the table, leaning forward. “There has been communication. There is an attack coming of a magnitude that the Chieftain thinks will overwhelm our army. They are cornered and dying. This is an act of desperation. The head clan plans to use the attack as a means to escape, to keep the North alive.” Vhalla swallowed hard, thankful and surprised her arms hadn’t begun to quiver. “So we can debate if we can trust my word, or we can decide what will actually be done.”

They all stared at her in stunned silence. Vhalla swallowed hard. The grizzled Major Zerian at her right began to laugh. Everyone turned to him slowly.

“It is a sorry day when a girl from a library puts the greatest military minds in their place.” He grinned at her, and she saw a crazy glint to his eye. “Then again, we all know by now you’re not just some library girl. Continue, Lady Yarl.”

Vhalla saw the look of shock the Emperor gave the major at his use of an honorific, and she nodded firmly.

“I think we should rush the palace before the time is up. We have been training, the army is ready, and I am ready to lead.” She swallowed. Had she just said that? “The Western spy had relayed our plans of attack, but we still have the advantage. We can put their leaders to the sword and torch their sacred forest.” Vhalla wanted to feel horrified with herself. But she’d reminded herself that it was what must be done, reminded herself so many times that she now believed it.

“We do not know what their attack will bring, but it will crush their morale if their support forces sees their sacred forest smoldering.” A few majors nodded in affirmation as she continued, “Plus, it will raise the morale of our soldiers, and if we must fight, we will be coming off a victory. Therefore—”

“That is enough.” The Emperor nearly shouted over her, and the entire table jumped in surprise.

Vhalla leaned away from the table. She pursed her lips and swallowed, her emotions swinging between hatred, anger, and fear.

“Have I not made myself perfectly clear? You are not here to speak strategy. You are here to bring me victory—that is why I let you live.”

A few surprised glances were shared at the Emperor’s words. Aldrik shifted to face his father.

“We will not be attacking Soricium prematurely,” the Emperor announced before anyone could get in a word.

“My lord.” Major Zerian was the bravest of them all. Aldrik seemed too shocked, still processing his father’s proclamation. “We have been training for weeks and this is our best chance.”

“We will endure the attack and continue the siege until I say otherwise,” the Emperor decided.

Vhalla stared in dumb horror. He was going against logic for the sake of spiting her? She reeled with loathing. This man cared nothing for his people, for the suffering of others. All he cared about was the perception of his power.

“I agree with Vhalla.” Aldrik had finally recovered.

The Emperor snapped his attention to his eldest son.

“I agree with her as well,” Daniel spoke in her defense also.

Vhalla stared at him in horrified appreciation of his boldness.

“I, too, agree with Lady Yarl,” Erion stood alongside his fellow Golden Guard.

“She is not a lady!” the Emperor seemed to have had enough, and Vhalla’s chest tightened at the man’s tone.

“She is in the West,” Erion said evenly. “Are you saying the West’s traditions do not matter, my lord?” There was a dangerous implication to his words.

“I would never say such a thing.” The Emperor shook his head, not wanting to be caught insulting the people whom he depended on to win his war.

“As I said, the Le’Dans stand with the Windwalker. I am honored to have her be a lady of my home,” Erion practically decreed.

Vhalla saw other nods, even from one or two of the Southerners. This seemed to only worsen the Emperor’s disposition on the matter.

“I think your leaders have spoken, Father.” Aldrik’s voice came from her side. His eyes were nowhere close to seeing her as he challenged his father with an obsidian gaze.

“Do you?” the Emperor said slowly.

“I do.”

The Emperor did not look at her as he next spoke; he was too fixated on trying to stare down his son. “You forget yourself, Aldrik,” the Emperor breathed before continuing louder. “Miss Yarl, thank you for your report. You are excused.”

She blinked, frozen in place. After everything, after all she had done, now he was kicking her out?

“Do you misunderstand an order?” He finally turned to her, and she was startled into action.

“Of course not.” She stepped away from the table, starting for Aldrik’s room.

“I would like this to be a private conversation, Miss Yarl,” the Emperor added.

She paused, something about the bite in his implications sent a shiver up her spine. “I would never—”

“You seem to have a habit of listening on the private conversations of leaders,” he cut her off.

“But that was . . .” She blinked. Was he turning his own orders against her? Was he that arrogant to do it before everyone?

“I would rather not take any chances. Jax,” the Emperor said as he turned to the Westerner, “do you have what I entrusted to your care?”

“My lord, I would caution you against this.” Pure disgust fueled Jax’s weak objection.

“You do what I command!” the Emperor nearly shouted.

Jax turned helplessly to Baldair, and then to Aldrik. Neither prince seemed to be able to say anything otherwise. All eyes remained expectantly on the long-haired Westerner.

The major dragged his feet from the room as the Emperor turned to face her. Vhalla had never before seen the expression he wore in that moment. Of all her encounters with the Emperor, this was the one she feared the most. Because there was a morbid and dangerous satisfaction that was beginning to curl his mouth, like that of a wild beast who had found wounded prey.

“MISS YARL,” THE Emperor asked as he stepped away from the table, “do you fully comprehend what you are?” Vhalla kept her mouth shut and let the Emperor continue, all eyes on him. “Allow me to educate you, and my majors. You are a tool, you are a weapon, you are someone I need to take the North, and because you are my most loyal servant, you are more than happy to do so for me.”

“I am, my lord,” she agreed softly. For the first time in a long time, the Emperor’s emotionless stare truly unnerved her.

“Of course you are, child.” The Emperor stood before her, staring down the bridge of his nose. “I do not have you here to think. What a foolish thing that would be. Do not entertain the idea that your powers make you something you are not.”

Vhalla bit her lip to the point of pain, keeping in any protests.

Jax reentered, holding a square wooden box. There was a latch on the front that had been unlocked. Vhalla considered the Western writing upon it uncertainly.

“My lord.” Jax clutched the box with white knuckles. “Reconsider this course of action. You don’t know what—”

“Silence!” Major Schnurr snapped. “You are not one to object to the Emperor.” The major threw an ugly look in Jax’s direction.

“I know quite well what forces I am dealing with.” The Emperor opened the box reverently, admiring its contents. “It seems I must remind everyone that I alone command such forces.”

Vhalla’s eyes widened in panic seeing the box’s contents. She opened her mouth to speak, to grovel if she had to. She wouldn’t let them put her back there, back in a small, dark jail cell. Her mind didn’t comprehend that she was in the North, a world away from where she had been held during her trial following the Night of Fire and Wind.

“I swear to you, my lord, I won’t use my powers without your permission—never against the Empire,” she promised in a wavering voice.

“Oh, Miss Yarl, you were so much more impressive when you did not sound afraid,” the Emperor spoke so softly that no one but the Western major heard.

Emperor Solaris lifted the box’s contents: a large pair of shackles, worn as thick bands around the wrists and connected by a hinge. Inlaid upon the iron were polished stones that Vhalla vaguely recognized as crystals.

Aldrik finally saw as well. “Father, what are those?”

“Where did you get those?” Erion scowled deeply.

“Lord Ophain brought them on my request. Some still seem to remember to follow my orders. They were made in the West to keep creatures like her contained.” The Emperor glared at the lord who spoke out of turn.

“Lord Ophain would not wish for this.” Erion didn’t back down.

“You are too bold, Lord Erion! Everything falls to me, my word is law, and I must ensure the law is obeyed without question,” the Emperor declared, putting the fuming Western lord in his place. “Your hands, Miss Yarl.”

She was going to be sick. All Vhalla could think of was the feeling of iron closing around her wrists once more. They were going to hurt her again, worse than they had before. The Emperor was going to make good on all his promises about the dark future that awaited her.

“Your hands!” His patience ran thin.

Vhalla clenched her palms into fists to keep them from shaking, swallowing the taste of bile. Slowly, she raised her wrists. But where iron was to meet skin, warm fingers closed instead.

Aldrik pulled her away, his fingers tight and his eyes alight. She hadn’t even heard him move. “You will not put those on her,” he uttered threateningly. The prince angled his body halfway between Vhalla and his father.

The Emperor seemed completely taken aback at his son’s outward refusal of his will before their subjects. “Aldrik, you are making a fool of yourself.”

“This is wrong,” the prince insisted. He pulled Vhalla a half step closer, her balled fists resting against his chest. “She has served you dutifully and without question. She has saved my life—more than once—as well as the lives of countless others in your army. And she has likely saved your campaign today. And you would put her in irons?”

Vhalla absorbed the words that practically dripped disgust. There was a fearsome, barely controlled anger to the crown prince’s features. His jaw was set and his mouth pressed into a thin line as he glared at his father. Vhalla could feel the power radiating off of him, and even Jax took a step away.

“My son, I know you are intrigued by the girl’s magic. But this is for the best.” The Emperor’s eyes shone dangerously. “Go back to the table, so that we may move on from this and resume our discussion.”

Aldrik pointedly ignored his father, looking down at Vhalla. His voice audibly softened as he spoke, “Come, Vhalla. Since my father is so insistent on privacy, let me escort you to where you can rest; I am sure you’re tired from your Projections earlier.”

Vhalla nodded, grateful. She didn’t know if Aldrik really believed his words. Or if he saw her shaking like an autumn leaf and knew she needed to be anywhere else to compose herself.

“Aldrik!” the Emperor spoke his son’s name like a curse.

“I know you have been asked this before, but may we have your word that your magic will never be used against the will of the Solaris Empire?” Aldrik’s thumbs grazed gently over her wrists.

“You have my word, my prince,” she said softly, the tenderness in his eyes and manner reassuring her.

“Is her word good enough for you, Majors?” Aldrik turned back to the table.

No one moved. Vhalla was not surprised. He was asking them to openly defy the Emperor for his son. The right or wrong choice no longer mattered.

“It is good enough for me,” Daniel was the first to speak. His eyes met hers with determination, and Vhalla swallowed in relief. Even when she was half in Aldrik’s embrace, Daniel stood by her.

“And me,” Jax seconded. He wore a frown looking at the shackles the Emperor still held.

“I will say it, again: the Le’Dans stand with the Windwalker and the Lord of the West,” Erion proclaimed proudly.

“I see no reason why we should not trust her.” Vhalla had not expected Major Zerian’s support.

“I have always known Vhalla to be a woman of her word,” Baldair spoke as well.

The other majors seemed to be reassured that the second son was giving a nod or small voice of approval for Aldrik’s position.

“We have moved on from the time when such things were needed.” Aldrik turned back to his father. “Put the relic away so that it may return to the dark corner of the museum from where it came.”

There was a long silence. The Emperor squinted at Aldrik, looked to the table, and then focused only on her. Vhalla held her breath. Aldrik’s fingers were hot on her skin, and she took comfort in the fact that he had not let her go.

“Miss Yarl,” the Emperor addressed only her. “This is no longer about what you are, or are not, able to do. It is no longer about your word on what you will or will not do. What is most imperative is that you respect the will of your Emperor, your true lord.”

Aldrik’s hands clenched over her quivering wrists. She hated the position she stood in. She loathed the Emperor with every fiber of her being. Vhalla took a deep breath and, in spite of it all, she knew what she had to do.

The prince’s attention snapped to her as Vhalla tugged against his fingers. His shock uncurled his grasp, and Vhalla’s wrists slipped away. Recklessness made her bold, and Vhalla wrapped her fingers around his where they hovered in the air.

“My prince, thank you for your trust and faith in me,” she whispered softly. Aldrik’s lips parted to object, but Vhalla shook her head firmly. “I am a loyal subject and must follow the will of my Emperor.”

Her hands released his, and Aldrik made a motion to reclaim them. Vhalla stopped him with a cautionary stare. She had made her choice.

But, contrary to her words and all the words she would ever say publicly about it from then on, it was not a choice made from desire to follow her Emperor. It was inspired by the opposite feelings. With the majors’ support behind her, she would cement herself as the obedient soldier. She would knowingly turn herself into the humble servant, abused by their power-hungry master.

Or that was what she hoped would happen as Vhalla held out her wrists.

Finally having what he wanted, the Emperor placed the cold metal on her skin, snapping the cuffs shut. As soon as they latched, the crystals shone with a faint glow, the connection made in a complete circle. Vhalla gasped and staggered before doubling over and falling to her knees; it was as though someone had kicked her in the gut. No, it was as though someone had carved out her chest entirely.

“Vhalla!” Aldrik was on his knees beside her.

“Don’t touch her,” Jax cautioned. “Her body is now under the influence of the crystals, my prince; it could react poorly with your magic.”

She fought for air. It was as though the cuffs had taken away her ability to breathe or think. Her whole body felt strange, and she reeled from the vertigo.

“Are you all right?” Daniel’s step forward vaguely registered for Vhalla.

“I-I am. It’s . . .” she panted, struggling to breathe. It was as though the air itself had vanished. The world was too still. Even her own voice sounded distant and dull. “A shock.”

“I believe they are called Channels, the way a sorcerer draws their power.” The Emperor had a curious glint to his eyes. “These cuffs were engineered by Windwalkers in old Mhashan to be used on other sorcerers to block such passageways.”

On other Windwalkers, Vhalla corrected mentally. Her vision clouded, staring at the shackles. These had been made by slaves, for slaves.

“They work by blocking the source of a sorcerer’s magic and prevent it from being opened for the duration which the cuffs are worn,” the Emperor explained to a generally horrified table. “Given the abilities of a Windwalker, I can agree that removing her sorcery is the best course of action.”

Vhalla hadn’t realized how accustomed she had become to feeling magic. It was a part of her, and its absence made it feel as though it had been torn from her like a limb. Yet she struggled to her feet. Aldrik grabbed her elbow, helping her. She didn’t have the strength to caution him against touching her.

“She has proven her loyalty, Father. Take them off.” Baldair frowned at Vhalla’s empty expression.

“You are dismissed, Miss Yarl.” The Emperor walked back toward the table.

Vhalla stared at her feet, trying to ignore her hands bound together before her. She tried to will herself to move.

“Enough! I have had enough of this!” Aldrik gripped the box Jax was still holding, ripping it from his grasp. It fell loudly as Aldrik cast it aside for a small key contained within. The prince grabbed for her wrists. The crystals flared, reacting to Aldrik’s touch.

Aldrik grit his teeth and placed the key in the center hinge holding the shackles together. The cuffs popped open and fell off her wrists with a metallic thud. His jaw set, Aldrik picked them off the floor and threw them back into the box, snapping it shut.

“Jax,” Aldrik growled. “You take that into the forest, and you bury it somewhere far and deep. And you keep its location secret to your grave.”

Jax gave Aldrik an approving nod, taking advantage of the chaos and departing before any objections could be raised.

“My prince, that is the West’s heritage!” Major Schnurr was horrified.

“It is a heritage of hate.” The prince glowered at the dissenter. “It is a heritage that true Westerners do not take pride in.”

Major Schnurr shook his head, a mixture of anger and disgust on his face. He opened his mouth to speak but quickly thought better of it, storming out the door.

“Vhalla, come.” Aldrik took her hand in his.

“Son, you will not—” the Emperor began, his composure finally beginning to break under the public insolence, under not having his power play work out as planned.

“Father, I have found your behavior toward Lady Yarl—our guest, your loyal subject, the person whom you have brought here to help with your victory—appalling. You have tested her time and again, where each test she passes more stunningly than the last.” Aldrik pointed at his father. “No more. I will not let you harm her again—or demand for her to harm herself—for your amusement or to abate your insecurity. I understand the pressures of war have misplaced your better judgment. Hopefully you quickly realize the same, for I have no interest in any further discussion until a much deserved apology has been given.”

All stared at the prince in shock, including Vhalla. Aldrik was oblivious to it, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and ushering her quickly to the back hall. Vhalla expected to hear the Emperor stomping behind them, but no footsteps came. It all disappeared as Aldrik led her into the one place they had made their haven, slamming his door shut.

“I cannot believe he-he would—by the Mother,” Aldrik seethed. “Crystals, he brought crystals here? He’s a mad man! I cannot believe my uncle would produce them.”

“I’m sure Lord Ophain didn’t have a choice,” Vhalla pointed out what she hoped was true.

Aldrik continued, ignoring her. “How dare he use the chains the West used to treat Windwalkers like cattle—to use them, to kill them—on you.”

Around his hands, fire sparked to a blaze. Vhalla gripped his fist with both of hers, the flames licking around her fingers. “Don’t burn anything.”

His rage on her behalf was as comforting as it was fearsome. But she knew more anger would not solve the problems that needed solving. It was anger like this that drove the prince to dark places. She needed him to see that; she needed to keep him from it. Aldrik’s rage softened the moment his eyes met hers.

“Vhalla! Gods, Vhalla.” His hands went to her face, the fire extinguished. “How dare he . . . How could you? You should not have let him.”

“By doing so, I think it made him appear worse,” she explained.

Aldrik gave a raspy laugh. “You really thought that way?”

“Was I right?” Vhalla searched his stunned expression.

“You certainly were.” Aldrik brought his lips to her forehead, and she closed her eyes.

“You shouldn’t have, Aldrik.” Vhalla thought of his hands on her as she was under the effects of crystals, of Jax’s warning. She thought of his insolence before his father.

“No. Do not tell me that,” he demanded firmly. “That was entirely the right thing to do. I’m tired of standing by while my father treats you as he does. Appearances be damned.”

A stomping grew louder from down the hall. Vhalla inhaled sharply, and Aldrik pulled her tightly against him. Every horrible thing that could happen raced through her head: soldiers coming to take her from him, to put her away, to put her back in those awful chains. They shredded what strength she’d mustered. The door shook as the person banged on it.

“Brother, get back here before we have a civil war on our hands.” Baldair slammed his fist against the door again. Aldrik took a deep breath, his face buried in her hair. “I know what Father did was wrong,” Baldair lowered his voice. “It was foul really. But are you honestly surprised? Vhalla shamed him in front of his leaders. He was losing his power and needed to prove that he still had control. Father is nothing but a prideful man—”

Aldrik left her side to throw open the door.

“So I am to allow his actions to be forgiven for his tender pride?” Aldrik scowled.

“The Western majors are up in arms that he would use the cuffs. That it will hurt the West’s trade relations—”

“As they should be!” Aldrik’s anger was back, and it was being taken out on his brother. “She is an inspiration for the East, a beacon of hope, a new era, and he would send the message that he would treat Windwalkers as they were treated more than a century ago, hunt them, chain them, kill them. He outright called her a tool! Not even a person to him but a thing. I do not blame the Western leaders for not wanting anyone to think that the West is still in bed with such archaic thinking—as my uncle supplied the means!”

“They are threatening to ride home.” Baldair held out his hands, pleading and ignoring his brother’s righteous tirade. “Erion is leading them, and he’s not listening to me because I am not, ‘of the West’.”

“Good, then Father will see why he must respect the people whom he depends on,” Aldrik spat.

“Aldrik,” Vhalla cut into the conversation, commanding the attention of both princes with her tone alone. She crossed to her dark-haired lover and reached up to Aldrik’s cheek. He sighed softly under her touch. “Go.”

“But—”

“No.” Vhalla shook her head. “You need to show them that the future Emperor is a bigger man, a better man than the current one. I want this war to end; I will swallow any offenses against me for that goal, and I need you to do the same.”

“Vhalla,” Aldrik whispered softly.

“Go, find an end to this,” she begged of him. “You said you would take me home.”

“You are an amazing woman.” His hand went up to hers, and Aldrik looked at her lovingly.

Vhalla smiled softly at him.

“So, you’re coming?” Baldair hovered in the doorway.

“Yes.” Aldrik nodded. “And I plan to make it known that my compliance is the result of a woman who my father would rather have locked up like an animal.”

Baldair threw up his hands in defeat to Aldrik’s mood.

Her prince leaned forward and kissed Vhalla’s forehead lightly once more. She closed her eyes and sighed softly. If she was honest, she wanted him to stay. Aldrik’s presence reassured her, it made her feel safer. As though when they were together, nothing could stop them. But he did what she had asked, what he needed to do. Aldrik released her and walked over to his brother.

“Vhalla,” Aldrik spoke tenderly, but firmly. “If anyone other than me opens the door or tries to force entry, you will fight them. Lest my father try something underhanded while I am away from you.”

She nodded tiredly. “Good luck, both of you.”

The moment the door closed, the events of the day settled upon her all at once, and Vhalla leaned against the wall for support. Her knees buckled, and Vhalla slid into a ball by the door. She grabbed her arms tightly and tried to stave off the shivers, to fight off the memory of Rat and Mole and Egmun.

Vhalla also wondered in horror what the Emperor now knew about her and crystals. The cuffs were meant to work on any regular sorcerer, perhaps Aldrik’s lie of her not being able to manage the magical stones would still hold. If the Emperor knew she could manage them then that could turn her into something more. It could turn her into the Emperor’s means of unleashing a legendary power from the Crystal Caverns. Her head hurt trying to think about what that awful man may be scheming, and Vhalla pressed her eyes closed.

She must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, Aldrik was shaking her gently.

“Vhalla,” he whispered.

“Wh-what?” She blinked sleepily.

“Why are you on the floor?” His voice was thick with exhaustion.

“I don’t . . . I guess I fell asleep.” Vhalla didn’t want to tell him about her fears. She was certain he knew of them already. “What time is it?”

“Late,” he yawned, helping her to her feet.

They were quick to strip down to the most basic of clothes. Vhalla savored the level of comfort they had found with each other. She had to savor the few things that could still give her ease.

“Were you meeting all that time?” Vhalla asked.

“I was—we were.”

“I made a mess of things,” she muttered, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed.

“No, my father made his own mess. It was actually refreshingly amusing to watch him try to clean it up.” Aldrik crossed to stand before her.

Vhalla gazed up at her prince. He wore nothing but basic cotton trousers, pulled with a drawstring at the waist. His hair was limp, unfixed from the day’s battle of words and power plays. It curtained around his face and drew dramatic shadows across his angular features. The small flame that flickered loyally at his side cast light upon every scar he bore, telling tales of hardship and trial. Vhalla swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. There was something about his eyes that was totally different.

“Tonight, this past year, especially since the Crossroads, I’ve watched you grow. I’ve watched you find strength no one thought you had, deftly handle matters of state, navigate nobility, pushing yourself beyond every expectation,” Aldrik began.

“I was only trying to help.” The words spilled from her lips hastily. There was something about his mannerisms that elated her. That elated her so much it worried her. Her body knew what it saw in his eyes from the first word he spoke, but her mind rejected the knowledge. She was equal parts terrified at the ideas of him saying everything, and nothing at all.

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Do I enjoy it?” she repeated.

There was no parrot comment. Aldrik remained fixed on her answer.

“I suppose,” Vhalla whispered. “I’ve never been forced to synthesize knowledge like this, to really use it. It’s every piece of theory or history applied. It’s more than I’ve ever done each day, and even if it terrifies me, it often excites me.”

“There is a position which I need to fill. This position requires such things every day. Someone must assume the mantle before I can be Emperor.” The lump in Aldrik’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “It requires someone brilliant, someone strong, and someone kind. Someone who can temper me and remind me of my own humanity even in the darkest hour.”

“That sounds like a lot,” Vhalla whispered ineloquently. The moment was about to crest and with it her whole world would shatter.

“It is, and it will be.” Aldrik curled and uncurled his fingers. “But it is not without rewards. This person’s word would be trusted, respected, admired. She can shape the future of this Empire for good, for peace.” He focused on the floor a moment, a faint blush creeping up on his cheeks. “She could make her office my rose garden, forever, if she so chose.”

He knew just what to say. “How does one apply for such a position?” Vhalla whispered.

“It is not something you can apply for.” Aldrik’s eyes returned to her, and Vhalla’s chest swelled. “You must be asked.”

“By whom?”

“By me.” Aldrik knelt before her.

Vhalla struggled for sound. She struggled to breathe. Her toes had gone numb with shock—the world seemed to hang on the prince’s every word.

“Would you want me to?” he asked, taking her hands in his.

“I don’t understand,” her utterance was so faint it was barely heard. Her heartbeat was louder.

“Would you, Lady Vhalla Yarl, like to someday be the Empress Vhalla Solaris?”

“WHAT?” EVERYTHING HAD frozen into a singularity of impossibility, the world focusing on the crown prince, bare chested and on one knee before her.

Aldrik searched her face with so much fearful hopefulness that her chest threatened to explode. He didn’t say anything else. He knew she’d heard his proposal.

He proposed.

To her.

The seconds elongated—and Vhalla realized that there was no joke. There wasn’t a caveat. There was only a waiting prince before her who seemed to be panicking the longer she sat in shock.

“Not me, you can’t . . . pick me.” Vhalla shook her head.

“I can. I have.” Aldrik tightened his grip on her hands, a fearful edge overcoming his words. “Vhalla, I will not force you into anything you do not want. If you—” His voice cracked, and he paused. “—if you say yes. We would not marry until you were made a Lady of the Court, our engagement would be kept secret until then—though I promise you I will honor it. But, I must know, I must know if that is a road you would walk with me, hands joined.”

Every thought she had competed for attention in her mind: a secret engagement, a life with Aldrik, ruling a realm she was never made to rule, his rose garden, being Empress. They had so much yet to figure out. So much of their lives were in question. Vhalla wanted to pull her hands from him and demand their world to be more secure before she could even contemplate such an outlandish idea.

But, she stilled. What if they didn’t have time? What if she died tomorrow? What if, what if, what if. Those words circled in her mind and tried to obscure the one thing she wanted. The one thing she’d been fighting for from the first moment she knew what it was. The one thing that was waiting right before her.

“Yes.”

There would be time later to make sure it was the right decision, time before she swore any vows to him before the Gods and men. If there wasn’t time, then she would indulge the fantasy until her dying breath.

Aldrik blinked, his jaw relaxing and his lips parting. “It won’t be easy,” he breathed.

“You told me that before,” she reminded him.

“You’ll have to learn how to be a lady in the eyes of the Court.”

“I know.” Vhalla wondered if he suddenly regretted his decision. “I want to be with you, Aldrik. You’re my Bond, my fate is laced together with yours. You’re the first man I’ve ever truly loved, and I want to stay with you forever, if you’ll have me.”

“My lady,” he whispered in awe. “My lady!”

Aldrik pulled her off the bed, standing. His hands shifted from hers to tightening around her waist, and Vhalla’s body swelled to press against his. Aldrik captured her mouth firmly in a kiss that left no room for further questioning.

“I have something for you.” He pulled away, breathless.

“What?” Vhalla blinked in surprise.

Aldrik moved like a man who had years shaved off his life. “It should be cast in gold, more befitting of a future Empress. But silver seemed oddly appropriate, and I’ve more experience with the metal for this.” Aldrik rummaged through a chest, taking out a bag, which held a box, which held a smaller silken bag. The prince returned, presenting the white parcel to her. “I’ve been told that men in the East will offer a token to their bride to be as a promise of future prosperity.”

Vhalla took the bag gingerly, her fingers shaking. This was happening, she reminded herself as she pulled it open. She had just said she would marry the crown prince. It assumed an impossible number of things that would have to go their way. But, if it all did . . .

The token he had decided to gift her with must be enchanted, as it stole all her breath and attention.

The pocket watch was smaller than his in size, but was also cast in silver. Strung by a fine chain, it held a hook that could clasp around the top of the watch to be worn as a necklace or in the traditional fashion. Its back was polished to a mirror finish. Embossed upon its front was the blazing sun of the Empire, cut in half by a wing—the same wing that had been on the back of the Windwalker’s cloaks.

“You wished for time,” Aldrik explained. “I heard each utterance when you beseeched time to stop, for mornings not to come. I want you to know I shared your every sentiment. I wanted to give you the promise of my minutes, my hours, my days.” His long fingers curled around hers, around the watch. “My future is yours, Vhalla Yarl.”

“You have a plan.” She could see it in the way he moved.

Aldrik was beaming from ear to ear as he pulled the watch from her hands, reverently unclasping it and circling it around her neck. His fingers lingered on the silver, right above her breasts where it fell. “I do.”

Vhalla found herself quickly lost in the perfect black of his eyes.

“But it is a plan that hinged on your response.”

She raised a hand, feeling the weight of the necklace as he pulled his fingers away. “How?”

“First, we must win the war and earn your freedom—but we both knew that.” The churning of the prince’s mind was suddenly written on his face. “But in the process, we will make you a Lady of the Court, which must happen for our future together not to be questioned. With each passing day, seeing you among the majors, I’ve been more confident that such will happen with ease.”

Vhalla sunk back onto the bed in shock.

“The majors are enamored with you. They admire your strong and ‘noble nature’, your grace, your poise, your stunning intelligence and eloquence, and—after tonight—your inspiring loyalty.” Aldrik sat next to her. “My father excused himself over dinner, likely to hide his face, and the moment they were free of his presence, all they spoke about was you.”

“But they can’t make a lady.” Vhalla’s hands were still passing the watch back and forth, learning it’s every curve.

“No, only my father can,” Aldrik agreed.

Her heart sank. “It’s hopeless then.”

“My love, did you think I would ask you to marry me if I thought it hopeless?” Aldrik grinned. “Think. His majors will ask for your appointment to the court. His people will cry your name as the hero of this war. The East and West both look to you.”

“That still will not make him.” Vhalla was certain of the depth of the Emperor’s hatred for her.

“And that is why my plan hinged on knowing your willingness to be my bride before I put it in action.” Aldrik took her hands in his, grounding her once more with his touch. “I told you, my father wants to abdicate the throne to me when I am thirty, if I’ve met my obligations. Those obligations include taking a wife and producing an heir.”

She nodded, but she wasn’t sure if she really understood. Her world was up-side-down, and Vhalla just had to hold onto his hands until she knew which direction the sun would rise.

“After the war has ended, I will tell him that I have given you my heart and my word as a man. He will only have two options: to raise you to a ladyship and let me marry you; or to lose the picture-perfect succession he’s been fighting toward. If he doesn’t grant me this, I will refuse to see all other women. I will honor my vow to you in silence, forever. I will wait until he dies of natural causes and then succeed to the throne and elevate you myself.”

Vhalla ran it over in her head. It was stupid. It was insane. And she kissed him for it.

“Are you happy?” He pulled away breathless.

“How can you ask that?” Vhalla laughed softly. “Aldrik, you’re nothing I expected—and everything I never knew I needed.”

She kissed him like he really had given her all the time in the world, like the dawn would never come. She allowed herself to melt into his heat and just believe, to ignore the pain and live in the fantasy. Aldrik pushed her backward and they collapsed, tangled upon the bed.

Eventually their heaving chests slowed and the two lovers stilled. Vhalla drifted off to sleep with Aldrik’s arms tightly around her. The events of the day began to blur as Vhalla eased into the land of dreams.

Vhalla instantly recognized Aldrik’s memories. Perhaps it was from her acclimation to the dreamscape, or how she and Aldrik pushed deeper into their Joining, but she had little trouble identifying the memory and separating herself from Aldrik at the start.

Her eyes focused on the dark-haired boy strolling up the tower. His body was lanky and awkward; it was as though his arms and legs had grown overnight and the rest of him had yet to catch up. He wore a white jacket, open over a light golden shirt, with red trousers. Vhalla admired the color on him, red of the West, gold and white of the Empire. His hair was unbound and went past his shoulders, straight and black.

Walking with Aldrik was a southern man with hair cropped in layers around his ears. He rubbed the hint of a goatee on his chin. The boy glanced up at him with a laugh. “It looks like fuzz.” Aldrik’s voice was higher than she was used to, cracking from time to time to a deeper resonance.

“It’s only been four days,” the man said with a laugh.

“It still looks ridiculous.” Aldrik placed his hands folded behind his head as they walked. It was strange to see him stroll so relaxed.

“Whatever you say, my prince.” The man placed his hands in the pockets of dark blue pants.

“Aldrik is fine, Victor,” he sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”

Victor, Vhalla thought. This was a young Minister of Sorcery?

“My prince, you are almost a man; you need to take your station seriously,” he scolded lightly.

“I do take it seriously,” Aldrik protested indignantly.

“Oh? Is that why I’ve seen you sneak off from your lessons on multiple occasions, with a Miss Neiress?” Victor grinned at his companion.

“Larel is different.” Aldrik crossed his arms over his chest.

Vhalla thought the color on his cheeks was adorable. It settled sweetly over the grief that the mention of Larel instilled in her.

“Is she?” Victor asked

“You know she is.” Aldrik’s hands dropped to his sides.

“Fine, fine, my prince. But I would not be your mentor if I did not mentor you from time to time.” Victor kept his eyes forward, waiting, and Vhalla saw the moment he waited for arrive.

“It’s never been like that between us.” Aldrik inspected a button on his coat.

“Truly?” Victor considered the young prince curiously.

“I, we thought—” The boy prince paused uncomfortably. “But it isn’t. We’re just friends.”

Victor gave him a knowing smile but said nothing. He seemed equally as charmed as Vhalla was by the awkward nature of exploring young love.

By how Aldrik spoke of his relationship with Larel, Vhalla placed this memory before Baldair’s black sheep comment, before Aldrik’s first kill, but sometime after him and Larel kissed on the timeline of Aldrik’s life. She sadly absorbed the young Aldrik. Vhalla wondered how many happy moments there were after this time. How much of his life had been spent in darkness and loneliness? She wondered how far the man she knew today was from the boy she saw here, from where a normal man would be.

The two finally stopped before a door that Vhalla recognized, the door to the Minister of Sorcery’s chambers. Aldrik raised a hand and knocked. Vhalla thought through the history she had been shown via Aldrik. If he was a boy, about this age, if Victor was still a young man . . . a chill horror crept through her.

The door opened and Egmun stood before the two.

“My prince.” Egmun gave a small bow.

“Minister,” Aldrik responded. Then, to Vhalla’s utmost horror, the boy smiled to the man she hated more than anyone in the world, and that man smiled back. “How are you?” Aldrik asked nonchalantly, letting himself into the room.

“I have little to complain about.” Egmun closed the door behind the two and Vhalla realized that she was somehow standing in the office alongside Aldrik. “Especially when I am in the presence of the most powerful sorcerer in the realm.”

“You flatter me, Egmun,” Aldrik said with a wave of his hand, sitting in one of the chairs. Though the small grin at the corner of his lips said that he did not mind the flattery much.

“How have you been feeling since our last session?” Egmun sat behind the desk, pressing his fingertips together.

“You should know by now that such trivial things cannot hurt me.” Aldrik smirked, and Vhalla saw the boyish confidence for what it was.

“Of course.” The Minister chuckled, turning to Victor. “And you?”

“I am fine,” Victor said stiffly.

“Liar,” Aldrik yawned.

Victor shot him a glare.

“Victor, you need to be honest with me.” Egmun looked at the young man expectantly.

“My Channel felt a little strange the other day.” Victor glared at Aldrik, who shrugged.

“We will observe it, but you may need to stop,” Egmun noted.

Stop with what? Vhalla wanted to ask.

“I can carry on,” Victor said definitively.

“We will see.” Egmun’s tone had a hint of finality. “Today then, my prince, it shall just be you.”

Egmun stood, and Vhalla could feel a quiver of nerves from the boy. What was Aldrik nervous about? It suddenly set her on edge as Egmun went to a back cabinet. She remembered a night, that couldn’t have been far from this one, in some dark place where Egmun would force blood upon Aldrik’s young soul.

When the Minister returned, his hands were laden with a box. Vhalla inspected it. She saw Western writing on its lock, but nothing else was particularly special. Something about it was familiar enough to tickle her memory; she’d seen it somewhere before. Someone had opened it for her. Vhalla tried to get a better look as Egmun placed it on the desk. She felt Aldrik take a breath, and she stilled with apprehension. Egmun clicked open the box.

Vhalla was startled awake by the sound of clanking bowls and plates. She rolled over in bed, surprised to discover Aldrik was not with her. He was standing next to the source of the sound. A worn-looking tray with some dishes upon it.

“Good morning.” He smiled. “How is my lady this day?”

Vhalla imprinted her prince’s handsome face on her memory. The dream was already blurring in the wake of daylight. “I had a dream.”

Aldrik paused, searching her for confirmation that she meant what he thought she did.

“A memory,” Vhalla clarified delicately.

“What was it?” She could see him trying to keep his voice level, the panic away from his eyes and his heart.

“Nothing important.” Vhalla shook her head, desperate not to cast a shadow over them so early in the day, especially not after so joyous a night. “You and Victor in the Tower, working with Egmun on something.”

“What were we working on?” Aldrik’s words betrayed no emotion.

“I don’t know.” Vhalla saw the conflict written clearly on his face. “It didn’t seem that important.” She smiled encouragingly. “Is that food?”

The question broke him out of his trance. “Oh, yes. I thought breakfast in bed might be nice.” Aldrik appeared equally eager to change the topic.

“No one will question you bringing me food in bed?” Vhalla teased, scooting to the side as he carefully transitioned some of the bowls and plates onto the tired mattress.

“Let them question.” Aldrik rolled his eyes. “If they have so much free time to concern themselves with what I’m eating and with whom, then they are ignoring something important,” he proclaimed arrogantly.

Vhalla laughed lightly, happy the mood hadn’t been lost and the dream could be pushed aside. “This is the first time I’ve ever eaten breakfast in bed.” She’d heard nobles engage in such things, but people of her status had to wake and begin the day. They also didn’t have people to cook for them.

“Is it?” Aldrik hummed, chewing over a scrap of meat.

“It is.” She nodded, reaching for a bowl of rice. Vhalla keenly picked up the brief hesitation around his words. “What about you?”

The prince paused, looking up at her. Vhalla stilled as his hand reached out, caressing the silver watch against her chest. “I have. Once before you,” he said thoughtfully.

“Oh?” It was a noise more than a direct question so he had the opportunity to ignore it.

“Her name was Inad.” Vhalla blinked at a woman’s name from Aldrik’s mouth. Not from jealousy, but because he had hardly ever mentioned the people he was with previously. He’d told her he had taken three women to bed before her, and Aldrik wasn’t the type for casual encounters between the sheets, so Vhalla suspected they’d each been someone to her prince. “It was the morning after my first time. She brought it to me, and it was special.” His hand fell from her chest.

Vhalla caught his fingers before they hit the bed. “What happened to her?” Vhalla asked. It hardly seemed as though he harbored any kind of anger toward the woman.

“My father found out about us, her and me.” Aldrik sighed. “I was supposed to meet her one day in the library.”

“The library?” Vhalla blinked.

“I wasn’t yet twenty.” He finally glanced back at her. “I don’t think you were even there yet.”

Vhalla nodded. Sometimes their gap in age felt like nothing, other times it felt like he lived an extra lifetime before her existence had mattered to anyone. But her existence hadn’t been anything notable until her magic—until him.

“But it is rather ironic,” he chuckled. “I always seem to find more important things than books in that library.” Aldrik’s eyes met hers, and Vhalla’s chest swelled to the brim with the adoration he poured upon her.

“In any case . . .” Aldrik stared at the world through the slats in the shutters. “My father found out, and he was less than pleased. She was a lower member of the Court, on the fringe really, and her family had been involved in some scandal. She wasn’t considered suitable for me, by him.”

“What did he do?” Vhalla asked.

“He sent her family back to the West,” Aldrik answered. “Or that’s what I was told. I never saw or heard from her again.”

“That’s awful.” Vhalla frowned. Could his father not give Aldrik a moment’s reprieve?

“It certainly put a sour taste in my mouth about the ladies of the Court and my father’s influence in my romantic life.” Aldrik nodded thoughtfully. “I realized I was simply a means for most of them to become Empress. When they saw me, they saw the titles, the power, and the gold that came from being Empress Solaris. Those were the type of women my father wanted me with. The ones who brought their own titles and aspirations. They were the ‘smart’ matches because they could give me something in return for what I gave them.” He leaned back. “Inad was different because she was never in that pool; being Empress never crossed her mind when she was around me.”

The emotion in his eyes stilled her. He was waiting for her to put it together. A small smile crossed Aldrik’s lips. Vhalla shook her head and laughed softly.

“Did you see me that way from the start?” she asked.

“No,” Aldrik confessed. “I told you in the chapel all those months ago. Initially, you were just a fascination, an amusement, and perhaps something practical when I learned of your powers. You made yourself into something more than that when I realized that somehow you were willing to tolerate the supreme ass that I am.”

“You’re not a supreme ass.” Vhalla rolled her eyes, shoveling an unladylike amount of food into her mouth.

“I certainly can be,” Aldrik insisted.

“Well, I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.” Vhalla went back for more food, surprised to find she finished the whole bowl. It was easier to eat around him, she realized. Her spotty habits when it came to food faded away when she felt so at ease.

A short time later, they both stood and cleaned up their mess. Vhalla crept to the bathroom to tend to morning ablutions as Aldrik sorted out the tray. When she returned, Aldrik had assumed his place at his table.

“You’ll Project again today,” he informed her. “To see if we can get any more intelligence on what’s coming.”

“I think people suspect that you’ve locked me in your room and will never let me leave for more than a few hours at a time.” Vhalla sunk back onto the bed with a laugh.

“I am a healthier man with you around. I can hardly be blamed.” Aldrik returned her mischievous look before returning to his work.

Vhalla grabbed the watch at her neck, peering at the ticking hands within. It was warm to her touch, and the familiar links of the chain confirmed her previous theory when she first saw his watch. Her prince could make intricate devices also.

“Oh, what did the majors decide?” Vhalla asked, shifting her attention from admiring his profile to something productive.

Aldrik sighed heavily. “My father was adamant that he did not want to rush Soricium and burn it. No one seemed willing to risk his disfavor any further.”

“I can’t say I blame them,” Vhalla mumbled, relinquishing any expectation that the Emperor would follow her suggestion. One way or another, it would end.

“The majors are already beginning to organize the troops. Our best scouts have been sent into the forest to locate where the Northerners are amassing. If possible, we will take out some of their groups before they have time to attack. But we don’t want to alert them to the fact that we know of their plans.”

“Well, at least the spy inside the fortress is dead.” Vhalla found some small benefit to the act. Despite the fact that it meant they’d likely never discover the informants on the Empire’s side of the wall.

“Father wants to wait for the Northern attack to fail, then send a final message demanding surrender before putting Soricium to the torch,” Aldrik reported.

“He wants it to be like your uncle and the West,” Vhalla mused aloud, thinking of how the previously ruling family of the West still maintained some power, even if the king had been killed.

“I think so,” Aldrik affirmed. “There is some sense left in his head. He won’t completely kill off the head clan if they swear fealty to him. They can help him contain the North better than a foreign leader. You said yourself that the North is dedicated to their history.”

“Should I scout the forests some?” Vhalla asked.

“No.” Aldrik shook his head. “Our scouts are well-trained and will cover more ground than you can alone. Your time and effort is better spent focusing on the palace.”

“Understood.” Vhalla closed her eyes and slipped out of her body.

They had six more sunsets until what she hoped would be the final battle for the North.

SHE WAS STARVING by the time she pulled out of her Projection, and Aldrik insisted they eat dinner with the majors. Vhalla wasn’t going to object to anything that would put food into her. Eventually, she would be forced to face the Emperor; she would rather that time transpire with Aldrik—with her future husband—at her side.

He had said the majors were not cross with her over the shackles incident, but Vhalla questioned that the moment she walked into the long hall. Whatever meeting had been occurring had broken for dinner, but the food was quickly forgotten. Half the room was on their feet at the sight of her.

“Lady Vhalla.” She was immediately grateful to Erion for breaking the silence. The Western lord crossed to face her, bending into a low bow. “I want to formally apologize for the incident yesterday.”

Vhalla shifted uncomfortably under the weight of all the attention. “It was not your idea, Erion. You’ve nothing to apologize for.”

“Even still.” He straightened. “I do not want you to think that the West feels that way toward you, or any Windwalker alive today.”

“I know it doesn’t.” Vhalla gave an encouraging smile, and it seemed to be well-received by the Western lords.

Her eyes met Jax’s a long moment, and the Head Major of the Black Legion said nothing. The silence, however, was telling enough. There was a remorseful discomfort to it, and Vhalla knew it was the most apology she would get from him. She’d realized it the night the Emperor returned; they were both pawns of the crown. Creatures that barely had free will couldn’t be held responsible for their actions, not really.

Aldrik led her to a spot in the middle of the table that magically appeared, placing her at his right. Vhalla sat, instantly scanning the spread of food for whatever seemed the most palatable. If she ever returned to the palace, she would never complain about the servants’ and staff ’s meals again. Her eyes glanced over to Aldrik, if she ever ate such meals again.

“If it is any reassurance, I made sure the damn box was buried far and deep.” Jax surprised her with his announcement, a wicked grin overtaking his face at the end of his words that assured her things had returned to normal between them. “And if anyone tries to bring it near you again, I trust you to fight tooth and nail.”

Vhalla laughed at the sudden image of her blowing the Emperor onto his rear.

“When this war is over, you should come to the West, Lady Vhalla,” another Western lady remarked.

Vhalla couldn’t help but notice Major Schnurr was missing as the table voiced mutual agreement.

“Here, here!” Erion raised his glass.

“I think your reception would be glorious. We have libraries on magic alone that are, I am certain, beyond your wildest expectations.” Jax seemed to know exactly how to tempt her.

“When put like that . . .” Vhalla mused.

“She has a place in the capital,” Aldrik said firmly.

Vhalla lost the fight with the blush that instantly appeared on her cheeks. A place at the capital by his side, he meant to say. If he spoke like that, everyone would know of their engagement within weeks. Their engagement, her heart still did flips at the thought.

Jax paused, peering at the prince. “It’s been some time, my prince, since you last paid a visit to the home of your forefathers. How long has it been since you visited your mother’s grave? Why don’t you go together?” A sly curl took to the corners of his mouth. “Imagine the reception for both of you, side by side. The Western prince, master sorcerer, returning home with the first Windwalker in over a hundred years—not in chains but as a free woman, a lady perhaps! A decorated soldier and master in academia—”

“I wouldn’t say I’m a master in academia,” Vhalla objected.

Jax didn’t seem to hear Vhalla as he continued, “—a girl who has risen from her servitude to change the world! They will weep in the streets, they will name babes after you both! These are the actions bards sing of and young maids weep over!” Jax clutched his chest. “You two will—”

“Jax, enough.” Aldrik pinched the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh.

Jax roared with laughter, and Vhalla buried her face in her food to hide her slowly burning face. She would lie if she said his depiction did not wet her appetite for the West. Vhalla noticed the amused—yet approving—looks from the other Westerners at the table. She raised a hand, running her fingers over the small watch.

Vhalla failed to notice that more than one lord and lady at the table took note of the new token around her neck.

“Shades of Jax’s madness,” Aldrik muttered.

“Ah, friend, you know you enjoy it!” Jax raised his flagon in a mock toast.

“You tell me that every time, but I am still uncertain if it is true,” Aldrik said dryly. His tone was just flat enough to be void of bite, and Vhalla knew Aldrik truly did enjoy the man’s company.

The talk quickly turned serious; there was only so much time to spare on levity. From the direct questions and the flow in conversation, Vhalla learned what she had missed throughout the day. It seemed no one was enthused about the idea of waiting for an unknown attack when Soricium was ripe for the taking. But the Emperor had spoken, and they had no choice but to bend to his will. He’d made that fact brutally apparent when he put the chains on Vhalla despite their objections.

The moment the food was finished, they returned to their spots around the standing table. Aldrik needed to be filled in as well, as he’d spent most of the day at her bedside. He had a completely different face when discussing strategy and war than the face he wore when it was just he and Vhalla. But his eyes shared a similar intensity when he was focused on her form as it was under his hands and weight. It made Vhalla shift in place, suddenly hot.

Erion would lead the attack on the western side of camp. He’d split swordsmen with Daniel, who’d be on the east. Baldair would take the swordsmen on the north, with Raylynn leading the archers at his side. The Emperor and Major Zerian would take the south.

Jax announced that he would be fighting with Erion in the west. Which left Aldrik to volunteer himself on the east side to lead the other half of the Black Legion. Vhalla forced herself not to show any emotion as she watched Aldrik’s name be penned into the map for the east side.

This was his duty as their prince, the ultimate leader of the Black Legion and their future Emperor. He would fight and lead on the battlefield. She clutched the watch at her throat tightly. Even knowing he’d been training for moments like this since he was a child didn’t make the knowledge easier.

The other majors explained their positions, dividing their expertise among the different sections of the armies. Vhalla focused on the appointments of this person or that person to this position or that position. Halfway through, the Emperor joined them all once more, settling at the head of the table and casting a heavy cloud over the group.

Aldrik showed the nearly final list to his father.

“Where will the Windwalker go?” the Emperor’s eyes drifted to her, nothing but utter distain held within them.

“Do we want her in the palace?” Baldair asked, ignoring the tension. “To relay information from within?”

“That is certainly one useful place,” Raylynn thought aloud.

“Where do you want to be?” Major Zerian turned to Vhalla, with everyone else’s eyes following.

“I will be wherever I am most useful.” Vhalla glanced at the Emperor, wondering if there was a right and wrong answer to the question.

“Of course you will be.” Major Zerian had the makings of a weathered smile. “I am asking because the place you will be most useful is the place you want to be.”

“I don’t want to Project. I want to fight.” There was no question in Vhalla’s mind.

“What?” Daniel was surprised, and he wasn’t alone.

“Really?” Baldair asked.

“I was brought here to give insight, or entry, into the palace. I have done the former, and with these current circumstances, the latter does not seem necessary,” Vhalla addressed the confused and curious looks. “I think I will be of more use on the field.”

“I have been itching to see a legendary Windwalker twister,” Jax commented with a smirk.

“We do not know how this battle will end, what will need to happen after. We may still need entry into the palace; it seems foolish to risk the life of the only person who can grant it,” Craig pointed out.

Vhalla frowned. It made sense, but she wasn’t exactly fond of Craig for suggesting it in that moment.

“I think we should let her fight,” the Emperor announced. Everyone was surprised, other than Vhalla and the princes.

He would want her to fight, Vhalla mused darkly. She wouldn’t be surprised if he had some “accident” planned to occur in the chaos of battle.

“If she fights, she fights with me,” Aldrik proclaimed, clearly having a similar thought. There was a small threat in his tone, daring anyone to question him.

Even the Emperor remained silent.

“Then she fights with you,” Major Zerian voiced the final decision.

Vhalla heard Aldrik take a breath and hold it as he leaned over the paper they had been working on. She watched as his hand moved, squeezing the name of his future bride in a small space next to his. The ink dried and, just like that, it was done.

The following days passed easier than expected. Vhalla had never expected to find peace, nevertheless happiness, at the end of the world. But that was the only way she could describe the feelings that had taken root in her chest.

Preparing for war was exhausting work. She spent nearly every day Projecting, and when she wasn’t, she was at Aldrik’s side lending her insights to planning the army. The majors seemed to have accepted her as one of them and listened to her thoughts even when Aldrik wasn’t part of the conversation, even when he was off tending to something else. It was bold, but they displayed few issues in accepting her as the prince’s voice in his absence. Aldrik encouraged it by deferring to whatever she’d decided.

The Emperor did not bother her or Aldrik either. Vhalla was not delusional enough to think that he too had accepted her. It was far more likely that he had been so scorned by Aldrik and the majors’ fondness of her that he was licking his wounds quietly. Or, scheming. Likely both.

Vhalla noticed the majors’ eyes on her watch more than once. But no one asked. The same was not true for Fritz. He babbled and gawked over it every time Vhalla went to visit him.

She decided not to tell the Southerner about Aldrik’s proposal, merely writing off the token as a gift. Fritz didn’t question, and Vhalla felt guilty for taking advantage of his blind trust. Something about it all remained impossibly unreal. It was still a dream, a pretense, a make believe that she would one day marry Aldrik.

At night, the prince would assure her otherwise in every way he knew how, in ways Vhalla hadn’t even conceived were possible.

The closer the final day came, one more thing began to creep up between her every thought. On the eve of the battle, it was all she could think of: the axe. She knew it existed, she could feel it in her bones, and Minister Victor had asked her to retrieve it. If it was as powerful as he claimed, then the last thing Vhalla wanted was for it to fall into the wrong hands.

She hadn’t noticed she’d been staring into space until a palm rested on her lower back. Vhalla jumped in surprise. Aldrik stood at her side.

“Go to bed,” he commanded softly. Aldrik misunderstood her distraction for exhaustion. “This is the last night, and you need all the rest you can get.”

“What about you?” Vhalla asked, glancing to make sure no one was close enough to hear.

“I will be burning the midnight oil.” Aldrik shook his head. “Not sleeping is back to normal for me.”

“Not anymore,” Vhalla was eager to correct him.

“Perhaps you are right. Normal has become actually sleeping through the night.” Aldrik grinned.

“I’m ruining you,” Vhalla jested lightly.

“How dare you make me sleep and take care of myself,” he replied in mock anger.

“Is it really alright if I leave?” she asked, looking at how busy the room still was.

“We all have to sleep eventually. Some of the others have already shut their eyes.”

“When will you?” she asked.

“Soon.” He glanced away.

“How soon?” Vhalla could tell when her prince was avoiding her.

“Perhaps by dawn.” Aldrik shook his head. “Don’t wait for me.”

“Fine,” Vhalla sighed with a glance at the Emperor. She had hovered at Aldrik’s side for long enough. She wasn’t about to push their luck any further by demanding he always disappear with her, that they not so mysteriously retire at the same time.

Aldrik’s shoulders dropped as he became more intensely focused on the work at the table before him. Vhalla stepped away, and the majors who still lingered gave her respectful nods. The Emperor ignored her departure entirely.

Vhalla was opening the door to Aldrik’s room just as a slightly rumpled Baldair was departing his. She’d missed his prior departure from the group. Vhalla paused to give him a small smile.

“Hello, Vhalla.” He yawned.

“Hello, Baldair.” She lingered, noticing how the prince paused.

“Vhalla.” Baldair glanced down the hall. “I may not have another chance to say this . . .”

“What is it?”

“Good luck.” The words were simple enough, but they had a depth of meaning. “And keep yourself alive.”

“That’s the plan.” She grinned tiredly. “And you also, Baldair.”

Just when Vhalla thought the conversation finished, Baldair spoke, “I would miss you.”

“Huh?”

“I would,” he insisted. “If something happened, I would miss you.”

“Baldair, your affections are a little late,” Vhalla laughed softly.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” He ruffled her hair, his palm resting a moment on the crown of her head. “Over these past weeks, you’ve become a part of the family, and I kind of enjoy having you around.”

“Kind of ?” She couldn’t resist.

“Mother, woman, take the compliment!” He put his hands on his hips and chuckled.

“I enjoy your company too, Baldair.” Vhalla smiled. They had come a long way. “Now that you’ve stopped tormenting me about your brother.”

“Yes, well . . .” He ran a hand through his hair. “I thought I was being helpful, for both of you. But you’ve inspired such changes in him. He’s not the man he was just a year ago, and I must admit that we have you to thank for it. I’ve never seen him like this before, and I’m sorry for trying to halt its progression.”

“I’m not upset with you.” Vhalla realized he was waiting for her verdict.

“I’m glad,” the prince spoke earnestly. “I think when we are back at the palace, I would like to get to know you again, Vhalla.”

“Oh?” She arched her eyebrows.

“I have known you as a library girl that made for some amusement at the expense of my brother.” She snorted and he continued, “A soldier, an addition to my brother’s Legion. Then, as my brother’s . . . lover.” He coughed over the last word.

“It’s like you have never seen your brother with a woman,” Vhalla teased.

“I don’t normally! It’s—weird! He’s not supposed to be this warm and kind creature,” Baldair protested. The light moment faded quickly as his cerulean eyes fell to her chest.

Vhalla glanced down insecurely, seeing the source of his attention. Her hand quickly went up to the watch that was now a familiar weight at her throat.

“I’d like to get to know you better, that’s all,” Baldair said thoughtfully. “As the woman who my brother has deemed worthy.”

“I would like to get to know you better as well,” Vhalla softly replied. He knew, she was certain of it. He knew Aldrik’s make as well as she did and, even if he didn’t know the watch was an engagement token, the younger prince held a poignant awareness that it was significant. That things had formally changed with it.

“I’ll see you then.” Baldair clasped a hand over her upper arm. “As we celebrate victory.”

Vhalla smiled and nodded, watching as he walked away. The expression didn’t drop from her face until she was in Aldrik’s room alone.

Victory, the word spun in her head. Tomorrow they would battle against the North’s last stand. She clutched the watch so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

Resolved, Vhalla turned to the window. No one could see her; they would stop her if they did. Vhalla donned her chainmail and pulled up the hood. She pushed open the shutter and slipped out into the night, quickly walking away from the camp palace.

She had one night. She had until dawn when her prince would return to bed looking to curl against her. Vhalla had to defend their victory. Somewhere in the darkness, an axe that could cut through souls waited.

VHALLA KEPT HER head down as she traversed the camp. There was a palpable force to the soldiers’ motions, and she slipped unimpeded through the tense bustle. The military knew of the attack, and everyone seemed to gird themselves to face what the next day would bring.

More than once, she saw soldiers stitching painted wings to their clothing, etching the symbol of the Windwalker onto their armor. Vhalla bit her lip, thinking of Tim. What had happened while she was working in the camp palace? Did all these people really think that a symbol could protect them against whatever the North could devise?

She didn’t say anything, however. She kept on her course to the edge of camp and up the rise toward the burnt track that ran around the perimeter. Vhalla wondered briefly what Soricium was like before the military. There must have been trees where the Imperial army now camped. Had it been like the capital in the South with thousands of people making their home around the fortress?

Vhalla would’ve paused to contemplate the idea, but she didn’t want to turn around just yet and give her pursuer knowledge that she was aware of his presence. Vhalla had heard a set of footsteps behind her since shortly after the camp palace. At first, she thought it was just a soldier who happened to have business in the same direction as she, but they had been trailing her too long for it to be mere chance. She clenched her fists, waiting until they had crested the rise and started on the burnt stretch—until they were alone.

She took a deep breath, bracing herself. There was only one explanation for a person tailing her. Whatever the Knights of Jadar were planning, they would not be successful.

Shifting her weight, Vhalla pivoted on one foot, raising a hand across her chest. Magic was swift under her fingers, ready to lash outward. Her whole body froze awkwardly the second her eyes met a familiar set.

“Daniel?” she uttered, confused.

“Where are you headed?” His hand rested on the pommel of his sword, but only lightly. It betrayed his training. If she had lashed out at him, he would’ve been ready. He would’ve dodged and countered before Vhalla had a chance to blink—if she wasn’t leveraging Aldrik’s depth of combat knowledge.

“Where are you headed?” she retorted.

“I asked you first.” It was a childish response, but that didn’t make it any less effective.

Vhalla shifted her balance, dropping her arm. “I have something I need to do.”

“Something reckless,” he clarified for her.

“Perhaps.” Vhalla shrugged. She hadn’t honestly given her course of action much thought. She only knew it needed to be done.

“Perhaps.” Daniel shook his head and chuckled, mostly to himself. His gaze was one that Vhalla hadn’t expected to see ever again. There was a deeply rooted tenderness, an admiration that made Vhalla want to remind him that she was a taken woman.

Her hand went up to her neck, grabbing for Aldrik’s watch. It was under her chainmail, and her fingers rested awkwardly atop the metal.

“I know you.” Daniel took a step closer. “You have this knack for being reckless and attracting danger.”

“So?” She took a step back. “Are you going to force me to go back?”

The Easterner laughed, shaking his head and tossing his brown hair. “Certainly not, your life is yours to live. But I will protect you, if you will have my sword.”

“Because Baldair ordered it?” Vhalla didn’t know why it mattered.

“Have I ever needed an order to be near you?” He had a point Vhalla could not refute.

“He didn’t send you?” Vhalla realized Daniel had thought she was referring to Baldair’s previous, general order of protecting her.

“Baldair?” Daniel was confused now as well. “No, I saw you in camp and decided to see where you were off to.”

“How did you know it was me?”

Daniel crossed the remaining distance and Vhalla waited. He took the half step into the threshold of personal space that was a little too familiar. He was a breath away and, were they not both wearing armor, she would’ve been able to reach out and feel his firm chest, the way the muscles curved under her palm. His hazel eyes were as warm as a summer day.

“I’ve never seen another chainmail like this.” His fingers ran along the edge of the hood.

The rough pad of a finger fell off the chainmail and onto her forehead, lightly running over her skin. Vhalla realized that nothing had changed for Daniel. Even knowing about her and Aldrik, about where Vhalla’s heart was given, he still felt a more than friendly level of ardor for her. But, as he pulled his hand away, he resigned with grace to the role in her life he could play.

It made her heart ache with a conflict.

“So, will you tell me then what you’re out here hoping to achieve?” Daniel took the half step out of her personal space.

“I think the less you know the better,” Vhalla decided after only a moment’s debate. She set out once more for her destination; there wasn’t any time to waste.

“That sounds ominous.” Daniel walked at her side.

Vhalla stared at the structure they were approaching. It was an ominous sort of night. The full moon stared down at them like one wide eye of the Dragon of Chaos that lore said it contained. The closer they neared to the ruins of old Soricium, the more prominent the feeling of being watched became.

It was a feeling that exactly mirrored one she had felt before in the Crossroads, when a Firebearer’s eyes lingered on her for far too long. But they were half a continent away from that curiosity shop now. It was far more likely that the eyes Vhalla felt were those of a waiting enemy.

The ruins were larger than Vhalla remembered. They seemed to almost double in size from one end of the scorched earth to the other. Now they towered taller than any single building she’d ever seen—that wasn’t the palace—and Vhalla felt dwarfed by its presence. The trees and roots that were gnarling their way through the stone seemed to only penetrate so deep. Under the crumbling façade was a deeper layer of smooth stone, much like she’d seen in Soricium.

“Has anyone ever gone in?” she asked Daniel. It wasn’t his first tour so she thought he may know.

“In? No.” He shook his head.

Vhalla paused at the tree line, staring into the yawning darkness created by the canopy of the jungle. Even the light of the moon couldn’t penetrate to the forest floor. The last time she had gone into this jungle she had come out with almost nothing.

Clenching her fists, Vhalla took a step forward, deeply grateful for Daniel’s presence.

She began walking around the building, running her hand along the stone. It was a sorcery unlike any she’d ever felt. Most magic Vhalla had ever encountered seemed to move. Firebearers crackled and radiated, Waterrunners ebbed and flowed, Groundbreakers were vibrant and colorful in their sorcery. But, this—this was a pulse rooted to something much deeper than any Channel Vhalla had ever encountered.

Even Daniel had fallen quiet. His eyes were on high alert, and he scanned the treetops and forest floor for any sign of an attack. Vhalla felt the hair on the back of her neck rise, the feeling of eyes becoming so great that she paused to shift into her magical sight and listen on the wind for any breath of enemies.

It was silent.

The forest was so chillingly still that Vhalla turned and peered over her shoulder, desperate to see a sliver of moonlight from the way they had come. The thick brush had already closed in around them, blotting out any view of the Imperial camp beyond. As if the forest was a hungry beast that had swallowed them whole.

There was nowhere to go but forward, so Vhalla pushed on. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but as they rounded the back end of the structure, Vhalla barely contained a sigh of relief and a groan of frustration. All she could see was more of the same. More magically shaped stone defending the building’s contents from everything—even the trees.

She stilled, repeating the only facts that she knew about the axe. Achel slept in a stone tomb. Judging from where Za had been focused, Vhalla was certain that this was the “stone tomb” she had been referring to.

The Gods watch over what is theirs.

She turned her face upward. Vhalla squinted through the edge of the canopy where the trees couldn’t encroach upon the top of the structure. High above was the great eye that peered down upon the whole world: the Gods.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Daniel hissed as she planted her feet against the rock.

“We have to go in through the top,” Vhalla whispered in reply, her feet already by his head.

“Vhalla, if you fall—”

“Falls can’t hurt me, remember?” Anyone else would have likely been dissuaded from tackling such a tall climb. But Vhalla found herself breathing easier with each pull of her arms, with each footing she found that brought her upward. The air was freer up high than in the inky blackness of the jungle floor. Climbing toward the sky was freedom.

Daniel was a cacophony of noise the moment he tried to ascend as well.

“Daniel!” Vhalla tensed, stalling on a narrow ledge. He created enough clanking to alert anyone who was even remotely close to their presence. He was too encumbered by his armor to go further. Vhalla sighed softly, knowing what needed to be said. “You can’t follow me.”

“Vhalla!” he protested with genuine panic.

“You said it yourself: if you fall, it won’t be good.”

“I want to go with you.”

“Don’t make me watch another man I care about fall.” The words escaped before she gave them any thought, just unfiltered truth. Another man I care about, she watched as it sank in on his face. Vhalla’s expression likely mimicking the surprise his hazel eyes carried. Vhalla swallowed. “Go back to the camp side, wait for me there. If I’m not out by the time the sky begins to lighten, get Aldrik.”

“Do not keep me worrying for that long,” he demanded.

“I won’t.” Vhalla watched as Daniel started back for the Imperial side of the ruins.

She turned back to the rock. It was uncomfortable beneath her hands, as though it rejected her every touch. Finding places for her feet gave the sickening feeling that she was putting the soles of her boots on someone’s face. It wasn’t a hard climb, but the disgust the ruins seemed to radiate toward her made it take longer than it should.

When Vhalla crested the apex of the structure, the moon hung right above her. She panted softly from the exertion of the climb, but her eyes focused on the dark spot in the middle of the roof she now stood upon. Vhalla walked over, shuffling her feet toward the hole to peer over the edge.

She gasped sharply. The moonlight flowed through the oculus only to be dashed upon hundreds of points, fracturing it into starlight in a swirling microcosm of raw magic. This was the power that was being kept inside the thick stone wall of pure earth. Vhalla crouched at the ledge, gazing down. The bottom did not seem very far, if she could land easily with all the crystals below.

Inching to the edge, she took a breath and stepped off. The moonlight faded quickly and Vhalla welcomed the air beneath her, easing her fall onto a large crystal. Which she proceeded to slip off of and land awkwardly.

Vhalla rubbed the back of her head where it’d hit against a stone—a less than graceful descent. The domed ceiling above her seemed to glow with magic. But it could be her eyes playing tricks on her. Blinking the haze away, Vhalla pulled herself to her feet.

Every crystal she touched radiated power. The second her feet or hands brushed over the stone it shimmered and sparked to life with a color as ancient as the glacers in the tallest mountains of the South. She felt the magic reaching out to her, twirling around her fingers, inviting her to use it. For all the power the room held there was one thing that drew her attention.

Achel was unimpressive in its size. It was no longer than the length of Vhalla’s forearm. The flat hilt had been wrapped in thin leather strips that were now brittle with age. But the blade. It shone wickedly, and the whole thing seemed to be carved from a single shimmering stone. It radiated a power so deep that it grated against Vhalla’s bones.

Crystal weapons were real.

There was nothing else in the structure. Only the crystals growing from every wall, all reaching toward a center pedestal in which Achel rested. The blade of the axe was embedded in the crystal beneath it.

Vhalla approached slowly.

There was no sign of foul play; if anything, that made her more leery. It was so beautifully enticing to her magic that it gave her a nervous edge. It radiated power that felt like Aldrik’s, which gave Vhalla the sensation of his skin on hers. Her eyes fluttered closed a brief moment.

They opened again quickly at the returning feeling of someone’s stare. She peered over her shoulder nervously. There was no one there; it was just crystals. In fact, she had no idea how she would get out of the room.

Vhalla stared at the axe in a heated debate with herself. Reaching out a hand, she hesitated. What if it was far more protected here than it could be anywhere else? Her trembling hand caused the tip of her finger to brush against the hilt and magic flashed brightly.

Forced to cover her eyes as the whole room lit up, Vhalla blinked stars trying to get her sight back.

“Leave it.” The voice was ghost-like, faint, chilling, and oddly familiar. Scraps of magic floated through the air, drifting like shining feathers made of silvery moonlight.

She was no longer alone.

Across the room from her was a woman dressed in tight black leathers that hugged her generous curves. A long scarf was piled around her shoulders and head, dyed a deep crimson color that reminded Vhalla of the robes the crones wore. The only part of her face that was visible was two glowing ruby eyes.

Vhalla wanted to ask the woman who she was. She wanted to plant her feet and prepare to fight. But she couldn’t seem to move a muscle.

“Leave the blade; do not take Achel from its tomb,” the woman repeated, the scarf muffling her voice. She raised a hand, runes that Vhalla had never seen before glowing ghostly white above her arm. Vhalla was vaguely reminded of the strange magic that the Chieftain had used. But this woman didn’t look like a Northerner. From the tan skin around her eyes and stray hair falling from under her head wrap, she looked Western—perhaps.

The woman placed a palm on the crystals behind her, and the stone groaned and crackled, bending unnaturally to her will. They cut open a pathway to the jungle beyond, the same fractured moonlight drifting through the air. The runes that glowed above her arm faded.

“Heed my warning and leave. Do not touch the magic of the Gods, Vhalla Yarl.”

The air seemed to shudder and the light began to fall faster.

“Who are you?” Vhalla found her voice, control slowly returning to her.

“I’ve had many names,” the woman whispered.

She glowed faintly, turning into more light than substance. The woman seemed to break under her own weight and the darkness shattered her visage. By the time Vhalla could move again, her visitor was gone.

Vhalla’s knees gave out and she collapsed, gasping for stabilizing air. A chill coursed through her in the wake of the vision—magic? Vhalla didn’t know what she had just experienced, but there was an element to it that was far beyond anything she had ever known.

The only explanation that made sense was that it was some kind of defense crafted in the crystals. Vhalla nodded to herself, standing once more. An unreal specter meant to scare away any who tried to take the blade. But the tunnel was still there.

Vhalla engaged in an uncertain staring contest with Achel.

If she left it now, any Northerner could walk in and take the blade. Vhalla was more convinced than ever that should such a thing come to pass, they were all in grave danger. Through the oculus above, the moon was out of her field of vision. There was no time for hesitation.

She gripped the handle.

Power sent shockwaves through her. It was itching to be free. It was ready to be unleashed upon the world. With every shift of her fingers it was as though the blade whispered to her, “Yes, yes, yes.”

The axe was free with hardly any effort. With a tug and a small pulse of magic, the crystal pedestal relinquished its captive. There was an audible pop, and the room fell silent.

A noise like thin ice giving out under its own weight whispered throughout the cavern. It was an unnerving hiss that instantly pushed Vhalla’s feet to moving. Her every footfall shattered the crystals beneath her, as if they were no longer able to hold their own weight.

She sprinted into the passage, pulling up her hood to keep shards of stone from her eyes. It was like a rain of glass and the soft clicks and cracks were soon turning into loud shatters. Her heart raced and her feet picked up speed, fearful she would be trapped within the crumbling structure.

But she was free in half a breath.

Vhalla looked back at the tunnel she’d come from. More of the crystals were sliding from their places, now dim and dormant, almost like obsidian in the darkness.

She kept moving, knowing the sound would be certain to attract the attention of any Northerners who happened to be in the area. Vhalla sprinted around the side of the building and came to a skidding halt when she crossed into the burnt trek. The ruins had seemed so much longer before.

“Vhalla!” Daniel clamored to his feet from sitting at the base of a nearby tree, out of sight of any patrolmen.

She stared at the horizon, where the moon hung low.

“I was just about to go for help.” He raced over to her.

“What?” Vhalla continued to stare at the sky, the stars already dimming. She saw what she didn’t want to see. “I was only gone for a bit, an hour . . . maybe.”

“You were gone for hours,” Daniel corrected. He walked around to stand before her, blocking her dull stare. His eyes quickly went to the weapon she held in a vice-like grip. “Mother, what is that?”

Vhalla gazed at the blade in shock; she’d somehow forgotten she was holding it. It glittered faintly in the start of dawn, giving off its own unnatural light. Her eyes darted to Daniel. She hadn’t thought through what she would do when she got the blade. She hadn’t planned on Daniel, of all people, knowing about it.

“I have to hide it,” Vhalla whispered urgently. “No one can know I have it.”

“What is it?” Daniel seemed honestly unsure.

“It doesn’t matter.” Vhalla shook her head, her insides twisting from withholding the information. As accepting as Daniel was about magic, she knew he would not be enthused about the idea of crystals. Not even sorcerers were enthused about the idea of crystals. It seemed the only people who had ever been excited by them were madmen and murderers. “It’s almost dawn. I have to go back.”

Her face tightened in panic. Vhalla shifted from foot to foot. She couldn’t bring it back to Aldrik. She couldn’t risk him seeing it, now knowing how even the idea of crystals put him on edge.

Should she bury it? What if someone saw the soft earth and dug? What if she couldn’t get it deep enough and rain or walking feet exposed it? The one place she knew it would be safe was with Minister Victor; he’d know what to do. But he was at the other end of the earth.

“Help me.” Daniel frantically worked on the clips of his armor.

Vhalla stared in dumb confusion.

“Vhalla, help me get out of this.”

She stared at the axe in her hand, at a loss for how she could help Daniel while holding it with her white-knuckled grip.

“Vhalla,” Daniel spoke more gently. “Put the axe down and help me.”

Obeying his order was easier than trying to sort through the overwhelming confusion that clouded her mind. Vhalla dropped the axe and returned to life. She was at Daniel’s side, deftly unclipping his plate and pauldrons. All the time that she’d spent with him as Serien had given her fingers a surprising ease around a swordsman’s armor. Daniel dropped the armor to the ground, pulling off his chainmail vest after. He didn’t bother unstrapping his arm leathers, instead Daniel plucked a dagger from underneath his greave and cut off his shirt around the arms.

Vhalla stared in red-faced uncertainty as he thrust the scrap of cloth at her. She’d never seen him bare-chested before, and his work with the sword was apparent. Aldrik was all lean ropey muscle from relying on his sorcery as his strength and days of focusing solely on books. Daniel was a study in what the male form looked like when it was trained hard. The two men were practically a thesis in contrasts.

“Vhalla.” Daniel shook the fabric, summoning her back to reality. “Wrap it in this.”

Realizing what his intentions had been, Vhalla snatched the cloth and knelt to carefully bind the axe with it. She’d expected a weapon that was legendary for cutting through anything to melt through the fabric like a hot knife in butter. But the blade allowed the fabric to be wrapped around it once, twice, three times.

By the time Vhalla stood, Daniel had almost finished putting his plate back on. She helped him tighten the few remaining clips he couldn’t reach easily on his own.

“You need to go back, don’t you?” Daniel asked as she stepped away.

Vhalla nodded mutely. Who she was going back to hovered so heavily in the air it was as though the prince himself was gracing them with his presence.

“I’ll take this.” Daniel picked up the axe. “And hide it. No one has any reason to suspect or search my things. You can get it later.”

“Don’t use it on anything,” Vhalla cautioned. She didn’t have any particular reason to warn him against doing so, but it felt right. There was a deeper power to that blade that Vhalla didn’t trust. She wasn’t sure if she even trusted herself to hold it again. “And try not to touch it too much,” Vhalla added, thinking of crystal corruption a moment too late.

“I won’t be sleeping with it or anything,” Daniel chuckled. Vhalla’s remained resolute. “Fine, I won’t; you have my word.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, run along, Lady Vhalla. Or else you’ll ruin the illusion that you’ve been asleep in bed this whole time.” He gave her a tired smile.

Vhalla took a step backward, not yet ready to stop looking at him. “Thank you,” she whispered, hoping he knew she meant it for so much more than the weapon he held in his hand.

“Always.” Daniel nodded.

Vhalla turned, pulled up her hood, and tried to draw as little attention to herself as possible all the way back to the camp palace. The further she got from the blade, the easier she began to feel. But there was a singular sensation that didn’t waver until Aldrik returned to her side later. The sensation lingered until the prince, oblivious to her adventures, made her focus only on her lover, forgetting all else but his touch.

It was the hair-raising feeling of being watched.

THEY HADN’T SAID a word since they both realized the other was awake. The crown prince and his intended rested on opposite ends of the pillow, their fingers intertwining and releasing as the dawn crept upon them. With her free hand Vhalla played with the watch at her neck.

“Vhalla,” Aldrik finally spoke. His tone told her that she wasn’t going to like what he was about to say. “If—”

“Don’t,” Vhalla beseeched softly, pressing her face into his bare chest. She inhaled deeply, imprinting on her memory the smell of smoke and fire and sweat overlaying the faint hint of eucalyptus—the scent of Aldrik.

He shook his head, his nose in her hair. “If,” Aldrik persisted, “if the battle does not go as planned . . . If something happens to me.”

“Aldrik,” she pleaded. It was still hours from sunset, and her strength was already beginning to waver.

“Tell Baldair to go to my Tower room. He’s never been there, but he can order Victor to take him. Within, there’s a storeroom that has a large black chest. The key to it is hidden in the rose garden, under a loose stone near the bench,” Aldrik detailed carefully.

“Nothing will happen—”

“Vhalla, please.” His arms tightened around her. “Tell Baldair of this and tell him I want you to have everything within it and anything else he can give you to ensure your life will be taken care of and comfortable. He will believe you; he has given me his word to see you healthy and happy, and I’ve come to trust him to do that.”

Vhalla pressed her eyes closed as if she could ignore where his dutiful words stemmed from. Her mind drifted to the axe from the night before. If she could get it before the fight, could it help turn the tides of war? Vhalla thought briefly of telling Aldrik, of getting the axe and using it in whatever battle was to come. But after all his previous reactions to crystals, the last thing she wanted to do was ruin their moment. Beyond that, she didn’t quite trust the weapon, there was something she didn’t understand about it and that made her leery.

“But do not return to the South,” Aldrik continued.

“What?” Vhalla blinked in surprise, her previous debate forgotten.

“If I am—” Aldrik paused, unable to bring himself to say the words. “If I’m not there to protect you, go West. Get to my uncle. He will keep you as safe as I would. He knows it’s my will.”

“But the Knights of Jadar . . .” Vhalla said uncertainly.

“The safest place will be with the man who knows them and already has a pulse on their movements,” Aldrik insisted. “My uncle has been fighting against the Knights since they rose up against my family in protest of my mother marrying my father. With my uncle, you will be taken care of, this is what I want. This is the one thing I want if I am not there to make you my wife, if I cannot protect you myself.”

She took a shaky breath.

“Will you do that?” he asked softly, interrupting her protest.

Vhalla nodded.

“Promise me,” he insisted.

“I promise.” She obliged him, and it was like a dagger to her gut. “Don’t, don’t let anything happen to you.” She gripped him around the ears, fearful. “This Empire needs you, it needs your hands to wash away the blood and to heal its wounds.”

Aldrik shook his head. “I am only good at breaking things, at reaping destruction.” His voice was tired.

“No.”

“Vhalla, you have known me for only—”

“You built this.” She cut him off, and he blinked at her in surprise. “Us, you built us.” Vhalla showed him the watch he’d given her as proof. “And it is one of the most beautiful things I have ever known.”

Aldrik didn’t have words; he simply pressed his forehead against hers and fought for control over his emotions. Vhalla felt the smallest of quivers in the hand that held hers, and she insisted there would be no tears. She insisted through each inhale that was weaker than the last exhale.

“I love you, my lady, my future wife,” he whispered. Aldrik’s fingers shifted around hers, running over the watch at her neck.

“I love you,” she replied. Nothing had ever been truer. “My future husband.”

The words humbled them both into a surprised silence. They’d both said it. It had been secretly official for days, but somehow saying it so openly made it all the more real.

Vhalla stared at Aldrik. They would both make it. Her fingers tightened around his.

Aldrik finally pulled away, almost an hour later. It seemed to take that long for them both to muster the strength for him leave her side. Vhalla sat as well, watching him dress.

“What will happen?” she asked softly.

“We’re going over everything once more,” Aldrik explained as she walked over to him in nothing more than one of his long shirts.

His eyes lingered on her bare legs as Vhalla latched up his plate carefully, reverently.

“You’re much preferred over any other squire I’ve ever had tend to me,” Aldrik said with a small grin.

Vhalla laughed softly. It was the lightest moment they’d had in a long time. A jest that normal lovers would make, not the hushed words of desperation they’d been sharing for weeks.

“Happy to serve, my prince,” she murmured and raised his mailed hand to her lips, kissing it thoughtfully.

“I love you.” Aldrik kissed her once more and left.

Vhalla suddenly felt nauseous, and she placed a palm on her forehead. Fumbling with the watch on her neck, Vhalla studied the hands. It was almost noon; sunset would come sooner than she knew.

She took the same care in donning her own armor. Vhalla made sure every clasp was fastened properly, each clip was tightened and in place. She made sure the chainmail of her hood had no kinks and her gauntlets and greaves were just so.

The main room was surprisingly quiet. Baldair sat with the Golden Guard; a few other majors discussed one or two things, Aldrik among them. The Emperor seemed to be huddled around something at the far end with senior members. But otherwise there was little activity.

She ended up sitting with the Golden Guard as Aldrik was too engrossed in what he was doing to break away. She had not eaten yet, but that didn’t spur her to do anything other than stare listlessly at the food. Vhalla reminded herself that sustenance was needed, but she couldn’t seem to muster the will. She was far too uneasy to eat.

“Vhalla,” Daniel’s whisper jarred her out of her thoughts.

The moment her eyes met his, they shared books of unspoken words. His gaze was like a distanced caress, absorbing her as though it were the last time. Vhalla realized that, in their own ways, they were all making peace with the fact that no one knew who would still be sitting at the table the next morning. They were all saying silent, fearful goodbyes.

“Eat,” he said finally.

“I know.” She picked up a fork.

“Try not to be nervous,” he offered helpfully.

“Try to tell the sun not to rise.” She was slightly annoyed he’d even suggest such.

“Then have faith in the people surrounding you.” He leaned forward. “I will be there, at your side.”

Vhalla stared in shock, suddenly remembering he was fighting on the front line of the side she and Aldrik were assigned to. The name that had been ink on a map of a battlefield suddenly became real, and with it, horror clawed its way through her. There were too many people she cared about, too many for her to protect them all.

“The Black Legion knows to protect you and the prince,” Jax said with more seriousness than Vhalla had heard in a long time.

Vhalla shifted her attention to the man at Daniel’s right. “I don’t want them to—”

“To what?” Jax interrupted her. “To have the Tower not protect their leaders?”

“I’m not their leader.” The protest was beginning to sound weak even to her own ears.

“You’re not?” Jax leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “When was the last time you were in camp? Have you not seen more wings painted than rays of the Solaris sun?” Jax’s eyes fell on her watch, and Vhalla instinctually grabbed it. “You were not born to be their leader, you were chosen. And that has far greater weight.”

Vhalla was instantly overwhelmed, and she quickly busied her mouth with food to swallow down the emotions that were trying to consume her. To chew away the nerves and the not so subtle implications Jax brought forth. Eventually her food disappeared, though Vhalla’s stomach still felt empty.

The Golden Guard all came and went, each tending to something else. But Vhalla was never alone. Erion tried to give her confidence, Craig tried to make her laugh, but none of them could ease the turmoil in her heart. It was the waiting that killed her, the hours that ticked away as they milled around in that suddenly too-small room. She inwardly cursed the Northerners for not choosing to attack at dawn.

Vhalla wished she had a book to read. No, not read; she wasn’t in a state where reading would be possible. But a book to look at, to hold, so she could feel like anything but a soldier about to kill.

But as Aldrik’s hand clasped her shoulder with a nod, a soldier was what she must be. She pulled up her hood, he donned his helm, and they departed the camp palace together. Vhalla stared at Soricium, at its towering walls and giant trees, ablaze with the late orange light of the sun.

She wondered what was going on within. If they, too, were preparing for battle. If they, too, felt like beasts pacing their cage.

To the casual observer, the camp seemed to continue as normal. But Vhalla could see the men with swords drawn, waiting for the call, crouched in their tents. She saw the archers packed and hidden in their roosts in the spiked walls. She saw the increased patrol that would be the start of the Empire’s inner border around the palace, preventing any escapees.

A whole army lay in wait, each in a carefully planned place. Each hidden away and prepared to strike to kill. Vhalla scanned the upper edge of the bowl Soricium sat in. She knew outer patrols had purposefully been withdrawn and made lax. They wanted the North to come. They wanted their enemy’s last hope to run right into their open and waiting jaws so they could devour the North whole.

She stopped next to Aldrik in the shade of a siege tower. He turned toward the trees, and she saw him clench and relax his fists. Vhalla followed suit, opening her Channel. Kill or be killed. Right or wrong, this was the only option that was left to her. It did not matter why she was there; if she did not fight, she would fall.

Vhalla turned up her face to gaze at the prince next to her. His face was barely recognizable with the helm and his set jaw. He scanned the trees with wild and nervous eyes. Vhalla took a breath and shifted her vision, extending her hearing.

It was silent as the sun continued to dip down. Vhalla heard the Imperial soldiers shifting restlessly. What if she was wrong? If an attack didn’t come, she’d likely be hung.

But through her nerves she heard them, a hazy mass in the distance, advancing through the treetops and on land. It was a hidden army, expecting to slaughter the soldiers settling into their tents for the night. The Northerners were outnumbered—at least on the eastern side—Vhalla realized. Without the element of surprise in the North’s favor, the South should take the battle.

She decided to conserve her power and shifted her eyes back to normal. They would be upon them soon. Vhalla heard the whine of bowstrings being pulled taut in the twilight.

There was one thing that gave away the camp as different from any other day: the quiet. Everyone waited with baited breath. Vhalla saw a flash of magic from the corners of her eyes. A man crouched in a tent, nowhere near where he usually slept, wielding a dagger made of ice.

Fritz glanced over at her, and Vhalla mouthed his name in shock. He smiled weakly and gave a small nod. Elecia was at his side as well. Vhalla realized too late that instead of spending the night hunting legendary axes, she could’ve—she should’ve—spent it with her friends. Had she learned nothing from Larel’s death?

There was a cry across the burnt and dusty plain, heralding the Northerners as they charged through the trees. Vhalla’s head snapped back to the distant rumble of footsteps. The enemy had made their play, they committed to their dash, not realizing the monster they were about to wake. Vhalla watched the army hold, each soldier exacting extreme control.

The Northerner’s first line was almost on the outer edge of camp when the horn rang out. It echoed across one tower to the next. Tents were thrown aside, some cut right off, by the Imperial soldiers hiding beneath them. There was only a moment for the Northerners to register what was happening as the first wave of arrows crashed down upon them.

She caught a glimpse of Daniel leading the first charge, and Vhalla’s heart beat so hard in her chest it should have broken a rib. Everyone she cared about readied themselves to launch their attack. Aldrik, Daniel, Fritz, Baldair, and even Elecia; how could she keep them all safe?

To the chorus of the arrows knocking against bows and the hymn of steel finding steel, Aldrik brought his feet to a run. Vhalla sprinted at his side, pushing everything else from her mind and focusing on what she must be. She saw him raise his hand as the second wave of Northerners left the distant tree line. A furious beat began to ring out in her ears.

This was it.

VHALLA DIDN’T HEAR the groan of the trebuchet as it launched its first load toward the outer forest’s edge. The screeching of swords faded away. There was only him, there was only his body, his breath, his life, and the pulsing magic that flowed unhindered between them.

Aldrik’s arm moved through the air and Vhalla knew his will before the magic left his body. Vhalla brought out a hand. Aldrik stopped suddenly; she halted with him in the same instant. The prince hardly registered her movement and Vhalla wondered if he felt it the same as she did. If he too knew that the deep connection they’d been fostering for months was finally ready to be shown to the world.

His magic flared. Vhalla brought both hands up together. Her wind took up his flame, the magic crackling around her fingertips. The scaffold of his command supported it, and their Joining enabled Vhalla to build upon his sorcery, stitching hers to the edges—making it something greater than either part.

Vhalla swept her arms across her body and watched the fire carry through the air, over the heads of the Imperial soldiers, igniting the distant trees and, with it, legions of Northern Groundbreakers who had taken their vantage there. The fire was white hot, and she shifted her hands, stirring it into a vortex of flame.

Uncurling her fists, fingers taut, Vhalla thrust her hands above her head and open to the sky. The fire mimicked her motion and soared into the air, a flaming mirror of her movement. It was a pillar of fire, brilliant against the night sky as though it intended to swallow the moon whole. Vhalla lost control over it as she took a moment to admire their creation, the flames disappearing in the wind.

Vhalla locked eyes with the prince as a cheer rose through the camp at the sight of their colossal pyre. They knew—the whole world saw it—it was as clear as the flames that still blazed in the ignited trees before them. Together, they were unstoppable. Bound, Joined, madly in love, there were no longer any boundaries that could limit them. They were a single force of nature.

They stepped in time, picking up a run in perfect sync. Soldiers rushed behind them, but Vhalla wasn’t paying attention anymore. Her prince—his breath, his movements—was all she needed.

Aldrik dug his heels in, halting a second time, and held out his arms. Firebearers rushed up from the ranks and made a straight line out from either arm. “Funnel them!” Aldrik shouted over the chaos.

His arms motioned for where he wanted the flames. The Firebearers all moved in unison. Each had their own approach to wielding their magic, but they all focused on creating a separate patch of fire.

The Northern Groundbreakers braved the flames; some weaker ones were unsuccessful as their stone skin lit like tinder. The other soldiers dashed and darted, quickly trying to avoid the blaze. As they crowded inward, there were the pitiable few who were forced screaming into the fires by their own allies pushing at their back. The ones who made it to the end of the funnel were met with the Imperial army’s front line.

Her eyes fell on a flash of gold, a pommel shaped like wheat shining in the firelight. Vhalla didn’t know how she found Daniel out of all the soldiers, but her eyes were solely on him for a brief moment. He moved like a dancer to his own dirge of grim victory. It had its own macabre beauty.

Taking a deep breath, Vhalla held out her hands once more. Ten, she would claim a Northerner’s weapon with each finger. Focusing around Daniel, ten swords soared into the air with a flick of her hands. Twisting her wrists, Vhalla sent them back upon the enemy, a rain of blades.

A few Southern soldiers looked in confusion. Daniel turned briefly, but his eyes didn’t find hers in the pandemonium. But Vhalla knew he had been searching for her in that brief second. He knew the Windwalker was looking out for him when she could. Vhalla gave it no further thought; her hands were already in motion again.

It was like playing an invisible instrument, her fingers plucking at the air. Aldrik made another call at her side, but she didn’t even hear. For every sword she picked into the air, two more seemed to appear rushing out from beneath the burning trees.

“Vhalla!” the prince called for her, and she was broken from her trance by her name on his lips.

They were moving again, Aldrik pushing the Black Legion forward to meet the already growing havoc of blood and death. Vhalla’s ears picked up the patter of arrows being knocked from a point in the trees to their right.

“Aldrik!” She didn’t think twice for using his name without title. Aldrik turned to her quickly. “Give me flame!” Vhalla cried, and trusted it completely to be there as she swept her palm across the open sky.

He raised his hand in time with hers, and she felt it once more, the sensation of a body beyond hers, herself outside of herself and him within her. The dark sky was set ablaze by a dome of fire, arrows burning and falling like smoldering rain harmlessly on the armored soldiers below.

“More!” Vhalla demanded. He raised a second arm, obliging her will. Vhalla actually took a step as she swept her hand forward, sending a blanket of flame into the trees to the southeast where the arrows had originated.

The second the magic left her control, Vhalla stumbled, off-balance from throwing out her arm. She swayed, but a firm hand gripped her, pulling her upright. The prince had a small smirk playing on his lips. A crazy little grin for the secret they shared, the secret that they were slowly exposing to the world.

“My prince!” A soldier broke the trance. “The front line is breaking.” The man looked between Vhalla and Aldrik, awaiting orders.

“No,” Vhalla breathed, her eyes darting to the front. She couldn’t find Daniel, and her chest twisted into a knot. “No,” she seethed.

“Firebearers and Groundbreakers!” Aldrik bellowed. “Then Waterrunners. Support the charge of the blades first.”

Vhalla watched as the soldiers prepared themselves for the second wave. More than half of them were Black Legion, but nearly all of them—swords included—had a wing painted upon their breastplate. The battle slowed for a brief moment, and Vhalla stepped forward and out of the shadow of the prince.

“We stop them here!” she screamed. “They will not pass this line. We stop them here!”

As she thrust her fist into the air, the world was filled with such a shrill battle cry that it almost shattered the sky. Vhalla turned, watching the last of the front line crumble. Her breath caught in her throat as the Northerners made it to them, the maelstrom upon her.

Aldrik was the first to move between them. His body halfway covered hers as he shouldered the attack of the enemy swordsmen. Aldrik’s mailed hand reached the enemy’s face, and the Northerner cried in anguish. The man collapsed as a charred ruin.

She returned to life and disarmed their next attacker. With a flick of her fingers, the blade was in her hand just in time to turn and parry a new sword that whizzed from behind. The heartbeat in her ears was panicked. It was a frantic rhythm that tried to keep up with the madness around them.

Vhalla ground her teeth. The Northerner was much stronger than she was, and he made quick work of disarming her stolen blade. She stumbled backwards, trying to regain her footing. There was a grunt behind her, a burst of flame. Aldrik had taken out the man she had disarmed, but his focus had yet to return to her. Vhalla’s attacker took a step back, raising his weapon above his head.

A soldier lunged forward for the soft spot under the arm where the plate met. Vhalla saw a flash of blue, an ice dagger plunge deep into the man’s side. The Northerner cried in pain, his blade arced wide as he instinctively turned to face his new assailant. Fritz jumped backward. The man brought up his sword. Vhalla lunged.

Her hand clamped over the Northerner’s shocked mouth, and she claimed his breath. She watched the fragile moment just before his face exploded before her, bits of nose and eyes splattering her cheeks and armor. There was hardly a moment to breathe, and Vhalla turned, thrusting out an arm to disarm a man who was attacking Aldrik.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Aldrik called as he tossed a body aside.

“Must you ask?” she shouted over the whizz of blades and bows, her back clanking against his as she dodged another sword.

Aldrik’s amusement rang out, his mad and hearty laughter crackling through the air. He knew that she was him and her—both at once. Her movements were a mix of everything the Joining had given her and everything that she could be. Amidst the blood and carnage, she found herself wearing her own insane grin to mirror his. He turned left, she turned right; they spun away from each other, taking out two more in the movement.

“Die!” another screamed at her.

“Not today!” she screeched back. His sword dug into her side, somehow finding its way in-between the scales. Vhalla winced but pressed her arm forward. Her hand caught his mouth, and that was all it took.

She turned, blood dripping from her right palm. Aldrik had three on him, and he was handling them with expert precision. Vhalla raised her fingers, sending his fire in a wide arc to hit all three. They cried in pain as their bodies became flames. Aldrik turned to each sequentially, finishing them.

His eyes caught hers, and time slowed. Two obsidian orbs—ablaze—saw straight into her soul. She inhaled and saw his breath heave at the same time. His hand extended into the air, her feet picked up and she reached for him. Vhalla’s fingers curled about his, and Aldrik pulled her to him.

“My lady.” She would have heard him even if the words were breathed and every soldier screamed at once. “You are magnificent.” Aldrik’s free hand reached over her shoulder, and she felt the flare of his magic as a tongue of fire was sent behind her. Vhalla did not even turn to witness the poor soul’s demise.

“My prince.” Vhalla swept up her hand, disarming all those in their immediate vicinity. She hardly gave thought to the fact that it was the first time that she had managed so many swords at once. “You are the bards’ most epic songs brought to life.”

He smirked at her. She gave him a sly smile. Aldrik released her, and she turned away on her heel, throwing herself into the movement so she dropped forward. The wind shot forth from her and knocked about twenty Northerners off their feet. Vhalla felt the familiar warmth of his flames behind her and knew he had given himself to the fight as well.

Her magic claimed her; it was intoxicating, an all-consuming devotion to the moment. She was lost somewhere between herself and him. Yet, somehow, she could feel him lost within her. She felt his movements as much as she felt her own. Vhalla was not sure if a Joining was possible without touch, but they were making a strong case for it.

They spun and spiraled about each other, completely trusting the other to be exactly where they expected full moments before they had even begun to move. Their bodies turned to where the other needed, finding openings, shifting around flailing arms and quick feet.

No one stood a chance against them. None managed to even come close. His arms curved around her body, sending an attack. Her back brushed against his as she protected him. Aldrik put himself into his flame and she joined with her own magical essence. There was something deeply intimate about it.

Her breathing had become heavy—this was the true night of Fire and Wind.

An unfamiliar and shrill noise cut the darkness, and there was a loud roaring sound. Aldrik and Vhalla both paused, turning to the source in exactly the same moment. She swallowed hard. Darting out from the trees in the darkness was a mounted force. Groundbreakers, she judged by their limited armor, rode upon the cat-like creatures she had faced once before. There were less than the Southern Calvary, but more than Vhalla had ever expected to be possible.

Their large claws tore through the shambles that were the last men standing of the front line. Vhalla assessed the state of the military behind her. The inner circle surrounding the fortress held strong, none from the North had broken through anywhere Vhalla could see—yet.

She swallowed hard. It must hold, they must not let anyone from within Soricium escape those towering walls or help to penetrate them.

An Imperial horn blew out, and Vhalla heard the rumble of hooves. A mounted counter-force was launched to respond. Vhalla pulled back her hands. She felt Aldrik move closer, covering her sides as she took a steadying breath. She ignored everything, trusting him to defend her. Pushing forward, she watched the dozen creatures stumble and rear back against the force of the gale she sent their way. Unfortunately, a few Southern soldiers were also knocked down in the process, but it gave the Southern cavalry the time they needed.

She had other concerns than the cavalry’s response time when she caught sight of Fritz from the corner of her eye. He was wildly outnumbered three to one, and he was no Aldrik. Vhalla lost the perfect sync she held with her prince to dash to her friend. Fritz’s dagger was dislodged from his hand. She saw the faint shift in his form, but his illusion was dispelled almost instantly by another attacker.

Vhalla forced herself clumsily into the battle. She dodged a blade, shouldering a different one for Fritz, who scrambled up from the ground. She heard her voice cry out in pain at the numbing pressure on her shoulder. Another blade was pulled back, she bit her lip, attempting to recover her control. Fritz rolled, trying to regain his feet.

Fire blazed about them, licking warmly against her skin. The tip of a blade grazed her cheek a moment before her assailant dropped the weapon in agony. Aldrik found his way to her side. Both of their hands reached out for the remaining Northerners. Both found their mark. Both soldiers died at the same time, one from wind, one from fire.

“Vhalla.” Aldrik faced her with apparent worry.

“I’m fine.” She nodded at him, the pain in her cheek hardly registered.

There was a sharp increase in the cries of the soldiers before them. They both turned. The remaining beasts had overtaken the cavalry. Vhalla looked on in panic as horses without riders fled from the sharp claws and fangs.

She saw the cat-like creatures then for what they were. This would be the head clan’s getaway. It would be what would shatter the Southern ranks and make it through to the palace. It would be what could carry the people within away and preserve the leadership of the North. Aldrik saw the same.

“Black Legion! Stop them!” he commanded.

All sorcerers turned their attention to the oncoming beasts.

A few were impaled upon spears of ice. Others engulfed in flame, but it still wasn’t enough. Vhalla watched as her comrades in black were pounced upon, shredded by the creatures. Her stomach churned as one stopped to bite off the head of a fallen Southerner.

But two riders knew their mission more clearly, and they steered their mounts toward the inner line with furious purpose. They must not let them through. Aldrik was already moving his fire as much as he could but the beasts’ fur seemed to resist flames, and he had to focus all his attention upon only one at a time for it to catch and collapse with a feline scream of agony.

Vhalla began running. Fritz and Aldrik shouted behind her, but she plunged herself into her Channel. It was already beginning to feel thin, but she had no other option. If there was ever a night she would scrape the bottom of her magical well, this would be it. The wind swept beneath her feet and nothing could catch her as she sprinted through the camp. Curving her path, dodging blades and ducking in between skirmishes, she dashed across the field. Her eyes were focused on one creature, bigger and stronger than the rest.

Curling her fingers, a gust of wind pushed a riderless horse in her direction. Vhalla curved again, running alongside the path of the mount. The painted mare came up on her, and she reached out a hand. Her fingers closed on its reins, and she did not let go. The horse, crazed, attempted to keep running, and Vhalla was pulled off her feet. Her legs pinwheeled frantically, finding her footing as the horse slowed enough from her tugs on the reins for her to make her way upright.

Somehow, she clumsily managed her way into the saddle. Vhalla turned; the two Northern riders were almost to the center line. Archers rained arrows down upon them. Pole-armed soldiers braced themselves. Vhalla kicked her heels and put the wind to the horse’s hooves.

It was not a fine beast by any stretch. The mare struggled and whinnied. It tossed its head this way and that, forcing Vhalla to crouch forward and grip the reins as tightly as possible. The horse resisted her at first, but she kicked harder, feeling a minimal amount of guilt for pushing the unsuspecting creature so.

The horse finally moved how she wanted. Vhalla had just enough time to hold out a hand to arm herself with a sword from the ground, its owner long dead, before she was up on the first Northern rider. She swung in a wide arc, and the sharp of the blade smashed against her enemy’s nose. It was like hitting the side of a mountain, and Vhalla’s bones reverberated from the impact. But it was enough to stall the rider.

A brave Imperial soldier charged, thrusting her lance through the heart of the cat-like beast. The Northern warrior glared at Vhalla only briefly, rage twisting her features as she fell from her dying mount.

“Go for the eyes!” Vhalla shouted to the Southern army within earshot. She knew they were likely more experienced than she was, but a reminder could not hurt. Vhalla pulled the reins, turning.

Off in the distance, a dark streak raced forward against the torrent of flaming arrows. She followed its path to a man in white and gold armor who was already struggling with soldiers breaching the southern side. Vhalla cursed loudly as she snapped the reins, riding in the direction of the Emperor.

The wind at her back, she closed the gap in an impossibly short amount of time. Vhalla cried as she ran the horse perpendicular to the path of the remaining cat creature. As she launched herself into the air, the mare was forced into the side of the cat-beast, knocking its talons off-target. Vhalla tackled the Northern soldier on the back of the creature, and she spared just a moment’s thought for how much she really hated the Emperor.

Vhalla rolled head over heels, entangled with the Northerner who had made a bid for the life of Emperor Solaris. The Northerner won out on top, straddling her. Vhalla struggled, her arms pinned beneath the enemy woman’s knees. The Groundbreaker pulled back her sword, her arms over her head.

“Gwaeru!” she cried.

Vhalla saw a flash of silver in the night.

A lance impaled the Northerner’s eye. Her mouth hung open and lifeless. Vhalla twisted her head to avoid the point of the blade that dropped from between the dead woman’s limp fingers. The helping weapon withdrew, and Vhalla pushed the lifeless corpse off of her, regaining her feet quickly.

Major Zerian arced his weapon through the air, sending the bloody gore flying off it. Vhalla gave quick thanks and peered around his side, seeing the beast she had run head-first into on the ground. Emperor Solaris pulled his sword from the creature’s face and found her.

Her eyes met those cold blue ones, and she paused. There was no thank you, no nod, and no recognition. He simply turned and began barking orders as the other beasts from the western side began to fall against the inner line. Vhalla heard the sound of arrows piercing the air, originating from the fortress, and instinctively raised her hand. Deflecting the attacks of archers had become all too easy.

The Emperor gazed back at her. Vhalla had a moment where she half expected some form of gratitude for her additional assistance. But he simply turned to give orders. She hardly had time to care. Major Zerian, however, gave her a nod. He had seen her save the Emperor directly. It was the first time that there was no question of it happening, and she had been Vhalla Yarl, not Serien. That was enough for her.

Her feet carried her back across the thinning battlefield. Vhalla killed three more Northerners along the way, aiding in the deaths of at least five others by disarming them or throwing them off balance. She saw the bodies that had begun to pile upon the ground and couldn’t keep a tally of who seemed to have heaped more upon the bloody earth, North or South.

Shifting her magical vision, she scanned the trees. Her heart almost stopped. There were no more, as far as she could see, no more soldiers waiting in the tree line. There were no more. Her feet moved all the faster. Aldrik, she needed to be with him, to be at his side for the call that was inevitably going to ring through the air of the early dawn.

Her prince threw off an attacker as she reached him. His arms opened to her, and her hands clasped around his forearms as his clasped around hers. They both forbid each other more of an embrace than that.

“You mad woman!” he yelled at her over the noise of dying men and women.

“Perhaps!” she agreed, waving a hand toward a Waterrunner who was having a particularly hard time.

“Do not leave my side again!” he demanded, one arm released her to send a torrent of flame in the face of a Northerner.

“Even if it is to publically save your father?” she asked, turning away from him back to the palace to deflect another wave of arrows. Aldrik’s face snapped to face hers, and she met it with a small, satisfied smirk.

The battle continued to calm until a trumpet echoed across the field and all Southerners paused. Another picked up the call, and then another, before the air was alive with the Southern song of war. Vhalla’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes scanned the battlefield.

The last of the Northerners were collapsing to their knees before their Southern opponents. The Imperial army wasted no time in putting them to death on the spot. It was carnage unlike she had ever seen before on all sides.

In the calm, she panted, trying to catch her breath. Vhalla returned back to the trees, her eyes scanning them frantically. Her hands were balled into fists, and she stood poised for the next wave. The horn blew out again and a hand clasped over her shoulder, startling her.

“It’s over,” Aldrik said softly. She assessed the blood covering his face and hoped it was only from others. Vhalla scanned the trees again, her heart racing. “Vhalla, it’s done.”

She couldn’t believe it. But the horn rang out once more. The last dying gasp of a Northerner was silenced, and everyone seemed to hold their collective breath. No more raced from the trees. There were no more shouts for war in the night. In that first streak of morning’s light, the South raised their voices in a cheer.

Vhalla couldn’t bring herself to emit sound to join the mad cry. She looked on, stunned. There seemed too little to cheer about with all the dead littering the ground about them. If this was what victory looked like, what was defeat?

Aldrik’s hands caught her shoulders, and she felt dizzy. He admired her as though she was the reason for all their joyous cries, and she met his eyes with a swelling adoration that nearly consumed her sanity. She wanted nothing more in that moment than to sweep him up in her embrace. They had made it. They would meet the dawn together. Somehow, they both refrained from acting on the desires that were so apparent on their faces, though the moment of tension spoke volumes for the want and relief that washed over their exhausted bodies.

The second he released her, she scanned for Fritz, Daniel, Elecia, someone. Her heart stopped when she saw a mass of frizzy and bloodied blonde hair. Vhalla raced to Fritz’s side, laughing with relief as soon as she reached her friend. His eyes were closed, but he breathed, and—given all that had transpired—that was enough. Aldrik called over to Elecia, who seemed equally relieved by Fritz’s stable state, and she immediately began tending to the Southerner.

“Vhalla, come,” the prince commanded softly.

“I want to stay with him.” She held Fritz’s hand in hers.

“I want you to be here for this,” Aldrik insisted.

Vhalla opened her mouth to object.

“If Fritz is lucky, then he’ll continue to sleep until I get him on the mend and the pain dulled,” Elecia interjected with a glance at Vhalla. “Go, Lady Windwalker.”

Vhalla stood in a daze. There was an odd mix of resignation and acceptance to Elecia’s voice. The curly-haired woman nodded, as if acknowledging for the first time the change in Vhalla’s status. As if it were already official by the victory alone.

Vhalla and Aldrik walked together, saying nothing, heading toward the center of camp. As they passed one soldier, then another, the army brought their hands to their chest. As they saluted, their palms fell over the symbol of the Windwalker. Their eyes spoke volumes, as if painting it on their chests had been the thing that had brought victory.

Baldair had beaten them to the center; he was haggard and bloody, cut up in a few places, but by all accounts alive and well. His head turned to them, along with the Emperor’s and other assembled majors. Vhalla saw Baldair’s face break with relief, publically showing an emotion for his brother that she had never openly seen before—love. He stumbled forward to Aldrik, and their hands clasped around each other’s arms.

“Brother,” Baldair croaked.

“Brother,” Aldrik repeated, staring in awe at his younger sibling.

Vhalla paused with a small smile. For all that had transpired between them, they were happy to see each other, undeniably relieved at the other’s survival. It was nice to see them allow themselves that joy.

Baldair turned to her, releasing his brother. He looked up and down her bloody form. Vhalla didn’t even have a moment to brace herself for what happened next. The Heartbreaker Prince’s arms closed around her shoulders, and he lifted her into the air.

“Vhalla!” he shouted with a laugh. “You stubborn little Easterner.”

“We Easterners are tougher than we look,” a familiar voice spoke from behind her. Vhalla immediately struggled in Baldair’s arms. The prince put her down and she turned, bracing herself for disappointment.

The front line may have shattered, but the bruised, battered, and bloody Easterner before her had made it out alive. Vhalla took a step toward Daniel. He gave her a lazy smile, and it was all the invitation she needed. Vhalla threw her arms around his neck.

“We Easterners are stubborn!” she laughed.

“And overly affectionate,” Erion drawled, joining the group.

Vhalla released Daniel, beaming at the other Golden Guard and majors whom she had befriended. They had made it. They had done it.

A man whom Vhalla did not recognize cut through them, racing toward the Emperor. He held out a tray of parchment and ink to the man who would soon be the ruler of the whole continent, of the civilized world. Emperor Solaris picked up the quill without a word, beginning to scribble on the paper upon the tray held steady by the soldier.

Folding the paper, the Emperor barked for an archer. They tied the parchment about an arrow. The shot was notched upon the bowstring, the archer pulled their weapon taut, and the paper was sent sailing over the wall.

“This ends today,” he announced. “They will forfeit and bind ties with the Solaris Empire—or they will die.” The Emperor strode off in the direction of the camp palace. “Notify me immediately for any reply,” he announced to the world in general.

Vhalla stared off in the hazy morning light to see that, somehow, the stupid structure had managed to be positioned on a side that had mostly survived the battle. Vhalla stumbled across the carcasses that lined the remains of the camp. She walked between the two silent princes. Relief had faded into the somber and grotesque scene before them. Their lives had been bought with the blood that now stained the earth red, the blood of the unlucky.

The majors broke away to oversee cleanup. Vhalla knew she should feel guilty for retreating back into the privacy of the camp palace when so many did not have a tent left to their name, but she couldn’t find the energy to do so. She simply wanted to collapse, her physical and magical strength depleted.

The Emperor was of a similar mind and was locked away by the time they crossed the threshold. Baldair closed the door behind her and Aldrik. A hand, warm even through armor, closed around hers. Before his brother, but away from the world, the crown prince pulled her to him. A gauntleted fist wrapped around her chin and tilted her face to his. His lips tasted of smoke and blood, but she savored him all the same.

The army had been victorious. They had survived. And her freedom was surely won. In that moment of shared relief and bliss, Vhalla breathed the first breath of the new dawn. She allowed herself to believe in all the prince had said: their future together began in that moment.

THE FOLLOWING DAY was the darkest business of war: the battle’s aftermath. After the rush of glory faded, after the cheers of victory ceased their reverberations, was the inevitable process of picking up the pieces. Tents were strewn, shattered, and trampled. People’s belongings, their meager tokens of home, were lost in the mud and blood of the field.

The first part was tending to the wounded. The clerics set up a triage, conserving their limited supplies for those who were in the most need. Firebearers cauterized particularly bad wounds. Groundbreakers assisted with poison afflictions and concocting new potions with what could be found in the nearby forests—what hadn’t been scorched. There were the inevitable few who were given mercy vials and the hardest choice, the last choice, of their lives.

Those who were not helping with the wounded had countless bodies to pick up. Bodies were stripped of anything that was valuable or reusable, and a tower of armor soon grew tall, void of their owners. Some fallen were lucky enough to have their friends be the ones who found them, others were of noble birth, and a token or two were put aside to return to their families. But more, North and South, were as nameless and faceless as the last.

Six colossal pyres were erected around the camp and bodies were ferried non-stop to them. Firebearers rotated the obligation of keeping the fires burning bright and hot.

In death, the Northerners and Southerners rested together before their bodies turned to ash and their souls departed to the realm of the Father. The pyres put out a thick smoke that reeked of human flesh and fat. Soldiers, no matter where in the camp, wrapped wet cloth around their faces to try to keep out the smoke and smell.

Outside was this grim march of activity, but within the room of the crown prince, the day progressed with relative peace. Aldrik and Vhalla had given just enough time to strip their armor and sponge the blood off their faces and hands before collapsing in the bed, soiled clothes and all.

It was not a beautiful sleep; it was a deep and worn out coma. Vhalla’s face was flat against the pillow, her mouth open, and her breathing deep. Aldrik splayed out on the bed, limbs this way and that, barely fitting alongside her. It was a sleep that rested in the comfort that they had one less thing to fear with the dawn.

Vhalla closed her mouth, wetting her lips. She cracked her eyes. The day’s light crept through the slats in the shutters, casting long, unbroken beams through the smoke that inevitably penetrated the room. She grimaced.

“It stinks,” Vhalla groaned, and Aldrik barely moved.

She rolled onto her side and curled against him, her head on his upper chest. Vhalla took comfort from his proximity, his slow breathing. She knew he no longer smelled it, or at least that was what he’d told her long ago. He had torched so many people that it barely registered to him as the awful stink it was. Vhalla settled back into sleep as his arm instinctively curled around her. She really hoped the pillows did not smell for however long they were forced to remain.

She had fallen back asleep, though she had no idea for how long, when there was a pounding on Baldair’s door. Vhalla rolled away from the source of the noise, as if it would make the person go away. Aldrik cursed softly, but did much the same.

“Boys,” the Emperor called through Baldair’s door. Still believing—or faking belief—that Aldrik slept in there so Vhalla could have his room for her protection.

They were both upright, Vhalla looking at the prince with wild, panicked eyes.

“We have received a reply. Come now,” Emperor Solaris demanded.

“Coming, coming,” Baldair’s muffled voice could barely be heard.

The Emperor appeared to have no interest in waiting for his sons as his footsteps faded away.

Aldrik turned to her, in shock. “A reply,” he breathed.

Vhalla couldn’t find words.

“A reply!” Aldrik placed his palms on either side of her face, pulling her in for a fierce kiss. “I would bet it is a surrender. Given the display of our might.”

Aldrik stood quickly, pulling on a fresh shirt. Or rather, a fresher one than the one he’d worn through the battle. Vhalla looked at the bed sheets, completely soiled from the state they’d gone to sleep in. She was suddenly regretting the decision not to change her clothes. She didn’t look forward to sleeping in that filth before the march home.

“I will go help finish this war.” Aldrik paused by the door. “Then I will speak with my father, and you will be a Lady of the Court.”

“Do you really think so?” Vhalla’s hand gripped the watch around her neck tightly, realizing how much she needed it to be true.

“Of course.” Aldrik beamed. “You were brilliant. All eyes turned to you for inspiration; it was literally painted upon half the army. The merit of your accolade will not be questioned.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but there was a soft set of knocks on the door.

Aldrik opened it for Baldair.

“Are you coming?” Baldair glanced at her, and Vhalla smiled tiredly.

“Yes, yes.” Aldrik grabbed his chainmail off the floor, quickly donning it. “I shall return soon as I am able. Sleep more if you can,” he said to Vhalla.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” She yawned and rolled onto her side, pulling up the covers once more.

“Lucky,” Vhalla heard Baldair mutter under his breath, and she couldn’t help but giggle softly. The door closed, and she listened to their footsteps disappear down the hall. Vhalla pulled the blanket to her nose. The smell was truly awful.

She wasn’t sure how long she had fallen asleep again for, but it was long enough for the light to have moved across the floor a noticeable distance. The shouting and arguing of men called her to life. Vhalla yawned, instantly regretting the instinctual movement as the semi-smoky air filled her lungs. She sat coughing, trying to listen more closely to the overly aggressive noises.

Vhalla tried to use her magical hearing to make out the words, but her Channel was too weak to sustain even that. What she could hear was that they were frequent and angry. The deep resonance of Aldrik’s fury competed against the Emperor’s sharp and fierce tones. Vhalla bit her lip and stood, her whole body aching.

Tugging at the chain around her neck, she opened her watch and checked the time. It was around two, which meant she had close to eight hours of sleep. Yet, she still felt exhausted. The magical depletion had taken its toll, and without the rush of battle to hide it, she realized how much she had used up the night before.

There was another bout of shouting, and she heard something crash. Vhalla winced. Whatever their topic of discussion was, it did not seem good, and it was pitting two people against each other, two people whom Vhalla wanted to keep as separate as possible for everyone’s benefit. Judging from the muffled nature of it and the location of the sound, they were likely at the far end of the main hall.

Deciding to brave whatever the world may hold, Vhalla ran a hand through her greasy hair and tried to plait it into a messy braid. It was hopeless, and Vhalla could only resign herself to the fact that Aldrik, the army, and the Emperor had seen her in worse situations. No one was about to win any awards for their beauty.

She didn’t even bother changing her tunic. Vhalla contemplated her armor, piled on the floor, but it was even dirtier; the last thing she wanted to do was put her metallic skin back on. The North had been subdued anyway, Vhalla mused as she left the room; there wouldn’t be any more battles.

She flinched, halting at the doorway to the main hall.

“You will do this!” the Emperor snapped.

“You cannot dictate what I will and will not do!” Vhalla heard another slam punctuate Aldrik’s words.

“This is not your decision,” the Emperor warned dangerously.

“More than anything, this is my decision!” Aldrik shot back. “Was this your play all along? Was this the real reason why you spoke against her suggestion of torching Soricium?”

Vhalla’s heart pounded in her ears, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear any more of this particular conversation. With a deep breath, and garnering more bravery than she had used to face the Northerners, Vhalla rounded into the main room, hoping her presence would stop the conversation. She assessed the royal family who stood in the far corner.

Aldrik’s hands were on the table, his shoulders squared against his father, who stood opposite. She saw a barely visible quivering in Aldrik’s arms. His jaw was clenched, and his face was actually flushed with anger. She had never seen him so out of control from rage alone. The Emperor’s arms were folded across his chest, and he sneered in disgust at his son.

Vhalla sympathized the most with Baldair, who was very much an innocent bystander. He had taken at least three full steps away and inched back further with the opportunity to look at her. Vhalla had never before felt so uncomfortable with the royal family’s attentions on her.

The Emperor barely contained a scowl at her. His eyes judged every inch of her short height. Aldrik turned to her, and she saw his anger drop completely to a pained expression. His mouth parted, and Vhalla stared at him hopelessly. He seemed to be unable to physically tolerate her visage for more than a second as he turned away with a shake of his head. Baldair’s eyes were the kindest with a mix of sorrow and pity that gave her no encouragement.

“Well, well, well, if it is not the ‘Hero of the North’,” the Emperor spoke slowly.

“My lord.” She gave a respectful bow.

“Come here.” He pointed to just before their table.

Vhalla was left with no other option, feeling like a child about to be chastised by her teacher. However, this teacher was a man bent on conquest and who had the power to kill her.

“Tell me, Miss Yarl.” Emperor Solaris rested his palm on the table, turning to Vhalla. “What is a fitting reward for someone of your status, for your achievements?”

Vhalla swallowed and resisted every urge to shred her clothing with fidgeting. Had Aldrik brought the notion of her ladyship up with his father? Was all this from simply the idea of her being raised to a member of the court? If it was, the Emperor must also know what Aldrik intended by it, otherwise he would not be so angered.

“My lord.” Vhalla’s mouth was dry, and not just from all the smoke. “It was simply an honor to serve the family Solaris.” She retreated into the safety of decorum and respect to avoid answering his question.

“I see.” His eyes flicked up and down over her. Vhalla shifted her feet, squirming at the feeling of his assessment stripping her bare. “I think some of the family Solaris were much better served than other members.”

The Emperor’s head swung back to Aldrik, and Vhalla’s mouth dropped open. The implications of his words were perfectly clear, and Vhalla wanted to scream. She wanted to lunge for him, she wanted to slap him, she wanted to put this power-hungry, maniacal man firmly in his place. What she ended up doing was standing there hopeless before the man who was her sovereign.

“Father!” Aldrik’s face turned upward in an instant, his voice was a low growl. “Don’t you dare.”

“Don’t I dare what?” the Emperor scolded his son like he was still a small boy. “Do not forget, Aldrik, I am the Emperor, not you. The world is under my rule, and my decision is law. You may not tell me what I do or do not dare to do.”

Aldrik’s hands clenched into fists on the table. Vhalla saw his barely contained control. The magic practically radiated off him, itching to set the whole building ablaze.

“You will not—” Aldrik’s voice was raised once more.

“Silence!” The Emperor’s other hand slammed down onto the table, and Aldrik’s head fell, he turned his face downward.

His defeat unnerved Vhalla more than anything else in that singular moment.

“Please excuse me, my lords.” She couldn’t take any more; she couldn’t handle one more suffocating moment of whatever was transpiring. Vhalla retreated before anyone could say otherwise.

She took in a deep breath of air outside of the doors, gagging and sputtering on the smoke. She brought a hand to her mouth with a grimace. However, no matter how awful it was outside, nothing compared to the suffocation of that room.

Vhalla started off aimlessly, no goal of where she should be other than not in the camp palace. The tents were smashed in lines from where the Northerners had launched their attacks. She could see some—most—were trampled beyond repair. Vhalla wondered how many people would be sharing an uncomfortable sleeping arrangement tonight. She wondered if she would be one of them, given the situation with the Emperor.

Her feet carried her instinctually to the one other place she’d been made comfortable after coming to the North. Astoundingly, the Golden Guard’s huts were still in order. She was halfway to them when the sharp sound of a door slamming echoed across camp.

Vhalla turned in the direction of the sound. The Emperor had a piece of paper clenched in his fist, and Aldrik trudged along behind him, Baldair lagging behind. She gulped nervously.

Jax and Erion were around the center campfire. Craig, Raylynn, and Daniel were nowhere to be seen. The men waved her over the second they noticed Vhalla’s presence.

“Good morning!” Jax greeted.

“Good afternoon,” Vhalla corrected, sitting on one of the stumps around the fire. She tugged on the chain around her neck, popping open the watch. “It’s almost three.”

“I’ve been admiring your timepiece,” Erion said quickly. Jax shot him a sideways look. “Not the first time I’ve noticed it about your neck. May I see?”

Vhalla paused, her fingers closing around the watch. She had no reason to say no. A refusal would merit an explanation she wasn’t ready to give. Resigned, Vhalla unclasped it around her neck and passed it over.

Erion ran his fingers over the front thoughtfully. The two Westerners exchanged a look. Jax gave Erion a small nod. “I thought Prince Aldrik had stopped crafting watches.”

Vhalla felt more exposed than she had while she was under the Emperor’s scrutiny. She snatched it back with a defensive glare, quickly putting it around her neck.

“I’m surprised he let you be so bold with it,” Jax whispered, half under his breath.

“It’s unlike our prince,” Erion hummed in agreement. “Quite the statement he’s making with you.”

Vhalla’s fingers rested over the watch through her shirt where it now rested against her chest. “How did you know?”

“I’ve known our prince since he was small,” Erion explained. Vhalla remembered Daniel telling her that Erion had been the original member of the Golden Guard. “He went through a phase as a child where it was all he did. But I see he continued to progress in secret.”

“Why? Why did he continue only in secret?” Vhalla asked.

“Who knows?” Erion shrugged.

She turned to Jax. He had a different expression. Vhalla gave him a probing stare.

“Likely so he could give them to ladies,” the lanky Westerner laughed away her silent inquiry. “Clearly, the prince gets more action than we thought!”

The two men were jesting back and forth, but Vhalla remained focused on Jax. There was madness to him, she’d always known that. But something ran deeper. There was more to this man than met the eye. He knew things.

“You lot are making it hard to sleep,” Daniel grumbled from his doorframe. He blinked in surprise the moment he noticed Vhalla’s presence among the group. “What’re you doing here?”

“Enjoying not fighting?” Vhalla made up a weak excuse. But it seemed to be accepted.

Daniel chuckled and assumed the place next to her.

“Speaking of fighting, I saw your bird,” Jax said eagerly.

“My bird?” Vhalla tilted her head.

“During the battle,” he clarified, which didn’t really make it any clearer in actuality. Jax considered her stumped face and continued, “The giant flame.”

Clarity washed across her, and Vhalla realized he meant when she had brought Aldrik’s flames into the sky. Hands together, fingers open, she could see how it may look like a bird. “I didn’t really plan for it to be a bird.”

“It was brilliant that it was!” Jax grinned. “I knew it must be you; Firebearers can’t sculpt flames like that.”

“I had good flames to work with.” Vhalla glanced away in the direction of the fortress. Surely the last letter had been delivered already.

As if on cue, Vhalla watched as the three royals—in no better spirits—trudged back inside. Vhalla wondered if she should be at Aldrik’s side facing whatever it was he was forced to endure. Her hand rested over her watch once more. No, after the brief encounter in the morning, she doubted that would be helpful.

“What is it?” Daniel didn’t miss her shift in demeanor.

“Oh, nothing.” Vhalla turned back to the group hastily.

Daniel considered her for a long moment.

“Would you like to see Fritz?” Jax asked.

“You know where he is?” Vhalla was surprised.

“Elecia’s with him.” Jax nodded and stood. “I’ll show you.”

“Thanks.” Vhalla stood as well and said her goodbyes to the group.

During their trek across camp, the three royals stormed out of the camp palace once more. Vhalla stopped, watching Aldrik move rigidly with clenched fists. He was in some kind of argument with Baldair that the Emperor was pretending to be oblivious to. Her hand went to her neck, feeling the watch once more. There was something deeply unsettling about the morning. What wasn’t going as planned? The North couldn’t still be trying to fight.

Jax saw her all the way to a cleric’s tent, saying nothing of her silence. Vhalla was relieved to find Fritz awake and doing well. He had a gash on the side of his head that forced Vhalla to push away the memories of a similar wound Aldrik had worn for weeks. Fritz’s injury wasn’t nearly as severe, however.

Elecia relinquished her position at Fritz’s bedside, walking a short distance away and engaging in a hushed discussion with Jax. Vhalla watched them thoughtfully. They had an easy familiarity about them: they always had.

The Western woman wasn’t gone for long. She had a protective nature about Fritz that left Vhalla to wondering when it had developed. They acted like siblings, Elecia putting up with Fritz’s nonsense more than she would for anyone else.

Jax sat with them, and they discussed their plans for after the war. He remained silent as Elecia went on about how relieved she would be to be back in the West. Vhalla wasn’t shocked at how the girl couldn’t wait to get back to all the lavish trappings her status gave her.

What did surprise Vhalla was when Elecia spoke of coming to the capital to study in the Tower. Fritz and Vhalla were in the midst of encouraging her to do so when Major Schnurr entered the large tent.

“Yarl?” he called gruffly. “Is the Windwalker here?” He scanned the surprised faces of clerics, wounded, and guests. Vhalla stood from the far corner, and he smiled slowly at her presence. “The Emperor has requested you.”

Jax stood with Vhalla as well, walking at her side.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Major Schnurr spoke as though he’d just eaten something bitter.

“Escorting her to the camp palace,” Jax announced.

“You were not ordered to do so.” Major Schnurr didn’t seem pleased with this decision.

“Actually,” Jax took a step forward, “I was.”

“By who?” the major scoffed.

“By Prince Baldair.” That stilled the major and confused Vhalla. “He ordered the Golden Guard to protect Lady Vhalla as though she were one of our own, as though she were the prince’s kin.”

“I’ve heard of no such order.”

“You’re calling Baldair a liar?” There was a dangerous glint instantly in Jax’s eyes at the notion.

“That’s Prince Baldair to you, fallen lord,” Major Schnurr sneered.

“Enough.” Vhalla held up a hand, and Jax stepped into it. “It’s fine, Jax. The major here will protect me, and we’re headed to see the Emperor. I’m sure Prince Baldair is there also.”

Jax clearly debated this. He hesitated for long enough that Vhalla was worried he’d put up a fight. But he relented, going back to Fritz’s bedside with a glare. Elecia had a dark look about her from just staring at Major Schnurr.

“Lead on.” Vhalla held her head high, wearing a mask of casual confidence.

Major Schnurr didn’t speak, which suited Vhalla just fine. She was barely keeping the trembling ball of nerves in her chest from overtaking her heart. She didn’t have the courage to make small talk or ask why she was being summoned. He didn’t do anything other than check over his shoulder to make sure she was still there.

Even though spring was already upon them, the days were still short, and Vhalla found the sun setting over her shoulder as they entered the camp palace. The main room was empty, but she heard voices coming from the back. There was little shouting, but there was also very little that sounded pleasant. Her magic still wasn’t strong enough for magic hearing, or Vhalla would’ve cast aside all notions of avoiding eavesdropping.

“My lord, I have brought the Windwalker,” the major called.

She heard the Emperor’s door open.

“Ten minutes,” one of Vhalla’s most hated voices in the world called back. “If not by then, you may execute your duty.” The door slammed shut.

Major Schnurr produced a pocket watch with a small grin, checking the time. He took a step forward, and she was suddenly aware of his proximity.

“Sit,” he ordered, motioning to a bench.

Vhalla’s heart beat so hard she was dizzy. She wanted her prince, and all she had was his muffled voice. Vhalla sat as she was told.

She fumbled with the chain at her neck. Ten minutes, the Emperor had said. Vhalla looked at the watch face.

Ten minutes until what? Vhalla tapped her foot, restless energy creeping up in her. She glanced at the major. He still had that dangerous aura about him, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Was the Emperor going to kill her? She’d delivered him his victory. She’d shown her heroism to the army. She’d saved his life before his most trusted general. There was no way he could kill her now.

Vhalla turned the idea over in her head. He could do whatever he wanted, he was the Emperor. Even Aldrik couldn’t protect her, his father had made that much clear time and again.

Vhalla checked the watch. A meager three minutes had passed. The major kept checking his as well. She picked at the seam of her tunic restlessly.

Should she just ask why she was there? Vhalla didn’t want to know the answer. Somewhere deep in her, she knew it wouldn’t be good. It was never good for her in situations like this.

Five minutes.

“I need something from my room.” She stood suddenly.

“Sit,” the major ordered.

Vhalla glared up at him, trying to look commanding. “I will just be a moment,” her voice quivered with strain.

“Sit.” His palm closed around her shoulder, and he pushed her back onto the bench.

Vhalla fell clumsily, barely catching herself. Her heart pounded in her ears, not Aldrik’s heartbeat, just hers. Vhalla clenched her fists, trying to activate her magic. But the Channel remained dormant, nothing more than a trickle of power. If she had to fight, she would not put up much of one. Vhalla suddenly felt very trapped with this man, this major who should be someone she could trust.

More shouting. Vhalla looked at her watch. Seven minutes.

Major Schnurr checked his watch as well and tapped his foot impatiently. Her stomach knotted, Vhalla was certain she was going to be sick. Could she call out to Aldrik? Would he come to her? Could he? Her mind worked itself into a frenzy as the seconds ticked away.

Nine minutes.

Major Schnurr’s hand closed around the pommel of his sword.

Vhalla’s breath caught in her throat. She stood.

“Sit,” he growled, taking a step forward.

“No,” she whispered, glancing for the door. If she could get outside, surely he would not strike her down before the whole of the camp? She could get a running start, maybe she had enough strength to get to a horse.

She didn’t want to die.

“Sit,” he repeated.

Thirty seconds.

Vhalla turned and made a dash for the door. His hand closed around her wrist. She heard steel on steel as Schnurr’s weapon was halfway drawn. A strained panicked noise came from the back of Vhalla’s throat. She twisted but his hand held fast. She opened her mouth to call for Aldrik, to shout for her life, to fight with every last ounce of strength she possessed.

The Emperor’s door slammed open. Multiple pairs of heavy footsteps were heard. The major paused, but he did not release his grip, even by a fraction. The Emperor was first around the corner, followed by Aldrik—who was instantly full of rage at the scene—and a wide-eyed Baldair. As Aldrik took a step with murderous intent, the Emperor held out his arm across his son’s chest.

“Major Schnurr.” The Emperor stepped forward. “What is the meaning of this? Unhand the Lady Yarl.”

The major released his grasp and Vhalla shrunk away. She rubbed her wrist and looked frantically at the men who surrounded her. Baldair appeared as though he had seen something more horrific than the battle the night prior. Aldrik did not even try to meet her eyes.

“I was merely keeping her safe inside these walls. She has foolishly forgotten her armor today.” The major’s grip on his sword relaxed, and it slid back into its scabbard.

Vhalla stared at him in shock.

“She has indeed,” the Emperor agreed. “Thank you for your extreme loyalty. I trust you to know that certain things can be overlooked for those who show me such diligence,” the Emperor gave his dismissal, and Major Schnurr left.

The Emperor walked forward, and Vhalla braced herself. His eyes were shining with malice, with pleasure, with pride, and with the thing that made her blood curdle: victory. He held a piece of paper, another letter to send back to the Northerners. Vhalla wondered what was taking the surrender so long.

“Lady Yarl.” She noticed the Emperor using the title for the second time and was confused. “I would not recommend walking around a military camp without your armor. You never know who may take advantage of such,” he cooed with loathing. He turned for the door. “Now, to finish my Empire.”

The Emperor strode out the doors, and Vhalla stood dazed and confused. She turned back to the princes, who seemed completely lifeless. Baldair’s eyes were filled with sorrow. She turned to Aldrik; he had not moved. His head was hung, and his eyes were fixated upon the floor.

“B-Baldair?” She tried to find her voice. The younger prince turned away sharply. Vhalla took a step forward. “Aldrik?” she whispered.

Her prince’s eyes came up to meet hers, and Vhalla felt her heart stop, turn to lead, and lodge itself into her throat. She swallowed hard, but nothing made that damn lump disappear. Aldrik was tired, worn, and utterly hopeless.

“Aldrik,” Vhalla repeated, taking another step toward him. He raised a hand slowly, a crumpled piece of parchment in his fist. Vhalla closed both hands around his, and he jolted away at her touch, leaving her to catch the paper mid-air.

Neither prince had said anything, but they both stared at her expectantly. She carefully straightened the parchment in her hands, smoothing it to read the writing upon it. Her heart stopped.

She scanned the writing, once, twice, three times. She blinked up in shock. Her hands tightened about the official document. She looked down in awe at the signature and seal of the Emperor on the paper declaring that she was made an official Lady of the Court with all privileges, honors, and a tidy sum of gold from the Imperial coffers for her services to the crown.

“We did it.” A smile tugged at her cheeks. “We did it!”

When she looked at Aldrik again, her smile fell from her face—and all joy with it. Vhalla had expected happiness. She had expected him to sweep her up into his arms. She had expected him to kiss her as the woman who could now be his bride. She did not expect the shining tears that threatened the corners of the eyes.

“Aldrik, what is it?” Vhalla dared.

He focused on a corner of the room, taking a breath.

“What has happened?” She walked closer to him.

His eyes pressed closed, and he took a shaky breath. The paper slipped from her hands and fell on the floor with a rustle.

“Tell me,” she pleaded softly. Vhalla took his hands gently in hers.

Aldrik pulled away from her a second time. He retreated a step.

Vhalla’s chest tightened. “Tell me!” she cried suddenly, her voice breaking from the sudden volume.

His face jolted back to hers, and it twisted with agony. “This is over!” he snapped. “We are no more. I belong to another!”

Vhalla felt her world stop as she looked into his eyes and saw a horrible truth.

SHE COULDN’T BREATHE. It was as though she had completely forgotten how. Vhalla fought for air, but none seemed to enter her lungs. She stood with her mouth stupidly open, trying to feel less dizzy.

“What?” She finally managed.

“I am engaged to be wed,” he announced roughly.

“What?” Vhalla repeated. Everything else had vanished from her head.

“Do not parrot words like a simpleton!” he seethed.

Vhalla physically took a step back, reeling from his rage.

“Brother, this isn’t her fault.” Baldair placed a hand on Aldrik’s shoulder.

“If it were not for her then—” Aldrik scowled at his brother, readying some insult. “Then—” He swung his eyes back to her, and his voice caught in his throat. Aldrik stared at the woman to whom he had promised his future. Aldrik closed his mouth and swallowed his words.

“What happened?” The question was made with the sounds of her fracturing heart crackling up through her throat.

“My father wanted it to be neat. It was as you said, the North would never completely bow to a foreign power. They’re too loyal to their old blood.” Aldrik’s voice varied between rage and exhaustion. “The head clan’s Chieftain has a daughter who will be of age in a year’s time. Since I am, was, conveniently un-promised . . . It sweetened the surrender for them to know one of theirs would be our future Empress.” Aldrik turned and smashed his fist into a table with a cry.

Vhalla gripped the watch around her neck. “But you-you’re not. You weren’t un-promised.”

“What?” Baldair blinked.

Aldrik breathed heavily, his eyes accusatory as if she’d dare speak the words.

“Aldrik, you’re not. You asked me and I said—”

“Quiet, woman!” The crown prince glanced away, running his hands violently through his hair. “My father did not know that. Even when I—” Aldrik swallowed. “He’d hear nothing of the idea. He wanted one of theirs under our control, to inspire loyalty through the pain we could afflict on them if nothing else, and because it will make the North loyal. He’d planned this all along, and we were stupid and blind.”

He was speaking, but it was a different language. Nothing seemed to make sense. Nothing added up. It wasn’t possible that what she was facing was real. “So, what do we do?”

“What do we do?” Aldrik stared down the bridge of his nose at her. “What do we do? I told you, there is no we, Vhalla. There is you, and there is me. You go off and be a lady. I have the stunning privilege of watching you safe and sound about the Court. I marry this girl and fulfill my duty.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No!” Her voice cracked. “You always have a plan, an out, a silver tongue, a clever half-truth or way around.” She picked the paper off the floor and held it before him. “Look! Look! You-you made me a lady. Me! A farmer’s daughter is now worthy to be the love of the crown prince. If you can do that—”

He swatted her hands away as though the paper was nothing, and Vhalla gawked at him in shock.

“It is over!” Aldrik alternated between frustrated anger and desperate pleading for her to understand and take pity on his plight. “I fought all day. When I told him I would refuse any woman but you, he countered like a coward. He brought you here to threaten me, to force me.”

Vhalla’s eyes widened, thinking of the unheeded warnings of Lord Ophain: she was the chink in the crown prince’s armor.

“I tried everything I could to formulate an alternative surrender, up until the moment he had you here with a man who was going to kill you if anyone other than my father walked out.” Aldrik stared down at his bloody knuckles, injured from where he’d smashed them against the table. “I traded my hand for your life. The best I could do was to insure your safety as a lady, to see you set for life with my family’s gold. That was my play.”

She stared at him in slack-jawed shock. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t had half an idea of what had been occurring. Vhalla gripped the bottom of her tunic. It was her fault.

“If I, if I’d worn my armor.” Her shoulders quivered. “Then, then—”

“No.” Aldrik sighed, involuntarily softening at her apparent turmoil. “Schnurr would have put the point of his blade as soon through your eye as anywhere else, and I knew you were in no condition to fight after last night.”

“There has to be something else we could have done.” The volume of her voice was inconsistent, changing with each shaky breath.

“Vhalla, enough. It’s over.” Aldrik turned away from her tiredly, his shoulders hunched.

“No!” she cried and scampered in front of him. “No!” She shook her head furiously. “What about everything we said? All we planned?”

“Gone.” Aldrik couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye.

“How can you be like this?” she snapped.

“How can you?” He turned it back on her. “I thought you knew so clearly how this would end.” Aldrik sneered down at her.

Vhalla’s world stilled briefly from a memory that she had let herself forget, a memory of a woman, a curiosity shop, fire, and red eyes. A future telling that she had shoved away. Tears welled up in Vhalla’s wide eyes. She had known: she would lose her dark sentry. How could she have been so foolish to believe she’d beaten fate in the Pass?

Vhalla absorbed her prince’s face, still handsome to her despite brimming with anger and pain. It was as though all she was to him now was torture. Vhalla shook her head once more, as though she could wake from this living nightmare. Her face dropped into her palms and Vhalla sobbed.

It was broken, all was broken around her. The beautiful yet delicate thing that had been built between them was torn to shreds. She heard the ripping sound of her heart over her tears. “No,” she repeated, her eyes closed.

“No, no! This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen! We—” It was a physical pain, it was an awful wrenching deep in her gut. “I can’t, what do I do now?”

Aldrik hovered, blurry through her tears.

“You’re free now. You do whatever you want.” Aldrik averted his eyes away, his jaw taut. He was struggling with her suffering, struggling with not comforting her.

Vhalla saw it, but she did not care. “Without you?” she pushed him.

“Yes, without me!” he bellowed. “Your purpose here is done!”

“My purpose?” Vhalla gaped. Her voice became shrill, “Was that all I was to you? A-a thing? A conquest? Did you just keep me neatly for your father? Or did you want the honor of saying you took the Windwalker to bed first?” Vhalla yelled petulantly at him. Her words weren’t fair. Life wasn’t being fair.

“How dare you,” he growled, taking a step toward her.

“How dare you, Aldrik Ci’Dan Solaris. How dare you make me believe!” She tugged at the chain around her neck, the watch on display. “How dare you make me love you! How dare you go back on your word!” Vhalla couldn’t stop herself. “I wish I’d never said yes. I wish I had never met you!” she screamed.

“Is that so? Well then, let me assure you that the feeling is mutual, Lady Yarl.” Aldrik drew his height, prepared to give her what she wanted. Somehow he knew as well as she that they needed to break beyond repair. That they couldn’t survive if they could still believe in the love they so obviously still harbored. “You, us, it was all one great lie. None of this was real from the start. You’re right, you were just my trophy.”

“Brother, stop this,” Baldair demanded. The younger prince took a step closer to the feuding lovers, seeing the fever pitch they were being worked to.

“Stay out of this, Baldair!” Aldrik froze his brother to the spot with a deadly stare before returning his attention to her. “Our promises meant nothing, we were nothing.”

Vhalla knew he was lying. She could see it written across Aldrik’s face. But it didn’t absolve his words either. They grated against her heart and tore her insides to pieces. Grief wasn’t logical, it was a self-feeding fire.

“What a pathetic creature.” Aldrik looked on in disgust. “As if I would ever love you. I played you like the naïve girl you were.”

She began to laugh. Lips quivered and shoulders trembled with a new madness slipping out along the undertow of grief. He had to keep pushing. He couldn’t stop when he had clearly accomplished his goal. He had to drive things so far into the ground that there was nothing more than a husk of ash left where they stood.

“You’re wrong,” she rasped. Vhalla had never felt so dangerous. She had a weapon far greater than his lies. “I was the one who played you.”

“What?” Aldrik took a half step away. He saw something on her face, the point that they had pushed to.

Vhalla had half a moment to absorb that fear and regret, if only she’d sympathized with him and stopped her words.

“Our Bond is the biggest lie of them all,” she whispered. Aldrik stood frozen with horrific attention. “I never meant to save you. I thought I was saving Baldair that night. I poured myself into those notes for his sake.”

Aldrik had suddenly been reduced to a lost lamb, his eyes darting between her and a confused Baldair.

But Vhalla couldn’t stop herself now, it was her turn to push too far. It was a sinister sort of pleasure to unleash pain, and she couldn’t refrain. He’d cut her so deeply that she wasn’t thinking about right or wrong, fair or unfair. She wanted to drink from the toxic potion of revenge and unleash the only thing that could slay a liar: the truth.

“What are you talking about?” Neither of them paid attention to Baldair’s confusion.

“You’re not the only one who can lie, Aldrik.” Vhalla laughed bitterly.

Aldrik stared at her in stunned horror. It served as kindling for rage, and she watched his body tense. Aldrik clenched his fists. He jerked his head toward Baldair. “You.”

Baldair held his hands up harmlessly.

“You could not let me have this one joy untainted,” Aldrik snarled.

Vhalla was so startled by Aldrik’s shift back to describing her as his “one joy” that her better sense clicked back in. She hadn’t meant for Baldair to be wrapped into their fight, only to bring Aldrik’s rage further upon herself, upon the fading embers of their futile love. She was crushing her and Aldrik’s future. Not his and Baldair’s.

“Aldrik, he had nothing to do with this.” Vhalla took a half step in front of Baldair, stopping the older prince’s advance.

“A new low, even for you, brother,” Aldrik said with disdain. “Getting your whore to protect you.”

Vhalla’s arms hung limply at her sides, suddenly at a complete loss.

“Don’t call her that! You don’t mean it.” Baldair’s defense was touching, but completely ignored by Aldrik.

“Oh? Slut then?” Aldrik grimaced as the word tore itself from his tongue. “Who’s next, now that you’ve had both princes? Going to crawl into bed with my father?”

Vhalla stared in disgust that such a thing could even be voiced.

“We never slept together!” Baldair bellowed.

“I should have known from that day in the garden,” Aldrik continued, ignoring them. “When I found out you had met before.” Aldrik focused on Baldair. There was a surprisingly honest torrent of hurt behind his eyes. “You had to do it again. To think, I really thought things could be different between us.”

Baldair had met his limit now. “Why would I want them to be? So I can spend time with my bastard of a brother?”

“Do not call me that,” Aldrik roared.

“What? We know it to be true, black sheep.”

Aldrik lunged faster than Vhalla had time to react. He was quick, but Baldair was large, and the younger prince only needed to brace himself against his brother’s swings.

“Stop, both of you!” Vhalla clenched her fists. Her wind wasn’t strong enough to pull them apart.

The brawling siblings didn’t hear her.

It dawned on Vhalla what she’d done. She’d backed the man who had just lost the one person he’d loved into a corner. And now, she was crumbling the last lifeline Aldrik had. If he didn’t have Baldair on his side, who would look out for him?

Fire roared and Baldair fell to his knees, hissing.

“You,” the younger prince gasped for air. “You never use your magic on me.”

Aldrik drew back a fist, alight with flame. “Perhaps you should get your sword and we’ll make this a real fight? We’re not boys anymore.”

Baldair roared and lunged for Aldrik, tackling him at the waist. They rolled, a tumbleweed of fists. They couldn’t seem to stop hitting each other long enough to get upright.

“Stop!” Vhalla cried. “Stop it, both of you!”

She was unheard. The men had reverted back to children, unwilling to listen to any reason. Aldrik was the first to his feet, landing a solid hit on his brother.

“Aldrik, stop!” Vhalla jumped into the fray, finally taking action. She put herself between the princes, but only after Aldrik had begun moving his fist for another hit. She watched as his dark eyes widened, how she loved those eyes.

Vhalla took Aldrik’s strike clean to the cheek and was sent reeling by it.

Aldrik stopped, panting. His hands twitched, jerked in her direction to hold her, to comfort her. Vhalla stepped away from him, righting herself.

“Don’t touch me,” she whispered.

“Vhalla, I didn’t mean to hit you.” The prince was instantly pleading. “You-you moved and I-I couldn’t stop—”

“It doesn’t matter.” Vhalla shook her head. “This is the destruction anger reaps.”

Baldair said she had inspired change in Aldrik, but it hadn’t been enough. People didn’t change when asked by others, no matter how important the asker was. True change had to come entirely from within. He wouldn’t change until he saw the full extent of his actions as a liar, a puppet master, as a destructive man to both himself and others. He didn’t know how much his anger, even when it was directed at himself, hurt the world around him. Every moment spent with him was silently condoning it all.

He’d never know unless someone had the strength to stand up and show him.

The mantle had fallen to her. Vhalla prayed he could rise to the challenge, rather than being broken by it.

Aldrik took another jerky step toward her.

“Don’t come near me.” Vhalla stepped away.

“Vhalla, you must understand—”

Aldrik was stopped by a strong palm on his chest.

“Didn’t you hear her?” Baldair stared murderously at Aldrik. “She doesn’t want you near her.”

“You can’t keep me from her!” Aldrik shouted.

Vhalla picked up the parchment detailing her title from the floor.

“Vhalla! Vhalla, wait!”

She ignored him, the last of her heart shriveling.

“I am your prince. I order you to come here.”

“What?” Vhalla spun. He said the one thing that could make her return to him, but certainly not in the way he’d been hoping. “I want you to have one thing perfectly clear, Prince Aldrik Ci’Dan Solaris.” Vhalla refrained from using the words my prince any longer. “You do not own me.”

She held out the paper as proof of her words. The only thing she had left to her name was the name itself.

“What more could you possibly want from me that I have not already given you?” Vhalla panted softly, worked to a frenzy. Her question wasn’t hypothetical, and she waited for his response. The only benefit of doing so was watching the truth dawn on him.

Then again, Vhalla mused, she was not innocent. Vhalla dropped her hand holding the paper with a sigh. She had fed into him, she had ignored his problems and idolized his secret mannerisms that made him shine in her eyes. She’d mentally made him into the man she’d wanted him to be; she hadn’t loved the man he truly was.

“Goodbye, Aldrik,” Vhalla whispered.

His face fell. All emotion collapsed like a house of cards in the wake of world-shattering panic. Aldrik heard the finality Vhalla put in her tone. “Wait!” he cried. “Where are you going?”

Vhalla kept walking for the door, folding the parchment before putting it in her pocket.

“Answer me!” he pleaded, he ordered. “Vhalla, Vhalla, please! Answer me!”

Vhalla plunged herself into the night air beyond, listening to Aldrik’s cries muffled through the doors. The two soldiers stationed on either side gave her extremely curious looks, but Vhalla held her head high. The camp was certain to be ablaze with talk the moment the guard changed.

Vhalla bit her lip so hard she split it on her teeth. She had the one thing she’d been fighting for since leaving the capital: her freedom. But it had cost her nearly everything. Vhalla realized she’d walked out of the camp palace with nothing but the clothes on her back and the decree from the Emperor. She’d left everything in that poorly built, glorified shack. Strewn about the floor of Aldrik’s room were all the things she’d taken to the North: her clothes, her armor, a few meager possessions, and her heart.

VHALLA DIDN’T WALK. She drifted through time and space from one location to the next, gravitating toward the only place she could think of to go: Fritz’s bedside. She’d taken the long way, wandering through the wreckage that surrounded her. The battle already seemed like another world and, somehow, it had suddenly turned into a loss.

Elecia was gone and Fritz was asleep, as were most of the people in the large cleric’s tent. Vhalla situated herself on the bare ground next to her friend. It wasn’t long after she’d settled that his eyes cracked open, his head turning slowly to look at her.

Fritz stared at her for a long moment, peering thoughtfully at her face. “What happened?”

Vhalla raised a hand up to her cheek, noticing where Fritz’s eyes had gravitated. The skin near her eye was puffy and tender, likely red or a purple color. A bruise that hadn’t been there the last time he’d seen her.

“A lot,” Vhalla whispered.

“It looks it,” Fritz agreed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She mused over this. Her immediate answer was no; not even by a small margin did she want to talk about her falling out with the man who was supposed to be her intended. The watch almost burned against her chest, and Vhalla thought of all the times Aldrik had kept silent when she desperately wanted him to open up. She thought of Larel, and the memory of the woman reminded her that friends were there to help in moments like this.

“Aldrik and I, we’re over.” Saying it aloud made it all the more real.

Thankfully Fritz spoke and saved Vhalla from being unable to. “Did he do this?” Fritz ran his fingers over her face.

“Yes.” Vhalla didn’t even try to lie, she was done with lies. “He was aiming for someone else,” she continued at Fritz’s frown. “But, yes.”

It was Fritz’s turn to be at a loss for words.

Vhalla shook her head. She didn’t want people to think of Aldrik as abusive. “It was really an accident, I got between fighting brothers.” She laughed weakly. “Aldrik wouldn’t have intentionally hit me.”

“If you say so.” Her friend didn’t seem convinced.

“Truly,” Vhalla assured. “I’m a Lady of the Court now.” She was eager to change the topic.

“What? Really?” In Fritz’s excitement, he spoke a little too loud and moved a little too fast. Vhalla pushed lightly on his shoulder, preventing him from sitting as another patient muttered and cursed at the noise. Fritz scooted closer. “How?”

“Aldrik, he . . .” Vhalla stilled. She was tired of having revelations that made her chest ache with how hollow it was. “He traded his freedom for mine.”

Vhalla clutched the watch around her neck tightly. How had she not seen it that way before? The pendulum of her emotions toward the crown prince swung from all-consuming love to raw anger.

“I don’t really get it all,” Fritz sighed. “But this means you can return to the Tower, right?”

Vhalla looked up at Fritz in surprise. She hadn’t thought about it. Returning to the Tower, living a normal life; it all seemed so out of reach that Vhalla hadn’t considered it. Now, it stared her in the face, and it was positively terrifying. She couldn’t go back to the South. She couldn’t march alongside Aldrik and his new bride. She couldn’t pretend everything was normal when she didn’t even know what normal was, when she felt like she didn’t even know who she was anymore.

“Fritz . . . I . . .” How could she tell him? What was she going to do? “I can’t go back.”

“What?” Fritz’s face fell into a frown.

“I can’t—I can’t go back there. I’m not ready.”

“Vhalla, all you’ve wanted to do is go home,” Fritz pointed out.

“I know.” She sat, running her hands through her hair, angrily combing out snags. The Emperor had given her freedom, but taken away the one thing she wanted to do with it and tainted the joy of everything else. She was certain the wretched man gleaned great pleasure from what he’d done. “But I can’t be near Aldrik right now—I can’t.”

“It’s a long march back . . .”

“I know. And I can’t go to the Tower and just be a student once more as though nothing happened. I don’t want to go to the Court and be their lady, their war hero, and prattle off stories. I can’t go home . . . I can’t step foot in my mother’s and father’s home as I am.” Vhalla swallowed hard. Her options were running out. How was freedom more confining than servitude?

“As you are? Vhalla, I know your father would love to see—”

“I can’t!” Vhalla pressed a palm over her mouth, being shh’ed by another trying to sleep. “I can’t, Fritz. I don’t want to ruin my memory of that home by returning a confused mess with so much blood on my hands.”

“What do you want, then?” Fritz changed his approach.

“I want . . . I want to forget all this for a while and wander, to be lost for just a little while.” Vhalla suddenly knew where she needed to go.

“And where can you do that?” Fritz saw it on her face also.

Vhalla absorbed her friend’s condition, freezing her words in her mouth. She saw Fritz’s bandages, the blood seeping through them. He was in no position to travel, and if she told him, he would push himself to do so. As much as Vhalla wanted her friend with her, she wanted his health more.

“I’m not going to tell you,” Vhalla said honestly.

No more lies.

“Why?” Hurt shone brightly in Fritz’s eyes.

“Because I don’t want you coming with me. Not with your injuries,” Vhalla explained hastily.

“I’m fi—”

“No, you’re not.” Vhalla shook her head. “You’re in no position to travel at the speed I will want to go. The war is over, Fritz. You survived. Don’t kill yourself now and put that burden on my shoulders.”

He sighed, a small pout overcoming his face. “Tell me anyways; when I’m well I’ll come and find you.”

Vhalla laughed softly. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to Fritz’s forehead, remembering all the times Larel had done the same to her. It was a bittersweet gesture.

“I don’t want to be found just yet,” she reminded him. “I’ll find you. I’ll come back to the Tower.”

“When?” Fritz pressed.

“When I’m ready.” Vhalla straightened. “You take care of yourself. Order Elecia to do so.”

“She’s the one who orders me!” Fritz whined.

“Gotta have a firm hand.” Vhalla smiled tiredly.

“Wait.” Fritz grabbed her wrist as Vhalla went to stand. “Vhalla, I will see you again, right?”

“Mother, yes, Fritz.” Vhalla shifted her arm to take his hand, squeezing it tightly. “You are my dear, dear friend, maybe the only one in this wide world. You will see me again—you’re quite stuck with me.”

“Good.” Fritz squeezed her hand back.

“And when I do return to the Tower, I expect a full report on you and Grahm.” The shade of red Fritz’s face turned, even in the near-darkness of the tent, was touching enough to ease some of the hurt in Vhalla’s own heart. “Until then.”

“Until then.” Fritz nodded.

Vhalla didn’t look back at her friend. She wouldn’t say goodbye, she wouldn’t give it that permanence. This, what she was doing, was a temporary retreat. She couldn’t run forever. But for now, she’d go as fast as the wind could carry her.

There was just one more loose end for her to tie up. Vhalla was surprised to find the Golden Guard’s shacks mostly deserted. She’d expected to find them partying, but the revelries must be occurring somewhere else as no guards were to be found.

It was far easier this way. With a shifty glance, Vhalla slipped into Daniel’s shack. She couldn’t leave the axe behind. Vhalla started with the small pile of his clothes in the corner, fishing through them for a bundle that could hold the crystal weapon.

“Where is it?” she muttered when she reached bare ground at the bottom of the stack.

“Where is what, exactly?” Daniel leaned in the doorframe.

Vhalla was like startled game, frozen and wide-eyed, caught by a hunter. She stood, swallowing the awkwardness. “The axe.”

“Hidden, like you asked.” Daniel regarded her thoughtfully. It was a look that she hadn’t received from him, and Vhalla wasn’t sure if it was a look she should like or not.

“I need it.”

“Why?” He took a step closer to her.

“I don’t need to tell you that,” she said cautiously.

“You don’t.” He could’ve fought her, but he didn’t. After the events of the evening, Vhalla had a whole new appreciation for the fact. “But will you at least tell me that you aren’t planning on hurting yourself or someone else with it?”

“What?” the word was half a gasp. “No. Why would you think that?”

“Many wouldn’t blame you.” Daniel put his palm over her cheek. It wasn’t chance his thumb ran over her bruise. “Not after how he is.”

“It’s not like that.” Vhalla was still defensive from Fritz, but once that immediate reaction wore off, she was stilled by a realization. “Wait, how do you know?”

“Where do you think we all were—are?” Daniel frowned. Vhalla didn’t understand, and that much he picked up on, continuing, “It takes a bit of strength to subdue one of the fiercest warriors and greatest sorcerers in the world.”

“What?” Vhalla whispered in horror.

“Baldair called for help. The guard answered,” Daniel began.

“Aldrik, is Aldrik all right?” Vhalla was asking before she could stop herself.

Daniel sighed; the noise was disappointment incarnate. Vhalla didn’t know if the sound made her feel worse than her own realization of what her immediate reaction had been. It reaffirmed everything for her. She had to go. The longer she stayed, the sooner she’d fall back into Aldrik’s gravity.

“The prince is subdued. He’ll be fine—if Baldair doesn’t decide to kill him. He doesn’t take kindly to people who mistreat women.”

Vhalla stared at her feet as if daring them to move. They didn’t. They managed to keep her in one place, resisting running to Aldrik. Not taking a step was the first step.

“They’ll be fine.” She tried to shrug it off, to put it behind her. “The axe.”

Daniel squinted, assessing her actions. “Why do you want it?”

“I just do.”

“Tell me,” he pressed.

“I’m leaving.”

Daniel paused, absorbing this news. His hazel eyes seemed to almost glow with interest. “Where are you going?”

Vhalla noticed he didn’t ask why she was leaving. “You don’t need to know that.”

“Can I go with you?”

That was a question she hadn’t been expecting, and Vhalla didn’t know how to answer it. “Why?”

“Because it’s safer to not travel alone. Because I want to leave, too.” Daniel paused. “Because I want to leave with you.”

“Daniel.” Vhalla shook her head firmly. “Don’t you know how it is? Didn’t you see it? I love-loved-love him. I’m not someone you want to be with. I’m not healthy right now.”

Daniel snorted with easy laughter. “And who is?” He gave her a smile that Vhalla had to fixate on, otherwise she wouldn’t have believed it was real. “I thought I tried to explain it. My feelings aren’t dictated by yours.”

Vhalla opened and closed her mouth, unable to come up with a retort.

“When I returned from my last tour, I returned to a letter, a letter from the woman whom I loved, who I thought loved me, saying that she was gone.” Vhalla remembered the history Daniel had told her before, but he’d never continued. “Then I met someone new. I met someone curious, charming, strong, magical. I watched her persevere when the world had written her off—and I thought that if she could do that, I could keep waking up each morning and summoning the strength to get out of bed.”

She felt tears burning behind her eyes, her throat gummy. Vhalla wasn’t overcome with emotion at his words. She felt the tears burning with the knowledge of what she needed to say to him despite his well-intended kindness.

“Daniel—”

“Hear me out,” he said, hastily scooping up her hands. “We don’t have to be alone, don’t you see? And I don’t need your love to help you.”

Vhalla shook her head. “Daniel,” she sighed. “Saving me isn’t going to fill that hole in your heart.”

He stared at her in shock.

“I have to go, alone.” Vhalla withdrew her hands slowly from his. She wasn’t going to use Daniel as a comfort any longer. Vhalla rested a palm on his rough cheek, smiling tiredly. “Please understand.”

He stared at her for a long moment. His eyes fluttered closed, and he engulfed her in a tight embrace. “Be careful out there.”

“I will be.” She gave him one final squeeze before he withdrew.

“And be ready for when you return, because I’m going to prove you wrong.” Daniel grinned faintly. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you, still. You’re not just ‘something to fill the hole in my heart’, Vhalla Yarl.”

Vhalla shook her head hopelessly. He would think whatever he wanted. Time had its own plans in store for them, it always did.

The swordsman relinquished the axe without further objections, producing it from a hidden area beneath his cot. He didn’t try to stop her, and he didn’t insist on going with her again. Daniel watched her leave with his warm hazel eyes, silent appreciation glittering in spite of apparent disappointment.

Vhalla relieved some military stores of rations and a small pack worth of clothes. Armor was plentiful from the dead, and she found some chainmail that fit loosely. Vhalla procured a wide belt that she wore around the waist and slipped the axe, still wrapped, through. She wasn’t going to let it out of her sight again, not until it was returned to Victor.

Finding a horse was surprisingly easy. With the chaos of the battle, some had yet to be corralled. No one noted the Windwalker selecting a still-saddled and bridled stallion. Vhalla stared once more at the camp palace before putting her heels to the sides of the mount.

She set an aggressive pace and rode hard without reservation. By the time dawn came, she was well into the jungle and free from the oppressive smoke that still hovered from the burning pyres of the North’s last stand.

By the time she was missed, Vhalla was far out of the range of scouts.

And by the time the crown prince learned of the Windwalker’s whirlwind departure, Vhalla Yarl was too far to hear his screams of anguish.

For the two who joined me at the journey’s start:
Monica and Meril

NO MATTER HOW far she ran or how many people she met, an invisible hand pulled Vhalla back to the crown prince of the Solaris Empire.

She couldn’t escape him. Even when she slumbered while half a continent away, her mind joined with his. Mixing, mingling, torturing her with the worst and most beautiful pain she’d ever known.

It wasn’t the first time she’d dreamt of him since the war in Shaldan ended, but in all the previous memories she’d witnessed, he’d been a boy or young man. Now she invaded the memory of an adult prince, a prince she knew well enough that her fingers could point to every scar that marred his alabaster flesh under the tight buttons of his military regalia.

In this dream, Aldrik’s clothing had been washed as best as could be expected on a warfront. But his shoulders sagged as though he could no longer fill out the mantle of his station. Eyes that usually shone like onyx, illuminated by an undying inner flame, had dulled to coal and sat in dark, sunken wells. His raven hair was disheveled, falling limply around his face; it was in need of brushing. Dark stubble shadowed his chin and cheeks, accentuating an eternal scowl.

He looked every one of his twenty-five years, plus twenty-five more.

In stark contrast, the golden prince stood next to his elder brother. Baldair glanced often at his sibling from the corners of his eyes, a large palm resting on the hilt of the broadsword strapped to his hip. His face rotated between genuine sympathy and the very real concern that he may have to subdue the fearsome sorcerer known as the Fire Lord—again.

They waited before a giant fortress. Tall trees peeked over the perfect, magically created walls. It housed the Head Clan of a nation once called Shaldan, now reduced to the Solaris Empire’s “North”. Shaldan’s capital, Soricium, was mostly leveled, save for the stronghold before her. Vhalla knew its walls and passages well. She’d been an executioner in this fortress. She’d helped deliver the final death blow to this former nation.

A large stone drawbridge groaned to life and lowered slowly, revealing four sorcerers—Groundbreakers—on either side. Behind them stood another group of three people surrounded by even more warriors. They all had tanned skin and curled hair, features of the North. A proud and beautiful people Vhalla had been forced to help bring to their knees.

The Head Chieftain was tall and lean, and two women flanked her. One was an archer known as Za, a warrior who’d tried to kill Vhalla. The other was a young girl, pretty with soft curves already budding on her hips and bosom. She’d be a fine woman when she grew into the promises her body was beginning to make.

The Emperor Solaris strode forward, meeting the Head Clan at the end of the drawbridge. He engaged in a brief exchange with the Chieftain, but Vhalla couldn’t hear the words. The man whose memory she occupied let them become muffled, as though he was submerged underneath a great lake. Aldrik stood as rigid as a sword. He narrowed his eyes at the silken-clad girl standing at the Chieftain’s right.

The child who was to be his future wife.

Vhalla awoke in a cold sweat. The dreams were never easy, and shrugging him out of her mind afterward continued to be a challenge. She panted softly and listened. The air was still and silent, telling her that she hadn’t cried out in her sleep or thrashed violently enough to shake her small cot; she hadn’t disturbed the woman whose home she occupied.

Her fingers ghosted over the chain she wore about her neck, resting on a small watch. The sun and wing engraved on the watch’s front embedded itself into Vhalla’s clutched palm. It ticked away the early morning, the light changing the colors of the curtain over the glass-less window that dominated her bedside wall.

It had been nearly two months since she had last seen the prince of her dreams, the man who had promised his future to her with the token she clung to. But no amount of time or distance could dull the Bond that they shared. It was a magical connection that only a once-in-a-lifetime magical event could form, and it was enough to make Vhalla want to scream in frustration at the oppressive silence that dared to surround her body when her mind and heart were full of his emotions. It meant that, until the end of her days, she could be haunted by his visage, his memories, his dreams.

No matter how far she ran, her phantom would be there.

Knowing she wouldn’t sleep again, Vhalla dressed. A loose linen split-skirt was held in place by a belt around the waist. Overtop, she buttoned a long jacket made of the same breathable fabric. Her last adornment was a wide scarf looped around her head and neck.

Everything she’d ever read about Western fashions held true. Keeping the sun off bare skin was the most sensible way to survive the oppressive summer heat, and the fabric readily breathed in the constant winds. Cutting her hair again would also keep her cooler and would trim away the last of the faded dye that lingered around her frayed ends. But Vhalla was intent on growing it long once more and had yet to allow someone to take sheers to it.

In the corner of her tiny room, Vhalla pulled open a trapdoor. She put her feet to the rungs of a narrow ladder before taking a breath. Clenching her fists, Vhalla opened her magic Channel. Gripping the opening, she slowly pulled her feet from the rungs so she was only hanging by her hands. And then let go.

Rather than falling quickly, Vhalla eased down like a feather. Her hands hovered, ready to catch herself should the descent go awry, but that precaution proved unnecessary. Today was slower than yesterday, three times slower than a week ago. Her magic was becoming stronger—or Vhalla was better at managing it. Keeping the same pockets of air around her feet like boots made of wind, she padded across the small living space, not allowing any footfalls.

She relaxed her magic when she had descended most of the way down a side stairway into the dim bookshop below. Vhalla ran her fingers along the spines in the narrow bookshelf walkways. Some of the books were tall, some short, some old, and some new, but every book carried its own story, and she’d already devoured most of what the small shop had to impart.

Throwing back the shutters allowed the dim morning’s light to filter into the narrow space. After her first two weeks in the shop, her duties had become engrained. Now at nearly six weeks, she went about the shop-keeping with little thought. First came pushing back the shutters, then wedging the door open so the store didn’t become an oven. The wind wasn’t optional to surviving the day. But it carried in sand that settled on the books, horrifying Vhalla, and she set to dusting first thing every morning.

Her hands rested on one of the manuscripts on the end of the tallest shelf in the back corner, and her dust rag was quickly forgotten. Sliding it out, she ran her fingertips over the embossed cover, Kishn’si Coth. It was written entirely in the old language of Mhashan, and Vhalla had overlooked it for weeks as a result. It wasn’t until she’d devoured most of the books in Southern Common that she turned to language study, which finally allowed her to translate the title of this particular work.

“That one again?” a portly woman asked with a yawn, standing in the stairway.

Vhalla nearly jumped off her stool. Gianna wasn’t a Windwalker, but she knew her home and shop well enough not to make a sound coming down the stairs.

“I think I can almost read it.” Vhalla tried to shrug nonchalantly, slipping it back into its place on the bookshelf.

“Yae, tokshi,” the woman chuckled.

Vhalla wasn’t about to take “not yet” as an answer. “Vah da.”

Her careful pronunciation put a wide smile on the woman’s features. “What is your obsession with The Knights’ Code? I can’t even pay someone to take it off my hands.”

“Curiosity.” It was the truth, in part. A small part.

She’d come west, to the Crossroads, to escape everything—to go to a place where she could be no one and nothing. But when she came across mention of the Knights of Jadar in a manuscript on Western history, she’d set out to devour as much information about the group as possible.

Vhalla had only known the broad facts about them before, that they were a mysterious and unquestioned force founded by King Jadar in old Mhashan during the genocide of Windwalkers—the Burning Times—with the purpose of executing the king’s will. She hadn’t given the Knights much thought before the war against Shaldan, when she’d learned the Western zealots had been working with the Northerners against the Empire. Thanks to her reading, she was finally filling in more of the blanks, which was yielding some answers about why the group seemed to be bent on hunting her down.

“Breakfast?” the woman asked.

“Not hungry,” Vhalla replied, true to form. After the first week together, Gianna had given up trying to make her eat. Vhalla never felt hungry first thing in the morning. There was too much to think about, too many things to get started for the day.

Vhalla already held a wet quill when Gianna left the room. With diligent accuracy, the sorcerer recounted the dream she’d had the night prior. Perhaps with too much accuracy, Vhalla furiously scratched out the portion of writing about Aldrik’s hair, the gauntness of his face, and pallor of his skin.

The prince was a memory. Her hand clasped the watch. He was a remnant of another period of her life, and she had to learn to leave him there. Though, such a thing seemed more impossible by the day.

With a shake of her head, Vhalla dislodged the memories, returning to her work. The days in the bookshop had done more than remind her how much she loved the smell of parchment or the feeling of bound leather. They had given her time. Time begot thought. And thinking for herself was something she hadn’t had time for in far too long.

It was after her first dream that she started her journal, the record of her dreams of Aldrik. Originally, it had been out of a sense of obligation because she had promised to tell him when she dreamt of him. With time, she began writing all the dreams she’d ever had of him and expanded from there. She filled pages upon pages that culminated to the sum record of the memories he told her, the ones she’d witnessed when she slept, and the total of her knowledge on the history of the Empire.

With it all, she began to notice connections.

Her gray quill circled new words as she flipped through the pages, marred passages with arrows and circles and lines and more notes. Vhalla was connecting dots that she wasn’t sure she hadn’t invented. But a picture was taking shape, too easily to be chance.

Prince Aldrik Ci’Dan Solaris—born to Fiera Ci’Dan and the Emperor Tiberus Solaris, a prince of two worlds, the man known as the Fire Lord to his enemies and an aloof, off-putting royal to his allies—had much to hide.

Vhalla knew he’d tried to kill himself before he became a man. She knew he’d killed for the first time when he was fourteen—he’d told her that much. She knew the man she hated most in the world—the Head of Senate, Egmun—had been behind the first blood on the prince’s hands. Her quill rested on a date.

Standing, Vhalla walked over to the small section where they kept books on history. It was mostly Western, but there was a single general story she’d been relying on. Back at the desk, Vhalla flipped open the book and thumbed through the pages. The War of the Crystal Caverns, her fingers paused by the year the war started.

Three-hundred thirty-seven.

It was significant. It couldn’t possibly be chance. Aldrik’s hate for crystals, for Egmun, the guilt he shouldered . . . But, how?

“Excuse me?” a patron called, drawing Vhalla’s attention back to her duties.

Her days progressed much the same, split between bookkeeping, research, and language study with Gianna at night. Two more weeks slipped through her fingers before Vhalla finally cracked the spine of The Knights’ Code, and even then it was rough reading.

“Tokshi.” Gianna rested her hands on the desk.

Vhalla straightened to attention. Her back hurt from being hunched over and her fingers ached from the furious notes she was taking.

“Dinner is ready. Close up shop.” Gianna’s tone was enough to indicate that there was more to say without her needing to hover as Vhalla pulled the shutters. “Why do you read so furiously?”

“I like reading.” Vhalla smiled. It wasn’t entirely a lie.

“You do,” Gianna agreed. “But you do not like this book.” She tapped The Knights’ Code and put it back on its shelf.

Vhalla glared at the tome, as though the bound parchment had somehow betrayed her and told Gianna of Vhalla’s real intent in reading it.

“Why do you read something you don’t enjoy? Why this?”

“Do you know about the Knights of Jadar?” Vhalla asked.

Gianna visibly tensed. “Why would you ask that?”

The woman’s eyes darted to the open door, and Vhalla eased it closed, granting her host the illusion of privacy. “I want to know.”

“That is not something you, of all people, want to look for.” Gianna knew who Vhalla was. Vhalla had never lied to the kind woman who was putting her up, and she’d told the broad strokes of her own history over the countless dinners they’d shared together. Perhaps because Gianna knew exactly who Vhalla was, the woman respected the Windwalker’s privacy and wish to remain anonymous, preferring the Western term for student—tokshi—over Vhalla’s actual name.

“Why?” Vhalla knew why, but she wanted to hear Gianna’s reasons.

Gianna sighed.

“Tell me.”

“Dinner is ready.” The shop owner turned, starting for the stairs. “Come and eat. The wind will carry you away if you don’t put food in your stomach once in a while.”

Vhalla obliged mutely. She allowed the silence to stew after they both had settled at the table and started into the rice hash Gianna had made.

“I will tell you one story,” Gianna said finally. “And then you must put that book aside.”

“I can’t promise you that.”

“Try?”

“It depends on what the story is.” Vhalla played a game of mock carcivi with her hash.

“You are something else.” The woman chuckled and shook her head. “You could just lie to appease me.”

“I’ve had enough lies for a lifetime.” Vhalla’s eyes drifted upward.

Gianna paused, searching Vhalla’s face. She took a deep breath before beginning. “The Knights of Jadar have been around for over one-hundred and fifty years, and they weren’t always the hushed organization they are now, zealots clinging to the old ways. The stories tell of a different time. A time not so long ago, when they would ride in the streets and women would reach for them, men would cry their names.”

Vhalla leaned forward in her chair. The way Gianna told her story had a certain reverence, a nostalgia for something that Vhalla had no real connection with. Gianna couldn’t have been more than a young child at the start of the war in the West and the fall of the knights.

“They were the best of the best. They protected the weak and fought for Mhashan, defending our way of life. To be counted among their ranks was the highest honor.”

Vhalla bit her tongue on the fact that the Knights had put countless Windwalkers to death long before, during the Burning Times, at the will of the king who had founded them.

“But when the last King of Mhashan was slain, when the Ci’Dan family bent knee before the Emperor, and when Princess Fiera married into his family . . . The Knights were spurned. They tried to raise a rebellion. The princess and Lord Ophain did their best to discourage such, but they were fighting a losing battle.”

“Why?” Vhalla’s food was forgotten.

“The Knights claimed to have the Sword of Jadar.” Vhalla shook her head, indicating she didn’t know what the woman was speaking of. “King Jadar was a great Firebearer, but only passed his magic to one of his sons.”

“Magic isn’t in the blood; it can’t be passed on.” A fact Vhalla knew all too well from being born from two Commons.

“No . . .” Gianna agreed half-heartedly. “That’s true, but . . . There’s something special about the magic that lives in families. Certainly, sorcerers are born to Commons, but there’s usually magic somewhere in the family tree. It’s not impossible, but it is less common to find it without.

“Either way, King Jadar was said to have crafted a sword that harnessed his power and gave it to one of his sons. That son became the leader of the Knights of Jadar, and as long as he wielded the sword he was rumored to be undefeatable.”

“So what happened to the sword?” Vhalla asked.

“Who knows?” Gianna shrugged. “I doubt it was even real to begin with. King Jadar is quite the legend in his own right.”

Vhalla pursed her lips, a physical reminder to keep silent. Gianna was as proud as most Westerners she’d ever met. While she was fairly forward-thinking, enough so to not harbor any hate toward Vhalla as a Windwalker, Vhalla didn’t want to push the woman’s kindness by speaking ill of the infamous Western king.

“What happened to the Knight’s rebellion?” Vhalla asked.

“I assume they tired of it.” Gianna clearly had not given it much thought. “After the death of our princess, no one in the West thought much about anything for a while.”

Gianna didn’t speak of the Knights again after that, and Vhalla didn’t ask. She did, however, return the next morning to The Knights’ Code, scouring for any mention of a sword, of the will of Jadar, anything. Two days of tedious translations yielded nothing other than rankling her fraying nerves.

“Gianna,” Vhalla called and stood. The woman appeared from upstairs. “We’re running low on ink. I’m going to buy more.”

“I’ll give you coin.”

“No need.” Vhalla shook her head, grabbing her bag off a peg from behind the desk.

“You could at least let me pay you.” Gianna placed her hands on her hips. “You’ve worked for weeks.”

“I have gold.” Vhalla patted her bag. “And I used all the ink for personal reasons.”

“Can’t argue with either,” Gianna said lightly.

Vhalla slipped out of the store and onto the dusty street, adjusting her hood to hide her Eastern brown hair. It was average by many Eastern standards, but practically golden compared to the black hair of Westerners. The Crossroads held all peoples, sizes, and shapes. But the past few times Vhalla had been to the market she was beginning to notice more soldiers returning home from the warfront, and the last thing she wanted to be was recognized.

Sidestepping around carts and tiptoeing over bile from the prior night’s revelries, Vhalla made her way to the main markets. Pennons fluttered overhead, and Vhalla made it a point to ignore them. For every two of the West, there was one of the Empire. And for every two of the Empire, there was one black pennon bearing a silver wing—a silver wing that matched the one on the watch around her neck, a silver wing that had somehow become synonymous with the Windwalker.

Stories travelled as fast as the wind, and Vhalla had listened in on conversation after conversation about the Windwalker. A woman given shape on the Night of Fire and Wind, partly her own air, partly flames of the crown prince. A woman who brought Shaldan to its knees and made fire rain from the sky during the North’s last stand.

It was fascinating to Vhalla. She had learned long ago that rumors and reputation could be crafted as easily as armor. But underneath it all, she was still very mortal. A mortal who bled if she was cut too deep, a mortal afflicted with life’s great curse: death.

“Are you closing shop?” Vhalla arrived at her preferred sundries store, only to find the owner locking the door.

“For the day.” The man nodded, recognizing one of his common patrons.

“May I get ink?”

“I’m afraid it’s already late—”

“Two silver for it,” Vhalla interjected.

The man’s keys paused in the lock before turning the opposite direction. “Be quick about it.”

That wasn’t hard. Vhalla knew exactly where his writing supplies were stored and raided them liberally. Within a minute, her bag was two ink blocks heavier and two silver coins lighter.

“Why are you closing so early?” Vhalla hovered, curiosity getting the better of her.

“You haven’t heard?”

Vhalla shook her head no.

“Lord Ci’Dan is coming ahead of the Imperial army. He’ll be holding audiences open to the public.” The man started toward the center of the Crossroads, and Vhalla fell into step alongside him. He eyed her up and down, taking an extra step ahead. “But nobles will be given priority, then land owners, then merchants, then Westerners . . .” The man accounted for her brown eyes. “I doubt there will be time for others.”

Vhalla’s lips twitched with the makings of a smirk. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t cut your place or try to go against convention.”

She walked with the merchant. Soon, they walked alongside half the Crossroads as the masses poured into the sunlight at the center of the world. Vhalla adjusted her scarf once more and found a perch atop one of the pedestals bearing a lamppost. She waited with the rest of the crowd, and then watched as a group of nobles trotted in to all the cries and the pomp and circumstance the Crossroads could muster.

Atop the largest War-strider was a man with short-cut black hair, graying at the ears, and a closely cropped beard along his chin. He was an older image of a royal she knew well; the family resemblance between him and Aldrik was uncanny. Vhalla gripped the lamppost tighter, the only one not screaming the Ci’Dan name.

Aldrik had told her to seek out his uncle if he died in the North because he trusted the man to see to her well-being. Aldrik had told her she would be safer with his uncle than anyone else because Lord Ophain knew the movements of the Knights of Jadar. Her chest ached at the memory, but Vhalla ignored the pain. She needed to know if it was true.

She needed answers.

THE LINE FOR hopefuls seeking an audience with Lord Ophain was long, wrapping around the center of the Crossroads and snaking down the main market and out of sight. Vhalla wondered how many people Lord Ophain could possibly see in one day. She watched the steady flow of people entering and leaving the lavish hotel, which had a front dominated by three large, circular windows.

It reminded her of the day her father had brought her to the palace seeking to trade his place in the Palace Guard following the War of the Crystal Caverns for an apprenticeship for his daughter. That day, Vhalla had felt much the same as the commoners’ faces appeared now as they anticipated meeting the Lord of the West: excited, hopeful, and enthralled with avid anticipation. She slid down the lamppost to sit on the base, kicking it lightly with her heels.

She was older now, more versed in the world. Lord Ophain’s advisors were hard at work prepping every person. By the time people were brought before the Ophain, he’d already been told what his council thought the best decision was and echoed it after the person had their moment to speak. Leadership, Vhalla had learned, was about illusions. The people were happy because they felt their voice was heard by their lord, but their fate was decided before they even stepped foot in the same room as he.

She’d come with the mission of asking questions, but now Vhalla wasn’t sure how she’d go about it. Certainly, she could just stroll in, and he’d make time for her. She was Vhalla Yarl, Duchess in the West, Lady of the Southern Court, Hero of the North, and the Windwalker. Her name had become such an unnecessary mouthful.

But doing so would draw attention to herself. It would shed the thin veil of anonymity that she’d attempted to don by coming West rather than the East or South. Beyond that, her questions weren’t going to have short answers, which would mean she’d take time from all the excited Westerners who were patiently waiting their turn.

The sun drifted lazily through the sky and finally forced Vhalla off her perch, but it wasn’t enough to deter the determined people out of their place in line. Vhalla found a shaded nook and adjusted her satchel. It made a soft clinking sound as she sat. Vhalla scowled at the gold as she pulled her notebook from the bag.

She had discovered that by raising her to ladyship, Aldrik had gifted her an incomprehensible quantity of wealth. They didn’t even bother counting how much gold she took out from the Imperial Bank; she had enough for ten lifetimes. Her fingers ghosted over the black notebook she’d been using to keep her records of Aldrik’s memories and histories.

What was she doing?

The question crept upon her regularly. She had severed ties with everything and everyone that had brought her to the North. She would always hold the friends she had made along the way dear to her heart, but she had come into so much coin that she could go back East and rebuild her family’s home, make sure they had enough hands to help her father and his aging joints with the harvest every year, with still enough left over to never worry about drought or blight. She had enough to buy a ship and sail away. She had the option to go anywhere and do anything she wanted now. She didn’t have to return South.

Vhalla stood.

The one place she wanted to go was to the place she could no longer be. It was a place surrounded by lies and treachery. It was a place so warm that even the heat of the Waste’s sun would seem cold in comparison.

The Crossroads had become quiet with the afternoon heat. Fewer people were being taken inside and fewer new folk were willing to line up in the sun to wait.

Aware of this, a well-dressed nobleman walked to the center of the square before the hotel, tapping a cane on the ground for attention. “The Lord Ophain has taken to rest out the midday heat. Audiences will resume in the evening.” The man tapped his cane again over the disapproving mumbling that ripped through the crowd. “Do not hold the line, we will form a new system upon your return.”

Vhalla watched as the people begrudgingly gave up their coveted spots. She wondered how many would come back and how they would be re-sorted. Many seemed discouraged enough that she’d bet they wouldn’t return. She overheard speculation that the Lord of the West was likely done for the day.

Realizing this was her opportunity, she strolled over to the hotel, easing past the few guards and excusing herself up the steps. No one questioned her in the small shuffle of the last nobles leaving. A group went out, and Vhalla slipped in.

It only took a moment to figure out which room the lord was in. His voice made the walls hum with its velvety tones.

“Excuse me,” hotel staff stopped her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I am here for an audience with Lord Ophain,” Vhalla stated imperiously, like a noble would. It was a mantle that didn’t quite fit.

“He’s in the middle of a conversation right now. You should come back later with everyone else.” The woman looked Vhalla up and down.

“He’ll want to talk to me. I suspect I outrank the man he’s talking with now.”

“Do you?” she was skeptical. But not so skeptical to ignore the fact that if Vhalla’s words were true, she’d need to defer to the higher ranked guest. “What is your title?”

“Duchess of the West,” Vhalla replied, using the title Lord Ophain had placed upon her.

The woman paused a moment, trying to process why a non-Westerner would have such a title. She squinted and leaned slightly to get a better look at Vhalla’s face under her hood. The woman’s eyes went wide in surprise. “You must be . . . You’re—”

“Let’s not say any more.” Vhalla held up a hand with a smile. “I would very much like an audience.”

“Of course, of course!” The woman ran off.

Vhalla adjusted her scarf carefully. She liked it when people had to bend over to see her eyes; it meant she knew when she was being identified—one perk of being shorter than most people. Her hands paused on the scarf as a major was led out of the room. Vhalla’s jaw went taut, and howling wind filled her ears.

Major Schnurr was most known for his moustache. But Vhalla knew him for other reasons; he’d made a sport of undermining her and being her appointed executioner if Aldrik hadn’t bought her freedom with his hand in marriage to the Northern princess. The major turned, and Vhalla pursed her lips together. She watched his eyes widen and his lips curl into a snarl.

On his arm, he sported a band of Western Crimson, something many soldiers did to show their pride to their homeland. However, printed upon it was the sun phoenix of the West with a sword clutched in its talons. The symbol was an adjustment on the Western Standard and was notably favored by the Knights of Jadar.

It was a bold display, and Vhalla fearlessly scowled, radiating her disapproval. The Knight was unbothered. If anything, he was amused. Mother, how hadn’t she pegged Schnurr as the rat in the council at the warfront and found a way to kill him in the North? Now he could be a problem.

“Enter,” a deep voice reverberated.

Vhalla turned pointedly on her heel and strode toward a side room to meet the Lord of the West.

Paper screens had been pulled open to a small inner garden that Vhalla had not known existed during her previous visits to this particular hotel. Riding the wind, the scent of roses filled the room. Vhalla nearly lost her step as it assaulted her senses. Her chest ached, and she suddenly struggled to breathe. The Western crimson flowers tangled and grew, oblivious to the power they could command over her.

Aldrik. Her heart ached.

A man’s silhouette contrasted against the brightness of the garden. Lord Ophain wore a sleeveless jerkin atop linen pants that were not unlike hers in cut. However, his were crafted of far finer fabrics. Dyed and embroidered, laden with beads and gems in intricate and bright patterns that reminded Vhalla of the way sun could hit a pool of water lilies.

Lord Ophain turned, and the air became thick with the question his eyes asked. He had supplied the magic shackles that had been used on Vhalla in the North. It seemed irrelevant whether or not he knew that they had been placed upon her wrists. The Lord of the West was clearly unsure how to meet the Windwalker before him.

“Fiarum evantes,” Vhalla enunciated the Western greeting delicately. She held a firm gaze, but her words were soft enough to convey her intent.

“Kotun un nox.” The lord’s shoulders relaxed, and his lips turned upward into a small smile. “It is good to see you again, Lady Yarl.”

“I can honestly say the same, Lord Ci’Dan.” Her mouth eased into a smile of its own, remembering with bittersweet fondness the last time she had seen the man. “And Vhalla is fine.”

“Then I must insist upon the same, just Ophain.” As if sensing her instinct to object, the lord continued, rendering the matter no longer up for discussion, “What a sight you are. You wear the clothes of my people, speak our tongue with adept pronunciation.” He appraised her thoughtfully. “And you are adorned in the mark of my nephew, despite what I hear of his engagement to a Northern bride.”

“I’d like to speak with you.” Vhalla tried to remain focused despite her hand seeking out the watch instinctually at its mention. It must have ended up above her scarf while she was playing with it as she waited.

“I surmised as much.” The lord nodded.

The door opened, and a servant hurriedly delivered a tray of food and the black tea Westerners preferred, served over ice.

Vhalla took the time to compose herself, swearing she was not going to be lost in the intense familiarity of the lord’s endlessly black eyes. “I suppose I should apologize for not arranging time with you in advance.”

“You are one who is always welcome in my presence.” The lord gave her a tired smile that spoke volumes as he motioned at one of the chairs positioned around the table where the food and drink sat.

Taking the offered seat, Vhalla pulled the scarf off her head and became distracted once more with the roses.

“They weren’t always so popular.” Lord Ophain followed her attention out to the garden. “My sister loved them, and she became known for it. Their color, combined with the princess’s favor, made them synonymous with Mhashan.”

“Princess Fiera?” Vhalla asked, making the easy assumption that he wasn’t talking about his two living sisters.

He hummed in affirmation. “Her garden in Norin is one of the most beautiful in the world.”

“It’s why Aldrik has a rose garden, isn’t it?” Vhalla mused softly.

“It is.” She hadn’t been expecting an answer, but Lord Ophain gave her one, and then some. “The Emperor built it for his wife as a welcome present for when she moved to the South, though she never got to see it.”

Vhalla turned her attention inside, meeting the lord’s gaze. “I have some questions for you.”

“And I have questions for you, as well.” Lord Ophain helped himself to some of the tea sweating heavily in the midday heat.

She shifted in her seat. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might be curious also. The military host had yet to return from the warfront, and whatever information he possessed must be relegated to delayed letters and reports from soldiers returning home. None of them would know what she knew.

“I’d like to go first,” she said hastily. If the lord asked her a question she didn’t want to answer, Vhalla wanted to leave this visit with at least getting one inquiry answered.

“I have no intent to rush this meeting.” Ophain motioned for her to continue.

Vhalla chewed on her bottom lip, thinking about the most elegant approach to her question. She knew Aldrik had learned from Lord Ophain, which meant the man was well versed in avoiding giving answers he didn’t want to give. And, unlike Aldrik, she couldn’t just demand he tell her the full truth of everything she wanted to know.

“Is the Sword of Jadar real?” Vhalla finally decided on. It was the one thing she couldn’t find conclusive evidence of in any manuscript. And, if the legends were to be believed, there would be no way he could answer her without mention of the Knights.

Lord Ophain leaned back in his chair, an appreciative grin teasing at the corners of his mouth. “You want to know about the Knights.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question, and Vhalla did not hide her intentions, she gave a definitive nod. “And the sword.”

“What makes you think I know about them?”

“Aldrik told me you would.” Their words were like a dance of rapiers. Sharp, pointed, elegant, and prepared to cut to bone.

“What happened between you and my nephew?”

Vhalla knew the question would come, but she couldn’t keep in the heavy sigh. “Tell me first: is the sword real?”

“It is,” the lord finally relented.

Her world stilled. That was an answer she hadn’t been expecting. “Do the Knights have it?”

“Perhaps,” Lord Ophain answered vaguely and continued before she could persist. “You and Aldrik?”

Reaching forward, she grabbed for the dark Western tea that she had little taste for and let its bitterness wash away the harshness of the memories of Aldrik. She wished it had something a bit stronger mixed in.

“He traded his freedom for mine,” she whispered. “He was a reckless fool, and I was a girl pulled along by puppet strings. The fire burned too hot, and we didn’t notice until it consumed everything.” Vhalla passed the ice-cold glass between her hands.

“I have worried deeply for him,” Lord Ophain began. “The sparse letters I received gave me concern for his mental state. My granddaughter’s reports offered little hope, for a time.”

“For a time?” Vhalla wasn’t surprised to learn Elecia and Ophain had been in correspondence. She assumed it meant that Elecia was still well, and Vhalla was genuinely relieved to hear it.

“I hear he gave up the bottle. Or, rather, he is still working on such.” Lord Ophain took a sip from his own glass, allowing that information to sink in. “Once he got through the weeks of shakes, sweats, and general sickness, he has been more active in leading his men. He is handling things with a more tempered grace.”

Vhalla laughed bitterly. “So ending us was the best thing that could’ve happened to him.”

“Loving you is.” Lord Ophain stilled her with three words. He had used present tense. Is, not was.

“You said the Knights have the sword?” Vhalla navigated the conversation back to safer waters.

“I said ‘perhaps’,” the lord insisted.

She frowned. “How is something ‘perhaps’ owned?”

“It is not something you should worry about.” His expression mirrored hers.

“Ophain—”

“I concern myself with keeping madmen like the Knights in check so my subjects and honored guests of the West, like you, do not need to worry.”

“I do not know what misplaced protection you think keeping me in the dark will provide, but you are ill-advised, my lord.” Vhalla placed her drink on the table delicately, sitting straighter. She elongated her words carefully, as a noble would. “The Knights have concerned themselves with me, and I do not foresee any future in which they will leave me be. Trying to keep the truth from me is a disservice.”

“You will pursue this no matter what I say?”

“I will,” Vhalla affirmed.

The lord sighed heavily, stroking the stubble along his chin. “Very well. The sword was not created by King Jadar, as the legends say. The King was merely the one to find it.”

Vhalla subconsciously moved to the edge of her seat as Lord Ophain spoke.

“He became so obsessed with its power that he wanted to do whatever was needed to make more weapons like it, to equip an army with them, to use them to conquer the world. That pursuit drove him mad.

“The son who succeeded him entrusted his brother with hiding the sword for good, after it had driven their father to madness. But his brother kept it secretly for the Knights of Jadar.” Lord Ophain paused, clearly choosing his words carefully. “It remained in the care of the Ci’Dan family through the Knights of Jadar until the War in the West ended—and it went missing.”

“So the Knights could have it?” Vhalla knew there was something he wasn’t telling her.

“Perhaps, but I strongly doubt it,” he answered cryptically. “It is far more likely to have been lost to time.”

“How can you be certain?”

“If it was in anyone’s hands, it would have long since tainted them by now, so I have little cause to worry,” Ophain proclaimed definitively.

Her eyes widened in shock. “It was a crystal weapon,” she breathed. It made gruesome sense. Crystal taint combined with the allure of power could drive a man to genocide.

“You know of the weapons then?” Lord Ophain regarded her cautiously.

Vhalla nodded, suddenly hesitant of the glint in the Western man’s eyes. It wasn’t dangerous, but deeply cautious and heavy with fear.

“Does Aldrik know you are aware?” he asked.

“He wouldn’t believe me if I told him.” A seed of worry for where her pursuits may lead her burrowed under her skin.

Lord Ophain stood and folded his hands at the small of his back—a distinctly Aldrik-like motion. He walked over to the open paper screens and surveyed the garden. She let the silence hang until he spoke again.

“I must agree, there is no benefit to dredging up the shadows of my nephew’s past. After all, there are no crystal weapons left to be concerned about.”

Vhalla thought a long moment about her next words. “Would the Knights seek the weapons if they believed them to exist?”

“Relentlessly.” The lord turned. “Just as they seek you now in the pursuit of crafting a greater power with your sorcery.”

“Major Schnurr—”

“Came to me asking for you.” Lord Ophain frowned. “The world is asking where you are.”

“They don’t need to know.”

“They will find out. The Knights are becoming bolder, as I’m certain you saw.” The lord crossed back to her, looking at her as though she was a child and he was the concerned parent. “The army will be at the Crossroads within the next few days. When this happens, there will be a celebration in my nephew’s honor. All the Western nobles will be there, and Aldrik will have no option but to be in attendance.”

Vhalla’s heart began to race.

“You must be present,” he demanded. “Speak with Aldrik. He will use his title to give you protection no one else can. Return South with him and—”

“No!” She jumped to her feet. Despite being a head shorter, she somehow managed to look down at the lord. “I do not need his protection. I can protect myself.”

“You are speaking folly.”

“No more than you are,” she said sharply. The lord was visibly taken aback, clearly unused to such boldness. “His protection comes with a price I am not willing to pay.” Her heart had nothing left to give him.

“Vhalla, I am only trying to help you.” Ophain’s features were overcome with sorrow. “You and him.”

“There is no help for us.” Vhalla gave a small bow. “Thank you for your time today, and for your answers.”

“Wait.”

She halted stiffly.

Lord Ophain crossed the room to where she stood before the door. Slowly, he pulled at the scarf around her neck, carefully folding it once more around her head. The nearly familial touch smoothed some of the roughness in her heart.

“Keep yourself hidden, at least. Be careful and, by the Mother, consider what you are doing.”

Vhalla nodded.

“And if you are ever in need, come to Norin. My protection has no price. Though I can only do so much against the Knights; they are quite the nuisance, even for me.”

Her face cracked, and she folded her bitterness into a smile. His protection had the same price as Aldrik’s. To accept it would mean to accept his family. It would invite Aldrik into her world. It would inevitably gravitate her into his orbit again, and they would both collapse in on each other like dying stars. She wasn’t ready for it.

“Thank you,” she said, and left.

Vhalla kept her head down on the way back to the bookstore, her satchel heavy. She fingered Aldrik’s watch around her neck, feeling its warmth against her palm. On the way, she stopped to buy new clothes. She’d need to get rid of the ones she was wearing. Major Schnurr had seen her in them, and Vhalla had no doubt he had imprinted them on his memory.

For the hundredth time in a few short weeks, Vhalla thought about returning home. Her feet dragged up the stairs of the shop, Gianna making no motion to switch places on shop duty with the distracted woman. But if she returned East, they would only hunt here there, too.

As long as she was a Windwalker, as long as people knew she could be used for their gains, she’d never be free. Vhalla knelt at her bedside, shifting through a pile of clothing packed underneath. Her fingers fell on a solid bundle of rough cotton.

Retrieving it, she stared at the familiar parcel. Vhalla remembered when Daniel had cut off his shirt to help her hide it. Distance had helped her sort a little through her heart, and Vhalla didn’t like the woman she saw when she replayed her interactions with the swordsman. She didn’t like her reliance on him or how she had abused the fact that he would be there for her without question.

But, clarity in the present would not remedy the chaos of the past. And, the one thing that remained true at the end of it all was that he was someone whom she valued in her life. He’d understood when she’d left. The final look on his face had told her as much. And, if she was lucky, whenever she met the swordsman again, he would be someone she’d consider her friend without the pressures of war and loss pushing on them both in odd directions.

Reverently, she unfolded the cloth, moving it aside. The axe was carved from a single stone, glittering like the cosmos underwater in the dim light of the setting sun. Vhalla now knew it may be the last of the legendary and mysterious crystal weapons—if the Knights didn’t already have one in their possession. She had been told it had the power to sever a soul.

Vhalla held it up, feeling the weight of it. A deep power coursed through her, seeping into her bones. She didn’t need it to cut through souls. She only needed it to cut through the shadows that threatened to swallow her whole. To cut down those who would use her. To hack away at the oppressive darkness that continued to try to smother her so she could defend a new dawn.

THE IDEA OF finding a single Southerner in the Crossroads was complete and utter idiocy. Still, Vhalla waded through the sea of people flooding the streets and markets, foolishly hopeful. She saw soldiers she felt like she should know. Men and women who still donned the dark scale mail of the Black Legion. But the messy-haired man that she sought eluded her.

Cautiously, she ventured back to the center of the Crossroads. She’d not been there in the three days since speaking to Lord Ophain, and now it seemed all the riskier knowing the royal family was present. Yet Vhalla lingered, watching the other hotels and inns around the center of the world. Men and women came and went, but she didn’t see Fritz.

Then again, even if she found her friend, she wasn’t sure what she would say to him. She wasn’t ready to return South yet. She still had more to learn about the Knights, and she had to ensure they knew she wasn’t easy prey to hunt—to dissuade them from their foolish mission of furthering the cause of the long dead King Jadar. Truthfully, she didn’t want to say anything to him, she just wanted to listen to Fritz talk. She wanted to hear her friend’s voice.

Vhalla adjusted the hood on her newly acquired cape. The plain garment was the second most important thing she’d purchased recently. Strapped tightly around her waist and buckled around her thigh, just above her knee, was a specially made axe holster. Vhalla hadn’t brought the actual crystal weapon to a craftsman to measure, of course; she’d purchased an axe of similar size and shape. As such, the fit wasn’t perfect, but it kept the weapon concealed and on her person at all times.

There wasn’t any other safe place for it, she reasoned. The longer it stayed with her, the more Vhalla wondered how she could’ve ever been foolish enough to think of leaving it unattended for weeks, hidden beneath her bed.

Finally giving up her hunt, Vhalla wandered back in the direction of Gianna’s bookstore. The sun was low in the sky by the time she arrived, and the shop-keeper was already closing up. Vhalla said nothing and started for the stairs.

“You haven’t been the same since the day you went off for ink.”

“A lot on my mind.” Vhalla paused, halfway up the stair.

“That much is apparent.” Gianna appraised her helper thoughtfully. Something in the Western woman’s gaze reminded Vhalla of another set of eyes; a dark pair that also missed nothing, a pair she would never be able to look into again for as long as she lived. “You haven’t been working as much on learning the Western language. It’s going to go stale if you don’t practice.”

“It’s only been three days,” Vhalla pointed out.

“For you, three days away from books means something is terribly wrong.” The woman gave Vhalla a sweet smile. “Come, we’ll go somewhere you’ll be forced to practice.”

Vhalla fell into step alongside Gianna as they walked away from the now locked and dim store. She hadn’t put up much of a fight and didn’t bother questioning where they were going. Gianna hadn’t ever done anything to slight or harm her. In fact, when Vhalla had arrived in Gianna’s shop on a whim weeks ago, the Westerner hadn’t kicked the younger woman out after Vhalla had huddled up in the corner for hours, reading as much as she could.

Vhalla had slept on the street that night, then returned to Gianna’s the next morning. Gianna had shared her lunch and let the odd patron stay the day again, despite Vhalla not actually buying anything. By the fourth morning, Gianna had figured out her latest ‘customer’ had nowhere else to be and put Vhalla up in the small attic in exchange for an extra pair of hands in the shop.

It’d taken three weeks for Vhalla to realize that Gianna had no need of a shop assistant. Now, it’d taken over six weeks for her to say anything about it.

“Thank you,” Vhalla blurted suddenly.

“For what?” Gianna’s question reminded Vhalla that her companion could not actually read her mind.

“For taking me in.”

“Hon, you know that is nothing to thank me for.” Gianna laughed. “My girl is gone and grown and married and raising kids of her own in Norin. It’s good to have company in the house again.”

The statement made Vhalla think of her own father, which only brought a fresh wave of shame over having yet to return to the East. No matter how much gold she sent, it wouldn’t make up for her absence. But that absence had crept on so long that now Vhalla had no idea how to break it.

Gianna led them to a restaurant that specialized in Western foods. Proud of its authenticity, the entire staff and most of the patrons spoke exclusively the language of old Mhashan. Vhalla’s tongue curled and rolled off the words, doing her best to pronounce them as carefully as Gianna had taught her.

Their conversation fluctuated between Southern Common and the old tongue. Vhalla was relieved by the time food arrived, using the excuse to busy her mouth as an opportunity to listen to Gianna’s description of the great castle of Norin rather than speak.

“. . . though, I suppose it’s nothing like what you’re accustomed to.”

“Me?” Vhalla had explained her humble beginnings to Gianna; that, despite her current status and wealth, she wasn’t accustomed to luxury.

“With having grown up in the Southern Palace.”

“Ah,” Vhalla uttered a noise of comprehension.

“When will you be returning?”

Food paused on Vhalla’s spoon halfway between her mouth and the bowl. That was the one thing Gianna could ask that Vhalla wanted to avoid discussing at all costs. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t you miss it?”

“I . . .” Vhalla wanted to object. She wanted to say she didn’t miss the palace and its winding passages. She didn’t long for the chill and crisp mountain air, more refreshing than the coldest water she’d ever drank, even if it did set into her bones too quickly and made her shiver. She wanted to claim she didn’t want to run through the Imperial library again like a rebel child, running her fingers gleefully along the spines of the books.

But it would all be a lie.

“I do,” Vhalla confessed.

“But there’s something keeping you from returning.” Gianna’s dark eyes regarded Vhalla thoughtfully.

“There is.” Vhalla sighed, frustrated. It’d been so long since she’d talked with anyone openly about the heaviness in her heart; Vhalla wasn’t sure if she could remember how. But everyone else in Vhalla’s life had a reason to be kept at arm’s length. Gianna, however, was a neutral third party. “There is a man.”

Gianna burst out laughing, and she only laughed harder at Vhalla’s scowl. She quickly reduced her voice to a wheeze. “Vhalla Yarl, the Windwalker, the champion of the North, terrified about seeing a man?”

Vhalla’s eyes darted around for any who may have heard the name said aloud. Spying no one, she rolled her eyes. Just saying the name of the man would’ve explained the cause of her concern.

“We were involved,” Vhalla started delicately. “Things became complicated. His family wanted him to be with someone else, and now he’s betrothed.”

“I take it he’s a noble?” Gianna questioned.

Vhalla gave a gesture of affirmation. It was an easy assumption to make since only nobles considered arranged marriages. It was a trend that was going out of style across the continent.

“And he still loves you?”

The question stilled her. As much as Vhalla didn’t want to think about it, she had to ask: Was that the truth? Her eyes didn’t want to see it, her mind wanted to ignore it, but her heart knew it with every certain thrum.

“I think so,” Vhalla sighed softly.

“And you clearly still have feelings for him.” Gianna leaned against the tall back of the booth they sat in. “I don’t think you should be so worried.”

“But—”

“Listen,” Gianna demanded, and Vhalla obliged. “Whatever bride his family strapped him with cannot be better than the woman sitting before me. If I were you, I would gamble on going back. You may discover that they are more amenable to changing their minds when the Hero of the North stands before them.”

“I doubt it.” Vhalla thought of the Emperor, which immediately soured her appetite. She couldn’t settle with just normal people loathing her existence. She had to have some of the most powerful leaders in the world craving her demise.

“Then show them what they’re missing,” Gianna suggested with a shrug.

“What?”

The Western woman laughed at Vhalla’s startled expression. “Show his family what they lost in you. Spread your wings, tokshi, and fly. Soar above them, make their eyes tear as they stare into the sun to watch you reach new heights.”

The idea turned itself over in Vhalla’s head, settling like wet cement curing into a firm foundation. Show them, she thought, show them what they are missing. The watch felt hot against her chest, and the axe on her thigh seemed to thrum with power.

Vhalla opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her.

Her eyes drifted over to the entry. A man with a bushy mustache stood in the doorframe. The notable facial feature sat atop a triumphant sneer.

Vhalla glanced around frantically. She had been found and there was only one exit. Schnurr may not attack with all the witnesses currently enjoying their dinners. But all he had to do was wait, wait for his prey to finally leave and follow her like a hunter on a blood trail.

“Gianna,” Vhalla whispered, thinking frantically. “Listen to me.”

“Wha—”

“Don’t turn around,” Vhalla hissed, trying to keep her voice level. “You’re going to get up, and you’re going to go and not look back. You’re going to pretend like this was a casual meeting, we happened upon each other—you don’t really know me or who I am.

“Go back to your shop and burn everything of mine. But, most importantly, find my black ledger and destroy it, burn it, make it so that no one can ever read its words.” Her heart was racing. “By the Mother, do not read its contents, do not put those words anywhere inside your head.”

“Tokshi, you’re not making any sense.” Vhalla’s sudden intensity and fear wavered Gianna’s usually strong voice.

“Go now. Go now and pretend you never knew me,” Vhalla pleaded. Gianna’s kindness would not be rewarded with the same ill fate that befell those foolish enough to befriend the Windwalker. “This was all a dream. If anyone asks, deny it all.”

Gianna opened her mouth to protest once more.

“Gianna, now,” Vhalla snapped.

The woman did as she was ordered. Vhalla could commend her for only looking slightly rattled as she stood and strolled out the door past Major Schnurr. The major gave Gianna a long stare before turning his attention back to Vhalla.

Vhalla stood, slowly raising her hood. She made for the door, looking past Major Schnurr the entire time. The man half-stepped in her way, forcing Vhalla to pause. From the corner of her eye she saw a group of men standing from a table, presumably men Schnurr had been coming to meet.

“You know what happens now, don’t you?” he purred.

“You and your friends eat a nice meal and pretend you never saw me. You want bellies to fill again tomorrow?” Vhalla threatened.

The major laughed ominously as Vhalla strolled into the night. She didn’t know where to go. She breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t see Gianna anywhere. If the Knights were going to pursue the other woman, it seemed they’d missed their chance. Vhalla hoped that Gianna would heed her warning and do her best to forget the time she’d spent with the Windwalker—for they had just come to an abrupt end.

The Knights were already at Vhalla’s back. Men who wanted to take and use her for a madman’s dream. Men to whom she needed to send a clear message, a message that they could not force her into a corner.

Vhalla started forward and intentionally walked down the first mostly-empty alley she found. The crowded street was slowly reduced to questionable curiosity shops, gambling parlors, and sellers of flesh. Clenching her fists, she listened carefully to the four sets of footsteps behind her as they treaded lightly over the packed earth. They didn’t make any motion toward her, however. Too many eyes were still on them and the alley was too narrow for movement.

A dilapidated square was straight ahead of her. The narrow passage between buildings would open up into enough room to move—to fight. Vhalla fingered the weapon on her thigh, popping open fasteners.

She had a choice to make. Did she fight them with the axe or rely solely on her magic? If she brought out the axe, they would know it was real. It would be a waving banner that at least one crystal weapon still existed. She should be able to take them on with her magic alone.

But she’d never used the weapon before. It was a strong temptation just to see why so many people had spilled so much blood and furthered so much hatred for it. Vhalla surveyed the area as she crossed into the small junction of alleyways. There were no onlookers as far as she could tell—so the only ones who would know about the axe would be the Knights. Assuming any made it out alive.

“I’ll give you one chance.” She shifted her feet, pulling at the ties on her cloak. “Leave and live. Stay and die. Tell this to your comrades, and we will each go on to see all the dawns of our natural lives.”

The men looked at each other and laughed in amusement. “You think that will work, Windwalker?”

“I don’t want to fight you.” It was the first lie she’d told in weeks.

“Then make this even easier for us—submit willingly,” Schnurr demanded. “You were destined to help us return to greatness.”

“Help?” she scoffed.

“Yes, with you we will finally gain access to the caverns.”

“Never.” Vhalla tensed and her fingers curled around the hilt of the axe.

The first of the men moved, sending out a tongue of flame. Vhalla was already two steps ahead. Her feet walked on air, and she moved like an otherworldly entity, flowing from one attack into the next.

The wind pulled the unlaced cloak from her shoulders. Vhalla spun, bringing the axe hard into the man’s face. He didn’t have a chance. The blade cut clean through the man’s skull, as if understanding and multiplying Vhalla’s murderous intent. It offered nearly no resistance, and Vhalla blinked as the man crumpled with only half a head attached to his neck.

“The axe.” Major Schnurr instantly recognized the faintly glowing blade that Vhalla wielded. Where any sane person would look on in horror, the major looked as though he had just been handed the greatest gift of his life.

Something quietly snapped in her at the sight. The thin dam she’d built to hold back her utter loathing for the Knights vanished, and Vhalla thought nothing of thrusting out her hand to grab the nearest man’s mouth. Power roared and howled from within her, the wind screaming to be unleashed. It poured forth in a tempest that was so violent it both startled and scared her.

The Knight’s face exploded under her palm.

With cry of rage, the third Knight was upon her. Vhalla ducked, narrowly dodging his blade. It sliced down along her arm; blood sprang forth, setting a faint beat to echo in her ears. It had been weeks since Vhalla had heard Aldrik’s heartbeat reverberating through their Bond. It was a surge of magic and of overwhelming strength—Vhalla did nothing to hinder it.

The third Knight crumpled like a paper doll, cleaved nearly in half from shoulder to chest by the axe. Vhalla barely had more than a second to relish in the strength flowing through her veins. Adjusting her grip on the axe, she prepared herself for the satisfaction of skinning off Schnurr’s face with it—only to find him gone.

The mad beat in her ears faded into confusion. The coward had run. She stared in shock, paling to horror, as Vhalla realized the depth of her error.

The major had seen the axe and fled with the knowledge.

A Knight now knew that the axe was real and that she possessed it. She had to find the major and kill him before he could tell anyone. Vhalla quickly sheathed the axe, fumbling with the latches as cries began to rise from the street.

Her mind whirred as Vhalla tried to think of Schnurr’s next action. Schnurr wanted her for the Knights; they needed her alive, and subduing her would require more than a small group. Vhalla looked on at the corpses oozing crimson onto the dirt.

He’d need a mob.

Vhalla snatched up her cloak and donned it frantically as she ran. Men and women stumbled from the parlors, blinking in confusion. Her hands were slick with blood, her heart thrumming frantically. If she could find the major, she could stop him before he acted. Before he had time to spin the situation to serve him best.

Vhalla emerged into a dense crowd that was circled around the man she sought. “Down that alley, there!” he shouted while pointing.

Vhalla pressed herself against a wall, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. “The Windwalker—the Empire’s monster—has returned to wage war upon the West!”

The crowd hummed in confusion.

“Look down there and find your brethren lying in pools of their own blood. Faces ripped open as only she can do.”

Vhalla stared at her feet, realizing blood splotched the bottom of her cloak. She couldn’t kill Major Schnurr here and now—it’d confirm everything he was saying, and the longer she lingered, the more likely it was for someone to notice the panting and battle-stained woman. Vhalla began to move, heading down along the outside of the crowd.

“It’s true!” a new voice cried. “Th-there’s three! They’re dead!”

More whispers, more nervous glances.

“Go, find her! Give her to the Knights. We’re the only ones who have ever been able to tame her kind. Clearly Solaris cannot be trusted!”

Vhalla slipped into a narrow space between two buildings, climbing over crates and working her way away from the crowd being whipped into a frenzy. What was she going to do now? Her fingers ran up and down the leather sheath of the axe, as if it held the answers she sought. As if it could solve all her problems by cutting, cutting, and cutting everyone who opposed her . . .

So engulfed in her thoughts, she missed hearing the footsteps growing behind her. Two arms suddenly snatched her and a palm clamped over Vhalla’s mouth. Magic was swift under her fingers until a familiar male voice hastily spoke.

“Finally found you.”

VHALLA TWISTED ON her toes, pulling herself from the man’s grasp. Her heart raced. She didn’t know if it would’ve been worse to have a Knight of Jadar or the man she faced. If he was a Knight, she could’ve at least killed him and been off again.

Her eyes absorbed the tall shape, the Western olive skin, and the long dark hair that was pulled back into a bun.

“Jax.”

“You never disappoint, do you?” The man gave her a wild grin and a shake of his head. “The Windwalker disappears for weeks, and when she shows up, it’s to murder Western lords. Didn’t you see enough blood at the warfront?”

Vhalla scowled murderously. How dare he? “What do you want?”

“You don’t seem happy to see me.” The man cocked his head to the side. “Here I thought we were friends.”

“What do you want?” she repeated, her hand twitching for the axe. He’d better not make her repeat it again. He was her friend, but her patience ran thinner with every beat of her heart.

“To help you.” Jax folded his arms over his chest.

She laughed and turned. “I don’t have time for you. Go back to the guard.”

“Where are you going?” Jax fell into step behind her.

“Away.” Vhalla’s eyes darted over her shoulder. No one was following them, but she could see frantically running silhouettes of men and women on the street.

“Did you kill those men?” Jax’s tone turned serious.

“I said I don’t have time for you.”

To his credit, he moved fast enough to catch her off guard. Jax’s palm gripped her shoulder, turning them both, forcing her against the wall. Her back hit hard and Vhalla glared, prepared to give him a string of insults. As was the man’s nature, he stilled her with a look that whispered of something deeply troubling.

“Did you kill them?”

“I did.” There was no remorse and no hesitation.

Jax cursed under his breath. “All right, come. Baldair or Aldrik will fix this.”

Vhalla twisted her arm out of his grasp the moment he reached for it. They locked in a staring contest that Vhalla broke with the first word. “I’m not going back to them.”

“Vhalla—”

“No. I’m not running to the princes at every turn. If I did, the Knights will never see me as someone they need to fear.”

“If you run, then those same princes will be forced to brand you a murderer.” Jax leaned against the wall with a sigh. He seemed more exasperated than horrified by her insistence.

“It’s not the first time I’ve fought for my innocence,” Vhalla retorted smartly.

“You will be hunted.”

“I already am.”

“They will condemn you. If you do this, you may never be able to return to the life you had.”

Vhalla’s shoulders shook, and she freed haunted laughter into the air. “Return to the life I had? That option left me long ago.” Her hand rested on the axe holster once more. “If I want a future, I’m going to have to cut it from the hands of fate myself.”

Jax stilled, assessing her. Vhalla took a step backward, giving him a half-mad smile of her own. The man was indeed kind, in his own way. But she was too old to have people mothering her.

“If you insist.” He adjusted his bun and straightened away from the wall. “Then I’m coming with you.”

“What?” That was the last thing she expected to hear. “No, I need to do this alone—”

“Save me the speech.” Jax rolled his eyes. “Guards have already been called, and they’re going to be scouting the city. You have blood on your hands—literally—and I’m going to venture a good guess that you have nowhere to go. The Knights will move fast. You need a Westerner to help you navigate these alleyways.”

Vhalla knew what he was offering was more than help escaping through the narrow passages between buildings. He was offering her his knowledge of Western culture. His insights into the seedy shadows, which she could lurk within and be lost. His wisdom was gained from years of time spent around princes—and the very same lords Vhalla was determined to slay.

“You will become my accomplice,” she pointed out.

Jax grinned madly. “They can only strip me of my nobility once—for murdering a lord.”

Vhalla blinked, blindsided.

“You didn’t know?” Jax chuckled darkly. “I suppose you wouldn’t; you never drank much with Western majors, never heard the fantastical stories of the golden prince’s Black Dog. You didn’t think you were the only monster on an Imperial leash, did you?”

Vhalla stared, frozen. She’d known it in the warfront—she’d realized they were both tied to the crown, but she’d had no idea why. Her innocence had led her to being turned into the weapon she was now, which ultimately led to the surrender of her freedom. But for Jax, his crimes were of a different sort, the sort that had put a noose around his neck where Baldair, or the Emperor himself, held the other end. He hadn’t managed to free himself in however long his service had been for.

“Murder?” she asked.

“Don’t ask questions if you aren’t prepared for the answers,” Jax advised ominously. “For now, come this way, my little monster.”

Jax set off deeper into the narrow back-alleys of the Crossroads, and Vhalla followed on blind faith. She tried to process what Jax had told her and everything she’d seen. Certainly, the Western majors hadn’t been fond of him. He’d insulted the West’s noble traditions from the minute she’d met him. But he was friends with Elecia, the granddaughter of the Lord of the West. He was close with Aldrik, and the way he interacted with Baldair in no way resembled slave and master.

As they passed through an intersection, Vhalla heard guards running through a nearby street.

“Stay alert for the Windwalker. If the Windwalker is found, bring her to the royal hotel!”

“You’re sure about this?” Jax paused to ask again.

Vhalla only nodded. She wasn’t going back to the Emperor and letting him chain her, chains that he would vow to exchange for her freedom if she gave him another part of her soul. She would confront her crimes and the royal family with her innocence apparent, when none would question her—whenever that ended up being.

The buildings became danker, darker, more flimsily built and even more poorly maintained. Most everyone on the street wore large cowls that hid their faces so no one would witness their presence in this questionable area of town. Jax stopped and knocked three times on a small door, waited ten breaths, and then knocked again. The door slid open, and a man with beady eyes and a scruffy chin blinked up at them.

“We want to stay.” Jax knelt down.

“What will you trade me?” the man asked.

Jax unclipped the golden bracer he wore over his shirt, a symbol of his membership in the Golden Guard. Beady eyes lit up, and the little man was over-eager for the token. Jax pulled it away as the man reached for it.

“You found this.” Jax spoke low and slow, flames glittering around his fingers. “If anyone asks, you don’t know where it came from. Understand?”

Beady eyes nodded furiously.

“We want two weeks.”

“Fine, fine. Give it here.” The small man snatched it from Jax’s fingers and crawled out of the door.

Jax motioned and Vhalla hunched down to pass through the tiny portal, dropping onto a step, and then onto the packed-earth floor of a truly disgusting room. The small window looked more like a sewage chute that had been used by the people who lived along the streets above. The sleeping palette in the corner smelled of mold and damp. A small fire burned in the opposite corner near some hard tack and salted meat, which she wasn’t sure was good enough for the rats she suspected also shared the space at night.

“What is this place?” Vhalla was breathing through her mouth, trying to get used to the stench.

“It’s a hiding hole.” Jax pulled off his cape, dropping it by the door. “They’re used for more colorful dealings here in the Crossroads. Prostitution, gambling, human trafficking.”

Vhalla’s stomach churned as she stared at the stains on the bed.

“But no one will think to look for you in the underbelly of the Crossroads. It’s generally something only Westerners know of, and you have to then be aware of what to look for to find one.”

“Are you worried about the man selling your cuff?” There weren’t many in the world like it. Whatever merchant he sold it to would certainly realize who it belonged to.

“I’m planning on it. The buyer will take it to Baldair, likely gleeful to win a favor, maybe even one which shows the Fallen Lord has returned to his old ways of noble killing.” Jax reached his hands up, letting down his bun. “But then, Baldair will know I’m with you. That’s the only real explanation. He’ll know I’m keeping you safe.”

“Keeping me safe?” Vhalla asked.

“Baldair gave the guard an order before we left Soricium. That we were to be the ones to find you, and when we did, we were to protect you at all costs. I found you by luck, but that’s why I was looking.”

Vhalla sunk onto the bed, too tired and confused to care about the dank smell that assaulted her nose. “Why?”

“Because he said he considers you his sister.”

Her hand shot up to her necklace, clutching the watch tightly. What did that mean?

“Craig went South, Erion went to Norin, Raylynn stayed with Baldair, and Daniel went East, to try to find you.”

“How is Daniel?” she asked softly.

“Oh, Baldair put quite the fire under him.” Jax chuckled, sitting next to her, his back against the wall. “He felt nothing but guilt for being the last person you spoke to and for letting you go. He agreed with the prince that by not insisting he accompany you for your protection that he let down his honor as a man and a noble.”

Vhalla rolled her eyes. Jax laughed, which she gave him a look for.

“You aren’t the type of woman who wants that man’s man nonsense.” Jax reached out and took her hand, almost contrary to his statement. But the touch was purely chaste as he began to inspect the superficial cut on her arm. “And even if you did, you already know what you want, don’t you?”

“What I want . . .” Vhalla whispered. She shook the thoughts of Aldrik from her head, her hand falling onto the axe sheathe. Jax’s eyes followed the motion, considering it for a long moment, but said nothing as Vhalla continued. “I want to make the Knights pay. I want to know what they have and make sure they know a new Burning Times will not begin with me.”

“Very well. How do we do that?”

They launched into brainstorming a plan, which continued on and off over the next few days.

Jax confirmed that the princes were going to be involved in a formal gathering for the Lords and Ladies of the Western Court.

Vhalla remembered what Lord Ophain said and immediately began thinking. “All the lords and ladies will be there, right?”

“They should be.” Jax nodded. “They wouldn’t miss a chance to lie through powdered lips.”

Vhalla snorted. “I think we should hit then.”

“But who?”

“Major Schnurr,” Vhalla replied without hesitation. She didn’t know if he was the highest mastermind, but he had created enough problems and given enough orders that Vhalla was forced to assume he was at least someone important.

“Major Schnurr then,” Jax affirmed, a little too eager. “He lives on the far southern end of town.”

Waiting stretched the next two days into eternity. In their limited conversations, Jax never asked about the leather holster always buttoned and strapped tight against her leg. Vhalla thought about telling him, but she didn’t want to make her friend any more nervous and lose his help. She was, however, careful not to touch or interact with him on a physical level more than necessary. Vhalla remembered Jax cautioning Aldrik once about touching her when she was under the influence of crystals. Her friend didn’t seem to mind the lack of contact.

On the night of the event, the whole Crossroads glittered gleefully. Men and women paraded around in their best clothes, admiring and hoping to be admired. Though only the nobles were invited to the Imperial party at the royal hotel, it seemed everyone wanted to be involved in the revelries. From what Vhalla knew of the Crossroads, within an hour it would be nothing but drinking and dancing.

An alcoholic haze suited her goals for the evening. She wanted people to have blurred senses and relaxed postures. Vhalla had dirtied her cloak to the point that the blood was no longer recognizable and the stench it held from that dirtying process prompted people to turn up their noses and walk away as quickly as possible. No one wanted to pay attention to her or her companion.

“You smell like shit,” Jax mumbled.

“I worked with what I had. And it’s working well.”

“Yeah, you’re the Crossroads’ last candidate for a Lady of the Court right now,” Jax teased.

Vhalla looked around nervously, but no one seemed to register his comment.

They walked against the flow of people, as most were heading to the center of the Crossroads. Vhalla and Jax continued down the southern road to a large estate. Giant walls framed it in, a single iron portcullis its only entry. They made two laps before stopping on a side street.

“Well, it appears no one is home,” Jax mused into the quiet. “Isn’t it nice he sent out his servants as well?”

“He doesn’t seem like the nice sort . . .” Vhalla stared at the wall that was nearly twice her height. Was it too quiet? “We need to get over this.”

Jax pressed his fingers against the tightly fitted stones. “Difficult to climb.”

“You’re taller than me.” She turned and braced her back against the wall. Vhalla laced her fingers, ready for his heel. “I’ll help you up first.”

“But then what’ll you do?”

“Just trust me on this.” She needed his trust, because she wasn’t quite sure if she trusted herself.

Jax put his foot in her hands. After a moment or two, they managed to lift him high enough that he could grip the top of the wall, pulling himself up the rest of the way. Stretched flat, he put his hand down to her.

Vhalla clenched her fists. She may be able to jump to his hand, but what was the point of training for weeks with Gianna’s ladder if she didn’t try something a bit different? She was a Windwalker, after all.

She raised a foot and felt the pocket of air appear underneath it, resisting her, holding her in place. She raised another foot to meet a higher pocket of air. Her toes wiggled as she stepped upward, uncertain atop the shifting currents. It was a trick to trust her magic over her instinct.

In short order, Vhalla sat on the top of the wall next to Jax.

“Why didn’t you do that for me?” he finally managed through surprise.

“It’s hard for me to do to my own body. I wouldn’t trust myself with getting it quite right for someone else,” Vhalla explained. What if she used too much air and sent him flying backwards, head first into a wall? She could instinctually self-correct for herself, but not for another person.

Jax accepted the information with a nod. Vhalla was relieved he didn’t press too much. She didn’t have all the answers; she was still making up her magic as she went. And they needed to be moving.

They descended into a quiet corner of a rock garden that spiraled around the entire home. Vhalla blinked her eyes, activating her magical sight. She stretched her hearing along the wind.

“There’s no one here,” she announced after a quick survey.

Jax relaxed a bit. “Good, we should have time then.”

They let themselves into the main building of the estate, the door now partly burnt from Jax’s gentle coaxing. Vhalla turned right for a study. She grabbed a canvas bag from a desk, dumping the writing supplies contained within and began to rummage through the books. Unsurprisingly, there was ample material on the Knights of Jadar; Vhalla intended to steal such books and learn everything she could before turning them in to Lord Ophain.

When full, Vhalla began to wander into other rooms. Luxurious parlors were adorned with Western crimson and an emblazoned phoenix holding a sword. Vhalla grimaced at the sight.

“Jax, was the man you killed a Knight of Jadar?” she asked as they headed upstairs.

“No, just a famous lord . . . and a couple innocents,” he replied as though they were just talking about the weather. If one rehearsed talking about the weather.

“Would I know of him?”

“Do you want the answer to that?” Jax gave her a broad and toothy grin.

Vhalla paused a moment and shook her head. “Not now.” It shouldn’t make her uncomfortable to think of Jax as a murderer. Those who survived the War in the North were all murderers and madmen. But it was a side of him she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see just yet. There was something different about this, but she had yet to put her finger on what it was.

On the third floor was the room Vhalla had really sought all along: a trophy room. Her hand lingered on the hilt of the axe, as if the crystals could call out to one another. She walked through the shelves, running her fingers along glass boxes and placards.

“I found it,” Vhalla breathed in despair. She’d wanted Lord Ophain to be right. She’d wanted her expedition into the heart of the Knights of Jadar to prove that the sword was safely hidden in the obscurity of time.

“Found what?” Jax walked over, reading what was inscribed upon a plate affixed to the empty armor stand. “The Sword of Jadar.” He lurched away as though he’d been hit. “The Sword of Jadar? That’s what this is about? Vhalla, it’s a legend.”

“It’s clearly not. And someone has it,” Vhalla insisted. “We need to find out who.”

Jax gave her a skeptical look and opened his mouth to speak.

The sound of the portcullis grinding open had them both sprinting to a window. Jax and Vhalla both spouted profanities. Major Schnurr and four Knights had returned far too early.

“I’m sure they just forgot something,” Jax mumbled hopefully.

Vhalla’s eyes went wide as she remembered the canvas bag she’d emptied and used to rummage through the study to the left in the entry. Perhaps the Knights would overlook the singed mark on the door and slightly melted metal in the darkness, but they wouldn’t be able to ignore signs of Vhalla raiding the bookshelves. “The books, downstairs.” She moved to go get them, but Jax pushed her back.

“You stay. Hide. I’ll sort it so they don’t notice.”

“But—”

“Stay!” Jax scowled at her and sprinted down the stairs. Vhalla looked around the room for places to hide. Her fingers caressed the leather buckles on the axe. One by one, they came undone. Why did she have the axe if she wasn’t going to use it? Why carry it if she wasn’t going to carve the Knights into little nubs, useless for anything? Her fingertip touched the crystal and pure power shot up her arm.

She heard steps coming up the stairs and turned, expecting to see Jax.

Schnurr led two other men into the trophy room. The two men firmly held Jax’s arms. Their fingers pulsed purple and blue across Jax’s skin. His tongue had been turned into ice, spilling out of his open mouth. Her friend shivered and shook, every now and then a spark of fire would lick away at the ice forming around his hands and arms. It seemed all he could do was keep his blood from freezing.

“Let him go,” Vhalla ordered quietly.

“You’re not in a position to make demands.” Major Schnurr ran his hands along the trophy tables. “What did you come here looking for, Vhalla Yarl?”

“Your knowledge and your life.” She fearlessly threw her threat at his feet.

Major Schnurr didn’t even trip. “Did you want—this?” He dropped on the table the book he’d been holding. It was one Vhalla had decided would be useful when rummaging through his study. Schnurr deftly opened it to a page.

Vhalla read the old Western tongue with ease. “The Sword of Jadar.” She raised her attention to the major. “Do you have it?”

“The weapon was stolen from us and destroyed.” Major Schnurr snapped the book closed.

“When?” Vhalla asked, not believing him for a moment.

“About ten years ago,” the major replied. “Solaris’s minister began tampering with powers that he had no idea how to tame. Though I’m surprised your dear crown prince didn’t tell you of it,” Major Schnurr sneered.

She faked anger at Schnurr’s verbal jab, but was really focused on Jax. How were they going to get out of here alive? Vhalla’s hand dropped to the last of the fasteners on her thigh.

“I wonder if you’ll figure out—I don’t need the sword.” Vhalla drew the axe, and the whole room stopped in breathless wonder and horror. She saw the look on Jax’s face; it was pure fear and loathing. The Knights wore expressions of ominous glee.

“You will let us go.” Vhalla held out the axe toward the major.

“Vhalla, you are poor with your numbers.” The man chuckled. “You forgot our two Northern friends who escaped the Night of Fire and Wind. The same two that we decided to help smuggle West in order to try to bring you to us later.”

Her arm trembled. The Knights were behind the Northerners who’d killed Larel at the Crossroads?

“And you’ve forgotten again, or didn’t really look, I came with four men.”

She turned to the Knights holding Jax. Jax’s eyes looked down the stairs.

“There is no way out of this, Vhalla Yarl.” Major Schnurr took a bold step forward. “If you attack me, he dies. If you think you can save him by attacking the two holding him first, he dies from the archer and Waterrunner at the foot of the stairs.”

The major rounded on her. Vhalla tried to put together an alternative solution. A different approach than what she was handed.

“Or you kill us all, and accept his blood on your hands.”

She stared at the axe. Kill them all. She could save Jax. She would kill them all. Vhalla looked up at her friend. She’d be gambling with his life, and the odds weren’t on her side.

“Or—give yourself to us and save your palms from being washed in more blood. Let your friend live.”

Vhalla looked down at the axe. It seemed to shine brighter, as if it knew it could soon gorge itself on life. Vhalla wanted to give in, to satiate its need—her need—its need.

Then her eyes found Major Schnurr, in all his joyous triumph. If she gambled with Jax’s life, win or lose, she’d be no better than the men she loathed. She’d be trading in whatever scraps of humanity she still clung to.

Jax scowled at her and shook his head, making muffled protest noises.

With a soft sigh she closed her Channel and dropped the axe. Live or die, she’d do it with some shred of principles.

Major Schnurr slammed his shoulder into her back, knocking her forward. Vhalla caught the table to try to right herself, and he quickly grabbed her wrists. Vhalla felt the sickening, unnatural cool of shackles, and she was forced to watch as they were clamped once more on her. The shackles buzzed quietly, the crystals activating, blocking her Channel and even the faintest possibility of a magical resistance. Of course they still had crystal cuffs in their trophy room.

Fire rode on a scream up Jax’s throat, hissing through the ice. Vhalla couldn’t stop herself from trying to reach him, but Major Schnurr kicked her down, placing his boot atop her temple and causing her to see stars.

“He’s a liability and a smear on Western nobility,” Major Schnurr mused. “Kill him.”

“You said you’d let him live!” Vhalla cried. But her words were lost as a Knight buried an ice dagger to the hilt between Jax’s ribs. The Westerner wheezed and coughed up blood as he slumped.

“You think . . . that’ll stop me?” Jax laughed and lunged, his side already soaked to his waist with blood.

“Jax, stop!” Vhalla screamed. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to watch another one of her friends die.

A second ice dagger pierced his back. Jax was thrown to the floor and didn’t get up. He wheezed and stared at her with dulling eyes.

“You said you’d let him live!” she raged at Schnurr. “You said you’d let him go!”

“No, I said I’d let him live, never that I’d let him go. And I never said how long I’d let him live, either.” The major laughed. “Leave him. We have the Windwalker and the last crystal weapon. We set out for the caverns tonight.”

Vhalla struggled and fought; she bit and scratched and kicked. She was helpless without her magic, the Bond, and the axe. But she still struggled against her fate. Finally frustrated, the pommel of a Knight’s sword met the side of her head, and Vhalla went limp between the men holding her.

She’d tried to stop the Knights, but she’d failed. She’d tried to save Jax, but he’d died. She’d tried to make a deal with devils, but she’d forgot that devils lie.

VHALLA OPENED HER eyes and heaved up the sparse contents of her stomach.

The light speared searing, blinding pain into her brain, which sent her body into rebellion. The second time she heaved was the moment she tried to move. Now, sitting in her own sick, Vhalla struggled to blink away the blazing sun. Blood coated the side of her face. Her whole body felt like it’d been carved from lead. Her mind struggled to churn, but it only made the ripples of nausea turn into waves.

“She’s awake,” a man called.

Vhalla stopped moving to spare her energy, convincing her eyes to focus. She was rewarded with marginal success as a hazy blob transformed into a Western man. The swaying of the animal she’d been tied to, however, reduced him once more to a sickening blur.

Her throat was dry. Her lips were cracked. Her wrists were heavy. She felt ropes around her waist and shoulders, tying her upright to a saddle. Vhalla tried to flex her fingers, the sunburn agonizing. Easterners had a tendency to tan before burning, so if she was reddened, she must’ve been exposed to the harsh Western sun for some time.

A horse rode up beside her, and Vhalla felt tugs on the ropes that bound her. She struggled to piece together what was happening, her circumstances coming back in a hazy blur. Another Western man came into focus beside her as panic slowly bubbled up within her.

He noticed her attention and patted her head. “Good morning, oh great lady.”

Vhalla went to swat away his hand only to find her wrists tethered together. She looked down and felt sick all over again. But it wasn’t the same nausea as before. It was a cold and crawling dread that felt like glass against her bones, which made her skin prickle and her shoulders quake.

Locked firmly around her wrists was a familiar pair of shackles. Shimmering unnaturally around their circumference were crystals. They pulsed with magic-blocking power. She remembered them being snapped over her wrists by Schnurr.

“For our safety.” The man tapped on her shackles. “We can’t have—”

Vhalla shrieked in anger and swung her whole body. She brought the irons—hard—into the side of the man’s face. The ropes binding her bit into her skin and drew blood at the motion, but Vhalla ignored it. Raw instinct took over, and she swung again with murderous intent before the man could completely recover—his nose shattered.

“Get it under control!” a voice demanded.

Another horse rode up beside her. Vhalla snarled like an animal, barring her teeth dangerously, ready to fight for her life. This man, well-armored and clearly well-trained, didn’t hesitate to go right for his sword.

“I’ve seen you fight.” She stilled as he held his sword at her throat. “You may be made of wind, but steel will cut you.”

Vhalla panted, straining against the ropes. She clenched and unclenched her fists over and over, trying to summon magic that wouldn’t come. The shackles seemed to glow brighter, fighting against her magical struggle.

“We won’t kill you, yet, but we can make you hurt a lot more than you currently do.” He waited until she eased away, panting in the saddle. “Good girl.”

“Where are we headed?” she demanded.

The man glanced forward, and Vhalla followed his stare. At the head of the small caravan was a bushy-mustached man. Major Schnurr.

“You may tell her,” Schnurr called. “It will change little now.”

“We are going to use you as the tool you were born to be.”

Vhalla attempted a bold laugh to sell her lie. She’d known what they sought for weeks, more or less. “You all are larger fools than I thought. I can’t manage crystals any better than any other sorcerer.”

The Knight actually seemed doubtful for a moment.

“Don’t listen to her.” The man immediately in front of her shook his head. “All Windwalkers are the same; not one was ever found who couldn’t manage the crystals.”

“I can’t,” Vhalla insisted. “I can’t, and you are all going to face Imperial judgment for this as I am a Lady of the Court. High crimes for no returns!”

The two men exchanged a look.

“Ignore the Wind Demon’s lies,” Major Schnurr scolded. “She’d say anything to save her skin, and the Empire hunts her presently for justice, not us. We’d be heroes for turning her in.”

“But, sir—”

“If she can’t manage crystals, her skin would’ve already begun to turn to leather and her eyes red with taint from carrying the axe as long as she has.” The major patted his saddlebag and returned his attention forward, talking with another man. There were six Knights in all. Two in the front, the two talking to Vhalla, and two behind, one of whom was nursing his wounded face.

“Are you mad?” she screamed. The desert was vast and empty. She saw nothing but sand for miles. She didn’t even know how they were making headway. Roads were nowhere to be seen. But if someone was close by, she’d cry loud enough that they would certainly hear. “The Crystal Caverns have only ever spelled disaster!”

“Our forefathers were close to unlocking their secrets,” the man beside her proclaimed arrogantly.

“They would have unleashed a new reign with the Sword of Jadar, were it not for the Ci’Dan bitch,” the other snarled.

Ci’Dan bitch?

“This is insanity. What do you hope to accomplish?” Vhalla cried to the major. “The last time people went to the caverns they unleashed the taint that started a war!”

“Do not lump us in with Southern fools.” Major Schnurr had finally decided she was worth his attention. “We have centuries of studying your kind.” He chuckled. “A war is just what we want to start, and the Emperor was so ready to be rid of you he delivered you right into our hands.”

The ropes dug into Vhalla’s shoulders as she strained against them.

“Solaris is getting old, losing his edge. Who would have thought he would get so worked up over the son of the Ci’Dan whore finally finding something to squeeze beneath the sheets,” one of the men near her sneered.

“The time to strike is near,” another Knight agreed.

Vhalla stared at nothing, trying to process an escape, a solution, something. She’d tried to stop the Knights and only gave them what they wanted. She’d led Jax to his death in the process. The horse swayed and it caused the ropes to dig further into her slumped shoulders. They rode the entire day and into the first part of the night before stopping. Vhalla spent it in silence, keeping company with the shade of her friend.

As the other men dismounted, Vhalla was left strapped in place. They sparked a campfire—at least one of them was a Firebearer—and broke out rations, laughing and joking as though she wasn’t there, as though they weren’t on a fool’s mission.

Eventually, Major Schnurr stood and strolled over to her. He wet a cloth and held it up for her to suck upon. Vhalla scowled at the demeaning suggestion.

“It’s this or we tie you down and pour water over your mouth and nose until you have no choice but to drink.” His tone implied he didn’t much care either way.

She scowled. “That sounds like a waste out here in the desert.”

“We’ll reach the Southern forest by tomorrow night, the day after, maybe. We have supplies and Waterrunners.” The major shrugged. “We can’t have you dying on us.”

Vhalla stared at the dirty cloth another moment. Her throat practically screamed for the moisture that darkened it. But the last thing she wanted to do was give the Knights the satisfaction of lowering her further. The major waited just long enough, as if he could sense her breaking point nearing. Vhalla took the cloth from him, awkwardly with her shackles, and tried not to seem desperate as she sucked the sour liquid from it.

“You have been a hard one to catch, surprisingly so for a once-library girl.” The major placed his hands on his hips as though appraising a prize buck that he had shot down. “Our comrades in the Senate tried to snag you right off, but the Emperor was too fascinated by your power.”

Vhalla hadn’t even known who the Knights of Jadar were at the time. It had gone overlooked for months. But she suddenly remembered the senator who had demanded she be given to the Knights because they would “know what to do with her” on the day of her trial.

“Then we thought the march would be the moment for us to ensnare you; after all, you came right through the Crossroads. We worked carefully with the North after the Night of Fire and Wind to hide our movements. It was easier to let them create chaos, to let them capture you and throw Solaris and Ci’Dan off our trail. But they didn’t seem to quite grasp the idea of needing you alive.” Vhalla shifted the rag in her mouth, letting Schnurr ramble on his self-serving tale. “The two at the Crossroads quite missed the mark.”

Vhalla stilled. It was the second time the major had mentioned the Northerners who had attacked her the last time she was at the Crossroads. The night Larel Neiress had died was burned upon Vhalla’s heart.

“We couldn’t make a move ourselves, not then. The Knights haven’t survived centuries by being reckless. But the Crossroads served us well enough when it became clear that we needed to remove the son of the Ci’Dan slut to get to you.” He sighed dramatically. “And the North couldn’t do that right either, even when we fed misinformation to lead the army right into their attack at the Pass.”

Larel, then Aldrik in the Pass.

“We were at a loss when you arrived in the North. I never even contemplated the Emperor would be the one to push you away after he had you in his hands. Then again, I’ve never seen the whore’s son so taken with anyone. Power, or the loss of it, makes men quite illogical.”

“You’re one to talk.” Vhalla spit out the rag, letting it fall to the sand below the mount. “You were going to kill me for power, for the Emperor’s favor.”

“I would’ve made quite the show of seeming to do so.” The major stroked his mustache with a wicked smile. “It’s a special skill to carve a human carefully enough that nothing vital is damaged beyond repair while still having them appear to be quite deceased. It would’ve been my honor to see your corpse carried away only to have my men put you back together.”

“You’re disgusting,” Vhalla muttered caustically.

“You don’t get to say that.” The man’s eyes gleamed with dark pride. “You’re less than human. You’re nothing more than a tool. And it’s been a frustrating century and a half trying to hunt you down in the East.”

“Hunt me down?”

“The East has become quite good at hiding creatures like you; they don’t even speak of magic any longer. It’s been nearly twenty-six years since we got our hands on the last one. But we won’t mess up this time.” The major ran his hand up her thigh. “Not with you.”

Vhalla shivered as he left her, despite the residual heat of the desert still hanging in the air. She’d been hunting for connections, to see the bigger picture between seemingly unrelated events. But was she ready to see what was bubbling to the forefront of her mind as truth?

Why was everyone so ready to believe that no Windwalkers were being born when it made so much more sense that the East had simply perfected the art of hiding them? The laws following the Burning Times, the outlawing of all magic, the urge to forget, it was all to hide people like her.

She stilled, and the pain of her bindings was ignored for the briefest of moments. Vhalla suddenly had a thousand questions she wanted to ask her own father. How determined he was to go fight in the War of the Crystal Caverns, how outspoken he had been about sorcerers tampering with the crystals.

Vhalla remembered her mother instilling a fear of magic in Vhalla from a young age. A distaste for it that ran so deep Vhalla had never questioned or thought twice about it. She remembered the first time she’d fallen off the roof after climbing up fearlessly, unharmed. The argument of her parents she had overheard. She had never thought of it before, it seemed so normal. Her parents had been afraid for her wellbeing. They believed in fearing magic like the rest of the East; they’d never think their daughter was a sorcerer.

The shackles around her wrists suddenly felt heavy, and Vhalla blinked at them bleary eyed. What if it hadn’t been as normal as she thought? What if she had been hidden?

The thought echoed in her mind through the long ride the next day, sobering her to a withdrawn silence. The Knights made jokes about clipping the Windwalkers wings and how easy she’d been to break. Schnurr made it a ritual to impart knowledge of the twisted practices of the Knights of Jadar. He told her of the experiments conducted on Windwalkers with such detail that it soured her stomach and stilled its growling.

They never untied her from the saddle, never removed her cuffs. Someone could cut off her feet and Vhalla doubted she’d be able to tell. Her lower body had gone numb from the ropes long ago.

The Knights had the arrogance to think they were breaking her, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. Every waking hour, she plotted. She wiggled, tugged, and worked at her ropes. She watched as Schnurr checked his saddlebag every morning and night, leaving Vhalla no need to guess where the axe and key to her shackles were hidden. If she could remove her shackles, she would have her wind and her Bond with Aldrik—she could make them suffer.

But how to get the key?

Vhalla settled on biding her time. The only plan she could think of was trying to launch an attack during one of his brags—if she could get her ropes loose enough. But she suspected he kept the key in the same saddlebag as the axe, and he never let it go far from his side.

The smell of the Southern forest nearly overwhelmed her with nostalgia when they’d crossed into it from the Western Waste. They made headway into the mountains without roads and pushed onward and upward until dusk began to settle. The nights were already cooling, and it made a stark contrast with the heat of the desert.

A year had passed, Vhalla realized with the changing seasons, since she had met Aldrik and everything began. A year that felt like a lifetime.

“We’ll stay there tonight.” Major Schnurr pointed to a windmill fashioned of stone and wood.

It sat high on the edge of a small town. She suspected the cluster of homes to be the town of Mosant or one of its outskirts. If Vhalla and her captors had progressed as the crow flew from the Crossroads straight for the Crystal Caverns, it would put them right in Mosant’s path.

A generally noteworthy town, Vhalla stared at the houses down the mountainside from the windmill as they made their way toward it. If she screamed, would her voice carry far enough? Could she slip away in the night? Even if she could slip away, it didn’t solve the issue of the cuffs. Vhalla had a suspicion that a blacksmith couldn’t just break off magically enhanced shackles. If she drew attention to herself, the Knights would certainly overwhelm any villagers who came looking, forcing them to flee before more could follow.

That much was proven true as they arrived at the windmill. A tired-looking village woman came out to greet them, and Schnurr wasted no time putting his sword through her eye. Vhalla stared at the gaping hole the blade left behind in the woman’s face as the Knights untied their prisoner. War had taken its toll, and she was beginning to struggle to feel anything toward the death of innocents.

The windmill had one entrance up a short flight of stairs, a place horses couldn’t go. Schnurr decreed that she was too valuable to leave outside, so Vhalla was finally untied and carried inside. She tried to find her legs, to stand on her own, but after nearly a week of being stuck in a saddle, they were useless from stiffness and sores.

They threw her unceremoniously atop bags of grain. The dust sent her dry throat into a coughing fit. But when she could breathe again, Vhalla took solace in the smell of the wheat. It reminded her of home in the fall, when the barn was full; it gave her some measure of comfort in spite of her newly conflicting feelings about her upbringing.

She waited in silence as the men settled. They relaxed, talking and laughing. Schnurr had forbidden a fire given the dry contents of the windmill, and Vhalla knew that meant they would not stay up late and instead tuck underneath blankets to fight off the mountain chill.

Vhalla lay unmoving as the last of them began to settle. She counted to a thousand and listened for any indication that any were still awake before sliding off her sacks of grain. Vhalla kept her wrists close so that the shackles wouldn’t clank together.

She crept through the dim moonlight, holding her breath. She’d get one chance. Schnurr had made it quite clear that while he wouldn’t kill her, he could do a laundry list of other horrible things that would make her wish she was dead. If this attempt failed, Vhalla had no doubt he would be starting at the top of that list.

Vhalla stood over the sleeping man, debating if she should try for the saddlebag he clutched in his sleep—for the key she knew would be in there alongside the axe, or if she should take his sword and slit his throat first. Vhalla glanced at his weapon. Drawing it was likely to make enough sound that someone would wake. She crouched down and reached out slowly.

The man shifted and Vhalla stiffened, but he didn’t waken. Her fingers wormed their way through the flap of the saddlebag, feeling within. The crystals on the shackles almost burned her skin as her fingers brushed against the axe, and Vhalla winced. It was as if they waged a magical war with each other and her flesh was caught in-between.

Reaching forward, Vhalla continued her slow rummage. She was about to give up when she touched something iron and distinctly key-like. Her breath wavered with the rush of anticipation of removing the cuffs. Like a viper, fingers closed suddenly around her elbow, tight enough to pop bones, and Vhalla met Schnurr’s wide eyes.

“You are a bold little cur,” he growled.

Vhalla gripped the key and tugged herself free. Schnurr was moving as well, and Vhalla fumbled with her hoped-for salvation, but she couldn’t quite get the right angle of the key and lock while shackled. He lunged for her—sending the saddlebag sliding across the room—and their tumbling woke the other Knights.

Schnurr grabbed for his sword and Vhalla tried to wrestle it from his hands. She leaned forward, biting one of his wrists hard enough that blood exploded into her mouth. Cursing, Schnurr instinctively pulled away, and Vhalla won the weapon.

Still sheathed, she drew it back and twisted her body—just as Daniel had once shown her—to put all her momentum in the thrust. The tip of the scabbard sunk into Schnurr’s neck and Vhalla watched his eyes bulge as he gasped for air. It was blunted, but the force crushed his windpipe.

The other Knights were nearly upon her. Vhalla looked around desperately, trying to reason if it made more sense to try to fight them off or spend the seconds she had left trying to get the shackles unlocked. She dropped the sword and scrambled for the key.

“Wind scum!” one of the Knights shouted as he kicked her, the heel of his boot digging into her shoulder.

Vhalla was sent rolling, but she clutched the key so tightly her nails left bloody arcs in her hand. She was back to trying to unlock the shackles. Her magic would mean her freedom, her longevity. The axe was already in the hand of one of her assailants.

“We should just kill you,” one snarled as he looked at the corpse of the bushy-mustached major.

“Kill her! Take the axe,” another said, brandishing the weapon. “We can find another Windwalker in time. We have the axe and that is more important.”

Vhalla watched the man as he spoke, twisting her hands against the cuffs.

“We stick to the plan and head to the caverns.”

“Why?” Mutiny rumbled between the now leaderless Knights. “I say we kill her.”

A Knight grabbed for her and Vhalla plunged her heel into his groin. The man instantly let go, a string of foul language spilling from his lips. She spun face-to-face with the man wielding the axe.

“Kill the wind bitch!” Two strong hands grabbed her.

Vhalla struggled valiantly against the man’s hold on her. She watched as the axe-wielding Knight raised it. If only she had her magic.

Fire suddenly erupted over their shoulders at the door.

“What the?” The men turned.

“Get that under control!”

A man held out his hand, and the flames swayed as they roared against his command.

“I said put it out!”

“I’m trying!” the sorcerer struggled.

The fire was magic, Vhalla blinked at its warm heat. A Firebearer would be able to assume control of any normal flame without any trouble. But a flame created by another sorcerer became a battle of power, and clearly these flames were crafted by a Firebearer of fearsome skill.

The flames caught the dry grain, and the wooden inside of the windmill was quickly going up like kindling. The men scrambled like rats, trapped between stone and flame.

It was impossible. Vhalla blinked as more of the room caught. She’d been forgotten about as the men tried to charge for the door, for escape. They sweated, they screamed, they shied from the heat. Vhalla watched them as they burned, even the Firebearer overcome by the magical inferno.

And she felt little more than heat.

Vhalla walked toward the flames that blocked the door—there was no change. There was only one man’s flames that wouldn’t harm her, but it couldn’t be him. Aldrik couldn’t be here. She was so entranced by the predicament that she didn’t notice the structure beginning to collapse around her until a large beam cracked.

She snatched up the axe from where it sat in the fire, ignoring the charred remains of the Knights. Vhalla plunged herself into the flames. It licked around her, it burned her clothes, but it didn’t singe her skin even slightly. It allowed her to pass unharmed into the chill night beyond.

Immediately outside, Vhalla looked frantically for him. She cleared the structurally compromised windmill, starting for the horses before they could all spook and flee. The whole time Vhalla’s eyes searched the dark forest around her.

“Aldrik?” she dared to call into the darkness.

There was no reply.

Vhalla stashed the axe into a saddlebag, gripping a horse’s reigns with white knuckles. The rush of her escape was already fleeting, aches and pains were appearing in its wake. Vhalla mounted the horse, stalling long enough to give someone a chance to come forward, for an explanation to the miracle she had just witnessed.

A flash of red caught her eyes and Vhalla peered into the blackness. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as though there was unseen electricity crackling through the air. Barely discernable from the shadow was the outline of a woman, cowled and mostly hidden by the brush of the woods. Her eyes flashed red for one long moment before vanishing.

THREE DAYS HAD passed since she collapsed in the center of the small town known as Mosant. After riding through the woods with a burning windmill at her back, Vhalla’s energy gave out, and she was forced to rely on the care of the townsfolk. However, she’d forgotten that she’d once met a woman who hailed from the mountain town she now sought shelter in.

Vhalla sat on the opposite side of a table from a woman she’d never expected to see again. Her fingers curled and uncurled around the steaming mug, from which she happily leeched warmth. Wool covered her arms and legs, basic clothing that offered her a deep comfort.

“If you go back, the Senate will jail you.” Tim was a lovely young woman, pretty enough that Vhalla wondered how Tim had managed to masquerade as her. Though, they had all been wearing a thicker coating of grime during the march North.

Vhalla had grown to love her too-slender proportions and less than ideal hair and height. She’d encountered people who had found her beautiful in spite of those facts and had learned to foster her own love for herself by learning what they saw. But Vhalla knew she wasn’t going to win any broad-strokes beauty contests.

Where Vhalla had been cut and carved into harsh lines and a strong presence, Tim had been left to develop naturally to be soft and graceful. Neither of them were wrong, neither right. Simply different.

“They’ve already jailed me,” Vhalla reminded.

“You could flee to the coast. Or live here; no one will ever turn you in. Not after what you did for all the soldiers in the North and especially not after killing Knights of Jadar; they’ve always been a menace to our town. Or, go back to the East, maybe?” Tim suggested.

The offer was heartwarming, and Vhalla appreciated it deeply. But she’d made up her mind while recovering and lying low from her ordeal with the Knights. The days that had passed had given time for messengers to arrive and announce that the Lady Vhalla Yarl, the Windwalker, was wanted for murder of Western lords. Should she be found, she was to be turned in for Imperial justice. Vhalla burst out laughing at the thought and shook her head at the curious look from Tim. One would think they would’ve learned from the first time she’d been falsely accused of murder.

“I need to return to the capital.” Vhalla sipped on her tea. The lemongrass and honey reminded her of summer despite the world beginning its shift to winter.

“The Knights of Jadar are demanding your death.” Tim sighed. “But the messengers said the crown prince decreed that if the Windwalker were to come forward, he would see to it that she received a fair trial.”

Vhalla turned the idea over in her head. Aldrik was protecting her, in his own way. She heard his message loud and clear: Return to me and I will keep you safe.

Her chair scraped against the hard dirt floor as she stood. She walked over to the fire, still nursing the steaming tea. Vhalla watched the flames dance, her mind replaying the night with the burning windmill. She’d looked for the person who started the fire that saved her life. But Vhalla saw no one in her flight through the forest that night.

That wasn’t entirely true. Vhalla remembered the shadowy outline of the woman, the glowing red eyes. But the night was already a hazy memory becoming more dream-like with each passing day. She knew who had to have made the flames, but the logic didn’t add up. Only one person’s fire couldn’t burn her—Aldrik’s. But he was certainly in the South.

How would his fire look to her now? She wondered if his magic would still sparkle for her as it once had. She was certainly no longer the girl who had been lost in rose gardens, enthralled by tongues of flame slithering between his fingers.

“I suppose,” Vhalla whispered, “I’ve run long enough.”

The axe was hidden along with the cuffs within a saddlebag in the corner of the room, the only good idea Schnurr had ever had. Vhalla considered the unassuming bag for a long moment. The longer she had the axe in her possession, the more she realized that she needed to bring it to Victor. He had been the one who had trusted her to bring it South; he’d know what needed to be done to hide or destroy it for good.

“You’re going back?” Tim was surprised, but not that surprised.

“It’s time.” Vhalla would go, but not because she needed a prince to keep her safe. She hadn’t shown the Senate the product of their efforts yet, the weapon they’d forged out of a library apprentice. “I will need something before I ride.”

“What is it?” Tim was ever-helpful. Vhalla had expected the people of the valley to shun her and her magic, but time and tales had healed the reputation of the Windwalker, rebuilding Vhalla in the eyes of the Southerners as their chosen champion. Furthermore, according to Tim, the Knights of Jadar had plagued the citizens of Mosant for decades as the town was on the route from the Crossroads to the Crystal Caverns. They would rather harbor a criminal than do anything that could remotely please the Western group.

“I need a cape.” Vhalla thought of the symbol she’d donned at the warfront. If she was the South’s war hero, she’d look the part. “I need a black cape with a silver wing on the back.”

Vhalla turned to meet Tim’s eyes. The woman wore a mischievous grin. Vhalla smiled back. To Tim, it was a game, a fantasy she was playing a part in. But Vhalla’s life wasn’t a storybook. She was returning to the South and showing herself as more than a piece on the carcivi boards of powerful men and women—she was a player.

She rested for two more days before finally leaving. As soon as the seamstress had finished Vhalla’s cape, Vhalla announced her intention. The Festival of the Sun was starting, and the last thing Vhalla wanted to do was engage in the revelries. Spending her time on the road, away from the celebrations, was a far better use of her days.

It was a gray morning when Vhalla said her goodbyes and set off on her mount, stolen from the dead Knights.

“Is it all right?” Tim asked. The white puffs of their breath became fainter as the chill of the dawn slipped away.

“It is.” Vhalla gripped the reins and adjusted her cape again. The cloak was a heavy wool, sturdy, made for the mountains in winter, and long enough to drape over the haunch of the horse. For the first time, Vhalla looked like a noble on a journey. Her hand went up to her watch, caressing it thoughtfully.

“I trust you have a plan.” Tim settled into her saddle. “A plan to not be marching to your death?”

Under the tall pine trees, the soft clanking sound of the stirrups filled the silence as Vhalla mused over how to respond. “Not really.”

“So, you’re going to ride back into the capital with a target on your back and deliver yourself neatly?”

“That’s as far as I’ve made it in my head,” Vhalla affirmed. She really didn’t have an idea of how returning to the capital would go. All she knew was that she wanted a public stage to put the Knights in their place once and for all. What better place than the greatest stage in the world?

Tim let the silence linger, but Vhalla could almost hear the woman shouting her unasked questions. They’d been together for a few days, but Tim had kept her inquisitions fairly tame.

Vhalla sighed softly. “Go ahead, ask what you want.”

“What?” Tim squeaked, startled.

“We have a long ride, and since you’ve chosen to come with me, I’m not going to have it be filled with awkward silences,” Vhalla explained.

“Oh, sorry.” Tim laughed uncomfortably, passing her reins from hand to hand. “I suppose I want to know what everyone else wants to know.”

“I don’t know what that is.” Vhalla could guess, but she wasn’t going to hand Tim information mindlessly.

“After the battle, you left. Where did you go?”

“The Crossroads.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to.” Vhalla saw Tim’s expression deflate from the corners of her eyes. She wasn’t talking with Ophain or Aldrik, just an average woman with no experience in subtlety. “I wanted to escape everything for a bit,” Vhalla explained further. “I needed to be no one.”

“So then, did you really kill those Western Lords there?” Tim ventured.

“I did.” Tim’s eyes were wide at Vhalla’s response. “They would’ve killed me, or worse, if I hadn’t fought them. They weren’t just lords; they were Knights of Jadar trying to use my powers to start a new war. More of the same ilk that died at the windmill.”

“Oh, that’s different then.” The woman easily shrugged off the idea of Vhalla committing murder in self-defense.

Vhalla appraised her traveling companion. Tim was soft-looking and girlish, but she had been in war as well. She had killed and carried invisible scars just as ugly as all soldiers did. Yet, despite that fact, Vhalla withheld the information that she’d killed Tim’s direct superior, Major Schnurr.

“Why are you really going back to the capital?” Vhalla asked her own unsaid question.

Tim sucked on her teeth in thought. “I want to train with the archers in the guard. They said there’d be a position for me.”

“They told you that after the war was over,” Vhalla pointed out. “You chose to go back to Mosant instead.”

“Oh, fine,” Tim laughed. “I want to travel with you.”

“That may not be the best idea,” Vhalla remarked dryly, watching the trail curve ahead of them.

“Maybe not,” Vhalla’s companion agreed. “But I feel like my fate is linked with yours.” The statement stilled Vhalla. “For a time, I was you. I saw and heard things I’d never seen or heard before. I was there to watch the rise of the Windwalker. Then I found you again. This is your story, but I want to see how it ends.”

It would likely end with a violent death. Vhalla spared Tim any further warning and kept the thought to herself.

“Plus,” Tim added, “you’re a Lady of the Court now, right? If you build out your household, maybe you’ll find a place for my set of hands.” Tim laughed brightly.

Vhalla cracked a small smile.

The woman’s company proved to be more welcome than Vhalla ever expected. Tim already knew much about Vhalla, so when they broke for camp, Vhalla spent the majority of the time learning about Tim. The young woman was transparent, and it was a welcome reprieve for Vhalla’s mind. It wasn’t necessary to exhaust herself quizzing or dancing with words to find the truth.

The two women spent the night huddled together under a single blanket for warmth, and as time went on, Vhalla allowed the young woman to snuggle closer and closer. Sometimes, she’d lie awake, listening to Tim breathe in harmony with the sounds of the forest at night. Tim was warm, but not nearly as warm as Aldrik.

At a leisurely pace, it only took three days to reach the capital. Vhalla hoped she’d missed all the festivities of the Festival of the Sun. They paused at the intersection of the Great Imperial Way and the Capital Road. High above them, the palace glittered despite the perpetually graying sky as winter drew nearer.

“You’re sure about this?” Tim asked once more.

Vhalla adjusted her cloak, making sure it was splayed just so over the horse’s haunches. “Very.”

As they ascended the mountain, it didn’t take long for Vhalla to be noticed. Citizens stared in slack-jawed awe at the woman wearing the black cloak. Vhalla held her head high, prepared for their judgment.

After the first series of houses, people began running alongside and ahead of her. More citizens lined the street, but none stopped her.

Word spread far enough ahead that a man had time to prepare to address her. “Is it true?” he called from a second-floor window of a tavern. Vhalla pulled on the reins, slowing her mount, prompting him to continue. “Are you her? Are you the Windwalker?”

“I am,” Vhalla announced.

Murmurs rippled through the people lining the road. Vhalla nudged her horse, pushing it forward again. They didn’t spout words of hate. Instead, Vhalla’s ears picked up words like hero and champion.

How fickle people were, she smirked to herself. Sorcerers were scary; she still had no doubt that such was the reigning perception in the South. There was too much history surrounding the Crystal Caverns that she was beginning to understand better for that hate to root into. But she had become something more than a sorcerer. She’d become the Windwalker. Which was something different than all who had ever come before her and had a reputation to match.

By the time she was crossing the gate of the capital city of the Solaris Empire, horns were heralding her arrival. Vhalla was certain it was in warning, she knew guards were being called for her arrest. This only forced her to ride faster into the city.

Men and women blurred together, but no one stopped her. Vhalla saw bold black pennons bearing the silver wing displayed, like she had seen in the Crossroads. She wondered if the soldiers who had returned home from the war had kept the mantra that the winds of the Windwalker were lucky.

Vhalla was nearly standing in her saddle now. Her heart racing as she sped through the streets. She was over halfway to her chosen destination when a guard made a dash to try to stop her.

Tim sped up and stopped, blocking the man’s progress to Vhalla. “Go on!” she called.

Wind picked up the mountainside behind her as Vhalla crossed under an archway to her final destination. Her gamble had paid off, and she pulled hard on her reins, stopping the horse with a whinny and a loud clamor of hooves before the sunlit stage. A long row of guards were positioned before the stage, blocking the path between her and the Imperial family.

Emperor Solaris stood center. Baldair and his mother stood back and to his left, a Northern girl hovering half a step away. Guilt surged through Vhalla at the sight of Baldair. She wondered if Jax’s body was ever found or if the Knights of Jadar had hidden it. She’d have to tell the prince the fate of his loyal guard herself, but now was not that time. Vhalla’s eyes swept to the Emperor’s right.

There he was.

He looked nothing like the haggard man she’d dreamt about. His hair was not only styled, but it had been cut as well to taper neatly at the nape of his neck. His face seemed less gaunt, though there were still dark circles beneath his eyes. Vhalla suppressed insane laughter. He wore the same coat as when they had first met.

“Emperor Solaris!” Vhalla shouted, using her magic to amplify her voice so the mass of commoners could hear her. “I have come for my justice.”

The Emperor’s eye twitched slightly at her getting in the first word. “For your justice?”

“The Knights of Jadar have laid false accusations against my name.” Vhalla sat tall in her saddle. “As a Lady of the Court, I demand a fair trial before the Mother to prove my innocence.”

Just as the Emperor was about to speak, a man entered the stage, followed by several others. Vhalla’s eyes narrowed slightly as the Head of Senate stepped into the sun. He regarded her with equal disdain, and Vhalla seriously weighed the options of freedom and justice versus the satisfaction of killing him on the spot.

“Senators,” she addressed those who had just arrived. “I have come to prove my innocence.”

“Guards, arrest this woman!” A Western man stepped forward, casting his finger toward her. “She is a slayer of lords and ladies! A wind witch!”

The guards glanced between the Emperor and the senator, seeking confirmation of orders.

“Arrest her!” the man raged.

“If she has accusations of murder against her, then she is to be taken into custody,” Egmun finally spoke. “Fetch irons.”

Vhalla shook her head, laughing softly to herself. A hush fell over the people as they strained to hear the reason for her strange reaction. Vhalla reached into her saddle bag.

“If it is irons you desire to put on me,” she said as she straightened, “then make sure they are stronger than the ones the Knights of Jadar shackled me in!” Vhalla threw the crystal cuffs, propelling them with the wind to the feet of the Senators.

Chaos erupted.

“Lies!” the Western senator raged.

“Citizens of the Empire,” Vhalla cried. “I am not your enemy. I have never been your enemy.”

“Order!” the Emperor boomed.

Every man, woman, and child focused on Vhalla with avid attention.

“On the Night of Fire and Wind, I fought to save you.” Her heart was beating so hard it hurt, so hard she could choke on it. “I went to the North in good faith of the Empire, as punishment for crimes I did not truly commit. I fought against the Knights of Jadar when they sought to bring down our army on the march. They were behind an attack that nearly caused the death of our future sovereign.”

Murmurs erupted.

“Lies! She lies!” The Western Senator’s face was red with rage.

“Enough, Lady Yarl!” the Emperor called. His words went unheeded again.

“I fought for your Empire, and when the Emperor saw fit to grant me my freedom for my service, others sought to chain me.” Vhalla jerked her head in the direction of the Western senator. “Yes!” she screamed. “Yes, I killed those men at the Crossroads because they sought the tainted powers within the Crystal Caverns!”

The crowd was worked to a near fever-pitch.

“They sought to bring a new war upon the Empire.” Vhalla met the Emperor’s eyes. “Once more I have defended the Empire, and my reward is to be more chains?”

“Justice for the Windwalker!” a woman screamed.

“Justice for the Hero of the North!” another cried.

The Sunlit Stage filled with their demands.

“Are you going to let her spout these lies?” Her ears picked up the strained words of the Western senator.

Those upon the stage were quickly losing their control of the situation as the crowd slipped into anarchy. Wind howled through the archways, howled for her justice. Vhalla met the Emperor’s eyes with a level stare and waited.

Fire arced across the sky. The crowd was silenced as they shied away from the wave of heat. Aldrik had taken a step forward.

He stared down at her, and Vhalla met his gaze as an equal—for the world to see. What was to become of them now?

“It seems a trial is not necessary.” His voice filled the square. It filled the cavernous volume of her chest as two perfectly dark eyes met hers.

“My prince!” Egmun was aghast alongside the Western Senator.

“Senators, you exist so that the will of the people may be channeled to my father and to me.” Aldrik motioned to the masses that were growing by the second. “The people have spoken.”

“But a trial—”

“Is not needed for one who is so clearly innocent.” The crown prince pointed to the crystal-laden irons. “Unless you have an alternate explanation for those?”

The Western fumed in silence.

“She is a Lady of the Court.” Aldrik shifted his focus back on her. Everyone could’ve screamed at once, and Vhalla was certain she’d somehow still hear the frantic pulse in his neck as he stared at her once more. “She was given her freedom by the Emperor. And I, as the future Emperor, will pardon her for any crimes that were committed in her own defense against the Western madmen who call themselves the Knights of Jadar.”

The crowd did scream then. It was deafening, but her ears were already ringing; they were echoing Aldrik’s words so loudly that Vhalla felt the resonance of his voice in her bones.

The prince’s eyes soaked in her form for one moment longer before he turned, starting alone for the palace. The rest of his family followed behind him. Vhalla caught the Emperor’s eyes only briefly, but long enough to see the cautionary stare.

Swinging her leg over, she dismounted gracefully. Vhalla grabbed the saddlebag with the axe, holding it tight against her as the crowd amassed to welcome her back. She didn’t want their false smiles and misplaced praise. It had suited her when she needed their love to cement her freedom, but she knew better than to take it to heart. The people would just as easily shift against her once more if Vhalla wasn’t careful to keep the wind blowing her way.

The silence of the palace hallway was welcome, and Vhalla breathed a sigh of relief the second she was free of the crowd. She clutched the saddlebag tightly to her side, setting off in the hall toward the center of the palace. She didn’t know quite where she was, but she knew the general direction. Nostalgia crept into her mind, welcoming her despite her disorientation.

It was a sweet dulling of the senses. The way her feet sounded against the floor or the candles that dripped years of wax over their sconces, it was all familiar. It felt like home.

But it was a façade. She’d seen first-hand the ugliness that festered in the hearts of the people who had built this palace. She was now one of them. And the illusion could only last for so long before it was broken.

“Look at you,” a voice sneered.

Vhalla reeled in place.

Egmun stepped slowly from a side hall. Had he been following her? “Put a title on her and she becomes bold. Do you think yourself powerful?”

“I know I am.” Vhalla did nothing to hide her scowl. There was no one around, and it seemed Egmun had no interest in “playing nice” either.

“You should’ve never left this palace alive.” Egmun took a step closer, and Vhalla took a step back. “I should’ve killed you myself when I had the chance.”

“Another step closer and I will be the one killing you,” she threatened.

He paused, chuckling darkly. “We both know you won’t.”

“You have no idea what I’m capable of,” Vhalla whispered.

“Oh, I have more idea than you realize.” Egmun bore his teeth in a wide grin. “But you won’t kill me, because you would do anything to avoid giving me what I want, even if that means denying yourself that particular satisfaction.”

“You want me to kill you?” That was a turn she hadn’t been expecting.

“Oh, dying like this would be less than ideal. But I would hope the Knights, the Emperor, someone, would put on a better showing of getting you condemned for the death of the Head of Senate.” Egmun pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh and the distinctly Aldrik-like motion threw her mentally off-balance. “The Knights were a failure. But it all comes down to the fact that I will do whatever it takes to see your end, ended in such a horrible way that no one will dare speak the name Vhalla Yarl, the Windwalker, for years.”

“You’re mad.” She’d never been more certain.

“I was, once. Now I’m the only sane one here,” Egmun observed quietly.

“What is your obsession with me?” she finally asked. The question was out, and Vhalla held her breath to await what she knew would be a terrible answer.

“Oh, you already know,” Egmun hummed. “I want you to die. I thought the Knights would do it, or the North would, or you, in your feebleness, would be broken by the trials of war. Disappointments, the lot of them; now here we are.”

“Why do you want me dead? I never did anything to you!”

“You existed!” the senator snarled. “No, it’s worse than that. You let your existence be known. You, you didn’t stay put. They should’ve never let you out of the East.”

“What do you know?” Vhalla whispered.

“I know you will be the death of us all.” It seemed to be the most level thing he’d said and for that it was all the more terrifying. “I know, I know better than any what you are capable of.”

“How?”

“I sought wisdom that was never meant for mortal men, and I traded my magic for it. No one else will pay that price, and now I am the only one who can protect our world.”

“You’re mad,” Vhalla breathed. Something was seriously broken within the Head of Senate. A god-complex, a power-hungry madman, a deranged lunatic stood before her and affirmed it with every word.

“I am the only one of us who isn’t.” Egmun frowned.

“So why don’t you kill me now then?”

“You’ve made yourself untouchable.” The Head of Senate finally took a step away. “You’ve powers that I cannot compete with. You’ve put a spell over the people. You’ve crawled into bed with a prince.”

Vhalla clenched her fists and grit her teeth.

“And now you’ll return to the Tower to study under the puppet-master of those powers that be.” Egmun shook his head, starting in the opposite direction. “I have only one final thing I could try.”

Vhalla braced herself for an attack. She readied for an ambush, for Egmun to turn and lunge for her. But the senator only glanced over his shoulder, his eyes glittering with crazed and broken amusement.

“Ask yourself, Vhalla Yarl. . . Ask yourself, is your life worth more than this world?”

With that, the senator departed.

Long after he’d vanished, Vhalla contemplated the hall where he had disappeared. She took a step, stumbling over her feet and leaning against the wall for support. She was shaken down to her soul. Egmun, her most hated entity in the world, had shown her an emotion she didn’t know he’d had: compassion. Not for her, but for the people of the Empire.

She gripped the saddlebag with white knuckles, holding an axe that could sever souls. Another piece fell clearly into her mind as Vhalla realized she’d just succeeded in bringing the last crystal weapon back to the South, nearly back to the land of the Crystal Caverns.

The North had just been the battle. There was a much greater struggle at play here, and people had yet to show their true hands. The war still raged on.

ALL THINGS CONSIDERED, Vhalla hadn’t really spoken much with the Head of Senate. But it seemed every time she did, the impression was destined to linger, and Egmun’s words repeated in Vhalla’s mind, imprinting themselves as she made her way for the bottom entry of the Tower of Sorcerers. She clutched the saddlebag, her fingers tracing the outlines of its stitching in thought. Egmun.

Egmun had been the Minister of Sorcery, and then something changed. He said he had traded his magic; was it taken from him somehow? If so, by what? Vhalla’s mind went down every dark path when thinking of the Senator and came up with a memory that wasn’t even hers, of Egmun egging on a boy Aldrik to commit his first murder.

The questions circled like a tornado, faster and faster, until all other thoughts were destroyed by their repetition. Vhalla pushed open the door for the Tower of Sorcerers, completely absorbed in trying to recall every word she’d ever written in her journal on Aldrik and deeply wishing she’d taken it with her from Gianna’s. It took her five steps to notice she wasn’t alone.

The large, circular lobby was filled with people, as it had been the last time she’d been there. But now they weren’t wearing armor, and there wasn’t the tension of dread. Hope glittered in every flame bulb. Hope for a future that they would see because they were the ones who had survived the battles. Their eyes looked to her in admiration, as though she was the foundation of those dreams.

Vhalla hastily took in those assembled, and her eyes fell on a man. Words and thoughts and emotions tangled into a knot and lodged themselves in her throat. She had cried so many tears of sorrow that it made the moisture at the corners of her eyes burn sweetly with joy.

Fritznangle Charem, Waterrunner and friend of the Windwalker, stood opposite her, already crying like a babe. The room blurred until only he remained in focus. Fritz took a step forward, and Vhalla matched his sprint.

There was only one thing that could’ve made her part with the bag containing the axe, and that was the man she threw her arms around. The saddlebag was forgotten on the floor, and Vhalla clutched Fritz as though he was nothing more than an illusion about to fade on the wind.

The room was congratulating her; there may have even been cheers. But Vhalla focused on her friend’s face, wiping away the rivulets of tears streaming around his wide grin with her thumbs.

“I missed you, Vhal,” Fritz hiccupped.

“I missed you, too.” Vhalla leaned forward and rose to her toes to give her friend a light kiss on the forehead.

The room hummed around her, and Vhalla took stock of the other Sorcerers. Their robes bore the seal of the Tower of Sorcerers, a dragon curling in on itself as a circle, split in two and off-set. But above the standard insigna, were pins of a silver wing.

“We knew the Windwalker would return to us, heralding her good fortune.” A man rose his hand to his chest, explaining the pin.

“I don’t know about that,” Vhalla laughed.

“Do not discredit yourself, Lady Yarl.” Vhalla turned to the source of the voice. A man with sharp blue eyes and a neatly cut goatee stood in long black robes, different from the rest of the apprentices. Victor, the current Minister of Sorcery, smiled down at her. “You have brought much good fortune, without even being here, by helping ease tensions between sorcerers and the common folk.”

“Tensions I made worse with the Night of Fire and Wind.” Vhalla couldn’t let herself just take the compliment.

“That debt has been repaid, and then some.” Victor proceeded down the sloped walkway. “I can imagine you are exhausted after your ordeal at the Sunlit Stage. The chill is still on your cloak, and you’ve yet to shake the dust from your hair. Let us all give our Windwalker the best welcome home we can and allow her to take a much needed rest.”

As the room began to empty, the minister took a half step toward her, placing his hand on the small of her back. He leaned forward slightly to speak only for her. “When you are refreshed, come to my quarters. We have much to discuss of your time at war and your future in the Tower.”

Vhalla nodded, starting to speak when Fritz interrupted her.

“Here.” He held out the saddlebag. “You dropped—”

“Don’t!” She snatched it away in horror, and the wounded look on Fritz’s face left no question for Vhalla as to the expression she’d given him. Vhalla fumbled for words, turning to the minister for assistance, but he had already departed. “Don’t touch it, Fritz.”

Fritz’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Sorry, I . . .” She didn’t want to lie to him. She didn’t want to lie to her friends. She had sworn off lying. But what else could she tell him? Her hands tightened around the saddlebag. “There’s something precious inside.”

“What is it?”

“Just something I picked up along the way,” Vhalla muttered, grabbing at straws for a new topic. Her eyes fell on an Eastern man who had been lingering by Fritz’s side since Vhalla had first seen him. “Grahm? Right?”

“Welcome home.” The man beamed at her. “I’m surprised you remember me.”

“Of course I would!” Vhalla stared up the Tower. “I heard so much about you.”

“You did?” Grahm seemed honestly surprised.

“Vhal!” Fritz was redder than scarlet.

“Just that you’re quite talented,” Vhalla spoke to Grahm, giving Fritz a knowing wink while the other man’s eyes were averted. Clearly, Fritz had been making slow use of his time when it came to the man he was so obviously pining for. Vhalla paused. “Where’s Elecia?”

“Still in the West.” Fritz pouted, affirming Vhalla’s suspicion that she wasn’t in the Tower. If she had been, Vhalla had no doubt that things with Grahm wouldn’t have faltered so.

“Wasn’t she coming to study here a bit?” Trying to recall details between the final battle and leaving the North was a struggle, it all blurred together into one ugly mess.

“In spring.” Fritz sighed heavily. “She doesn’t like Southern winters.”

“You can’t blame her.” Vhalla thought back to the time she’d spent in the West. If she’d grown up in such a climate, she’d truly loathe the chill that was already slipping into the halls.

“I can blame her and I do!” Fritz grumbled. “I’ve missed her, and you.”

“Tell me what I’ve missed.” Vhalla pulled her friend close, enjoying having him at her side once more.

They strolled leisurely and began what would be the long process of catching up. How she had missed her favorite Southerner. His laughter was like sunlight, and his heart was more golden than his scraggly hair.

“You remember where your room is, right?” Fritz asked, pausing with Grahm at a door.

“You’re not coming with me?” Vhalla blinked. She expected Fritz to be glued to her side, demanding all the details of their adventures apart. But it seemed he presently had other priorities.

“To your room?” Fritz laughed. “No, I figured you’d want some time to wash up alone. Unless you want me to scrub your back?”

Vhalla grinned. “I doubt you’d be let into the women’s baths.”

“Grahm was beginning to teach me the process of making vessels, you see,” Fritz explained, taking a step closer to the other man. “I want to keep studying.”

Fritz was studying something, all right.

“I’d enjoy learning more about vessels, from an expert.” Vhalla smiled nicely at Grahm.

“I actually need to speak with you on the subject, now that you’re back.” Her fellow Easterner was completely oblivious to the silent but certain exchange between his two companions.

“Oh?”

“Yes, but it’ll keep for now. Go and relax,” Grahm encouraged.

So Vhalla finished her journey as it had begun, in silence and alone. Her future felt as equally uncertain now as it had the first time she’d entered the Tower. Vhalla ran her fingers over the nameplate that was on the door of one of the highest rooms in the Tower of Sorcerers. Her name had been engraved in tight, slanted script.

With a deep breath, she opened the door and was hit with an unexpected wave of nostalgia. This had not been her home for long. She’d only slept in the bed for a few nights between her trial and departing for war. But it was her home now. It had been the place she had dreamed of returning to with Larel and Fritz. She’d been the library apprentice everyone expected—and hoped—would die. Now she was the Windwalker, a lady and hero, and this was her home.

Vhalla ran her fingers reverently over the small table, the bed, and stopped at the wardrobe. Opening the doors, Vhalla stared at the contents for a long moment before promptly closing it. Her clothes were folded and hung on pegs, exactly the same as Larel had left it.

Closing her eyes, Vhalla pressed her forehead against the shut doors, as if she was locking a specter of the other woman in the wardrobe. As if she could protect herself from it entering her heart once more and consuming her soul. Then again, Larel had given her Serien, and Serien had become part of the woman Vhalla had grown into. She opened the doors again.

Vhalla knelt and carefully plucked a silver bracelet from atop a stack of carefully organized notes. If she were a Firebearer, she would have burnt them. But Vhalla resigned herself to living a little longer with the notes that Aldrik had exchanged with her a lifetime ago. She ignored any whisper in her heart that her reason for keeping them had little to do with whether or not she could start a fire.

She decided to proceed directly to Victor’s office. Despite all the grime that coated her, Vhalla didn’t want to wait a moment longer to deliver the axe to the minister. The conversation with Egmun was still fresh, and she had some questions for the current Minister of Sorcery.

The minister’s quarters were higher than hers, and there was almost nothing close to it, save for one more door that was completely unmarked. If Victor’s office had been farther down the Tower, Vhalla might have missed the heated conversation under the noise of sorcerer apprentices coming and going about their daily duties. But this high up, the halls were empty and silent. Vhalla clenched her fists, heightening her hearing by opening her magic and inviting the air into her.

“. . . she is too bold, Victor.” The Emperor’s voice.

Vhalla looked around frantically. Swallowing the knowledge of whose chambers she was about to hide near, she sprinted up to the shallow alcove, pressing herself against the unmarked door at the top of the Tower. It would’ve been too far for anyone else to hear, but the silence and still air allowed her to magically stretch out her hearing, and she heard as clearly as if she was standing with her ear pressed against the door.

“. . . bother you. She was only saving her skin from Egmun.”

“Yes, Egmun has given me counsel on what he thinks we should do with her.” Footsteps stilled and Vhalla could only assume the Emperor had been pacing. “You think she can be controlled?”

“I told you as much when you last returned from the war. Aldrik has command over the girl, you have command over him; she is yours,” Victor said easily, setting Vhalla’s heart to racing.

“I sought an end to that. He was actually involved with the creature,” the Emperor spat.

“You knew that was a risk, my lord, given Aldrik’s history with the women he chooses.”

The axe seemed to pulse with a nervous energy that matched her heartbeat. Vhalla clutched the worn saddlebag tighter.

“My son does not always make the best choices; he has his mother’s heart. It troubles me deeply, as I shall leave this continent to him so that I may continue my expansion,” the Emperor muttered. “Though, since removing the distraction from his attentions, he has improved significantly, putting our Empire before himself. He may just have hope as a ruler yet.”

“The Crescent Continent? Such is still your plan?” Victor asked, somewhat cautiously.

“As long as you are confident we have the girl,” the Emperor retorted.

What? Vhalla was screaming the word in her mind. She didn’t understand. No, she understood it perfectly. She just didn’t want to.

“You want me to guarantee her cooperation?” Victor seemed surprised.

“It hardly matters if it is willingly or not, as long as she plays the role I have scripted for her. It has taken long enough to find a Windwalker, and the axe is the last of the Goddess’s weapons. It must be her, or I cannot turn my campaign across the sea while my army is primed. Without the power in the caverns, we do not stand a chance against their magic.”

“Did you manage to get the axe?” Victor’s voice held a tension to it that wasn’t there before.

“Not yet,” the Emperor seethed. “The Northerners think they will be able to keep it from me. But I will have it, even if I have to squeeze its location out of their princess myself.”

Her nails dug into the saddlebag. Blood, the man wanted blood and more blood. He wanted to feast upon it until he was bloated. Vhalla stared at the flap of the bag. If she killed the Emperor now, she would be put to death. But would it be worth it?

Vhalla never thought that out of everything the Head of Senate had said to her, that his final question would linger—but now she found herself weighing the life she’d fought so hard for against allowing a murderous madman to travel to new places and bring war in his wake.

“I see. Well, you must keep me informed as to your successes, my lord,” Victor hummed.

“I must?” The room seemed to still.

“A figure of speech,” Victor spoke cautiously. “You know I am nothing but your humble servant. Though I do hope you continue to include me in your plans so that I may advise you to the best of my abilities.”

“I hope so, Victor.” The Emperor’s voice could turn water to ice. “Because I had one errant Minister of Sorcery, and I do not care what you know or can do, I will not tolerate a second.”

“You have nothing to fear, my lord.”

The door swung open, propped by Victor, for the Emperor to stride out from the room. She had thought he would head down the Tower, but she had guessed wrong. As his footsteps neared, her heart raced and Vhalla pressed deeper into the door behind her.

A cold dread swept over her, and Vhalla held her breath, wishing she could be invisible and thinking of every frantic excuse. The Emperor passed by, so quickly he blurred before her eyes and didn’t even glance in her direction. Vhalla blinked, her fingers nearly trembling with nerves, as the Emperor’s footsteps faded away and disappeared.

Closing her eyes, she breathed a sigh of relief, only to open them and discover herself face to face with the Minister of Sorcery. Victor stared her down with his cerulean eyes, and Vhalla scowled up at him. How could she have thought he was on her side?

She pushed herself away from the door, to be caught by icy-cold fingers and wrenched back by force. Vhalla raised a hand, prepared to attack.

“I think we have much to discuss.” Victor leveled his eyes with hers, stilling her immediate aggression with a look.

“I have nothing to discuss with you.” Vhalla narrowed her eyes at him.

“You must let me explain.”

“I mustn’t do anything you say, traitor!” she seethed. She shouldn’t have been surprised that he was her enemy, too. They all were her enemies. Vhalla clenched the saddlebag tighter.

“You heard.” Victor looked utterly deflated. He took a deep breath, still holding her in place. “I remember, I remember you don’t do well with force.” The minister slowly relinquished his grip on her. “So let me bargain with you.”

“What could you possibly want to bargain?” He had nothing he could offer.

“Here’s my deal.” The minister glanced down the hall nervously. “Give me a chance to explain, to tell you everything I know and show that I am not your enemy. If I succeed, your trust is my prize. Should I fail, then you should go and hide that bag and tell no one what I suspect are its contents. And I promise to never ask on it or tell a soul.”

“Like I would ever trust you,” she spat, pushing away from the wall and starting down the hall.

“Why do you think I used illusion to make you invisible?”

Vhalla stopped, turning to face him.

“If I wished you ill, don’t you think I would’ve let the Emperor see you? That alcove isn’t small enough to hide you. I saw your robes from my door; he would’ve seen you without trouble were it not for me.”

She swallowed, trying to counter the logic. “Fine, you have your deal.”

Vhalla threw open the door to his office, stomping in without permission. By the time the minister closed it behind him, she’d stormed over to the window, gripping the sill with a hand. He stood silently, letting her work though the words.

“You had me bring it here for him?”

“Not for him,” Victor denied.

“No, I heard you, you—you had me find it so he could turn his bloodlust on a whole new continent? A whole new people?” She whirled in place. “What does he want?”

Victor shrugged. “What does any man want when they have tasted power? To rule the world.”

“And he wants me to help him do it,” Vhalla filled in the blank.

“He does.”

“He wants me to open the power of the Crystal Caverns. He wants me to use this.” Vhalla held out the bag. “He wants to make monsters and perform feats of magic men should never perform.”

“He does.” Victor’s cool responses were working her to a fever pitch.

“And you, you bend to his will. You’re going to hand me over to do it for him. To be his thing, his tool, his wretch of death!” she shrieked.

Victor crossed the room and placed an arm around her shoulders, leading her to one of the two chairs that sat opposite his desk. His touch cooled some of the heat in her veins, and she sank into one the chair.

“I wouldn’t.” His palms rested on her shoulders a brief moment before Victor rounded the chair to lean against the desk in front of her, arms folded. “I wouldn’t give you to him.”

“You’re his loyal servant,” she snapped. “You’re just like him, like all of them, looking for power, looking to use me—”

“I am not like him!” Victor slammed his open palm on the desk and leaned forward. “I have watched that man use sorcerers as tools. I have seen him degrade our people for the power that flows through them. I have endured him taking my students and teachers to be nothing more than cutthroats! I have watched him take a library girl and turn her into a “wretch of death” for no other reason than it suited him best.”

For being a Waterrunner, fire was alive in Victor’s usually icy eyes.

“I have balanced protecting my Tower, my sorcerer kin, against his aims and not lost my head in the process. For if I die, there would be no shield for people like us.” Victor sighed, his shoulders slumping.

The minister knelt before her and rested a palm on her knee. She stiffened at the contact; it was part fatherly and part not—combined, it felt entirely wrong. “My dear girl, do you really think I’d let him have you again?”

“So what do you want?” Vhalla asked finally. “What are you risking everything for?”

“I want to protect people like us.” Victor met her eyes. “I want to fight for a world where sorcerers aren’t feared, but revered by Commons for our powers. Where no one would think to use us. Where a sorcerer would never have to hide.”

Vhalla searched his face for a trace of insincerity. Finding none, she asked, “What do you want with the axe?”

“I want to return it to the caverns and see that no one will be able to think of using it again.” Victor’s face was overcome by an intense severity. “Do you trust me on this?”

She ran her fingers over the saddlebag, searching for the buckle on the front, searching her heart for the answer. Did she trust him? If anything, out of everyone, Victor was the one person who’d only helped her at every turn. He healed her after her fall. He stood up for her in her trial. He trusted her with knowledge of the axe, with the task of bringing it to him safely and keeping it from the Emperor or the Knights of Jadar.

Vhalla unlatched the saddlebag as her answer. Victor stared intently as Vhalla produced the legendary crystal axe, Achel.

“ACHEL,” VICTOR BREATHED. “It’s here.”

Vhalla studied the minister’s face as the soft and unnatural glow of the crystal lit his brow. The man shifted his eyes to catch hers, and Vhalla did nothing to hide her study of his person. Victor’s lips curled into a conspiratorial smile.

“I want to know about the caverns.” Her research had only yielded splotchy patches of color. She wanted to paint the picture. She wanted to finally see what everyone else had been looking at all along.

“I bet you do.” Victor peeled himself away from her. He felt twice as tall, suddenly, as he loomed over her. “But first I need to know, what do you want?”

“What do I want?” she repeated, cautiously.

“I told you my dream. I told you the world I’m prepared to fight for. What do you want?”

Rather than speaking the first thing that came into her mind, Vhalla remained silent, introspective. She mulled over the question, letting it settle across her mind and stretch into the cracks where she’d pushed her hopes and dreams into—things that had been too dangerous for her to engage in while she had been property of the Empire.

“I want . . . I want a future again. I want peace. I want freedom. I want to be free of people trying to use me for my magic.”

“So we want the same thing.” Victor beamed. “I’m relieved to know we’re aligned in this.”

“What are we aligned in, exactly?” Vhalla settled back in her chair, watching as Victor rounded his desk to a workbench in the far corner.

“The world we want to strive for—a world where sorcerers aren’t used as tools, a time and place where we are revered and left to our own, rightful sovereignty.” Victor paused his motions. “Tea?”

“Sure,” Vhalla agreed cautiously. “How do you think we can get to your future? And what part does the axe play in it?”

“We will use it to make sure no one will be able to access the Crystal Caverns ever again.” Victor placed a steaming cup of tea on the desk before her.

“How?” Vhalla took the item in question from the saddlebag, placing it on the desk next to the steaming tea she sipped gingerly.

“How much do you already know about the Crystal Caverns?” Victor sat.

“Not nearly enough. The literature is disappointingly sparse.” Vhalla pondered all the books she’d managed to read about the caverns while working at Gianna’s. “I know the Knights of Jadar needed the axe—or, at least, they thought they did—to tap into the power of the caverns. I know they needed the axe even more than a Windwalker . . .” A thought suddenly hit her. “Wait, Victor. Am I truly the first Windwalker?”

The minister set his own cup of tea down thoughtfully. “The first to be known again. The first to return to the world as far as the general populous is concerned.”

“But, not the first?”

Victor shook his head, and Vhalla stared, baffled. She’d been revered, hated, desired, for being the first Windwalker. But there were more? She spoke as if Victor could read her suddenly tumultuous thoughts, “Why me?”

“Because you were in the right place at the right time.” Victor frowned slightly. “Or the wrong place at the wrong time, depending on how you look at it.”

“The East outlawed all magic following the Burning Times to avoid another genocide. It pushed the Windwalkers into hiding.” Victor stood and ran his fingers along the spines of books lined up on a shelf behind his desk. “You see, there were never that many Windwalkers to begin with, not when compared to the other affinities. That just seems to be nature. But Windwalkers disappearing? That was the greatest act of self-preservation the world has ever known.”

Victor placed a thin ledger on the desk between them. There were only a few pieces of parchment inside, some names and dates scribbled on a few lines. Victor flipped through them, the dates increasing until they stopped at the most recent date—and her name.

“It’s a record of Windwalkers,” she said softly.

“An incomplete one, for sure.” He sat down once more.

“You told me I was the first . . .” Vhalla honestly felt relieved to know she wasn’t. Maybe she could return East and find others like her.

“Everyone who wasn’t actively hunting Windwalkers would believe such. Aldrik believed it, and I saw no reason to correct him or tell you differently.” Victor pressed his fingertips together thoughtfully. “Whatever happened with you, I felt my actions would continue to protect your kin by not sending the world into another Windwalker-hunt.”

“He doesn’t know this exists?” Vhalla gaped at the notion of coming across some knowledge the prince didn’t already possess.

“No, there are only three people who know this exists.” Victor counted on his fingers. “Myself, the Emperor, and Egmun.”

“Egmun,” she seethed instantly. “Why isn’t he the Minister of Sorcery any longer?”

“There was an accident.” Victor scowled. “The man was mad, insatiable for knowledge, and lusted for something beyond his reach.”

“You mean crystals.” It always came back to crystals. It seemed the world’s every orchestration had the same, underlying harmony. Notes that one’s ears had to be trained to pick up, but once one heard them, it was a cacophony of sound that drummed to a singular beat, pulsing the world forward.

“Yes. The Emperor wanted the power in the Crystal Caverns and set Egmun to free it.”

Vhalla stilled, a memory flashing across her mind. She spoke without thinking, “You and Aldrik, he worked with you and Aldrik and crystals.”

The minister’s gaze suddenly went stony and guarded. His hands settled on the desk as he leaned forward slowly. Vhalla wasn’t about to allow herself to be intimidated, but the minister was doing his best to make a case for it.

“Tell me what you know about that?” Vhalla could hear the whisper of a threat hovering under his words. She didn’t have a good answer, and the minister continued in her silence. “The rumors are true then.”

“What rumors?” she whispered.

“Aldrik took you as his lover.”

Vhalla was on her feet, snatching the axe faster than Victor could blink. She meant to only take it so that if she was forced to leave, she would leave with it in her possession. The watch she wore around her neck burned hot on her chest. “Don’t you dare speak about him.”

“If you cannot take my remark without brandishing a weapon at me, then you shouldn’t go anywhere near the Court.” Victor frowned, leaning back in his chair.

Vhalla looked at her hand. It clutched the axe in a white-knuckled grip. Muscles taut and ready to swing. Slowly, she eased it back onto the desk, mentally forcing herself to uncurl her fingers from it.

“What does it feel like for you?” Victor blinked at her a few times and Vhalla could only assume he was observing her with magic sight.

“I don’t want to talk about the prince and me,” Vhalla mumbled.

“Not the prince, I meant the axe.” Victor tried to lighten the mood by smiling.

“Oh,” Vhalla hummed, staring at the weapon. “It feels . . . Good? Powerful. Like I really am as strong as the wind.” Vhalla considered it for the first time. “Is that how all crystals feel?”

“Yes.” Victor nodded. “They taint sorcerers by trying to widen their Channels unnaturally. For Commons, it takes longer because the crystals actually forge new Channels.”

Vhalla blinked. “Sorcerers can be made?”

“Not really.” Victor shook his head. “The Channels they make in Commons seek out the magic in the caverns. Sorcerers’ Channels are widened to allow for it. But our race wasn’t meant for such a power. It taints us. It twists our minds and deforms our bodies as it consumes us. It turns men into disfigured monsters.”

“Except for Windwalkers.” Victor nodded at her addition. “Then how could anyone but Windwalkers want to use the caverns? It brings taint for everyone else.”

“It does, if the crystals aren’t managed properly,” Victor elaborated. “Windwalkers can work with the crystals. Hone them, adjust them, alter their magic to fit better within a Sorcerer’s Channels, or to try not to leech onto a Commons and create something that isn’t there.

“With a Windwalker, and enough training and time, you could outfit an army of Commons with magically empowered weapons,” the minister concluded.

“And the Emperor wants this.”

“He needs it if he wants to take the Crescent Continent.” Victor sipped his tea for a long moment. “Our magic on this continent is fractured, diluted. Our sorcerers can only manage the elements. Across the sea, magic is part of the various peoples; it’s of a different and greater nature that defies the laws we know.”

Victor’s explanation reminded Vhalla vaguely of the magic she’d seen the Northerners use. They had spoken of the south being out of touch with the “old ways”, and the North was closer to the nearest point of the Crescent Continent, if her cartography knowledge wasn’t failing her.

“Their magic is more like the crystals,” she reasoned.

“Indeed,” Victor confirmed. “At least, the little we know of it. Our traders are limited in what they are allowed to see. But we have a few reports from sailors.”

“So, how do we make sure the Emperor doesn’t get what he wants?” Vhalla rounded back to their original topic.

“You help me close off the caverns.” Victor stood again, returning the Windwalker ledger back to the shelf before hunting for something else. “You have the magic, the skill, the affinity that allows you to touch the crystals. But I—” he placed a worn and unassuming journal between them, “—I have the knowledge required to do it.”

Vhalla reached out, gauging the minister’s reaction as she gingerly took the black, leather-bound book. Flipping it open, a script that Vhalla was utterly unfamiliar with graffiti-ed the page. Her eyes skimmed the words, and her heart seized.

“Subject One has been displaying some issues with his Channels and an increase in headaches. An instructor reported a violent outburst. Further exploration is postponed until symptoms subside,” she read aloud.

“I was Subject One,” Victor interjected.

Vhalla stared back at the page, her fingers paused at a new paragraph farther down. “Subject Two was Aldrik?”

Victor affirmed her assumption, and Vhalla’s skin crawled with horror. The Emperor had allowed his son to be turned into a test subject. He’d risked Aldrik’s body and mind for his insatiable thirst for subjugation.

The minister pulled the book from her limp fingers, closing it. “I know more than nearly anyone about the crystals. I worked with them myself. Let me make some good of this knowledge?”

Vhalla stared up at the man. She guessed he was only older than Aldrik by four or five years. That means he’d only been a boy as well when Egmun began his nefarious research.

“Tell me what I must do.” Her words were soft but stronger than steel.

“For now, go and actually rest. Sleep well, because tomorrow we will begin work.”

WIND HOWLED, SWEEPING fast up the mountain-side. Vhalla stood on a painfully familiar rooftop, side by side with the crown prince. Aldrik was fixated on something below, muttering to himself over and over.

“No, no, this is wrong. No!”

Vhalla took a masochistic look at what commanded his attention with such horror. She knew what she’d find. Her own body bounced off the rooftop, flying into the open air. She watched as the Vhalla that lived in Aldrik’s memory struggled to right herself in the wind. She saw the moment her power began to come to her, as she twisted and turned unnaturally and out of control.

Aldrik cursed loudly, pulling at his hair and storming down the Tower. Only a guest in his memory, she followed along at his side without trying, watching the prince’s actions play out before her.

He sprinted as fast as his long legs could carry him, bursting out of a dark hall and into a lavish parlor. Unlatching a window, Aldrik strained his neck out, looking for her. Vhalla wondered if somehow his magic called to hers through their Bond, even then, as her body smashed against the side of the building.

The prince pointed toward a pennon, burning away the supports in such a way that the pole it was supported by fell in her path. Her body hit it too violently for her to have any hope of catching herself. A futile and unexpectedly ill-thought gesture.

Another gale swept up the mountain, and Vhalla watched as her body unnaturally—magically—began to slow. The wind kept her from dying in its embrace. Vhalla knew that she would live, but this Aldrik clearly feared otherwise. His heartbeat reverberated in her ears as he was on the run again.

The prince skidded around a tight corner, pushing open a window and jumping over the sill into the small interior courtyard where she’d landed. Vhalla saw her body, bruised, bloody, broken and unnaturally bent at sickening angles.

“N-no . . .” Aldrik couldn’t take another step as the sight of her tripped him. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Vhalla felt him mustering his strength, retreating emotionally into the sheltered safe-haven of his stony, battlefield shell. Training clicked in. Instinct clicked in. And the horrified, guilt-crippled man became the Fire Lord. Through his memory, Vhalla felt it happen.

“Breathe, breathe, you frustrating girl,” Aldrik knelt at the side of Vhalla’s body, putting a hand at her neck.

The noise of relief was almost a whimper, and the prince was on the move again. Vhalla watched as Aldrik scooped her up. She watched as he began running again, blood darkening his fine jacket.

“I miscalculated,” he admonished himself, cursing. “I miscalculated.”

This was an Aldrik no one had seen before, Vhalla suspected. How the man acted when no one was around, when he thought himself alone. She bore witness to the words he spoke when he thought no one would ever be there to listen.

“Hang in there. Let me save something, make it, instead of break it.” His hands tightened around her.

Aldrik burst through a door that clicked locked behind him. Vhalla saw the flame bulbs line the hall, and she knew they were now in the Tower. He ran upward, his long strides carrying them higher.

He finally stopped at a door with the broken moon engraved onto its surface. Aldrik kicked at the door with his boot.

“Victor,” he called. “Victor, now!”

The door opened to a disheveled and confused Minister of Sorcery still wearing his sleeping gown.

“My prince, do you have any idea—” Victor stopped himself the moment he saw the frantic prince and his burden.

“She needs help,” Aldrik panted. “Help her. I need you to help her.”

“Come.” Victor swept past him and began leading him down a familiar path. “Is that Vhalla Yarl? What happened?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Aldrik attempted.

Victor stopped short and stared Aldrik down. “You do not knock on my door at ungodly hours of the night with a bloody mess—literally—and tell me this ‘doesn’t matter’. I expect an explanation!”

Aldrik scowled, and the minister rolled his eyes as they began to nearly run down the hall again. The prince held his tongue until they were in the room Vhalla knew all too well. He gently set her body down onto the bed.

“She’s a Windwalker,” Aldrik whispered, finally.

“What?” Victor hissed, turning away from her corpse-like form. “Have you lost your mind?”

“No,” Aldrik said sharply. She heard the princely inflection slip into his tone. “I have not, she was Awoken tonight.”

“What in the Mother’s name do you think you’re doing?” Victor stepped closer to Aldrik.

“You cannot speak to me that way!”

“Don’t play the prince with me, Aldrik,” Victor snapped. To Vhalla’s surprise, it worked.

“It was under control.” Aldrik tried to smooth back his now-hopeless hair.

“This is not ‘under control!’” Victor shouted, pointing at the bed. Vhalla saw she had already bled through the sheets.

“So help me fix it!” Aldrik’s voice rose as well. The two men stared at each other for a long moment before the prince’s facade crumbled into the panic she’d seen earlier. Betraying the history that Vhalla knew the men had, he sighed heavily. “Victor, I need you—please.”

“I’ll need help.” The minister began rolling up his sleeves.

“What do I need to do?” Aldrik pulled off his heavy black coat, revealing a fine black silk shirt underneath, also sticky with blood.

“I will need someone around the clock. Your hands are fine for right now, I need them now, but I will need someone to stay with her.” Victor stormed into the other room, furiously selecting concoctions.

“Who do you have in mind?” Aldrik asked.

“You pick. I know you want to, but do it fast.” Victor went back into the room to begin working on Vhalla’s corpse-like body.

Vhalla followed Aldrik out as he ran down a few Tower levels, stopping at an equally familiar door. She felt his tension, his hesitancy. The prince knocked. Aldrik waited stiffly as shuffling was heard from within, the door creaked open a sliver.

“My prince?” Larel yawned.

Aldrik stepped in and shut the door behind him. “Larel,” he whispered, nearly collapsing against the wall. “I need your help.”

“Aldrik, what is it?” Just like that, Larel knew it wasn’t the crown prince addressing her, but her friend.

“I made a mistake,” he breathed heavily.

“I am always at your disposal, Aldrik. What do you need?” Larel’s caring manner shone through.

“It’s Vhalla, come.” Aldrik opened Larel’s door, slamming it closed behind them.

A blistery fall gust rattled Vhalla’s window in the early dawn, calling her from sleep. She blinked away the haze of dreams, Aldrik’s memories lingering as sharply as the morning’s chill. Running a hand through her hair, Vhalla tried to tease away the tangles and find motivation to face the day.

Like a petulant child, the wind rattled the window again, and Vhalla pulled herself from the bed, unlatching the glass. Fall was heavy upon them, she thought as she observed the trees rustling in the breeze far below her. Vhalla rested her elbows on the iron railing lining the small balcony that turned the large window into a doorway to the outside world. Her eyes scanned the greenery making its annual shift to red.

Vhalla turned away the second she caught herself searching for a certain garden with a rose-filled greenhouse. She remembered her promise to the prince—that she would tell him of all the memories she witnessed in her sleep. Vhalla debated the scope of the promise as she began dressing. Technically, the memory was one that involved her, one she knew about, and it held no real secrets.

She ran her fingers over the dark apprentice robes of the Tower.

When will I see you in black? Aldrik’s words echoed in her mind.

Vhalla shook her head and shrugged on the robes. The palace was full of too many memories—memories of other lives, of a man who was capable of both hurting and loving her, of a man who had promised his future to her when he asked her to be his bride.

Determined, Vhalla ignored the Tower kitchens as she strode down the curving, sloping hall. If she was going to drown in memories, then there was somewhere in particular she wanted to do it in. Vhalla knew many of the unlabeled doorways in the Tower were passages into the palace at different levels and places, secret to all non-sorcerers. But Vhalla had never had an opportunity to learn them. She’d only ever come and gone out of one location.

It took a long time to reach the library, longer than she expected, as Vhalla had become turned around at one point along the way. The main Tower entrance was on a much lower level than the Imperial Library, and winding up toward it from the Tower of Sorcerers was something she’d never done before.

Vhalla paused at the large doors of the library. Like the soft breathing of a slumbering beast, she felt air pulsing through the crack between them. It was inviting, a heady dose of too-sweet familiarity.

Her hands shook as she rested them on the wood. She’d been to war. She’d fought off a zealot group known as the Knights of Jadar. She’d stood up to the Emperor countless times. But there was nothing more terrifying than confronting her guilt.

A rainbow of color splashed across the floor down the middle of the central walkway. It drew Vhalla’s attention, as it always had, the moment she opened the door. It carried her eyes straight to the main desk where two people sat—the two people Vhalla sought.

Master Mohned, as ancient and sagely as he ever was, could barely be seen over the top of the desk. Next to him were the ringlet curls that Vhalla had admired for years. They were as beautiful as ever, but Vhalla no longer felt the same jealousy toward them. She had seen the world beyond the South in all its shades of beauty and would no longer trade her mess of brown hair. She no longer longed to be anyone more or less than who she was.

She was over halfway to the desk by the time Roan’s head turned up. Vhalla froze in place, her heartbeat frantic, her breathing stuck. Roan’s expression betrayed nothing.

The master stood slowly, following Roan’s attention to the dark-clad woman haunting their library.

Clenching her fists briefly to invite her magic to give her strength, Vhalla closed the remaining distance to the desk. She stood, alternating between looking at the master and at her childhood friend, her mouth trying to form words.

“Welcome home, Vhalla,” the master spoke up and spared Vhalla the toil of breaking the silence.

“Thank you, master.” She let the man’s warm nature soothe her nerves.

Roan still hadn’t said anything.

“Roan—”

“Vhalla—”

They spoke over each other, silencing instantly.

“Roan, my eyes are bleary already. Why don’t you give me a small rest and stretch your legs,” the master encouraged.

Roan pursed her lips together briefly, looking between Mohned and Vhalla.

“I’d like to speak with you.” Vhalla didn’t want to lose the opportunity the master placed before her. “Please?”

“All right,” Roan sighed. “I’m stiff anyway.”

The blonde looped around the desk, crossing her arms over her chest. Closer, Vhalla noticed the slightly darkened patches of skin that marred her flesh. Scars. The sight brought the memory of Jax back to her, bleeding on Major Schnurr’s floor. How many more of her friends would have to suffer or die because of her?

Vhalla turned quickly, starting down one of the rows of books. Roan thankfully followed, and they disappeared into the shelves.

“How’s the library been?” Vhalla forced.

“Fine.”

“Has the master been well?”

“He’s fine.” Roan clearly had little interest in actually conversing.

Vhalla stopped, leaning against one of the bookshelves for support. “Roan, I’m sorry.”

Despite the flush of pain those words spread across Vhalla’s chest, she managed to look the other woman in the eye and say them. Roan squinted marginally. Whatever pain Vhalla felt from guilt or shame could hardly be a fraction of what Roan had experienced.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what was happening, about my magic.” Vhalla didn’t know where to start. “I was going to tell you, really, but then—”

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t!” Vhalla wished she could catch the hasty defense and swallow it back.

“You hid the truth, which is basically a lie.” Roan frowned. “You hid it from me, and from Sareem. Unless you told Sareem?”

Vhalla shook her head, finally breaking eye contact.

“You hid it from both of us and got him killed.”

“I never meant for that to happen,” Vhalla pleaded for Roan to understand. “I didn’t know how to tell you both. Sareem was just like everyone else; he hated magic. How could I tell him? And you were so over the sun for him that you were blinded to anything else. I thought that I’d join the Tower, tell you both, and then sort it out.”

“Isn’t it nice to be Vhalla Yarl?” Roan’s words cut deep.

“It’s not.”

The other woman snorted and rolled her eyes. “The world revolves around you and what you want, doesn’t it? The great Windwalker decides for the rest of us what we can know and when we can know it.”

“It wasn’t that, Roan. You know it wasn’t.”

“I thought you were my friend.” There it was—the deepest wound that still seeped blood. “I thought you were my friend, and you didn’t trust me.”

Roan couldn’t have known the depth of pain that her words caused. For all Vhalla had angrily faulted Aldrik for keeping her in the dark, she had done the same to Roan and Sareem. She knew that feeling of being shut out by someone she loved, and there was no heavier guilt than that feeling.

“I’m sorry. I’m really, truly sorry. If I could do it again and fix it I would,” Vhalla said honestly.

“You don’t get that luxury.” Roan frowned. “And you don’t get my forgiveness either.”

“Roan, please—” Vhalla tried to stop the other woman as she began to head back to the desk.

“No, Vhalla Yarl, I don’t want anything to do with you. You made your choice. Go back to your Tower.” Roan looked over Vhalla’s robes. She shook her head and continued away.

Vhalla buried her face in her palms. But she didn’t cry. She allowed the air she breathed to echo through the hollow that ballooned in her chest.

This was her true punishment for the Night of Fire and Wind.

On the march, Vhalla had gained Larel and Fritz and Daniel and the rest of the guard. She’d learned the love of a prince. At war, she’d become betrothed. She’d paid the cost with her humanity, and that seemed enough to satiate the Senate.

But this—this was the final ember of the Night of Fire and Wind finally flickering out. It was extinguishing the last light of her life from before she had become the Vhalla Yarl. There was no beacon back to the past, no warmth to keep her lingering. There was only forward now.

Roan ignored her again at the desk.

“Master.” Vhalla wasn’t about to let her trip be a total failure.

“Yes?”

“Before I left, you had me bind some books from the East. I was wondering if I might read them?”

“You didn’t before?” The master was honestly surprised.

“No . . .” Vhalla had been far too distracted with other things at that point.

“I expected you had.” Mohned stroked his scraggly beard in thought. “No trouble. Come.”

He took the library’s keyring from its hook behind the desk and began the slow shuffle toward the archives. Vhalla followed silently, adjusting the sleeves on her robes in thought.

“Roan took it very hard,” the master stated the obvious. “Sareem’s death, your magic, you leaving.” Mohned sighed. “I was worried for her recovery.”

“I’m sorry.” Vhalla felt like her apologies would soon mean nothing if she kept offering them left and right.

“Sorry will neither change nor help now.” Mohned’s weathered voice was as soft as flipping pages. “Be patient, instead. Be kind in spite of her outward hostility. She still has a place for you in her heart.”

Vhalla shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“She asked about you. To every person who even breathed a word with a messenger from the North. She hung on Court gossip. She began to read books on magic.”

She couldn’t believe the same person the master was describing was the icy woman whom Vhalla had just faced.

“But presented with you, in the flesh . . . I think some wounds are still too fresh.”

“I know how that is,” Vhalla sighed.

“So give her time.”

“How long?”

“It could be weeks, months, even years. You’ll know when it begins to feel right again. When her pain has been softened by love once more.” The master paused at the door to the archives. He gave Vhalla another long look. “I am glad, truly, to see you well.”

“‘Well’ may be a matter of perspective,” Vhalla muttered. She felt thin and empty, filled with ghosts and specters.

“From my perspective, a girl I watched grow up is finally coming into her own.” Mohned smiled tiredly. “And your hair is shorter.”

“Oh.” Vhalla’s hand went up to the ends of her hair, caught off-guard by the sudden change in conversation. The master hadn’t seen her since she’d cut it. “It used to be a lot shorter.” It now was back almost to her shoulder blades.

“I prefer it long, if you’ll permit this old man’s opinion,” Mohned offered with a chuckle.

“As do I.” Vhalla smiled as Mohned unlocked the door to the archives.

She followed him down the center iron staircase to where she remembered the books to be, helping him draw back curtains for light.

“I had given you this task so that you would read,” Mohned explained as Vhalla pulled the books carefully from the shelf. “You mean to tell me the one time I intended for you to give into the distraction of reading, you were actually working?”

“It seems so.” Vhalla’s hands paused on the large tome. She remembered what Aldrik had said on the last day of her trial. “Aldrik went to you, when he knew I was a sorcerer.”

Mohned paused, and Vhalla inwardly cringed, realizing she forgot the prince’s title. The master let it slide. “He did.” Mohned nodded. “I’ve known the crown prince since he was a boy. His obsession with books is not unlike your own. He quickly devoured the contents of the Tower’s library from an early age, discovering the manuscript I penned on the Windwalkers.”

“He suspected I was a Windwalker before he’d met me.” She’d dreamt countless times of meeting the prince in the library, only to learn later that she was Projecting in her sleep.

“He did, and I confirmed.”

“What?” Vhalla’s hand slipped from the table in shock.

“Vhalla,” Mohned sighed and adjusted his spectacles. “You remember when you fell off the rolling ladder getting me a cartography book?”

“No . . .” She shook her head. “I fell so many times that—”

“Exactly,” the master interrupted gently.

Vhalla’s eyes went wide.

“And you were never hurt.” Mohned rested his hand on the book. “I had begun to suspect the possibility long ago. You manifested gracefully, so subtle and small that no one would know unless they knew what to look for. But I did. Knowing you came from two Eastern parents, it was all too much to just be chance.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Vhalla sunk into a chair. She’d had the same thoughts about that possibility when she rode with the Knights. But to hear it from the man who’d been like her father. “Master, why didn’t you put me in the Tower?”

“Because I wanted to protect you. Vhalla, I was a boy when I first learned of the atrocities committed against Windwalkers. I knew if you were found, you would be hunted.” The master sighed heavily. “I am loathe to say that I was proven right. I thought you would be safer here, hidden in the library, kept in the palace.”

Vhalla stared at nothing, trying to piece it together. The childhood she’d thought she known was a shadow play.

“Does my father know?” Vhalla whispered.

“If he does, it is not because I told him.” Mohned rested a hand on her shoulder. “Vhalla, forgive me?”

“For what?”

“For keeping this from you.”

Vhalla raised a hand, gripping the Master’s for a brief moment. “You were only doing what you thought was best.”

She was wounded. But unlike Roan, she was used to secrets. Vhalla had grown accustomed to the forces lurking behind corners that pulled at the threads of fate, tying together the world and moving her without her knowing.

“Come to me, if you need.” The master withdrew, starting up the stairs.

“I will,” Vhalla called after him, “and thank you.”

Silence was her reply.

Vhalla stared at the motes of dust floating through the beams of sunlight that pierced the windows. She ran her fingers over the manuscript before her, remembering vividly the last time she’d touched it. She’d been disappointed then, when Sareem’s boots had appeared on the stairs instead of Aldrik’s. Now she’d give anything to see those soles stepping down the stairs again.

With a sigh, Vhalla flipped open to the first page.

The work was an old collection of stories from Cyven. From short rhymes that Vhalla knew well, to long tales that she’d never heard. It was easy to read, and Vhalla found the pages slipping by one after the next. She allowed them to lull her into a quiet comfort by reminding her of the smell of wheat or of rain on her family’s fields.

It was such a subtle trance that she’d fallen into that Vhalla didn’t notice the one thing that began appearing in every other story—more frequently in older ones. The word suddenly lit up on every page. Vhalla stood slowly, flipping the pages quickly. The next random page the word was on. Again on the one after.

It was there in the story of harvesting the first grain. It was there in the story of a farmer defending his land from raiders. It was there in the tale where a man used it to scare away the clouds themselves.

Vhalla closed the book and returned it to the shelf as quickly and carefully as possible. She sprinted out of the archives and thanked the master with a panting breath before she was out of the library.

VHALLA!” GRAHM CALLED out.

She skidded to a stop. The man must be part psychic and part hawk to pick her out when she was nothing more than a blur up the Tower.

“Vhalla, do you have a moment?” He emerged from the Tower library where he had been sitting with Fritz before stepping into the main hall.

“I was actually on my way to see the minister . . .” Vhalla glanced upward. What she needed to talk about would keep. She knew it would, so she didn’t need to avoid taking time for Grahm. But the Eastern book had lit a fire under her, and now Vhalla had a lot of questions that she just wanted answered.

“Is it urgent?” Grahm asked, as if reading her mind. “I needed to speak to you about vessels.”

“Oh, well, if it’s that, could we do it another time?”

“I suppose.” Grahm rubbed the back of his neck. “It was something Larel asked.”

“Something Larel asked?” Vhalla repeated. That was the last thing she’d been expecting.

“What does this have to do with Larel?” Fritz joined them in the hall.

“This was something she asked me to do if . . .” The Easterner looked between them, a sorrowful expression overcame him. “If she didn’t make it back.”

“What is it?” One hand sought out the comfort of the watch under her tunic, the other gripped Fritz’s tightly.

“She came to me with a bracelet she had made for you. Do you still have it?” Vhalla nodded at Grahm. “She wanted to make a vessel of it, a vessel of words. She said she knew Fritz and I were close and she could trust me with this, as a friend of a friend.”

“Larel did?” Fritz jumped in.

Larel had seen it, Vhalla realized. She had seen Fritz’s affection for the other man. She had known Fritz would go back to this person and trusted him with her message. Because those were the kinds of things Larel had been able to see—the inner mechanics of other people’s hearts.

“Do you have the bracelet?” Grahm asked.

“I do,” Vhalla answered eagerly, thinking of the beautiful metal cuff Larel had given Vhalla for her birthday.

Her heart raced as they started for her room. Vhalla wanted to break out into an all-out run. The world was moving far too slowly for her liking. Larel, her mentor, her guiding hand, her sister and confidant—she had something more to give. Vhalla’s feet picked up speed, and the men silently followed.

The bracelet was exactly where Vhalla had left it when she had marched to war. Vhalla wondered when Larel had taken the time to spirit it away to Grahm, but Vhalla hadn’t been paying attention to much of anything in the days leading up to the march.

Retrieving it, Grahm led them down into a center workroom. Along the perimeter were a handful of small doors. A couple of men and women worked at stations littered with books, focused on the magic that sparkled around the tokens they were focused intently on.

“This is where Waterrunners learn about vessels,” Fritz explained upon seeing Vhalla’s confused expression, keeping close to Grahm as he led them to one of the doors along the outside.

Grahm flipped a disk hanging by the door, from black to silver. “You know what to do, Fritz.”

“You won’t come in?” Fritz blinked.

“No,” Grahm shook his head. “I think it’s better if it’s just the both of you.”

Vhalla’s curiosity silenced her confused questions.

“But, I always—” Fritz began uncertainly.

“You will be fine.” Grahm rested a palm on Fritz’s shoulder. “You have a problem recording to the vessel still, yes, but you should have no problem drawing out the words that are recorded within the magic.”

“I’d feel better if you were there,” Fritz insisted.

“Larel would have wanted you to do it on your own,” Grahm countered. There were no more arguments that could be put forward. “I’ll be out here when you’re finished.”

Grahm opened the door, and Vhalla followed Fritz into a small chamber.

There was a single flame bulb overhead, casting the room in light shadow. It was little more than a closet, barely large enough for two people to stand around a center pedestal. Fritz squeezed around to the far side, and Vhalla stood opposite with the door to her back. Square in shape, the pedestal had a shallow indent in the center that was filled with water. It looked almost like a birdbath.

“Place it in the center of the water,” Fritz instructed.

Vhalla did as she was told, gingerly putting down her precious possession with two hands.

“Fritz,” she whispered.

“Yeah?” His eyes were glued onto the bracelet.

“What’s going to happen?”

“Oh, right.” Fritz shook his head. “I forget you’re still technically new to the Tower. Vessels can store magic. But with a skilled Waterrunner—like Grahm—they can also hold words.”

“Words?” Vhalla stared at the unassuming piece of jewelry.

Fritz nodded and lifted his hands, placing his fingertips into the edge of the water. Her friend took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Vhalla watched as his magic pulsed outward, generating shimmering ripples in the water. At first, the ripples bounced away from the bracelet in small waves, as they would any normal object. But the pulsing changed, and eventually the ripples hit the bracelet, stopping as though they were absorbed.

Vhalla waited expectantly, clutching the watch around her neck tightly. Larel had been Aldrik’s friend, too . . . Should he hear what was about to be said as well?

The water hummed from the speech of a speaker who wasn’t there, silencing all Vhalla’s thoughts.

“Vhalla, Fritz.” It was Larel’s voice. Vhalla’s hand flew up to her mouth. She took an unsteady breath at the sound of her dead friend’s voice once more filling her ears, as though Larel stood with them once more. “I know what it means if you are listening to this. It means I walk the Father’s halls.”

Vhalla looked at her friend. Fritz’s expression was equal parts pain and joy. She was certain hers matched.

“It’s all right. I want you to know it’s all right.”

Vhalla wanted to scream at Larel that it wasn’t. That it was Vhalla’s fault Larel had been on the march in the first place. Vhalla had been given a gift in Larel, and she had never fully appreciated it before it was lost.

“I knew before I left what it may mean for me. And, if you are listening now, then it means one or both of you, and I so pray for the latter, survived me. That alone brings me joy.

“I hope no one is doing anything silly like blaming themselves for my death. It doesn’t matter how it came to pass. Please don’t waste your thoughts on such nonsense.” Larel’s voice was as gentle and kind as it always had been. “My life was borrowed from the moment Prince Aldrik found me. My existence was given an extension, a chance to really live. And live I did. It was simply my time to return what the Mother gave me.”

Vhalla closed her eyes and breathed, absorbing every word.

“I wanted to tell you both not to worry. I wanted to make sure you both knew.” There was a wavering pause that nearly stopped Vhalla’s heart altogether. “Fritz, it was always us, wasn’t it? When the prince disappeared from my life for a time, you were the first one to be there for me.

“All the rest of them told me it was about time I was no longer the prince’s favorite. You never seemed to care. You were there when I needed you most, and I never forgot. I love you, my friend. I would gladly die for you—and if I did, I know I am content that I could give my life for my brother.”

Fritz hung his head, and Vhalla bit her lip. It was not this well-loved friend who had taken their dear Larel from them. It was Vhalla who bore that curse.

“Vhalla.” She looked at the bracelet at the mention of her name. “I have only known you for a few months, and then not entirely intimately. I don’t know what will happen on this long march—what has happened—where we will be. But if I want to leave you with one thing . . . It is that I am, and have always been, honored to be your mentor.

“You are strong. You are a chick that has burst from its shell, and you are already struggling to fly long before you should ever be pushed from the nest.” Vhalla heard the touch of sorrow in Larel’s voice. “I want you to know that I have always helped and protected you because I wanted to. Not because Prince Aldrik asked me to.”

Vhalla laughed softly, shaking her head at all that had transpired. There was no question in her mind.

“You will do great things. Call it my Firebearer’s intuition. But never lose faith, never lose your beautiful heart. Don’t let them win, those wicked men and women who would do anything to cage you or kill you.” Larel’s voice was strong and Vhalla let out a small hiccup, struggling to keep the tears under control. The day had already been emotionally taxing.

“Both of you, live long and wonderful lives. I know I will be looking at you from the far realms of the dead. My life was better because you were in it. I know, no matter how horrible the act could be that brought my death, I will die happy, for I lived with my friends.” Larel’s final goodbye echoed through the room.

Fritz grabbed the sides of the pedestal for support. Vhalla swayed slightly, trying to stop her head from reeling. Neither said anything.

“Damn it, Larel.” Fritz’s voice was at the verge of tears. “Why, why didn’t—why couldn’t you . . . I don’t want a goodbye.”

“Fritz,” Vhalla said softly, seeing through the words that the pain put in his mouth.

“I miss her,” he whispered.

“I do, too.” Vhalla stared at the bracelet. “But she’s still here, right?”

“Yeah,” Fritz pulled himself together. “She’d be the type to haunt us ‘til the end of our days if we didn’t keep her in our hearts.”

Vhalla smiled hopelessly at her friend and wiggled around the pedestal to the back of the room. She pulled her friend to her, taking a deep breath. “Fritz, thank you for being such a good friend to me.” Vhalla hid her face where his neck met his shoulder.

Fritz mimicked the gesture. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”

“I do.” Vhalla pressed her eyes closed and held him tighter. “The next time I wander away from the world, I want my friend with me. If you’ll come.”

He laughed weakly. “You know I will.”

They stood together in a few long moments of silence. Eventually, Fritz pulled away and turned to the bracelet. Vhalla nodded in unspoken agreement, and they listened to their friend’s last words again, and then for a third time, arms wrapped around each other to remind themselves of what they still had before them in spite of all their loss.

Fritz’s eyes were red when they finally emerged. Vhalla rubbed hers but had managed to keep things together. They had both been to war, but Fritz had somehow emerged with his heart intact. Vhalla was almost jealous that he could still cry as easily as he did.

Grahm warmed her heart and brought a tired smile to her lips as he hugged Fritz tightly without word. Vhalla watched the two men holding each other and wondered if they had any idea how they looked locked in an embrace.

“I think I’m going to go to my room for a little,” Fritz announced finally. Watching him pry himself away from Grahm’s embrace was almost painful for Vhalla. She wanted to scream at them to hold each other for a little longer, until it finally clicked for them. “Just sit for a bit.”

“Do you want me to come?” Vhalla asked.

Fritz shook his head. “No, I think I’ll be alone for a bit.”

“All right.” Vhalla gave him a friendly squeeze, and the once-again mourning man departed down the hall.

Grahm followed Vhalla up to her room. Vhalla shot him a curious glance, and he motioned for her to proceed. Clearly the man had something on his mind, and Vhalla didn’t feel like filling the silence for small-talk’s sake.

The man followed her into the room without a word, softly clicking shut the door.

“Grahm?” Vhalla inquired as to his uncharacteristic melancholy.

The man took a deep breath, his eyes searching. “I want to help him. How can I help him?”

Vhalla shook her head. These two were hopeless. It wasn’t her place, but it didn’t seem like they’d get anywhere without a little nudge.

“You should go to him, be with him, hold him.”

“But he said he wanted to be alone . . .” Grahm floundered.

“And you think he really meant that?” Vhalla crossed her arms over her chest with a tired grin.

“So, why didn’t you go with him?”

“Because maybe he was sincere.” She shook her head with a small laugh. “Or maybe I can see that I’m not the one he wants right now.” The man actually blushed, and Vhalla wasted no time driving the point home. “He cares for you. You make him happy. You must see that.”

“I . . . have.”

“So what are you afraid of?” Vhalla touched her watch thoughtfully. “It’s worth it, the chance is worth it. Love is always worth taking the challenge.”

The words were real before Vhalla even realized it. She didn’t regret her time with Aldrik. Her heart began to race, and she struggled to stay in the moment with Grahm. Vhalla’s own affections were a known mess that continued to fall into hopelessness; she’d have ample time later to confront it. For now, she’d focus on her friends.

“Love is far better to know, even if it slips from your grasp or doesn’t bear fruit like you’d hoped. People who say they regret love, true love, are just bitter liars.”

Grahm looked at her for a long moment. Vhalla gave him an encouraging nod.

In that moment, she felt like she had lived a thousand lifetimes and loved a hundred times. She realized her own advice was true, and something about it made her yearn with sweet longing. In that moment, she wanted to see her prince more than anyone else in the world.

Grahm excused himself, and Vhalla watched him walk down the Tower. She wondered if he would head to Fritz’s room. Vhalla walked on air, following Grahm down the slope of the Tower, a couple paces behind. The second she saw the man pause at Fritz’s door, she turned and started back upward before her friend answered and she could be spotted.

Knowing Fritz was cared for, Vhalla walked past her room, continuing on. Silence settled into the Tower, and the doors became sparse. Vhalla caressed Larel’s bracelet, thinking of her friend’s words, of how Larel would advise Vhalla’s tumultuous soul.

Vhalla bypassed the minister’s office, going to an unadorned door that bore a black lock when others in the Tower were silver. She pressed both her palms to the door, leaning forward and pressing her ear against the wood. Vhalla stretched her hearing, listening for any signs of life in the room.

Silence.

Vhalla pushed away with a small sigh. It was better if she didn’t meet the prince again, privately. It was better if she stopped thinking about the man with whom she had been briefly—secretly—engaged to. It would all be better if the watch at her neck would stop giving off phantom heat at the mere thought of the man she loved.

Vhalla knocked on the minister’s door. Fritz may need time, but there was work to be done, and she couldn’t waste hours mourning a woman who had long been lost. Vhalla had done her mourning and made it a part of her. She’d carry it with her forever.

“Ah, Vhalla.” Victor smiled at the sight of her, holding open the door.

“Is now all right?”

“Certainly, come in.” He clicked the door closed behind her, heading back to his low table before a window. “Tea?”

“Why not?” She assumed the previous day’s chair, already settling into what felt like a routine.

“It’s a little different,” Victor proceeded with small talk. “I bought some lemongrass today in the market.”

“I like lemons.”

“Do you?” Victor passed her a steaming mug. “That’s good to know.”

Vhalla indulged in the steaming cup for a moment, deciding it was time to get to business. “Where do you hide the axe?”

She watched as Victor opened a secret panel in one of his cabinets, pulling out a locked box that the axe was hidden within. “No one else knows of that hiding spot.”

“Well, now someone else knows,” Vhalla remarked smartly, earning herself a chuckle. “Victor, the crystal weapons, each nation had one, didn’t they?”

“So the stories and evidence indicates,” Victor affirmed with a nod.

“Shaldan had Achel.” Vhalla motioned to the axe. “Mhashan had the Sword of Jadar. And Cyven had a scythe.”

“How did you come across that information?” He sounded impressed.

“I went to the library this morning,” Vhalla explained. “I was reading some old Eastern books in the archives and noticed every story held mention of a scythe of great power. Now that I know about the weapons, I didn’t think it could be chance.”

“It’s not.” The minister preempted her next question. “Though if it still exists, it’s not been mentioned in hundreds of years.”

“Did Lyndum have a weapon?”

“Lyndum was rumored to not have a weapon, but a crown.” Victor pressed his fingertips together in thought.

“A crown?” It made no sense.

“In some lore, the weapons were wielded by the Goddess herself as she forged and cultivated the earth and life. The crown was the symbol of her dominance over all things.” The minister paused to sip his tea, collecting his thoughts. “But if it’s true, the crown has been lost to time as well.”

“What about the sword? The Knights of Jadar said it was stolen by a Minister of Sorcery.”

“Egmun got his hands on it,” Victor affirmed, confirming her worst fears.

“He took it to the caves,” she continued. Something began to creep on the edge of her memory. Something about this story was familiar, despite having never heard it before.

“He did.” Victor watched her carefully.

“And then he . . .” Vhalla placed a palm on her forehead. A sword. A crystal sword. The axe glowed faintly before her, as though the whole universe was contained within it and all she had to do was discover its secrets.

“He tried to unlock the caverns. But he miscalculated, and the fool started the War of the Crystal Caverns,” Victor finished bitterly.

The knowledge was distracting enough that Vhalla ignored the feeling that it wasn’t what she had been about to put together.

“How is he the Head of Senate if he caused the war?” Vhalla frowned. It sounded like he should’ve been long dead.

“Because Egmun craved knowledge in all its forms; he collected it, hoarded it. And some of that knowledge was inevitably the sort that other people didn’t want to be made public.” Victor sighed and stood. “His foolishness cost him his magic. But it did yield information that we will be able to use.”

“How?”

“Egmun needed the sword because he needed it to access the heart of the caverns. The crystals have a single heart from which their power stems.” Victor was back to rummaging. “Every other crystal’s power comes from being spawned by this center, like tiny looking glasses into the caverns themselves. Hence the channels they build in search of that magic, which taint sorcerers and commons alike.”

Vhalla was reminded of the Northern ruins where she’d procured the axe. The moment she freed the weapon from amid the crystals, the others had darkened into dormancy and fractured. “The crystal weapons are like smaller hearts, aren’t they?”

Victor turned and gave her an approving look. He rested a box with Western writing on its lock on the desk between them. “Exactly so. Because of that, they are the only thing that can access the true power of the caverns—which is one reason why they’ve been so sought after. But I also theorize that they would be the only thing that can destroy that power as well.”

“An axe that is legendary for cutting anything, even a soul.” Vhalla stared at Achel.

“Perhaps, the soul of the caverns, if you will.” Victor sat, opening the box of crystals he’d used on her after her fall. “You’ll need to cleanse it, sharpen it.” He motioned to the axe. “Look at it with magic sight.”

Vhalla obliged. The axe was a tangled mess. Dark colors overlay lighter ones, a swirling mass of lingering traces of magic.

“Those are remnants, like a vessel; the axe has been dirtied with the leftovers of things it’s been used for.”

“Like magic blood,” Vhalla reasoned.

“That’s certainly a way to think of it,” the minister agreed. “We will have one chance at this, Vhalla, and I want to set us up for success by removing all the possible variables that could get in our way. I want no magic reacting in ways we don’t expect.”

The minister spent the rest of the afternoon going back and forth with Vhalla on the properties of vessels and how they were created. He educated her on how a Waterrunner could draw out the magic from a person by tapping into their Channels.

The theory was the same for what they were seeking to accomplish, but the execution was completely different. Victor tried to help as best he could, though there were some things that were left to trial and error. Vhalla ran her fingers through the magic that hovered around the axe, imagining them to be threads fluttering on the wind.

With this imagery, she pushed them upward, focusing on one at a time. It was wind without wind, a level of magic that she had never tried to tap into before, and it was utterly exhausting. Once she had a thread free, the minister provided her a crystal to store it within. That was much easier than the brow-dampening process of untangling the magic from the axe.

She managed three threads before she felt utterly spent. Vhalla blinked away her magic sight and collapsed back into the chair. Victor wordlessly began to clear his desk of the tools they’d been using all day.

“You did well,” he encouraged.

“I will be an old maid by the time it’s cleansed,” Vhalla lamented.

“Your second was faster than your first, and your third faster than your second.” Victor smiled, rounding his desk. “Think of it as learning magic all over again.”

“I just finished learning magic the first time.” She stood, stretching.

“Then the process is fresh in your mind.” Victor chuckled. “Thank you, Vhalla,” he said sincerely. “You’re going to be the catalyst for a new age.”

“One step at a time.” She shrugged. As all she sought was lasting freedom and peace, Vhalla kept her eye on the prize.

“We should work again tomorrow, if you feel up to it.” The minister started for the door.

“I have a feeling this is how I am going to spend my days,” she murmured.

“It is. I want to move quickly, but not so quickly that you burn out . . . so rest in the morning. I don’t want you pushing yourself on trivial things; this will be taxing enough for you. When we are not working, focus on giving your magic ample time to recover.”

“I’ll be certain to take it easy,” she agreed lightly.

The minister paused, unappreciative of her tone. “I am quite serious. We are working with advanced magic unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.”

Vhalla held her tongue about the magic she had seen in the North.

“Don’t fret.” She shrugged off the minister’s worry as fatherly concern. “I’ll keep up my strength.”

“I trust your judgment,” Victor said finally, shrugging off the disapproving glint to his eyes. “Though, I request that you tell no one of what we are doing.”

“By the Mother, no,” Vhalla laughed. “I’m not stupid.”

“No,” the minister smiled, “you’re not.”

When Vhalla finally returned to her room, the window was dark and the moon was already cresting the horizon. Utterly exhausted, she wasted no time bathing. The baths were mostly empty due to the unconventional hour, and Vhalla greedily soaked in the warmth of the water.

By the time she crawled into bed, she expected to fall asleep instantly, but her mind lingered in wakefulness. There was a smell on her pillow, on her blankets, so faint that Vhalla was certain she was imagining it. Real or not, it brought back memories of the last nights she’d spent in the bed, with Larel soothing her nightmares away.

Vhalla passed the watch around her neck from hand to hand. She’d returned home, she was surrounded by almost everyone she’d ever known, but she still felt very, very alone.

TWO DAYS LATER, Vhalla escaped the Tower with determination—she could only spend so many hours with Fritz and Grahm making eyes at each other and saying nothing about it. There was somewhere else that she knew she had to venture. And, while she’d find friends there, it would also force her to confront the truth she’d been harboring since the West.

Swords rang out above shouting and laughter. The palace training grounds were full of veterans from the Northern war, and with them came a whole host of new recruits for the palace guard. It seemed Tim had been at it again, spreading stories about her, as most of the guard had a wing painted on their breastplates. It didn’t take long for Vhalla to be noticed by some of the men and women, and she was greeted like an old friend.

It was the reception she would’ve wanted from the librarians and would’ve never expected to find among swords, bows, and drills. But the encouragement was welcome. Plus, once she was spotted, it made fleeing in absolute terror much more difficult.

Her eyes scanned the dusty training field. Archers sent arrows toward targets, and men assaulted wooden dummies with what would be lethal slashes. Vhalla found Daniel among the latter. Breaking the news about Jax to one of the guard would mean breaking the news to them all.

“If you want to say hello, I think he’d appreciate it,” the voice nearly startled her out of her skin.

“Erion,” she breathed the second she met the Western eyes. “Erion!”

Vhalla threw her arms around the man’s shoulders. They’d never been exceptionally close, but the Golden Guard felt like family. The feeling must have been mutual as his arms wrapped around her waist for a brief squeeze.

“You are all sorts of trouble, aren’t you?” Erion pulled away quickly, his Western nature getting the better of him. “It’s no wonder Jax likes you.”

Vhalla swallowed hard. “Erion . . . Jax is . . .” Vhalla gripped her fingers, emotions running high. “He was trying to protect me.”

“Oh, he told us.”

“What?”

“When he got back to the palace a few days ago, not long before Daniel, he told us all about how you got him stabbed,” Erion laughed.

Vhalla didn’t share the same emotion. “He’s here?” she asked, deadpan.

“Yeah, right over there.” Erion pointed to a group practicing grappling.

Vhalla stormed across the training grounds like a little vortex, her hands balled into fists as she stomped toward the tall figure of a Western man.

Jax turned with a laugh, breaking away from his conversation and noticing her for the first time. He put his hands on his hips and tilted his head to the side. “No blood, no weapon, no armor? This may be the first time you’ve disappointed me.”

She debated between punching him and kissing him the second he was in arms reach.

“You’ve been back for days, and you didn’t think to tell me you were alive?” Her voice couldn’t make up its mind either, and it alternated between cracking with rage and relief.

“I figured someone else did.” Jax shrugged. “It’s not like it makes that much of a difference.”

“Of course it does!” Her intensity startled him. Vhalla spoke over his loss for words. “You think that you dying ‘doesn’t make a difference’?”

The Easterner in her finally won out, and Vhalla wrapped her arms around his waist. The hug was awkward, but she persisted all the same. His hands fell on her shoulders, but he didn’t instantly push her away. It seemed as though he was at an utter loss for what to do when someone showed him affection.

Vhalla broke the short embrace, staring up at him. “I’m glad you’re okay, Jax. I thought I’d killed you.”

“You don’t need to worry about someone like me,” Jax replied. He glanced around, catching the eyes of the other guards staring curiously. The man thumped the top of her head with a fist in a brotherly fashion. Laughing, he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, “Bleeding heart Easterners! You don’t need to worry so much about us tough Western stock. Right, Erion?”

Erion gave a marginally committal grunt.

Some of the men chuckled, and Vhalla let them have their laugh. The look she received from the corner of Jax’s eyes spoke volumes of his true feelings toward her concerns.

“How did you survive?” Vhalla was still trying to process that the man before her was real.

“One of Schnurr’s servants found me,” Jax explained. “I was able to cauterize most of the wounds myself, so I didn’t bleed out entirely. Unsurprisingly, they had little love for their most generous lord, and helped me get back on my feet.”

Her presence had been enough of a break from the normal routine that others were noticing. Among them was the golden prince, Raylynn at his side, with Craig and Daniel in tow.

“Vhalla!” The Eastern man nearly sprinted over to her.

If Vhalla hadn’t pushed wind at her back, the force of his embrace would’ve knocked her over. But Vhalla locked her arms around him tightly for a long moment. Daniel pulled away, beaming.

“It’s such a relief to see you all right.” He hooked an arm around her shoulders and shook her lightly. “You had me so worried!”

“Jax told me you were foolish enough to feel responsible for letting me leave alone.” Vhalla grinned, appreciating the now effortless atmosphere time had created between them.

“If it isn’t the troublemaker herself.” Baldair joined the group.

“You’re one to talk.” Without hesitation, Vhalla hugged the youngest prince tightly. Baldair squeezed her in reply. “How many hearts have you broken while I was gone?”

“Me? I never break hearts!”

Raylynn snorted.

“At least five,” Erion outed the golden prince.

“No, no, only three.”

“Only,” Vhalla teased.

“It’s not my fault if they think there’s more to it than a night! I never advertise any differently,” the prince defended himself with a laugh.

Vhalla decided it was true after a moment’s consideration. He didn’t seem to have many repeat offenses. Her eyes shifted to the blonde at Baldair’s side. Maybe he had one repeat offense.

Raylynn rolled her eyes. “The paragon of innocence.”

“I’m about to make all of you run double drills,” Baldair threatened.

“Speaking of,” Erion said as he caught Daniel and Craig’s attention, “where are they at so far?”

The men began conversing on the status of the swordsmen. Vhalla was quickly forgotten, until Baldair took a step closer to her.

“Take a walk around the grounds with me, Vhalla? I’d like to show them to you.”

She knew by his tone, by the way that the rest of the Golden Guard seemed to take a step away, that the prince showing her the grounds was a front for other intentions.

“Certainly. I’d like to see them,” Vhalla agreed with grace.

The prince offered her his elbow, which she took without hesitation.

“I remember a time when you wouldn’t be seen touching me.” He chuckled softly.

“How times have changed.” She smiled in bittersweet fondness at the unconventional start of their relationship.

“You are the only woman who ever was of such an opinion. I should’ve known then you were already practically family.”

“Jax informed me that you told the guard to protect me as if I was kin.” Vhalla glanced at the Western man, reaffirming he was actually alive.

“I heard you were to be family.” Baldair’s usually booming voice was soft and rich with sorrow.

Vhalla couldn’t stop her hand from flying to the watch at her neck, confirming his words with a single action. “How did you know?”

“When Aldrik came to his senses, finally, he went to Father and begged once more for you.”

“Begged?”

“He said that he loved you and that he had already promised his heart and future to you.”

Vhalla stopped in place with shock. “He said that, to your father?”

“Not one of his finer ideas, I agree. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Father’s eyes had fallen out of their sockets as they bulged with rage.” Baldair shook his head, and they continued their walk. “We all should’ve known what that token meant.”

Vhalla focused on the dusty ground, not even bothering to pretend the prince was showing her the regimen of the palace guard. “How is he?” she breathed.

“Rough, beyond rough, for a while. He snapped, broke completely in a way I’d never seen him break before.” Baldair paused, chewing over his words. “Then, one morning, like magic, he woke up and changed everything. Or, at least, he started trying. It was like he finally got it, what everyone had been trying to tell him all along. He worked to put a stop to all his nasty habits, he endured the shakes, the sickness. He withdrew more, but it tempered his anger.”

“Ophain said much the same,” Vhalla recalled.

“Aldrik’s uncle? You met with him?”

“In the West,” she confirmed.

“Right . . . Were you really ambushed by the Knights?”

Vhalla shook her head in exasperation. “You think I’d lie about that?”

“I suppose you wouldn’t,” the prince laughed. “The fools, like you could ever be chained. If my father couldn’t, no one could.”

She never thought she’d laugh about the Emperor trying to enslave her. The conversation reminded her of what she’d learned about Jax’s history during her brief time on the run.

Before she had a chance to ask, Daniel interrupted them. “My prince, were you still planning on heading to Court?”

“Oh, by the Mother,” Baldair groaned as he glanced at the sky. “I was, but I’ve no time to change.”

“Neither do we.” Daniel shrugged. “I thought we might present the Lady Vhalla to the Court today.”

“Present me to the Court?” Vhalla wasn’t sure if she liked the sideways look Baldair was giving her.

“I suppose you haven’t been here since the last Court day,” Baldair murmured. “If the lady wishes it, I’ll come for moral support. But, Mother, don’t make me speak more than I must.”

“What does being presented entail?” Vhalla asked uneasily.

“You’re just formally announced as a new lady,” Daniel answered easily. “If Baldair doesn’t wish to speak, I’d be honored to do the announcing.”

He held out a hand, and Vhalla considered it briefly before taking it. “Couldn’t hurt, right?”

“It’s easy!” Daniel encouraged.

“By the Mother,” Baldair muttered under his breath. He turned and raised his hands to his mouth, calling across the field. “Ray, we’re going to Court.”

The blonde let out a monumental groan at that information.

“That’s not encouraging,” Vhalla said uneasily.

“Raylynn’s just dramatic. She hates Court.”

“For good reason.” Baldair actually frowned.

“It’s not that bad,” Daniel insisted.

Vhalla stared at the prince until he yielded an explanation, “I’ve been around the Court for too long. Just know there really are vipers.”

Daniel escorted an apprehensive Vhalla through a short series of outer hallways and then across a lavish series of gardens to the building in which Court was held. Vhalla knew of the place conceptually, but she’d never had reason to explore it before.

She knew instantly what Baldair had meant about dressing once she saw the nobles strolling into the building. Lucky enough for her, it wasn’t the first time she’d worn unconventional attire to a noble function. Vhalla adjusted her black robes proudly and squeezed Daniel’s arm tightly as they crossed the threshold of the Imperial Court.

They were noticed within seconds. Clipped whispers echoed through the assembled nobles, and the hum of conversation was quickly snuffed. Curiosity, fear, resentment, admiration, the expressions they gave her crossed the spectrum. And were no different than what she was used to receiving.

Daniel cleared his throat. “I’d like to have the honor of presenting the Lady Vhalla Yarl to the Court.”

The expected convention observed, the first man stepped forward to play his role. “May the sun shine brightly on your house, Lady Yarl.”

The next person said some similar equivalent, the person after said another. Vhalla feared they’d have to go through every person assembled, but Daniel explained later that the ten or so nobles who greeted her were the heads of some of the oldest families on the continent. Naturally, not every noble family was in attendance. Court wasn’t a mandatory function, but nobility often had little else to do to pass the hours and were kept happy and complacent toward the Empire by milling about and gossiping with each other.

“Vhalla, I’m glad you’re here,” Daniel spoke the moment they were free of the initial party that was brave enough to break the ice with the Windwalker. “I did a lot of thinking after the North . . .”

“I did too,” Vhalla said quickly. His expression mirrored her heart and Vhalla was inclined to spare them any awkward moments. “It’s good to be home.” Whatever home had now become.

“Speaking of home, I have something I want to show you.”

“What is it?” Vhalla tried to decipher his cryptic words.

“Lady Yarl.” A man interrupted their conversation before Daniel had time to elaborate. “I heard word of your ordeal in the West. Appalling, really, that Lord Ophain allows those zealots to run so freely.”

Vhalla turned to face the Western man, trying to gauge his sincerity. “Lord Ophain does what he can. He’s worked to make it clear where the West now stands toward Windwalkers.”

“And where do you think that is?” The man gave her a slow smile.

“I think—”

Another hush fell over the crowd, and Vhalla was stilled by the man and girl standing, hand in hand, in the back doorway to the large hall. Vhalla tried to look at anything else. She tried to look at the vaulted ceiling with carved archways. She tried to look at the patterns the stained glass printed on the alabaster floor. She tried to look back at the lord and strike a conversation.

But she was trapped, her eyes focused on the hand wrapped in Aldrik’s.

She had seen the princess before. She’d stood on the Sunlit Stage upon Vhalla’s return. But she might as well have been half a world away from Aldrik then. Now she stood poised and tense at his side, and in them Vhalla saw the future Emperor and Empress.

She wanted to leave. She didn’t want to see anymore. She didn’t want to confront the mess his perfect façade created in her heart.

Aldrik scanned the crowd and his lips parted to speak, freezing halfway open the second his attention found her. She saw his confusion at her presence, a similar feeling to the panic she was already drowning in.

The nobles missed nothing and hastily pointed out the awkward exchange between the prince and the newest lady.

“Prince Aldrik, so good of you to join us today! The Lady Yarl was presented by the Lord Taffl earlier,” came a voice that broke the silence with malicious excitement, the same Western man whom she’d been speaking to a moment before.

“Lady Yarl,” the prince’s lips formed her name with such precision that it sent a shiver up Vhalla’s spine. “It is an honor to have you as a member of this Court.”

The words were stiff and formal, but his eyes were alive.

“Thank you, my—” Her voice wavered as she caught herself before she could use her former term of endearment. Aldrik’s eyes widened a fraction, and she could hear him hold his breath. “Prince Aldrik.”

Disappointment attempted to pull his shoulders down. What did he want from her? What did he think would happen?

“I believe this is the first time the Lady Yarl has met the future Empress,” a woman tittered. “She wasn’t there for the presentation of our dear prince’s betrothed during the Festival of the Sun.”

Vhalla’s hand went to her neck. Baldair had been right; these people were awful. She sought him out, and the younger prince looked on helplessly.

“Lady Yarl, Hero of the North, why don’t you introduce yourself to your future ruler?” the woman suggested.

Vhalla was tempted to show them all exactly how she’d gotten the title of the Hero of the North. She’d reaped destruction and rained hellfire upon her enemies. Vhalla straightened, holding herself taller. But she’d also earned her title and freedom by playing this noble game. If they wanted her to play, then she would show them how to play to win.

All eyes were fixed on the Windwalker as she crossed the room to the prince and princess. Her feet echoed across the floor, the only thing breaking the silence. Vhalla swallowed her frantically fluttering heart. She would do not only what she had to do, but what was right, what she wanted to do.

“Princess—” Vhalla didn’t even know the girl’s name and was forced to leave it as such. The young royal pursed her lips slightly, but didn’t betray any other emotions. In that way, perhaps she was a fitting match for Aldrik. Vhalla was honestly loathe to think it. “You truly grace us with your presence.”

No one moved a muscle.

“Your poise in the face of those who have committed such transgressions against your home is beyond your years.” Murmurs swept through the room. “Your poise in the face of the people who no doubt gossip over the massacre of your innocent people, as though it were sport, is a grace that I clearly cannot command!”

“Treason!”

“Truth!” The word was as fast as a whip from her lips, and it silenced the noble who had interrupted her. Vhalla turned back to the girl, her expressionless mask cracking with shock. Vhalla pressed her eyes closed with a sigh. “If this is the grace by which you will rule, then the Mother has smiled upon the Solaris Empire with your union.”

Vhalla braved a look at Aldrik. The prince wavered between the look he got when he was about to tell her off, and when he wanted to sweep her into his arms and kiss her until she saw stars. Vhalla took a cautionary step away.

“My presence is likely uncomfortable for you, so I will excuse myself and set the example for any who seek to foster rifts in our Empire, an Empire for peace now, by leaving.”

Vhalla turned and didn’t look back. She strode out the Court’s meeting hall and into the sunlight. She walked, hands clenched, until she was out of eyeshot and then broke out into a run. Her lungs burned from the sudden sprint, and her eyes stung. Aldrik, Aldrik, Aldrik, her heart screamed. What had she done?

Vhalla slowed to a stop, sighing. She’d heard the footsteps not long after she’d left the Court and turned, expecting to tell Daniel not to worry so much. Vhalla froze, face to face with an emerald-eyed Northern woman.

“Gwaeru.” It was fitting that the first word she spoke to Vhalla was the same word that had confirmed that this woman had tried to shoot her down in the North.

“Za,” Vhalla replied tensely.

“You know my name?”

“I do.”

“You know who I am?”

“I do.” At least, Vhalla could assume the woman was here as some guard for the princess. “I didn’t see you in the Court.”

“You not notice a fire in room if Fire Lord not start it.” Za’s Southern common was broken, but the meaning was still clear enough to convey her message.

“What do you want?” Vhalla asked tensely.

“Sehra wish to meet.”

“Sehra?” Vhalla put it together after only a second. “The princess?”

“Child of Yargen.” Za corrected, setting Vhalla’s mind to whirring around anything she knew as to the significance of the title.

“Why in the name of the Mother would she want to meet me?” Vhalla asked cautiously.

“She has deal.”

“What kind of a deal?”

“Meet tonight. Same place.” Za started back for the hall of the Imperial Court.

Vhalla went to call for Za as she disappeared in a side alcove.

“Vhalla!” Daniel broke the moment, jogging up to her. Vhalla glanced between the Eastern man and where Za had disappeared. He watched her attention shift. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Vhalla mumbled.

Daniel escorted her back to the Tower, apologizing for what happened and explaining how his first day at Court was nothing short of magical. He could’ve made all the excuses in the world, but they wouldn’t make Vhalla forget what had transpired, and they wouldn’t make her any more interested in returning.

At least, not when Court was in session.

THE PALACE GROUNDS were quiet, the fall night air nearly freezing. Vhalla wore the cloak made for her in Tim’s village to stave off the chill. It was hardly subtle, but if she was walking into a trap, then it didn’t really matter anyway.

She stared up at the Court Hall, as silent as a tomb and equally warm. In just a short hour, it had made an astonishingly negative impression on her, to the point that she’d lost all interest in ever returning. Well, returning for any conventional reasons.

Vhalla clenched her fists and opened her Channel; if they meant to attack her, she wouldn’t be going down without a fight. The door swung open easily and silently on well-greased hinges. Vhalla stepped inside, catching sight of the small candle that cast a faint glow on the two women sitting in the far corner of the hall.

Both of their heads turned, and Za stood from where she had been busy fletching arrows, sending scraps of feathers and wood fluttering like tiny sprites in the candlelight. The Princess Sehra didn’t stand, she merely turned, watching Vhalla warily. She was garbed in a loose and warm looking dress, reminiscent of patterns that Vhalla had seen on the Northern warriors’ tabards, rather than the Southern fashions she’d been wearing in court.

“You come alone?” Za called.

“I have.” Vhalla didn’t move far from the door, ready to run if needed. Though she didn’t really know what these two women could do to hurt her. Vhalla outclassed them both in combat—unless they had some secret prowess Vhalla didn’t know about—and they were severely outnumbered in the South. Vhalla suspected that the Southern people would jump on any excuse to remove a Northerner from their throne.

“What do you want?”

“I have a deal for you.” The girl’s Southern Common was elegant, simple. Her voice was gentle and bright, like morning dew.

“What could you possible want with me?”

“Sit, share our light, and I will tell.” Sehra motioned to the circle of light the candle cast on the floor.

Cautiously, Vhalla crossed the room, sitting on the outer edge. Za sat stiffly as well, close to her princess.

“You know who I am, what I am.” Vhalla didn’t want to mince words. “You know what I’ve done against your home, your people.”

“I do,” Sehra affirmed. Her eyes flashed dangerously in the candlelight. “And for it, I hate you deeper than any I have ever hated before.”

“You didn’t call me here to tell me that.” If the girl had meant to wound Vhalla, she should start by saying something that Vhalla couldn’t already assume.

“No, but I don’t want you to think you will make an easy friend in me.” As Sehra spoke, Za shifted closer to the princess, her hands busy fletching arrows in as threatening a manner as possible.

“That would never be something I’d be confused about.” Vhalla shook her head. “Though I harbor no ill will toward you and your people. The Empire invaded you without cause, no matter what is said here.”

“Not without cause,” Sehra corrected. “You know the cause.”

Vhalla met the girl’s green eyes, suddenly seeing a woman much older than her years staring back.

“Perhaps.” Vhalla wasn’t going to be the first one to bring up the axe.

“Do not lie,” Sehra scolded. “I can sense the magic on you. You have touched Achel.”

Vhalla stiffened and blinked her eyes quickly, shifting her vision into magic sight. The girl looked no different from Za, whom Vhalla knew was a Commons. Did she have a closed Channel? Had Vhalla somehow been misled that Aldrik’s bride wasn’t a sorceress?

“My mother speaks to me; she tells me the Achel has been stolen. But the Emperor rages daily for it to be given to him. It is gone, but not into the Empire’s hands. Only your hands have its shimmering remnants upon them.”

“How are you so certain?” Vhalla asked uneasily.

“I am a child of Yargen.” Sehra sat straighter at the word. “I know the old ways. I know the old magic that has long been forgotten by the southern peoples.”

“Why does Shaldan want the axe?” Vhalla hoped the question didn’t confirm or deny her possession of it.

“Because it is our history,” Sehra answered as Za shook her head in disgust at Vhalla’s question. “Because it is not yours to take, or have, or use.”

Vhalla had no argument to any of those. “You wish to use it to fight for your sovereignty?”

She couldn’t exactly fault the North for it. She personally knew what it felt like to be chained under the Emperor. She couldn’t imagine a good leader’s agony at the knowledge of their entire people being reduced in such a way.

“Not fight.” Sehra shook her head. “Make a deal for it.”

“With me?”

The princess nodded.

“What do you think I can do?” Vhalla hardly had any say in the future of the North, even less the power to give them their sovereignty.

“You hold no more love for this Empire than my people do, this much I have seen. It gives me faith for you. However, with the axe in hand, you are a danger to us as a tool of the war-hungry men who sleep in these stone walls,” Sehra said, revealing nothing Vhalla didn’t already know.

“Yet,” the princess held a long pause, “you also hold the future of Solaris in your hands.”

“How?” Vhalla frowned.

“Not hands, perhaps. Around your neck would be a better way to say it?”

Vhalla’s hand went up to the watch, buried under the cloak and layers of clothing. Vhalla knew that Sehra had never seen the token, and even if she had, there was no reason for her to be so certain as to its origin. “How did you know?”

“His heart sings for you, his eyes search for you, his magic calls for and embraces you. Even a fool could see it, and I am no fool.” Sehra raised a finger, pointing at Vhalla’s chest. “He may not even realize what he has given you.”

“What?” Vhalla’s curiosity got the better of her.

“His magic sleeps within,” Sehra was gracious enough to inform Vhalla, in not so many words, that Aldrik had given her what was well likely an unintentional vessel. “Do you deny the rumors of your involvement with the crown prince?”

Vhalla remained silent. It was an odd thing for a bride-to-be to ask about her groom. But the whole night so far had been anything but conventional.

“No . . . One who screams for truth cannot turn and deny her heart.” Sehra leaned slightly against Za. “You can have him. I give him to you.”

“What?” Vhalla blinked.

“You cry for an Empire of peace; here is your chance, Vhalla Yarl.” Sehra narrowed her eyes slightly, a challenge carried in her words. “Give me Achel. Let me return the weapon to its tomb to await its true master’s return. I will disappear, return to my home from your frigid, barren mountaintop. The North will write me off as dead so long as the Empire relinquishes its hold on my people.”

Vhalla processed this for a moment, and somehow managed to keep in insane laughter. “You want me to make a deal, that if I give you the axe and convince the Empire to give up the land the Emperor has just won at the highest price, I can be with Prince Aldrik?” She commended herself for remembering the prince’s proper title.

Sehra frowned at Vhalla’s amusement.

“You’re delusional.” Vhalla stood. As if she would ever try to bargain for Aldrik’s heart. Vhalla ignored that part and focused on one of the many other reasons why the girl’s proposal wouldn’t work. “There’s no way the Empire could, or would, let go of Shaldan now. To do so would admit failure, which no one will do.”

“And I thought you were different, that you had reason and a sense of justice.”

“Those are luxuries we cannot afford. We’re all trying to survive in a world that doesn’t give a damn about reason or justice, so learn well, princess.” Vhalla sighed. “Even if I wanted to take your deal, I’d never be with the crown prince. The Emperor would refuse it. Nothing is ever that simple.”

Za engaged in a quick series of harsh words punctuated with nasty glances at Vhalla. Sehra nodded a few times, frowned, and held up her hand.

“Then help us kill the Emperor.”

Vhalla’s head jerked around instinctually at the deeply treasonous words, looking for someone to spring from the shadows and lock her up. She returned her attention to the princess once it was clear no one else had been in the empty hall for hours. Vhalla clenched and unclenched her fists. She should be appalled. But the thought settled easily upon her mind. It complemented the dark history she had with the Emperor Solaris and the utter hatred she generally held for the man.

Sehra took Vhalla’s hesitation as an invitation to continue. “If the Emperor dies, then you could be with your prince, and our deal could stand.”

“Aldrik would never love someone who killed his family.” Vhalla frowned. “And I thought my dismissal would be clear, this is about more than me and him.”

“And here I thought you would be foolish enough to make a deal for love.” The princess grinned briefly before sobering once more. “You don’t need to swing the axe. Za will.”

“Then why haven’t you already?”

“You would help us escape,” Sehra explained.

Vhalla turned, finally letting out mad laughter as she started for the door. “Princess,” she called, her voice echoing through the empty space, “I realize that you are doing what you must to defend your people. But I have no interest in actually committing one of the crimes the Senate has been trying to pin on me for months.”

“If you do not help us, we will consider you our enemy.”

Vhalla paused with a sigh. “Frankly, I don’t care if I am your enemy.” She met the child princess’s eyes once more. “But if you brought a deal to me that wasn’t rooted in wishful thinking and delusions, I could be willing to help you. I meant what I said today, I hold no ill will toward your people. But I’m tired of senseless bloodshed, and that’s what your resistance would end up bringing.”

The princess didn’t like hearing this, her guard even less. Vhalla didn’t care, the truth wasn’t always easy or beautiful. Often, the only joy Vhalla had found since growing up was in spite of the truth. She left the other two women to their thoughts.

The walk back to the Tower was lonely and cold. Vhalla kept her hands under the heavy cloak, passing back the watch from fingertips to fingertips. She’d learned two things. The first was that the princess and her bodyguard were unsurprisingly mutinous against their new sovereign. The second was that she held a vessel of Aldrik’s magic, strong enough that the princess could sense it with whatever strange magic she wielded.

Now Vhalla was presented with the debate of what to tell Aldrik, if anything. Had he intended to give her a vessel? Should she tell him about Za and Sehra? Certainly he already knew . . .

Vhalla focused on the sloping floor of the Tower, counting the cracks between the stones. She paused as the ghost of light illuminated the otherwise dim hall. Vhalla turned to see a mote of fire shine through the bookshelves of the Tower library, following some late night patron.

She didn’t know if she truly believed in all the utterings of the Goddess. Of fate. Of a grander meaning to the world. But in that moment, it felt like something greater had shown her a light.

The flame reminded her of Aldrik’s, and Vhalla knew that whatever she did next, she had to somehow restore some lines of communication with the man she had once promised to marry. She had things that she needed to say and, if his expression at court was any indication, so did he.

THE MAGIC OF the axe shimmered around her fingertips, and Vhalla focused on it intensely. She delicately pulled and pried, separating the layers of foreign magic entangled around the blade. The more her own power mingled with the axe, the cleaner it became, the waves of power radiating outward.

It had been three days since she decided she needed to speak with Aldrik. Instead of seeking the prince out, she’d spent the majority of her time throwing herself into her work with Victor. It was a cheap diversion from what she really needed to do, but Vhalla could insist to herself the importance of cleansing the axe and destroying it—especially after her conversation with Za and Sehra.

She was so exhausted by the time she called it a day that her body nearly ached from magic depletion. But she wasn’t too tired to miss spending time with her messy-haired friend. So in the late afternoon, Vhalla found herself leaning against the wall of the alcove she shared with Fritz, reading in the Tower library.

Fritz broke the silence with a stretch and a yawn. “Vhal, I’ve been wondering.”

“Wondering what?” Vhalla’s eyes continued to scan the words of the book she was reading.

“What do you do with the minister?”

Vhalla knew the question would come eventually. She should’ve thought of some kind of response before being put on the spot. But she hadn’t, and there she was, struggling to form an answer. Lying would be easiest.

“We’re working on something.”

“What?” Fritz couldn’t just let it be.

“Something involving my magic.”

“So, special Windwalker training?” Fritz hummed.

“Something like that,” Vhalla replied with a nod, flipping the page.

“Do you like it here?” His question surprised her, and the silence prompted him to continue. “In the Tower, do you like being part of the Tower?”

“Where else would I be?” She had nowhere else to go. If she went home, she was likely to bring danger to her father. She was safest in the Tower and could help the most there also. Maybe she’d go home after the axe was destroyed.

Fritz frowned slightly. “You never leave. You’re tired all the time, on edge.”

Vhalla rubbed her eyes, instantly annoyed with her friend for being right.

“You’re almost as bad as you were on the march.”

“I just have some things on my mind.” Vhalla closed her book with a sigh.

“Talk about them? We’re friends, talk to me.”

She smiled sadly at her friend. Fritz had such an innocent hopefulness about him, despite the fact that Vhalla knew he had just as much blood on his hands as she. How he had managed to salvage his soul from the Northern campaign escaped Vhalla, but she wished he could’ve taught her before the war ended.

“It’s nothing.” Vhalla squeezed Fritz’s hand encouragingly. “I’m trying out some new Windwalker things with the minister, so I am exhausted.”

“All right.” Fritz still looked skeptical.

“Tell me, how have things with Grahm been?” Vhalla knew just what change in topic would shift the Southerner’s focus completely.

However, she still felt a little guilty for not being entirely honest with him. It was the least she could do, she felt, to heed his words and escape the Tower for a bit. So after Fritz had gone off to work with Grahm on vessels again, Vhalla wandered out for the first time since the Court day.

She wasn’t going to head to the Imperial library, not without purpose, given her last confrontation with Roan. So Vhalla headed to the only other place in the palace she knew she would find friends—the training grounds. The Golden Guard was present, as expected. Raylynn worked with archers, Daniel was drilling swords again, and Erion sat behind a table under a sun shade propped up by four posts.

“I hear you caused quite the stir at court.” Erion glanced up at her as she crossed out of the sun. He had papers spread across the table with times and names written on them. Vhalla could only assume it was some sort of schedule for the guards.

“I tend to cause a stir wherever I go.” Vhalla leaned against the table and looked out over the training grounds.

“That you do,” Erion chuckled. “Are you here to interrupt my training, then?”

“Maybe,” Vhalla mused. “Why, do you need a stir caused?” She grinned back at the Western man.

“Oh, I’m sure I could find something for you to do.” Erion made some marks on the papers, pressing the parchment down to the table as the wind tried to carry it away. Vhalla waved a hand and the wind stopped. His eyes jumped up to her.

“You looked like you were having trouble.”

“Practical as ever.” Erion focused for a moment, before speaking in between scribing.

A thought occurred to her as she stared across the men and women practicing at war. “Why don’t the Tower sorcerers train here?”

“They have their own training grounds in the Tower,” Erion answered.

“These are better. Why don’t they use this?”

“If I had to guess, it’s because of tensions between the soldiers and the sorcerers.”

“Foolish,” Vhalla muttered. “Let me train with them?”

Erion glanced up at her, gauging her intent. Finding her serious, he spoke, “What would you like to do?”

“Just some sparring would be sufficient, I think. You said you could find something for me to do.” Vhalla smiled. Baldair had once told her to ride with the men so they saw her with him. That didn’t stop now that the march was over, she resolved. She’d be seen among the soldiers, and she’d work to bridge the gap between them and their brothers and sisters in black.

Vhalla was put into the main ring with Jax. It had a short wall built around the perimeter with a ledge above for spectators. Erion sent swords and pole arms in batches so each would get a round with the two soldiers in black. Being a member of the Golden Guard, Jax had trained with them before. As it was Vhalla’s first time, it took coaxing and encouragement of the soldiers who remembered her from the front in order to get the other soldiers into the ring with her.

Vhalla leaned against the side wall, catching her breath while Jax trained. His fighting style was a rough and wild combination of jumps and kicks. His flames soared through the air and crackled along the ground. It was different from the close-ranged combat Aldrik preferred. Jax kept his opponents at bay with bursts of fire, finishing with him plucking a dagger from some hidden location as soon as his opponent was prone on the ground.

“I need a breather, fight the lady.” He waved off the next soldier, crossing over to her. “All yours.” Jax motioned for her to enter the ring.

Vhalla adjusted the jerkin she’d been lent, shaking out the stiffness in her muscles. It’d been too long since she’d last trained, and she made a vow to do so more often.

“Daniel?” Vhalla blinked.

“I heard the Windwalker was sparring.” The Easterner gave her an easy smile that removed the awkwardness the Court had created during their last encounter. “Thought I’d see if I fared any better than the last time I went against your winds.”

“I’m not so sure you will,” Vhalla replied coyly.

“No?” Daniel chuckled. “Let’s make a wager then.”

“Of what sort?”

“If I win, let me show you my home?”

That certainly wasn’t what she’d been expecting. “And if I win?”

“I’ll do any one thing you ask of me.” Daniel drew his sword, a beautiful rapier with a golden pommel in the shape of wheat.

“Anything?” Vhalla raised her eyebrows.

“They say make love, not war,” Jax shouted down from the spectators’ ring that lined the training pit. “I frankly don’t care as long as you two get to one or the other.”

The peanut gallery burst into laughter.

“Is that how you treat a lady, Jax? There’s more to it than just saying hello and putting a sword through her eye!” Daniel jested back.

“Mate, if you’re going for the eye, your sword is in the wrong place!” A roar of laughter threatened to deafen them.

Daniel rolled his eyes and Vhalla found herself joining in laughter with the rest of them. It was all lighthearted jesting. He eased himself into a fighting stance and held his sword as gently as she would a quill.

“You have your deal!” The words rang out. What could it hurt?

“Enough stalling. Fight!” Jax cried.

Daniel waited for her to charge. Vhalla pressed the wind against her heels and targeted his face with an apparent attack. He swung his sword upward, and Vhalla nimbly stepped out of its arc, dropping and sweeping her foot. The soldier did a half jump-step to avoid being tripped.

His sword cut through the air, whistling slightly as he wove it like an orchestra conductor’s baton, keeping her at length with a series of slashes. Vhalla realized he was cutting closer than he had before. He had more faith in her magic.

Daniel’s eyes caught hers, and Vhalla grinned. He grinned in return, and Vhalla rewarded him with a gust straight to his chest. The soldier tumbled, head over heels, regaining his feet with a lunge off the ground.

Vhalla was too fast for the blade and nimbly side-stepped. It was a good fight, but he was outclassed against her magic. With a flick of her wrist, the wind ripped his blade from his fingers, leaving Daniel prone and shocked, his blade hanging over him in the air.

“I yield!” He raised his hands, and the soldiers cheered at their display.

Vhalla helped him up from the ground, easing the rapier back into his palm. “You said you would do anything I wanted.”

“I’m a man of my word.” Daniel sheathed his sword.

“Well, I want to see your home.” There was still some air that she wanted to make sure was cleared and settled between them. It seemed as good an opportunity as any.

His face lit up. “I must run some more drills, but I’ll be available soon. Can you wait?”

Vhalla smiled and nodded.

She passed the time alternating with Jax in the training ring. The other sorcerer began to feed her advice between rounds, and Vhalla heeded it with a keen ear. However, he did the same with her opponents, and their skill showed marked improvement. Jax was experienced in combat, and he’d worked with her enough to tell people exactly where the Windwalker’s skill was lacking.

Vhalla was on her fifth consecutive opponent when there was a commotion from the spectators’ walk around the ring. She glanced up, unable to make out the source of the fuss with a blade swinging by her face. Vhalla dodged backwards, turning her attention to her attacker.

And then she stopped. It all stopped.

She felt his eyes on her, cutting into her soul. Everything slowed, and her gaze rose. Aldrik stood atop the spectators’ wall. His hands were folded behind his back. He looked down at her with guarded eyes, his expression betraying nothing.

Her vision shifted. His betrothed stood two steps away. Her emerald eyes fixed on Vhalla as though Sehra was once more looking at the crystal magic that she claimed lingered on Vhalla.

Her opponent was smart enough to capitalize on her complete distraction. The dull training blade came down on her shoulder, and she called out in surprise as it dug into her joint. Vhalla bent her knee and tilted to the side trying to absorb the shock of the impact.

“Vhalla, you should know better. Don’t take your eyes off your opponent in a fight!” Jax shook his head, strolling away from the wall he’d been resting against. He glanced behind and gave a small nod to the prince before quietly adding, “Not for anything.”

“Of course.” Vhalla glanced away. She felt the weight of Aldrik’s stare remain on her.

“Why don’t you take a breather?” Jax patted her shoulder, and she winced. “Are you all right?”

“Fine, fine.” Vhalla brushed by him, barely remembering to thank her opponent before she walked out of the ring. She didn’t know where she was heading, but she knew staying anywhere close to Aldrik was not a sound idea. There were too many things unsaid right now, and this was not the forum to say them.

Familiar footsteps crunched the ground behind her, and Vhalla didn’t even have to turn to know the prince was there. Aldrik strolled by, his future wife in silent company. He didn’t look back at her once.

Vhalla retreated to the tall table underneath the sunshade. Erion no longer occupied the space behind it. Now Baldair was managing the guard and working on schedules.

“I heard you were here.” Baldair assessed her thoughtfully.

“With how often people speak of me, I sometimes think I can exist in multiple places at once.” Vhalla massaged her shoulder.

“My brother heard as well.”

That explained it.

“What’s going on with you and him?” Baldair’s voice was thoughtful, but it carried an unusual weight.

“Nothing is going on.” Vhalla frowned. “Everything is over between us.”

“Really? And, does he know that?” Vhalla narrowed her eyes at Baldair’s remark. It didn’t dissuade the prince from continuing. “We all know what happened the last time you both tried this path. But that will be nothing compared to what will happen if you try to get in the way of his engagement.”

“Good thing I’m not trying then.” Vhalla pursed her lips, barely refraining from remarking how, despite her general hatred for the Emperor, she had never tried or suggested his assassination—unlike Aldrik’s current betrothed.

Daniel appeared shortly thereafter, putting a blissful stop to the conversation. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“And what’s this?” Baldair glanced between his companions with a tiny smirk.

“Two friends catching up,” Daniel responded easily.

“Sure, sure.” The prince held the word for emphasis. But the tease was empty. It lacked the weight of any real suspicion for things going on between them.

Daniel led her away from the prince, and Vhalla found herself breathing easier the farther they got from the Tower and the training grounds—the farther she got from the princes and the axe. They walked out of a side entrance into the common area of town. Daniel immediately turned to the right, and they strolled up a small street to the section where nobles and dignitaries lived. In the distance, Vhalla could see the high walls surrounding the water gardens around the golden ballroom. Vhalla smiled faintly.

That was a different time. The dance she had shared with Aldrik was the last night he had just been a prince and she had just been a girl. She’d yet to learn of the depth of their Bond, and she’d yet to be known as the Windwalker.

“Have you ever been to the mirror ballroom?” Daniel asked, seeing where her attentions were.

“I have, once,” she sighed wistfully.

“It’s quite the spectacle.” Vhalla hummed in agreement as Daniel continued. “I hear that’s where they’re holding a gala following the wedding.”

“The wedding?” Vhalla repeated, her voice revealing no emotion.

“Yes.” Daniel’s voice was soft as he spoke. He knew what he was saying to her, what she was hearing. His words were the nails in the coffin of a love she’d once coveted above all else. Her hand went to the watch around her neck. “It should be sometime just after the new year; all the Court will be invited. They want to make it a wintertime ball.”

“It’ll be lovely, I’m sure.” Vhalla forced a smile.

“But you don’t think you’ll see it with your own eyes.” Daniel gave sound to the words between her words.

“I doubt I’ll attend,” she agreed.

“I’m not surprised.” He brought his eyes away from the towering walls of the water gardens. “I wouldn’t want to go, if I were you.”

Vhalla regarded him cautiously. She didn’t know how to respond to the sentiment, so she kept her mouth shut and waited for him to give it more color. Daniel obliged.

“You know, I was engaged.” Vhalla nodded, prompting him to continue. “She still lives in Paca. And, I still haven’t had the courage to go back there yet. Not even when I went East looking for you. I had thought, if I’d found someone new. . . If I could show that I had not been nearly as devastated from losing her as I was that it would be easier.”

Vhalla realized he was talking about her. He had been her crutch, and she had been his validation.

“Then again, I built a bit of home here instead.” Daniel quickly put an end to his prior train of thought.

“Built a bit of home?” Vhalla was unfamiliar with the expression.

“You’ll see. It’s what I wanted to show you.”

Daniel finally stopped before an iron gate leading into a narrow alleyway. It was tucked between two large buildings, and Vhalla glanced around curiously. He produced a key, unlocking the gate and motioning for her to go ahead.

The alley was so narrow that they could no longer walk side by side, and Vhalla was forced to take the lead. She ran her hand along the stone walls on either side of her, utterly overcome with curiosity about where they’d end up. The walkway opened into a courtyard that stole Vhalla’s breath.

It smelled like Cyven.

A large tree stretched upward to the watercolor sky, and tall Eastern grasses grew untamed at its base and across the ground to where she stood at the end of the stone alleyway. River rocks created a pathway to a building nestled against the others, which made up the courtyard his home was hidden within. It was construction she was familiar with; the roof was thatched instead of shingled with tile or wood like the West or South. She was frozen in time, unsure of how she’d stumbled across the alternate world in which she now stood.

“What do you think?” Daniel leaned against the corner of the building behind them, a bittersweet expression overcoming his face.

“It’s amazing, it’s like, like . . .”

“Home,” Daniel finished for her. He started for the house. “No one wanted this plot because it had no real street access. Nobles couldn’t get their carriages or horses to it easily. They also couldn’t put their wealth on display. So they built up on the perimeter, and somehow the middle was left untouched while they fought over who would get to enlarge their house. No family could agree on who had the best claim, so my wanting it offered the city a solution.”

Vhalla followed behind him as he spoke, the grasses tickling the fingertips of an outstretched hand.

“I had intended my future bride to make her home here, with me. I thought it would ease her transition from the East.”

“Do you ever intend on going back to Paca?”

He shook his head. “Baldair needs me here. My future is here, especially after what happened.”

Vhalla grabbed his elbow, stopping Daniel in his tracks. The motion made her shoulder hurt where a bruise had formed from the earlier training, but Vhalla kept the pain away from her face. She looked him in the eye and spoke slowly, hoping his heart would hear her every word.

“You don’t need her. You’ve so much to give.”

“I could say the same to you,” he whispered in reply.

Vhalla’s chest felt hollow. Somehow, the weird circumstances that had brought them together had given them insights into the uglier portions of the other’s heart. They’d never been that different. They’d both been wanting to fill the gaps in their life. Perhaps they’d went about it the wrong way, but with someone who could have been the right person.

“Show me your home.” Vhalla released his arm.

“Gladly.”

Daniel led her through the decently sized, two-storey home. There was more than enough room for a small family, which made it feel all the emptier. It was modestly furnished with the trimmings of a lord still building his name and his wealth.

He stoked a fire, and Vhalla found herself baking bread. Daniel sliced cured meat and honored her as a special guest by bringing out spiced cheese from his larder. It made her homesick, as Vhalla remembered going through the same motions growing up.

“I think I should go East,” Vhalla mused aloud.

“I was wondering why you hadn’t yet.” Daniel pulled out a chair for her at the roughly crafted table that sat before the stone hearth of the kitchen. “I rode out to Leoul and asked for you after the North.”

“It didn’t feel right,” she confessed. “I’m a danger to myself and others. I’ve changed so much. I just haven’t been ready.” Vhalla leaned back, watching the world darken outside the window. “But this reminds me of how much I miss it.”

“I didn’t want for this to cause you turmoil.” Daniel rolled up his sleeves before carefully extracting the loaves from the oven.

“You haven’t. It’s almost so peaceful it feels wrong,” Vhalla admitted with a laugh.

“Don’t you think you deserve a little quiet?” Daniel placed the steaming bread between them.

“Maybe,” Vhalla confessed. She burned her fingers slightly, as she always did on the hot bread, too impatient to wait. “But I still have things to do.”

“What more could the world possibly expect of you?” Daniel shook his head. “You’ve given enough, you know.”

“Thank you.” Vhalla smiled tiredly at him. She couldn’t tell him what she still had left to do. “For now, though, I’ll settle for the taste of home you’ve given me.”

“You’re welcome to it anytime.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose on you . . .”

“Craig isn’t shy about occupying a room when things at his family’s home are less than ideal.” Daniel shrugged. “Jax has also slept in a bed many nights when he was too drunk to make it back to the palace.”

“If I ever do stay, you are not allowed to make me sleep in the same bed that drunk Jax has,” Vhalla teased.

“On my honor!” Daniel laughed. “But, truly. If you ever need to escape the palace . . .”

The unspoken words hovered and Vhalla claimed them with a small sigh. “Things are a little awkward.” She tore a piece of bread into crumbs. “But it’s my home, too. I need to learn how to be around him.”

“That’s fair. But the offer remains.” Vhalla was relieved that there was nothing in Daniel’s words or stare other than friendly compassion.

After their meal concluded, Daniel insisted on walking her back to the Tower. He explained the process of joining the palace guard, how the training was for the new recruits and for guards seeking to move up in rank. Daniel had the job of deciding who the best swordsmen were to be sent out into the Empire as keepers of the peace.

“Oh, one more thing.” Daniel shifted uneasily.

“What?” There was something about his face that nearly called into question her entire understanding of the evening they’d shared.

“I want you to know, that I didn’t lie to you then.”

“Lie to me about what?” Vhalla’s voice had fallen to a whisper.

“I did still look forward to seeing you return.” Daniel clearly struggled with putting his emotions into something tangible. But her heart was already beating in time with his. She already understood. “You really weren’t just something to ‘fill the hole in my heart’. You’re more than that. And, while sometimes I wish the stars had aligned for us just in a slightly different way . . .”

“You don’t have to explain it.” Vhalla took his hand and squeezed it lightly. Relief eased its way into his eyes and smoothed the tense line his mouth had been. “I enjoyed myself tonight. Actually, I’ve always enjoyed time with you. And, it’s easier now, now that we’ve had that time and there isn’t death on our doorsteps.”

Daniel’s fingers closed around hers for a brief moment. “So, come and visit me again?”

“Soon, I promise.” It was a promise that Vhalla’s heart had no hesitation making. And, it was only affirmed as he pulled her in for one more quick embrace before departing.

Daniel was everything that could have been. He was the embodiment of a simpler time and place where she was only a girl and he was a farm boy, where the only crowns in their lives would be the ones he’d braid for her out of field flowers. It was no wonder that they had both wanted to play at such a fantasy. But, neither of them were pretending anymore.

Vhalla headed up the Tower. For the first time in a long time, things were starting to feel simple. She caressed the watch around her neck, passing a faint glow in the library.

But nothing would ever be simple for long.

Vhalla saw the rose on her desk before the door even clicked closed behind her. Attached with a black ribbon was a note, in the same fashion as one she’d received once before. Her fingers traced the delicate velvet of the petals before flipping open the message.

Her eyes skimmed it twice, though it was only four words in a familiar, slanted script.

We need to speak.

VHALLA RESIGNED HERSELF to no sleep. She wasn’t going to sleep even if she stayed tucked in bed, so she decided to wander into the quiet palace.

There was no location on the note, no time marker, nothing other than four words. The only words with which he dared to intrude upon her world again. He’d trusted her to understand, and she did.

She had to stop to catch her breath as she stood at the window overlooking the Imperial garden. She hadn’t laid eyes on it since leaving for war. The last time she’d seen it, she’d snuck in to meet him for a lunch that had seemed so harmless at the time. Now she was sneaking in again to meet with that same prince under the cover of darkness.

Vhalla walked on the wind; she barely touched the ground, and the gravel didn’t crunch under her boots. As silent as a wraith, she slunk toward the central greenhouse, mindful of all the windows that overlooked the garden overhead. She doubted that any held watching eyes, but if there were . . . Baldair’s words of warning no doubt had merit.

She composed herself briefly, reminding and reaffirming what she was doing, before slipping into the greenhouse. The air was hot against the chill air outside. Her clothes instantly felt too heavy. Vhalla squinted into the dim light of the greenhouse.

Her eyes met another set, dark as the night sky. They belonged to a figure who was swathed in moonlight and shadow. His clothes were plain and comfortable, but stitched to perfection upon his lean form. Always the prince, ever perfect.

He watched her watching him. Vhalla studied the man who could still set her heart to racing.

“Are you real?” A voice, deep as ever, broke the silence; eternal, yet fleeting like the midnight hour.

“You’ve asked me that before,” Vhalla replied.

Aldrik looked away, thought knitting his brow. “I have, haven’t I?”

“When I first met you here,” she affirmed softly.

“I owed you an apology then also.” Aldrik let nothing be forgotten. He wasn’t the type to let a single detail slide. It was the right thing, but Vhalla resented the notion of confronting their last explosive time together. “I’m sorry for how I acted in the North.”

Vhalla swallowed, hard. “There may come a time when your apologies aren’t enough, Aldrik.”

The use of his name, plain on her tongue, gave him pause. He searched her face. “Is now that time?”

“No.” She didn’t string him along; there wasn’t any point to it. She was tired of playing games and hiding feelings. “What I said to you then, about the Bond—”

“And that you had no romantic feelings for my brother? Was the truth,” Aldrik finished bluntly. “I was too wrapped up in my world of lies to see it, even when you confessed it to me. By the time I was ready to admit it to you, you were gone, and all I could do was admit it to myself.”

Vhalla leaned against the door, her eyes fluttering closed with a sigh. Everything seemed out of time and place. Someone should’ve told her about her magic before it had spiraled out of control. Daniel was the one she should’ve met long before the prince. She should’ve split her time between swords and books. And the Aldrik standing before her was the man she’d needed months ago.

Nothing happened when she needed it to.

“I told you once,” Aldrik continued, “that I am not a good man.”

“You did.” Vhalla met his eyes once more.

“That I have never been a good man.” Aldrik took a step forward, moonlight outlining his form in silver. “But I realized that I was only the man I’ve let myself be. That if I want something beautiful in my life, if I wanted you, I had to make myself a person that could be the soil in which such beauty could take root.”

“It doesn’t work that way; you don’t just get to change and then we are something once more.”

“I know,” he spoke hastily before she could get too far down her train of thought. “I didn’t do it for you.” Aldrik paused. “Maybe, at first. But then I continued because I wanted to, for me. And every day I still struggle with that goal. Vhalla, I want to see if I can be a man that I can look in the eye when I look into a mirror.”

“How’s it working out?”

“Some days are better than others.” Aldrik shrugged. “I can still be an ass.”

His deadpan remark sparked laughter in her. The notes were still heavy, but it was enough to tug the corners of his mouth into a small smile.

“We’re hopeless, you and I,” Vhalla whispered.

“If I am going to be hopeless for anyone, let it be for you, Vhalla Yarl.”

Vhalla’s hand reached for her watch, her heart doing acrobatics. This feeling was one only he could instill in her. It put everything else to shame, and it rose every warning flag and rang every alarm.

Aldrik watched her motions thoughtfully. After a long internal debate, he crossed the remaining distance between them. A half step too close, every part of him was easily within reach. He reached out a hand, hesitantly, slowly. He searched for permission, and Vhalla wanted to deny him, she wanted to push him away. She wanted to hold him so hard her hands would leave bruises.

His fingertips fell gingerly on her neck, lightning striking in their wake as they slid down to her collarbone. His elegant hand hooked the metal chain and pulled free the watch from under her clothes. The prince hardly touched her, and yet it was the most intimate act Vhalla had experienced in weeks.

Aldrik’s eyes smoldered as he confirmed what her hands perpetually sought was indeed the watch he’d given her. Vhalla watched a flame alight at the knowledge. He turned his attention to her face, and Vhalla knew what he sought.

“My . . . lady?” he breathed.

“We can’t,” Vhalla reminded him.

“Do you still love me?” He’d gone from glancing blows straight for the kill.

Vhalla frowned slightly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.” His words were quick and breathy. “Tell me, Vhalla, do you still love me as you once did? Do you hold any feelings for me in your heart? Is there a single ember of love that I might, honorably, fan to life once more?”

“You are engaged,” Vhalla whispered weakly. “I’ve seen you with her.”

“With her? Publically, yes.” Aldrik laughed, a deep and sorrowful sound. “Do you think I love her because I have to put on a show? Because I tolerate her as I must?” He met her eyes, and Vhalla witnessed the unfiltered truth as he spoke it. “Vhalla, you should know, out of everyone, you know I chose the woman I wanted to be my wife long before I knew the Northern girl even existed.”

Fire raged through her veins, flushing her skin at his words.

“I made my choice. And, while I cannot honor that choice with my hands, I shall honor it eternally with my heart.” Aldrik leaned forward, almost close enough for her to feel his breath. “If you will not say it, then I will. Vhalla, I—”

“She means to kill your father,” Vhalla blurted out. Somehow, confessing to knowledge of treason was less frightening than knowing, beyond all doubt, that Aldrik still loved her.

“What?” Aldrik straightened away. “How do you know that?”

Vhalla swallowed. If it had been anyone else, she would’ve been afraid of telling the truth. But she knew Aldrik wouldn’t subject her to a trial, use her knowledge as an opportunity to jail her—or worse. “She and Za called me for a meeting.”

“When?” Aldrik’s expression darkened.

“After my day at court.” Vhalla launched into a quick recount of the evening, ending with the princess’s suggestion that Vhalla help them escape after killing the Emperor.

“We expected this.” Aldrik began to pace. “I’ll have to shift the guards on her room, change the watch patterns so she can’t learn them.” He paused, as if remembering Vhalla was there. “Why did you tell me this?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You, of all people, should hate my father,” Aldrik pointed out.

“I do,” Vhalla had no hesitation in affirming such. Her bluntness brought some amusement to Aldrik’s expression. “But I’m tired of the bloodshed. If she kills your father, then she’ll be put to death, and it’ll likely spark a rebellion in the North. You’ll be forced to subdue them because the only other alternative to appease them, possibly, would be letting the North go from the Empire. That may cause a different sort of civil war from people who would rebel against freeing them after so many lives were lost to bring Shaldan into the Empire.”

He watched her with sorrow that matched what she felt in her heart.

“It’s why she must be the future Empress . . . There isn’t another way now that doesn’t end in blood.”

The truth they both were loath to admit was out, and now they had no choice but to face it. Whatever Aldrik had been playing at was nothing more than a fool’s dream. It was the same dream they’d indulged in during the war in the North. Vhalla knew how quickly it could become a nightmare and had no desire to linger over it further.

“Speaking of Northern rebellions,” Aldrik paused, clearly struggling with his words as he became suddenly uncomfortable. “The axe, the one Sehra asked for . . .”

Vhalla dreaded what Aldrik was about to ask her next, so much so that her skin crawled.

“You have it, don’t you?”

“How do you know?” Vhalla breathed. She heard it in his tone, the way he asked, and the way he moved. The question was only a formality, as he already knew the truth.

Aldrik frowned and cursed slightly under his breath. “Does anyone else know?”

“Yes.” She braced herself for what she expected would devolve into a fiery confrontation.

“Who?”

“Daniel was there when I found it in the North,” she confessed.

“Daniel?” Aldrik said the name as though it was sour on his tongue. “My brother’s Easterner?”

She nodded.

“You and he . . .” Aldrik looked at her hopelessly.

Vhalla fought to suppress her instinctive response that Daniel and she were nothing more than friends. Maybe it was better if Aldrik believed her heart could belong to another.

“Never mind,” he muttered. “Does anyone else know?”

“Victor.” She was in too deep to hold anything back.

Aldrik pinched the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Vhalla affirmed with a nod.

“Baldair’s Easterner.” Vhalla noticed that Aldrik wouldn’t use his name. “Will he tell anyone?”

“He hasn’t told a soul so far; I don’t know why he would now.”

“Pleasure, pain, power—men have many motivators.” Aldrik ran a hand over his hair. “Daniel won’t,” she insisted.

“I leave him to you, then.” Aldrik glanced at her from the corners of his eyes. She let her expression betray nothing. “I’ll take care of Victor.”

“Do you trust him?” Vhalla asked quickly.

“Victor? I do,” Aldrik affirmed. “He was my mentor. We went through a lot together.”

Vhalla bit her lip and refrained from bringing up the crystals. Aldrik had been fairly level-headed throughout it all, surprisingly so. But she knew there were some things that would likely trigger his anger. And now that she knew more of his history, she could see why crystals may be one such thing.

“Aldrik.” She jarred him from his planning once more. “How did you know I had the axe?” Vhalla had a few theories, and the prince was quick to prove them all wrong.

“The Bond.”

“What?” The explanation made no sense.

“Think, Vhalla. What is the Bond?” He crossed to her once more, waiting for her to put it together, acting the teacher he had once been.

“It’s a Channel between us . . .” She shuddered in horror, looking up at the dark eyed prince. “An open Channel. Then you . . .” Vhalla couldn’t bring herself to say it. The guilt was suddenly too overwhelming.

“I know what the early stages of Crystal taint feels like,” he whispered solemnly.

Vhalla moved without thinking. She grabbed his hands in hers, clutching them tightly and assuaging the need to feel him, to hold onto and protect the man before her. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he smiled tiredly at her, squeezing her hands in reply. “I’m fine.”

She was suddenly too close again, so she quickly withdrew. The man was a dark star, brilliant and terrifying, and she was constantly being pulled into his gravity. “I should go.”

“Must you?” Aldrik couldn’t keep the frown from tugging down his lips.

“Yes,” she insisted.

“When will I see you again?”

“You know we can’t make a habit of this,” Vhalla cautioned.

Aldrik opened his mouth, and she felt his protest. But he quickly caught himself. “I can’t sleep, you know I can’t. Most nights I’m in the Tower library.”

“It was you?”

“Me, what?” Aldrik clearly didn’t understand.

“Never mind.” She didn’t want to explain how she’d seen his firelight on more than one occasion.

Silence settled upon them. It was the calm lurking at the edge of a raging storm that would be there for as long as they lived, threatening to swallow them whole. Vhalla moved to the door. It was time to leave. They’d run out of “business” and any continued interaction now would be a dangerous indulgence in pleasure.

“Vhalla,” Aldrik stopped her one last time. He crossed over to her, holding her in place with his stare. Vhalla swallowed a dry throat as Aldrik rummaged through his pocket. “You’re better than the cutthroats my brother tries to pass as soldiers. Don’t let them surprise you again.”

Vhalla laughed softly at the small vial in his palm. “Thank you.”

His hand closed around hers as she retrieved the vial. “No, thank you.” Aldrik opened and closed his mouth, searching for words. “For never giving up on me.”

“I left you,” Vhalla blurted.

“But you didn’t give up on me.” Aldrik paused, giving her an opportunity to object.

Vhalla stayed quiet. “I never could, even when I was as angry as I was that day.” She gave him a small smile, which he returned in full. Vhalla resisted the urge to kiss him, then stepped away. Aldrik’s eyes followed her as she slipped back out into the night.

Vhalla created pockets of air beneath her feet and walked her hands up the wall to scale back up to the window she’d left cracked open. Vhalla waited, watching the prince leave a short time later through the iron gate that led into the Imperial quarters. No one noticed her on the way back, and Vhalla downed the clerical potion for the bruise on her shoulder before crawling into her bed alone just before dawn.

She didn’t bother with bathing or changing clothes. In her mind, she made the excuse she was too tired. But the truth was her heart wanted to have the scent of roses on her skin for just a little longer.

VHALLA’S EYES WERE fixated on the axe. She sat in her usual chair, and Victor was fixing his usual tea. But her attention remained solely on the weapon as he went about his business.

“Vhalla.”

Could she continue going on as she had been? Aldrik was in the forefront of her thoughts.

“Vhalla.”

The steam tickled her nose, rising from the mug that Victor held in front of her face. It brought Vhalla back to life.

“Oh, sorry, yes?” Vhalla took the mug carefully, her eyes returning to the axe at the earliest possible moment.

“What is it?” The minister sat slowly behind his desk. “You’re out of sorts.”

Vhalla’s nails scratched lightly against the mug. She couldn’t deny it, and she wanted to broach the subject that was burning brightly in her mind. But how could she without revealing what had transpired with the prince? Even if Victor was on her side, she didn’t want anyone to know of her meeting with Aldrik.

“Is there another way?” Vhalla finally asked.

“Another way to do what?” Victor leaned forward, his elbows on his desk.

“Destroy the axe, the caves. Is there another way to do it?” Vhalla whispered.

“There is no other way, Vhalla.” Victor frowned. “I have been researching this my whole life. I was the product of such research. Why the sudden hesitation?”

“I just want to be certain,” she mumbled, not wanting to explain herself further. “It is crystal magic, after all. I want to be careful before I get too far . . .”

“Too far into what?” Victor laughed lightly and sat back in his chair. “Vhalla, what is the real root of this? You don’t think I really believe that you’re suddenly hesitant about taint after you carried this halfway across the world, do you?”

Vhalla pressed her lips together. She couldn’t say and decided to busy her mouth with the tea to give her a chance to think of a different approach.

“Is it because of the crown prince?”

Vhalla nearly spit out her tea. She looked at Victor in shock.

“He came to me asking very pointed questions. I know you spoke to him.” The minister’s voice was low and slow, a frigid edge to it. “I need you to trust me, Vhalla. I’m trying to help us all.”

“I know, I do trust you, Victor.” Vhalla placed the cup on the desk, leaning back in her chair.

“Above all else, I need your unquestioning faith.”

“I do trust you.” She frowned, unappreciative of his tone.

“Which is why you felt the need to tell the prince about the axe.” Victor’s words were sharp and clipped.

“He asked!” Vhalla snapped back. “But even if he hadn’t, why can’t he know? He’s the prince and the ultimate head of the Tower.”

At her final statement, Victor’s brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth for some hasty retort—then paused. “He asked?” Victor mulled this over. “Aldrik doesn’t ask unless he’s fairly certain he knows the answer. How did he know?”

Vhalla looked away.

“Vhalla, please,” the minister sighed, pleading. “Tell me the truth. I can’t help anyone if you don’t grant me that.”

She sat at a crossroads—her personal vow to remove lying from her life, as much as possible, against the desire to keep one of the most personal aspects of her life private. Perhaps the minister was right, and she only needed to trust him. “We’re Bonded.”

There was a long stretch of silence where Vhalla wasn’t even sure if Victor had heard her. The man stared at her in shock. “Excuse me?”

“The prince and I, we’re Bonded.” Vhalla wanted to explain as little as possible, but she’d already come this far. “He knew because he felt the magic of the crystals through the Channel between us.”

“A Bond . . .” Victor breathed, as though the veil had suddenly been lifted from a great mechanism he’d been trying to understand for ages. “You and Aldrik have a Bond.”

Vhalla nodded, uncomfortable.

“His ability to see you Projected, his surviving the fall in The Pass, the feats of magic that I hear you two performed together.” Victor pressed his fingertips together in thought, as though he was running through every possibility that surrounded the idea of her and Aldrik being Bonded. “It’s more than a Bond, isn’t it?”

“Joined as well,” she confessed like a child who was put on the spot.

“Bonded and Joined . . .” Victor stood, walking to the window. He surveyed the gray sky for a long moment. “So then, is it safe for me to assume you have his magic in you?”

“I think so.”

“You think so—or you know?” Victor turned and looked at her with an intense expression.

“His fire doesn’t hurt me, so I’m fairly certain,” Vhalla insisted.

“Without doubt?”

“Yes!”

“This is excellent,” he breathed, turning back to the window, tapping the sill. The Minister of Sorcery was suddenly overcome with barely contained energy. “Most excellent, indeed.”

“What is excellent?” Vhalla asked when it became apparent that he wasn’t about to expand upon his mutterings.

“Oh.” He turned quickly, as if remembering she was there. “Because you don’t need to worry so much!” Victor clapped his hands with a smile. “Whatever Aldrik is feeling now should be the worst of what he will feel.”

“Are you sure?” She wasn’t nearly convinced by the minister’s optimistic words.

“You know Aldrik’s and my history.”

“More or less.”

“He’ll act as he needs to avoid taint,” the minister continued, avoiding giving her any more of the aforementioned history. “But this means we can move faster. The Emperor is pressing hard for the axe. I don’t know why the North hasn’t told him yet they don’t have it, but the Emperor will eventually find out it’s gone. I thought we would have to stall until spring, but now—no, we can push, we can move. I’ve found the other pieces. We can end this vicious cycle we’re trapped within.”

“Other pieces? What vicious cycle?” Vhalla tried to remember if she’d ever seen the minister before her; something was alive in him, and he seemed like a different person as a result.

“The oppression of sorcerers.” He ignored her initial question.

“Minister?” she asked, suddenly cautious.

He was at her feet, kneeling before her. “Vhalla, you can remove the possibility once and for all of being used by the crystals. You can set us all free.”

“Right . . .” Vhalla wished she could move the chair away from him. The man before her made her uneasy. He had a glint to his eye that Vhalla recognized. It was the same glint the Emperor had, that the Northern Chieftain had, that Major Schnurr had had. The look that would overcome a reasonable and sane person when presented with power.

She would not be used again.

“How are we going to use the axe to close the caverns?” Vhalla asked as the minister stood.

“I’ll tell you once we get there. For now, let’s get to work.”

Vhalla hid her reservations and did as Victor instructed. She needed to speak with Aldrik. But she didn’t think she could even tell her prince everything since it involved crystals. Day by day, it came more abundantly clear that she was the only one truly fighting for peace. Not a peace anchored in blood and power, but a lasting peace that would benefit the people of the Empire. A peace that would focus on the citizens more than their leaders.

She’d learn Victor’s knowledge. She’d destroy the caverns herself.

At each of their meetings, she worked to learn his greater plan. If Victor suspected she was trying to procure information, he didn’t change his actions. Vhalla continued to cleanse the axe and probe the minister gently.

She didn’t disagree that the faster it all happened, the better they’d be. Vhalla prayed that the minister was everything he said he was. That she could trust him. As the days passed, Vhalla began to believe it more by the lack of any note from Aldrik. Surely, if the prince was ailing from her labors with the axe, he would inform her?

At night, she would go to the training ground and relax with Baldair and the guards. It was a different atmosphere from the Tower, and Vhalla relinquished her concerns in the white puffs of breath she panted in the training pit. She kept it to herself, but she was training for something once more. She didn’t know what she’d find in the caves, and she wanted to make sure her body was ready for it.

Every once in a while, Vhalla would take dinner at Daniel’s home. She used the opportunity to quiz him about swordplay and, more than once, they ended up sparing in the grass around the tree. The bouts were even better practice than at the grounds, and would go until one of the lords or ladies in the surrounding homes complained about the noise. Vhalla’s skill steadily improved.

Winter was upon the world when Vhalla was almost finished with the axe. She knew it would only need one more session, two at most, and she was ready to wash her hands of it. Fear of the caverns had been so constant that she indulged in her curiosity of what her life would be like when they would no longer be a worry.

She went out to the training ground again that evening. In addition to trying to figure out how to destroy the fount of the most fearsome magic the world knew, she was still determined to bridge the gap between the guard and sorcerers; tonight, there would be more than just the Windwalker in the ring.

“Vhal, I didn’t join the guard after the war because I am tired of fighting,” Fritz whined playfully.

“But you’re so good at it with your illusions.” Vhalla threw her arm around his shoulders, ruffling his hair. “And it’ll do the other soldiers good.”

“It’s hard,” Fritz mumbled.

“I think it’s a good idea, also.” Grahm nudged Fritz playfully, shaking away the other man’s pout. Vhalla had actually gone to Grahm first. He and Fritz were hard to find apart these days, and she knew if she got him on board with her idea, Fritz would be sure to follow.

“You would, you’re too hard-working not to.” Fritz’s shoulder brushed against Grahm’s side as they walked, and the Eastern man took Fritz’s hand, the one that wasn’t wrapped around Vhalla’s waist.

They had become so adorable it was blinding.

Erion was behind the main table again. Vhalla headed straight for him. “Erion,” she called as they neared.

His head shot up, and he gave her a tired smile. “Here for the ring?”

She nodded.

“And you bring friends, I see.” Erion appraised the two Waterrunners at her sides.

“Hopefully the start of a trend,” Vhalla replied, making her intentions known.

“It’s a trend I’ll live with right now.” Erion sighed softly. “Can I have you two in the pit? And can I put you with the archers?” He motioned to Fritz and Grahm, then Vhalla, in turn.

“No problem!” Fritz gave a rallying cry and led an amused Grahm over. It was amazing the sway Grahm had on Fritz with such little effort. In the short walk from the Tower to the training grounds, he’d completely transformed Fritz’s mood.

“I’ll walk you to the archers, outline what needs to be done.”

“Is everything all right?” Vhalla asked, falling into step at the Westerner’s side.

“What?” Erion was jarred from his thoughts. “Oh, yes, everything is fine.”

The man quickly launched into an explanation of what he wanted Vhalla to do. It was a simple enough task, producing wind for the archers to train in. Vhalla listened absentmindedly, her mind churning over the fact that something was definitely wrong with her companion.

But Erion kept his secrets to himself, returning to the center table alone.

At first, the archers were skeptical about her presence, but Vhalla had an unexpected ace. Tim was among them, and the young woman was hasty to tell the grand tales of the Windwalker to her comrades who hadn’t been to war and hadn’t already heard. So they approached the range with a timid curiosity that quickly vanished into annoyance when most of their arrows shot wide of their targets due to Vhalla’s wind.

It ended up being a competition of the Windwalker versus the Empire’s best archers. They began taking her seriously, finding ways for their arrows to hit their targets in spite of her winds. Those arrows were points for them, the ones on the ground were points for her.

She could make it so that not one arrow hit its target, but Vhalla kept the sport fair, enjoying the game. The score was almost even when three archers left the shooting line to make room for one more. Vhalla’s hands fell to her sides, and the winds quieted.

“Gwaeru,” the Northern woman called.

Vhalla stared at Za blankly. She wasn’t sure what emotion she should summon for the woman who was plotting treason.

“I prefer Lady Yarl, actually,” she corrected loudly. Vhalla hardly cared for the use of titles, but she didn’t want to give the woman the power of taking her name from her—of reducing Vhalla once more to nothing more than the Emperor’s Windwalker.

“Lady Yarl,” the woman smiled, which quickly turned into a sneer. “I want shoot.”

“We are practicing shooting in the wind tonight,” Vhalla announced.

“Fine.” The woman fixed her armguard to her left wrist, adjusting a large wooden bow in her hand.

Without another word Za reached for an arrow in the quiver at her side. Vhalla raised her hands. A strong wind blew across the range. All arrows were knocked off course—all except for one. Vhalla met the eyes of the Northern archer, a frown tugging at her lips.

The next arrow hit. The wind blew harder. The third almost missed. Vhalla shifted the direction of the breeze. The fourth was knocked off course. She fought a smirk and looked back to the woman. It had begun.

Four quivers in, Vhalla was almost breathless, as was the other woman. The ground looked like a porcupine made of arrows, illuminated by the high moon.

“That’s enough,” Za announced, throwing her bow over her shoulder.

Vhalla shrugged, wiping her brow. She looked for Fritz and Grahm, but it appeared that they had already departed without her. In fact, almost no one was around. Time seemed to have escaped her.

“Gwaeru.” Za’s voice was close, and Vhalla turned, unsurprised to find the woman a few short steps away. The bow was still in her hand, armguard still on, quiver mostly full. Vhalla eyed them uneasily, keeping the wind under her palms.

“I said my name was Lady Yarl.”

Za ignored Vhalla’s correction. “Sehra wish to give you chance.”

Vhalla scowled. “I don’t want to be involved with either of you.”

“And I don’t want you,” Za hissed. “But you keep with Achel. You and Fire Lord.”

Vhalla stilled, bringing her eyes to Za’s emerald ones.

“Sehra know, she know he now touch Achel, too.”

A quiet horror crept through her, whispering her worst fears. Vhalla’s lips were quiet, but her mind was loud. The taint creeping through her bond with Aldrik must have progressed farther if Sehra could pick it up. Or maybe it was just consistent, but no worse?

Vhalla knew she had to find him. She hadn’t sought him out once in the weeks since their meeting in his garden. But now she’d haunt the library for a certain sorcerer prince.

“Give us Achel.”

“No.” Vhalla frowned. She was so close to getting rid of it for good.

“Prince already half monster. If he become whole monster, I will shoot to kill.”

Vhalla’s arm snapped out, gripping Za’s bow before the woman had time to pull it away. Za tugged but Vhalla held fast. The Northerner’s gaze met hers, and Vhalla narrowed her eyes threateningly.

“If you as much as think of touching him, I will kill you myself,” Vhalla growled.

“Sehra has new deal.” Za smiled maliciously, knowing what she was about to do would drive Vhalla mad. “But she tell her future husband, no more deals with Gwaeru.”

Vhalla shoved the bow back into Za’s hand in frustration. The woman grinned and took a few steps backward before starting for the palace. This was a bigger game than Vhalla and Aldrik. They all knew it. But her love for the prince was being made into an easy pawn.

She stilled.

Her love for the prince.

For the first time in months, Vhalla had admitted it to herself. She gripped her watch tightly. There it was, the truth. Now, what to do with it?

Vhalla found herself looking for Aldrik’s light on her way up the Tower. She looked for the tiny, flickering mote that stood against the darkness. And didn’t find it.

HE RAN THROUGH the halls with a blond-haired toddler on his heels. His excitement for the small bundle he held in his hands was palpable. Aldrik couldn’t be more than seven or eight. He had a goofy smile, and his hair was cut straight across the middle of his neck.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” Aldrik asked the boy. Vhalla looked at the little Baldair struggling to keep up with his brother’s longer strides.

“Yes!” he said with all the black and white certainty of a child. Baldair carried a little parcel himself.

They ended up at the top of a grand staircase with a large pair of doors that formed a blazing sun between them. There were two guards stationed outside who both gave small nods to the princes. Baldair stood regally tall for his small stature.

“I am here to see mommy!” he announced. Aldrik actually laughed at his brother’s antics.

A guard chuckled and opened the door. “After you, little prince.”

The room was massive. The main area was just a sitting room. On the ceiling, there was a large dome with a sun, and on the floor was a mosaic map of the continent made in painstaking detail. More rooms indicated that the Imperial quarters extended beyond, but Aldrik and Baldair ran to a woman sitting on the wide balcony.

“Happy birthday!” Baldair proclaimed.

“Happy birthday.” Aldrik stood a step back, fussing with the wrapping on his gift.

“My little Baldair.” The even younger Empress was pure radiance. Long golden hair flowed to her mid-back in waves. Her skin was aglow with youth, a soft pink on her cheeks. There was not a single sign of exhaustion or stress upon her face. She picked up the younger boy and placed him in her lap. “Did you remember my birthday?”

“We did,” Baldair announced proudly. “Look! Look!” He held out the present, far too close to her face, and she accepted it with a laugh.

“All right, all right, let us see here.” The woman wrapped her arms around the boy in her lap, opening the gift.

Aldrik shifted his hands again around his gift, looking up at the woman, his heart beating in anticipation.

“Oh, my little noble prince, this is simply perfect.” The woman held a small wreath, haphazardly put together with twigs and sticks. There was some twine in some places; in others, it seemed to have come undone and a stick popped open awkwardly.

“It’s a crown!” Baldair explained. “A birthday crown!”

“A birthday crown indeed.” The woman put it on her head nicely and gave a kiss on the boy’s forehead. Aldrik looked on with longing and sadness.

“I-I brought a present also.” Aldrik took a step forward.

“So I see.” The woman turned to the elder child staring up at her as she stroked Baldair’s hair lovingly.

“I hope you like it.” Aldrik presented it with both hands.

The woman took in a deep breath and held in a sigh. She took Aldrik’s present with one hand and unwrapped it quickly. It was a little mass of molten silver, like a sun, with a loop around the top.

“I’ve been study—”

“I have, Aldrik; speak properly,” the woman interrupted.

“I have been studying my sorcery,” Aldrik began again. “I-it’s a, it’s-“

“It is, and don’t stutter,” the Empress corrected for a second time.

Nervousness radiated off the boy. How could this woman not see the same?

“It is a pendant,” the boy Aldrik finally managed. “I thought you would—”

“Yes, thank you, Aldrik.” The Empress looked away and adjusted the twig crown on her head. “Did you see the gift Baldair made?”

“I did.” Aldrik looked at his feet.

“He helped me, mother!” Baldair grinned, completely oblivious to any tension.

“I am sure you picked up quickly and did it even better, my smart son.” The woman kissed his golden forehead again.

Baldair nodded. “I did try!”

“It shows.” The Empress gave her child a hug.

Aldrik was left standing alone, staring at his feet, a few steps away.

A rapid set of knocks jolted her from sleep.

Vhalla sat with a start, clutching her watch, the memory of the child Aldrik fresh. Her heart ached for the elder prince. Aldrik being called the black sheep and him taking it to heart suddenly made a lot more sense.

More knocks on the door jarred her from her thoughts. Vhalla flopped back on the bed, rolling over and burying herself under the covers. The mornings were frigid now, nearly cold enough to form frost on the glass of her window. The chill combined with her latest dream made her utterly uninterested in company.

The knocking persisted, the person clearly not getting the point.

“What?” she said with a groan.

The door opened a crack, and a pair of Western eyes looked in at her. Vhalla peered at Jax through thin slits. The man chuckled and let himself into her room.

“Lucky you, sleeping past dawn.” He wiggled onto the small bed next to her.

Vhalla rolled her eyes and pressed against the wall. The tall man was comically large atop the small mattress, his side flush against hers. But Vhalla had come to an understanding with the strange man known as Jax Wendyll. After their short time in the Crossroads, there was something base, gritty, yet simple about their relationship; it was ugly beautiful.

“I’d like to keep sleeping, you know,” she mumbled and buried her face into her pillow. It was cramped with two, but having someone next to her again was relaxing. Larel and Aldrik had both been Firebearers, and Jax was equally warm.

“But I need you.”

Vhalla cracked open one eye. “How?”

“Oh, in all the worst ways.” Jax waggled his eyebrows.

“Mother, you’re awful.” Vhalla’s dry remark earned a laugh. “Jax, really, why are you crawling into my bed?”

“Really, we could use your help on the grounds today.” Serious notes had finally worked their way into his words.

“I’ve been helping you for weeks. Why are you suddenly bothering with asking?” He had her attention now.

“We’re short-handed.”

“Have Baldair and Raylynn finally run off together?” Vhalla couldn’t stop herself. The more she’d come to know the guard, the more she’d learned who and what the easy targets were for jokes.

“One of those said parties is missing, though not who you’d expect. Ray is actually pulling her weight.” Even Jax sounded impressed. “But Baldair is still gone, and Craig woke feeling unwell.”

“Still gone?” The word had Vhalla wondering when was the last time she’d actually seen the golden-haired royal.

“Oh, you know him. Last I saw he was chasing Lady Imaj around the court. I’m sure they just ran off.” Jax’s laugh didn’t have the strength it usually did. He quickly rolled off the bed and pushed the topic along before Vhalla could linger further. “So, help?”

“Yes, yes.” Vhalla sat, realizing she was done with sleeping.

She knew she should go to the minister. They were so close to finishing the axe, and then it would be over. But it was one day, and Vhalla didn’t want to ignore her friends when they were in need. So, after quickly dressing, her feet carried her to the grounds with Jax.

Erion was relieved the second Jax arrived with her, and Vhalla was quickly put to work. The difference two sets of hands made in managing the palace guard and their training was noticeable. Her practice with Daniel actually qualified Vhalla to help train young swordsmen and women in training, so Vhalla haunted the grounds until dusk.

She ate with the guard following, and lingered until the moon had crested the horizion. Sweaty and exhausted, she finally dragged her feet up the Tower. Her crystal work was taking a lot out of her, and she was on a mission for a hot bath and her bed.

The heavy thud of a book dropping drew Vhalla’s attention into the dimly lit library. Footsteps moved across the floor, and Vhalla watched the flickering light of a single flame dance through over the tops of the books on the bookshelves. For once, she was thankful for his insomnia.

She needed to talk to Aldrik. She needed to speak with the prince about the crystal taint, about the princess, about making sure his father and the fragile peace that he’d bought with so much blood would last into spring, and about Aldrik’s succession as the Emperor of Peace. It had nothing to do with her admission the night prior, she assured herself.

She rounded a bookcase, looking at the dark form scanning a high shelf for a manuscript. Vhalla leaned against the shelves watching him. His hair was limp and messed, his shoulders had an uncharacteristic sway. For a brief moment, she feared everything she’d heard about his old habits was really a lie, that he’d never stopped—or had returned to—his less than healthy ways of coping with a problem.

Aldrik sighed heavily, pulling a book and scanning it. Something was wrong, but Vhalla couldn’t place her fingers on it.

“My prince,” she whispered, not wanting to startle him too badly. It didn’t work, and Aldrik nearly dropped the book he was holding. Vhalla realized too late that she had used their former term of endearment; she wondered if her presence or her words startled him more.

“What—when did you get here?” Dark circles blemished the area under his eyes.

“Aldrik.” Vhalla took a step closer, noticing his rumpled, extremely casual attire for the man who was usually perfection incarnate. “What’s wrong?”

His defensive instinct took over, but only for a brief moment. The tension in his shoulders vanished, and the man swayed, nearly collapsing in on himself. “Baldair. He’s sick, Vhalla.”

“It’s serious, isn’t it?” The day was still fresh in her mind, Baldair missing training yet again.

“It started as a cold, aches, chills,” Aldrik spoke softly to the bookshelf, unable to meet her gaze. “It’s Autumn Fever.”

“This late?” The fever normally set in at the first transition between summer and fall. Not into the winter.

“You’ll hear more cases of it soon, I am certain.” Aldrik looked back to her. “The clerics say the years it appears late are the worst.”

“Has he had it before?” She remembered clerics telling her once that because she had contracted the disease as a child, it would not be as severe if she were to catch it again. Aldrik shook his head, and her heart sank. “How long has he been ill?”

“They’ve had him on bed rest for over a week,” Aldrik answered.

“The coughing?” she asked tentatively.

“It is only now beginning to worsen,” he answered. “You had it as a girl, didn’t you?”

Vhalla stared at her toes, remembering her mother’s coughing, so much coughing and then the blood . . . “I did.”

“Come see him?”

“What?” Her head snapped up, startled at the idea.

“I want you to see him.” Aldrik stepped forward and boldly took both her hands. His touch had the same familiar warmth as it always had, but it held no lightning given the subject of conversation. “I don’t know how much the clerics may not be saying. I’ve never been sick with the fever, so my knowledge is limited to second-hand study only. You’re at less of a risk of contracting the fever again, having had it before.”

“I know . . .” she sighed. It wasn’t about getting sick. She didn’t want to go into a room and confront that illness. “I’m sure the clerics are doing their best, Aldrik.”

“I trust you. I trust you, not them.”

Vhalla met his eyes with trepidation. That was the truth of it. When the cards fell, when all else was taken away, there remained the assumption that the other would be there—that somehow their existence as unit, as a force, remained.

“I’ll go see him,” she agreed.

Aldrik scooped up the small stack of books he’d pilfered and started out the library without a word.

“Wait, now?” Vhalla fell into hasty step with the long-legged prince.

“Clerics will be in his room without stop when the day comes,” Aldrik explained. “Night will be the only time that you can give me an honest assessment without having to dance around the egos of the bumbling idiots that my father seems to think pass for competent.”

Vhalla allowed herself a small smile and held her tongue. There was something reassuring about Aldrik being well enough to insult something. He led her down to one of the many doors lining the Tower staircase. Aldrik paused, fumbling to adjust the stack of books into a single arm.

“Give me them.”

“They’re heavy.” Aldrik looked at her uncertainly.

“Oh, yes, you’re too right, my prince. I am a delicate flower.” She batted her eyelashes for emphasis. “Allow me to do nothing more than stand and look pretty while you struggle.”

Aldrik shook his head with a huff of amusement and passed her the stack of books. It was hardly the largest she’d ever carried, and Vhalla adjusted her grip, managing it with ease. With his hands free, Aldrik unlocked the door and led her into a hallway that was completely dark, save for the mote of flame at his side.

Vhalla smiled tiredly at his back. How many times would she follow the prince into darkness, trusting his light to guide her?

Upon reaching a dead end, Aldrik pushed on the wall, and it swung open under his palms. Vhalla followed him into a large room. Moonlight streamed in through diamond-checkered glass doors that overlooked a massive balcony. A four-poster bed with large, black, square posts dominated the space. Around it was a stone hearth, a number of armoires, and doors leading in other directions. Vhalla stopped in her tracks as he closed the secret door, which was concealed as a large mirror. She looked at the gilded ceiling, the white marble flooring, the decorative tapestries and rich textiles that adorned the floor, walls, ceiling, windows, and doors.

“This-this is your room,” she stuttered.

Aldrik stopped. “It is indeed.”

“Where is the princess?” Vhalla asked delicately.

“Do you think she stays with me?” he asked incredulously. “Scandal aside, I would never let the girl into my haven.”

Vhalla swallowed as he crossed back over to her. Aldrik always said more between his words, and she heard him as clearly as ever. His hands rested on hers.

“Let me take those.”

“It’s fine. You have to open more doors, right?” His soft words coaxed her into whispering.

“I was going to do it alone before.”

“But you’re not alone, are you?” It was her turn to speak between words, and Aldrik’s expression let her know he’d heard her.

The prince’s hands fell from hers, and he started for the door to the left. She focused only on him, ignoring the opulent sitting area he’d led her into. Even if they were never anything more than they were now, would she be happy?

Aldrik poked his head out of the main door, glancing up and down the hall. He motioned for her to follow, and Vhalla walked on air over the plush white runner that went the length of the hall. They crossed to a door opposite.

As he opened the second door, Vhalla realized that she had been in this hall before. The day Baldair had invited her to the gala, he had taken her to the same room she now faced. But it didn’t have the same brightness as then. Now it was cast in darkness, with vials—empty and full alike—littering nearly every surface. The room smelled strongly of herbs and salves.

A blanket was thrown over one of the couches in the sitting area, a pillow keeping it company. A semi-circle of books stood in defense of the cleric’s equipment that encroached in on a set of parchments with familiar handwriting on them. As she put the books down with the others, Vhalla wondered how long the elder prince had been living with his brother.

Aldrik held out a length of cloth to her. She noticed he’d already covered his own nose and mouth with one. Vhalla brought it to her nose and covered the lower half of her face with it.

They walked over to a secondary door that was almost entirely gilded. Aldrik knocked twice lightly, then paused. There was rough coughing barely muffled by the door. Vhalla braced herself, as if she was headed into battle once more.

“Enter,” came a tired voice from within. Baldair faded into another fit of coughing as Aldrik pushed open the door.

“Brother.” The older prince took a few steps in, holding the door open. “I brought a guest.”

“A guest?” Baldair wheezed. There was a rough and raspy chuckle after a short pause. “Vhalla, come in.”

“How did you?” she mumbled as she inched into the room.

“Who else would my brother bring at this hour of the night? Without prior word? Directly into my room?” Baldair reclined in a large bed with a golden canopy.

Vhalla noticed a chair set by his bedside and glanced back knowingly at Aldrik. These brothers were impossible, and it was almost hilarious how the world thought they hated each other. How they tried to insist sometimes that they did.

“How do you feel?” she asked gently, crossing over to the edge of the younger prince’s bed, leaving the chair for Aldrik.

The crown prince lit the candles at the bedside tables with a thought, then sat.

“Almost like the time I had a sword through my shoulder.” Baldair coughed. “But closer to my chest.”

“Here, cough into this for me?” She took a small piece of cloth off his bedside table and handed it to the prince.

“Coughing is not a problem.” Baldair chuckled, and it sent him into another fit.

Vhalla sat directly on his bed and held out her hand for the cloth when his coughing subsided. She looked at the mucus; it had a distinctively red tinge. Her heart sank.

“What is it?” Aldrik read her face without difficulty.

Vhalla wanted to scream at the cloth and burn it, as if that would make its truth disappear. Blood, the blood was starting. It would get worse from here. She took a deep breath and forced herself to remain calm, to not panic. Aldrik had brought her for her experience, but her experience was only death once the blood set in.

“You need to eat.” She looked back at Baldair. His usually glowing face was hollow and pale. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Do I have a new cleric?” Baldair asked his brother with a tired grin.

“She had Autumn Fever when she was a girl, Baldair,” Aldrik answered. “She has seen it, she has lived through it. You know how the clerics are.”

Vhalla glanced back at the cloth in her hand. She had lived through it. She had also lived with her mother dying from it.

“Food,” she said again, not entertaining the memories of her ailing mother. “You have to eat, Baldair.”

“Vhalla,” he groaned. “It hurts to breathe, and you want me to eat?”

“It will get worse, if you . . .” Vhalla shook her head, trying to part the flood of emotions that assaulted her. “Don’t stop eating. Keep up your strength,” she insisted. “Aldrik, can you get him food?”

“I can find something.” He nodded, standing. “Will you stay here until I return?”

“I’ll stay with him.” Aldrik’s concern for his brother was not lost on her, not for a moment. The prince left the room briskly, without further word.

“Vhalla.” Baldair struggled to sit.

“Lie down.” She placed her hands on his shoulders.

“If I’m going to eat, I need to sit a little.” Even his coy grins looked tired. Vhalla relinquished his shoulders and helped him adjust his pillows. The covers fell to his stomach, and Vhalla saw his skin had truly lost its luster. He was starting to thin. “What are you doing?”

“I’m helping you.” Vhalla had assumed that much to be obvious.

“With Aldrik,” Baldair clarified.

“He asked me to come and help.” Vhalla sat back with a sigh.

“My brother went to you?” Even exhausted and sick, Baldair managed skepticism.

“Not entirely . . .” She suddenly remembered the original reason she’d sought out the prince. With all that was occurring, how could she broach the subject of crystals, taint, and his family being targeted from within? “I had something I needed to speak with him about, and then he asked me to come here.”

“What were you going to speak with him about?”

“It’s personal,” she avoided answering.

“With you two, I bet it is.”

“You know, I don’t think you’re that sick after all.” Vhalla peered at the prince.

“I’m trying to help.” Baldair was unrelenting.

“And I’m trying to tell you to focus on nothing other than getting better.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Fine.” Baldair’s eyes lingered on her chest and Vhalla knew he wasn’t checking out her figure. She tucked the watch under her shirt as she unfolded her arms. “Well, whatever the reason, I am happy to see you around again. I was worried about Aldrik.”

“Has he fallen into any . . . bad habits?” she asked delicately.

“Surprisingly not,” Baldair praised his sibling. “He’s held himself together, done what he’s supposed to do and then some. He’s the man I always knew my brother could be, and he did it on his own this time. And yet, it feels so empty.”

Vhalla stared at the candles, flickering with Aldrik’s flames.

Baldair continued in her silence, “When he fought for you, he fought. It was bad, it was ugly, but he fought. The man I knew to have fire in his veins now does nothing more than simmer. I know I said everything between you both was a bad idea.”

“It was,” she interjected.

“It was,” he affirmed. “But you did it anyway, and now I don’t see him ever being happy again without you. He may be the best Emperor the Empire will ever know, and he’ll be empty inside.” He paused before adding, “I know, I am a hypocrite for this . . . But, I’ve gained some new perspectives since I’ve been trapped in this bed. Don’t leave him now, Vhalla.” Baldair wheezed, “Especially, if something happens to me. He’d have no one else who knows that the Fire Lord is capable of joy.”

“Don’t say that.” Vhalla brought her eyes back to the golden prince. “Please, don’t say things like that.”

“I know what this illness does.” Baldair shifted uncomfortably. “Especially in adults who contract it with no history.”

“You will be fine,” Vhalla insisted bravely.

The outer door opened and closed again. Aldrik appeared in the inner doorway before anything else could be said.

He brought a tray, setting it down on his brother’s lap. “Will this do?”

“It’s perfect.” She nodded, appraising the soup and small roll of bread. “Now, Baldair, will you eat this or do I need to force feed it to you?”

“I’ll eat, I’ll eat,” he chuckled.

The golden prince ate slowly, and Vhalla and Aldrik both had to push him toward the end. But eventually the whole bowl and bread were consumed. He complained about it sitting uncomfortably, but Vhalla told him to stop moaning about what would make him better. It was followed up with a firm order to eat all of whatever the clerics put before him from then on, no matter how he felt. She could imagine the clerics going soft on the prince when he needed to be pushed.

They helped him lie back once more. The older brother supported the younger as she situated the pillows. Aldrik produced a potion for the cough, and Baldair took it without question. It coated his throat and took effect almost instantly. Baldair was asleep within a few minutes, and Vhalla suspected there might have also been deep sleep potion in the now empty vial.

Vhalla and Aldrik sat for a while, watching the golden prince rest.

“How is he?”

Vhalla turned her attention to the elder prince at his question. He was hunched over, his elbows on his thighs, his hands folded.

“When . . .” Vhalla took a deep breath, forcing herself to be brave. “When my mother fell ill, it took a week for the blood to set in. He’s not far.” She reached for the cloth, showing Aldrik.

“After the blood?” He looked from his brother’s red-tinged mucus to her.

“My mother.” She glanced back to the golden haired prince. “Three days.” She reached out to Baldair, placing her palm on his forehead lightly. “But she did not have clerics like you do here. Her fever was much higher by this point. We didn’t have a lot of good food either. If the clerics can keep the fever low, and he eats to keep his strength, I know he will fight it.”

Vhalla looked back to Aldrik. He had his face hidden in one hand, the other on his knee. Silent suffering summed him up so woefully perfectly. Her hand hovered in the air a brief moment before Vhalla brushed the skin on the back of the hand on his leg with her fingertips.

Aldrik’s face snapped up. His gaze was uncertain, but he did not move his hand away. The crown prince’s whole body was still and tense. Vhalla’s fingers slid and curled in a reassuring motion. His hand closed around hers with sudden force, and they did nothing but look at each other.

“I won’t leave again,” she whispered. “Whatever ill fate awaits us; I’ll wait for it with you.”

“I want you with me, always.” His other hand caressed the chain on her neck. “Even if you never need me again in the same way, I need you.”

His fingertips paused, the metal of the watch the only thing separating his hand from her chest. Aldrik took a deep breath. “I want to start over. Before the heartbreak, the anger, before the foolish words that were said, and before you knew the man I used to be.” His dark eyes pleaded with her, his voice breathy beneath his mask. “I want to go back to a time when I could teach you magic. I want the chance to treat you as I always should have.”

“I don’t think it works that way.” Her own mask hid her tired smile.

“We can make our own way; we always have.” Aldrik cupped her cheek boldly, and Vhalla didn’t stop him. “What have we to lose?”

“Everything?”

“Is that all?” His eyes were alight.

Vhalla gave into that joy for only a moment. Baldair wheezed in his sleep, reminding her where they were, what was happening. Her expression fell as she considered the ailing prince.

“Aldrik, promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“If anything ever happens to me . . .” She remembered Baldair’s words. How if she left Aldrik, and Baldair didn’t pull through, their future Emperor would be truly alone.

His hands suddenly gripped her shoulders, and the prince was half out of the chair, staring at her with a shocking intensity. “Nothing will happen to you.” Aldrik looked right through her, and Vhalla had no idea what he saw, but it terrified him. “I will not let it happen.”

“Aldrik . . .” Her brow furrowed in confusion, trying to figure out the source of the man’s panic.

He took a deep breath and seemed to remember himself once more. “I-I’m sorry.” Aldrik let her go quickly and rubbed his eyes.

“When was the last time you slept?” Vhalla asked him, standing.

“I catch some sleep when the clerics are in with him.”

Vhalla translated the Aldrik-speak to mean that it had been a long time. “Rest,” she demanded. “I’ll sit with Baldair ‘til dawn.”

She pushed Aldrik lightly toward the other room. Thankfully, he did not give much of a struggle, and he allowed her to herd him toward the couch he used as his makeshift bed during his brother’s illness. Aldrik laid down, pulling off his cloth mask, and dropping it onto the floor. Hooking a finger, she lowered her mask to drop around her neck since she would need it again in a moment. Vhalla situated the blanket over him.

“My prince,” she dropped to a knee at the side of the couch. Aldrik turned to look at her. Neither seemed to mind her method of addressing him. Vhalla resisted the urge to touch his face. She ignored the desire to run her fingers through his hair. “I don’t wish we could start over. Everything that happened, we made mistakes, but-but we loved, and I don’t regret that.”

His hand reached up and took hers at the edge of the blanket. His fingers intertwined with hers, and Vhalla’s heart stuck in her throat as she watched them lace together. “Fight at my side again?”

Vhalla nodded, not finding her voice. She didn’t know in what capacity he meant, but she could guess.

“I will be better. I will never push you away again,” he whispered.

“I’ll never let you,” Vhalla laughed softly.

“I vow to honor my promise to you, Vhalla.”

Her free hand rose to her watch, a look that affirmed she understood the promise he meant—his promise of a future together. “And I will mine.” Their promises still meant something.

Vhalla sat with him until his breathing slowed and his body relaxed. Her fingers remained entwined with his, and she watched him sleep. Maybe they would never again be the lovers they were—maybe they’d become something better. They’d both grown apart, and maybe they’d grown into the people they should’ve been all along.

Love was a simple emotion, Vhalla had learned. Once one experienced it, a person understood it, and there was no doubt when one felt it. If there was no doubt, then nothing would ever serve as a substitute.

Vhalla knew she understood love. Love was throwing herself into a sandstorm. Love was braving her darkest fears and battling her demons. Love was a blind dash through a Northern jungle. Love was hopeful words shared across a pillow in the darkness. Love was bravery and—perhaps most importantly—forgiveness.

VHALLA AWOKE BRIEFLY as her body was pulled against Aldrik’s chest. She felt his arm slide around her shoulders, the other slip under her knees. The sensation of weightlessness fluttered across her stomach as he hoisted her easily into the air.

With her head tucked in the crook of his neck, he carried her from where she had fallen asleep at her post in Baldair’s room into the main sitting area. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but she had underestimated her continuing exhaustion from extensive crystal work. At least she was a light sleeper and could have easily woken to action if Baldair had a fit or needed something.

Aldrik laid her down gently. Vhalla smelled him against the pillow and nuzzled her face into it. A blanket, still warm from his body, was gingerly lifted over her form and tucked around her. Her hand reached upward and found his, in a complete reversal of how they had been earlier.

He stopped all movement and intertwined his fingers with hers once more. Vhalla wasn’t certain exactly what every touch meant yet, but she knew how they made her feel. She knew all the wrongs in the world that seemed to be bearable by knowing he was near her once more. The unsettled sickness, one that had plagued her stomach so long that it had begun to feel natural, finally quieted.

Slipping his long fingers into her hair, Aldrik stroked her head gently. Vhalla nuzzled deeper into the warmth and comfort that surrounded her. Eventually his motion ceased, and she felt his hands pull away.

“Don’t stop,” she murmured in sleep.

“If it pleases,” his voice was deep and throaty when he whispered, and Vhalla smiled tiredly at the sound as much as the words. His fingers returned to her hair, and she sighed contently, remembering every time on the march she had fallen asleep to the feeling after practicing her Projection.

Vhalla drifted back into a deep slumber without ever opening her eyes.

Coughing woke her, and she peered between her eyelashes. The brightness of the room pulled her into wakefulness, jolting her upright in a moment. Looking around, her panic was briefly quelled by the absence of anyone else in the room. It was certainly past sunrise, but the world was still quiet. She carefully folded the blanket and placed it at the end of the couch, resting the pillow on top.

More coughing accompanied her steps toward the bedroom. Aldrik sat at the bedside looking rather determined with a spoon in one hand and a bowl in the other. Baldair wore a stubborn glare. She rolled her eyes at the scene before her.

“I told him he needs to eat.” Aldrik glanced at her. She saw a glint of amusement in his eyes at the familiar sight of her trying to tame her morning hair. “Vhalla, your mask.”

“Your brother is right, Baldair.” Vhalla yawned and pulled the fabric from around her neck to her nose and mouth. “You told me you’d eat everything.”

“Vhalla?” Baldair’s shoulders lurched as he continued to cough. “I don’t recall giving you permission to sleep in my room.”

“She stayed on order of the crown prince,” Aldrik proclaimed with mock haughtiness. “You said it yourself, you have a new cleric.” His dark eyes flicked back to her, and Vhalla shook her head in amusement.

“Don’t tell me.” Shades of a healthy Baldair returned as he wheezed for breath. “You two did the do on my couch.”

Aldrik visibly paled, Baldair smirked, and Vhalla’s laughter rang out throughout the room.

“If by ‘the do,’ you mean slept. Yes, we did.” Baldair blinked at her as she crossed to her place at the edge of his bed. “And before you get any ideas or form any assumptions, it was not at the same time.”

Vhalla grabbed a roll of bread off the table—Aldrik had continued to make safe choices with food. She tore off a hunk and, as Baldair opened his mouth for some retort, she unceremoniously shoved in the mass of food. Baldair looked at her in shock as he was forced to chew through the soft piece of bread.

“Now eat, oh golden prince.” She grinned.

“Don’t—” Baldair chewed. “Don’t think that when I’m well—” He coughed again. “—I won’t get you back for these indiscretions against the crown.”

“Take it up with the crown prince.” She tore off another piece and forced it into the younger prince’s mouth with a satisfied grin at his frustration. “I hear he has a wicked temper.”

“Oh, I am certain there could be a fitting punishment administered.” Aldrik crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair, content to let her assume the duty of feeding his brother.

Vhalla glanced at him from the corners of her eyes, a sly smile hidden by the mask at the coy nature of the crown prince in a good mood.

“Getting sick will be the death of me,” Baldair cleared his throat.

“Don’t say that,” she insisted gently.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” The prince coughed, barely managing to keep the food down. “I only meant it in that my being sick has clearly reunited you both, and that is a fact that may be detrimental to my health for many years to come. And I don’t need to be fed like some invalid.”

Baldair rolled his eyes and snatched the bowl and spoon from her hands. He coughed and sputtered, spilling some. Vhalla stood to clean it up, and Aldrik did the same. He passed her a cloth rag from the table next to Baldair’s bed for his coughing. Their fingers touched briefly. Vhalla looked up at the dark haired prince, their eyes met, and her heart did a strange beat.

Saying nothing, she turned and cleaned up the small spill, ignoring the embarrassment of an apologetic Baldair. She smiled tiredly at the younger prince. Nothing could possibly happen to Baldair, she mentally insisted. He was too well cared for and too strong.

“You should go, Vhalla.”

“So soon?” Baldair objected like a child. “Can’t we just say I invited her?”

“Brother, it’s for the best. Her presence would raise too many questions.” Aldrik glanced at her. “I don’t want us to make her life difficult.”

Vhalla knew it was for the best, but at the same time, she was done hiding what she wanted. She simply had to figure out her next move alongside Aldrik. A similar turmoil was written on the prince’s face, and Vhalla knew there would be words over what their future would hold sooner rather than later.

“Tonight?” she proposed. “Could I come back after the clerics have left?”

“That’s—” Baldair digressed into coughing that cut all words short. He was forced to simply nod.

“Tonight then,” Aldrik agreed.

“Perhaps we could play carcivi.” She was certain the prince could have a dozen carcivi boards crafted and delivered before the day was out if he didn’t already have one. “Something to stimulate your mind a bit.”

“It’s better than Aldrik’s suggestions of books.”

Vhalla laughed. “Well then, carcivi it is. I’ll be back to beat you wickedly, so eat your food, drink your potions, and get rest. I don’t want to let you have the excuse of illness for your loss.”

“Ha! We will see who beats who!”

“We should go.” Aldrik’s palm fell on the small of her back. “Before the clerics come.”

“See you, Baldair.” Vhalla gave him a small wave as Aldrik closed the door behind them. She crossed over to the bar that had been turned into a medical supply stand and removed her mask completely. “He seems better.”

“He usually is after company,” Aldrik agreed.

“The Golden Guard?” she guessed and Aldrik affirmed. “You should send for them, then. I think they are quite worried.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Aldrik mumbled.

Vhalla beamed brightly, for in Aldrik language, that meant he was about to throw around the weight of the scary crown prince on his brother’s behalf.

“Wait a moment.”

Holding up his hand, he cracked open the door and took a glance down the hallway. Aldrik opened the door halfway, gliding across to his own room. He fit a key into the lock and unlocked it with a soft click. One more glance, and he was motioning for her to join him. Vhalla eased closed Baldair’s door and slipped into the safety of Aldrik’s haven as he shut out the world.

In the daytime, she could appreciate the stunning nature of his quarters. Vhalla looked up, and she lost all breath. A staircase wound up the far wall to a landing that looped around the circular room. There were more staircases and ladders leading up to additional landings and levels of books. She looked up into the roof area of one of the golden spires she had admired from below so many times, only to discover that it held Aldrik’s personal library.

“Aldrik,” she breathed, walking into the room. The white marble floor was covered with a large, circular black rug that almost took up the whole space. There were two leather chaises near a couch that was reminiscent of the Crossroads and a desk with chairs to the right side. “This is yours?”

“It is.” His expression was unreadable.

“It’s—” she fumbled for words. Vhalla felt dizzy at the notion. Aldrik took a step forward to stand at her shoulder, holding his breath for her review. “Amazing.”

“Would you like to see the rest of it?” he asked softly.

“The rest of it?” Vhalla blinked up at him.

Three doors lead out from his initial sitting room. One he had led her through the night before—his bedroom. The second went into a smaller, cozy office. Vhalla realized the large, dark stained desk in the main room was just for show as she could immediately tell that this office was reserved for his real work. Papers littered the surface in an order only he understood. There was a smaller bookshelf that contained stacks of titles he’d squirreled away for immediate reference.

Vhalla paused. Tentatively, her fingers reached up to a stack of books that rested to the side of the middle shelf. She took one off the top of the stack. Aldrik said nothing as she opened it. Vhalla looked down at handwriting she knew very well.

Earthen magic tends to have deep roots.

The magic can take days or months to remove.

Remove carefully, please, or shock.

Please live. Earthen, magic, can,

create, please live, sensitivity to cold,

please live - or hot - please live, plaese lvei plselav pl-

Her writing had started neat and tidy but digressed into scribbles. She placed the book down and grabbed the next one. Her note from long ago, when she was doing research on that fateful rainy night, fell out. Vhalla leaned down and picked it up off the floor. It was much the same, though her writing was even messier. She returned it and grabbed the third book. Her note wasn’t even legible.

Vhalla looked back at Aldrik, speechless. He had told her what had happened that night. But to see the actual vessels themselves, the ones that carried her magic to him and formed their Bond, brought a whole sense of world-shaking reality that she had not experienced before.

“I wanted to keep them.” He gently took the book from her hands and returned it with care to the shelf. He considered the stack of books that saved his life. “They are very precious to me.”

“I still have all your notes,” Vhalla confessed. “They’re in my wardrobe.”

“I assumed you would have thrown them away.” Vhalla saw through the thin veil of indifference he threw over the words.

“I thought about it,” she admitted. “But I couldn’t. They, too, are very precious to me.”

“Yours are in the bottom drawer of my desk.” Aldrik shared a smile. “I look at them from time to time to remind myself of how foolish you were.”

“Oh?” Vhalla laughed in relaxed amusement. “Perhaps I should look at yours to remind myself of how much of an ass you are.”

“As if you need a reminder,” he snorted. It sent her into a fit of laughter.

Vhalla walked around the room, her amusement fading into a bright smile. He did not stop her, and he did not deny her access to anything. The most private man in the world allowed her to lift papers, open drawers, nose through books and more. Vhalla shifted aside the numbers of the Imperial coffers to look at some reports from ministers. He leaned against the bookshelf as she shuffled through them.

“The Minister of Coin didn’t agree to half of the funding for the Festival of the Sun this year?” She blinked at Aldrik. She had no idea, missing it during her time away. “Why?”

“He’s trying to rein in the spending,” Aldrik explained. “We have a lot of soldiers still on retainer. After my demand of spending at least half of the spoils from war on rebuilding the North, we didn’t come back with as much.”

Vhalla stared at him, her mouth halfway open. Her words, those had been her words when she demanded of him to help the North. “Why are you helping them still?”

“You know why.” The words were gentle, thoughtful.

“They’re conspiring to kill your father,” Vhalla reminded him.

“Hardly surprising. And I have no doubt that half the North would do the same if given the chance.” Aldrik looked over the papers and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment to collect his thoughts. “But the people of the North didn’t start that war, and I cannot blame them for hating the man who did; just as I cannot and will not punish them for it.”

Admiration swelled her chest, competing in space with pride for her prince. He was making hard decisions and fighting for peace at the same time. Some would call him foolish for it, but she chose to describe it as noble. Vhalla put the papers back in order, averting her eyes. “I suppose I can see the Minister of Coin’s concerns, then.”

“Shall we move on?”

He led her back into the main room and through to another room. It opened into a smaller space that was clearly more lived in than the first. It was a room designed for casual entertaining, but Vhalla couldn’t imagine Aldrik taking many visitors. Her eyes fell on a bar that stood barren.

“I haven’t touched it in months,” he admitted as shame deepened the prince’s voice. “I couldn’t. I promised you I wouldn’t and then . . .”

Vhalla watched the prince struggle to continue, neither stopping nor encouraging.

“Then I decided I wouldn’t let it have the better of me. I couldn’t stop quitting.”

She took a half step into his personal space, tilting her head to catch the prince’s gaze where it had fallen on a corner of the room. The lump in his neck bobbed as he swallowed hard, awaiting her judgment.

“I’m proud of you,” Vhalla whispered. “I know your struggles.”

“Better than anyone.”

Vhalla stepped away, avoiding becoming too engulfed by his essence. Her eyes scanned the rest of the room, darting over a carcivi board, across another bookshelf, and to the hearth. Around the crackling flame was a low area built into the floor with pillows and a low table in the style she had come to associate with the traditional West. Papers littered this table as well, a looser script across them. Vhalla instinctively walked over, curious.

“Not those,” he said suddenly. She stopped, surprised. He had let her nib through the Empire’s secrets, but would not let her see what was on those papers.

“Aldrik, secrets,” she reminded him, unconcerned if it was or wasn’t her place anymore.

“Not yet.” His expression softened a fraction. “I’m working through it. I’ll tell you when I’ve written them all.”

“Them all?” Vhalla repeated.

“Yes, my parrot.” The term now brought a smile to her lips. Something dawned on him, and Aldrik suddenly sported a wide grin. “Come, I wish to see something.”

Aldrik led her through yet another door that emptied into a throughway with his bedroom on one end and had a third door into his bathing room—which was as large as a small house—and his closet. No, closet was a loose term. It was an open space with racks of clothes and glass cabinets as big as people—cabinets that displayed gems, jewels, and fine trimmings of the crown prince.

Vhalla ran her fingers along the glass. The jewels weren’t tempting in the slightest. They were cold and meaningless.

“Aldrik.”

He hummed in reply, fumbling through a cabinet.

“When your father made me a lady, the gold . . .”

The prince paused, staring at her for a long moment, trying to read her expression. “I told you in the North, I wanted to shower you with the trappings the world had so woefully denied my giving you before.”

“I thought it may be something like that.” Vhalla laughed softly, turning back to the gems.

“Do you see something you like?” Aldrik asked over her shoulder.

“Not really.” There were women who would die to be in her position. Vhalla knew she could point at any of the shining jewels, and Aldrik would give it to her without a thought.

“How about this?”

She gave him her attention, her eyes quickly falling to the golden circlet he held in his hands. Vhalla remembered taking a similar, larger crown off the prince’s brow during the first night he’d held her, during their dance. Aldrik searched her expression, waiting, his message clear.

“Don’t do this,” Vhalla cautioned. “Don’t do this to us.” He was going to shatter the fragile peace. He was going to throw them into chaos again. The madness they always devolved into. She didn’t know if she was ready to take that leap just yet.

“I want to save us.” The prince stood in limbo. “I want to find a way to honor our promises in more than shadow. You said the princess conspired for my father’s life? I’m trying to find proof, to have her—at the least—removed from being my bride.”

“She must be!” Vhalla’s voice cracked and fractured. “She must be, Aldrik.” Her hands gripped his and the crown he was holding. “She must wear this or you condemn countless more lives to death. Even though she conspires and everyone knows it, it changes nothing . . .”

“If I could find a way,” he whispered.

“You can’t.”

“Believe in me!” Aldrik’s voice rose by a fraction before softening. “I have crawled out of deeper holes this past year. Believe I can do this, because if you will be by my side, I will let nothing stop me.” He took a deep breath and continued his earlier thought. “If I could find a way to keep the peace and allow us to be together, would you still take me? Would you forgive me? Would you want me?”

Vhalla bit her lip, containing her cry of, “Yes!” She pressed her eyes closed. He spoke of escaping pits, but they were about to be thrown back into one if they did this. He was risking everything.

“Vhalla, you are the dawn at the end of a seemingly endless night, and I never showed you enough appreciation for the essential part of my life that you are.” He leaned forward and caught her eyes.

“That’s not true.” She shook her head.

“It is,” Aldrik insisted, his tone suggesting how he would feel about further objections. “I kept you too far, and I let you slip from between my fingers. At the end of it all, I do not blame the Northern girl or my father, I blame myself for not being enough of a man at the moment I gave you the papers decreeing your nobility; instead of severing our relationship I should have taken you into my arms and comforted you, promised you that I would find a solution if you only stayed by my side. I should have never been the person I was that drove you to, alone, walk out of those camp doors.”

“I wish I could hate you, you frustrating man,” she breathed hopelessly.

“And I wish I could stop loving you, my frustrating woman,” he laughed. It was an equally hopeless sound. “I wish I could see the sun rise without thinking of how beautiful you are in the dawn, your hair an impossible mess and your body contorted in that weird way you call sleeping.”

He shook his head and stared up at the heavens, as if beseeching the Mother for help. “I wish I could go to my rose garden without thinking of sitting there with you, of reading, of just . . . just hearing you breathe.”

Vhalla’s back pressed against the cases.

“I wish I could see you smile without thinking of how it feels when your lips make that shape against mine.” Aldrik braced himself with a hand by her shoulder. “I wish I was not utterly, hopelessly in love with you, Vhalla Yarl.”

“But you are,” she finished for him, searching the prince’s expression.

“But I am,” he repeated. “And I have promised myself that if I was ever privileged enough to be in your grace again, I would hold you closer to all that I am, more than I have ever held anyone or anything before—that I would never lose you again.”

“What do you want from me?” She already knew, and she had long since given it to him.

“I need to know what you still feel for me.” He swallowed, his words becoming thick and heavy. “Tell me truthfully, what is your heart’s design? Do you still see me as the man who is wandering lost in his own darkness?” His breath quivered. “Or . . . could we, could you, see me as the man that I want to be and try to be every morning?”

Vhalla stared into the darkness of his eyes. Absorbing them, falling into them, into him. They’d been ensnared in a labyrinth of eternal night. Finding each other again didn’t mean absolution; if anything, it likely meant they may be trapped forever.

But it would mean they were together.

It would mean the long hands that slowly lowered the golden circlet atop her hair would seek her out. It would mean that the blazing sun that burned away their fantasies of the night would be a little more bearable. It would be torture. But it would be the most beautiful torture they had ever known.

“I love you, Aldrik, and I always will.” He leaned forward, and Vhalla stopped his progress with two palms, flat on his chest. “I love you, I respect you . . . and I respect myself. And, because of that, I will not become the other woman. I will not let you take me when you are engaged to another.”

Aldrik stared at her, stunned as though he didn’t understand what she was saying.

“If you find a way, Aldrik. Yes.” Vhalla enjoyed the feeling of his chest, his heartbeat, his breathing, underneath her palms once more. “But before then, we are no more or less than we are now.”

VHALLA NEVER DID talk to Aldrik about the crystals. He’d returned her to the Tower hallway after a somewhat begrudging acceptance of her condition. Their conversation put everything else far from her mind.

Vhalla groaned softly at herself, rubbing her now barren forehead. What were they doing?

“Vhal . . .” Fritz nudged her shoulder for the second time. Vhalla blinked and looked at him. “What’s the matter?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, it’s nothing.”

“You’ve been wandering away from the world today.”

“I haven’t moved from this spot all morning.” She motioned to the table they worked at in the library.

“Exactly, you’re like a statue. You’ve been on that page for over an hour.” Fritz flipped the book closed and glanced around the mostly empty library. “Talk to me.”

“Fritz,” she groaned, sitting back in her chair and burying her face in her hands.

Her friend grabbed her wrists, pulling her palms from her eyes and replacing them with his gaze. Worry marred the usual laughter that lit Fritz’s eyes. Vhalla relaxed, and he shifted her hands into his, holding them tightly.

“Vhal, I’m not Larel, I don’t magically know the depths of the human heart with a glance at someone’s eyes. So talk to me.”

She opened her mouth and choked on the truth. Fritz let her work through the lump of confessions that had been building for months. “I’ve been working on crystals.”

“What?” His grip went slack, but he didn’t let go of her.

“Victor and I are working to put an end to the caverns, once and for all.”

Fritz blinked as his mind struggled to process what she was saying. “That’s . . . not possible.”

“It is. It has a heart, and we know how to get to it and destroy it.”

“No . . . Vhal, no. This, this is dangerous.”

“My existence is dangerous,” she countered hastily. “As long as I, a known Windwalker, and the caverns exist, there is danger. Either I need to be removed or the caverns do.”

“Well, I’m glad you picked the caverns.” Fritz grinned weakly. “I can’t believe Victor is letting you do this . . .”

“He has years of research. He’s been working toward this for a long time in secret, he’s just needed someone like me.”

Fritz frowned. “Doesn’t it seem a little weird that he was developing a plan for someone that might not have ever come to be? I’ve heard some of the teachers speak on his theories and opinions of sorcerers in society. They make him sound like he can be a bit radical. Plus, he couldn’t have known the Windwalkers would return.”

“People always make plans for things that may never come to pass.” Vhalla bit her tongue on the truth of Windwalkers. Without knowing the truth about it all, she could see how Victor’s musings could come off as a little intense to the average person.

“I don’t like it, Vhal. Every time someone goes into those caves, it results in something bad,” her friend insisted.

Vhalla wished it didn’t, but her friends concerns did put the conversation she overheard between Victor and the Emperor back in her mind. “Has the minister ever done anything to make you suspicious?”

“Me, personally? Not really . . . I just don’t like the caverns, and I don’t like that you’re mixed up in something bad. Again.” Fritz leaned back in his chair, staring at her hopelessly. “Vhalla Yarl, you’re going to worry me to death.”

“I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to worry,” she mumbled guiltily.

“I’m glad you did though.” Fritz squeezed her knee. “When is all this happening?”

“I don’t know . . . It was supposed to be before winter was over, but now . . .” Her mind returned to Baldair and Aldrik—the reasons why she hadn’t found the strength to return to Victor that morning.

“Now . . . what?” Fritz studied her carefully. “What else are you involved in?”

Vhalla glanced away. Baldair’s condition wasn’t common knowledge. She wouldn’t lie, but she wasn’t going to share it either—it wasn’t her place. Beyond that, she wanted to keep it out of people’s minds. As if by more knowing, it would condemn him to a horrible fate.

“Vhal . . .” Fritz pressured.

“Aldrik.” Her guilt snuck out as a quiet confession.

“Vhal, you can’t, you mean . . .” Fritz leaned forward, struggling to keep his voice no louder than hasty whispers. “Vhalla, he is engaged.”

“I know!” She shook her head. “It’s not right though. His bride conspires against him, against his family.”

“Her wrongs do not absolve you of yours.” Fritz was gentle, but his words hit her as hard as a battering ram.

“We haven’t done anything untoward.” Physically at least, though Vhalla was certain confessing love and intent edged up to or crossed quite a few lines. “Aldrik is going to find a way.”

“What way?” Fritz frowned. “Think through this. What could he possibly do? Kill her?”

“What? No!” She was aghast. “He wouldn’t.”

“If you have proof she’s treasonous, why not?” Fritz countered.

“Do you think so little of him?”

“I think he’s had to do worse things to achieve his ends.” Fritz wasn’t wrong, which only made Vhalla feel worse. “Would you want to be with him, if that’s what it took?”

“No . . .” Vhalla slumped in her chair, hating the world. For a brief moment she almost wondered if it would be better if she went off to the caves and never came back. She should’ve never stayed in the palace. “What should I do?”

“Not be the illicit lover of our engaged sovereign,” Fritz replied easily.

Vhalla shot him a glare. “We’ve done nothing physical.”

“Infidelity of the heart to some is a greater crime than infidelity of the flesh,” Fritz countered, and then sighed heavily. “Vhal, I know you love him,” he relented. “But think about what you’re doing.”

Thinking about it wasn’t hard. It weighed on her mind for the rest of the day and into the night when she returned to the library to look for the prince. He had no books today. Aldrik waited, hands folded across his chest and his mouth curling into a satisfied grin the moment he saw her.

Vhalla could feel her face betray her, listening to her heart over her head, as it mirrored his expression. He looked more himself than the previous day. His clothes were tailored and fitted, tucked in and buttoned up. His hair fixed.

“My lady.” He pushed away from the table he’d been leaning against and held out a hand.

“My prince.” She took his fingers as if by trance. Their terms of endearment rang sweetly in her mind.

Aldrik gripped her hand tightly, pulling her to him. Vhalla almost stumbled at the sudden movement, but the prince was quick to catch her, one hand on her hip, the other buried in her hair.

“Oh, Vhalla.” Her name was a low growl resonating up from his chest, which sent goosebumps over her arms. Aldrik pulled away, smirking at her flush. The arrogant royal knew exactly what he was doing to her. “I missed you.”

“Aldrik . . .” Her voice was almost pleading, though she wasn’t sure what she pleaded for.

“Come.” If Aldrik knew what she was begging him for, he wasn’t about to give it.

Aldrik led her boldly, hand in hand, down the Tower. One person seeing them together would be enough to set people to talking. Walking hand in hand? Vhalla had no idea what that would incite. She looked at each door that they passed, waiting for someone to catch them. Her fingers nervously closed tighter around his.

Baldair was coughing as they entered his room, and all the magic that filled her chest at the nearness of Aldrik vanished with each of his wheezes and gasps for air.

“How is he today?” she whispered.

“Saw Erion and Jax for a while, until the clerics removed them so he could rest. But that only made him inquire after you. So he must be feeling better.” Aldrik gave her a hopeful smile and affirmed the reason for his more jovial nature. Vhalla accepted the cloth he handed her for her nose and mouth. His fingers fell upon the fabric as she tied it to her face. “I’m certain he will come out of this.”

“I thought I heard—” Baldair coughed from the doorway of his bedroom. “Talking,” he finally finished, managing to slip out a breathless word.

The butterflies Aldrik’s happiness had been breeding in Vhalla’s stomach lost their wings as she saw the golden prince grabbing the doorframe for support. Coughs heaved his shoulders, and Baldair put a hand around his upper stomach where his ribs were. He winced in-between every relentless attack of the disease that plagued his body.

“Baldair.” Aldrik’s smile fleeted from his eyes. “You should not be out of bed.”

“Ah, you would like me to soil myself then, dear brother?” Baldair jested. “Perhaps I should, then insist you be the one to clean my sheets.”

“Don’t threaten the person who brings you company twice in one day,” Aldrik retorted. He walked over to his brother and held out his arms. “Let me help you back to the bed?”

“I can do it just fine on my own,” Baldair insisted.

Vhalla gave a faint smile at the princes’ stubborn kinship. Aldrik did not end up helping his brother to the bed, but he was there adjusting the younger prince’s pillows and helping with the covers as Baldair collapsed in a fit of coughing. The elder prince then crossed over to the side of the room.

“Vhalla, help me with this?”

She went to Aldrik’s aide, helping him maneuver a small table made at the perfect height to sit between the chair and the bed. It was perfect enough that Vhalla suspected, with a note of sorrow, that it had likely been commissioned during the prince’s illness. She sat herself in one of the waiting chairs, pulling up her feet.

“Is that any way for a lady to sit?” Aldrik teased.

“I am a lady, and I am sitting this way; therefore, yes.” Vhalla nodded her head to underscore her response.

“I can’t refute such sound logic.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, standing behind her chair.

“Oh, brother, I think the lady promised me a game of carcivi.” Baldair glanced at Aldrik, a slightly odd inflection padding his words. “Will you go get the nice marble one you use?”

“You have plenty of boards here.” Aldrik pushed off Vhalla’s shoulders lightly, starting for the door.

“But I like yours.” Baldair called between coughs as Aldrik shook his head, closing the door behind him.

Vhalla smiled faintly at the prince’s departure, turning back to Baldair. “How do you feel?”

“Oh, I’m managing.” Baldair gave her a weak smile. “It’s nice to have visitors other than Aldrik. Not that his company isn’t a bundle of sunshine.”

“He’s not so bad, and you know it.”

“Small doses,” Baldair wheezed.

“He said you had Erion and Jax here today?”

“I did. Seems as though they are doing a good job of managing the guard.” Baldair settled into his pillows. “They said you were joining them as well.”

“I’ve tried to lend a hand,” Vhalla affirmed.

“I appreciate it, really I do.” The prince paused for a long moment. “Do you want to join the guard, Vhalla?”

She considered it. “I don’t think I’d say no. Erion, Jax, Daniel, Craig, even Raylynn, they all feel like family already.”

“But?” He picked up on her pause.

“But . . .” Vhalla didn’t know where her hesitation stemmed from. A sense of direction was pulling at her, telling her that the Golden Guard was not what she was meant to be.

“What do you want, Vhalla?”

“Freedom, peace,” she breathed longingly. Her mind drifted over the Knights of Jadar, the Emperor, the War in the North. War, bloodshed, turmoil—it seemed her world had been punctuated by them since she was a girl. Before she really saw it all for what it was. “I think real peace begets freedom. So, more than anything, I want peace.”

“What do you want,” Baldair emphasized. “Not for the Empire, for you.”

Vhalla thought about it a long moment. “Peace, still?”

“Will you ever find it when my brother marries his Northern bride?” She stiffened instantly at the younger prince’s soft words. “What will you do then? Will you always wonder what could have been?”

“Why are you asking this?” Vhalla looked to the door, praying Aldrik would walk in and save her.

“I need to know.”

“Why?”

“Because I told you something in that very room,” Baldair replied with a nod at the door with a tired smile, evoking memories of the day he taught her to dance. “I told you that you deserved some sort of real thanks for your service to the Empire, and it fell to me to give it to you. If anyone deserves peace, Vhalla, it’s you.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” She grabbed the watch around her neck tightly, her heart aching.

Baldair’s eyes focused on the token she held, but his inquiry remained. “Indulge me one question, and I’ll ask nothing more. Would you be with him still, after everything? Does love spring eternal between you both?”

“I—” She relented and didn’t push the ailing prince further. “It does. I would stand at his side until my dying day.” Vhalla shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. “It doesn’t matter. We’re not, we can’t be anything because my peace, as you call it, isn’t worth the Empire’s.”

“They don’t have to be exclusive.” Baldair leaned forward, squeezing her hand. He opened his mouth to speak again but devolved into an aggressive coughing fit. Vhalla was up, rubbing the back of the younger prince when Aldrik returned almost immediately after.

Aldrik placed the carcivi board on the table. Vhalla assumed her previous seat, beginning to pull out alabaster tokens from a garnet colored bag. Unlike the carcivi boards she’d used before, these had small sculptures of the warriors, archers, and sorcerers on them.

“It’s weird.” Vhalla paused, staring at two sorcerer tokens. “I never thought about it before; all sorcerers have the same range. . . . But a Groundbreaker would need to attack much closer than a Firebearer.”

Baldair burst out with laughter that dissolved once more into coughing. It sounded wetter. “Brother, didn’t you have the same argument with me once?”

“Perhaps.” Amusement lit Aldrik’s eyes; his mask hiding the grin Vhalla knew was there.

“You two would think alike,” Baldair chuckled.

“Would we?” Aldrik pulled away the partition in the middle of their board, revealing the full field of play to Vhalla and Baldair.

“She’s the only one who’s ever been able to stand you. It makes perfect sense.” Baldair smirked.

“Brother, your words just warm my heart,” Aldrik muttered.

“As if you have one,” the younger prince said in obvious jest.

“You are quite right,” Aldrik agreed. Baldair paused to look at his brother curiously. “I gave it away long ago.”

The golden prince wheezed in amusement, his eyes fluttering partway closed.

“Baldair, it’s getting late. Perhaps we shouldn’t begin a game,” Vhalla suggested thoughtfully.

“What? And miss out on this beating that I was promised from you?” Baldair’s brave smile looked exhausted.

“You’re sure?”

“Now I just think you’re scared.” Vhalla watched as he made his first move, using it as an opportunity to assess his condition. The prince was worn thin, his cheeks looked more hollowed than yesterday. His skin was almost translucent.

“Perhaps I am a little scared,” Vhalla remarked. Aldrik glanced at her, and Vhalla held his stare from the corners of her eyes. For once, he seemed to miss her nonverbal concerns.

“My brother favors the direct approach, if that surprises you,” Aldrik commented on the board instead. “Don’t be looking for subtlety or finesse.”

“Do you play?” Vhalla tried to ignore the worrying panic creeping up her spine.

“To whom do you speak, my lady?” Aldrik smirked at her foolish question.

Vhalla rolled her eyes at the elder prince.

“Brother, I am truly glad I was able to see this.” Baldair smiled weakly, countering Vhalla’s move.

“See what?” Vhalla heard the caution in Aldrik’s voice. After all this time, he still withdrew when it came to publically acknowledging things that made him happy.

“Seeing you acting like a normal man.” Baldair gave his brother a tired but affectionate smile. “It has given me hope for you.”

Aldrik looked away in awkward bashfulness.

“When I get better,” Baldair wheezed. “I agree.”

The crown prince snapped his head back to his brother. Vhalla blinked at the sudden intensity to his eyes. She had no idea what they were talking about. He took a sharp breath.

“Do you mean it?” Aldrik’s voice quivered with anticipation, or excitement.

Whatever it was, she clearly wasn’t meant to understand. Rather than pressing the matter, Vhalla pretended to consider her move so the princes could have their moment.

“I do.” Baldair nodded. Aldrik seemed to be utterly baffled. He fought for words. “Brother, just-just be happy for once.” Baldair leaned back on his pillows.

“Thank you.” Aldrik jumped to his feet. He hovered awkwardly a moment.

Vhalla realized her presence had been completely forgotten. The elder brother took one step, then another to kneel down at his brother’s bedside. Vhalla watched him take Baldair’s hand and hold it tightly.

“Thank you,” Aldrik repeated, his voice soft.

Baldair gave him a familial and loving smile that held for a long moment. “Come now, Aldrik.” Baldair grinned and sat forward again. “Don’t get all weird.” He punctuated the end of the moment by taking his turn on the carcivi board.

Vhalla tried to focus on the board as Aldrik resumed his seat. But something felt different, and she was forced to pretend to not notice the princes’ glances. Whatever had just happened between them was a genuine moment that felt like both men were no longer interested in waging war, that they were one team. The last thing she wanted to do was break such a fragile, yet welcome, calm between them by pointing it out.

“You’re not even making this a challenge for me,” Vhalla teased, knocking out two of his warrior tokens with a sorcerer token.

“I don’t think a sorcerer should be allowed to play with their own tokens,” Baldair mumbled.

“Then you’d remove all the warriors from your side of the board?” Aldrik smirked.

“Oh right.” Baldair coughed. “You’d want-want—”

Baldair’s shoulders lurched as he leaned forward to make his move. Vhalla watched in horror at the moment that the prince’s eyes widened in surprise at the blood that she knew suddenly filled his throat. The crimson liquid spilled out, splattering across the board and the table.

“Brother!” Aldrik exclaimed, on his feet.

“Aldrik!” Vhalla snapped. “Don’t touch him!” Aldrik stopped mid-step, like an animal before the hunter’s bow. “The blood will get you sick far easier than breathing his air. Let me, I’ve had the fever before. Go get the clerics.”

She moved without thought. Vhalla grabbed the clerics’ rags, wiping Baldair, her hand around the prince’s shoulders, feeling the tremors that signified another cough. The younger prince shuddered and coughed into her waiting hand. The fabric was saturated and as she reached for another rag, Baldair coughed a crimson puddle into her lap.

“Aldrik.” Her rough voice snapped the elder prince back from his horror. “I can’t, I won’t leave him like this. Get the cleric you trust most who won’t say anything about my being here.” Vhalla took a deep breath through her nose, forcing herself to remain calm through the memories of being covered in her mother’s blood. “Now! Aldrik, now!”

The crown prince ran from the room, and Vhalla turned back to Baldair. She wiped his mouth, moving her clean hand from his back to his forehead. He was burning alive. “Sit back on your pillows.”

“Vhalla,” he wheezed.

“I know, it’s an awful taste, isn’t it?” She allowed him to slump into her. “Try stay upright, it comes up easier that way.”

“I-I’ve been worse . . .” Baldair gave her a foolish grin. It would’ve been more convincing if he didn’t have blood dribbling down his chin.

“Don’t talk, it’ll only aggravate the coughing.” Vhalla tried to sound brave as she took another attempt at cleaning his face. “I know being quiet is hard for you.”

The door to the outer room slammed open and shut again. Hasty footsteps made their way to the bedroom door, and a man with graying hair and bushy eyebrows darted into the room. He fearlessly set his clerical box down upon the table, sending the carcivi pieces scattering. Vhalla stood, giving him room to access Baldair.

“Excuse me, Lady Vhalla.” The man stepped around her. “Prince Aldrik, I will need you to fetch the full team.”

“With haste.” Aldrik’s voice was level, but his eyes betrayed his panic for his younger brother, who began coughing again.

Vhalla followed him out of Baldair’s room, dripping a trail of blood onto the pristine carpet. She took two steps for every one of Aldrik’s long strides and still fell behind.

“Wait for me here,” he whispered, ushering her into his room.

“Go help him,” Vhalla encouraged bravely.

“Wash, get the blood off you before it can infect you. Help yourself to whatever you may need.” Aldrik looked fearfully at the crimson stains on her lap and sides.

“I will. Now go.”

Aldrik needed no further prompting. He stepped back into the hallway, locking the door behind him.

Vhalla stepped back into the room and took a deep breath. Her inhale was weak. Her exhale quivered. She turned and sprinted for the bathroom. She had to wash it away.

She leaned over the side of the large, golden tub in Aldrik’s bathing room, turning on only the faucet for hot water. It came out steaming, and Vhalla nearly burned her hands in it. The blood fell in large droplets down onto the floor of the tub. Vhalla rung her hands even after they were clean.

Putting in the stopper, she stripped off her soiled clothing and tossed it into a corner of the marble-tiled room with a cry. The night air was icy on her bare skin as Vhalla plunged herself into the water, still shivering.

Her mother had been thinner, she had been weaker. They didn’t have the food or the medicine available to Baldair. He would be all right.

Not once, in all her racing thoughts, did she give note to the fact that she was naked in the crown prince’s chambers. All her contemplations circled around how hot Baldair’s forehead had felt, how much blood had come up. Vhalla began to scrub, going over her skin until it was raw, as if she could wash away the memories.

Aldrik still wasn’t back by the time her bathwater began to cool, and Vhalla emerged numb to the dull gray world. She pulled a drying cloth over her shoulders before she raided his dressing chambers. Many women would’ve been satisfied with just one of his oversized shirts as a dress, but Vhalla never felt comfortable without wearing some kind of trouser or legging.

Awkwardly dressed, she wandered listlessly to his bedroom. His bed was large enough for three people, and it was extraordinarily comfortable. In that moment, it could’ve been made of rocks and felt the same. Vhalla bundled herself beneath the blankets, shivering against the cold until she fell into a restless sleep.

Long fingers buried themselves in her hair, the bed shifting to accommodate a weight at her side. The scent of the blankets, the heat of the man next to her, the familiar tingle under his fingertips, it reminded her where she was and who was gently pulling her from sleep.

“Aldrik.” Vhalla sat, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms. The sound of coughing filled her ears and the smell of smoke, sweat, leather, and Aldrik on the sheets was replaced with the tangy metallic aroma of blood that still lingered in her nose. “How is Baldair?”

“The clerics say my annoying little brother is presently stable.”

There wasn’t any bite to Aldrik’s words. “They’ll be staying with him around the clock now. About time.”

Vhalla saw Aldrik’s mannerisms for what they were: a retreat. He was withdrawing into the temperamental indifferent front he’d always used to keep out the world, to hide his emotions. A deep sorrow settled into her chest for her fearful prince.

“I swear, Baldair just wants to make a show of this.” Aldrik shook his head. “Always, always the showman, that Baldair. He wants all the attention, as if he hasn’t had it. He just—he loves when—he loves when people are fawning over him.”

Aldrik’s words became weaker as he rambled on. Vhalla looked on in torment. It was a pain she knew so well, and yet she couldn’t do anything to lessen it. Saying nothing, she took both of Aldrik’s hands in hers.

“The clerics say he can still make it,” Aldrik finally added, after a short silence. “Elecia should be here soon, too.”

“Elecia?” Vhalla asked, surprised. Last she’d heard, Aldrik’s cousin wasn’t coming until spring.

“I called for her when Baldair fell ill. If she could heal me after the North, she’ll make quick work of Baldair and then complain to me for years for bringing her to the South during the winter. Between her and the clerics, he has to make it.” Aldrik allowed himself a tired, fragile smile.

“They don’t want me going in anymore. They say it’s too much of a risk now that it has progressed this far.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, it’s not as if I wanted to be there in the first place,” he said begrudgingly. “Why would I want to spend more time with my loud, annoying little brother? I was only there because my father insists on having morons in his staff. No one else was watching him, so I had to, right? They should have been there from the start. Complete, utter incompetence . . .”

Vhalla squeezed his hands lightly, and let him hide behind the security of his jabs. She knew just as well as he did the real reason why he had been in his brother’s room. She knew from the moment she had seen a pillow and blanket on Baldair’s couch.

“Speaking of incompetent nitwits, I should bring you back to the fools who run my Tower.” He stood and swayed from exhaustion.

“Will you be all right without me?” Vhalla braved the question. Leaving was the appropriate thing to do, but worry changed the rules.

He sighed, running a hand over his hair, trying to tame the stray pieces that escaped over the events of the evening into place. “I’m always all right.”

“No.” She stood as well to bring a palm to his cheek. His mask broke under her touch. “Don’t hide from me, my prince.”

“Vhalla, please,” he pleaded, his voice thin and strained. “Come back tomorrow?” He closed his eyes and tilted his head toward her hand. “I need you.”

“All you ever need to do is ask,” she whispered in thankful awe that he relented so quickly to accept whatever comfort she could offer.

“I’ll fetch you when I can,” Aldrik affirmed.

“I may be with the minister.”

He paused, searching her face. “You’re still working on crystals with him, aren’t you?”

“I am.” Vhalla didn’t even try to lie. “I’ve meant to speak with you further about it but . . .”

“I know, with my brother being how he is,” Aldrik agreed with a sigh. “Later, but soon. When Baldair is better, we need to speak on it.”

She was relieved he relented. Whatever the conversation would reveal, Vhalla already suspected it would be exhausting for the prince. Perhaps, if she played her cards right, she could have already closed the caverns for good by the time they had it.

Aldrik led her through the secret passageway behind his mirror. Vhalla returned to the Tower without a word. They’d moved past the point of words long ago. A look was all it took for them to communicate.

Into the night, he weighed on her thoughts. Vhalla tossed and turned in her small bed, a bed that suddenly was cold and uncomfortable and far too small. Exhausted, Vhalla finally relented and closed her eyes, slipping out of her body with ease.

Her Projected form was unhindered by doors and darkness. Unsurprisingly, she didn’t find him in his bed as she’d hoped. He was hunched over in front of his hearth, scribbling frantically on the papers that he’d hidden from her.

You need to sleep. Vhalla nearly startled the prince out of his skin.

“What are you doing?” He blinked at her ghost-like presence.

Making you take care of yourself.

“You’re so annoying, you know that?” he said after a long pause, the tiniest of smirks curling the corner of his lips.

Pot meet kettle. Go to bed, Aldrik. Vhalla was glad she returned. He was going to exhaust himself, which only increased the odds of him falling ill also.

Vhalla stayed with him until he crawled into bed, watching as his body relaxed, his brow softened. She waited until she saw her prince’s breathing deepen, telling her he was asleep. She lingered long after in the darkness, a silent sentry to the crown prince, until her body was too exhausted to maintain the Projection. She finally withdrew into a deep and dreamless sleep.

“ARE YOU FEELING all right?” Victor asked, glancing up from his workstation in the far corner of the room.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled.

The minister laughed. “Dear Vhalla, you don’t think I believe that for a moment, do you?” He crossed over to stand before her, blocking her view of the axe. The minister summoned her attention with a tap on the chin. “Tell me.”

Where should she start? The ailing Prince Baldair? The gray area she’d walked back into with the crown prince? Keeping crystal magic a secret?

“It’s nothing.” It was too much to tell.

“Vhalla, trust me. I cannot protect you if you shut me out.”

“I don’t need your protection,” she snapped. She was too tired and too weathered to be treated like a child.

“No?” the minister asked slowly. “If I were to dismiss you from the Tower, where would you go? Where could your safety be assured? Where could you remain out of the hands of the Knights of Jadar?”

“I handled myself when it came to the Knights.” Vhalla ignored the magic and still mysterious fire that was the catalyst for her escape.

“And Egmun?”

“Were you absent at the Sunlit Stage?” Her ability to manage the Senate should’ve been apparent.

“What about the Emperor?” Victor folded his arms over his chest. “When he demands you become a weapon in his war, what will you do to refuse him?”

Vhalla’s tongue was stilled. That required some thought. But she wasn’t exactly a novice at defending herself to the Emperor either.

“Perhaps you will use Aldrik for that?”

She was on her feet. “Are you threatening me?”

“By the Mother, no!” Victor held up his hands with a chuckle. “I simply want you to understand how this relationship works.”

“Which is?”

“That I have put all bets on you and your skill.” Victor placed a palm on her shoulder, squeezing it encouragingly. “That I know you will do what must be done in the caverns.”

“Thank you.” She pulled her shoulder away, not wanting to be touched by the minister.

“I think we’re both ready to put all this behind us,” Victor remarked thoughtfully. “How close are you to finishing the axe?”

“I just finished, actually,” she announced confidently.

“You did?” The minister paused in awe. “You’re certain?”

“I am.”

“Then we could set for the caverns tomorrow.” The minister turned, going back to his workstation where he was diligently tempering crystals he’d said would be necessary to access the heart of the caverns.

“Tomorrow.” All Vhalla thought of was the ailing Baldair, of leaving Aldrik alone when his brother was in such a fragile state. “Can it wait?”

The world seemed to hold its breath as the minister assessed her. “I thought you wanted this done as much as I do.”

“I do, but . . .”

“So why do you stall?” He scrutinized her once more.

“I have my reasons.” And she didn’t owe him any of them.

“You have one.” Victor held up a single finger, slowly pointing at the watch that rested under her tunic. “A man to whom you remain foolishly devoted, despite his hand being promised to another.”

“If you speak about Aldrik again—” Vhalla didn’t even think twice about the fact that she had just acknowledged the prince and her being devoted.

“A man who can throw you off a roof, build you up only to cast you aside.”

“Enough!” Vhalla cut her arm through the air. The breeze sent the papers on his desk fluttering to the floor, but Victor smiled in the face of the warning shot.

“A man who can hurt you.” He started for her. Vhalla’s heart was racing in the limbo of fight or flight. “A man who can break you, drive you to madness, only to have you running to his side at a word.”

“You know nothing about us,” she seethed. “Don’t come one step closer.”

Victor took that step, and Vhalla raised her hand. His arm was as fast as a viper, and his fingers closed around her wrist, crunching the tendons together. His grip was like ice.

“Vhalla,” he said in a dangerously soft voice, “you may be incredibly special to me, but never lash out at me again.”

A shiver coursed through her as his magic reached its icy tendrils into her veins. His magic was numbing, dulling. It was the antithesis to the life Aldrik’s exuded, and Vhalla loathed it instantly.

A knock prevented the moment from escalating further. The minister released her at the sound, and Vhalla rubbed her wrist with a shiver. He walked back to his desk, quickly scooping up the majority of the papers, stashing the axe, and smiling as though nothing had happened. “Enter.”

The door opened. Vhalla had never been happier to see the pair of dark eyes.

“My prince,” the minister spoke first. “To what do we owe the honor?”

“Forgive my intrusion.” Aldrik spoke but didn’t take his eyes off her. Vhalla could see him working through the silent messages she was sending him.

“Never an intrusion by the crown prince. Tea?”

Vhalla didn’t even recognize the man casually talking to the prince as the same man who had just stashed a legendary crystal weapon and threatened her outright.

“Not today,” Aldrik thankfully refused. “I need to steal the Lady Yarl for Imperial business.”

“Imperial business?” The minister smiled, glancing between them. “Sounds important.”

“My brother has requested her presence,” Aldrik explained. “You know Baldair and pretty girls.” Aldrik gave a smirk.

Vhalla kept her mouth from falling agape at how lightly he was mentioning his brother, given Baldair’s state.

“I certainly do.” The minister nodded, his body language clearly conveying that he knew there was much more beneath the surface. “We’ll speak again soon, Vhalla.”

“Please follow me, Lady Yarl.” Aldrik put on a stiff and formal front. If she didn’t know better, she would’ve thought he had no feelings toward her whatsoever.

Aldrik stepped out first. As he closed the door behind her, she caught a glimpse of the minister. He stood leaning against the back counter, stroking his goatee, a knowing grin on his mouth. Vhalla shook him from her mind, focusing on what was important.

“Baldair?” she asked softly, taking two hasty steps for every one of Aldrik’s long strides.

“I did not lie.” Aldrik looked forward and kept his voice low. “He has requested to see you.”

“What does that mean?”

“Where on the list would you like me to start?” Aldrik muttered. She shot him a look that caused him to sigh. She stopped at the usual door, but Aldrik shook his head. “Not there.”

“Then?” Vhalla asked as he continued down a bit more.

“Here.” Aldrik opened an unlocked and unmarked door, and they were plunged into one of the many secret passageways that led in and out of the Tower. “You are coming formally, not through the back door.”

Vhalla grabbed his hand. Aldrik stopped instantly at her touch. “You still haven’t told me what that means.”

“It means my father and Baldair’s mother know you are on your way.” Vhalla didn’t miss Aldrik acknowledging the Empress as only Baldair’s mother. “It means they know I am with you now, this very moment. It means you will have to endure the delicate dance that is my family, and who knows what that really ever means.” Aldrik swallowed and grimaced. “It means you are going to see the girl.”

“I already met her, remember?” Vhalla tried to sound brave, unbothered.

“Vhalla,” he sighed softly. Time stopped a moment as his fingers intertwined with hers. “They aren’t allowing me in still.”

“I figured.”

“It means, I will—I will be waiting in her company.” His tone was apologetic.

Vhalla laughed softly, looking down at their laced fingers. He apologized to her for time spent with his intended. She realized that however good they were struggling to be, some lines had already been crossed.

“It’s all right,” she whispered. “I figured you to do that a lot. Be in her company.”

“I don’t,” Aldrik breathed, and his other hand found her face. “I don’t want to.”

“We should go,” she reminded him.

Aldrik nodded reluctantly. His hand fell, but he allowed his fingers to remain entwined with hers until they departed through the castle-side door.

Vhalla was led in an upward direction. The staff hall gave way to a more public walkway. This opened into a larger hall that led upward to a pair of golden gates. They had a pattern of suns that were thin and delicate, like lace. Their purpose was clearly more metaphorical than functional, as they’d be useless at actually keeping out anyone trying to forcibly gain entry.

Two guards snapped to attention as Aldrik walked upward. His hands were folded behind his back, his shoulders were tall, and he was every inch the prince. Vhalla looked at him and could see her future Emperor. She had no doubt he would command respect, but she prayed he could do so with love more than fear.

“My prince.” The guards saluted in unison, hastily opening the gates.

“Lady Yarl, this way.” His voice was detached, and he hardly even glanced back at her.

She tried to play her part and look as uncomfortable as any average citizen would be in tow of the Fire Lord. It still behooved them both to conceal their affections.

They walked through the dazzling central atrium Baldair had led her through months ago, navigating down a side hall that Vhalla recognized instantly. Clerics passed them hastily, their hands laden with crimson rags that made her heart lodge in her throat.

Aldrik led with his cold and distant mask as he brought her into the hive of activity of Baldair’s sitting room. Clerics flitted about and mixed potions, but Vhalla’s eyes rested on the one outsider to the group.

The princess’s hair was tied atop her head with delicate white lace. The girl was swathed in the Imperial color, white fabric trimmed in gold flowing elegantly down to her feet. She turned from her place at the window when Vhalla entered. Sehra and Aldrik must have attended the same school for training their expressions, as her eyes gave nothing to Vhalla’s searching stare.

“Lady Yarl,” a cleric called for her attention. Vhalla jerked her eyes away from the princess before her stare could linger too long. “Thank you for coming. The prince personally requested to see you.”

“It’s hardly trouble. An honor to be called on by the family Solaris,” she replied dutifully. Vhalla’s eyes widened a moment; she recognized the gray hair and bushy eyebrows as the cleric who had come earlier to attend Baldair.

“You see, the prince is quite sick,” he explained as though it was Vhalla’s first time in the room. “We have been told you have contracted Autumn Fever before?”

She nodded. “I have.”

“Excellent; your risk is far lower then. Still, for your protection.” The man handed her a mask.

“I understand.” Vhalla tied the mask around her face adeptly.

“Given the prince’s condition, we ask that you limit your time. We do not want to exhaust him, so please try not to let him talk too much,” the cleric explained as they started for the door.

Aldrik settled himself on the couch, a book in his lap as though he hadn’t a care in the world.

The bedroom door opened suddenly to reveal the Empress. Vhalla saw the woman’s normally youthful radiance had been reduced to red and puffy eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was pulled into a single braid. She inspected Vhalla up and down.

“No one other than family,” she announced sharply.

“My Empress,” the cleric faltered. “The Lady Yarl was only brought here because of his direct request.”

She continued to block the doorway. “I did not hear such a request.”

“You had stepped out a moment,” the bushy-eyebrowed cleric explained.

“Isn’t it convenient that the request occurred then?” she murmured with a nasty look to the back of Aldrik’s head.

“I don’t want to make trouble.” Vhalla was sincere, which shone through enough that it made the woman pause. Vhalla could only imagine the pain the Empress was shouldering; now was not a time for Vhalla to insist on her pride. “I am more than happy to depart, if that is best.”

The woman opened her mouth to speak, only to be cut off by a tired wheezing. “Vhalla, don’t be crazy,” Baldair managed from the bed within. “My mother said only family. Clearly—” He coughed, and Vhalla heard the blood come up. “Clearly, the little sister I never had is included in that.”

The woman looked toward her son in shock, then back at Vhalla. A lot of eyes were on her at once, and Vhalla gripped her hands more tightly. Clearly Baldair’s condition had made him fearless, and Vhalla knew she had to also be so in order to give the prince what he was asking for.

Vhalla followed the Empress into the room, startled to see the Emperor on the opposite side of Baldair’s bed. The Empress assumed her seat next to her husband, and Vhalla awkwardly took the seat on the opposite side of the bed. She tried to ignore her sovereigns as much as possible, focusing on Baldair instead. His normally brilliant eyes were listless and dull.

“Come now, Vhalla.” He coughed. “Don’t give me those sad eyes.”

Her hands moved before a cleric could. Vhalla mindlessly picked up the cloth from his bedside table so she could blot the blood from the corner of his mouth gently without a thought, just as she had done for her mother.

“Forgive me, my prince.” She forced her voice to sound strong.

“Baldair,” he wheezed. “I don’t have time for pretense anymore.”

Vhalla finally glanced at the Emperor and Empress. She couldn’t make much from their expressions. The Emperor’s was hard and shut off. The Empress’s eyes glistened.

“Don’t say that, Baldair,” she whispered. Vhalla turned her eyes back to him, and the world went away. “Please don’t.”

“I know.” Baldair lifted his hand, and she took it gently. “I can feel it.” He coughed again, and a muffled whimper escaped her lips.

“No, no! You’re going to keep fighting. You’ve been eating right? I told you to keep eating and—” Vhalla blinked several times in quick succession, her eyes burning frustratingly.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you.” Baldair coughed again, and Vhalla’s hand quickly caught the blood. The other held his tightly.

She shook her head. “You-you’ve never disappointed me.”

“How foolish is it?” He leaned against his pillows. “The mighty golden prince, felled by a cold.”

“No.” All she could do was shake her head and refuse. It was a never-ending loop, refusal at the world, at fate. “No, Baldair, please. Don’t talk like this. You will get better, you will. My mother couldn’t because we didn’t have anything, because I couldn’t save her. But-but,” Vhalla took a shaky breath through her nose, her chest ached. “But they can save you.”

“Your mother?” Baldair asked softly.

Vhalla blinked. She wanted to laugh or cry, a strangled noise of pain was her body’s compromise. “I had the fever. So did my mother. I got better, she-she didn’t.” Vhalla hung her head. Before he could say anything else, she looked up suddenly, swinging between emotions. “But like I said, you are much stronger. You can keep fighting.”

“Oh, Vhalla . . .” Baldair looked at her sadly. “I am so sorry.”

She shook her head, knowing the cause of his guilt. He wouldn’t have a reason for it, she insisted to herself. He would get better.

He sighed softly. “I’m tired.”

“No.” Vhalla shook her head. She was completely oblivious to the clerics around her, the hovering healers who did not know how to react to her proximity and actions toward healing the dying man whom she clung to. She did not see the looks from the Emperor or Empress. All she saw was the golden haired prince, the heartbreaker, wasting away from an evil that could not be fought with swords or arrows or wind. “Please, please . . .”

“Do you remember . . . when we met?” Baldair breathed. “You were . . . so . . . jumpy.” He laughed, which only lead to more coughing.

“My prince, please,” a cleric finally pleaded.

Baldair shook his head at them and continued, “You had, you have still, a beautiful heart, Vhalla. I’m glad I somehow found a place in it. You healed things, things I didn’t think could be healed. I don’t think I have spoken as much to my brother in years as I have in these past months. I am thankful for it.”

He spoke of her healing things, but she couldn’t heal what mattered. She couldn’t escape the curse of her existence that threatened to consume everyone and everything she loved. Vhalla clung onto him and his words.

“Tell him—they don’t let him in here now—tell him I am sorry, I don’t think I’ll live up to our agreement.” Baldair coughed again.

“It’s fine,” she whispered. It didn’t matter whatever the brothers had agreed. “Aldrik just wants you well.” Vhalla had completely forgotten herself as she used the name of the crown prince loosely, without title.

“I know he does,” Baldair confessed. “I love that idiot brother of mine. Will you tell him that for me?”

“You will tell him yourself,” she insisted. Vhalla threw a bold look to the Emperor and Empress. There should be a fourth. There was another soul who needed to be present more than she did.

“Don’t change,” Baldair continued on. “Don’t let the world change you.”

“Stop saying goodbye!” Her voice was louder than she intended it to be. “Don’t you do this! I did not come here for this!”

“Vhalla, please.” He coughed again, and she was right back to tending to him. “Listen. They do not see you for what you are. Or perhaps, they see you only for what you are upon the surface. Don’t let them define you.”

Vhalla shifted her clean palm to his forehead as Baldair’s eyes fluttered closed. Beads of sweat dotted his skin.

“He needs more fever reducer,” Vhalla observed aloud.

The cleric shook her head. “We can’t give him anymore.”

“Then cool him with water.” Her mind drifted back to the icy feeling Victor had put in her veins earlier. “Are any of you sorcerers? Waterrunners?” They all shook their heads. Aldrik was right, they were all incompetent. “Then get someone from the Tower!”

“Who are you to order our clerics?” The Empress’s voice was shrill and thin.

“I am the woman who is going to try anything I’ve ever seen or read to save your son’s life,” Vhalla proclaimed with ferocity. “Because clearly no one else will step up to the task and try whatever needs to be tried.”

“It is a method common folk use in situations without medicine.” Bushy eyebrows stroked his chin. “Go, tell the crown prince.” A cleric raced out of the room.

“Vhalla,” Baldair chuckled weakly. “You’re scary when you let your ferocity show—a little twister.”

“Don’t talk too much,” she whispered softly and ran her hand through his hair. “Save your strength. Elecia is coming, did you know that? She’s so strong, Baldair. She will fix you, I know it.”

Coughing was his only response, and Vhalla clutched his hand all the tighter.

Vhalla shouldn’t have been surprised when Victor was the one to appear not long after. A mask around his mouth and nose, he walked into the room with purpose. A short briefing from the clerics, a once-over of Baldair, and he set to work. For an hour, the minister lightly cooled the prince’s skin, each time colder than the last to not send his body into shock all at once. Vhalla retracted all negative thoughts she had on Victor, mentally sending a sincere apology—if he could save Baldair. She’d do whatever the man wanted if he healed Baldair. Eventually, nothing more could be done, and the sorcerer departed.

Baldair shivered. “It’s too cold.”

“You need it to be,” Vhalla soothed gently. “It won’t work if it’s not.”

“Vhalla, let me rest?” he asked.

“No, not now . . .” It was the third time he’d asked. “Stay awake, stay with us.”

His fever was down, thanks to her idea, and it had allowed enough time to lapse that the clerics could give him another round of potions. Baldair struggled to swallow. The first batch he coughed up, and Vhalla was the one to clean up the mix of blood and potion off his chest. She was going to fight. She was going to lead him by her example.

“Do you remember when I got in trouble on the march?” Vhalla said softly as she cleaned his collarbone and neck. “Grun, he really hated me, didn’t he? I guess a lot of them did. They were afraid.”

“They didn’t know you yet.” Baldair looked at her from under drooping eyelids.

“I suppose not,” she agreed.

“They didn’t know how . . . strong . . . the little girl from the library was.” Baldair struggled to keep in a cough.

“No, let the blood come up,” she insisted. “Or you’ll choke.”

He obliged her, and Vhalla set to cleaning again, covered in his blood.

“Vhalla, I am tired,” he reminded her.

“Don’t sleep yet,” she begged again and looked across to the Emperor and Empress. While Vhalla knew they’d never acknowledge it, her presence had saved them from being in the position of calling the shots around their dying son. How she hated her sovereigns. But this wasn’t about her. “Tell your mother about your favorite memory with her. Tell your father what the best thing he taught you was. Tell them how much you love them.”

Vhalla remained as Baldair spoke, cleaning up the blood and helping the clerics shift the prince as he needed. She heard the story of the first time he went riding with his father. She saw the Emperor affectionately put a hand on his son’s shoulder. She bore witness to the Heartbreaker Prince apologizing to his mother for never feeling like settling down with any woman she approved of.

Baldair told them everything a son could say to their parents, and then some. He made confessions. He reminisced. He told them of his love.

But something was still missing.

“Can Aldrik please come, just for a moment?” she asked softly. “He should be here.”

“No,” the Emperor’s voice responded sternly. “The health of the crown prince cannot be risked.”

“Just for a moment, please.” Vhalla looked at the blue-eyed man across from her. She braced herself to go against what she believed, that appealing to his humanity was foolish. “He’s your son. He’s Baldair’s brother. He should be—he needs to be here. Don’t do this to him. Don’t make him live without this moment.”

The Emperor regarded her thoughtfully.

“My Lord Solaris, this isn’t about you or me.” She remembered how adamantly the man had gone against her on principle in the North. “This is only about your sons.”

“Bring Aldrik in,” he commanded suddenly. “But only for a moment.”

Baldair looked at his father in shock, and Vhalla gave a breath of relief. A cleric left and returned soon after with a cautiously stunned Aldrik in tow.

“My prince.” The cleric paused their step a bit away from the bed as Vhalla was about to stand and give him her chair. “Do not go any closer, for your health.”

“Baldair.” Aldrik managed. His voice sounded as though he’d been screaming for hours, even though the man hadn’t said a word.

“Aldrik.” Baldair struggled to sit higher.

“Always the center of attention, aren’t you?”

Vhalla heard the crack of emotion to the crown prince’s voice.

“Annoying little brother, ‘til the end.”

“You are stronger than this,” Aldrik admonished.

“I know,” Baldair wheezed. “I am, aren’t I? Isn’t that what’s frustrating about it all?”

“You don’t lose,” Aldrik insisted.

“Not normally.” Baldair had a tired grin again. “Brother, I never got to finish paying back what I owe to you.”

“You are debt free.” Aldrik shifted his hands awkwardly as though he was trying to keep from fidgeting. “Get better, that’s all I ask.”

“We should go, my prince.” The cleric turned at a nod from the Emperor.

“Aldrik!” Baldair struggled to sit fully upright. The dark haired prince turned and looked at his younger brother. They couldn’t be more different while still needing the same things. “Aldrik, I love you, brother. I always have, even if I’ve been awful about it.”

There was a pregnant silence, one that Vhalla wanted to scream over at the unmoving crown prince. This was a moment that would live with him forever.

“I love you, too, Baldair,” Aldrik managed. It was awkward and forced.

Vhalla’s lips pressed together in a heartbreaking smile under her mask.

And the crown prince was ushered away.

The day turned to night, and Aldrik was not allowed back again. Vhalla tried everything she knew about medicine, from real life experience to what she’d read in books. She tried different ways of positioning him or pacing potions with food. She questioned the clerics on everything. But there was one thing that haunted her the whole day.

“Vhalla, thank you, for staying by my side.” His voice was little more than a breathless whisper. She knew the words were coming. “But I am tired now. I would like to rest.”

“No,” she choked out. Nothing was working. The inevitable truth that she had known from the moment she walked in the door crashed down around her. “You can’t . . . I won’t let you . . .”

“You tried so hard; you always do. You didn’t give up, even when everyone else had.” His hand found its way to her cheek. Vhalla didn’t care that blood smeared along with his touch. “Please, keep trying. Don’t give up. This world needs you, I feel it.”

“Baldair, no.” She was choking on her words again. “Let’s talk—”

“Fine.” He sighed softly, settling into his pillows. “Tell me about your home in the East.”

“It’s so boring, you don’t want to hear that.” Her forced laughter had a sharp edge, almost crazed.

“I do. Please?” he encouraged.

Vhalla sighed, stroking his hand with her thumbs. All she could think about in that oppressing moment was her mother, and Vhalla told him the story of the token her mother and she had crafted one year together, a token to bring a good harvest. They’d put their hearts and souls into making it before burying it in the field.

Baldair closed his eyes, and she stopped the moment she noticed.

“Baldair, you can’t fall asleep. I agreed because you were going to listen.” Vhalla nudged his shoulder. Her heart stopped and fell from her chest. “Baldair,” she repeated. “Baldair.”

The Emperor and Empress were on their feet. Clerics rushed in. She was finally, and literally, pushed aside. Vhalla looked at his lifeless form, at the soulless visage of the golden prince.

“Don’t go,” she whispered to the golden-haired man, stumbling a few steps backward. The clerics were talking, but she didn’t hear them. It was just wind in her ears. They were wiping blood from her hands and face and clothes, so much blood, but all Vhalla saw was the Empress burying her sobs in her hands as the Emperor took her into his arms. “Don’t go . . .”

Vhalla turned and stumbled for the door numbly. She couldn’t save him. He died, just as her mother had. She was helpless to change it. Her destiny was full of horrible history repeating itself, and her being forced to watch as it happened.

The princess still lingered, reading in a chair away from the group. Vhalla instantly despised the woman for her casual demeanor and relaxed expression. Her emerald eyes rose. Vhalla looked away quickly to hide her hate.

Aldrik was on his feet by the time their eyes met. Vhalla struggled with her mask, casting it aside. The clerics continued to struggle to get the blood off her, with mixed success. Noise, it was all noise. Aldrik’s eyes bore into her.

Vhalla broke under their weight.

“Aldrik, I-I-I am so sorry.” Her sobs came. Vhalla covered her mouth with her hand and hung her head. She fought for control. He needed her to be strong. She had to be.

Aldrik swayed, he stumbled. He hovered in the limbo that was living after death, a cage that was crafted by grief and imprisoned the heart. She heard a choked noise rise from his throat. Her head snapped up, and she looked up at him. His face twisted in torment. He struggled to keep his breathing under control.

Aldrik grabbed her hand and, before anyone could say anything, bolted for the door. Vhalla’s eyes caught the princess as the girl’s future husband dragged another woman from the room. Aldrik’s hand was already in his pocket for a key. His door across the hall was unlocked in a breath. He pulled her in and locked it again behind them, shutting out the world.

Aldrik let her go, and he brought the palms of his hands to his eyes. He leaned against the door and slid down into a ball on the floor. Vhalla’s own tears left rivulets down both her cheeks, falling onto the floor at his feet. His shoulders began to shudder.

“No,” he whimpered. “Baldair, you, no, you idiot!”

Aldrik’s voice cracked and broke. The tears came freely, and she watched as he allowed his composure to shatter. Vhalla turned, placing her back against the hard wood of the door, and slid down to meet him. There was no thought or second-guessing as she wrapped her arms around him and pulled her prince to her.

At first, he was a tense ball. But slowly his arms wrapped themselves around her waist. His head found her chest, situated away from the blood, and Aldrik sobbed into her as Vhalla cried softly into his hair.

They did not move from their spot. Not for the commotion that was being raised in the other room. Not for the footsteps that were in the hall. Not even for the Emperor’s angry cries and banging on the door at their backs.

It all only made them cling tighter to each other.

“ALDRIK.” THERE WAS more banging from the Emperor. “We will not make a scene of this. Open the door.”

Vhalla clutched the prince’s shoulders protectively. His face was pressed firmly against her upper chest and shoulder. She shifted, wrapping a leg around his.

“Grief can be maddening,” the Emperor attempted coolly. “I am certain your future wife would be happy to console you.”

Vhalla knew from the moment Aldrik had grabbed her that they were headed toward this moment. Vhalla took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar and comforting scent of eucalyptus. He had chosen her. And it had been a deliberate and public choice. Now, they would reap the consequences together.

Aldrik drew a slow breath.

“No.” She shook her head. “Don’t.” Vhalla whispered through her ragged breathing. “Just don’t say anything.”

Aldrik obliged.

They both jumped as the Emperor banged aggressively at the door behind them. Vhalla put her hands over his ears. Let him be, she thought to herself. Let him be, she prayed to the Mother above. If there was a Goddess or God, surely, they had to take pity on the grieving man she held in her arms.

Eventually, when shouting a few more times did not work, the Emperor stalked away. Silence did not greet them in his absence. Preparations were being made; she could hear the clerics calling to each other for cleaning, cleansing, and the handling of the body. Aldrik’s shoulders heaved; he let out a rough sob. Nothing else but the prince in her arms mattered right now.

“Baldair,” he panted softly. “My little brother, Vhalla, he’s dead. I wasn’t supposed to outlive him. I was supposed to be on my deathbed when he also was wrinkled and gray.”

Vhalla rubbed her eyes with her palm. His pain was worse than hers, which meant she had to be the strong one now. She had to be in control of herself.

“I was awful to him,” Aldrik sobbed. “I-I never, I never forgave him for so much. It didn’t matter, Vhalla. I don’t care about it all now.”

“I’m sure he knew,” she whispered softly, trying to find some stability in her voice.

“No,” Aldrik shook his head; she made a soft shhing noise. “He knew nothing. He knew nothing because I told him nothing. It wasn’t because he wouldn’t understand, or because it was safer for him not to know, or because he didn’t care, or any of the other reasons I told myself.

“It was because I simply did not tell him. I was too scared or too weak to let Baldair know that he was foremost my brother. That I loved him.” Aldrik pressed his face further into her. His forehead was uncomfortable against her collarbone, but she said nothing. “He never knew why I wore black. He never knew how badly I just wanted to be him, just for one moment. How jealous—by the Mother—I was jealous of my little brother for all the love and admiration he seemed to just have from birth. He never knew that I attempted . . . he never knew why . . .” Aldrik’s voice cut itself off with a pained groan.

Vhalla ran her fingers through his hair, not caring that she was messing up the appearance he had so carefully crafted for himself.

“Baldair loved you,” she tried to soothe her crown prince’s broken heart. “Despite all what may or may not be, he loved you.”

“He did not know me,” Aldrik spat.

“He knew you were his brother, and that was worth more than anything,” Vhalla replied firmly.

Aldrik’s weak retort was lost to tears. Vhalla kept one hand in his hair, the other stroking his back lightly. It hurt, the world hurt. It hurt to look, it hurt to breathe, it hurt to see. It hurt to be in the place where Baldair had been only an hour before. It hurt to admit that he was gone, forever. His golden hair and charming demeanor were gone from their lives—that hurt the most.

Eventually, Aldrik began to pull away. She heard him choke down waves of grief before they could slip through his lips, and he straightened away from where they had lain intertwined on the floor.

“He-he can’t be dead.” Suddenly, the prince was laughing. “This is a joke. This is all a joke.”

“Aldrik, I saw it . . . he’s gone.” Vhalla reached out to smooth hair away from his face, but he jerked away at her touch.

“Don’t lie to me!” the prince snarled. “Don’t you dare.”

“I’m not lying,” she pleaded, trying to grab for his hand.

Aldrik was on his feet, leaving Vhalla to try to scramble after him. “I’m going to see him.” Aldrik stilled, muttering to himself, “I’m going to see him, and he’ll laugh at me for believing his grand joke.”

“Aldrik, he’s gone.”

“I told you not to say that!” Aldrik yelled.

Vhalla flinched at his tone, and the involuntary movement brought the sharpness of sanity back to his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Aldrik.” Vhalla wiped her face, trying to keep her emotions under control. “If you need to see his body, I won’t stop you.” She stepped away from the door, gripping her tunic with trembling hands, the tunic that still had Baldair’s blood. “But I’m certain if you unlock that door, they will take me away—and who knows where, given the circumstances . . . They will make demands of you, and it’s too soon. It’s all right to grieve.”

“Damn it,” he cursed. “Damn you, Baldair!” The prince spun in place and unleashed the sound of raw frustration. His hands were alight in flame. “If you were going to die, you couldn’t just do it!”

“Aldrik, stop!” Vhalla cried as he lit the first piece of furniture aflame.

“Damn you to the Mother’s fiery justice for eternity, for giving me hope.” He threw out a hand and the flames jumped to the desk. “No, no! You got the last laugh in the end. Aldrik, the heartless prince, bared himself for you on your deathbed.”

“Aldrik, it wasn’t like that! You must know that!” she shouted, trying to reach the prince.

“You-you agreed to take the throne knowing it’d never come to pass!”

Her heart stopped. Baldair agreed to Aldrik abdicating his birthright to him?

“You gave me hope, you bastard!” Aldrik turned up his gaze, and the flames turned white hot.

Vhalla saw the dazzling library that spiraled above them, likely housing countless precious works, given their collector. She realized—in horror—that he was going to burn the books. She opened her Channel and took a deep breath.

Her clothing singed as the fire burned up his forearms and she threw her arms around him. The flames were warm, hotter than any other time they had ever tested their Bond. But the fire didn’t burn her. Vhalla clung to his waist, her face buried in his chest.

“Vhalla . . .” The flames vanished, and his arms crushed her against him. “Vhalla, I—I am a monster.”

He let her go suddenly, and she swayed without the support. Vhalla watched him listlessly take in the charred remains of the room. She knew he was replaying in his mind the acerbic words he’d just uttered against his brother.

“You’re not a monster,” she soothed gently. “Hurting, yes. Scared, yes. But not a monster.”

“Baldair died because of me . . . I am a curse to anyone who would ever dare care for me.”

“You’re not.” The way he cringed away when she approached him nearly broke her heart.

“Don’t, Vhalla. Don’t come near me, or I will curse you further.” Whatever madness grew in his heart that made him say those words had taken root there long ago. He believed it completely.

Vhalla moved with purpose, taking his face in both her hands and forcing him to look at her. “Aldrik, stop,” she demanded softly. “Don’t push me away, don’t even try. The opportunity for it came and went; I didn’t take it. You promised you wouldn’t.”

“And you promised not to let me,” he whispered in reply. His hands went up to hers, and Vhalla saw his eyes glisten once more. Tears spilled over his high cheeks and onto her fingers. “You don’t know.”

“I don’t know what?”

Aldrik swayed and took her hand. He led her purposefully into the other room, seating her between the hearth and the low table at their backs. Vhalla made it a point not to look at the papers scattered upon it.

Flames sparked to life in the fireplace, and Aldrik looked to them for answers. “Where do I start with this?”

“We don’t have to do this now.” Whatever it was, it seemed to be the source of great pain for him, which was the last thing he needed.

“We do,” he insisted. “Baldair, brother of my flesh, died and never knew the truth. I won’t let the same happen to you.”

“I’m not going to die, at least not for a long time.” She attempted a reassuring smile.

“I have seen it.”

“Seen what?”

“Your death.” Aldrik looked at her as though she was already swathed in burning cloth for the Rite of Sunset.

“What?” The word was little more than a breath.

“I have seen it, but I will do all I can to prevent it.” His hands were on her face, as if reminding himself that she was real. “I will fight the Mother herself to keep you safe.”

“You’re not making any sense . . .” That fact didn’t make her any less frightened.

“I saw it in a dream.”

“It’s small wonder your dreams are consumed with death, with Baldair as he was.” Vhalla had her fair share of nights consumed with death.

“They’re not just dreams.” The shadow of fear darkened his expression. “Vhalla, I can see your future.”

“What? That makes no sense.”

“Firebearers can see the future in flames.”

“I know, but you’re not looking in flames.” She shook her head, his hands falling onto her thighs. She didn’t want to think of future tellers. “You never told me you could see the future.”

“I couldn’t.” Aldrik emphasized the past tense. “I don’t look through the flames. I look through our Bond.”

“They’re just dreams,” she insisted weakly.

“Oh? Like your dreams are always ‘just’ dreams?” Aldrik’s voice found a touch of annoyance. “Do you have any idea how difficult this is for me to tell you? Why would I lie or paint a falsehood? I’m telling you because I’m scared. The crown prince of the realm is terrified. As much as it burns me to say it, I will because I need you to believe me. I’m not going to lose you.”

Vhalla opened and closed her mouth like a fish above water, fighting for words.

Aldrik turned back to the table, pushing together the papers. He spent a moment shuffling them in his hands before beginning to display them on the floor. He paired one piece of parchment with one another, and Vhalla instinctually began to skim their contents.

“I don’t know exactly when it started . . .” he sighed. Despite being stressful, the action seemed to help him continue to move in the wake of his brother’s death. “But logically, it would’ve been after the Joining, since that’s when your dreams began.”

“How are you not sure?” Vhalla whispered, giving him her attention rather than trying to read the papers.

“I’ve dreamt about you for so long.” His hands ran over her, memorizing her shape again and again. “It wasn’t easy for me to tell what were my own wants or paranoia, and what were premonitions.”

“If you dream so much, there would certainly be a chance for some of it to come true, right?” Vhalla thought aloud.

“For months, that’s what I thought. It wasn’t until our last meeting in the garden that I put together that they may be more. When you actually came without my explaining, when you looked as I dreamt, when you said verbatim what I had seen.”

“Are you real . . .” Vhalla repeated his former words, her eyes growing wide.

Aldrik nodded solemnly. “After that, I set to writing it down. Every dream I could remember with you in it, in as much detail as I could manage. The premonitions are normally hazy, and I can see little beyond you. That helped me narrow it down some . . .” He motioned to the piles. “But I wrote them all, just in case.”

Her eyes skimmed the papers, mirroring his own gaze as he struggled with words for a moment. Riding in the desert, she read the lines at the start of each page, blood on her face, reading together in the library, a crown upon her beautiful hair, writhing on the floor, dancing at a gala, holding hands on the Sunlit Stage, first child . . .

Vhalla reached out and took the paper from where he’d sorted it, and Aldrik didn’t object.

She is radiant, even when she has every right to be exhausted. Hair clings to the sweat that’s on her brow, and she is tired—I can see she is. But her smile is so brilliant, she is goodness incarnate. She’s reclining in a bed, though I cannot discern where it is or who else may be there. It is bright though, and warm. She’s reaching out to me, her mouth is moving, and I know what she is asking for. I look down, and perhaps it is the most perfect sight I have ever seen. The tuff of hair upon the babe’s head is black, though he has her eyes: bright, inquisitive, and almost yellow. He has more her than me in him, I can feel it, and I am so thankful for it. I pass him to her, and she seems almost afraid. I move to kiss her. There is nothing to be scared of. I will protect them both.

The words became more difficult to read as the paper quivered in her trembling fingers. Vhalla blinked her eyes. Her emotions were too wild to handle this. She curled into a ball, clutching the paper to her chest. Aldrik’s arms were around her shoulders, and she wept into her knees, not caring for the folds or wrinkles it put in the parchment.

This was what he’d been silently enduring for months. Each night he went to sleep, he risked a dream. He risked seeing joy, he risked seeing pain. Vhalla realized it was far worse than seeing his memories. Those were cemented in history. But, for Aldrik, the brightest hope could be torture because it may be a guiding light or a false beacon.

“You say you are a curse, but I’m the one who’s cursed you. To torture you with such visions.” Even before he’d realized his dreams held the future, she knew they would’ve caused him the rainbow of agony to ecstasy, depending on their subject.

“Hush,” he demanded. “Do you know how often I sleep wishing to see something like the paper you hold? It’s been the only thing that’s allowed me to sleep some nights. It’s the only thing that gave me the courage to ask you to be mine.” His long fingers wrapped around the watch at her neck.

“You’re sure?”

“I am.” He coaxed the paper from her hands and began to show her the sets he’d created of his dreams against records of events that had come to pass. His moments of confidence suddenly made more sense. She knew why he had so much faith in getting her to the front as Serien, why he’d easily refused her advances for something more at the last campsite before the North, how he’d known he could accomplish making her a lady. Even if the details were blurry, and the means of it all happening was slightly off, it matched dream to reality.

“Did you know, about—” Vhalla swallowed hard and risked the name, “—Baldair?”

“I didn’t.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maybe, maybe I saw something. But I only ever see you. Perhaps it’s because I don’t possess general future sight?”

“My death?” The word was like a curse upon her lips.

“I don’t know,” Aldrik groaned. “I haven’t even written it down, I couldn’t manage with—” his voice quivered, and he drew a shaky breath, “—with Baldair.”

His hands were on her again. They ran down her cheeks onto her neck. They were over her shoulders, intertwining his fingers with hers and back again. As though he was assuring himself that she wasn’t some phantom, that it wasn’t one of his dreams.

“I saw you bleeding. You had a gash from your shoulder to your chest.” His forehead fell against hers. “I can’t lose you. I-I lost my brother, I won’t lose you. Baldair is gone, by the Mother, Baldair is gone. If I lost you, Vhalla, I would have no one, nothing.”

Aldrik pulled her back to him, and she realized how his grief was beginning to manifest. It fed off his paranoia, his mistrust of the world. If he wasn’t prepared to do anything to protect her before, he was now.

“You won’t lose me,” she assured him.

“I never thought I’d lose Baldair.” He was crying again, she realized. “Oh, Gods, Baldair. I am cursed: my mother could not escape, Baldair could not escape, and I will damn you, too.”

“Enough of that.” Vhalla struggled to pry herself far enough away from his chest to catch his eyes. “You didn’t damn anyone.”

“My mother did not die in childbirth.”

“What?” Every book she had ever read, everything she had ever heard, had said such to be true.

“She died shortly after. The explanation of death in the birthing bed was easier than the truth.” Aldrik rubbed his eyes tiredly, withdrawing physically. “Isn’t that how it always is, a beautiful simple lie over the ugly truth?”

“I’ve come to prefer the latter.” Vhalla rested a palm on his knee. “Tell me later; this is too much for one day.”

“No.” He was focused on the dancing flames. “I need to tell you. I did not tell Baldair, now I never will. I need to tell you, Vhalla. I need to do things right for once in my miserable life.”

“Aldrik, please,” she begged.

“Listen, Vhalla, let me tell you what I should’ve before you let the Empire’s accursed monster into your bed.”

“THE WEST FELL, and most did not want it to go down gracefully,” Aldrik began.

“The Knights of Jadar?” Vhalla asked tentatively, wondering if she’d finally fill in the curious blanks of the histories she’d been trying to sift through for months.

“Just so.” There was the ghost of appreciation for her haunting his eyes. “They loathed my mother’s family for kneeling before Solaris. Most of all, they loathed my mother for marrying my father.

“My uncle tells me that, in her way, she loved my father for his conquest. When he speaks of her, he tells me she was as beautiful as a rose with thorns twice as sharp. My mother had never been bested in combat before, which made my father enthralling, despite the unusual circumstances under which they met.” Aldrik shook his head. “It wasn’t until I was engaged to the Northern girl I thought about how impossible my parents’ love was.

“After the Knights disowned my family, they used their knowledge of the caverns to prepare a plot to drive out Solaris, to purge the Western court of all those who were no longer loyal to ‘King Jadar’s Ideals.’” Aldrik scowled. “They stole the Sword of Jadar. My mother’s father had told her where he had hidden it, and she discovered it missing within hours of my birth.”

Vhalla remembered her conversation with Ophain; the lord had mentioned the sword had gone missing, but he so carefully left out the truth of the matter.

Aldrik shifted uncomfortably and continued, “My mother left. She never even told my father where she was going. She disappeared into the night on the fastest War-strider and raced without rest to the caves, despite still recovering from the pains and blood loss of labor.”

Vhalla grimaced at the thought.

“She confronted the Knights before they could penetrate into the heart of the caverns.” Aldrik paused, blinking away shining tears. “She was alone, but she used the Knight’s knowledge against them. She was a Western princess and had access to Mhashan’s crimson history. She Bound her will with the crystals; she gave everything to block the Knights with a barrier of her magic. Even when they killed her, the barrier held.”

“How do you know all this?”

“She left a letter,” he answered. “When she went missing, my family went searching through the palace, keeping things hush before a search party was sent. I suppose there were places that she and her sisters would share, secrets with notes. My mother hid a letter in one such place. By the time they knew, it was too late.”

“Why didn’t she let someone else go?” Vhalla frowned. “Why did she run off?” Vhalla omitted what she really wanted to know. Why had Aldrik’s mother left her newborn son?

But he heard it. “Who knows, really? I suppose she was magically the strongest. She knew she would be stopped by anyone she told. Perhaps she knew the route the best. Perhaps she had researched it best. If it had been me, and I had something I desperately wanted to protect, I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do what must be done. The Knights were at all levels of Western society. She could have been assassinated by telling the wrong person while trying to mobilize a force, and then it would be far too late.”

Aldrik paused and looked at her with sudden clarity. Vhalla realized that, for the first time, he understood what his mother had felt. She glanced at the paper she had clutched longingly, a mother, a father, and their child. Aldrik’s eyes betrayed his resolve; he was prepared to do the same for her and a child who may never even come into existence.

“If your mother gave her life to form the barrier,” Vhalla thought aloud, “how do you know about it? She couldn’t have left word about what actually transpired in the caverns.”

His expression darkened, and Aldrik looked away, cursing under his breath. “Vhalla, I am sorry.”

“Sorry? For what?”

“For taking your father from you all those years.” He winced.

“What?” She blinked.

“For taking all those mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers from their homes. I didn’t know, I wouldn’t have . . .” He sounded like a boy pleading to a parent for forgiveness. “I didn’t know how much it hurt to lose someone you truly loved. It was my fault.”

“What was?” she asked gently, deciding arguing would be more stressful for him.

“The war.” Aldrik swallowed. “The War of the Crystal Caverns was my fault.”

“What?” Vhalla breathed, dazed and confused. “How? No, Aldrik, I’m sure . . . You’re just guilt ridden right now. Everything isn’t your fault. Even your mother. She didn’t die because of you, she died because of insane xenophobes.”

“It is!” The fire in the hearth flared, emphasizing Aldrik’s wild emotions. “He told me that I was powerful, like my mother—that I would be great. I didn’t know the whole truth, and I believed him. He told me that I could serve my country, help my family. That I would be loved, more than my brother ever was, more than any prince, king, or emperor ever would be.”

Vhalla opened her mouth, struggling for a word in his almost angry tirade.

“I was a fool, a boy. I was innocent, wide-eyed. And, like the idiot I was, I believed him.” Aldrik cursed at himself. “I believed him because I wanted to. Because I did not yet know the world was full of liars and deceivers. But I should have known, I was too smart not to know.”

“Who is ‘him’?” Something sunk heavy in her stomach.

“Egmun.”

“What did the bastard do to you?” Vhalla struggled to control her rage, her anger.

“Nothing I didn’t ask for myself.” Aldrik hung his head.

“I don’t understand,” she confessed, wishing she did so he would not have to endure another moment of the conversation.

“He didn’t even choose me, not at first. I’m sure I would have been high on his list, but being the prince, I was a liability to his goals. Too many eyes on me, too much risk someone would find out.” Aldrik fell back onto the pillows limply.

“Find out what?” Vhalla asked.

“He was fascinated by the caverns, and he wanted to learn their secrets.”

“For power?” she interjected.

“I don’t think so . . .” Aldrik mused softly. “Egmun was never really like that. He was addicted to knowledge. It was beyond liking books or memorizing facts. He wanted to push the boundaries. He did not just want to know, he wanted to be the first to know. He wanted to discover, and each discovery was a drug stronger than any other. Even if he held all the power in the world, it would have bored him after the initial rush, I think.”

Vhalla reclined on the pillows as well, too exhausted by the conversation to sit another moment.

“Egmun chose Victor.”

“Victor?”

“Indeed. But because he was my mentor, I was eventually brought in on it, too.” Aldrik sighed. “I thought—I saw the crystals as the pinnacle of what it meant to be a sorcerer: to handle them, to wield them, to control them.

“Egmun taught us both.” The prince stared at his hands. “He put crystals in our palms, he took notes, and he taught us what he knew. Victor had been at it longer than I had, but I took to it like a fish to water. I knew power, and I did not want to relinquish it. Egmun was an amazing teacher, really. He was charismatic, enthusiastic, encouraging. He wanted to watch us excel and to learn from us. I had a taste, and I was hungry and wanted more; however much he gave me wasn’t enough. It was never enough.”

“But, crystal corruption?” Vhalla asked.

“He was careful, or tried to be,” Aldrik addressed her concern. “He would only let us handle them every few days. Victor was the first to show signs of sickness though. Then we turned into test subjects without realizing it. Victor was constantly pushed to the limit to determine how much he could endure. Looking back, it was wild, it was reckless, and it was amazing Victor did not end up corrupted with taint.”

Vhalla remembered Victor’s notebook. It was all true.

“Egmun knew. Of course, he knew. The man knew everything, even beyond what was written in books. If there was a secret whispered on someone’s lips, it would find its way to him. Maybe that’s why he’s the perfect—in all the worst ways—Head of Senate now. He knew of my mother, of her sacrifice. He knew it was her magic that sealed the caverns.

“He went to the caverns and tried to unlock it himself. He was a gifted sorcerer, but he wasn’t strong enough. The magic of the barrier rejected him.”

“But it wouldn’t reject you.” She understood what happened with horrific clarity. Magic wasn’t in the blood, but she remembered Gianna explaining how there was something about magic passed through families.

“Egmun had procured the sword, he had me. Victor was no longer needed.” Aldrik clenched his fists, barring his teeth in anger. “He took me to the caverns with our sacrifice. He paid the blood toll, but it wasn’t enough. The man we killed was simply a Commons, so it was rejected.

“Everything went wrong. The delicate stasis of the crystals was thrown out of balance by my actions, letting the power seep into the world. It unleashed taint into our world, reaching out eagerly to corrupt as quickly as possible.” Aldrik’s voice weakened. “I rode back through the rain and told my father everything. That I’d damned our people and cursed our kingdom. He sent soldiers, but they were no match and became tainted monsters, spreading the taint further. I told my father, I told him I wasn’t fit to be a ruler . . .”

Vhalla sat suddenly, staring at Aldrik. Suddenly the rainy night of a boy taking a knife to his skin made sense. “Don’t say it. I know.”

“It was my fault,” he whispered.

“No,” she said firmly. “It was Egmun’s fault. You were only a boy.”

“My father was of the same inclination.” The prince sat again also, keeping his fingers intertwined with hers. “He told Egmun to seal the caverns, whatever price had to be paid was not nearly enough. But should Egmun be successful, he would be pardoned. He went back to the caverns, and he lived up to his word. At first, the lingering magic of my mother’s barrier rejected him, and I ended up being forced to help him establish a new barrier in the structure of the old one.”

“That’s why he doesn’t have magic anymore,” she realized. The minister had given up his power to restore the barrier.

“After that, Egmun was awarded his life and a position on the Senate for holding his tongue about how the crown prince had started the War of the Crystal Caverns,” he murmured.

“I realized I was a bad person to be around. I caused countless deaths. I let evil, true evil, into the world.” Aldrik pressed his palms into his eyes. “My life, from then on, was built around a lie. A lie that I was not some monster who, had I not been the crown prince, would have been put to death. A lie that I was still a prince worthy of the crown that rested upon my head. So I became the prince of lies. I embraced being the black sheep. Perhaps I thought eventually it would make my father see I wasn’t fit for the throne. I still have never been punished properly for the weight of my crimes.”

He finally ran out of words, and the sound of his unsteady breathing filled the room. Emotions assaulted her one after the next: shock, horror, anger, pain. Half a dozen more rose in her as she stared at the man quietly suffering before her.

“You must hate me,” Aldrik said softly. “Now that you know me, truly know me, you must hate me.” He continued before she could get a word in, “I should’ve told you so long ago. But I was too selfish; I knew I’d lose you if I did.”

“I’m still here,” she whispered after a long moment. Aldrik stilled, his breathing becoming shallow so he could hang on her every word. “I do not hate you. And I know if you had told Baldair, he would have felt the same as I. He would not have hated you for this. You have punished yourself enough, more than enough; stop blaming yourself for crimes long past, whatever role you may or may not have had in them.”

“Vhalla,” he whispered weakly.

She gripped his hand tightly and pulled him to her. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pressed him close. “I could never hate you.”

Aldrik buried his face back into her chest and upper shoulder, much like he had before. Though this time, there were far fewer tears, far fewer emotions wracking his body. Then again, perhaps too many emotions were coursing through him that he was simply stunned numb. Either way, she held him gently, trying to offer him as much reassurance as she could.

“I feel better,” he confessed.

“Do you?”

“Better being relative,” he sighed. “But yes.”

“For a prince of lies, you seem to enjoy the truth.” Vhalla smiled weakly. He huffed in amusement. She relished that somehow; he had found the eye of the storm.

“I’m tired.”

“Me, too.”

“Come.” He pulled them off the floor and out of the room.

The prince led her to his room, and she joined him in his bed without a second thought. Singed, bloody clothes and red eyes, they became a tangled mess of limbs. Their chests alternated heaving with tears and feeling so empty that there was no more emotion from which to cry. He never explicitly asked for her to stay, but there was nowhere else Vhalla would’ve been. She eventually fell asleep with him tucked tightly in her arms as a storm brewed just outside the door.

THERE WAS A knock on the outside door.

Vhalla rolled over in her sleep, and Aldrik’s hands followed her. He pulled her to him instinctually, his body curling around her. She sighed softly. Everything hurt less when she was in his embrace.

Another firm knock roused her further. It must have been loud, or it would’ve been impossible to hear from across the large main room and his bedroom. Vhalla blinked her eyes, opening and closing them with a wince at the blinding light.

The knocking continued, and a soft call of Aldrik’s name finally brought him to life.

“Who is it?” she mumbled, staring out the windows. It was just after dawn, so they couldn’t have slept for that long. The sun’s brilliant rays bounced off a thick layer of snow that had fallen on his balcony during the night. The first snow of winter, and Vhalla could feel no joy for it.

“I’m not sure . . .” Aldrik proceeded cautiously to the main room.

“Are you going to answer it?” she whispered, following him.

Aldrik held up a hand in reply and listened.

“Aldrik,” a voice called gently through his main door. “I know you’re in there.”

Vhalla’s head was sluggish with exhaustion. It was too gentle to be the Empress, to clear to be Za. It wasn’t melodic enough to be the princess’s. She thought perhaps it was some cleric or staff, but none of them called the prince by his name. Who could it be?

“Aldrik?” More knocking. “If you’re there, you don’t even have to open the door, just say something.”

“Elecia?” he called into the door.

“Aldrik.” Vhalla heard the sorrow in Elecia’s voice. She heard the grief, the guilt at having been too late. If Vhalla could have just switched places with her, then perhaps Baldair would have lived. She took a shaky breath. It wasn’t fair to blame the other woman but, by the Gods, Vhalla wanted to.

“I want to talk to you.” Vhalla realized why she didn’t recognize Elecia’s voice immediately. There was a quivering strain to it. A tension pulled out her words in an unfamiliar way.

Aldrik’s fingers closed around the lock. Vhalla watched him as he was just about to turn it. She opened her mouth to object, considering her soot stained clothes and obvious bed-head.

“Aldrik, do you remember that time when you and Baldair came to the West together?” Elecia said quickly. Aldrik stilled. “You both had an official meeting that I so desperately wanted to attend. I thought it was viciously unfair that I couldn’t go.”

Aldrik’s hand fell away from the door.

“You promised me I could go. Baldair thought you were just telling another one of your lies, but you had a way, remember?” Elecia’s story was slowly told, her words enunciated one by one as though she was in desperate need of him to hear them. “I thought you were so kind then. Do you remember what you wore?”

The prince took a step away, his face suddenly serious—a thin veil for the panic that lit his eyes. Vhalla didn’t understand.

“I remember, I’m sure it’s no surprise . . .” Elecia continued rambling.

Vhalla never heard the rest of the story. Aldrik spun on his heel and practically sprinted back toward her. Vhalla’s hand was in his, and he tugged her into the bedroom, closing the door quickly behind them, taking care not to slam it or make any loud noises.

“Aldrik, what’s going on?”

He threw open one of the large armoires in the room, reaching behind the familiar plate for a key.

“My father is waiting out there,” he answered in a rush.

“What do you mean?” She couldn’t fathom how he knew that.

“I hate that memory,” he explained, taking her hand again and leading her into the secret hall between his room and the Tower. “We were kids. I snuck her in through a passage I’d discovered that people used to secretly listen to the conversations in the room.”

“What?” Vhalla struggled to connect things in her head. Why did this matter now?

“He punished me fiercely for taking her somewhere she didn’t belong. He said that if someone had discovered her presence, it would bring great shame to the crown for having a secret listener on official business. That I was lucky they didn’t.” Aldrik opened the door to the Tower, half-pulling her up it.

“So, your father is there?”

“I have no doubt. Elecia’s being forced to be a puppet right now. No matter what she may think of my stealing you into my room, if there’s one thing Elecia would hate more, it would be being someone else’s puppet.”

“What will your father do?” Vhalla’s head hurt from all the crying the night before, from the grief, from panic.

“I don’t know, and I don’t have enough time to figure it out,” Aldrik said with a curse.

If there was one thing the Gods did for them that day, it was keeping the hallways bare of observers. Though Vhalla had no idea how it would matter if someone did. Clerics had surely already been talking of the crown prince stealing away the Windwalker in a fit of grief. There were likely already rumors running rampant through the castle about the future Emperor’s infidelity with his favored whore. She grimaced at herself for even thinking what was certainly the gritty truth.

They stopped before the highest door in the Tower. Aldrik slipped the key into the lock and affirmed all her suspicions that these were the secondary quarters of the crown prince.

Braziers around the room sprung to life with a wave of his hand, casting long shadows beneath the sparse furniture. There was a table and two chairs placed toward the center. Along the back wall were, unsurprisingly, shelves of books and cabinets of curiosities. There was a small bed pushed to the left corner, a door next to it. Another door led off somewhere to the right of the room. The few windows were covered with heavy black curtains. It wasn’t a large space, perhaps three of her personal quarters, and everything had a slightly stagnant and dusty smell to it.

“Your Tower chambers.”

“Yes, and they only have one exit or entry.” He pressed the key into her palm. “This is the only key. I need you to lock that door behind me and let no one in. If someone comes and knows you are in here, ignore whatever they say and ask them what is most beautiful just before it dies.”

“What is most beautiful just before it dies?” she repeated, committing it to memory.

“A rose,” he answered softly. “If they do not respond with that, do not let them in—even if it is me. No matter what else they do or say, do not open the door.” Aldrik swallowed. “And if someone forces entry, jump.”

“What is going to happen next?” Vhalla tried to anticipate his thoughts and plans, to make some of her own. Everything was moving too quickly, and the world was still in flux from Baldair’s death.

“I don’t know.” Aldrik pulled her to him suddenly. “I wasn’t thinking. I haven’t been thinking. I don’t have a plan. I don’t know what will happen. I haven’t calculated how likely certain courses of action are. I don’t know, Vhalla, so I will plan for the worst.”

“Let me help you.” She pried herself away from the warm safety of his embrace.

“I will, but first I have to go and find out how the pieces are moving.” His palms were on her cheeks. “I will take you away myself, if I must. For now, just hide.”

“But—”

“Elecia will run out of that stupid story soon, if not already. When she does, she may be able to buy more time but, damn it, they may be knocking down my door already.” Aldrik shook his head and pressed his forehead against hers. Vhalla swallowed. All this because he took solace with her in his moment of grief? Would his father really go so far? “Stay here, stay safe. I will come back to you as soon as I can.”

The door clicked closed behind him, and Vhalla was left alone in the room.

She shivered as her bare feet stumbled across the stone to the door. Vhalla turned the lock with her shaking fingers and drew an unsteady breath. The world kept spinning, her head was thundering, and her heart would not relent in its panicked flutter.

Vhalla sunk to the floor, staring at the small room. She was trapped like an animal backed into a corner. Even Aldrik was terrified, and he’d brought her to what was possibly the most secure place he had. He relied on his skill, the Tower, and time to keep her safe. But if all that failed, she had no idea what fate awaited her.

“Baldair, this is all your fault.” Vhalla pressed her eyes closed and refrained from shouting at ghosts. She curled into a ball and buried her face in her knees, just focusing on breathing.

Her eyes were jolted open again when a knock sounded on the door at her back. Exhaustion had somehow won out, and she had no idea how long she’d dozed. Vhalla struggled to rouse.

“Open the door?”

The voice gave her pause. “What is most beautiful before it dies?”

“A rose,” Fritz answered, barely loud enough for her to hear.

Vhalla scrambled to her feet and snapped the lock open. Fritz entered quickly and stopped just within, his eyes adjusting to the dim light, as Vhalla closed the door behind him. The small sack he’d brought fell to the floor as Vhalla pulled him in for a tight embrace.

“Vhalla, Gods. Vhalla, what . . .” He couldn’t seem to find words. Her perpetually enthusiastic, ever-talkative friend couldn’t find words.

“Fritz, everything is a mess.” Tears burned her eyes again. “Baldair, Baldair is dead, and then Aldrik, he, we, we didn’t—I mean.” Vhalla shook her head. “He needed me, Fritz . . . It shouldn’t be this way.”

“Vhalla,” he whispered gently. “You’re covered in ash and soot and blood.” He put his palm on the crown of her head. “When was the last time you brushed your hair?”

Vhalla blinked at him. Had he not been listening to her? This was hardly the time.

“Is there a washroom here?”

“I don’t know . . .” Vhalla couldn’t decipher her friend’s actions.

Fritz chose one of the two doors, and picked wisely. It led into a bathroom that was small, yet still befitting a prince. Fritz assessed things for a moment before beginning to draw a bath.

“Sit here.” He placed her on the edge of the tub and began to nib through the drawers and cabinets. He located a brush and some soap before returning to kneel before her. “Will you let me help you bathe?”

Vhalla blinked, he was asking her to undress for him.

“I don’t want to leave you alone right now, Vhal. I want to help you. I grew up with all my sisters and can assure you that you won’t surprise me with anything. Plus, it’s not as if you’d have anything that could entice me.” He grinned half-heartedly.

Was he right that it didn’t matter? Vhalla couldn’t foresee Aldrik being particularly pleased at another man seeing her naked. She was fairly nervous with the idea. But she’d bathed with other girls. Did it make any difference that he simply had something different in his trousers than she? What was more important, how he was in her mind, or how he was in his body?

Vhalla slowly peeled off the singed and stained clothes.

Fritz didn’t even bat an eye at her naked form. Concern and compassion were written across his face, and he focused only on hers. He exhibited no spark of want or desire. Vhalla saw Larel’s spirit in her friend as he helped her into the steaming tub.

He hovered beside her, lathering soap into her locks with a soothing touch. Vhalla stared at her palms. The water was already a dingy color from the soot and grime that was on her. A small voice counseled that she should feel guilty for her part in staying with Aldrik, but Vhalla couldn’t evoke the emotion. He had needed her.

“Has the Emperor come into the Tower?” The hot water had calmed her enough to think rationally.

“No.” Fritz placed some hair over her shoulder as he began to brush the next section.

“What have you heard?” She needed to know if she was going to calculate what was next. “Tell me true, Fritz.”

“That Prince Baldair has died. That the Windwalker and Prince Aldrik ran off together in a fit of grief,” he listed.

Vhalla laughed softly. “It’s actually true, for once.”

“They say the North will be up in arms about it.” Fritz sighed. “Though, most people seemed to be more amused or surprised, but not upset.”

“Should I find consolation in that?” It was interesting, however, that the people seemed to consent to the crown prince and the Hero of the North being together.

“You should find consolation in anything you can,” he answered honestly.

“How did you know I was here? Aldrik?”

“Elecia.” Fritz surprised her. “Aldrik told her because she can move more easily than he can right now. She sent me though, rather than coming here herself because, well, eyes are still on her also.”

“Is Aldrik okay?”

“I’m not sure.” Fritz shook his head. “Elecia left to go back to him, to try to help things with him. Rinse your hair.”

Vhalla did as he instructed. She washed her body next, and the conversation died during that act. Vhalla emerged when the bathwater began to cool, Fritz dutifully wrapping her in a towel. The cloth smelled as though it had been hanging for too long but there was still a lingering, comforting scent of Aldrik to it.

She was forced to rummage through his drawers until she found a stash of clothes. Vhalla didn’t have much to choose from, so she just picked what looked the warmest. As to be expected, it swam on her, and the waist of the trousers fell around her hips.

“What happened?” Fritz asked as they sat at the table. He grabbed the sack he’d dropped earlier from the floor and produced three rolls with meat.

“You have most of it already. Baldair died, I was there.” She stared at the food blankly.

“Eat,” Fritz insisted.

Vhalla forced herself to oblige. “After, it’s just as they say. Aldrik ran, he took me with him. We hid in his room.”

“Did you . . .?” Fritz asked slowly.

“We were a comfort to each other, but not in that way.” Vhalla said firmly, proud she could look her friend in the eye and say it.

“Good.” Fritz seemed equally pleased as he stood. “Try to get some rest. You look dead on your feet.”

“You’re leaving?” She stood also.

“I have to. It’s not good for me to go missing too long. Grahm agreed to be an alibi if I need one.” Fritz gave her a tired smile. “But it’s still not a good idea to push things. No point in rousing suspicions within the Tower.”

“Right.” Vhalla grabbed his hands. “Fritz, thank you, for everything.”

“Of course, Vhal. It will work out, I’m sure it will.” Her friend’s confidence sounded false, but the final squeeze he gave her before leaving certainly wasn’t.

With the metallic sound of the lock sliding back into place, she was alone again in the room. Vhalla sighed heavily. There were books, but she didn’t want to read. There was some kind of closet or storeroom through the other door. But it was dark, and she didn’t feel too inquisitive.

In the end, Vhalla collapsed onto the bed, her face buried in the pillow. But she didn’t cry. She didn’t like feeling isolated and alone. Her mind was already churning with plans for what she could suggest when Aldrik returned.

For the third time in one day, a knock awoke her. The trend was exhausting, and on her way to the door, she peaked out the curtains, discovering it was nearly sunset.

“What is most beautiful just before it dies?” she asked through the door.

There was a long pause. “A rose.”

Vhalla twisted the lock and looked at a familiar set of dark eyes. She breathed a sigh of relief. “Aldrik.”

“Vhalla, we have to go.” His voice was strange, some kind of tension pushing it up an octave.

“What’s happened? Is it your father?”

“It has to do with none of that.” He shook his head. The day competed with itself to get worse. “It’s Victor.”

“Victor?” The world stilled.

“I went to ask him for help and found him gone.” Aldrik cursed. “All the crystals were gone, the notes from when we were boys open on his desk. I think he’s heading for the caverns.”

“He, we were going to destroy them,” she said hastily, hopefully.

“Not from what I read.” Aldrik frowned. “He was lying to you, Vhalla. He wants the caverns for himself.”

“What, no—”

“We have to go stop him,” Aldrik barked roughly.

“What about the barrier?” Vhalla inquired.

“The barrier?”

“The one set up by Egmun, after you . . .” Vhalla danced delicately with her words, suddenly wondering if she had misunderstood Aldrik’s history.

“Victor was trained by Egmun,” Aldrik answered quickly. “They’re both Waterrunners, so I’m certain his magic would be attuned to Egmun’s.”

“What do we do?” Her encounters with the minister had grown stranger and stranger. After Fritz’s cautions and knowing Aldrik’s story, it wasn’t a far leap of logic to think that the Victor had gone off the deep end when it came to crystals. Horror raked itself across her heart. It was her fault; she had handed him the axe.

“We make haste for the caverns.” Aldrik started down the Tower, motioning for her to follow.

She nodded, grabbed a random cloak off a nearby peg, and shut the door behind her. Aldrik made no motion to tell her to lock it, and she completely forgot in her panic. She fell into step behind him, and he didn’t even turn to look at her. At some point, he had found time to fix his hair. She wondered what really had gone on with the Emperor.

No, there were more important things to worry about than Emperors and hair, she reminded herself. Her chest tightened. Victor was headed to the Crystal Caverns with an axe that could sever souls.

ALDRIK’S STEPS WERE fast, and she struggled to keep up. Her feet felt heavy, her mind sluggish with exhaustion and the mental strain of the past few days.

“Wait!” She stopped at the door to her room.

“Vhalla, we don’t have time,” he responded briskly.

“I know, but I will freeze if I go out like this.”

“Quickly,” he begrudgingly agreed.

Vhalla darted into her room and rummaged through things, not caring what fell out of place. Piling on layers, Vhalla was a miss-match of clothing: the gloves that went under her gauntlets, two pairs of socks, a rope belt to secure his oversized pants around her waist.

In her rummaging, Larel’s bracelet fell from its place of honor on the stack of Aldrik’s notes. Vhalla paused, considering taking it, but left it instead. She didn’t want anything happening to the last token from her friend; who knew what would transpire before the dawn.

Vhalla raced down the Tower behind Aldrik once more, throwing her cloak over her shoulders. It had been well over a year since she had last seen her prince as tense and shut-off as he was now, though she could hardly blame him given the circumstances. Two floors down, the door to the vessel room opened, and Vhalla almost ran head first into the Eastern man who emerged.

“Vhalla?” Grahm blinked at her.

“I have to go.” She glanced at Aldrik, who was now ten steps ahead. He did not so much as glance in her direction, simply expecting her to keep pace.

“What? Where? What is it?” He squinted at the prince she followed.

“I can’t-can’t explain.” She took a few steps backward and called over her shoulder, practically running to catch up with Aldrik. “I just have to go.”

A very confused Easterner was left in her wake. Aldrik pulled open one of the outer doors and ushered her inside. Vhalla caught a glimpse of Grahm on their heels as the door closed.

“Vhalla, that—” Grahm called

Aldrik slammed the door and locked it.

“We can’t have distractions,” he cursed gruffly. The doorknob turned as someone tried to open it. Vhalla stared at it uneasily. Aldrik had never met Grahm, she told herself. He didn’t know the Waterrunner pursuing them. “Come.”

He led as they plunged through the palace-side door. They raced through the outer halls, avoiding the major arteries of the palace. Whenever someone would pass by at an intersection, they would duck behind a column or into a doorway to hide.

Vhalla panted softly. They were sneaking, she realized. What had his father told him? What would happen if they were seen? Surely no one would stop them from trying to prevent tampering in the caverns, she insisted to herself. But that also depended on someone being willing to listen to the real reason why they were sneaking off in the night.

The person in the hallway passed, and they were off running again. Vhalla focused on her prince as they spiraled down stairs within an outer wall of the palace. She couldn’t fathom the darkness that was determined to creep back into his mind. There was no doubt in Vhalla’s mind that he considered his current circumstances as some sort of delayed justice, given how his mind worked.

Her chest ached for the man she followed out onto the snowy ground of the stables. They ran through the white moonlight. Colors were bleached from the world, and her toes already felt cold. A stable hand was startled into action by their presence.

“My prince?” The young girl blinked at him. Her eyes drifted over to Vhalla and they widened. Her mouth fell open.

“We need two horses; they should be already tacked in those stalls,” Aldrik demanded, pointing.

“Not your mount, my lord?”

“No, I need those,” he affirmed impatiently.

The Western girl’s dark eyes looked between the two of them. She closed her mouth and a sly, knowing smirk spread across her features that she couldn’t successfully hide as she departed to do Aldrik’s bidding.

Vhalla panted softly, cursing the girl. She thought it was some scandal, the prince and Windwalker running off in the night.

“Mother, what’s taking her so long?” Aldrik squinted in the direction the girl departed.

“Aldrik,” Vhalla whispered gently. She placed a palm on his upper arm to reassure him. The fabric of his shirt was coarser than she was used to, and it moved strangely in the moonlight. He practically jumped away at her touch.

“Don’t!” His sudden and intense anger directed at her was startling. “Now isn’t the time, Vhalla.”

She frowned, preparing to tell him off for his tone when the girl came back with their horses. They were tall with long legs and lean, ropey muscle. Aldrik checked the saddlebags on his mount, fumbling inside them a moment before swinging into his saddle. Vhalla followed suit, deciding to let his snappishness slide given the pressure they were under as they rode out into the snowy night.

Vhalla glanced over her shoulder. She saw the castle ethereally shimmering in gold and white moonlight. She wished she had the ability to enjoy the beautiful scene that stretched before her, sparkling with the first snow of winter. But now was not the time for enjoyment.

Breath from the horses and humans let out small white puffs of steam into the nighttime air. The houses passed in a blur. On occasion, some late night wanderer or drunk would be startled as the couple raced by. But for the most part, potential observers were safely tucked in their beds.

They rode the most direct route down through the city and out the main gate. The dense buildings of the capital faded as they proceeded down the mountain. Aldrik turned north at the fork and, after a short stretch, they veered off for a more western headway.

A thin layer of clouds blotted out the moon, shifting and rolling the shadows of the world into a fluctuating state of darkness. Vhalla blinked her eyes, squinting through the dim twilight. Aldrik continued without fear or hesitation.

The barren trees fractured the sky above them like the lead of a macabre stained glass. Silence was their only company, moonlight their only guide. The world darkened again, and snow began to fall.

“We’re lucky,” he finally spoke.

“We are?” Vhalla asked, slowing her horse alongside his to give the animal a rest.

“With this much snow, our tracks should be covered,” he explained.

“Does anyone know where we are going?” she thought aloud.

Aldrik looked startled a moment. “Yes.”

“Then why would we want our tracks to be—” she began softly musing.

“Because we only want the right people to know,” Aldrik spoke over her. “I can’t just tell anyone we’re headed for the caverns, given their history.”

“Of course.” She glanced over at him. His jaw was clenched tight. “Aldrik, don’t worry.”

“Worry?”

“Well, yes.” Vhalla shifted the reins in her hands. “I know that since it’s the Crystal Caverns, you must be worried. But this isn’t your fault. Last time really wasn’t either. But this truly is not.”

“I know,” he said thoughtfully. “This is Victor’s fault. But then again, I shouldn’t have let such a powerful sorcerer go so unchecked.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have.” Aldrik frowned. “He was my mentor. We experienced the same thing as boys. I should have known. I should have put a stop to you working with crystals with him.”

“I should’ve done it myself.” Whatever Victor truly intended, she’d enabled it. Vhalla began to question everything the minister had ever told her. “Doesn’t he see? All that’s there is death.”

“No, all that’s there is power,” Aldrik corrected. Vhalla considered the strange comment as the prince continued. “Neither good, nor evil, it’s the hearts of men that turn a weapon into the tool of a knight or a butcher.”

“How far is it?” His manner was making her abnormally uneasy, and Vhalla was eager to change the topic. Something about the night air and the stillness was starting to get to her nerves.

“It can take slow riders two days.” He remained fixated on a distant point of the horizon.

“Two days?” They didn’t have rations or supplies for a journey of that length.

“But these horses were bred for speed and endurance in the mountains. We can push them. I hope to arrive before dawn.”

“How long ago did Victor leave?” She tried to remember how Aldrik said he’d known the minister had ridden off to the caverns.

“Only an hour or two,” he answered confidently.

“Perhaps we could intercept him before he gets there,” she mused hopefully.

“Perhaps.”

Vhalla resisted the parrot comment in the wake of something dawning on her. “Wait, how could you have known when Victor left? Didn’t you only just go to his office before coming to me?”

“Someone else had mentioned seeing him.”

Something still wasn’t settling right. “But if Victor only left an hour or two before us, shouldn’t we see trac—”

The reverberation of a low horn echoed through the mountains, sounding through the still forest. Vhalla turned. The palace and capital city was out of sight, but the sound was unmistakable.

“They know,” he whispered. “Damn it, we should have had more time!”

Aldrik snapped his horse back to a run. Vhalla followed suit, her body tense. If they were trying to save everyone from the caverns, then why did it feel like they were fugitives in the night?

“Can’t we wait for more help?” she called, catching up to him. “We should be close to Victor now!”

“No!” Aldrik barked. “If they catch up to you and me, what do you think will happen?”

“I don’t—”

“Think!” He waited for her to fill in the blank.

“Your father?”

“Who else?” Aldrik frowned and looked forward, pushing his heels into the horse.

“What will he do?” Vhalla wondered if she would ever be able to return to the palace.

“I don’t know, Vhalla.” Aldrik’s voice was high and tense.

“He said nothing?” she asked, baffled the prince could go back into the company of his father and not know. The Emperor always seemed to be proud of his proclamations when it came to pulling them apart or conceiving some ill-designed fate for her. She had fully expected him to torment Aldrik with the knowledge.

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to speak on it!” He glared at her. “We have other things to worry about.”

“What’s wrong with you, Aldrik?” she exclaimed as they dashed through the night. “What did I do to make you lash out at me so?”

Aldrik stared at her, his mouth parted slightly. He closed it, and a gentle expression overtook his brow, even if his eyes still seemed guarded and distant. She relaxed some just seeing it, feeling a twinge of guilt at being so aggressive toward him in the wake of his grief.

“I’m sorry, Vhalla,” he sighed. “Too much has gone on, and I need to do this. I need to focus right now.”

Vhalla understood what this could be, what it likely meant for him. This was his chance to redeem himself. To protect the world from an evil that he had once aided in setting free. They were grieving, tired, and now hunted. Nothing made sense in the world anymore.

“I’m sorry for snapping.”

“I need your trust.” He caught her eyes. “Please, tonight, just trust me.”

“Always,” she replied easily.

“More than anyone?” Aldrik asked.

“More than anyone.” She forced a smile on her mouth in a hope to encourage him.

Aldrik nodded, and they rode on through the soundless wood.

Eventually, the trees grew thinner as they began to ascend out of the valley. It was a slow slope upward, and Vhalla hardly noticed they were heading up a mountain until it was already upon them. They had ridden hard through the night; the horses were beginning to struggle with the pace.

Aldrik had not said a word for hours. He hardly even looked at her. There was no sign of pursuers, and yet they rode as if a pack of wolves were on their tail. No one had known where they were going, and the heavily falling snow was slowly covering their tracks. Even if the Emperor had caught wind of his only remaining son running off with the Windwalker, he wouldn’t assume that they’d head for the Crystal Caverns.

Her horse lost its footing for a moment as its hoof slipped on some ice. Vhalla couldn’t stop a call of surprise, and she tugged hard on the reins to right the steed. The mountain path was thin with a sheer edge on one side. Vhalla looked down and realized they had already ascended quite far.

“Are you all right?” Worry marred Aldrik’s brow.

“I am.” Her racing heart indicated differently.

“Let’s take it a little slower. This path is not well maintained, and it can be a little treacherous in good conditions.” He pulled back on his mount’s reins. “We’re close now; it’s not much farther.”

The sun began to rise. The concealing snow clouds finally began to lighten and fade into gray patches across the blood-red sky. Vhalla took a deep breath.

“There!” He pointed up ahead. “There’s his horse.”

The path curved around the mountain and eventually reached a small cliff area. Set into the mountain face was a large, pointed archway, carved directly into the stone. It was a gaping hole that was taller than thirty men on each other’s shoulders. Vhalla squinted and made out a horse standing before it in the hazy dawn.

“We have to hurry!” she called back.

“Carefully!” Aldrik replied, and they increased their pace as much as possible, inching around the mountain wall.

The massive entrance to the Crystal Caverns made Vhalla feel even smaller as she pulled her steed to a stop before it. It felt like the gaping maw of a dragon that was ready to swallow her whole. The stone sculptures of wyrms and gods that guarded around the archway had to have been ancient, and yet they looked as though they had been polished to perfection that morning. Vhalla dismounted in awe.

Aldrik grabbed a pack from his saddlebag after dismounting, slinging it over his shoulder. “We need to go. We’re close now.”

“Right . . .” Vhalla was frozen in place. There was an epic and wild power and it sizzled against her magic. A primordial essence hung heavy in the air and warned her about crossing the threshold between her world and the Gods’.

Aldrik paused, something out of the corner of his eye catching his interest. He dashed over to the edge of the cliff and looked down. Raising a hand, he shielded his eyes from the rising sun, squinting at the horizon. Vhalla followed his stare. Six riders were barely visible at the edge of the valley.

“We need to go!” He turned and started running for the entrance.

Vhalla dashed after him, plunging herself into the Crystal Caverns. The darkness was dizzying after they entered. The advent of the sunrise could not penetrate the heavy atmosphere that now shrouded her.

Aldrik was one step ahead of the darkness and produced a crystal. Vhalla lost the opportunity to ask how or why he carried such a thing as it flashed a brilliant turquoise. He placed it carefully in the center of the pathway where they had been walking. Like water, magic rippled outward from the small stone and into the floor they stood on. Its glimmering pulse stretched forward, branching out at points and creeping up the walls like magical vines.

The caverns had to rival the palace in size. A pathway had been cut into the center that led forward through another smaller gateway. Giant towering crystal columns lit up the space. The roof glowed the same pale greenish-blue.

Vhalla was reminded of the ruins from which she had pilfered Achel. It was a cosmos of magic, sparkling infinitely before her. The shining colors bled from one crystal to the next in magical conversation. Vhalla could see dark pockmarks from where men had tried to claim powers from the cavern.

“There’s no time.” Aldrik strode forward, and she fell into place behind him.

Vhalla clenched her fists, opening her Channel. The crystals surrounding her compounded her magic, making it greater than she had ever felt. She tried to brace herself for any surprise that could lurk around any corner, and she prayed she would be ready.

VHALLA SHIVERED. IN the dim light, the puffs of air marking her breaths almost looked magical as they dissipated through her cracked lips. It was a long night after long days, but she felt awake and alert.

“Are you all right?” Vhalla asked. “Are the crystals affecting you?”

“They are, but I will be fine. We won’t need much time.” His voice was low and garbled, the light shifted strangely over his shoulders.

They crossed through a small archway into a different antechamber. The glowing light followed their movement, and the crystals responded to her footsteps in silent welcome. Vhalla searched for the place where Victor may be hiding, but she couldn’t find anything. It seemed a straight shot, almost like how a temple would lead to the Mother’s pyre.

Vhalla stretched out her magical hearing, but she couldn’t even hear breathing.

Aldrik stopped before a massive door. It radiated a similar power to what Vhalla had felt in the North, though deeper and stronger. Crystals had grown overtop it, resisting the glow that had been following Vhalla and Aldrik in shining protest.

“I need you to open those,” Aldrik ordered.

“Why?”

“Do you want me to risk touching crystals further?” he snapped.

“Oh . . . of course,” Vhalla mumbled. She started for the doors, her feet heavier with every step. Vhalla paused, her hand a breath from the crystal.

“What are you waiting for?” Aldrik growled. “Open it.”

“This-this is the barrier, isn’t it?” She turned and took a long, hard look at the man who had taken her to the threshold of fate.

He froze.

“Victor couldn’t have gone farther than here. He hasn’t . . .” Now that she was here, the idea that Victor could open the barrier because he was a Waterrunner like Egmun seemed asinine. This was a greater magic. “Let’s go back the way we came.” Vhalla tried to sound casual. “Maybe we missed Victor along the way. We can wait outside.”

She took a step, which he met with force and speed. His hand closed around her bare wrist, painfully tight. An agonizing feeling sunk through her suddenly shaking bones as her stomach plummeted from her body.

“Aldrik, your hands are cold,” she whispered in horror. She had relished in the hot lightning of his touch too many times to be mistaken when the fire was suddenly absent. She had learned to love her prince for all he was, for how the fire in his veins gave light to his passions and an inferno to his anger. Nothing about him was ever cold. “Let me go.”

He began to laugh slowly. The unfamiliar icy fingers bit deep into her flesh. The noise echoed disjointedly from his body, not belonging to the lips they emerged from.

Vhalla tugged hard against his grip. “Let me go!” She withdrew a hand, frozen in horror as Aldrik’s face rippled, dissipating like steam.

“No, I don’t think so, my little Windwalker.” Victor’s voice, cool and calculating, it echoed through her worst nightmares come to life. “Do you know how long I have bided my time? Waiting, waiting! Everything has been going according to plan, and you will not take this from me now.”

Victor shed the last of his meticulously crafted illusion like a snake shedding its skin. The man grinned triumphantly, revealing a malicious glee.

Vhalla screamed and raised her hand. Victor produced a crystal from his pocket, slamming it into the base of her neck, setting her to sputtering. Ice crackled around it, making a collar around her throat, alight with Channel-blocking crystal magic.

She coughed at the shock of the cold. Her magic may be gone, but her fight wasn’t. Vhalla raked her nails across his cheek. Victor took the hit, laughing gleefully. “Is that any way to treat your mentor?”

“You are not my mentor!” she screamed through the ice biting her neck.

“Petulant bitch,” he hummed gleefully and shoved her against the crystal barrier blocking the door.

Light exploded behind her eyes as the crystals forcefully extracted power from her. Victor’s magic assaulted her Channels, and Vhalla felt like nothing more than a funnel for his will. His abilities as a Waterrunner shone through, and he pushed the magic out of her, into the crystal barrier at her back, beseeching it to open for his dark desires.

The world shattered, and Vhalla collapsed limply, her skin awash in the magic of crystals. Victor braced her as he watched the doors swing open before them.

“You dumb child,” he hummed, throwing her numb body over his shoulder. It felt as if part of her had been ripped out, and all that remained was frayed seams. “Did you really believe he, of all people, would bring you here?”

The world buzzed, and Vhalla’s eyes lost their focus.

“Only his magic would lower the barrier. Magic that Egmun had to use to restore the barrier because of his lovely, late mother.” Victor threw her onto the ground. Vhalla’s head cracked against the stone, and she groaned, attempting to roll onto her knees. “Oh, don’t even try it.”

Ice coated her hands and feet, holding her in place.

“You see, I had no idea how I was going to get him here given his disposition toward the place. But I had you, at least, and from the moment I knew what you were, I made sure the Emperor would only really trust me with your care. That meant promising him whatever he wanted to hear, but if you tell the man the sun shines from his ass, he will love you.” Victor dropped the pack and began rummaging through it.

“But then, while I waited and tried to sort out Aldrik, you gave me the greatest gift at all.” Victor laughed wildly. “A Bond! A Bond with the crown prince! You had his magic in you all along, it was right there, ripe for the taking.”

“You-you lied to me . . .” she wheezed weakly, struggling to regain her awareness.

“You love the prince of lies and yet are surprised by them?” Victor roared with amusement. He produced more crystals, laying them carefully around her prone form.

“What you are doing will fail; it always fails.”

“Don’t lump me in with the incompetent fools who are so hungry for power that they are blinded by it. I am of a far greater stock. Egmun thought he could take this power, but he didn’t have you.” Victor caressed her cheek.

Vhalla spit at him. “I will kill you,” she swore through chattering teeth.

“Will you?” Victor grinned. “I will certainly love to see that.”

“I will.” Vhalla’s lips were beginning to turn blue and tremble. “I promise.”

“That would be impressive, as this place will soon become your tomb.”

Vhalla looked around, her eyes finally focused enough to take in the space. She recognized the floor instantly. Spiraling out from her body were markings, and embedded into the stone was what she once thought were shards of glass when she had witnessed them in Aldrik’s memory, but now knew to be crystals. She was in the same spot Aldrik had made his first kill.

Her fingers and toes screamed in pain from the ice surrounding them. She knew the next step would be numbness, and then they would turn black and dead. Vhalla fought against the crystal around her throat, now burning her magic.

“You should be pleased.” Victor produced the axe from his bag, the axe she had cleaned for him so that no other magic would interfere with his diabolical plan. “You’re going to help bring in a new world order. Didn’t we say we believed the same things? Didn’t you say you wanted peace? To not be hunted.”

“You can’t buy peace with war,” she screamed.

“Kill everyone who opposes you; what other peace is there?” Victor set down the axe by her and returned to the bag.

Vhalla struggled futilely to break the ice around her hands. If she could just get the axe. She stilled as she saw Victor produce a shining crown made of pure crystal. The last tool he had brought with him.

“What is that?”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Victor held it up in appreciation. “The crown of the first king of this continent. It’s traded hands quite a few times and was the hardest thing for me to track down. Honestly, harder than finding a Windwalker. King Jadar had it for a while, and the Knights are good at making crystal artifacts fall off the face of the earth. But, eventually, it returned South thanks to one of the old Southern Kings. No one thought to look in the most obvious place for it! A few dozen records back and I only had a few treasure halls to sift through.”

“You’re mad.”

“Oh, Vhalla.” He returned to her side. “The line between genius and madness is so very thin. Really, it all exists in the same grey area.” Victor boldly placed the crown upon his head. “I fear, my dear, that you must die without ever seeing my new world order. But know that your death will build a society that favors sorcerers for eons to come.”

Vhalla heard the echoes of stones bouncing down the mountainside. A horse’s whinny echoed through the caverns. Victor stilled, looking through the doors she had opened and down the long stretch of crystals to the main entrance.

“I think we will have an audience for my ascension.” Victor smiled, turning.

A tall shadow stood in the entryway, the sunlight burning at his back. Vhalla struggled to lift her head, squinting to prove without a doubt what the frantic beats of her heart already knew.

“Aldrik!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. Her high-pitched, desperate call carried across the walls and out to her prince.

“Vhalla!” he roared in tortured and broken agony. His voice was as deep and dark as midnight, and Vhalla wondered how she could have mistaken anything else for it.

“It seems you shall be the first Solaris to die by my hand!” Victor beamed and turned to face the inferno that roared toward them.

The caverns were quickly illuminated with the burning rage of the crown prince.

STEAM FILLED THE caverns as Aldrik’s flames met an ice barrier and vaporized it. He threw out an arm, sending another blaze in quick succession. Victor blocked it with a surge of magic, the crystals in the crown on his head flashing brightly to amplify his powers.

“Are you not happy to see me?” Victor japed.

“Let her go!” Aldrik skidded to a stop, bracing himself, and Vhalla pressed her eyes closed for the next wave of heat. The fire was so great that it sent explosive shockwaves through the caverns.

“You always were the wild one! Running in head first, not thinking, letting your emotions and that unstoppable rage of yours get the better of you,” Victor bated.

Aldrik reacted quickly to the ice that formed beneath his feet. A spiral of flame swirled about him, blocking any further attempts to freeze him in place.

“Aldrik!” Vhalla cried, hoping he would hear her over the din of the flames. “Free me!” She struggled against the ice that held her. If she could get free she could get the axe and remove the crystal blocking her sorcery. Victor was strong and bloated on magic-altering crystals, but Vhalla doubted he would be able to handle them both at once.

The prince’s fire vanished at her words, and Aldrik looked, really looked, for the first time past Victor. Vhalla witnessed his rage deepen upon seeing her entrapped. He threw out a hand.

At first, his fire was a welcome warmth. Like the familiar caress of an old lover or well-known friend. It weakened the ice and melted it around her. Victor wasn’t the only one who was trained to leverage the crystals, and Aldrik’s magic could stand toe-to-toe with the minister’s.

But warmth quickly turned to heat and then to agony as Vhalla was burned for the first time by Aldrik’s flames.

The ice vanished from around her, removing the barrier between flame and skin. She rolled on the floor, trying to snuff out the blaze. Every nerve in her body screamed in unison, alerting her to a blisteringly hot agony that seared across her flesh until it bubbled.

The moment her screams echoed through Aldrik’s ears, the flames vanished. Victor turned curiously, and both men seemed to be stunned out of their assault upon each other by the woman sobbing and rolling on the floor. Vhalla tried to catch her breath, but her skin was alive with red-hot burns. Everything hurt; it was a pain beyond all previous thresholds, and she saw stars behind her eyes.

Victor turned and took a few steps toward her. He stared down at her writhing form. There was interest alight in his eyes at her pain.

“Vhalla, Vhalla!” Aldrik began running once more. He sprinted through the first archway into the antechamber just before the inner-most sanctum of the caverns. Vhalla opened her eyes weakly. In a moment of desperation, she reached out to him. Victor stepped upon her hand, crunching her fingers with a twist of his boot.

Aldrik was just at the doorway when a thick wall of ice covered it, stretching out from the crystals Victor had placed around the doorway. It was solid and almost perfectly transparent. Aldrik slammed into it hard, his momentum forcing him to collide. He barred his teeth in a frustrated grunt, banging his fists against it. He tried to burn his way through but the ice repaired itself as quickly as he could conjure flames to expel it. Aldrik punched it with a cry of frustration, blood smearing against the wall.

“You fool,” Victor chided darkly. “You would burn her alive in your rage.” Aldrik’s jaw was so tense Vhalla could almost hear his teeth cracking. “Everything you love, or that makes the mistake of loving you, dies. Doesn’t it?”

Aldrik gave a frustrated cry and tried again to destroy the wall. Crystals around the doorway glowed with the same light as Victor’s crown, responding to the madman’s will and foiling the prince’s best efforts.

Vhalla stared at the ceiling, trying to piece together the world as it crumbled and fell into the howling winds of change that now blew around them. His fire had burned her. “The Bond . . .”

“What?” Victor turned and looked at her.

Even Aldrik stopped his assault on the barrier for a moment. His shoulders heaved with his rough breaths from the magical exertion and stress.

The barrier had needed Aldrik’s magic to open it. When the young prince had opened it all those years before for Egmun, he had certainly exhausted himself, but his Channel would have begun supplying him with more magic instantly so long as it hadn’t been completely depleted. But, Vhalla did not have an endless supply as he had.

The Bond had given her Aldrik’s magic, but Vhalla knew what power she had of his had been completely exhausted when Victor forced it out of her. Vhalla turned to Aldrik, tears welling up in her eyes. If a Channel could be blocked by exhausting a sorcerer’s magic and a Bond was nothing more than a Channel between two people, then it could break if the magic was completely ripped out of one person all at once.

“Oh, I see.” Victor blinked and tilted his head, glancing from Aldrik to her. He leaned in close to Vhalla’s face. “Why, Lady Yarl, it seems I have done you a grand favor. I cannot find one ugly trace of the crown prince’s magic on you.”

With a cry, Vhalla ripped off the crystal at her throat, the ice taking strips of skin with it. Victor allowed her, confident to the point of arrogance that she would not be a threat to him, even with her magic. Vhalla shifted her vision and stared at her hand, knowing what to look for. It was void of any of the brilliance that Aldrik was swathed in. The one shining hope that Vhalla had was that she could see traces of her magic still within him.

“Aldrik, why don’t you have a look for yourself?”

Aldrik glared darkly at the minister in reply. She was not sure if she had ever seen him look so bloodthirsty before.

“Oh, wait, that’s right. Magical sight was yet another thing that you just couldn’t excel at wasn’t it?” The minister laughed and turned away. “You think you are so strong, but you are just a wildfire. You destroy everything in your path without restraint—”

“I will destroy you!” Aldrik proclaimed, suddenly looking behind him. “Za, Sehra!”

An arrow with Za’s fletching pierced Victor’s barrier. Runes like Vhalla had seen in the North spread out from the arrowhead and fractured the crystal-magic infused ice. Aldrik’s flame burst through behind it, shattering what had kept him out.

Vhalla rolled away as Aldrik lunged, an inferno. She clenched her fists, feeling for scraps of her magic. She was still exhausted, and the abuse of opening the barrier was raw, but she wasn’t letting herself sit helpless.

“You damn the world for a throne!” Aldrik shouted.

“Not for a throne.” Victor dodged a flaming fist and shifted the air around him, the illusion hiding his movement as he got the upper hand on Aldrik’s next attack. “For the world, for our world. It will be a new order; the Commons will finally see that we are not ones to be put beneath their feet to lift them higher in status. Never will a sorcerer be mocked or feel the need to hide. No, our magic comes from the Gods themselves! Commons will kneel before us and cower at our wrath.”

Vhalla’s eyes fell on the axe. She scrambled to her feet and reached out a hand, summoning the wind to bring it to her.

Another arrow pierced the air and sunk into her shoulder. Vhalla stumbled and fell, her magic faltering in the shock of pain. Vhalla turned to see Za notching another arrow from farther back in the caverns. The woman was shooting to kill.

“Traitor!” Aldrik turned his fire to the Northern woman.

Sehra held up a hand and blocked the flame with a glittering of sigils in the air.

Victor capitalized on the confusion, grabbing the axe for himself. Vhalla struggled to her feet, ripping the arrow from her shoulder with a cry. Victor moved before Aldrik, Sehra, or Za could turn their attention back to their real enemy.

The axe cut effortlessly through her, severing Vhalla from shoulder to sternum. She coughed up blood, spitting it onto Victor. The axe shone brilliantly, as if satisfied its purpose was finally being fulfilled.

The crystals that Victor had carefully placed on the floor sparked to life, and the minister gripped her, holding her impaled on the weapon. Vhalla blinked blearily, blood pouring from the mortal wound. Aldrik had said she would die.

Magic lit up Victor’s arm, arcing from axe to crown. It was the same feeling as the barrier, a leeching, a pull. But this time, it was on her magic itself. Victor drained her of the well of power that existed within her. He siphoned it off, storing it into the crown that shone brightly on his head.

By the time the axe finally dimmed, Vhalla was one shade away from death, and he dropped her husk to the floor. The crystal weapon turned dark, like obsidian, and fractured under its own weight. The room was alight, every crystal shining brightly in the same hum as Victor’s crown.

“It is done,” Victor spoke in the aftermath, his words echoing through her fading consciousness. “It is done!”

Aldrik raced to her side, scooping her up into his arms. Vhalla’s head rolled against his shoulder, unable to support it any longer.

“Flee, flee!” Victor laughed, picking up a crystal. He crushed it in his fist, the magic coursing through his flesh with a flash of light. The caverns yielded themselves to him. “But there’s nowhere you can hide!”

The large stone doors began to close, and Aldrik slipped through them, leaving Victor behind. Vhalla blinked blearily, the world racing around her.

“Sehra.” Za supported the magically exhausted princess, calling her name.

Aldrik ignored them and continued for the exit.

A loud explosion burst from behind them as Victor emerged from the doors without effort. Aldrik stumbled and slid behind a crystal, holding her to him.

“Aldrik, I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . .” she sputtered.

“Quiet,” he begged with terror-filled eyes.

Vhalla watched as he grimaced and gripped the crystal next to him. His eyes flashed an unnerving red as Aldrik used crystal magic to build a stone cocoon around them. Vhalla closed her eyes, leaning against her prince for what she expected to be the last time.

The crystal shone as Victor departed, the magic fleeing as if being drawn into its master. A deep rumbling began to echo up from the depths of the caverns. The crystals’ brilliance began to fade, spiderweb fractures overcoming their pristine surfaces.

“Vhalla, don’t do this.” Aldrik pleaded, ignoring the world ending around them. “I need you. Don’t leave me, my lady, my love.”

She didn’t respond, and the prince opened his mouth to let out the sound of his heart breaking.

THICK FURS WERE piled atop Vhalla, and bandages were wound tight around her chest and shoulder. There was pain, but none too great, and sleep sat heavy upon the tops of her closed eyelids. She stirred in the hazy dawn she should not have been able to greet, pulled from sleep by the long fingers weaving themselves gently through her hair.

Aldrik stared down at her. A silent, relieved breath huffed across her face as a disbelieving smile crossed his mouth. His warm fingers stroked down to hold her cheek. He leaned forward.

It was a dream. She had died and walked in the faraway lands.

His lips pressed firmly upon her forehead. They were hot and soft, and his breath ruffled her hair as his body shifted closer to hers beneath the blankets. It was too wonderful a feeling to be real.

She forced together her last memories. The crystal caverns, the fruition of Victor’s plans, Aldrik’s rush to her side. Vhalla inhaled sharply and felt an aching in her ribs. The wound that severed her from shoulder to chest, the wound he had foretold would kill her. Vhalla remembered the warmth of his body holding her as she slipped away from the land of the living.

“Vhalla,” he whispered, just barely audible. “How do you feel?”

“I’m dead, aren’t I?”

Death was fitting. It had been because of her foolishness that Victor accessed the Crystal Caverns. The taint would be unleashed upon the world once more. Men and beasts would be twisted into monsters in addition to whatever great powers Victor had so clearly gained. She regretted so many of her actions, but the greatest ache was knowing that she had brought death upon the world and would never have the chance to fix it.

“My Vhalla, open your eyes and look at me.” She obliged, trading her guilt for the visage of the crown prince. “You are not dead.”

“But I . . .” She moved her good arm, wincing at the lightest touch on the bandage over her shoulder. “How?”

“You gave me life once; I gave it back,” Aldrik breathed, nuzzling her neck lovingly.

“I don’t understand.” Vhalla frowned.

“Quiet.” Aldrik glanced across her. “Or else you will wake them up, and I will be forced to share you prematurely.”

“Them?” Vhalla asked. Her body was stiff and ached as she tried to lift her head. Fresh skin pulled taut under the bandages, and Vhalla was careful of her healing body.

It was a small room occupied by five others sleeping cramped upon the floor. On the other side of Aldrik, the feet of the ever-tall Jax poked out from under the blankets that he had effectively cocooned around his head. Elecia slept with her mouth open, her limbs spread wide and her breathing heavy. Cuddled closely to the woman and to Vhalla’s immediate left was a messy-haired man; words could not describe the immense relief that filled her at the sight of him.

However, huddled in the corner were two people that Vhalla had never expected to see: Za was propped up against the wall, the princess clutched tightly against her. Vhalla scowled, remembering the arrow that had been shot for her heart.

Aldrik’s arm tightened around her, and Vhalla allowed him to pull her back down onto the straw and woolen pallet that covered the floor. She looked to him in confusion.

“What happened?” she rephrased her demand, keeping her voice low. There was seemingly no possible explanation for how she was alive or in the company she now kept. Least of all the questions swirling through her head was where, exactly, they were.

Her eyes scanned the room once more. There was one window, though it did not appear to have glass. Shutters were pulled over it, which did little to keep out the icy cold. The walls were well made, but a rough construction of cut logs layered upon each other, with river clay packed between to keep out the draft. There was no ornamentation. Nothing showed the careful hand of a craftsman. Even the small table and wardrobe looked to be slightly off-level, the rough edges having been smoothed from the oil produced by the rubbing of fingertips over sandpaper.

“Grahm found Fritz after he saw you leaving with Victor.”

“But Victor—”

“As a Waterrunner, Grahm saw through the illusion,” Aldrik preempted her question. “Fritz got Elecia, who went to me.” His dark eyes glanced toward the corner, his voice dropping again. “They were unexpected and insistent additions.”

“But Sehra knows about the crystals,” Vhalla filled in logically.

Aldrik nodded, continuing. “When Victor left the caverns, he collapsed the entry, leaving us for dead. Luckily, Elecia was waiting with Jax and Fritz. Fritz could hide them with his own illusion, and Elecia managed to reopen the caverns.”

“But, how did I . . .” Vhalla could logic together the events that led Aldrik to the Crystal Caverns and how he managed to escape alive. But he hadn’t had a wound from shoulder to chest.

“You were weak, dying.”

“I was dead,” she corrected morbidly.

Aldrik didn’t argue that point. “Elecia couldn’t heal you; there wasn’t enough life left in you for her magic to mend. So I returned to you the life you gave me.”

“The Bond,” Vhalla breathed, realizing while his magic had been taken from her when the barrier fell, her magic had still lived on within him.

“It was enough, thank the Mother, for your body to accept her healing.” Aldrik’s hands were back to touching her, as though he needed to reaffirm each second that she was real.

“Aldrik, giving me back the magic I used to form the Bond with you could’ve killed you.” Vhalla gripped him with her good hand. “What were you thinking?”

“That I wouldn’t be able to face the world without you by my side.” The prince’s proclamation held no hesitation or thought beyond instinct. “Vhalla, I—” His words stuck. “I need you to know that how you are now has no bearing on what I feel for you.”

“How I am?” Vhalla repeated, the moment too serious to merit a parrot comment.

“Victor took all your magic. It blocked your Channel like an Eradication . . . The magic of the Bond was enough to give you a spark of life and get Elecia’s healing to take. But it was only a spark . . .”

“I’m a Commons now, aren’t I?” Aldrik’s pained expression told her everything.

There was a time when that was all she wanted, and now the knowledge threatened to crush her. She remembered the pull of Achel, of Victor using his magic as a Waterrunner combined with the crystals to steal her magic. It was all gone.

Panic welled up in her and threatened to burn her eyes. She wanted to scream and shout and rave like a lunatic. Her magic was gone and it now sat in the hands of the most wicked creature she’d ever met. The thing that had been the catalyst for so much in her life over the past two years had vanished as though it had never been there. It was so unfair.

Vhalla pressed her lips together and let the moment wash over her. She let the panic fizzle and die without being given life by escaping between her lips. Her heart shattered into pieces that would be put back together in a new shape. She had lost her magic. But she lived to fight another day.

“Victor—” Aldrik spat the word with an instant malice. “Victor took everything. That bastard stole your magic from you. Curse him, damn him, fu—”

“Aldrik.” Vhalla cut off his justified tirade. Nothing could be solved with his rage or her panic; all it would result in was waking everyone else. He conceded, the anger vanishing just with a look. “I understand. And you have yet to tell me, are you all right?”

“What?” Aldrik blinked.

“Are you all right?” She moved her own fingers to touch his beautifully high cheekbones. Her hands were now in further contrast to the flawless alabaster of his skin. She had raised and ugly scars covering her fingers, the skin stretched thin to the point of shining. Burn scars from his fire. “The Bond, the magic, when you gave it back, did it hurt you?”

“Vhalla.” His brow softened, and his eyes widened. “How, why, why do you worry for me when you have lost so much?”

She smiled softly into the morning chill. He didn’t understand the precious thing that still clutched her.

“Will my magic return?”

“Not without enough of your own magic to call to your Channel and activate it once more. Usually, it would take a Vessel. But, we never made one for you. The only ones you ever created were unintentional and sent to me, and that magic has been exhausted. I’m certain Victor had a hand in seeing that overlooked, I should have—”

She spoke again, stopping him before he fell back into anger and self-hating, “Then that’s that. And the Bond can never be reformed.”

Even if she still possessed her magic, that fact would likely remain true from what she now knew of Bonds. It was not worth their lives to try to rebuild it. Sorrow threatened to consumer her again and Vhalla vowed not to let it. The Bond may be gone, but he was still her prince. She did not need to feel his emotions magically to know he blamed himself when that was the last thing he should be doing.

“But I live,” she breathed in disbelief. “I live, and you live, because of you. Aldrik, you are amazing.”

“Aldrik,” came a sharp whisper. “Are you awake?”

“Yes, Elecia.”

“What’s the . . .” Fritz rubbed his eyes, sitting. He looked at Elecia first, but it only took half a second for his head to snap over to Vhalla’s and his eyes to become twice their normal size. “Vhal!”

With a straight arm, Fritz gave a shove to Aldrik’s shoulder to push him aside. Fritz’s hand fell across Vhalla’s stomach, his palm on her pallet. He was sitting next to her before the flurry of blankets had time to land across the room. Fritz completely ignored the offended scowl coming from the prince. His bright blue eyes were glued to hers.

“You’re alive!” Fritz almost shouted after a long moment of staring at her.

“You doubted me?” Elecia huffed in mock offense.

“I am.” Vhalla struggled to sit, scooting up under Fritz’s arm.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I just had an axe in my shoulder.” Vhalla brought her left hand across her chest, lightly massaging the bandages that lurked beneath the oversized shirt she wore.

“Sleeping beauty wakes.” Jax roused and sat up on the opposite side of Aldrik.

Vhalla’s eyes fell on the two Northern women in the corner. They had been woken by the commotion and regarded the Imperials with guarded attention. Vhalla’s lips pursed at Za. Vhalla knew that if Za posed a direct threat to her life, Aldrik would allow the archer nowhere near her. But that only made the woman’s presence all the more confusing.

“Let me see, Vhalla.” Elecia walked over. It was now Fritz’s turn to be unceremoniously shoved aside to make room for Elecia to access Vhalla’s chest.

“Yes, why don’t you take off your shirt and let us see?” Jax cocked his head to the side with a crooked grin. The action caused a cascade of perfectly straight black hair to slip over one shoulder and fall just below his pectorals.

“Jax,” Aldrik gave a low growl.

He smiled sweetly. “What, my prince?”

“You know what.”

“I don’t think I do.” Jax snickered.

“Boys.” Elecia clicked her tongue. “I was serious; I wish to check her. All of you, out.”

“All of us?” Fritz pouted. It was his turn to earn a warning—and slightly confused—stare from Aldrik.

Vhalla bit her bottom lip as she tried to hide a tiny grin, remembering her friend’s delicate hand in helping her wash up after Baldair’s death. The memory wiped any levity from her face fairly quickly. Like ice in her veins, the younger prince’s untimely demise sobered her.

“All of you, yes.” Elecia sighed and shook her head.

Aldrik stood, as if to lead by example. Vhalla was relieved when the two Northerners followed him as well.

“Now, off with the shirt,” Elecia demanded the second the last of them had vanished through the curtain that served as a door into the unknown room beyond. Vhalla blinked at the other woman, startled by her directness. “I know you’re hardly modest, and it’s nothing I, or the older girls, haven’t already seen.”

“Older girls?” Vhalla paused, halfway done with unbuttoning the front of the oversized shirt, a shirt she had never seen before. Her movements were still painfully slow.

“Fritz’s sisters,” Elecia elaborated. “After Aldrik was a reckless idiot and nearly killed himself giving you the magic back—”

“Nearly killed himself?”

“Yes.” Elecia scowled. “I will never forgive you for making him the reckless fool that he’s been.”

Vhalla had no retort.

“When I saw the mountain wall sliding to close up the caverns, I thought you all were dead. But, no, you were alive and, despite dodging fate once more, Aldrik was determined to save you. After Aldrik gave you the Bond magic back, he collapsed, and I could do nothing. The princess was equally spent doing . . . whatever she does with her Northern magic. We couldn’t ride back to the capital in such a condition,” Elecia’s words spilled out. “Luckily, Fritz could navigate us here. You were a bloody mess, more than anything I had ever tried to heal, and Aldrik wouldn’t wake for a whole day, leaving me to guess if he would ever wake again—I thought he was dead because of you!”

“Elecia . . . I’m sorry.” The other woman’s pain was sudden and intense.

“First, it was Baldair, and I couldn’t, I wasn’t fast enough to get there.” Elecia balled a fist in the blankets. “Then I thought I lost the man who has been like my brother. I shouldn’t forgive you!”

“You shouldn’t,” Vhalla whispered, looking down at her hands. “For Aldrik, and for Baldair. I couldn’t save him either.”

“Shut up,” Elecia said sharply. “Just shut up, I won’t tolerate you feeling sorry for yourself and moping around. Aldrik, god knows what will happen to him when he gets back to the capital, if we get back. After how he left, I have no idea what the Emperor will do.”

Vhalla stared at where Aldrik and the princess had departed. What would the Emperor think?

Elecia started on her bandages in heavy silence. They fell away, and Vhalla followed the woman’s eyes to her chest. The moment softened as Elecia’s fingers fell on the hideous deformity that now marred Vhalla’s skin. “It’s going to stay.”

Vhalla swallowed hard.

“Healing you with magic alone wasn’t very graceful, and we do not have any proper potions or salves. It’s hard to make them when every plant is covered in snow.” Elecia actually sounded somewhat apologetic. “It is healing . . . I will do my best to leave you with as small a mark as possible.”

“It’s fine. Thank you for doing everything you have already.” Vhalla had learned to live with scars. “It will remind me what I work toward now. It will be my badge and my mission.”

Elecia stilled. “What do you think you can possibly do?”

“A wise man once told me that something very small can cast a large shadow when it’s close to the sun.” Vhalla cast her heart in stone, her mind already churning around her next move. She pushed the loss of her magic down into the depths of her heart. There was no solution for that pain and she would just have to smother it until it died. She had an Emperor and a madman to deal with. But first, she’d start with the princess in the other room.

THE CHAREM FAMILY home was a well-sized log construction. The tall pines dictated the dimensions of the structure more than any architectural plans the original builder may have created. One third was a loft, with a private room below that normally belonged to Fritz’s parents; that is, until the random assortment of nobility showed up on their doorstep. The family had lived there for over four generations, and each person to inherit the house seemed to add their own touch. The first person built the home, the second added the insulating mud and clay mix between the logs, the third added a wooden shingled roof, the fourth added the wooden floor inside, and so on.

That was how Fritz’s father explained it. Orelerienum Charem, Orel for short, was a large and muscled man. His bicep was wider than Vhalla’s thigh. He had broad shoulders and weathered skin with smile wrinkles around his Southern blue eyes. His hair was cropped short, but Vhalla did not have to wonder who Fritz inherited his wild locks from.

Tama Charem was a full figured woman with messy, light blonde hair. When it wasn’t in a thick braid down her back to her waist, it was a mane around her face and shoulders. She was a kind and generous hostess with a round face and melodic laughter that complemented her husband’s full-bellied guffaws.

“Gwen! Get up!” Cass, the eldest, called up to the loft. Her hair was short, cut like a man’s and she looked to be the female version of her father—sturdy and unmoving.

“She’s not getting up,” Reona, the third child, remarked from by the hearth. She was a pretty girl with a button nose and a faint dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks. “Not without food started.”

“She needs to help with that food!” Nia rolled her eyes. She was cutting some salted meat and root vegetables to be put into a large pot. Nia was the second youngest, and she had already hit her growth. All legs and arms, she was a slip of a girl with fantastically wild hair to her shoulders.

“Gwen, if you don’t get down here I’m gonna tan your hide, miss!” Tama called. “You know we have guests.” She looked back at Aldrik with a small, apologetic bow.

“Your hospitality is already more than enough,” Aldrik said gracefully from a chair at the end of the table where he sat.

Vhalla gave him a small smile. She knew this life must be very odd for him, but he handled it like a gracious ruler. Aldrik caught her eyes, and his lips curled into a small smile in return. Vhalla looked away quickly, frustrated that after all this time, her cheeks could still feel hot near this man. They both seemed to be on a mutual elation just at the sight of each other, especially after all that had occurred.

The feeling sobered when Vhalla’s eyes turned across the table, meeting the Northern princess’s. There were many words unsaid, and she couldn’t let the lull of normalcy distract them for too long. Vhalla caught the prince’s eyes once more, and he nodded in agreement, able to read her obvious thoughts.

As much as Vhalla wanted to just kick everyone out, she knew why it hadn’t been done yet. Fritz’s family remained oblivious to the real reasons why they had arrived, knowing nothing more than there were injuries in the party. Vhalla resented the girls slightly for their ability to remain ignorant of the horrors in the world, but not enough to want to shatter it for them.

“Fire is going,” Jax announced from the stone hearth that dominated a large portion of the wall to the left of the main entrance. He sauntered over to the table, leaning between Elecia and Nia. “My stunning lady, might there be the slightest thing I could do to assist you? I hate to see such beautiful hands being taxed with such labors.” Jax took the knife from the open-mouthed girl’s palm.

“I-I-hi, hi, how are you?” she stuttered dumbly. The girl clearly had limited experience with men, and encountering Jax was akin to being thrown into the deep end. “What’s your, name? Yes, that’s, something, forgot, what’s your name?” She smiled widely at the charming look Jax was giving her.

“My name.” His hand cupped her cheek boldly. “Fair lady is—”

“Jax!” Fritz snapped, carrying in a load of lumber from the yard. “Away from my sister!”

“I do not think your brother approves.” Jax grinned, passing the knife back to Nia.

“Let her be, Fritz.” Cass rolled her eyes. “It’s not like you’re around to protect her normally; she’s gotta learn.”

“And oh, the things I could teach her.” Jax snickered at Fritz.

“Jax!” Fritz practically jumped at the man.

“Fritter,” his father boomed with a laugh, scooping up the scrawny sorcerer with just his arm. “Leave the girls be.”

“I’m trying to help protect them!” Fritz frantically tried to keep the stack of cut wood in his hands as his father carried him, heavy load and all, over toward the hearth.

“Oh right, we need protecting?” Reona rolled her eyes as she helped with the lumber. They did not need wood to burn with sorcerers about, but Orel seemed to move out of habit. “Just like that time we got you out of the tree when you climbed too high up and wouldn’t stop crying?”

“I was five!” Fritz whined, his father putting him down.

“Or the time when you got stuck in the smokehouse playing hide and seek and wouldn’t stop wailing until Cass got you out?” Nia motioned with her knife at her brother.

Elecia sniggered, shooting Fritz a sideways glance.

“Let’s not forget, girls, the time he was so scared by a nightmare he wet—”

“Enough!” Fritz cut off his big sister with a red flush. “There’s a reason I don’t come home!”

“You love us.” Cass hooked her arm around Fritz’s neck and ruffled his hair.

“So you’re really the Windwalker?” Nia asked from her place by the hearth.

“Nia, that’s not—” Fritz was quick with an apologetic look directed at Vhalla.

“I was.” Vhalla attempted a brave smile. She had to brace herself to endure the wave of emotion that came with those words.

“Was?” Nia tilted her head. Cass began listening, too.

“There was an accident.” Vhalla raised a hand to her shoulder.

“The one that made you all come here a day ago?” Cass asked.

Vhalla nodded.

“Sorcerers can lose their powers?” Reona asked sincerely.

As Vhalla opened her mouth to explain, there was a commotion from up in the loft above. The patter of feet started from the middle and rushed toward the edge. A girl, who could not be older than six, holding a blanket like a cape about her shoulders, jumped off in clear disregard of the ladder nearby. Aldrik, Jax, and Elecia were all on their toes. Vhalla stuck out her hand instinctively to stop the girl’s descent but no magic came to her palm, and she was forced to feel ashamed and awkward. Fritz just rolled his eyes.

“Papa!” the girl squealed, kicking her feet in the air.

“Good morning, my little Gwen!” Orel boomed. He crossed the room in five large strides and caught the bundle that was his daughter.

“Good morning, papa!” Gwen kissed his nose lightly. “How are you?”

“I am well, and how is my little princess?” The giant man poked her nose lightly, drawing a giggle from the small girl.

“Good!” she announced. “I would like my breakfast now!”

“It is not ready yet!” Nia remarked.

“It would be if you had helped!” Reona begrudged, putting the top on the pot before carrying it over to the fire.

“Let me assist.” Jax was up on his feet.

“It’s really fine.” Reona glanced skeptically at the Westerner.

“Fair lass,” Jax chuckled, taking the pot from the girl’s hands. “I am a Firebearer, the flames are my brothers and sisters, so they cannot hurt me.” He reached into the fire dramatically and placed the pot on one of the farthest hooks bolted into the inner mantle.

“Oh, I see.” Reona stared dumbly.

Nia giggled next to her, twirling a lock of hair around her fingers. Bringing Jax into a house of young maids was an awful idea.

Vhalla pointedly ignored the Northerners sitting across from her throughout breakfast. She would only have a short time to pretend at normalcy with the Charem family, and Vhalla would savor each fleeting moment she could. Their banter was a momentary escape from the truths that stared Vhalla down.

At one point, Elecia leaned over to Fritz, whispering something in his ear. It made Vhalla realize with a dull ache that she’d lost her magic hearing. She wouldn’t have used it on her friends, but there would never be a chance to use it ever again for anything.

As soon as the meal was finished, Vhalla didn’t have to wonder what was said anymore as Fritz promptly engaged in a quiet conversation with his mother, and Tama began to give marching orders to her brood that conveniently involved all outdoor activities.

Jax stood as the room was clearing. “It looks like all the ladies are headed to the creek to do laundry. I think they may need some extra supervision.”

“Jax, I am not leaving you alone with my sisters!” Fritz hurried out behind him.

It all too conveniently left Vhalla, Aldrik, Za, Sehra, and Elecia at the table. Vhalla turned to her friend, and Elecia arched a dark eyebrow.

“Do you think I’m leaving?” she asked incredulously. “I was the one who cleared the room for this awkward little chat that needs to happen.”

“Thank you for that.” Aldrik took the lead at the head of the table. “We have quite a few things that we need to cover.”

“Indeed.” Sehra showed her intent to participate in the conversation. “Now that your Southern idiocies have unleashed the true strength of the Crystal Caverns.”

Guilt pulled on Vhalla’s shoulders, but she didn’t bother trying to hide or deny the fact. She met the princess’s eyes. “What do you know about the caverns?”

“More than you do.”

“That doesn’t help us.” Vhalla frowned.

“Who says I have any interest in helping you?” Sehra narrowed her eyes. “You had no interest in my deals, in my wisdoms, before. What makes you think my offers still stand for you?”

“Because you don’t have a choice,” Vhalla spoke, silencing the table. “Victor is insane. He plans to make a new world order, built around idolizing sorcery. He’s going to go to any end to achieve it; he’s already demonstrated that much. While you may be magically special, that is not going to exclude the majority of your people from being rearranged to where Victor feels they belong.”

The confident expression slipped off the girl’s lips. Vhalla knew just what button she needed to push. More than anything, the princess was loyal to her home.

“Our best chance is not to divide our strength by allowing a civil war,” Aldrik agreed.

“You want us to stand with Solaris.” Sehra clearly didn’t like the idea.

“You are Solaris.”

Za snorted at Aldrik’s proclamation.

“No one will stand at all if we can’t figure this out.” Vhalla sighed, the table quickly devolving before her eyes. “Sehra, what do you know about what Victor did?”

The princess finally relented. “The man is quite clever; I will grant him that.” She sighed and leaned back in her chair. Vhalla briefly saw fear in her eyes and was reminded that the princess was wise beyond her years, but still only a girl. “The artifacts were left by the Goddess, the caverns her point of departure into the other realms. Each artifact connected the caverns across the continent, drawing magic.”

“Why affinities come from different regions,” Vhalla realized. “Each one pulled a different facet of magic.”

“So we believe,” Sehra affirmed. “Our ancestors came from the Crescent Continent, from the lands beyond, seeking shelter because they did not possess the ability to harness magic like the old races. The weapons to build our world and the caverns were the Goddess taking pity upon us.”

“You can’t really believe all this?” Elecia looked to Aldrik.

“Elecia, you are not above being removed from this council.” Aldrik frowned and motioned for Sehra to continue.

“Believe what you will, Southerners,” the princess huffed. “Shaldan has not forgotten our roots to our ancestral lands.”

“So bringing the Achel back to the caverns, and the Crystal Crown, Victor reunited the power and tapped into the font of magic itself in the process?” Vhalla tried to piece together.

“Indeed.” The princess laced her fingers. “What was truly brilliant was how he paid the blood price to awaken the crystals while stealing your magic, giving him immunity to the crystal’s taint.”

“It’s why I try kill you.” Za scowled at Vhalla. “If you die. He not win. But prince not love his people more than you. Prince let out power that will eat land and life.”

Aldrik slowly lowered his hands to the table, his eyes narrowed. Vhalla swallowed hard. She couldn’t deny it. If Za had killed her before Victor could, they wouldn’t be in this position now.

“Za.” Sehra watched Aldrik when addressing her handler. “You are not incorrect. But there is little point in saying such now.”

“Why do the crystals not taint Windwalkers?” Vhalla wanted to glean as much information as possible from the girl.

“Who knows?” Sehra didn’t seem as though she was lying or avoiding imparting a truth. “Because Windwalkers can radiate out magic more easily than other Affinities, they dissipate the taint into the air? Because the Goddess likes them better? Maybe because they were the first from the Crescent Continent? The early groups of Windwalkers weren’t very interested in sharing information with our clans.”

“So what can the crystal magic really do?” Aldrik asked.

“Anything.” Vhalla’s heart sank at the princess’s word. “It’s not a magic defined by the conventions we know.”

“It’s a greater power like that of the Crescent Continent,” Vhalla finished, remembering the Emperor’s vision, to use her to unlock the caverns to take war across the sea.

“Consider it, that you have just given birth to a demigod,” Sehra said solemnly.

“We need to go back and warn the capital.” Elecia looked to Aldrik.

“The capital is gone.” Sehra shook her head at the futility of Elecia’s suggestion.

“Don’t you say such things!” Elecia snapped.

“Elecia, calm,” Aldrik ordered. The curly-haired woman sat slowly. “The capital is bloated with soldiers from the war. If there was ever a time to brace for an attack, now would be that time.” The prince pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “All that said, we should return as soon as possible. If Victor hasn’t already launched an attack, we may be able to help warn them.”

“Go on your suicide mission. Za and I will have no part.” Sehra drew her line in the sand. Aldrik studied his child bride for a long moment, his gaze searching. “I think, in light of recent events, we can reach a mutually beneficial agreement instead.”

“I am listening.” Aldrik sat back in his chair. Vhalla had to blink twice. Despite being of basic construction, it suddenly looked like a throne.

“My mother sent me south for two reasons: to thwart the Empire’s plans for the crystals and to protect our people.” Sehra was clearly ready to lay everything on the table.

“And assassinate the Emperor.” Vhalla scowled at the Northern women.

“Assassinating the Emperor would’ve supported both ends,” Sehra said easily. “But circumstances have changed.” The princess returned her attention to Aldrik. “You need my people. You need our knowledge of the crystals, our fighting prowess. Give me your word as a ruler that you will relinquish Shaldan from the Solaris Empire, and you shall have knowledge and arms for this fight.”

“Impossible.” Aldrik didn’t entertain the idea for more than a breath. “As Vhalla so aptly pointed out, you need to fight or your people will surely perish. Why would I agree to something you will do anyway?”

“The sea is not so wide between us and the Crescent Continent. We could flee.”

Aldrik considered this a long moment. “You are smart, princess. So you know that I cannot make Shaldan a free state once more. My people will rebel after the price we paid to conquer it.”

Vhalla almost pointed out that she had already said such to Sehra previously.

“Shaldan cannot be bought with Southern blood!” Za interjected angrily.

“Za, quiet.” Sehra wasn’t about to allow negotiations to be interrupted. “I want my people safe. I want Shaldan’s interests protected, now and in perpetuity.”

“Tell me you will fight with us, give us your men, your weapons, your knowledge, and you will have my word,” Aldrik agreed.

“Your word isn’t good enough,” Sehra said sharply. To Vhalla’s surprise, the girl’s eyes turned to her. “You speak highly of peace.”

“I do.” Vhalla wasn’t afraid to say so. “Our land has seen too much turmoil.”

“Will you be peace’s champion in the battle to come?”

“I will be.”

“Are you finally ready to pay the asking price for it, when the time comes?” The princess’s words had a weight to them unlike anything Vhalla had ever felt before.

“I will be,” she reaffirmed after a long moment.

Sehra took a deep breath. “I will return home, and I will tell my mother of what has happened here. She will heed my counsel, and I will tell her to fight with Solaris. To remain a part of this Empire and its future leaders who vow to fight for peace and the wellbeing of our people.”

Vhalla’s heart began to race. It was too easy. She braced herself for the princess to continue.

“Needless to say, I will return to inherit my birthright of leading the Head Clan of Soricium as a Child of Yargen.” Her eyes turned to Aldrik. “I have no interest in mingling my bloodline with yours if I am guaranteed that my people will be looked after.”

“You have my word.”

Vhalla frowned at the fraction of relief in Aldrik’s eyes. It was too easy, she wanted to scream at him.

“I told you, that’s not good enough.” Sehra smiled tiredly. “My people need assurance. And since I know you are one to value the life of one you love more than an entire people, I will ask for only one.”

“You are not taking Vhalla from me.” Aldrik scowled.

Sehra laughed. “Predictable, but no. She will stay to honor her words to me, to prove that the future Empress of this land is worth her word.”

“Who then?” Aldrik let his unquestioning silence stand as affirmation to the princess’s assumptions that he and Vhalla would wed when he was no longer promised to Sehra.

Vhalla’s hand went to the watch at her neck. Her heart was still beating frantically.

“Your heir.”

Confusion ran quickly across Aldrik’s feature, anger quick on its wake. Vhalla knew he was imagining the child he’d dreamed of. Their child.

“You would ask for my first born?” His voice had gone deep and threatening.

“I ask for your heir, future Emperor.” Sehra remained resolute. “If Solaris keeps their word throughout the battle that you will honor Shaldan and do everything to rid the world of this abomination, we will lend our strength. To ensure a lasting peace, your heir, which I imagine will be conceived quickly to fulfill your duty as a ruler, will come and live as a ward of my family for his or her first fourteen years of life. This will ensure that Shaldan is protected in the formative years of becoming part of your empire and that the next Solaris will care for and love our people as their own.”

Vhalla gripped the oversized shirt she wore. If she and Aldrik wed she would be conceiving his heir, the heir Sehra wanted. They wanted her child.

“Fourteen years?” Aldrik balked.

The conversation faded a moment as Vhalla retreated into her own mind. She automatically assumed it to be her child. But who knew what would come to pass? Every day was less certain than the last. Taint had been unleashed upon the world, and she was nothing more than a Commons now. Vhalla looked at the turmoil on Aldrik’s face. He was being asked to choose between his Empire, and the family he’d been idolizing in his dreams. He couldn’t make the decision rationally, so she did.

“I think you should agree, Aldrik,” Vhalla interjected, not even noticing who she interrupted. The look on his face alone affirmed all her suspicions on what he’d been thinking.

“That would be your child.”

“I know.” As if she needed reminding. “And even if it is, I still think you should agree.”

Sehra met Vhalla’s eyes, and the princess gave an appreciative nod. The girl wasn’t gleeful. Sehra clearly wasn’t relishing in the idea of separating a family. But she also wasn’t backing down from what she believed she needed to do to protect her people. Vhalla would never verbally admit it, but if she did have a child, there would be worse fates than being raised in a culture with such deep knowledge and apparent honor.

Aldrik stood, pacing the room. Everyone remained silent as the crown prince visibly debated all his options. He was the only one who could make this decision, as he would be the one who would be forced to honor it as the future Emperor. He paused, staring at the fire, suddenly still after the momentary flurry of activity.

“You have your deal.” Aldrik didn’t look at anyone as he spoke. “Now leave me.”

Sehra stood gracefully, leaving with Za’s arm tucked around her. Elecia gave Vhalla a glare. Clearly the woman didn’t approve of Vhalla’s influence on Aldrik. Vhalla pursed her lips, she wasn’t going to be made to feel guilty for doing what she felt was right.

“Not you, Vhalla,” he ordered without turning.

Vhalla sighed softly and crossed to her prince. His shoulders were stiff and his eyes focused on the flames, as if he prayed for them to tell him the answer. To present him with an alternative to what he had just agreed. Vhalla wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek on his back.

“How could you?”

“For the same reason you agreed,” she whispered.

Aldrik gripped her hands, holding her against him. “Our child will go and live with them.”

“If everything comes to pass.” Vhalla was back to being a Commons, and it felt as though war was about to break out once more. She couldn’t stop herself from subtly pointing out that she may not even live long enough to marry Aldrik, more or less conceive a child.

Aldrik didn’t entertain the thought, but continued, “The child won’t even know us.”

“The princess has not barred us from visiting. If the child could visit us—”

“You think they’ll let the Solaris heir out of their sight?” Aldrik scoffed.

“Not at first,” Vhalla agreed. “But I don’t think they wish us harm, Aldrik.” She rounded to his front, reaching up to cup his cheeks. “We’re all just trying to survive.”

Aldrik pressed his eyelids closed. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I was going to wed you, and we would live and rule, fat and happy.”

“What storybook do you think this is?” Vhalla laughed tiredly. “Aldrik, do you feel no joy for the fact that this new sorrow only exists because we can now wed?”

He looked at her for a long moment, as if considering what he had been assuming all along for the first time.

“If you still wish it.” Vhalla’s palms fell from his cheeks.

He caught them quickly. Aldrik pressed her fingertips to his lips. “My love, there is nothing more in this world I wish for.”

“Then let us fight for that dream.” Vhalla ran her hand over the plain clothing he’d been loaned. She smoothed the abundance of fabric down over his lean frame, finding it where she always knew it to be. The prince was hers. “Your father . . .”

“Will be convinced,” Aldrik finished confidently. “I will never let you go again. You shall stay here, at my side, as long as your heart is content for it to be so.” She studied his face as he spoke. There was pain that fueled determination. There was fear that powered a resolve that hoped against hope.

Vhalla tilted her head upward, her eyelids slowly closing. They no longer shared the Bond, and so she could no longer feel his mind’s inner design as though it was her own. He would need to show her, just as she would need to show him. His breathing washed over her cheeks as he paused, timidly.

Vhalla rose to her toes, closing the gap and gripping his shirt. It was the first time his lips had met hers in months and, despite all that had happened, they still fit perfectly.

VHALLA SPENT THE night securely tucked within Aldrik’s arms, though it wasn’t entirely comfortable. Any amount of pressure set her scarring shoulder to aching and reminded her where she was and why.

She listened to the wind as it whispered through the cracks around the window shutters. At times, she could almost believe that her magic was still there, that the wind was still calling only to her. But when she slipped her fingers out from under the heavy blankets, she felt nothing other than chill air. Just the air had become torture.

Even Aldrik’s breathing kept her awake. She’d only ever been close to the prince Joined, and now his out-of-sync breathing sounded loud. She didn’t cry, however. She didn’t let herself shed a single tear. It would be giving Victor what he wanted. Mourning the loss of her magic and Bond would grant Victor far too much control over her emotions.

No, Vhalla pushed closer to the man behind her. She had found love in spite of fate’s design and Victor’s plot. She still had her knowledge and her will. With those things she would still be deadly.

The first light that cut through the darkness roused Vhalla. She’d spent the night plotting and planning her next steps, how they would manage the Emperor when they returned, if they could truly trust Sehra to keep her word.

The limp arm that had been wrapped around her waist most of the night tightened the moment Vhalla tried to wiggle free. Vhalla turned, carefully positioning her right shoulder against Aldrik’s chest. A pair of dark eyes studied her, and Vhalla allowed herself a small smile.

“Go back to sleep,” she whispered. “You need your rest.”

“So do you.”

“I am no longer sleepy.” Vhalla rolled her eyes.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

“No.” Vhalla averted her eyes so he wouldn’t see the pain he’d parked in them. She knew he had not meant to, but just the mention of dreams made her think of what was lost between them. Never again would she see his memories in sleep.

“Is it keeping you up?” His fingers rested lightly on her shoulder.

“The pain is manageable,” Vhalla sighed. “Elecia said it will scar.”

“And?” he murmured nonchalantly. Aldrik leaned forward, pressing his lips into the fabric over the mark where Victor had stolen her magic and nearly her life. “You’re not one to worry about feminine notions of your complexion.”

“I’m not,” she agreed. “Are you?”

Aldrik laughed lightly. It was a throaty whisper. “You could turn green with yellow spots and I’d find myself uncaring. If I’d wanted a dainty court queen, I would have picked from my father’s lineup.”

“The Fire Lord with a dainty court queen?” Vhalla grinned playfully. “Now there’s an image.”

“Ah yes, quite the hilarious failure.” Aldrik brought his lips to hers lightly.

“Will you two get a room?” Jax groaned from Aldrik’s opposite side. Aldrik was pushed closer to Vhalla as a swift kick was placed on his lower back. “Tired of listening to lovers’ sweet nothings.”

“Jax!” Aldrik snapped, rolling over. “I did not realize you wanted accommodations in the dungeons upon our return.”

“After all I’ve done for you?” Jax snorted.

Vhalla took the opportunity to stand, stretching out her stiff limbs. Being brought back from the dead took a toll on one’s body.

“It seems your lady does escape, my prince.”

“Boys, I swear, do not make me get up from this pallet,” Elecia threatened without so much as a hint of movement.

Vhalla grinned and held up an index finger to her lips, motioning for the men to be silent. Jax gave Aldrik a satisfied smirk before rolling over. Fritz snored on as though nothing had happened. The two Northerners in the corner ignored their companions. Aldrik just shook his head, running a hand through his limp hair. Her eyes caught his, and they had one more moment before Vhalla crept out to the main room.

She was not the first to wake. Cass had already stoked a fire. The tall woman now stood at the end of the large table that dominated the space closest to the crackling hearth. Her cerulean eyes turned up at Vhalla’s sock-muffled footsteps.

“Good morning,” she said softly, clearly still mindful that most of the people in the home were still in the depths of slumber.

“Good morning, Cass.” Vhalla smiled, meeting the other woman’s kind and toothy look.

“Did you sleep alright?” she asked as Vhalla joined her at her side.

“I did,” Vhalla affirmed. She assumed the space next to the woman as one of Cass’s sister’s would, beginning to slice some of the root vegetables. Vhalla winced as she tested out what sort of pressure her shoulder could withstand.

Cass noticed, but kept silent about Vhalla’s pain.

“I hope we’re not putting your family out too much.” Vhalla noted the quantity of food they were being forced to prepare.

“Don’t worry.” Cass shook her head. “It’s nice to have Fritz home. It’s not every day that we have a prince with us either.”

Smiling to herself, Vhalla slipped the knife through another potato. She remembered being awe-struck and dazed at the notion of being near royalty. There was a time when just proximity to Aldrik could fluster her. Now she spoke with him without thought. She had no qualms when it came to scolding him or encouraging him to do something he may otherwise not consider.

Then there was Baldair. He had flustered her also. It had been his flirtations, then his misguided protection, and somehow at the end he was as good as a brother. The idea that he was gone still rested cold in her core. Vhalla sighed softly, her knife paused.

“You’ve been through a lot.” It was not a question. Vhalla looked up at the Charem girl. “We all know the story. We heard it not long after the Night of Fire and Wind. You were the low born library girl turned sorceress who rode with princes.”

“Was I?” Vhalla asked softly. She supposed some of it was still true.

“You tell me,” Cass laughed. “In any case, it is an honor to meet you. Gwen had a mouse she found in the spring that she named after you.”

“What?”

“I think she lost it.” The elder girl coughed and glanced away. “But for girls like us, you are the impossible dream.”

“It still feels impossible,” Vhalla mused softly. “In some ways, it was a dream.”

“Reona and I were planning on heading into town today.” Cass passed her another potato. “Would you like to join us?”

“That sounds nice.” Vhalla nodded. She needed to see how she fared on a horse, and a small practice ride sounded like a smart idea before pushing to the capital.

“I’m going to get her up soon. We should leave early to make it back before nightfall. Reona can linger,” Cass explained. “I wanted to get breakfast started before we went off.”

“You’re a good big sister, aren’t you?” Vhalla grinned, dumping some of her chopping into the large pot that was used.

“I try.” She chuckled. “Fritz left when he was young, so I knew I had to look out for the girls. Speaking of, I’ll go rouse Reona.”

Vhalla finished while Cass disappeared up the ladder and into the loft beyond. She hummed softly to herself, trying to remember the mix of spices that she’d seen Nia put in the morning before. A flap of canvas distracted her, and she was surprised to see Elecia emerge.

“You’re up?” Vhalla arched her eyebrows in surprise.

“Thanks to the boys,” Elecia grumbled.

“Sorry.”

“I blame you completely.” The dark-skinned woman crossed the room, placing her hands on the opposite side of the table. Her voice dropped, and she cut to something that had clearly been on her mind since their first night at the Charem’s. “Did Aldrik share your bed at the palace?”

“No.” Vhalla looked back to the spices. “He was engaged to someone other than me.”

“That seems to have changed yesterday.”

“Before yesterday.” Vhalla touched the watch around her neck.

“Since the North? Truly?” Elecia put it together quickly. Vhalla nodded. “My, you two really don’t give a damn about his father, do you?” There was an appreciative note to her words.

“Not really.” Vhalla shrugged, instantly regretting the motion.

“How is it?” Elecia caught the look of pain.

“Not bad, considering,” Vhalla answered honestly. “Thank you truly, Elecia. I would’ve died without you.”

“Yes, you would’ve.” Elecia shook her head dramatically. “You’re unlikely to stay in one piece without me being near.”

“Seems so.” Vhalla glanced up at the loft when she heard the creaking of wood. “I’m going into town with the girls, test out riding.”

“Good idea.” Elecia nodded, watching Reona and Cass descend the ladder. “Aldrik will regret it if he’s not there to perform the Rite of Sunset for Baldair.”

The thought hadn’t occurred to Vhalla, but she instantly knew it was true. Aldrik would never let a crone perform the rite. It would be his flames to send Baldair into the realms of the Father.

“I hear you’re coming with us?” Reona yawned.

“If you’ll have me.” She needed to ensure she could ride as fast as possible. If not, she’d encourage Aldrik to return home ahead of her.

“Reona, check the larder on the way to the barn,” Cass asked her sister.

“When we return to the capital, I will see that the Ci’Dan family shows their appreciation to the fullest extent for what you have done for us.” Elecia met the eyes of the eldest Charem child. “Were it not for you, the life of our prince would have surely been forfeit. If we were stuck out in this winter, it would have been the end of all of us.”

“Truly, it has been our honor,” Cass said, ever mindful of her place in the world.

“Dresses! And axes! We want dresses and sharp axes!” Reona chimed in eagerly from the doorway. Cass shot her a glare. “I mean, yeah, our honor,” she coughed.

Vhalla followed Cass out to the barn, bundled in a spare riding cloak of Reona’s. She didn’t have the energy to dread returning to the capital as she likely should, she only felt exhausted. The world had spun so fast it’d fallen off its axis, and Vhalla felt like she would be chasing it forever to try to get back on, just to live.

A surprise waited for Vhalla when they reached the open-style barn that housed the family’s horses and small pens of livestock. Each stall was packed fuller than it should have been to keep all the animals out of the heavy snow, but Vhalla could easily pick out a steed slightly larger than the others.

Lightning, the mount that had carried her across the continent, whinnied as she pet his nose with her palm. He had always been a smart horse, and while it may have been her wishful thinking, the steed seemed to remember her. The horse had been well taken care of. He was strong, and his trot was familiar the second Vhalla was once more upon his back.

For a time, she had wondered what had become of her Lightning after leaving the North. Now she had no doubt who had taken care of him. Especially after Baston’s death. Vhalla glanced over her shoulder back to the slowly shrinking home, left behind as she followed Cass and Reona toward town. She wondered if Aldrik had managed to go back to sleep.

Her eyes fell on the barn once more, and Vhalla picked out the mount she’d ridden alongside Victor. Victor, the name made her blood bubble so hotly that Vhalla could ignore the pain in her shoulder due to the jostling of the horse. He’d been planning to use her from the start. He’d seen her saved from the Senate, and then he’d turned the Senate’s sentence into an opportunity to get the axe. He’d trained her himself upon her return. He’d prepared her as carefully as a prize hog for slaughter.

He was the greatest puppet master the world had ever known. He’d manipulated princes and Emperors for his own vision. It’d be admirable, if that vision wasn’t a twisted and corrupt thing.

The woods were washed in white, and Vhalla tried to turn her thoughts away from lusting after the former Minister of Sorcery’s death. There were no others nearby, and the snow was pure and unblemished. The girls chattered on about this or that which they could also pick up in town. At a quarter day’s ride away, Vhalla had no doubt that going into town was indeed an affair. It had been the same for her as a child, and she remembered with fondness every time her mother would take her into Leoul proper.

Whistling through the trees, the wind whipped her cloak around her. Vhalla drew her hood. Holding out a hand, the air slipped through her open palm. It felt different. She was once more normal, no more special than the girls she rode with. Vhalla looked up to the sky, broken and blotched by trees; there was one man who now felt what truly blew in the wind and she hated him all the more for it. Her red-chilled hands gripped the reins once more.

They reached the outskirts of town in good time, and Vhalla pulled her attentions back to the present. The town closest to the Charems’ home, Rivend, reminded Vhalla very much of Leoul. It was a town indeed, but barely so. Houses gathered closer together than normal. There was an inn, a grocer, some general stores, cobbler, seamstress, and other life essentials. But that was where the similarities ended.

The buildings were basic log construction with shingled roofs. It was different from the river stone and thatch-work that was made in the East. People used what was available to them in places like this. Most did not have glass on the windows. Some had been wealthy enough at various points to afford paint—that was now chipping away—on their storefronts.

No one seemed to pay the girls any mind as they rode to the grocer and dismounted. Vhalla realized with her hood drawn she was likely assumed to be Nia and was content to blend in with the girls as they went about their business.

“Welcome, welcome!” the grocer hummed from behind his counter as a bell alerted him to their entry. “Ah, Cass!”

“Hello, Daren,” Cass said with a smile.

“What’ll it be today?” The elderly man rested his elbows on the high counter.

“The normal, please.”

“You usually don’t return to me so quickly.” He began to grab bags of grain, salted pork, and preserved food from around the store. Cass helped, knowing where things were from prior experience. “Is little Gwen finally eating into her growth spurt?”

“Maybe!” Cass laughed.

“Actually we have—” Reona began.

“We have Fritz home also,” Cass finished for her sister with a glare.

Vhalla realized they were keeping their presence silent. She wondered if they had been coached by Elecia or Aldrik, or if it was simply Cass’s keen insight.

“Do you? How is our mad sorcerer doing?” The grocer began to tally up the pile on the counter.

“You know Fritz.” Cass smiled as she began to count coins from a bag strapped to her hip.

“The lad has never grown up.” The man chuckled as they began to collect the groceries. Cass passed a bag of flour to Vhalla, and she noticed the man staring at her strangely.

“Nia?” He squinted.

“Please excuse us, Daren!” Cass herded them out.

“What are you doing?” Reona hissed as they were loading the horse’s saddlebags.

“I don’t know.” Cass paused, glancing at Vhalla. “But I didn’t see how we could explain having the prince or the Windwalker at our house.”

Being called the Windwalker stung.

“What’s the point of having a prince if we’re not gonna tell anyone about it?” Reona whined.

“Hush.” Cass rolled her eyes.

“Thank you,” Vhalla said earnestly. She realized the foreign horse would likely give away that something was different in such a small town. But perhaps it could be explained away as Fritz’s mount from the palace.

“We should head home.” Cass noticed Vhalla considering her horse and had the same idea.

“We should.”

They tied up the last of their supplies to the saddles, and Vhalla adjusted the hood on her head, suddenly conscious of her own existence. Reona huffed, annoyed that her big secret actually had to remain just that.

A scream rang out through the quiet town.

All three girls turned to the source of the sound. A commotion was being raised at the far end. Vhalla glanced to Cass.

“Reona, stay here with the horses,” the elder sister ordered.

“I’m coming.” Vhalla fell into step by the eldest Charem girl. Cass gave her a nod and did not question.

A crowd was quickly gathering at the main entrance to the town. People of all shapes and sizes poured into the street to see the source of the commotion. Judging by the size of the group, everyone who lived in the area was likely there. Cass squinted over people’s heads. Vhalla had no hope of seeing, even on her toes. They pushed around the side to one of the storefronts. Standing on some wooden boxes, they could finally see the source of the fuss.

It was then that Vhalla realized how true the princess’s words had been.

“Jon, Jon! What, what is wrong, Jon?” a woman blubbered, stepping forward from the semi-circular crowd. A man had walked, judging by the footprints, through the mountain snow, and he had come a very long way. He wore the bloodied and torn uniform of a palace guard. Blood no longer oozed from the gaping wounds in-between his plate. It had crusted and frozen.

His head tilted to the side, weighed down by a rock that jutted out from his eye. No, it wasn’t a rock. Vhalla’s eyes widened. The crystal shone unnaturally in the light of the afternoon. Blood coated the man’s face from where the magical object had been shoved through. His other eye shone red, and his skin had turned to leather. Whoever this man had been, he was no more.

“I have been sent.” His voice echoed, raspy and hollow, across the silenced crowd. “As a messenger, from your new sovereign.” The crystal glowed ominously as he spoke, everyone stared in horror.

“I fought for the old regime, for the wicked Emperor Solaris, oppressor of power. For my loyalty, I was justly put to death, as were all who stood with the dying sun.” The man’s body did not move as he spoke; it was as rigid as a corpse, save for his jaw. “The family Solaris is dead. The Emperor died a screaming death. He has been flayed, his entrails set out for the birds and his skin used to make our lord’s first banner. His lady wife followed him after. The sons Solaris perished to hand over their succession rights to our lord’s divine right to rule. Their bodies have been quartered and fed to dogs.”

Vhalla’s hands rose to her mouth. Baldair, was her only thought. The idea of Victor disgracing the remains of the golden prince gave her a sickening mental image. An image that she would use as kindling to stoke the malice she held for Victor into a fever heat.

“There will be no quarter given to those who show a love for the fallen sun that is the family Solaris. They are all dead and rotting. Even the Windwalker was put to death for her well-known love of the late crown prince.”

Vhalla blinked. The man spoke of her. Victor proclaimed Aldrik and her dead to the world. He did not know they had managed to escape the caverns and found shelter from the winter. In all his over-confidence, he was so drunk on triumph that he missed their salvation at the hands of Elecia, Jax, and Fritz.

“Love your new lord for he is akin to the Gods, supreme king, our one true master, governor of this world, Victor Anzbel. Those who share a fraction of his power as sorcerers are to be heralded as his chosen ones. They are invited to the capital to swear fealty and live the life of nobility. Those unchosen, Commons, are to learn their new place and prostrate themselves before their magical overseers.” The grotesque animation finished its speech.

Vhalla felt an awful wrenching inside of her. This was the power she had unleashed. This was the fate she had allowed to be brought upon the world.

“We need to go.” Vhalla grabbed Cass’s elbow. The girl stared, gaping at the nightmare. “Now.”

“Right.” The eldest Charem finally was pulled out of her trance. As subtly as they could, they retreated away from the crowd.

“Jon, Jon, what madness are you speaking?” The woman stuttered her words with grief and disbelief.

“Kneel before me, so that he may witness your loyalty to this new world order,” the man continued as though he did not hear the woman.

They were halfway back to their horses, but in the silent town, each word was clear across the snow.

“Jon, please, speak to me as you always did. You-you loved, you were so proud to serve the Imperial family,” the woman pleaded.

Vhalla clenched her hands into fists instinctually, even though there was no longer magic to Channel. Grief was clouding that person’s judgment, and Vhalla was hopeless to help.

“Kneel, woman. Let your King Anzbel see your loyalty.”

“What’s going on?” Reona asked.

“Get on your horse,” Cass snapped at her sister.

Luckily, the girl was old enough and Cass was firm enough that she did not question. Vhalla swung her leg over Lightning. She noticed that sitting on the horses they were tall enough to see the scene off in the distance. Reona’s eyes were already fixed.

There was another scream, then chaos broke loose in the crowd behind them.

“All who do not kneel for the Supreme King Anzbel will die!” the man shouted.

They used the commotion to their advantage and spurred their horses into the woods. Vhalla turned in her saddle, picking up the rear behind the Charems. There was a commotion, shouting, crying, screaming, a flash, and the sizzle of magic. The town’s resistance was brief. Just before all were out of her vision, she saw the still living kneel in the blood of their fallen friends and family.

“What was that, what was that, what was that?” Reona was shaking her head. She had heard and seen enough.

“Hush, Reona!” Cass’s voice was breaking.

“We will be fine,” Vhalla assured the girls. Two sets of blue eyes looked back at her as they raced through the wood. “There was only one. If he catches up with us, Jax, Aldrik, Elecia, and Fritz will protect us.”

Vhalla gripped her reins. If she had her powers, that guard—the magically reanimated monster of Victor’s—would be dead . . . again. But all she could do was run, run and keep the two girls with her as safe as possible by getting them away. She could no longer fight with her magic and had no weapons. She’d been reduced to using the only tool she’d ever had at her disposal: her mind.

Vhalla looked behind them at the deep tracks in the snow. Despite the cold, sweat ran down her forehead. If she had her powers, she could cover those betraying dips in the white world. Cursing aloud, she snapped the leather in her death-grip, her heels digging into Lightning. Anyone would be able to see the path leading right to the Charem home.

“We need to split up!” Vhalla pulled hard on her reins. “Loop around in circles.”

“What?” Reona was shaking, and Vhalla doubted it was from cold.

“Make a bunch of circles, loop back, and then we’ll meet back up again in a bit. Stay in earshot,” Vhalla ordered.

Cass picked up on what Vhalla was attempting, likely she was one of the hunters of the family, and followed Vhalla’s orders. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but the abomination didn’t seem too intelligent, and it was better than nothing. They rode apart for a stretch, coming back together just as the Charem home came into view.

Orel was out chopping wood. Tama and the two Northern women were tending to something in the livestock pens. The horses were a fury of thunder that shattered the relative peace.

Vhalla met a set of emerald eyes. Sehra studied her face as if she was able to replay the horrors Vhalla witnessed from her expression alone.

“Daddy!” Reona launched off her horse, stumbled, rolled in the snow, found her feet, and ran to her father. Orel was confused, but wasted no time scooping his crying daughter into his large arms. “Daddy, daddy, daddy!”

The commotion drew the men from within the home, and a pair of dark eyes met hers. Vhalla looked at Aldrik, and her chest tightened. He knew instantly something was amiss.

Vhalla and Cass dismounted, and the older girl stumbled in the snow. Cass went instantly to her mother, saying nothing. Tama stared at her shaken daughter and took her child into her arms without question.

“What happened? Reona, sweetling, what happened?” Orel tried to console his hysterical daughter.

Vhalla stood in the snow, at a loss as to who she should turn to. Her arms hung limply at her sides as the information continued to sink into her. Aldrik’s gaze was upon her, his boot crunched the snow. Vhalla raised her gold-flecked eyes to meet obsidian.

“Vhalla,” he asked, he demanded.

She swallowed. Someone had to do it. One of them had to say it, and she was not about to make the girls who had accompanied her perform that duty. They were just girls, as she had once been. But her innocence had long since been lost. It was a fate she would not force, nor push, upon the Charem daughters. Vhalla’s shoulder ached all the way to her chest.

“Aldrik.” She did not care for the lack of his title before anyone anymore. Vhalla spoke only to him. “It’s Victor.”

He took another step toward her. Vhalla braced herself. She would find the words. Strength, she had to find the strength first. Her will would replace her magic; it would be just as strong as her winds ever were.

“What happened?” He kept his eyes locked with hers.

“The Emperor.” No matter what the man had done to her, to them, he had been Aldrik’s father. Vhalla’s voice softened. “Your father, the Empress, they’re dead.”

“What?” Elecia stepped forward as if she had somehow misheard Vhalla.

Aldrik tried to reach out, but only briefly. The spark that brought his hands to life was gone, and they hung at his side. His lips parted, and she saw the shock crash down on him. Her heart broke for the man she loved. First his brother, now his father, and who knew how many countless others were dead and gone.

Panic momentarily overwhelmed her at the thought of everyone she still loved in the capital, but Vhalla pushed through it.

“There was a messenger—a tainted abomination—sent from Victor. I can only assume one of many,” Vhalla answered Elecia, though her gaze stayed on Aldrik. “He was dead, long dead. But there was a crystal through his eye, and it somehow kept him moving.” She shook her head; it was magic beyond her understanding. Sehra had said as much. All the rules were gone now. This would be a fight unlike any they had ever seen. “He said Victor had become the supreme king of this world. That the old regime, the family Solaris and all who supported them in the capital, were dead.”

Her words filled the forest clearing, and Vhalla could see the moment everyone understood their meaning. Aldrik visibly swayed a moment, taking a step to adjust his balance. Vhalla’s hand rose to the watch at her neck. He was a prince without a throne. A man who had lost his mother, his brother, now his father, along with his kingdom and everything he had ever known. No one said a word. Aldrik stared blankly at her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. With those words, she knew it became real for him. Her sympathy, her pain on his behalf made the rest of it true, just as it had with Baldair.

He opened and closed his mouth, trying to find words. Her prince, he had endured so much death, so much loss and hurt that she could not save him from. Now Vhalla feared he was on the point of breaking. She took a step forward, at the same time as Orel.

“There is only one true king, one true lord of these lands. It is not some man whom I have never heard of before,” the head of the Charem family announced.

Aldrik turned to face the burly woodcutter, his eyes wide and expressionless.

“And that lord stands before me.” The man dropped to a knee, bowing his head. “Long live the Emperor Solaris.”

Aldrik blinked at Orel, still at an utter loss for words.

“Long live the Emperor Solaris.” Tama repeated her husband’s words dutifully, and the matriarch sunk to her knees.

“Long live Solaris,” Elecia announced proudly. Jax echoed the same, and both Westerners dropped to a knee, their heads bowed.

One by one, the Charem children began to follow suit. Each proclaimed their loyalty before sinking into the snow. To Vhalla’s shock, she witnessed the Northerners drop to their knees as well. The princess’s eyes were fixed on hers, and they spoke silent volumes, reminding Vhalla that their loyalty was on contingency. That their deal now mattered more than ever.

Vhalla turned back to Aldrik.

It was not a grand coronation in the Chapel of the Sun. There were no Crones to lead oaths. The wind replaced trumpets and snow replaced confetti of gold. He did not stand upon the Sunlit Stage, swathed in gold and white. There was no blazing crown of the sun to be placed upon his brow.

His succession came washed in the blood of his father and all who dared support his name. His gifts, his prizes of leadership, were loss and hardship. There was no mantle of the sun to settle upon his shoulders, only pain.

But she had lived to see that day. Vhalla was there the moment her prince became her Emperor. He turned back to her helplessly. For the first time in the whole of knowing him, Aldrik looked lost, shell-shocked. She tried to offer him an encouraging smile, but there was only one thing to be done. She had something more important to give him than her smiles. Vhalla dropped to her knee before the Emperor of the realms.

“Long live Solaris.”

For Jeff,

my lord, my love, my Bond

FRIGID AIR CLAWED its way under the pelts piled atop Vhalla Yarl, hunting out her warmth to herd it away as only winter could. She rolled over, jarred awake by a searing pain in her shoulder. Wincing inwardly, she eased off the wound, her hand instinctually reaching to rub it. It throbbed and itched worse with each passing day. Elecia was doing all she could to heal it, but healing supplies were severely limited. Even for a sorcerer of the woman’s caliber, there was only so much that could be done to quicken the healing process.

Vhalla rubbed her eyes and pushed herself to a seated position. Her companions rested where they had finally collapsed the day prior, the after effects of mental exhaustion. Fritz breathed heavily to her left, huddled against Elecia. Jax lay to Vhalla’s right. The Northern princess and her guard curled in on each other, slumbering in the corner.

Her eyes met the Westerner’s, and Vhalla inquisitively searched his gaze. Jax understood her silent question, snaking a hand out from under the blankets and pointing to the doorway. Vhalla stared at the vacant space to her immediate right, the vacancy that had let the cold in. One of her companions was not as she had left them.

Easing herself slowly up, Vhalla crept out of the bedroom, pulling a heavy blanket around her shoulders. The main room was empty. Fire smoldered in the recesses of the hearth, offering little to ward off the chill. It was easy to take stock of the Charem family home; there was the room in which the guests slept, the loft above that held Fritz’s family, and the main room in which she now stood. Her eyes fell on the boots lined up by the door, and her gaze noted the empty space between two pairs.

Booted and bundled, Vhalla ventured into the early twilight morning. The moon and stars still offered as much light as the early tendrils of dawn. The world of heavy snow and skeleton trees was void of color. It seemed as if it was withholding life until those horrors that had been unleashed upon the land were sorted out.

A line of footprints led away from the front door. Vhalla struggled through the deep snowdrifts on her short legs. She followed the tracks up a short ridge toward a sitting figure looking over the small quick-moving stream that the Charems used as their primary source of water.

The Emperor of Solaris sat as still as a statue. He was cut from midnight shadows and moonlight. The light dusting of snow looked like stars upon a night sky against the dark blanket over his shoulders. His skin was carved from alabaster, not even reddening by the cold. Vhalla wondered if a man with fire in his veins even felt the chill as she did.

She eased down next to him, their sides touching. She followed his line of sight, trying to see what so captivated his attention beyond the early morning’s horizon. She slowly took his hand in hers, lacing her fingers against his.

There was no lightning to his touch now, only heat. But even without the Bond, she knew how his mind worked. She felt his emotions like a phantom limb—a hollow and strange sensation of what should be there, of what her heart knew was there, but wasn’t. Vhalla finally drew her eyes to study his profile.

She had yet to find words to say to him. After the group’s proclamation that he was their true Emperor, he had announced that he was retiring early. Vhalla had gone with him, letting him draw whatever support he could from her presence. He had clung to her throughout the night, but withdrew before the sun rose.

She wanted to find the right words. She wanted to say something to give him strength, to remind him of all he still had. She wanted to say something that wouldn’t echo as a false display of support. But it would all be empty solutions to a problem that they both knew couldn’t be fixed. What did one say to a man who had lost everything but gained the world?

“Aldrik,” she began weakly.

“We need to move.” His voice was stronger than she expected, and it gave her pause. “You said there was a messenger.”

Vhalla nodded, though she wasn’t sure how he saw the motion. His eyes still had yet to leave that distant point on the horizon.

“There will be others, many others. Victor is clearly trying to make a quick claim for the Empire, before any have an opportunity to group against him,” he spoke mechanically, emotionlessly. His mind was moving faster than the wind, but his heart seemed like it had stopped altogether.

“Aldrik,” Vhalla tried again, a little stronger.

He continued without giving her his attention, “We need to unite the people faster than he can, under the banner which they have been fighting for—the Solaris banner. We must protect them.”

“Aldrik.”

She tugged firmly on his hand, and his head finally swung to her. His eyes were listless, only the hint of red at the edges betrayed that a piece of his heart had survived the latest blow. A heart that had been shattered with the death of his brother no more than days before.

A weak condolence stopped before it could pass her lips. Vhalla swallowed it down. She pressed her mouth into a firm line, giving him a nod. “We will protect your people.”

The knot in his neck bobbed as he swallowed hard. Her arms slipped out from under the blanket, wrapping tightly around his shoulders and pulling him to her. His hands found life again and tugged her toward him and onto his lap, swaddling her under his blanket against his warmth.

The pads of his fingers dug into her side and shoulder. It felt as though they were trying to meld back into one mind and one body, as they had once before with the Bond. Aldrik’s face buried in the side of her neck, and Vhalla stared at nothing as his breath seeped through her layers to her skin.

“Our people.”

They remained until the sun crested the horizon, tucked against each other, the silence speaking louder than any words could. Aldrik hoisted her, carrying her halfway back to the Charem home, a happy trail of smoke emitting plumes from the chimney. Vhalla saw it only as a beacon. If Victor’s tainted monsters had any sentience left at all, they would know to come in this direction soon.

Or, far more likely, Victor would drive them in logical directions. The creature had demanded people kneel so the new king could see their loyalty. Clearly, the crystals created a magical connection between Victor and his abominations.

Back inside the house, no one said anything about the return of the Emperor and the woman who was once the Windwalker. Cass, the eldest Charem daughter, kept the conversation going throughout breakfast. But it wasn’t nearly as lively as Vhalla’s first meal with the brood. Reona sat listlessly, moving food around her plate as though the face of the tainted monster they’d witnessed in town was beneath it and she wanted to keep it hidden. Elecia alternated between concerned glances at Aldrik and hushed whispers with Jax. Fritz tried to remain his bubbly self, but even that seemed hollow. There was a deeper, somber current that tore its way across the world, and the table had been swept up in it.

When the food was mostly finished, Aldrik cleared his throat lightly, more to prepare himself to speak than to gain the attention of anyone. “I require a word.”

There was no confusion as to who he required a word with and, shortly thereafter, the seven of them were crammed into the smaller back room. The Firebearers conjured thin motes of fire to hover harmlessly in the corners, warming the room to a comfortable temperature—but their efforts did little to warm Vhalla. She sat next to Aldrik, so close they were touching.

“We will leave tonight,” Aldrik announced the moment his unorthodox council was settled.

“Tonight?” Fritz was reluctant to even consider the notion. “It will be absolutely freezing. Cass said she saw the makings of a storm on the horizon when she was getting wood this morning.”

“All the better. The moonlight will guide us; it’s full enough, and the storm will hide our tracks.”

Had Aldrik been looking at the horizon for storms? Had he woken so early to see if they could make headway in the darkness? Vhalla wondered in surprise. She had no doubt as to the sincerity of the grief that piled on his shoulders. But her prince—no, Emperor, she corrected mentally—remained ever focused. In the end, his nature and upbringing won over his grief.

“Fritz,” Vhalla interrupted her friend before he could protest again. “We need to go. We’re a danger to your family if we stay.”

“What?” The blonde’s expression changed dramatically.

“Victor is announcing that the whole of the Solaris family is dead, that I am dead. His monster demanded that all kneel before their new king so Victor could bear witness to their loyalty. Those who did not met a horrible fate. A fate I would never want to see brought upon your family.” She spoke gently, but she wasn’t going to spare Fritz the truth. He had been to war, he knew horrors, and he needed to know that it would be at this doorstep if they didn’t leave.

“But . . .”

“She’s right,” Elecia interjected. “If—when—Victor finds out Aldrik is still alive, it will turn into a manhunt. What do you think will happen to anyone who is known to harbor or help us?”

Fritz slumped.

“You can stay.” Vhalla reached out, lightly touching her friend’s knee. “We have to go, but you don’t have to. They’re not hunting you, Fritz, and you can lie about your involvement. I will understand if you stay.”

“Don’t be stupid, Vhal.” Fritz squeezed her hand. “The Charems aren’t a bunch of weak flowers. We can protect ourselves. By the Mother, Cass can be more frightening than anything I’ve ever seen Victor create.”

Vhalla tried to maintain an appropriate expression in the face of Fritz’s determined smile, but she was certain she fell short. Her friend hadn’t seen what Victor had created. He couldn’t comprehend what type of magic the former Minister of Sorcery was capable of now.

“If I leave you now,” he continued, “Larel will come back from the dead and haunt me ‘til my dying breath.”

She squeezed his hand in reply. Vhalla felt genuinely guilty about taking her friend from his home when he had just returned, especially when the world was so uncertain. But she also felt relief that he would remain by her side. Fritz was a man; he could make his own choices, and, as his friend, she had to let him.

“Now that that’s settled,” Elecia gave Fritz an approving nod, happy as well that he’d be joining them, “the fastest route to Norin from here would be the old roads. But if we took the Great Southern Way through the—”

“We’re not going to Norin,” Aldrik stated, reclaiming the conversation.

“What?” Elecia asked in confusion that mirrored Vhalla’s.

“My uncle will raise the banners at the first word of what Victor has done, with or without me.”

“Mhashan will never support a tyrant who has murdered their prince and seeks to oppress them.” Jax gave Aldrik an approving nod.

“However, the East is not so simple.” Aldrik’s eyes fell on Vhalla. She straightened, trying to grow into the role he was not so subtly placing upon her. “The East is uninterested in war. They’ll side with the victor—” Aldrik grimaced at the word, realizing the brutal irony at the same time as everyone else, “—with the winner, if they think it means preserving the peace and government for their people.”

“Bleeding heart Easterners.” Elecia rolled her eyes.

“Stay your tongue,” Aldrik warned his cousin. “They are part of this Empire, and we need them for our army.” He turned his attention to the silent Northerners in the room. “We will need your people as well.”

“As long as our deal remains, you shall have them.” Sehra, princess of Shaldan, Child of Yargen, gave an affirmative motion.

Vhalla’s stomach clenched, but her expression betrayed nothing of her uncertainty at those words. If she and Aldrik wed and she bore him an heir, their child would be sent to the North as a gesture of good faith and a promise to look after the people in the recently conquered land. Sehra met her eyes, as if trying to root out Vhalla’s turmoil at the thought.

“Your deal remains,” Vhalla spoke on behalf of her and Aldrik. She would say the words that they needed—that she knew he wasn’t prepared to speak again.

“Come north with us until the Eastern cutoff.” There was a cooling hostility between Aldrik and the Northern women. It was almost tangible in the way he had changed his speech patterns toward them. Now that he was no longer in a forced engagement with the princess, things were more relaxed between them. The deal for his child aside, there were signs of hope for the future negotiations between the Northern clans and their new ruler. “We will all be safer in a group.”

“I protect Sehra,” Za proclaimed in her broken Southern common.

“You will,” Aldrik agreed with a graceful nod of his head, “but it will be easier when you have extra eyes to keep watch at night so that you may rest.” This seemed to satisfy Za, so Aldrik continued, “When we arrive in Hastan, I will send word regarding plans to regroup in Norin.”

“So we are going to Norin then?” Elecia couldn’t hide her eagerness at the idea of returning home.

Aldrik nodded as he confirmed, “We must. If there are no further questions, then we should spend the day prepar—”

“There is something else,” Elecia spoke over Aldrik, eliciting an arch of a dark eyebrow from her Emperor. Her eyes turned to Vhalla. “She should stay here.”

“No.” Vhalla wasn’t sure who said it first, her or Aldrik.

“You can stay hidden among the Charem girls.” Elecia was now appealing to Vhalla. “If Southerners passed for you on the march, you could pass—”

“No.” Aldrik wasn’t hearing another word.

“Aldrik.” Elecia’s attention shifted. “I know you want her to come. But you also want her alive, don’t you? She can’t protect herself.”

“This is not up for discussion.”

“She cannot come!” Elecia finally snapped. “If she does, you are a reckless fool, and your life is worth far more than hers!”

“Don’t you dare,” Aldrik snarled at his kin. Magic flashed dangerously around a clenched fist, red sparking to orange fire.

Elecia remained unfazed and didn’t back down. “If you die, who will the banners rally behind? If she comes, you will throw your life away for hers the first time she needs protecting. And such a need will arise, especially since she’s just a Commons.”

“Elecia, I am your Emperor now—”

Vhalla’s heart stopped at those words said aloud.

“Then act like it!” Elecia clearly was not struck by the same awe. “Think of the people you are responsible for. They need you, Aldrik. They need their Emperor. No one will stand to challenge Victor if not you. No one can unite the banners like you can.”

“Do not assume for a moment that I do not know how many lives I am responsible for.” Aldrik’s voice deepened. “This is not your choice.”

“And it’s not yours either, Aldrik.” Vhalla finally spoke up, silencing the group. “It’s mine.”

“Vhalla . . .”

Her lover’s eyes searched her desperately. Anger quickly turned into fear that she would agree with Elecia. That she would leave him. Vhalla knew that logic defined it as the “right” choice. But what they were, everything she and Aldrik had ever been, defied logic.

“I will go.”

“Are you mad or just selfish?” Elecia snapped viciously.

Aldrik ignored his cousin and gave Vhalla a slow, relieved smile.

“If I stay,” Vhalla began, tearing her eyes from the quiet joy that a smile on Aldrik’s lips gave her to look at the seething Western woman. “What will happen the first time Aldrik thinks me in trouble?”

The woman had no response.

“How will constant worry about my wellbeing impact his focus?”

Elecia still said nothing.

“Who will push him when he needs to be pushed?” Vhalla stole a glance at Aldrik, hoping he didn’t take offense to her words. “Who else is unafraid to say what needs to be said, when it must be said, to him of all people?”

She met Elecia’s disbelief with a challenge. Aldrik and Vhalla had wrapped their lives around the “appropriate” decisions as dictated by the world. They’d hidden their wants and pushed aside what they had known to be true. What had it earned them? A world of death. She’d had enough of doing what the world wanted.

“I am not helpless,” Vhalla insisted. She had been training for weeks with Daniel. “Give me a sword, and I can defend myself.”

“Damn you both.” Elecia wasn’t giving up gracefully. “You’ll get yourselves killed, and that’s the end of that.”

“Nothing will happen to either of us.”

“You can’t honestly believe that, Aldrik.”

“Oh, enough,” Jax groaned. “If you’re that worried, I’ll do it.”

“What?” the three said in unison.

“‘Cia is right, Aldrik.” Vhalla had never heard anyone other than Aldrik use Elecia’s childhood nickname, but Elecia made no objection to it being uttered by Jax’s lips. “You must live, and you know it. But me? My life means nothing. So I’ll be her sworn defender.”

“Your life isn’t nothing,” Vhalla couldn’t stop herself from objecting.

Jax tilted his head back with laughter. “You still don’t really know much about me, do you?”

Vhalla pressed her lips together in frustrated thought. She searched for a way to object, and yet she couldn’t, which was all the more aggravating.

“Why?” Aldrik seemed more curious than disbelieving.

“For Baldair.”

Vhalla inhaled a sharp breath, the name like an ice dagger to her gut. She remembered what Victor had said about the late prince, about quartering his body and feeding it to the dogs. Her hand rose up to massage the angry scar that covered her shoulder to chest.

“The last order I received from him was to protect her—”

“Fine job you did of it,” Aldrik remarked curtly.

Jax faltered a moment, a wounded expression overcoming his face.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Vhalla insisted, equally sharp. “What happened is on my shoulders.” She wasn’t going to let Jax take Aldrik’s ire for it.

“Let me have another chance.” Jax was relentless. “I am owned by the crown. It’s a fitting duty.”

Elecia averted her eyes at the reminder, as though she could un-hear the truth that spilled from Jax’s lips. Vhalla knew his situation had been similar to her previous enslavement, but she had no idea how it had come to pass. It was now something she desperately wanted to know.

“That leash now transfers to you, my Emperor.” Aldrik seemed more bothered by what Jax was saying than Jax himself.

The conversation was moving too fast for Vhalla to inquire about what leash.

“Order me to do it, and I’ll defend her to my dying breath. I’ll treat her life as my own. I’ll do it for Baldair and for you, my sovereign.”

Aldrik considered it, much to Vhalla’s shock.

“Come now, I’m not the hero type. Let me have this moment as we go out and save the world.” Jax gave a toothy grin as easily as if he was talking about the weather.

“Jax, I am not in the mood for levity.” Aldrik pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “Very well.”

“Excuse me?” Vhalla finally entered the conversation, sharply. “I get no say in this? I said I can take care of myself.”

“Then use me only for those times when you can’t take care of yourself,” Jax countered easily. Sensing her continuing objection, he added, “Don’t take Baldair’s last order from me.”

It was part threat, part anger, part sorrow, and all determination. Vhalla bowed her head, frustrated. He was tugging on just the right heartstring to get what he wanted, and she hated him for it.

“All right,” she agreed weakly. “But find me a sword the first moment we can.”

“Well, if there is nothing else.” Aldrik cast a wary eye toward Elecia. “We leave at sundown.”

They followed their Emperor’s decrees, every last one of them. They tacked the horses and filled their bellies with the last hot meal they were likely to get for the foreseeable future. The Charem family swore their secret loyalty even as Aldrik ordered them to bend knee in body—but not in heart—to Victor. After the moon had begun its journey into the sky, they rode out swathed in the darkest cloaks the Charems owned.

The Emperor Solaris led his loyal few into the uncertain darkness.

THEY HAD UNDERESTIMATED Victor, specifically the speed at which his abominations could be created and moved. Those forced to follow his will were going to be subjected to death by ten thousand cuts from witnessing those they loved being turned into horrors. And this would be before Victor began mobilizing an actual structured army to take the continent. That is if any survived to object to Victor’s rule.

As the Emperor and his loyalists arrived at the first tiny town beyond Fritz’s home, they discovered it painted red with blood.

Half frozen bodies, glistening crimson, littered the ground in the mid-morning sun. Men, women, children—the young and old—were reduced to shades of former life. Vhalla stared on tiredly. It shouldn’t hurt any longer, but pain sat rooted in her chest. She had seen this before. She had lived this blood-stained life recently, now more real than when she had filed books away in the Imperial Library.

Vhalla unfurled the vise-like grip she held on her reins and raised a hand to her shoulder, soaked through to the skin from the heavily falling snow. Her fingers massaged the angry scar tissue. It ached and stung all the way down her arm. The physical pain was a mask for the visceral guilt that tore its way through her.

This was her fault.

“He didn’t spare anyone, did he?” Elecia whispered. Whatever had caused the carnage was long gone, but she still kept her voice low, in homage to the dead surrounding them.

“Why didn’t they kneel?” Aldrik’s brows knotted together, deep lines appearing between them. He asked the question they all were thinking.

“They never would’ve.” Fritz swayed in the breeze, nearly falling out of his saddle. Vhalla wondered if he’d known people in this town like she’d known people in the neighboring town to Leoul. “For centuries, the eldest in every family went to serve in the Imperial guard, back to when the South was just Lyndum.” The Southerner shook his head. “They’d never accept someone who wasn’t a Solaris on the throne.”

Aldrik’s lips pressed together into a scowl. Vhalla struggled to find something to relieve his pain, but there was nothing she could say when her guilt was just as heavy.

“We’ll rest here until sunset,” Aldrik decided, pointing to a small tavern.

The seven housed their mounts in the attached stables, alongside a tired-looking pony and a spooked mare. It was expectedly empty inside, void of both corpses and survivors.

“Well, they still have ale,” Jax revealed from his inspection from behind the bar.

“Leave it,” Aldrik ordered.

“Just because you—”

Aldrik silenced Jax with a pointed look that he quickly abandoned when he pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “I will have no drunken stupors on this journey.”

“One drink does not a stupor make.” Jax crossed his arms over his chest; it hid the slight tremble Vhalla had noticed in his hands when he had run them along the bar.

Aldrik sighed heavily. “Do what you will. We move again at sundown. You should enjoy the beds while we have them.”

Taking his own advice, Aldrik dragged his feet up the small stairs that presumably led to the inn’s rooms. Concern lined Jax’s forehead as his eyes followed the Emperor’s departure. Vhalla caught his look and gave a nod in affirmation, following on Aldrik’s heels.

His cloak was already hanging to dry when she poked her nose in the crack of the doorway. Aldrik turned quickly at the sound, nearly crumpling from exhaustion when he saw it was only her. Vhalla eased the door shut behind her and rested her back against it.

“These people served my family for centuries.” Aldrik started a small fire with a look, and Vhalla was relieved to see that, despite his mood, it did not flare out of control. “A whole town of them, sons and daughters, loyal to the Solaris name until their end. And I-I was never made aware.”

“We will honor them.”

“How? With what?” Aldrik’s voice had bite, but his expression was tired and his eyes searching.

“Until this is over, we will have to carry their memory with us. But when we have fixed all this, we can do more,” she vowed, as much to him as to herself.

“This is something that cannot be fixed.”

Vhalla bit her lip thoughtfully. “For those face-first in the snow? No.” She squeezed her eyes closed with a soft sigh. Baldair was behind her eyes as the ghost who rode with them all, the man they’d had no time to properly mourn but were reminded of at every turn. “He seeks to turn the continent into this desolation, Aldrik. It is not too late for everyone still breathing. We fight for them. We honor the dead with a commitment to the living.”

When Vhalla opened her eyes again, he stood before her. Aldrik considered her for a long moment. His long fingers rose to the ties of her cloak at her neck, and Vhalla let him slip the fabric off her shoulders. She let the warmth of his hands seep as deeply as it could into the icy brambles that had vined around her heart.

“You’re soaking wet,” he breathed. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Freezing,” she whispered in reply.

“Fortunately for you, your future husband happens to command fire with his hands.” Aldrik watched her as his declaration settled onto her shoulders.

“Truly?” It was hard to believe, even now, with the world as it was.

“If you do not wish it, now would be the time to tell me.” The words could’ve been a jest, but they carried a serious note.

Vhalla raised a hand to the watch at her neck. Its chain had barely missed being severed by Victor’s axe, the only pity fate had taken upon her. Aldrik followed her motion to the token he had given her the first time he had asked for her future to be spent at his side.

“My love,” he sighed in relief, resting his forehead against hers.

Their noses brushed against each other, and Vhalla pressed an exhausted kiss into his mouth. The day would permit no further affection than that, but she allowed herself to melt into it. Her lord, friend, and lover—if she didn’t ground her heart in something, it wasn’t going to survive the rest of their journey.

They left promptly at sundown as Aldrik had instructed. Vhalla knew the man had hardly slept at all, but she was in no place to scold him for it, as she had spent most of the hours awake as well, haunted by the town’s stillness. On their departure, Vhalla held them up, insistently searching the town and bodies for a useable sword. When she found one, it was small, and not nearly as fine as anything she had used when training with Daniel, but the cold steel felt reassuring on her hip.

The next afternoon, they stayed in the woods, which was far less comfortable than sleeping in one of the abandoned rooms of an inn, but it was easier mentally. Periodically throughout the day, Fritz used his Waterrunner abilities to command the snow to shift and hide their tracks, including the last hour or so before they broke camp. They rotated watches and slept huddled against each other.

One night, they slept against a fallen tree, then in a cave, then out in the open. They passed abandoned homes, slaughtered towns, and places where the people were so silent and still they could have been dead. They walked parallel to the Great Imperial Way, which appeared and disappeared in the distance, through the trees and snowdrifts. But for all of their concerns and careful progress, they never saw another wandering soul.

As the days and distance slipped by, silence became their primary companion. At first, they didn’t speak out of necessity and nerves, then out of respect for the dead, then out of fear of discovery. But it finally became the way of things, the world too much to be expressed with language. Vhalla began to yearn for Aldrik’s nightly whispers affirming his adoration when he took her into his arms so they could sleep hunched together. It was one of the few things that kept her strong.

Vhalla lost track of the days. It could have been a week. It could have been a year.

When they came across a small hunter’s hovel, she wanted to cry with relief. Abandoned, it offered an opportunity for them to get out of the cold and to dry out their boots. The front had mostly collapsed, but the remaining walls supported a pitched roof that stood in defiance of the snow.

“I’ll give it a look.” Jax swung down off his horse, quickly inspecting the structure and deeming it stable enough for them to spend the night.

“Is it too close to the road?” Elecia glanced nervously at the Imperial Way, barely visible through the trees.

“We haven’t seen anyone for days,” Fritz groaned. “I want a roof.”

“It’s not going to be any warmer than sleeping outside; half the front is missing,” Elecia pointed out.

“If we hang up our cloaks to dry on the walls, it could block the light from a small fire and keep us warm enough.” Jax turned to Aldrik, who remained mounted at Vhalla’s left. “What do you say?”

Aldrik glanced back to the road, clearly weighing the options. “If we don’t get out of the cold, one of us will fall ill, and that would be worse,” he decided.

They dismounted and tied their horses to the closest tree. Fritz led the charge for “making house” and quickly demanded everyone’s cloak. Elecia helped alongside Jax. Though the Western man never let Vhalla out of his sight for very long—her new shadow.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Vhalla offered with a yawn.

“Are you sure?” Aldrik asked.

“I’ve been getting the most sleep; it’s my turn to watch.”

“Yes, but—”

“I’m fine.” Vhalla rubbed her shoulder for emphasis. It was still tender, but the skin grew stronger by the day. She knew the ache she felt would always be there. It would be there until Victor died, and it would be there every moment afterward. “Rest, Aldrik.”

Her Emperor conceded, disappearing under the cloak Jax was using to close up the gaping hole in the building’s front. Vhalla’s attention shifted to the two who remained in the snow.

Sehra walked to a tree and placed both her palms on it. She did this every day, regardless of when they stopped, dawn or sunset. Vhalla watched as the young woman brought her forehead to the icy bark and remained still and reverent.

None of the group had questioned or stopped the Northerners. Vhalla looked on, curiosity finally getting the better of her.

“What are you doing?” she asked when the two women headed toward their sleeping place for the night.

Za and Sehra looked at each other, momentarily startled. Sehra studied Vhalla for a tense moment. Whatever test she had been silently administering, Vhalla passed.

“I’m looking for traces of crystal magic,” she answered.

“You can do that?” Vhalla blurted in surprise.

Za snorted.

Momentarily wearing a small satisfied smile, Sehra answered, “I can.”

“How?”

“You doubt Sehra?” Za asked defensively.

“She doesn’t,” Sehra answered before Vhalla could. “She just doesn’t understand. Crystal magic is much like the old magic. Similar, but different. Like light and darkness, two halves to a whole. One knows of the other, even if they cannot command it.”

The princess’s explanation could’ve been condescending but wasn’t, Vhalla noted. She considered this for a long moment. She understood what the princess said, but she still had no concept of what made crystal magic and “old magic” different.

“And you can do this because you are a Child of Yargen?”

The smile Sehra gave then was certainly genuine. The young woman had been schooled in diplomacy and it showed. But her youth also betrayed her in moments when she felt as though she could relax. Vhalla filed this information away in case she needed to capitalize on it in the future, and hated herself for doing so.

“That is so,” Sehra affirmed.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I am chosen to wield Yargen’s power and be an overseer of fate.” The way Sehra spoke showed she believed every word of what she was saying, no matter how fantastical it sounded.

“Like a God?” Vhalla tried to confirm she knew what Sehra was claiming before she passed judgment on it.

Za laughed at the question. “Only Gods are Gods.”

“More like an agent of the Gods,” Sehra elaborated. “You have much interest?”

“I do.” Vhalla swallowed, easing the next words between her lips with as much grace and strength as she possessed. “I want to know more about where my first born will spend his or her childhood, should it all come to pass.”

The wind agreed gustily with Vhalla’s words, whipping snow and hair across her face. Sehra remained so still that Vhalla wondered if she’d thought, rather than spoken, the words.

“Do not fear so deeply, Vhalla Yarl.” Sehra made a fist with her right hand, clasping the left over it. The gesture meant nothing to Vhalla, but she understood enough meaning—that there was peace, strength, and respect ahead for them all—from the princess’s expression. “The path you chose to walk with me is not easy. But it is right.”

Deeming the conversation finished, Za and Sehra disappeared. Vhalla felt like she’d ended up with more questions than answers. She paced around, racking her brain for everything she’d read on the North, but it was precious little. Vhalla felt frustrated with herself. She could name almost all the Southern kings in order, but not one of the Northern Head Clans.

The crunching of snow and the whinny of a horse cut through her thoughts. Vhalla turned away from the structure where the mounts were tethered. Something spooked the horse: a snow hare, a fox creeping from its den. Her fingers closed around the hilt of her sword, debating whether to draw it. Would the sound alert any potential threat? Would it give up a potential advantage she had?

She briefly thought about waking Jax or Elecia or Aldrik, but the soft glow of the firelight winking through the gaps in the hung cloaks had just faded. They had only just fallen asleep, and she wouldn’t wake them for what was likely nothing.

Vhalla held her breath as she rounded the corner of the structure where the horses were tethered. She saw nothing. Just when she was about to relax, the snow crunched to her right.

She swung the sword on instinct. Vhalla caught sight of Imperial armor, a palace guard. The world slowed as she arced her sword down into the man’s shoulder. It rang out against his plate, alerting the rest of her group.

The sword hummed as it fell from Vhalla’s hands. She stared in shock at the ghost who confronted her. It couldn’t be.

“What the—?” Jax was the fastest to rouse, bursting through the hanging cloak and skidding to a stop as he rounded the corner.

The man gripped her without hesitation. Spinning her in place, Vhalla was compressed against a familiar chest, and he held her head against his shoulder with a palm over her mouth. A dagger was at her throat in an instant.

Aldrik was fast on Jax’s heels, his eyes were aflame with rage the moment they landed on the blade pressing into her throat.

“Don’t move,” a rough masculine voice demanded. “If you don’t want her to die, don’t move.”

“I’M GOING TO take one of your horses,” the man continued. “You’ll let me or she dies.”

“You don’t know who you’ve picked a fight with, friend.” Jax shook his head with a laugh. He stepped forward into the snow and froze. Vhalla watched as his eyes alighted with comprehension. Jax heard what she had heard. He saw what had made her willingly disarm herself. “Daniel?”

Vhalla closed her eyes in relief.

“Wh-who-what?” Daniel’s grip loosened some. “No, no impossible. It’s not possible.” With a growl, Daniel jerked her back toward him, tightening his hold. “Don’t lie to me, specter.”

“Daniel.” Jax held up his hands in a motion that was meant to show harmlessness. Vhalla briefly appreciated its irony, coming from a man who could summon flame with a thought. “It’s me, Jax. The woman you are holding is Vhalla.”

The man holding her, the person who spoke with Daniel’s voice and wore enough of Daniel’s image to convince Jax, let out a rasp that was nearly inhuman in its craze. He cackled, and it squelched the small bud of hope that had bloomed in Vhalla’s stomach.

“I don’t know who you are, but I know you’re a liar. The Lady Vhalla Yarl is dead.”

She wished he’d loosen his grip over her mouth long enough for her to get a word in.

“Daniel,” Fritz spoke softly, taking a step from behind Jax. “She’s not dead, she’s right—”

“Don’t tell me she’s alive! I watched her die on the Sunlit Stage! I watched him force her to kneel as he let his monsters tear her apart limb from limb.” He was nearly shouting, and Vhalla hoped that Sehra had been correct in there being no crystal magic, and therefore no abominations, nearby.

Who had died in the public execution?

“Next.” Daniel laughed again, the blade biting into her throat from his trembling hand. “Next you’ll be telling me that-that the man standing there is . . .”

The words faded into the wind. Aldrik’s eyes were alight with rage, his posture rigid. But his focus had shifted off Vhalla and onto Daniel, presumably meeting his eyes.

“I am the Emperor Solaris,” Aldrik finished, dangerously quiet.

“Supreme King Anzbel, he . . .” More raspy laughing. “Enough, I don’t know who or what you really are, but I am getting that horse and I am going. I don’t care if I have to kill her for it!”

“You would shame Baldair’s memory?” Jax exclaimed. No one moved. “Daniel, he gave you an order. He asked you to protect the woman you are threatening to kill, to protect her until your dying breath.”

“Stop . . .” Daniel whispered.

“No! You swore an oath to the guard. As long as your heart beats, you are to honor it,” Jax pressed. The knife at her throat quivered, and Vhalla ignored the pain. “Brother.” The world turned on Jax’s singular word. “Let her go.”

Suddenly, the knife was gone, and his grip went slack. For all of Jax’s words, he clearly didn’t completely trust his brother-in-arms in his present state; he closed the gap between them, grabbing for Vhalla and spinning her half behind him.

Now freed, she could assess the man everyone else had seen all along. The man she was thankful she hadn’t killed. Daniel was haggard. His armor was crusted with blood, and yellow bandages were wrapped around his forearm where a gauntlet was missing. His hair was slick with sweat and grime. The makings of a proper beard crossed his chin.

None of this scared Vhalla. A body could be washed, injuries tended to. It was Daniel’s eyes that broke something in her. There was something deeply wrong down to his very soul, something that no potion or salve could cure.

“Daniel, it’s me.” She finally lowered her hood, studying his expression for some trace of the man whom she had marched with and learned from.

“I-I cut you,” he stammered.

Vhalla raised a hand to her neck. “So you did. Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt.”

“I was supposed to protect you.” He swayed. “And then, I watched you die.”

“I’m fine.” Vhalla took a step forward. Jax shot her a warning look, and Vhalla replied with a glare. The Western man didn’t stop her, but he stayed near her shoulder as she crossed the gap to Daniel. The man was like a stylized painting, from far away he may be passible for a man, but the moment she was up close she could see every frayed brushstroke and wavering line. Vhalla boldly took his hands, and he nearly jumped out of his skin at the touch. “See, I’m fine. You, however, are not. Come inside and sit. Get out of the cold.”

Za volunteered that she and Sehra keep watch, casting a leery eye toward Daniel. Even after the Northerners left, it was cramped with the six of them in the small structure. Daniel was jumpy with the proximity to people, his eyes darting wildly.

“Elecia, will you please look at his wounds?” Vhalla asked.

The Western woman looked to Jax and Aldrik, who both gave nods of silent approval. She radiated uncertainty but did her duty as a cleric. Daniel jerked away violently the second Elecia’s hands landed on his forearm.

“No!” He scrambled away. “Don’t-don’t touch me.”

“Daniel, we can’t heal you if—”

“I killed them!” He lunged forward, grabbing Vhalla’s upper arms to the point of bruising. “Don’t fix me, I’m broken.” Daniel shook her, and Vhalla hissed at the pain it caused in her right shoulder.

“Brother, stop.” Jax intervened. “You’re hurting her again.”

Daniel stared in utter horror, then nearly threw Vhalla aside and scrambled away. She stared, heartbroken, as the man brought his knees to his chest, clutching his head.

“I killed, they died, they died, they died, and I killed them, it was—”

Vhalla wrapped her arms around his rocking shoulders. This time he tensed but didn’t lash out at the touch. “Stop,” she breathed. “Let Elecia check you.”

Daniel whimpered and squirmed, but as long as Vhalla held him to her, he let Elecia perform what ministrations she could. It was awkward having to work around Vhalla’s arms, but Elecia had more tact than to point this out.

When Elecia finished, Vhalla loosened her grip and asked, “Why are you here?”

“I-I ran.” Daniel choked on his words, letting out a pained, strangled noise.

“What happened?” Jax pried.

Daniel held his temples and stared at nothing. He cried, rivulets streaking through the blood and grime on his cheeks.

“Daniel—”

“No! No!”

“Soldier.” Aldrik forcefully stepped into the conversation with a single sharp word. Daniel froze. “This is an order from your Emperor: report.”

Vhalla wanted to scold him for taking such a tone, but Aldrik had seen and heard something she hadn’t. The command snapped something back into place, and Daniel’s breathing slowed, his eyes regaining some sanity.

“It-it was only him. He walked right in, and no one even thought of stopping him until the first group of guards died.” No one needed to ask who “he” was. “It should’ve been easy, there was only one man. But every time one fell, he took their eye and turned it into one of those rocks—those crystals.”

Vhalla’s mostly empty stomach churned at the memory of the guard who had walked into the village closest to Fritz’s home.

“They rose. They fought for him. They were dead but kept walking until that awful, awful blue-green light faded.” Daniel turned to her, almost pleading. “What could we have done?”

“My father?” Aldrik asked, but by the look on Daniel’s face, Vhalla wished he hadn’t.

“His death was only the beginning.” Daniel turned to Jax. “It’s just us now, brother.”

“What happened to the guard?” A dark severity overcame Jax’s words.

“Raylynn tried to keep Baldair’s body from him. To keep him from disgracing it as he did. You know how those two were. Never anything, always something. She died defending him.” Daniel hiccupped. “The Supreme King shattered both Erion’s legs, stripped, and saddled him, then sent him back to the West. There’s no way he made it in this cold.”

“And Craig?” Jax asked after a long pause.

“Craig and me . . .” He was suddenly talking too fast, the words avalanching out. “Erion told us to bend knee. That we couldn’t help anyone if we died, too. Erion was better suited as a message to the West but—Victor kept us for his monsters.”

“Monsters?” Vhalla whispered.

“Those who displeased him went into the rooms. They were exposed to the taint . . . At first they were fine, but then, their screams, their flesh. It changed, they changed. By the Mother, their screams—their screams as they ripped open skin to make rooms for talons and wings and horns and scales and—”

He was crying again.

“Enough, that’s enough,” Vhalla tried to soothe.

“Don’t touch me!” The man seemed to be on reset. Alternating between disbelief, violence, and soul crushing sadness. “I killed them. The feedings began. Blood, they need to develop a taste for blood, the King said. They need fresh meat, the King said.

“Craig and I, it was us. We knew it would be one of us next. Craig told me, he gave me this chance. He offered himself to that monster knowing I would be the one to feed him to it—knowing it would give me the chance to run. He screamed for me as they ate him. He screamed for me as I ran.”

Vhalla sat in numb horror. Struggling to find words in the wake of everything Daniel was pouring forth and splaying at their feet.

“If he finds me, I will be food. Or he will turn me into a monster.” Daniel looked to Jax. “Don’t give me to them. Don’t give me to his revels for his blood guard, drunk on gore and control. Don’t let his court of sorcerers have me.”

“Brother, you’re fine now,” Jax lied.

Nothing about Daniel was fine. Nothing about their situation or the world was fine.

“We will take you home,” Vhalla vowed. “We’re going East now.”

This was her fault. She had helped Victor and unleashed this force. Beyond that, if she had kept Daniel closer and had been a better friend to him, maybe he would have been with them before now. Maybe Jax would have thought to get him before charging into that dark night for the Crystal Caverns. She had made so many mistakes. How many people she loved would pay for them?

“He’ll slow us down.” Elecia couldn’t keep her thoughts to herself.

“He needs our help.” Even Fritz was surprised at her cold assessment.

“We need our own help.” Elecia firmly gripped her con- victions. “He’s going to slow us down; he’s beyond halfway to madness. Not to mention, we endanger him as well, now that he knows we’re alive.”

Vhalla stopped to consider this. It was the reason they had left the Charems. But the Charems were capable of being clever. Daniel was a child lost in the woods.

“This is not up for discussion.” Daniel was their responsibility now, and Vhalla would see him home. Her mind was made up.

“What right do you have?” Elecia snorted.

“My right as your future Empress!” Vhalla shot back so fast the words nearly gave her whiplash.

Everyone held their breath, and Vhalla’s heart slowed. Their future Empress.

Aldrik didn’t say or do anything to contradict her claim.

“Fine,” Elecia huffed. The woman seemed almost satisfied at Vhalla’s proclamation, despite being on the receiving end of her ire.

“You’re really going to help me?” Daniel looked up at her.

“We will.”

“Why? Thank you. But why?” He shook his head violently. “I am worthless. I can’t—I am pathetic, less than a maggot. I killed my brother and survived off his death. I deserve to be a monster.” Daniel wailed, “Don’t let me become one!”

“Hush, enough,” Vhalla soothed, running her hand through his oily hair. “It’s decided. Now, put some food in you and rest. We’ll move at sunlight.”

Daniel choked down a tiny portion of their rations, the act calming him some. The rest of them used the opportunity to settle down, hoping Daniel would follow their example. He did, curling into a ball near where Vhalla was tucked against Aldrik. Jax positioned himself in the corner between them. The flutter of his eyelashes betrayed him. As long as Daniel was unstable and near her, Jax was going to sleep with one eye open.

Aldrik’s touch, his warmth, his breath, washed away some of her nerves as Vhalla bundled under his cloak. Her eyes settled on Daniel, and Vhalla instinctually shifted closer to Aldrik, feeling him passing judgment on them both. Daniel had known almost as long as Vhalla and Aldrik had been aware that they were more than prince and subject. But this was the first time he’d truly seen them together.

“You will be Empress?” he whispered.

“She will be,” Aldrik answered this time.

Daniel cackled. “No, no, you won’t be. There is no throne for either of you any longer. Only blood.”

She watched as the shell of her friend, the man who could’ve been her lover, settled back after his decree. Daniel studied them with a wild glint to his eyes. A secret look that spoke of horrors only he knew.

VHALLA’S SHOULDER WAS so stiff the next morning that it was practically immobile. She hadn’t thought about how she had slept—pressed against Aldrik, scrunched up all night. She massaged it gingerly.

“What will we do about the horses?” Fritz asked with a glance at Daniel.

“We need to stop somewhere for supplies today,” Vhalla mused aloud. “We’ll see if we can find another.”

“Horses are rare,” Daniel spoke. “With everyone trying to flee the South. It’s why I-I was going to . . .” His eyes looked at the faint red line at her neck, and Daniel swayed, stumbling a half step away. “I’m sorry, Vhalla.”

“It’s fine, Daniel.” She gave him a brave smile and set the example for everyone. A silent reminder that he was part of the group. “We’ll ride to the next village. There’s one near the cut off for the East. We’ll look for supplies and horses there.”

“Until then?” Fritz rephrased his prior question.

“Vhalla and I will share,” Aldrik announced. “We will use Lightning.” He motioned to the horse that Vhalla had been riding, the one she’d ridden on to the end of the continent during the march. “Give Daniel your cloak, Vhalla. You can sit under mine.”

“This, it, it’s too much. I don’t deserve it.” Daniel’s shaking fingers hesitantly accepted the cloak she pressed into his hands. “Thank you. I’m sorry. Thank you.”

“Take the help, brother,” Jax encouraged.

Aldrik swung up into Lightning’s saddle, scooting forward and removing his foot from the stirrup so Vhalla could also mount. She shifted, figuring out how they needed to sit so that they could both fit comfortably.

“Get under my cloak,” Aldrik reminded her.

“But then I can’t see.”

“You are already shivering. And you’re not holding the reins anyway.”

Vhalla gave a silent farewell to her friends and lifted the edge of his cloak to bring it over her head. It completely covered her as she sat flush against him, her arms around his waist. Vhalla rested her cheek flat on his back. He was as warm as ever, her personal pyre, and it was almost comfortable under the heavy fabric. The world vanished into his slow and steady breathing, the sound eroded away her tension in the same fashion as waves on a shore. As Lightning began moving, Vhalla closed her eyes and pretended that they were not on the run, that they were headed off for a grand adventure.

She’d had enough adventures. Vhalla sighed softly. Perhaps they were headed simply to visit her father.

“Will Lightning be all right?” she asked, tilting her head up. The horse wasn’t accustomed to carrying two riders.

“Yes.” Aldrik barely spoke as he lifted his hood. With her ear on his back, Vhalla heard the deep rumble of his voice with perfect clarity. “He’s from the same line as Baston. He’s a strong horse. One generation away from a purebred War Strider.”

“What?” Vhalla was surprised.

“When I knew you would be riding to war, I wanted to trust your horse. It was impossible for me to acquire a proper War Strider on such short notice, especially without question. But Lightning was lithe and fast; he seemed better suited to you, anyway.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

“When we first marched I couldn’t find the words to tell you. How would it have looked? Crafting your armor? Choosing your horse? I had no interest in being called puppet master again.”

Vhalla huffed softly in amusement, hearing her words from his mouth. She nuzzled his back gently and felt the small breath of air that started from his stomach and carried a smile up to his lips.

“You’re silly,” she breathed. “Thank you for it. And for your help today with Daniel.”

There was a long pause. “I know he means something to you.”

“He does.” Vhalla didn’t deny it.

“You and him . . .” Aldrik paused, uncertain if he wanted to continue down that line of inquiry.

Vhalla never wanted her love to be insecure, but there was something almost reassuring of the reminder that he was mortal and felt hesitation and jealousy.

“We were nothing,” she reassured her engaged. “We could’ve been, but we weren’t. I had promised my heart to you.”

A hand released the reins to weave its long fingers against hers. Vhalla sighed contentedly. His fingers traced shapes around her wrist as the rocking of the horse lulled her into a hazy state.

“I will never make you regret that decision. Never again,” Aldrik vowed.

“I promise the same.”

Their trek to the Eastern cutoff was blissfully uneventful. They came across another mostly abandoned town where Fritz, the only Southerner of the group, took the risk to barter for supplies. There wasn’t enough food for any of them and hollow stomachs now tested patience. What helped, however, was Vhalla taking the watches at night. Jax protested vehemently after her being nearly killed by Daniel, but Vhalla was insistent. She’d willingly dropped her sword for Daniel. There weren’t many other people who could elicit such a response.

She spent days sleeping against Aldrik’s back; as a result, she was the most well-rested of the group. Which made taking watches so everyone else could sleep the most logical task. They hadn’t encountered another shelter and were forced to spend more cold nights on the ground.

Not long into travelling together, Daniel began thrashing violently in his sleep. Arms and legs were thrown everywhere as he whimpered and cried to himself. She was reminded of her days following the Night of Fire and Wind and, instead of waking the man abruptly, she settled herself at his side.

Daniel threw a right hook that she narrowly dodged as her palm flattened against his sweat dotted brow. His eyes gained clarity as he realized who she was. Vhalla said nothing, making a soft shh’ing sound and beseeching him with her eyes to go back to sleep. His lower lip quivered, and he stared at her fearfully as she tenderly stroked away the sweat slicked hair from his forehead.

She didn’t lie to him. She didn’t tell him it would all be all right. She simply sat in solidarity, understanding his pain.

The next morning, he had a rough edge. Throughout the day, Vhalla made every effort to remind him of who he was, who she was, where he was going, that he escaped Victor’s clutches. It helped, for a bit, until the whole process repeated itself. Yet, despite all this, Vhalla hadn’t really understood the depth of Daniel’s terror until one late afternoon, a few hours into her watch.

That afternoon, a flash of light in the distance caught her eye. Vhalla stopped as she squinted across the bright snow toward the Great Imperial Way. Raising a hand to shade her eyes, three figures slowly came into focus. Two guards and a beast that crawled on all fours between them. The monster was worse than anything she had ever dreamed, could ever imagine.

A long black tongue lolled from its gaping jowls. Teeth too large to fit in its mouth jutted out at odd angles, razor sharp; inky black saliva oozed between them and dripped onto the road. Talons scraped through the snow, whispering on the stones of the road underneath.

She stood, transfixed with horror, before spinning into motion.

“Fritz,” she breathed, shaking her friend’s shoulder.

“Vhal—”

Vhalla clamped a hand over his groan. She raised her other finger to her lips, whispering hastily behind it, “We need an illusion.”

As she pulled her hand away, Vhalla pointed to the patrolling horrors. Fritz stared with disbelieving horror.

“Fritz, now!” she hissed

“Right.” He crouched down, waving his hands through the air. Vhalla saw the tell-tale shimmer of magic, like heat off stones on a summer’s day, between them and the road.

She woke Aldrik next. “Patrol.”

His dark eyes were immediately alert and awake. They darted to Fritz, who remained transfixed on his illusion.

They slowly woke the rest of the group. Sehra scowled the second her eyes opened, though Vhalla knew from the way her gaze instantly scanned the horizon, that her expression wasn’t because she’d been woken prematurely. Her focus settled on the horror, and she took a sharp intake of air through her nose.

“Sehra,” Za hissed. The archer unslung her bow from across her chest, pulling an arrow from the quiver at the small of her back.

“Hold,” Vhalla beseeched. Za scowled at the order. “Illusion.”

They both looked to Fritz before exchanging another glance. Sehra gave a small nod.

Vhalla turned back to the road. The crystal monsters were almost directly across from the group and showed no indication they had any idea of the travelers bedding themselves into the snow a good stone’s throw away. Everyone seemed to hold their breath.

Then Daniel woke.

Vhalla didn’t know if he woke on his own or if he sensed the tension in the air. Or if Jax had chosen to wake him in case they needed to run. Whatever the case, the result was the same.

The moment Daniel’s eyes caught sight of the patrol he began to shake violently. Vhalla tried to move in the same instant as Jax. She was farther away, he was slower.

A cry of sheer terror rose from Daniel’s throat. Jax’s hand clamped over his mouth so hard he pushed the other man down into the snow. It was cut short, but it seemed to echo through the still forest into eternity.

The beast’s pointed ears perked up, turning in their direction. Daniel remained thrashing on the ground, Jax trying to get him under control. They rolled in the snow.

“They’ve come for me!” Daniel wailed in horror, which made it true.

The beast and walking horrors began running toward the sound. Fritz looked back, panicked.

“Fritz, camouflage Aldrik as anyone else. Aldrik, Jax, Elecia, handle the soldiers. Za, Sehra, the beast. I’ll handle Daniel,” Vhalla ordered in quick succession, praying that the crunching snow under the fast approaching enemy hid her use of names. She didn’t know what connection they had with Victor, but she remembered how the reanimated solider had demanded people to kneel so Victor could see their loyalty.

Jax rolled off Daniel, and Vhalla jumped onto the panicked man. She wrestled with the flailing Easterner and focused on keeping him in one spot while the rest of the group set into motion.

Ice crackled as Fritz abandoned his illusion. Wickedly sharp spears blocked the creatures’ way, stalling them a moment. Za notched an arrow while Sehra raised a hand as Vhalla had seen her do in the Crystal Caverns. A flash of light and the arrow flew like a sunbeam, straight and true at the beast. It struck between the eyes, and the creature dropped dead.

Sehra slumped, panting heavily. Za took a half step in front of her charge, sending another arrow flying. It was followed by fire. Vhalla had never seen Aldrik char something so completely. It was as if he unleashed all his rage in one singular burst. The soldier was blackened.

“Don’t let them take me!” Daniel wailed. “I left the king, the one true king! Don’t let them take me.”

“Stop!” Vhalla cried. The man had somehow turned into an octopus, seeming to sprout limbs by which to throw Vhalla off. She took an elbow to the face and a knee to the gut but held fast. “No one is taking you; you’re going home.”

“They will feed on me! They will eat me!” he screamed.

“Stop!” Vhalla scrambled, pinning him down by sitting on his chest and holding down his arms with her knees. “Look at me.” He didn’t stop thrashing, shaking his head back and forth. “Look at me!” she cried, gripping his cheeks. Spit bubbled out of his mouth from his sobs. “No one is taking you! No one. You’re free! You’re going to Paca, where you will eat candied nuts until you’re old and fat.”

Daniel exhaled white puffs of air as he slowly regained control of himself.

“I won’t let them take you,” she whispered. “I promise.”

He choked on the reply, and Vhalla could only give him part of an encouraging smile before she was heaved off.

Jax tossed Vhalla aside and practically lifted Daniel from the ground. “Do you want to get us killed?”

Vhalla had missed the last soldier falling, but the three attacking monsters seemed dead. Then again, they’d been dead to begin with.

“Stop it, Jax.” Vhalla stood, rubbing her shoulder. “You know he didn’t mean it.”

Jax scowled and sighed. “I know, I know.”

“I’m sorry,” Daniel blubbered. “I-I almost got you killed. I almost. Baldair asked me to protect you, and I almost got you killed.”

“Daniel, it’s all right,” she tried to soothe.

“No. No.” Daniel fell to his knees. “I killed them, I killed them.”

His eyes lost clarity as he fumbled around in his armor. Vhalla recognized the blade he drew as the one he’d held against her throat. But this time, he didn’t turn it on anyone else.

“I will only hurt you again. I will only kill again. I have failed Baldair. I have failed my oath to you.”

Vhalla barely had time to think “no” as Daniel turned the blade on himself. She saw what was happening a second too late.

But it didn’t puncture skin.

Aldrik and the Easterner tumbled head over heels. The Emperor was far more coordinated and faster than the crazed and deranged soldier. In a second, he’d wrenched the blade from Daniel’s grasp and punched him clear across the face with the other hand.

Anger and relief flashed across Vhalla’s chest.

“You idiot!” Aldrik shouted. He grabbed Daniel’s collar with a hand, shaking him like a ragdoll. “You are better than this.”

Daniel wanted to object, but Aldrik wouldn’t let him.

“You don’t think so? Then you further shame my brother and that foolish Golden Guard of his. You prove that he picked weak men, easily broken,” Aldrik snarled. “You selfish fool. She’s trying to save you, and you would hurt her with this?”

Both men looked at the discarded knife, the rest of the group forgotten.

Aldrik sighed heavily, and his shoulders slumped with an invisible weight he’d been bearing for a decade. His grip slackened. “I know,” he was half talking to himself. “I have been there. It feels like there is no other choice. That the world is too heavy, too horrible to ever lessen. I know that you will hate me, hate us, hate her, for not letting you sit here and die.

“But someday, when you are happy and content—and I know you will not believe me when I tell you that you will someday be happy and content again—you will thank us. You will thank us for not letting you leave this mortal coil without a fight because you have more to give.”

“Aldrik . . .” Elecia breathed. Her fingertips were pressed against her lips, and Vhalla watched recognition widen her emerald eyes. The woman understood something about her cousin that she had never been told and could suddenly see a cornerstone of the cage of guilt he’d constructed for himself.

“Promise me you will stay alive,” Aldrik demanded. “Promise me that you will fight that man’s darkness. That you will stand with me in the sun.”

Daniel swallowed in shock, in horror. And something moved back into place. Something shifted in his eyes in the right direction. He nodded.

“I give you my word, my lord.”

DANIEL’S HORRORS, HIS broken mind, could not be fixed with a word. But there was something magical about his agreement with Aldrik. As they travelled on, he had longer moments of clarity. He spoke in short, clipped sentences with Jax. He broke down less.

He still thrashed in his sleep and avoided Vhalla as though it brought him physical pain to look upon her or the bruised eye she sported. But he remained—mostly—stable. As stable as one in his condition could be.

They finally reached the cutoff to the East. Once more, Vhalla saw a patrol in the distance during her watch. But Fritz’s illusion kept them secret, and this time Daniel kept his breakdown to muttering and rocking.

“We go North,” Za announced as they slowed. It stirred Vhalla from sleep, and she roused from under Aldrik’s cloak.

Sehra held Vhalla’s eyes for a long moment. Vhalla nodded in affirmation. “Our deal will stand.”

“I know it will.” The Child of Yargen did something then that Vhalla had not seen once from her. Her mouth curled into the makings of an exhausted, but sincere smile. “My eyes have seen the truth. You will protect this land.”

“I will.” The vow was redundant and unnecessary, but Vhalla said it all the same. She would release that vow into the world as many times as needed until it became true.

Sehra turned to Aldrik. “Entrusting your heart to this woman may be the smartest choice you’ve made, Aldrik Solaris.”

“I would not disagree.” The Emperor gave a small nod of his head. “I will send word when we arrive in Hastan. I hope you will find safer travels in the West.”

“I keep Sehra safe.” Za sat straighter in her saddle. Sehra gave her handler an appreciative look.

“Shaldan has good stock. We will be fine. I will await your word.”

The two Northerners continued parallel to the Great Imperial Way as the six others went along the Eastern cutoff. Vhalla watched until the thinning forest and glare of the sun off a light dusting of snow obscured them from view.

“Do you think they’ll keep their word?” Aldrik whispered uncertainly the moment she was under his cloak once more.

“I do,” Vhalla affirmed with a nod. “The enemy of our enemy is our friend.” She paused, thinking over her next words. “And those friends may have more to give and teach us than we know.”

“If only that relationship hadn’t stared at sword point,” Aldrik mumbled.

Vhalla squeezed him lightly. “An Emperor for peace can focus on healing those wounds.”

“At the cost of the first fourteen years of my firstborn’s life.”

“Wards are not so uncommon,” she tried to soothe. “I left my home at seven.”

“Don’t pretend that this sits easily for you.”

She had no response to his bitter statement, so Vhalla simply pressed her cheek to his back and closed her eyes.

The forest continued to thin over the coming days. The snow began to melt and disappear until it was just cold, brown grass being crushed beneath the horses’ hooves. The weather warmed the farther they headed, north and the coastal breezes, unbroken by mountains, kept the ominous gray snow clouds in the south.

The first sight of the East nearly brought tears to Vhalla’s eyes. Hills rolled upon themselves like sails in the breeze. There was an earthy smell that lingered on the nose, rising up from the fertile ground.

They rode away from the road and tree coverage lessened. Should one of Victor’s patrols be in the area, they would stick out above the tall grasses. But there weren’t any further patrols. There weren’t many people at all, and that fact began to deeply worry Vhalla. The road was vacant of carts carrying winter harvests to market. Fields were empty. The first abandoned town they rode through made Vhalla realize the foolishness of her notion that Victor had only permeated the South. The man wanted to rule the world.

She chose to ignore the fear in the back of her mind, thoughts that gnawed on her more each day. She feared that Daniel’s family would not be where he had left them. It was not a far spiral for Vhalla to become worried about her own father. Aldrik sensed her concerns and broached them once while riding, but Vhalla didn’t want to speak of it. It was as though saying the words out loud would only increase their likelihood of being real.

Fate cast a small smile upon her. As they pushed on into the heart of the East, signs of Victor’s tyrannical hold began to lessen. The people had a certain edge to them that Vhalla wasn’t accustomed to seeing. But they still went about their days. They still tended to their fields, and the smell of baking bread hovered every time they passed a farmhouse.

Vhalla no longer hid under Aldrik’s cloak. Her amber-hued skin and nut-colored hair blended in with the shades of the East. She was fairer than most of her people, but that came from spending most of her time in libraries and not out in the fields.

The sights and sounds healed Daniel to the point that he actually took the lead. It helped when people began to recognize him. An old man stopped as he was going about his business. A woman called from a nearby field.

Daniel’s voice sounded stronger with every word he spoke, and Vhalla allowed herself a smile. If a random acquaintance could help him that much, she dared hope for what returning to his family could do. Taking him home had been the right decision, she assured herself.

“My home isn’t far now,” he informed the group. “I can go from here.”

“Well, if you insist.” Elecia shrugged.

Vhalla shot her a small glare of frustration. “We will take you there,” Vhalla insisted.

“I-I’ve cause you all enough trouble. Even on foot, it’ll only—”

“No, Daniel,” she interrupted gently. “We will see you to your door.”

All the empty towns and blood-stained homes appeared in her mind. The villagers had told them that they didn’t expect to see any of the guards returning. That the walking horrors had made it this deep into the East and informed the men and women of Victor’s decrees. Vhalla wasn’t going to let Daniel head into the unknown. What if his family had been killed fighting in the memory of a son they believed dead?

The thought remained with Vhalla for the rest of the afternoon as she watched the houses and fields pass. Egmun’s words returned. She had been the key, something to be used, and he had known it from the second he knew what she was. Vhalla massaged her shoulder. Ten lifetimes would not be enough to fix everything for the world she had so wronged.

Daniel’s home was just outside of Paca, right where he said it would be. It betrayed no signs of turmoil; there was no hint of malice or foul play. Vhalla held her breath as the small home grew larger and larger until they were right upon it, close enough to hear the metallic clang of hearth tools.

He dismounted slowly, and Vhalla did the same, remaining a hesitant step behind him. None of them spoke. The peaceful hum of daily life and the soft clanking of stirrups filled the air. Daniel raised a hand to knock, and the wooden door swung open from within.

A middle-aged woman wearing an apron, flour up to her elbows, stared up at the soldier at her doorstep. The confusion on her face made Vhalla worry that perhaps in Daniel’s current mental state he had brought them to the wrong home. All her concerns were shattered when the woman let out a wail of shock, followed quickly by tears.

“Danny, my boy!” the woman cried, throwing her arms around Daniel’s shoulders.

“Danny boy?” an older man blubbered as he appeared, blinking at the travelers on his doorstep. As soon as his eyes fell on the two embracing family members, he reached out and took them in his arms.

“Ma, Pa,” Daniel let out in a voice that Vhalla had never heard from him before. “I-I deserted my post. I—”

“Shh, my darling child, quiet.” The woman stroked the hair of her son as he clung to her tightly.

“I-I k-killed—”

“Only the people he had to so that he could return home to you,” Vhalla interrupted.

Her interjection into the conversation broke the moment, and all three turned to look at her. Daniel rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, the one that was missing his gauntlet. Vhalla gave him an encouraging smile. The blood would never wash off his hands; she was all too familiar with that. But he could begin to put it behind him. He could let himself be home.

“Who are your friends?” his mother finally asked.

“They are . . .” Clearly uncertain at how to respond, Daniel wavered.

“My name is Vhalla Yarl,” she answered for him once more.

“Don’t use your real name!” Elecia hissed in disagreement.

“Fritznangle Charem, of the noble Charem clan!” Fritz announced cheerfully, pulling back his hood.

“Elecia, of the actual noble house Ci’Dan,” Elecia sighed in resignation.

“Jax,” the Western man spoke simply.

All eyes landed on Aldrik expectantly. With the smallest of sighs, he released his reins and reached up for the sides of his hood. His hair hung limply around his face, an equal mess to the grime that covered them all. But it didn’t matter. His commanding presence was never powered by his adornments, despite what Vhalla may have thought at one point or another. The very skin of the man before her was fire, he burned with something stronger than all his carefully cut clothes and imposing black armor.

“Emperor Aldrik Ci’Dan Solaris.”

“What?” The woman glanced among them at the odd proclamations. “Daniel, these people, surely you must know what’s happened at the capital.”

“I do.” Daniel jerked away from his mother’s touch. “I know very well what’s happened in the capital.” He sighed heavily, letting out the sharpness in his voice. “But I also know that they are who they say they are. And if it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be alive.”

“Then, my lord,” the woman addressed Aldrik. “Thank you for returning my son home safely to us.”

“Do not thank me.” Aldrik motioned to Vhalla. “Thank my lady.”

Whatever gratitude the woman was heaping upon her was momentarily overshadowed as Vhalla stared up at Aldrik. His lady, those words, so publically spoken. They no longer hid their love for the other—they embraced it for all to see.

“Let us give you dinner, somewhere to stay for the night,” the woman offered.

“We can find arrangements in town,” Aldrik said definitively. “I would not want to put your family at further risk with our presence. But my thanks for your offer of hospitality.”

“Anything for the true Emperor.” The woman smiled, and it looked as though her face hadn’t worn that expression in far too long. “And the people who brought Daniel home to us.”

“Will you put an end to this nonsense about the Supreme King?” Daniel’s father asked.

“We will.” There was no hesitation about Aldrik.

“Vhalla . . .” Daniel turned to her.

She looked up at him and staring back was the tired shell of a man she once knew. Coming home had done him good, and the rough edges were already smoothing out around him. But he had been so horribly broken that Vhalla knew his mental shape would forever be altered.

Were it not for her, he would not be in this state. He would still be that man with whom she had sat on a rooftop at the Crossroads. A man who would have been hers if the stars constellated a different design for her heart.

“I’m sorry.” Vhalla struggled to find any volume to her words.

“I’m sorry for what I have done.”

“Vhalla?” He was understandably confused.

“I know you don’t understand.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “And that’s okay, you don’t have to. But I want you to hear me and take my promise that I will fix this. I will put an end to the caverns once and for all.”

“I believe you.” With that simple agreement, he added fuel to her purpose. His belief in her was more than she deserved, and she would treasure it forever.

Vhalla hugged him gently, a creature that she knew would spook if she moved too quickly or held too tightly. “Stay safe, and be happy.”

Jax was waiting behind her when she released Daniel. Vhalla hadn’t even heard him dismount, and the man was still as a statue. The two Golden Guards, likely the last two living members, assessed each other.

“Soldier,” Jax took a long pause to gather both words and emotions. “You’re dismissed from your post.”

It was something Vhalla would’ve never thought to say, but the profound impact it had on Daniel was instantaneous. Tears glistened in his eyes, overflowing at the corners. He reached for Jax, and the two men embraced.

“Baldair would want you to know that.” Jax rested a palm on the top of his head. “You have been honorably dismissed from the guard.”

Jax drew his hood as soon as he broke away from Daniel. They all did as they rode out and away from Daniel’s home. Elecia and Fritz talked lightly between themselves, the distance from the South finally beginning to lighten the mood between them all. But one of them still had a dark cloud hanging over his head. Jax kept his head down, and his hood drawn tightly around his face, all the way into Paca.

The small Eastern town was just as Vhalla remembered it. A worn town hall was the largest building, a small stage for announcements and elections at its front. It was also where the band would play during the Festival of the Sun. She paused, smiling fondly.

“Is this your home town, Vhal?” Fritz stopped as well.

“No.” She shook her head. “But my family would often come here to trade in the market or for important events. Leoul is even smaller than this, not much there.”

“How far is your home from here?”

Vhalla hummed in thought. “Perhaps a day’s ride northwest?”

“Not in the direction we’re headed then,” Fritz sighed on her behalf.

“No, it’s not.” Vhalla couldn’t keep the wistful longing out of her voice.

“We should go,” Aldrik said definitively.

“To Leoul?”

“To your home,” he clarified.

“But it’s a day’s ride out of the way, and we’re in a hurry,” Vhalla protested weakly.

“I think we should go as well.” Elecia was the last person Vhalla expected to voice her support. She elaborated at Vhalla’s inquisitive stare, “Family is incredibly important. I would want to make sure my father was safe.”

“We will stay here for the night, get a good night’s sleep, and ride to your home tomorrow.”

The Emperor had spoken, and a weird mess of contradictions waged war in Vhalla’s chest. She was excited to go home. She missed her father desperately after all that had happened. But she was terrified of what she may find. Her origins were no secret. What if Victor had sent a monster out for her father? And even if her father was safe, what if he wanted nothing to do with her? So much had changed since she was last home. Would he be proud of the woman she had become?

Luckily, Vhalla knew the route to the inn well enough that she didn’t have to dedicate much of her cluttered mind to it. There wasn’t any risk of the inn being filled, given the circumstances of the world, so they didn’t have to fight for stables. An old man, bald at the top and white on the sides, was asleep on the counter.

“Geral?” Vhalla blinked at how little had changed. Between her speaking and the door closing behind Fritz, the portly man stirred, adjusting his suspenders.

“W-welcome!” He coughed away the sleep that was stuck in his throat. “Not many travelers these days! How can I help you?”

“Geral, is it really you?”

“Well, I don’t know who else I’d be,” he chuckled. “And who is really you, miss?”

Vhalla lowered her hood, and he stared at her face blankly. She knew her hair was a mess and she was caked in dirt. Crossing the gap to let him get a better look, Vhalla rested her hands on the countertop that she had been barely tall enough to see over the last time she’d touched it. Geral squinted at her from the other side.

“I . . .” Disappointment hit her harder than she expected when he was unable to place her. “I was just a girl the last time I was here. It makes sense you don’t remember me. I would always come with my mother and father for the Festival of the Sun and . . .” She daydreamed away for a long moment. “Sorry, we’ll need a room for the night.”

“Two,” Aldrik corrected.

“Three silver.” The man turned to fetch keys that hung on hooks behind the desk as Aldrik placed the money on the counter.

“So, ladies’ room and gents’ room?” Elecia inquired as they headed up the stairs. Aldrik shot her a look that explained such was not the case, eliciting a sharp gasp. “Don’t make me sleep with them!”

“You’ve been sleeping with them the whole time.” Aldrik rolled his eyes and thrust one key into Elecia’s hand.

“That’s different! There was no alternative. This is so improper.”

“Be improper with me, Lady Ci’Dan.” Jax waggled his eyebrows.

“Don’t give the lady trouble,” Aldrik scolded.

“I’m never trouble!” Fritz pouted.

Jax smirked proudly. “I’m always trouble.”

“Cousin, you are lucky I love you.” Elecia’s sharp glare didn’t have weight behind it, and Aldrik smiled tiredly. “And I get first choice of bed.”

“Second!” Fritz bounded into their room behind her.

Jax didn’t move. “I’d like to stand guard outside your chambers.”

Vhalla blinked in surprise, realizing he was addressing her. She’d almost forgotten that he had been her close shadow on the ride, not only because they were traveling in a pack, but also because he had somehow become her sworn guard.

“Jax, go rest.” The Westerner folded his arms on his chest at Aldrik’s demand. “If something happens to her while she’s tucked in my arms, it will never be blamed on you.”

“Happy to serve.” Jax bowed, pausing before the still open door Elecia and Fritz had disappeared within. “Oh, and if you two need a third, be sure to let me know!” With a wink and a laugh, he popped into the room.

Aldrik shook his head. “That man.”

“Never a dull moment,” Vhalla agreed.

The room was small and tidy. A single rope bed, a small table at its side. The window was drawn to keep out the cool nighttime breezes.

“What is it?” Aldrik asked, closing the door behind him.

“They didn’t have glass the last time I was here.” Vhalla rested her hand on the pane. “But not much else has changed.”

Two warm palms fell on her hips, and Vhalla felt the length of his body behind her. The perpetual heat that radiated off him was a contrast to everything else in the harsh world. She leaned back into that warmth, letting his hands slide around her front to hold her tightly to him.

“You’ve changed,” his breath moved her hair as he spoke.

“I have,” she whispered in reply. If nothing else, that one fact was certainly true. When last in the East, she had been a girl without purpose. Now she had an inkling of what the weight of the world felt like. She knew how the title of nobility fit her shoulders and the greater role she had to play. She wouldn’t return to her father an unaware girl.

He rounded to face her. “And I love the woman you have become, deeply and completely.”

“I love you, Aldrik.” Vhalla savored his touch as he palmed her face. “And I fear I always will.”

“Ah, Vhalla.” He chuckled, pausing just before his lips came into contact with hers. “That is the one thing I do not fear.”

THE EMPEROR HAD certainly been fearless that night when it came to heaping his adoration upon his lady. He had reminded her of the fire that lived in his veins. He immolated her passion at the altar of their mutual vows. The early rays of dawn peeking through the glass of the window found them still tangled.

A banging on the door interrupted their otherwise peaceful morning, pulling them from slumber. Vhalla groaned and rolled over. Two arms enveloped her, stronger than they looked.

“Aldrik.” She pressed her face into his bare chest. They had found a basic washroom the night previously and, while he didn’t have access to his usual eucalyptus scented soap, he still held the aroma of smoke and steel, a scent all his own.

“What is it?”

“You’re here.” Given the madness that had passed, something about waking up in his arms, skin on skin, was wonderfully impossible. It affirmed that not only had last night been real, but it had been the tiny glimpse of a future they fought for.

“Where else would I be?” He chuckled deeply, laying a sweet kiss upon her.

“Nowhere else, never again.”

“Are you both up yet?” Jax called through the door. “Let me know if you’re naked so I can come in.”

“Jax.” Elecia’s voice was sharp as the daggers her eyes likely were throwing him. “Do not make me think anything of the sort about my cousin, please.”

“We all know what happened. It’s not like they were quiet,” Jax shot back.

Elecia began singing a Western song, loudly, over her companion’s words.

“What did we do, forcing those two together?” Vhalla laughed as she sat up. She didn’t feel the least bit guilty for her passions; there wasn’t even a ghost of a blush on her cheeks.

“Elecia could survive loosening up a bit.” Aldrik stood.

Now, there was a sight that would put color on her face.

Jax began rambling, “Oh my liege, the day has begun, let us start the fun, the time of the sun, has indeed come, so won’t you please—”

“Oh, Mother, don’t talk in rhymes,” Aldrik groaned through the door. “It’s the only thing worse than your sense of humor. We’ll be down in a moment.”

Their illusion of peace dissipated like the morning’s fog over a field. Soon enough, clothes were back on their rightful frames and cloaks were thrown over their shoulders. Vhalla considered Aldrik as they walked down the stairs to join the group. The Emperor was going to be in her home.

“You lot are up early,” Geral observed, a steaming cup of wheat tea between his hands.

Vhalla returned the keys with a smile. “So are you.”

“True enough.” The man paused, his expression sobering. “Dodging the Inquisitors?”

“Inquisitors?” She looked to her comrades to see if they knew of what Geral spoke, but the group looked just as confused as Vhalla.

“I thought you would’ve heard . . .”

“There’s been a lot to hear,” Vhalla encouraged delicately.

“It’s all the Supreme King’s doing,” Geral began.

“Do you support the regime change?” They should’ve found that information before staying under the man’s roof.

“Do I look like a man who would support senseless violence?”

“You don’t.” Vhalla gave a breath of relief. “So, what is the Supreme King doing with Inquisitors?”

“They are sweeping the continent, but their presence has been especially felt here in the East. They have a way to use crystals to see if someone has the powers of a Windwalker.”

Vhalla was instantly reminded of Victor’s ledger. He knew there would be more. Not many, but they would be out there. A Windwalker could be the only possible opposition to his powers. The information was as useful as it was terrifying for the people who were confirmed to have the ability.

Geral continued, “A group of strange travelers, like yourselves, may want to know information like that.”

“Thank you,” Vhalla said sincerely, raising her hood to leave.

“I think it’s funny,” Geral added. “I only ever heard of one Windwalker in all my years. The first one to leave the East’s nest and fly. That was the girl named Vhalla Yarl.” He rested his elbows on the table leaning forward. “Though, I suppose she wouldn’t be a girl any longer. You know, she would stay with her parents at my inn during the Festival of the Sun. And when I heard the tales of all that was happening to her—the good, the bad—I cheered for her alongside the rest of the East.”

Vhalla’s hand went up to her shoulder, gripping it just above the scar.

“She’s the pride of the East. A beacon of a new future where people may start seeing Cyven as more than just some pastures and crops between North and South.” Geral sipped his cup once more. “What happened to her was a crime. But, then again, I hear she had a good record of dodging death itself. The truth could be right under our noses.”

“Things have a strange way of working out.” Vhalla’s words were laden with shock.

“They do indeed.” The man shifted his hands and turned the mug; upon it was the blazing sun of Solaris. “Now go, before the Inquisitor begins his rounds through the town.”

Vhalla took one last look at Geral before the door closed behind them. His warm words had restored her—and terrified her. These were her people, and they stood behind her. She had betrayed them, and now she had to do whatever was necessary to save them.

“How much did we pay him?” Elecia broke the silence as they were checking their saddlebags.

“Three silver,” Aldrik answered.

Elecia and Fritz shared a look. “Fritz and I went down when you two were being slow. The man said we had given too much on accident.” She held out her hand to Aldrik, three shining coins in its center.

He had returned the money.

The thunder of horses interrupted Vhalla’s thoughts. Five men rode boldly into the center of town, up to the small stage she had admired fondly the day before. Each echo of their footfalls upon the wood sounded like a dagger to her childhood.

“By the order of Supreme King Anzbel, we have been sent to inquire as to the magical merit of this town.” All five wore black cloaks with a silver wyrm stitched upon the back. People seemed to shrink into their homes as he spoke. “All towns in the East will be searched. The searches will be random and continue in perpetuity. All those presently in the town are asked to report now.”

“We should go,” Elecia whispered. “While they’re distracted by the initial bulk of people.”

“We should,” Fritz seconded.

Vhalla didn’t move. She watched as the people of Paca, her people, walked forward to the center of town. Diligent and dutiful to orders set forth by those in positions of leadership, the Easterners lined up.

The leader gave a nod to two of his men, who began making a quick sweep of the town, starting on the opposite end.

“Those who are known sorcerers, please report to my assistants and you will be asked to demonstrate your gift from the Gods and bypass the test.” He motioned to the two men at his side. Vhalla noticed none of them were Eastern. “Everyone else, the test is simple. You will hold a crystal. Should it shine, our righteous and Supreme King has demanded you shall be put to death for possessing the accursed powers of the wind.”

Vhalla couldn’t breathe. He’d said he wanted to make a world for all sorcerers. He’d lied. Victor was King Jadar born again.

“Victor is afraid,” she forced her mind to keep moving past her anger. “He’s afraid of Windwalkers. We can still stop him.”

“He can’t honestly think that there are more Windwalkers.” Aldrik shook his head.

“There are.” Vhalla didn’t even look back to see the confounded stare on the Emperor’s face. “There have been more. They’ve all been kept hidden or killed.”

The leader produced a crystal from his bag and, one by one, he moved through the line of people, passing it from person to person. Vhalla wondered how long it would be before the Inquisitor began showing signs of the taint. She remembered Daniel’s stories of monsters and wondered if it was all some greater part of Victor’s machinations.

For nearly everyone the crystal did nothing. Vhalla held her breath, glancing at the other two Inquisitors slowly making their way from where they hid in the shade of the stables toward the crowd.

“Vhalla, we need to leave,” Jax urged, as she was the only one of them not mounted.

She took a step back toward Lightning. She couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t stop this.

And then she heard a scream.

The boy was maybe twelve, not far from his coming of age ceremony, barely old enough to have fuzz on his chin. He looked around in panic as everyone gaped at him—even the Inquisitors seemed surprised. The crystal glowed faintly from between his clutched fingers.

“No!” A woman, presumably his mother, swatted the stone away like the bad omen it was. “No, it-it’s a mistake!”

“I am truly sorry.” The Inquisitor did not sound sorry in the slightest, he sounded almost giddy. “But our Supreme King made these crystals with his divinely given magic; they cannot be wrong.”

The man in all black grabbed the boy’s arm. His mother grabbed the other.

“Please, please, he . . . I will raise him right; I will raise him to love the Supreme King. We will not let his magic show.” The woman began to sob.

“The law is clear.” The Inquisitor ripped the boy away as the town looked on in horror.

Vhalla realized it didn’t matter if Victor could find all the Windwalkers. Displays like this would ensure that none of them would ever expose themselves to the world. Magic would become legally outlawed again in the East; it would be even worse than the Burning Times. Victor was clever, and he was sending a clear message for anyone who’d dare expose their powers.

“No!” the woman screamed. “No, no!”

“He’s just a boy!” another brave soul protested.

“No,” Vhalla took another step toward Lightning.

“You lot! You must report!” One of the Inquisitors making their round of the town had finally caught sight of them.

“He’s my boy!” Other members of the town had begun to restrain the woman for her own sake as the Inquisitor dragged the lad up the line.

“Stop!” Vhalla cried and dug her heels into Lightning. “Stop this!”

“What?” The leader looked honestly puzzled for the briefest of moments as she raced down the small street through the center of town. He pushed the boy to the ground defiantly. “You will be next for going against the Supreme King’s decree!”

“Fine, but let him go,” Vhalla spat back fearlessly. “You don’t want him. I’m the one you want.” She threw down her hood. “I am Vhalla Yarl, Duchess of the West, Lady of the Southern Court, and the one whom you call the Windwalker.”

The Mother, hanging high in the sky above, must have looked fondly upon Vhalla’s otherwise foolish act because, at that moment, a gale swept through the town. It pushed her cloak about her form from behind, as though an invisible hand was placed upon her. Everyone held their breath.

“She lies!” one of the assistants cried. “Do not hesitate!”

The assistant threw out his hand and a spear of ice impaled the boy through his center. A cough of blood, a gurgled cry, and the mask of death was upon him.

With an anguished scream, Vhalla charged. She didn’t care if she no longer had her wind. She would rip the man limb from limb with her own two hands.

Vaulting off Lightning, she tackled the leader head first. He reared back to punch her and Vhalla dodged, bringing her knee up hard between his legs. The wind left him, and Vhalla pushed him off her. He stumbled off the stage with a menacing groan and a string of colorful words. She drew her sword fearlessly.

The crackle of ice lit up the air and Vhalla turned. But where the assistant had been was now nothing more than a charred mark on the ground, the temperature of the square rising by several degrees.

“Move and die!” Fritz shouted, holding out a hand to one of the remaining two Inquisitors. Jax was poised, ready to attack the other.

“Wh-who are you?” The leader scrambled away, looking between Vhalla and the Firebearer on the horse.

“The Fire Lord.” Aldrik threw down his hood, staring down the man who suddenly looked like nothing more than an ant beneath a mountain. He held out a hand and fire crackled off his finger, setting the leader ablaze.

Vhalla was expecting some further retaliation, but the remaining assistant by the stage fell to his knees and brought his face to the dusty ground. No one seemed to be able to process this reaction.

“My lord, my lord,” the man wailed. He turned his face upward, looking to Aldrik as though he were a god. “You have returned from the Father’s halls to save us.”

“Are you really who you say you are?” An elderly man moved away from the mother grieving over her fallen son.

“I am.” Vhalla looked on at the broken family in sorrow, wishing she could reverse the clock. “We are.”

“We can’t believe them,” snarled one of the Inquisitors, a blonde Southerner who viciously stared down Fritz.

“She is Vhalla Yarl,” Geral spoke up. “I would know that mess of hair from anyone.”

“You live,” the other Inquisitor Jax was threatening spoke with awe. “It’s true, the Prince of Mhashan lives.” The Westerner dropped to her knees as well.

“Vhalla Yarl,” the mother hiccupped her name softly. Everyone turned. “Will you end this?”

“I will,” she vowed without hesitation. Her people looked to her, and Vhalla would never fail them again. Vhalla jumped back onto the stage, addressing Paca. “The fires of Solaris, the fires of justice, burn bright and hot. The sun is rising, and it will cast this darkness from the earth. We will end the Supreme King.

“We ride to Hastan.” She barely noticed that Aldrik gave her an odd look from the corners of his eyes, but Vhalla was too focused on reassuring those gathered to give it much heed. “We will ensure the East stands with us, with the West, and the North! And we will end this.”

“So stand with Solaris, or die with the false king,” Aldrik decreed.

“The West harbors no love for the false king,” the nearest Inquisitor assistant spoke. “I am glad to kneel with my Emperor.”

“You’re pardoning them?” the grieving mother shrieked.

Vhalla looked between her and Aldrik uncertainly.

The Emperor took a long and slow breath through his nose. “Why did you serve the false king?”

“My daughter was in the Tower,” the man answered. Vhalla noticed the other Westerner shift, bowing her head. The family resemblance was suddenly apparent. “The King said she would remain safe if her family answered his call for Inquisitors.”

“And you?” Aldrik had noticed the apparent familial connection between the two Westerners and he turned to the Southerner.

“I-I-” the man stuttered. “There was no other choice. This or die.”

The Westerner to Vhalla’s left narrowed his eyes some, but he didn’t say anything. Vhalla keenly remembered Daniel’s description of the state of the capital. She understood many likely couldn’t understand what the Inquisitors had faced.

“Are your hearts loyal to Solaris?” Aldrik asked.

The three gave their affirmation.

“Then I will pardon you.”

“On one condition!” Vhalla knew that grieving mother could whip Paca into an angry mob if there wasn’t a condition added. Some form of punishment was due for the people to rest at night.

Aldrik turned to Vhalla. He gave her a long stare, but didn’t object. The singular act spoke volumes about the authority he had already given her.

Vhalla took a deep breath, praying she had formulated a good enough idea so quickly. “If you run off or oppose Victor, he will take your lives and the lives of those you love. Your deaths will help no one. There are patrols, I assume you are meant to report in, and he has the power to find you beyond all that. You do not want to be examples for that maniac.”

No one objected.

“Loyalty at the cost of innocent blood is not the foundation for a throne.” She stared into the eyes of the Easterners, pleading with them to understand what she was saying. “Two wrongs do not make a right. And killing those who have only fought for their freedom, killing them for the sake of vengeance does not make us any better than that which we are fighting against.

“So you may keep your lives, if you use them to help your brothers and sisters here in the East. Go as you were told. Use the crystal to find Windwalkers. But for every one you find, tell them to hide. Turn that wretched thing that Victor has saddled you with as a gift. Be not the harbingers of death but the devotees of life. Tell the Windwalkers to flee, to perpetuate the belief that there are and will be no more in the East, for now.”

Vhalla would not let go of her secret dream that one day Windwalkers could study safely alongside other sorcerers.

“Spread this word to other Inquisitors who do not want to take children from their mothers. Do this and you will have earned your pardon.”

The Inquisitors looked from Aldrik to Vhalla, trying to decipher if she truly had the ability to make such a decree.

The Western man finally spoke. “At least if I am to die, then it would be as someone I can look in the mirror.” He stood. “If it would please our lord?”

Aldrik took a deep breath and gave Vhalla a look that she couldn’t quite decipher. His eyes were sad, but bright with passion. His shoulders were limp and heavy, but the corners of his mouth tugged upward ever so slightly in the smallest of smiles.

“It would please me greatly. As it is the first decree of your future Empress.”

VHALLA WOULD FOREVER remember the reaction of the people in Paca to Aldrik’s announcement that Vhalla would be their future Empress. The people embracing her, celebrating her, replayed over in her mind during their ride out of the small town. It played over until a different nagging thought crept up from the back of her brain, until this new thought spoke so loudly that she had no other choice but to address it.

“I’m sorry,” Vhalla said guiltily. “For running off as I did towards the Inquisitors.”

Her four companions looked at her in surprise.

“You don’t need to apologize, Vhal,” Fritz said cheerfully.

Vhalla shook her head. “It was reckless of me, and it put you all at risk as well. I’ll be more careful in the future.”

“Well, be sure you do,” Elecia said in a haughty tone. Vhalla shared a small smile with the woman before she turned her focus back to the road.

“Vhalla,” Aldrik summoned her attention quietly. “I would also be careful about letting people know our movements.”

She thought a moment. “You mean saying we were headed to Hastan.”

“We’re fairly easy targets right now. The more people who know we’re alive, the more people who will be hunting us.”

“I’ll be more careful,” she vowed. Vhalla wouldn’t apologize again. Apologies meant nothing, and they weren’t going to help them. She simply had to be better than she had ever been before. It was a journey she had been on for some time now, and Vhalla was discovering that the path to being the person she wanted to be had no end point. There would always be room for her to adapt, to change, and to improve.

“Well.” Aldrik shifted in his saddle, casting off the weight of the morning. “You were never in any real danger. Those scraps of sorcerers can’t stand up to me.”

Vhalla laughed for the first time in weeks. “I forgot I rode with the Fire Lord.”

“Fire Lord,” Elecia snorted. “What a ridiculous title.”

“We could think of a title for you as well, ‘Cia.” Aldrik paused a moment. “Stone-Skinned Lady?”

“More like Stone-Hearted,” Jax sniggered.

“There is only one title I’m interested in,” Elecia spoke only once she was assured she had stalled long enough for everyone’s attention. “The Lady of the West.”

“We’ll see about that,” Aldrik chuckled. “Does your grandfather know you’re vying to overthrow him?”

“I’d never,” Elecia gasped.

“It’s nice to see you smile,” Fritz remarked to Vhalla from her left. “I haven’t seen it in I don’t remember how long.”

Vhalla shrugged. “There haven’t been many things to smile about.”

“There are, though. Don’t you think?” Fritz wore a small expression of joy himself. It was small, but it was there. “We’re all alive, aren’t we?”

“That we are.”

“I think we’ll likely give your father cause to smile as well, with his daughter coming back from the grave.” Fritz combed his fingers through his steadily lengthening hair.

That was something Vhalla hadn’t thought about. They had known in Paca of Victor’s claims of her death. Fear gripped her. What if her father thought her dead and had left to flee Victor’s slow encroachment north?

Vhalla looked ahead. This far into the middle of the continent, the hills by the southern mountains had begun to flatten, and there was at most a small slope to the land. She could see a far distance, but her home was still well out of sight.

They rode the day with the wind on her cheeks. There was no spark, no magic calling to her in it. Once in a while, she’d clench her hands into fists, foolishly thinking that her magic would return simply by being in the East. But her magic would not return to her unless there was enough to restore the flow to her Channel.

They saw an old road sign that was the first marker of Leoul. The dusty road and worn fences, which penned in livestock and pastures, began to look familiar to her. It all began to connect like a puzzle of memories, and Vhalla could suddenly recall obscure details like how many trees one farmer had in their field, or how many windows another home had.

A child-like squeal rose up in her throat as Vhalla shot out her finger, pointing at a lone tree in the distance. “My farm!” She clutched the reins tightly. “Can we go faster?”

“Works for me!” Fritz cheered and kicked his horse into a lively trot.

The rest of them did the same. The old gnarled oak still stood tall and laden with leaves, even during the winter months. It sat between two large fields that looked a lot smaller than she remembered. Her home came into view.

And Vhalla’s heart stopped.

It was exactly as she’d left it. The thatched roof that looked thinner by the year. The barn with the broken door that had never been fixed. The weeds determined to crawl up the flagstone. Her eyes had seen horror and blood, but somehow they could still look upon the structure that had given her eleven happy years without it spontaneously combusting from being under her stare.

Smoke rose cheerfully from the chimney. The smell of bread wafted in the air as they drew closer. Vhalla glanced over her shoulders, making sure everyone was still with her. The logical part of her brain warned her that this could be a trap. That it could all be a plot to ensnare them.

Vhalla dismounted quickly and paused for a breath at the door, listening to the shuffling within. Her tensions broke, and she knocked feverishly.

“Father!” she called, keeping her voice barely under control. There was a clamor from within. “Papa!”

Casting aside her hesitations and fears, Vhalla pushed open the door, only to have it pulled the rest of the way.

Her father stood on the other side. Of average height and muscled even in age, the rich tone of his skin betrayed every hour he spent in the field. Hair that matched hers in color and tone spilled down in a mess to the bottom of his ears.

“Vhalla?” He blinked, as though she was about to disappear.

“Papa!” The child within her was unleashed, that little girl who desperately wanted her father to hold her and say everything was all right. The girl who had been thrust into the world fearful and unknown. That girl finally won for the first time in months, and tears spilled onto Vhalla’s cheeks. “Papa, Papa, Papa . . .”

Her knees lost all their strength, they were suddenly world weary and exhausted. Her father gripped her upper arms, following her to the ground. They stared at each other in awe, the rest of the world utterly forgotten.

“You’re okay.”

“I should say that to you, little bird.” He pulled her in for a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry. I should have come home sooner. I should’ve been here. I became a lady. I sent coin. Did you get it?” It all spilled out, uncontrollable. “I wanted to come home, Father, but I did so many things. I didn’t even know who I was. I didn’t know what I wanted. But I know now, I know.”

“Hush.” Her father held her cheeks and smoothed away her tears. “You’re working yourself into a frenzy for no reason.”

Vhalla swallowed and nodded, the last of her tears escaping on a laugh. “I’m so happy to see you.” Worry had given birth to grief, which shattered in the face of joy.

“I am happy to see you.” He pulled her in for another tight hug. “Are you all right?”

“I am.”

“I heard so many stories, tall tales all focused on my little bird. I was worried, but I was proud.”

Vhalla sat back on her heels, rubbing her face. She felt foolish for crying so much when nothing was wrong. But, if anything, she cried because it was right and perfect and everything she hadn’t dared let herself hope for.

“Now.” Her father stood. “I am sure you have much to tell me, but let’s start with your companions.”

“Right.” Vhalla stood as well, having completely lost herself in her father being alive and well. “Well . . .” Her eyes scanned their rag-tag lot. It was actually a humorous sight. The disgraced lord, the Southern Sorcerer, the Western noble, and the Emperor.

“Fritz is my dear friend; we met in the Tower of Sorcerers.” Vhalla introduced her friends to her father in the order they dismounted. “He’s helped me countless times and is a really gifted Waterrunner.”

“Elecia is also my dear friend.” The woman in question looked startled that Vhalla would call her such. “She doesn’t let me get away with anything, Papa. She’s really gifted and strong, also.”

“Jax is—”

“Her personal guard,” the Western man finished.

Vhalla squinted at him, about to correct him that he, too, was a precious person to her.

But her father interjected, “Thank you for protecting my girl.”

“She’s pretty good at protecting herself.” Jax placed his hands on his hips, assessing her thoughtfully. “Just as good as she is at getting into trouble.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Vhalla remarked dryly.

“Oh, I know.” Jax grinned madly.

“You have certainly found interesting company to keep.” Her father chuckled and turned to the last remaining man in question. “And you are?”

Her chest tightened. Her Emperor? Her lord? Her prince? Her friend? Her lover? Her betrothed? Any of those titles could’ve fallen from Aldrik’s lips.

“My name is Aldrik,” he said simply.

Vhalla stilled, even Elecia looked surprised at Aldrik’s casual introduction.

“M-my lord.” Her father dropped to a knee in surprise.

Aldrik stared down at him for a long moment, before kneeling as well, so he could speak at eye-level. “Just Aldrik is fine.”

“No-no, I couldn’t,” her father protested. He had served in the military for years. Vhalla knew how engrained respect for nobility was in his mind. How he knew his place before his leaders and sovereigns. He knew it so well that he had been the one to teach it to her.

“I’m asking, please, simply Aldrik.” He spoke in a casual cadence and actually smiled.

“Papa, it’s okay.” Vhalla tugged on her father’s arm, urging him to stand. Her father looked greatly uncertain still. “Aldrik is, well, I’m going to marry him.”

Her father looked between Vhalla and Aldrik, clearly struggling to process this.

Even Aldrik looked at her in surprise, but he collected himself quickly. “That is, sir, if you have no objections.”

The Emperor looked even more surprised when the Eastern man before him burst out laughing. “It’s Vhalla’s choice, not mine. I’m not the one you’re asking to wed. If she is happy, then I am happy.” He held out a hand to Aldrik. “Rex Yarl.”

“A pleasure to finally meet you, Rex.” Aldrik clasped hands with her father, and Vhalla had to remind herself that she wasn’t in some dream land. The Emperor was really shaking hands with her father.

“Where should we tie up the horses?” Jax asked.

“Oh, right. There should be enough space in and around the barn.” Vhalla looked up at the sky. “Doesn’t look like rain, so they should be fine on an outdoor tie.”

Elecia, Jax, and Fritz took the horses to tie, tactfully giving Vhalla, Aldrik, and her father some time alone.

She slipped her hand in the Emperor’s, his fingers folding against hers. “Let me show you my home.”

Her father still seemed nervous by Aldrik’s presence. He walked calmly enough at her left side, but he kept making occasional glances at Aldrik. Vhalla tried to gauge his expression from the corners of her eyes, which proved difficult. Just because she knew what she wanted and didn’t need her father’s approval, well, that didn’t mean she didn’t want it.

“These are the strawberry bushes Mama and I planted when I was little.” It was almost spring, and they already had tiny fruits nestled between their leaves.

“One spring, Vhalla ate them all in one afternoon,” her father spoke to Aldrik, looking at the plants fondly.

“I had such a stomach ache!” Vhalla laughed, remembering exactly the time her father spoke of.

Rex smiled at his daughter. “Your mother had no sympathy for you either.”

“She was so cross.”

“As was I. I wanted one of her berry tarts.” There was still a note of sorrow when he spoke of his deceased wife.

“She did make the best tarts,” Vhalla sighed wistfully.

Vhalla picked three of the fruits for each of them to try. They were tiny and somewhat bitter from not having ripened enough.

But, for Vhalla, they tasted of springs long past, seasoned sweetly by reminiscing.

Walking around the flagstone, they came across a tree that Vhalla had planted from an off-shoot of the old oak. She remembered it as nothing more than a tiny sapling, but it was now almost taller than she was.

There was the outdoor soaking barrel, where she and her mother had spent many an afternoon bathing. It wasn’t far from the outhouse. But they passed all these and headed for a low rectangular stone with a dish-like dip in the center of the top. Vhalla looked at the empty bowl thoughtfully.

“Mama.” Vhalla dusted the dirt around the edges, careful not to touch the inside of the dip. “You’re dirty; tell the Mother to send a good rain.”

“The plants could use it, too.” Her father slung an arm around Vhalla’s shoulder.

“Do you still miss her?” Vhalla asked one of their ritual questions.

“Of course, little bird. Every single day.” His longing was as palpable as his heavy sigh.

For the first time, Vhalla realized that she understood her father’s pain. She’d always thought she knew before, but she never had until now. Losing her mother was an exceptionally great pain, but of a different sort than losing the person who held the other part of her soul. Vhalla looked up at Aldrik.

“What was her name?” Aldrik asked.

“Dia,” Rex answered.

“Dia. That is a lovely name.” Aldrik turned back to the marker. “Dia, I realize you are aware, but your daughter has grown into one astounding woman, and I would be lost without her.”

“I’m sure she knows.” Rex squeezed Vhalla lovingly. “Just as I do.”

“We should get dinner started,” Vhalla tried to keep her words light, not wanting to betray the sudden ache of her heart. She remembered how she had sat for the first few hours following her mother’s Rite of Sunset, watching the wind slowly blow away the ashes from the shallow basin at the top of the marker. This was the font of her mother’s winds, so said Eastern lore.

Shortly after, Vhalla found herself side by side with Fritz preparing dinner. Jax and Elecia squabbled around the tall table by the countertop, and Aldrik and her father chatted quietly by the hearth. She kept glancing over her shoulder, trying to pick up what they were saying, but even in the tiny, one-room house, she could only make out every couple words.

“You all right, Vhal?” Fritz asked. He was busy cutting some smoked and salted pork.

“Actually, I couldn’t be better.” She smiled, giving up trying to figure out what her father and Aldrik were whispering about. “Have I cut these right?”

“Yes, yes. Put them in the pot,” Fritz instructed. “I would’ve thought you were a better cook.”

“My mother only taught me the basics,” Vhalla confessed.

“Oh, right, sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Vhalla eased her friend’s mind. “I really do like thinking of her; I remember all the things she taught me. Cooking just wasn’t one of them.”

“Who knows, Vhalla Yarl,” Elecia joined their conversation. “Perhaps you do have a trace of nobility in you yet, for being more accustomed to others preparing food for you.”

Vhalla rolled her eyes. “Well, Lady Ci’Dan, I, at least, am willing to dirty my hands enough to prepare the food that I am to eat,” Vhalla jabbed lightly.

Getting the rise out of Elecia that she sought, soon the other woman was cutting root vegetables at Fritz’s instruction and giving Vhalla free hands to start on the bread.

“Would you look at that.” Jax leaned against the table. “Elecia Ci’Dan, on a dirt floor, cutting vegetables.”

“Enjoy it while you can.” Elecia didn’t even turn around.

“You know I will.” Jax’s eyes moved up and down Elecia’s form a few times.

“You letch.” Vhalla nudged him.

“Can you blame me?”

“Jax.” Elecia paused, flipping the knife in her palm deftly. “Is now really when you want to try to get cheeky with me.”

“Knife throwing only excites me more.”

Fritz and Vhalla roared with laughter.

“It’s good to have the house so lively again,” Rex said as he and Aldrik rejoined the conversation. “Your presence has been missed.”

“Speaking of missing, Mother’s spices are also gone.” Vhalla pointed to the empty windowsill.

“There was a bad drought a year ago. I couldn’t spare water for even them.”

“She’d be cross with you.” Vhalla began kneading the dough she’d been working on before setting it in a bowl to rest, a cloth draped over top. “How’s the well now? The creeks?”

“It has been a more arid year than normal, but they are fine enough for planting,” he responded. “Don’t worry on that.”

“I do worry.” She sighed. “The fields need ploughing—”

“It’s not time just yet.”

“—the barn door is broken—”

“As it has been for years.”

“You’re not taking care of things,” Vhalla finished pointedly.

“I am.” Rex Yarl laughed. “The farm’s fine; I’m fine. I don’t have some herbs. I always enjoyed bland foods.”

“You do not.” Vhalla crossed her arms on her chest stubbornly. “You loved mama’s cooking, and she used them every day.”

“I did because your mother could’ve made anything and I would’ve loved it.”

Dinner passed quietly and peacefully. Fritz’s soup was ready before Vhalla’s bread, but there weren’t enough bowls to go around. So they waited and talked until the small loaves had time to bake.

She’d forgotten where the sweet spot in their oven was and some of the loaves were a little too brown. Thankfully, Jax diligently adjusted the fire as she’d demanded, as best he could after the hearth had heated, so they were all edible.

Vhalla thought herself clever for gouging out the top of the bread and filling it with soup, even though she’d burned her fingers for handling them too quickly after cooking. They’d not eaten a real, hot meal since Fritz’s home, and it was better than just about anything Vhalla could’ve imagined. Perhaps some of it was the semi-starvation they had been enduring, but everyone had seconds gladly, eating until their bellies were rounded.

It wasn’t long after that they all collapsed on the floor. Fritz and Elecia were asleep in moments, Jax not long after. Their cloaks served as blankets; Rex’s clothing was rolled to create makeshift pillows. After spending so many nights in the open, having two nights in a row under a roof was pure bliss.

Rex insisted that Aldrik take his small rope bed, but Aldrik refused, opting for the small palette that would’ve been Vhalla’s. When he realized they couldn’t both fit, he offered it to her, but it was Vhalla’s turn to refuse. Her Emperor had a hard enough time sleeping, and if the thin layer of straw helped, she wasn’t about to take it from him.

Everyone fell asleep quickly. Everyone but Vhalla. She was exhausted, but sleep wouldn’t come.

She watched the red glow of the hearth fade into the darkness. The moon played hide and seek with the clouds, which she viewed through the window by their table. She listened to Fritz’s soft snoring, the shifts as Elecia rolled around, Jax’s boot scrape against the ground as he twitched in his sleep.

Vhalla pulled herself to her feet, glancing to her father’s bed. He was curled in the opposite direction, the rise and fall of his chest slow and even. Like a child, she crept out the door.

The ladder was where it had always been, propped near the chimney. It was worn and old but could bear her weight without trouble. She situated herself near the stones and used the radiant heat they still held from the baking earlier to fend off the night’s chill.

All her worries and assessments were correct. The roof needed to be re-built. But for now, the beams below the thatching were protected enough that they hadn’t rotted and gone soft. Vhalla reclined back on the slope of the roof, looking up at the endless sky.

The ladder creaked and shifted, and then her father’s head popped over the roof.

“I thought I’d find you up here,” he said softly, climbing up the rest of the way. Vhalla shifted closer to the warmth of the hearth and pulled her knees to her chest to make room for him to sit. “You’re still seeking places like this to roost?”

“I suppose so.” Vhalla thought back to her window seat in the library, how it offered her a view of the entire capital. She thought of her Tower room and the small balcony she so loved. She thought to her fearlessness the night Aldrik had brought her to the top of a spire. She’d never connected her love of high vantages before. “You knew what I was, didn’t you?”

“What you were?”

She finally had her father all to herself. She had the opportunity to ask the questions that had been burning for weeks. And now Vhalla was terrified of the answers.

“You and Mama, you knew I was a Windwalker,” Vhalla asked in spite of her fear.

Her father was silent for a long moment, speaking volumes. “We had suspicions.”

“And you never told me?” Vhalla twisted in shock. “You hid it from me?”

“Little bird, what were we to say? That we thought you may wield magic? Neither of us possessed such powers, and we barely knew what they meant. All we knew was what your grandmother had taught your mother.”

Even her father’s pet name for her suddenly had new meaning, even as he revealed new facets to her past. “What grandmother taught?” Vhalla knew her grandparents had worked in the post office of Hastan, but she’d always been told they had fallen out with their daughter when she’d married Vhalla’s father.

“She also possessed the gift of winds.” Her father sighed heavily, visibly pained by Vhalla’s hurt. “When your mother expressed concerns, you were just a toddler. Your grandmother demanded we send you to her so she could teach you how to live hidden.

“But your mother wouldn’t give you up. She read and heard as many tales from old Cyven as she could, learning what she could about the Windwalkers. She loved you, Vhalla, and she wanted to raise you.”

Vhalla rested her chin on her knees. She debated internally if it would’ve been better to have been sent off. To know what she was. If she had been, if she had never been removed from the East, perhaps none of the current events would’ve happened.

But Vhalla didn’t know what it felt like to have a child and be faced with the choice of giving up that child. She tightened her arms around her knees. She never would. Because if and when she did give birth to her first child, he or she would be taken to the North—it was already decided. There would be no opportunity for conflict.

“Don’t harbor any anger toward your mother,” her father sighed.

“I don’t,” Vhalla replied back before he could misinterpret her contemplations. “I just, wish I’d known sooner. I wish someone had told me.” So she wouldn’t have had to be pushed off a roof.

“If I’d known what would’ve happened, I would’ve done things differently,” he confessed.

“What’s done is done.” Vhalla shrugged it away. “I know why you and Mama tried to hide me. I know what the East teaches about Windwalkers and magic.” Vhalla considered it for a long moment. “But in the end, while I wish I had done a few things differently . . . I wouldn’t change all of it.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I stopped reading and started doing.” Vhalla smiled faintly at the memory of Aldrik’s words at their first meeting. “I messed up so badly. I didn’t love some friends enough. Sometimes I focused on myself more than others. But if I hadn’t made those mistakes, I wouldn’t be strong enough to look to the future now and not be afraid.”

“A future that involves you being Empress,” her father probed.

Vhalla relented easily. “I should’ve written you more. I should’ve found a way to tell you sooner. I should’ve come home.”

“You were off ending wars.” He laughed his hearty laugh. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, little bird.”

She sighed. “Papa, do you think I will make a good Empress? I’ve done so many horrible things.” Vhalla wanted to confess her sin of unleashing Victor upon the world. But some guilt was too heavy to share with her father.

“The best,” her father said without hesitation. “I have no doubt in you; I know the sort of Empress you will be. But about our young crown prince, I know little more than the rumors from the soldiers during the War of the Crystal Caverns. Tell me the sort of Emperor we will have.”

Vhalla obliged her father. Words spilled from her mouth as though she were the font from which they were created. In telling her father about Aldrik, she had to tell him how she came to meet Aldrik, how she came to know the man that had the reputation for being one of the most shut-off, cold people on the continent.

She didn’t make him out to be perfect. Vhalla knew Aldrik was horribly flawed. But so was she. He was prone to anger and she prone to selfishness. But they strove together to be better, for themselves and for each other.

In it all, she told her father of everything that happened since she had last seen him. Years were summed up in minutes and hours. He frowned at her pain, and praised her for overcoming her trials.

Vhalla and Rex Yarl sat in the breeze until the dawn.

HER CHEST ACHED at the smell of the air, at the way the dust settled in the early light, at the sweet scent of wet earth from the morning’s dew. It all pained her. Each sensory input filled her with the heaviness of longing for a world that was long gone.

She’d only crawled back to her place near Aldrik an hour or so ago, but she couldn’t fall asleep. She listened to her Emperor’s slow and steady breathing and let it lull her into a heavy-lidded doze. But she didn’t sleep. She wanted to savor every last moment in her home.

The dawn was insistent, and Vhalla eventually sat up. She glanced at her father, who was thankfully sleeping. He wasn’t a young man any longer, and she’d kept him up until the first light.

On light feet, she tip-toed over to the pile of wood that was kept indoors. Her mother had always performed the ritual of lighting the hearth first thing in the winter months. Now it would fall to her, Vhalla’s heart told her.

“Let me help you with that,” Aldrik whispered in her ear.

Vhalla nearly jumped out of her skin, dropping the small log of wood she held in the process. His hand reached around her and caught it deftly.

“Thank you, my phantom,” she teased coyly, having not heard him so much as stir.

“What’s the cause for the old pet name?” Aldrik hummed, nuzzling the hair by her ear.

“I didn’t realize it had become a pet name,” she breathed in hushed amusement.

“Perhaps it was just my wishful thinking early on.” The corner of Aldrik’s mouth tugged up into a grin. Fire lit in the hearth next to them, summoned by his passing thought.

“Was it?” Vhalla hummed, resting her palms on his chest. “A prince thinking wishful thoughts about a library girl?”

“What magic you’ve woven over me.” Aldrik leaned forward.

Vhalla’s hands twisted in his clothes and pulled him to her. His palm smoothed out her shirt over her hip while the other left a trail of gooseflesh along her neck. The faintest of groans rose to meet his mouth. She had not kissed him enough.

The turmoil, the endless days on the road, the persistent company. It all pushed affections away as trivial. But Vhalla had never felt anything more essential to her wellbeing than his mouth on hers.

“When are you going to wake me up like that, my liege?” Jax quipped, not specifying to whom he spoke, so Vhalla and Aldrik both jumped away from each other.

“By the Mother, Jax, it’s too early,” Aldrik bemoaned.

“It’s too early for all of you,” Elecia echoed venomously.

“We finally agree on something.” Fritz was awake as well.

“We agree on lots of things,” Elecia insisted.

Fritz grinned. “No, we don’t.”

“You’re just doing that on purpose.”

“And you take all the covers.”

And with that, everyone had risen for the day.

Vhalla began preparing an Eastern breakfast—sliced salted pork stuffed into bread left over from the night prior. She may have never cooked much, but she did know how to make some things.

“Rex,” Aldrik began in a tone Vhalla instantly didn’t like. She just knew. “I was thinking that it’s not safe for you to stay here.”

She stilled, leaning against the counter under the window by the hearth.

“The knowledge that Vhalla and I live will spread rapidly. As it does, we will become even more hunted.” He paused to wash down some bread with water. “We will go West, after Hastan. My yet-living family through my mother is in Norin, and my uncle is the Lord of the West. That is where I want you to go also.”

“I see.” Her father rubbed the knuckle of his index finger over his lips in thought.

“You want my father to come with us?”

“Not quite.” Aldrik’s apologetic eyes told her everything before his lips spoke the words.

“Alone?” Vhalla shouldn’t have let the panic slip into her voice. “You’ve seen what’s out there, Aldrik.”

“You know it’s the right decision,” the Emperor insisted.

Vhalla looked away with a sigh. She did, even if she didn’t want to admit it. She knew her father was no one by himself. With her, with Aldrik, he became a target.

“Papa?” She returned from her thoughts, seeking out her father’s opinion on the matter.

“I will be fine, little bird.” Her father crossed over and pulled her in for a tight hug. “Remember, you’re not the only one in this house who’s ridden to war. I’m not that old and rusty.”

Vhalla sighed softly, closing her eyes and resting her face on her father’s shoulder. Having her father home was right. He smelled of the earth under his nails and the soot in the hearth. As long as he remained, there would always be somewhere she could run back to.

If he left, it meant the world had truly changed.

“Take my sword, then. You’ll need a weapon.” Vhalla insisted; there was no point in further argument. Everything had been changing for years, and would continue to change. That was life.

The preparations didn’t take long. Bladders were filled from the well. The remaining bread was split among them with Vhalla insisting her father take the larger of the pieces.

Rex Yarl left first, heading straight for the Western border. He promised her he would only make one stop at a trusted friend’s house before continuing onward. He didn’t bring anything with him that could confirm his identity, in case he was stopped by Inquisitors. That had brought on a debate as to how he would prove his association upon arriving at Norin.

“Aldrik,” Vhalla summoned his attention once they were on the road. “You must think of a new code.”

“What code do you speak of ?” he asked, reminding her that he couldn’t read her mind.

“What is most beautiful just before it dies? A rose,” Vhalla repeated what he had told her father to recite for Aldrik’s uncle in Norin. “You told it to me after Baldair’s death.”

“I did.” Aldrik’s voice tightened some at the memory.

“Victor knew it; it’s why I went with him.”

“He would.” Aldrik muttered a curse under his breath. “I’ve only ever used it with people I trust implicitly.”

“Wait, so that means you trust me, right?” Fritz was over eager about the fact.

Vhalla was pleased to have a convenient change in topic. She’d said her peace, and she knew her Emperor’s mind. It would stew in his brain until Aldrik had worked through a new solution and alternate code phrase. She smiled at Fritz. “I think that’s exactly what it means.”

“Technically, Elecia was the one to pass along the knowledge,” Aldrik remarked dryly.

“And I wouldn’t have done so if I wasn’t confident I was passing it along to someone whom you trusted implicitly.” Elecia’s tone was part defensive, part jest. “Fritz, you are quite welcome in the Ci’Dan fold.”

Fritz laughed nervously. “Not sure if I want that.”

That set Elecia off on a long history of the noble Ci’Dan family. Vhalla knew she should listen—it was Aldrik’s lineage and therefore important to her. But all she found herself focused on was the approaching end of her family’s farmland. Her father not bringing identification meant that everything that declared her family remained here.

Vhalla turned in her saddle, looking at the farmhouse fading in the distance. It was empty and unassuming, waiting for renegades to come ransack it, to steal their few meager things of worth. Or it could be waiting for Victor’s men to come and level it, purely out of spite for her.

She stopped her horse.

“Vhalla?” Aldrik slowed his to a stop a short distance away the moment he noticed she’d fallen from the group.

Vhalla gripped the reins tightly. She wanted to run back and take whatever she could that would remind her of home.

“Is everything all right?” Fritz called.

“Everything’s fine,” Vhalla forced herself to say. Memories were not tied up in things. She turned back to the group. “Let’s go; Hastan is waiting.”

The following days to Hastan passed blissfully uneventful. So much so that it was almost possible to imagine that they were merely five travelers on a trip because they wanted to be. They stayed at inns along the way, keeping their identities a secret. Every night, Vhalla pretended that she was just a woman and Aldrik was just a man, a couple engaged to be wed. She staved off worry with his kisses and quieted the noise in her mind with his blissfully breathy sighs.

The deeper they pushed into the heart of the East, the less they saw of Victor’s hold. People knew what was going on; a few may have even seen one of the abominations Victor had crafted. But for the majority, life still continued with almost relative normalcy.

That normalcy ended the moment they reached the capital of the East. Hastan was the opposite of the towering Southern capital. It was not perched upon a mountaintop, but grew slowly from out of the surrounding plains. All farmland ended and the houses stopped for a long barren stretch before the city began. A no-man’s land that set Hastan apart from the rest of Cyven. Very few people actually lived in Hastan proper; it serving more as an apex for government, commerce, and culture for the people of Cyven.

It was the first time Vhalla had laid eyes on the city.

“Why is the West laying siege to Hastan?” Vhalla scanned the army encampment set up around the whole of Hastan. Crimson pennons bearing the Western phoenix fluttered in the wind.

“I don’t know.” Aldrik frowned.

“I’d venture a guess they might.” Jax pointed at the line of soldiers blocking the road into the city.

“Halt,” one of the soldiers called out to them as they approached. “From where do you hail?”

“Now that’s the question, isn’t it?” Jax sniggered under his breath, glancing at their odd mix.

“We have come to speak with the Senators of Hastan.” Aldrik had put back on his Emperor voice.

“Senator, you mean,” one of the men clarified in a heavy Western accent.

“Senator?” Vhalla looked between them. “There should be four senators from the East.”

“There were, until the Supreme King got his hands on the three that were still in the capital when he usurped the throne.”

“By whose order are you here?” Elecia asked.

“By the order of the only ruler who still holds claim to the throne.” Vhalla glanced at Aldrik from the corners of her eyes as the soldier spoke. “The Lord Ophain Ci’Dan.”

Relief pulled at the corners of the Emperor’s mouth, folding it neatly into a small smile. It exuded confidence and betrayed his ease at the soldier’s omission. Elecia caught Vhalla’s eyes for a conspiratorial look as she pulled them away from Aldrik’s profile. She’d seen Aldrik’s expression as well and seemed to get equal amusement from it.

Aldrik shook his head. “Well, my uncle’s claim is something I cannot argue. Were I not alive.”

The soldier opened his mouth to speak and paused, looking at Aldrik, and then looking at his comrade. They both struggled to put together what Aldrik had said.

“Usually you kneel before your sovereign lord,” Elecia helped them along.

“No, no . . . The nephew of Lord Ophain, of our late princess . . . Prince Aldrik is dead.”

“But there were rumors—”

“You know how people will talk,” one soldier interrupted the other.

“Oh, we’re wasting time.” Elecia sat straighter in her saddle. “Bring us to whomever is running this operation.”

“We will not trouble Lord Sevin for you imposters.”

“Excuse me?” Elecia had gone deathly still. Vhalla expected some form of verbal lashing after being called an imposter. “Who did you say was leading this?”

“The honorable Lord Sevin Ci’Dan.”

Elecia dismounted. She balled one of her hands into a fist, clasping the other hand over it—a motion Vhalla learned long ago was her physical act of opening her Channel. The curly-haired woman stalked over to the unsuspecting guards. The rest of them didn’t move as their Emperor remained still, content to forfeit the soldiers to Elecia like mice to a cat.

“Don’t come any closer or we’ll be forced to engage.” The man drew his sword. “Go on your own way and there needn’t be bloodshed.”

Elecia pressed forward, the man swung for her shoulder and the blade split open Elecia’s shirt, but it stopped hard with a ring against her stone skin. Elecia looked at the offending sword for a long moment, before turning her eyes back to her attacker. The man was startled into silence.

“I’ll tell the Lord Sevin to overlook that, if you do as we ask.” Elecia raised her head with a triumphant grin. “Now, take me to my father.”

Elecia was recognized not more than a few steps off the road. That was all it took. The soldiers leading them were suddenly wanting to make sure they accommodated every little thing the travelers asked for—now that they realized they were in the presence of the Emperor.

A messenger reached the Lord Sevin before they did. He was already running as they approached the heart of the camp, the tent flaps fluttering behind him. Elecia dismounted, crossing to where her father was skidding to a stop.

“My girl,” he uttered in awe.

Vhalla immediately noticed two things about Sevin Ci’Dan. The first was that he didn’t seem much older than Aldrik. The second was that the two could almost be brothers by appearances alone. Aldrik’s mother, Fiera Ci’Dan, Western Princess, was the sister of Lord Ophain Ci’Dan, Sevin’s father. That would make Aldrik and him cousins, so the family resemblance made sense, Vhalla reasoned.

“Fiarum evantes,” Elecia spoke the Western greeting strong and proud.

“Kotun un knox,” her father replied.

They clasped forearms, and the man lowered his forehead to his daughter’s briefly. It was a restrained greeting and, compared to the Eastern embraces Vhalla was used to, she would expect it to seem cold. But there was true admiration in their movements, still waters ran deep here. It was different than what she knew, but the love remained.

“My Emperor.” The lord dropped to a knee.

“Sevin,” Aldrik spoke, dismounting. “No need for that. It is good to see you well.”

“I cannot say enough of the same.” The two men clasped forearms as well, an easy reunion between family members. “We heard you were dead.”

“My lady has a habit of cheating death.” Aldrik motioned to Vhalla. “She shared a bit of her luck this time.”

“Your . . . lady?” The man followed Aldrik’s hand to Vhalla.

“Vhalla Yarl,” she announced and dismounted.

“There is much to tell.” Sevin’s eyes looked across their group before turning to his men. “Take their horses, see them rubbed down and the dust off their coats. Bring dried dates, cohi, bread, and whatever perishables are freshest.”

They were ushered into the lord’s tent. It was large enough for a table, cot, and a number of personal affects. However, it was unlike Aldrik’s tent on the march. This had been set up with the intention of not being moved for some time.

“Are you in contact with your father?” Aldrik asked, sitting on one of the large pillows atop the hide that surrounded the low table.

“Regularly.” Sevin sat next to his daughter. “I will send word to him immediately.”

“I would like to include a personal letter.” Aldrik motioned for Vhalla to sit at his right hand, and she did so without hesitation. Fritz and Jax filled in the rest of their small circle. “He may think you’ve gone mad if it’s not in my hand.”

“Of course.” The lord paused as soldiers brought the requested foods. “Going mad is something that he may have suspected already, given the East’s nature.”

Vhalla cleared her throat, unappreciative of the tone of the last statement. “Why are you here?”

Sevin looked to Aldrik, confirming that she did, indeed, have the authority to ask outright. Aldrik stared expectantly.

“When the first messengers were received in Norin, they spoke of the fall of Solaris and demanded Father bend his knee and the West recognize King Victor’s rule.” He snorted, amused at the notion even recounting it. “Naturally, we killed the abominations and have begun to aggressively oppose the madman.

“But the East was unresponsive to our letters. We feared that they had already fallen or aligned with King Victor.”

“So he prepared to subdue the Eastern front as well,” Aldrik concluded.

Sevin nodded. “But we came to discover that the delay was only a result of one senator waiting to see if the other three had made it from the South alive.” He mumbled under his breath, “The fool.”

“What is the hesitation now, then?” Aldrik asked.

“You know the East; they don’t want to fight even if war is at their doorstep. They’re stalling to see if they can side with the winner and then belly up like they did with the Empire.”

“Doing so saved countless lives.” Vhalla frowned slightly. “The East knew they were beat, rather than fighting a ten-year war.”

The lord didn’t seem to appreciate her mention of Mhashan’s longer, but inevitable, fall to the Empire.

Vhalla sighed softly; divisions would get them nowhere. “But this is different,” she conceded. “This is not a force that can be reasoned with. This is a man beyond sense and logic. He will kill us all just because it would suit him to do so.”

“You have seen him.” The lord heard something in her tone that made his words a statement, rather than a question.

“I was the one to give him this corrupt strength.” Vhalla met his eyes, and the lord leaned backward involuntarily. “And I will be the one to take it away. I will be the one to kill him and end the blight of crystals once and for all.”

“What have you seen?”

Vhalla was the one to summarize their tale. She had earned the floor, and she kept it. Even Elecia kept her interjections minimal to only when Vhalla omitted an important detail.

“Terrible,” the lord breathed in horror when they had finished listing the events that led them to his tent. “We knew it was something wretched, but—this?”

“It will only worsen.” Vhalla balled her hands into fists. The phantom sensation of magic washed over her, her body creating the illusion of a Channel to meet her need for strength. “We must unite, and we must fight. Shaldan will fight on our side.”

“Shaldan?” He turned to Aldrik with his confusion. “How? I assumed that if—” Sevin’s eyes darted to Vhalla, struggling to make sense of what was before him, “—if your lady sat before me, then the Northern Princess had perished.”

“She did not.” Aldrik’s jaw was tight. “We made a deal for the sake of the continent.”

“I see.” He clearly did not, and he was deeply curious about the details, that much was apparent. But the lord’s upbringing won out, and he did not press. “Well, I am certain the West will praise your union with our Duchess with much fervor. And, for the time being, having an Eastern Empress will help us all.”

Vhalla swallowed hard and tried to make sense of the emotions that rushed through her at the thought. She’d barely become accustomed to Aldrik outright calling her his lady, and now she was to be called Empress. She was not groomed for the title, but Vhalla would do whatever she must to fit it.

“Not quite Empress, cousin,” Aldrik corrected, sensing Vhalla’s struggle.

“Oh?”

“We have yet to speak our devotion before the Mother Sun.”

“You wait for your throne to be restored?”

Vhalla stared on in confusion as Aldrik shook his head. His words echoed in her ears. “We will wed in Norin.”

In Norin? He planned for them to wed not in months or years, or when his rule was restored, but mere weeks away? She’d been his lady openly for days, and now she was to be Empress by Gods and law in mere weeks?

“There will be a later time to speak nuptial details.” Aldrik stood, keenly aware of her turmoil and acting before it could burst from her. “For now, we will go speak with this Eastern senator.”

Fritz, Elecia, and Jax all opted to relax in the lord’s tent during Aldrik’s and Vhalla’s mission. Elecia reluctantly picked up on the notion that it was a matter better served by allowing the rulers to rule, but Fritz and Jax seemed all too eager to finally be out of the saddle and stuffing their faces with as much food as they could.

It suited Vhalla because it meant that the Lord Ci’Dan walked a few paces behind with his men, leaving Vhalla and Aldrik alone. She had to physically bite her tongue to keep the questions from spilling out. They didn’t get more than a few paces into camp toward Hastan when they came rushing forth.

“Norin? We will wed in Norin?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to run it by you.” He at least sounded honestly apologetic.

“You didn’t think running it by your bride would be important?” Vhalla gave her Emperor a small glare.

“Vhalla, now is not the time.”

“When will the time be? The next time we are speaking to a member of your family?” she muttered.

“Tonight.” He leaned forward, making it impossible for her not to meet his eyes. “Tonight, my Vhalla—”

“Your honeyed words have no effect on me, Emperor Solaris,” Vhalla lied.

The arrogant royal knew it, too, judging by the small smile he gave her. “I promise we will speak on it tonight.”

“If you promise,” she sighed, letting the topic go for the time being.

Hastan was quiet. Despite having more people, more shops, more buildings, more everything than all the small farm towns they’d travelled through, it was so quiet that the wind sounded loud. Vhalla stared back at the men and women who looked upon them, curious but reserved. She tried to smile reassuringly, but it didn’t seem to help. At least it didn’t hurt.

The main government building of Hastan was a large, circular structure at the end of the East-West Way. The builders had chosen a circle to signify that all was made equal in that there were no sides. It had only one floor for much the same reason. The fact had never stuck out to her in all her reading, but after seeing so much of the world, she had never appreciated her own history or culture more.

“Back again?” A farmer who had been dressed up to look like a guard—and was failing—yawned from the doorway. “She’s not going to see you twice in one day.”

“Inform the senator that the Emperor wishes to meet with her.” Vhalla made mental notes about how Aldrik put strength behind his words. How he could make a statement, said calmly, seem like both an order from a friend and a threat from a ruler.

“The Emperor is dead.”

“The father, but not the son,” Vhalla clarified.

The man looked at her, as if for the first time. “You’re not one of them.”

“I am. As are you. We are all the Solaris Empire. An Empire of the Sun for its people, for peace.”

“Who are you?”

“Vhalla Yarl.”

By the way he reacted, she would’ve thought she had told the man that she was the chaos dragon, burst free from the Father’s prison in the night sky. The man stumbled back, holding his shirt over his chest in surprise. He stared at her for a long moment, ignoring the presence of the man who had proclaimed himself the true Emperor.

“You . . . You come with me.” The man started for the door. “The rest of you stay.”

“Excuse me?” the Lord Ci’Dan balked.

“The senator said no more Westerners, but I will take the Windwalker to her.” The farmer-guard paused at the door.

“The Emperor will come with me,” Vhalla insisted.

“Unnecessary.” Aldrik rested his hand lightly on her arm, summoning her attention. “Once the senator meets with you, I’m confident she will be willing to hold an audience with the rest of us.”

Vhalla paused, stuck in limbo. Aldrik had such confidence in her. It thrilled her. It terrified her. But she was becoming the woman she had hoped—because it was more elating than frightening.

“Very well.” Vhalla nodded. She caught his hand, briefly lacing her fingers against his. “I’ll go, and come back once I’ve gained an audience for you all.”

She followed the guard into an entry room, it arched slightly with the curve of the building. They crossed through it, passing a long hall.

“You believe me?” she asked.

“I do,” the man affirmed with minimal hesitation. “No one in their right mind would admit to being Vhalla Yarl if they weren’t actually Vhalla Yarl.”

Vhalla laughed, unable to argue. Claiming she was Vhalla Yarl was a virtual death sentence in the world they lived. He led her through another doorway into the center of the building. A circular auditorium descended three levels into the earth. Sun shades were pulled back from an open roof, letting in the sunlight. A woman, with brown hair that grayed at the ears, looked up from where she was toiling over some letters spread out at a circular table.

“Who is this?” The question was pointed, but not sharp nor unkind.

“Vhalla Yarl.”

The senator looked Vhalla up and down for a long moment, squinting. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“I’ve been told death doesn’t suit me.”

“It didn’t suit the Vhalla Yarl I knew, either.” The lines by her eyes deepened as she smiled. “If you are really Vhalla Yarl, tell me what you did to throw the court into disarray during your trial.”

“I stopped Master Mohned from falling,” Vhalla answered easily. “Senator, your Emperor seeks an audience, but he is being refused because you have already had your audience with the West today.”

The woman considered this for a long moment. “Speak honestly; is he truly the Emperor?”

“You will know it to be fact when you see him.”

The senator proved Vhalla correct. The moment she laid eyes on Aldrik, her hesitation vanished. Within minutes, they were sipping cool wheat tea and heatedly discussing plans to implement with the West. By the time they were finished, the sun was low in the sky.

It was easier than Vhalla had expected. The East and West seemed to just fall into place. Without the complication over whose claim to the throne was the strongest and who would likely garner more support across the continent, the East had little hesitation in supporting Aldrik’s assertion.

“This feels too easy,” she remarked to Aldrik as they walked through the curving hallway on their way to where the messenger birds of Hastan were kept.

“Let it be so,” he chuckled. “We have had enough hardship.”

“So it’s what I expect.” Vhalla linked her arm with his, enjoying the quiet. It felt like forever since they had last been alone. Elecia had chosen to sleep in the camp with her father. But Fritz and Jax were joining Vhalla and Aldrik in the government building, so Vhalla expected such times to be limited.

“My father,” Aldrik said thoughtfully. “For all his flaws, he had a vision that takes roots in the hearts of men. A vision of a single banner, uniting us all. Of struggling for a better future rather than against each other.”

Vhalla gripped his arm for a moment, debating if she should bring up the Crescent Continent. She put a quick end to her debate. He didn’t need to be reminded of his father’s ruthlessness. She would allow him a memory colored with fondness.

Aldrik continued, “It’s an ideal people are still willing to fight for. Because we were so close we could taste it.”

“You will end this war and be an Emperor for peace.” Vhalla permitted herself a tiny smile at the notion.

“We will end it. And we will be the rulers for peace.”

THE NIGHT’S DARKNESS enveloped the last messenger bird. Vhalla’s hands were ink stained and tired. She’d written triple the number of letters Aldrik had, but only a third had been sent. She had never written letters as an Empress before, and it proved more difficult than expected to capture and hold the right tone.

Vhalla had scrapped the first batch on her own and then the second after Aldrik’s critique. Eventually she developed a formula for informing the Western lords and ladies that their Emperor was alive. But by the time she’d mastered it, Aldrik had already finished the majority on his own.

“Come.” He took her hand in his, drawing her attention away from the window. “We should rest.”

Vhalla appreciated the simple elegance of the Eastern government building. It was the original senate hall, and it was as opulent as could be expected of the East without being needlessly lavish. The floors were multi-colored wood, inlaid in a zig-zag pattern of light and dark. A handful of portraits in tasteful frames lined the hall at wide intervals. Candlelight gleamed off the floor polish.

But the beauty had a certain darkness tainting it at the shadows. This place stood for a government created by the people, to serve the people—the East’s great experiment. As long as Victor was alive, it would only be a shade of its former glory, its growth stinted by the shade of a madman.

She rubbed her shoulder absent-mindedly. The scar no longer ached to the touch. It had healed over to an ugly, but otherwise harmless, mark.

They passed Jax and Fritz’s temporary chambers on the way to their rooms. Vhalla would have stopped in to spend time with her friend, but no light peeked out from under his door. Vhalla hoped that he was getting some much needed sleep in a real bed.

She and Aldrik had separate rooms, as was deemed chaste and appropriate for their standing. It made Vhalla roll her eyes at the notion. Apparently the senator thought similarly, as the rooms had a connecting door. It fit the East’s lax mentality when it came to physical affection. The notion of sacred chastity was a loose construct placed upon them by the West rather than an important tenant of their culture.

Vhalla naturally found her way into his bed most nights. Their proximity was impossible to fight and, in some ways, she needed him now more than ever. His arms reassured her that she had a place in his world, that she wasn’t a girl pretending to be noble.

Vhalla listened to his slow and steady breathing, debating the words that were burning her tongue. They both needed rest, and he was nearly asleep. Vhalla nuzzled her Emperor’s jaw gently.

“What is it?” Aldrik uttered into the darkness.

“Norin?” she replied.

He sighed softly, pressing his cheek into her forehead. “I did promise we would speak on it.”

“And I will hold you to that promise.”

“We absolutely must have the full support of the Empire,” he began. “Standing against Victor will otherwise be impossible.”

She didn’t disagree.

“Our Empire is in disarray, threatened by being torn apart and scattered. My life is enough to rally the West. Your becoming Empress helps cement the East’s support. But the North depends on the deal we have struck with them.”

Vhalla held her tongue as, technically, the deal Sehra had made was for Aldrik’s heir, irrelevant of which woman produced said heir. Vhalla had no guarantee she would make it to the end of the war.

“Beyond that, the people need a display of strength. That their leadership is whole, united, concrete. A wedding will do just that.”

“Are you certain?” She was unconvinced. “Wouldn’t a wedding look as though we are focused on ourselves when we should be focused on our people?” It was odd how phrases like “our people” were becoming easier to say.

He chuckled and pressed his lips firmly to her forehead. “I adore your compassion for our Empire. But I beseech you—have faith in me on this. I understand the workings of the court and the displays the people expect.”

“I do have faith in you, but that doesn’t exempt me from feeling uncertain.”

“My Vhalla.” His arms tightened around her. “Grant it to me. If something should happen to me—”

“Don’t say it.” She twisted to find his face in the darkness, stealing the words from his lips with a firm kiss. “Don’t you dare say those words, Aldrik Solaris. We’ve been through too much to entertain morbid possibilities.”

Vhalla knew where his heart lay. It was in the same place that had told her to go West if he fell in the final battle of the North. It was the truth, but Vhalla did not want to give it the credence of words. She knew the title of Empress would ensure her protection. She knew Aldrik desired nothing more; he didn’t need to say it.

“Very well,” Aldrik sighed, gently kissing her back for a long moment. “If it is truly something you do not wish, then we won’t speak on it. But consider the notion, come to terms with it, before you outright reject it.”

“That I can do.” Her words were a hushed whisper, but a cacophony of noise filled her brain as her mind tried to think too many thoughts over top each other.

A few hours later, she had almost quieted the noise in her mind when her restless sleep was interrupted by a screech ripping through the sky. It sounded as though the heavens were being torn asunder, and it awoke both of them with a start. Another cry echoed the first. It was pure agony given form, as though a thousand men and women cried all at once.

She was out of bed and to their window in an instant, throwing open the shutter and looking skyward.

“What do you see?” Aldrik asked, trying to look as well.

“Nothing from here.” Vhalla squinted into the darkness of the night.

Another screech came. Creatures zipped through the night air and gusted wind against her cheeks. Vhalla’s eyes caught a glint of something unnatural descending upon Hastan. The brief outlines of hulking abominations were visible, glowing faintly in a familiar turquoise shade.

“Monsters,” she breathed. “Victor’s attacking.”

“Did you see him?” Aldrik took one more look out the window before starting for the door.

“Not him, but one of his crystal experiments.” Vhalla wasn’t actually sure what banked through the sky, but it was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. The creature they had encountered on the road with Daniel seemed child’s play compared to this. Even just as a shadow in the night, it was a nightmare given form—a monster that one wished to remain in the void from where it came.

Aldrik cursed loudly, slamming the door behind them. “He knows we’re here.”

Vhalla was about to ask how, but the words stopped short. She remembered the Inquisitors in Paca and her foolishly proclaiming about where they were going. She’d wanted to spark inspiration in the people, she’d wanted to sway the men from Victor. But what if they hadn’t been swayed? The heat of betrayal flushed her cheeks.

“What’s going on?” Jax met them in the hall.

“Victor’s attacking,” Aldrik spoke without stopping.

“Vhal?” Fritz yawned, rubbing his eyes. He’d barely been roused by all the noise. The man might be able to sleep through the end of the world.

“We’re under attack,” Vhalla pulled her friend along.

The main entryway was already buzzing when the four of them entered. The senator was trying to pull threads of organization through the chaos, but it was proving a futile attempt. Aldrik cleared his throat.

“I need the fastest horse,” he announced, projecting the demand throughout the room. “And whatever armor is closest to my size.”

The room stilled.

“Any who are skilled in combat are to come with me. We will join with the Western forces outside the city to thwart this attempt from the false king.” Aldrik glanced at her and guilt clouded his eyes. Vhalla knew why instantly, and she wanted to hate him for it. “My lady will remain here. Her will is to be considered an extension of my own.”

He was leaving her behind. “Aldrik,” Vhalla whispered hastily. “I can carry a sword; I can fight.”

His eyes flicked to the rest of the room, the people watching their discourse. “You’re more valuable to me here. Keep things in order. Help me lead from within.”

“I’ll stay with the Lady Yarl,” Jax announced from her side.

“No, you will go with the Lord Solaris,” Vhalla demanded. “Fritz, you will go as well. Both of your skills will be of use on the field.”

Another screech interrupted any of Jax’s potential objections. The smell of smoke wafted in through the open doors of the government building, cries and shouts riding the wind along with it. The three men exchanged a look as Vhalla stood resolute.

“Go, the field needs leaders.”

They listened to her, and Vhalla swallowed her frantically beating heart as she watched the three leave with a handful of others. The room remained still as the world beyond devolved into chaos before their eyes. Vhalla clenched her fists.

Maybe there was more to Aldrik’s leaving her than Vhalla understood. Panic was a wildfire that was quickly growing out of control in the people around her. Vhalla realized that Aldrik’s words of her value may have been more than appeasement. They needed leadership here and now.

“Senator, how many civilians are currently within Hastan?”

“A couple hundred,” the woman replied.

“What stone buildings are there? Any basement cellars or storehouses for the city?”

A few others listed varying responses. Three or four seemed promising.

“We will move civilians into these locations,” Vhalla decreed. “As we do so, seek out any who have experience with healing or clerical skills. We will set up a triage here, central to all points. I need at least four runners to function as messengers.”

Men and women volunteered instantly. The room was quickly divided into those who would remain and those who would help move civilians. She trusted those who lived in Hastan to know their city and to be motivated to protect their kin without her help.

“Triage will be here,” she explained quickly to those who had remained. Her clerics ranged from old women who had seen every type of injury, to experienced veterans, to mothers, and a handful of those with formal training. She left the elderly in charge of the initial assessments.

“Those with the worst wounds send back into the hall, the least to the right. Take whatever you require and use whatever rooms you need.”

“These rooms are to be used for nobility, the Emperor’s guests,” someone spoke up.

“Pardon?” Vhalla stilled her instruction.

“We cannot take from the Emperor . . .” another added uncertainly.

“I am your future Empress,” she pointed out. “They’re just blankets and sheets and beds. The Emperor and I want to see them used as bandages, tourniquets, or comfort for the ailing.”

They were finally spurred to life. The most experienced clerics and veterans had the easiest time coming to terms with the fact that all bets were off when it came to warfare. Led by their example, everyone hastily began the process of setting up their clerical stations.

It couldn’t have come a moment too soon. Wounded were carried in with returning messengers. It only took an hour for the floor of the main entry to the Eastern government hall to be slick with blood.

“Report,” she demanded of the next messenger she saw.

“My lady,” the young woman began, “seven winged beasts brought nearly one hundred soldiers to our city.” Her voice wavered slightly with fear, but she persevered. “They landed to the north and quickly tore through the Western militia.”

“Is the army trying to flank them to recover the ground?”

“They’re trying,” she affirmed.

“Go out and make sure all the civilians on the northern side of the city have been moved to safe houses elsewhere, should any remain,” Vhalla ordered. “Then head south. Implore those who are in command there to split their forces and push through the city to defend and help those to the north.”

“Understood,” the messenger agreed and raced back out into the night.

Vhalla massaged her shoulder, looking out into the darkness past the main entry of the government building. She wondered at the extent of the carnage. She wondered if her friends were all right.

A soldier stumbled in, hunched over.

“If you can walk, head to the right,” Vhalla instructed absent-mindedly.

“Good to see you, too.” Jax raised his head with a tired grin, his presence pulling Vhalla from her thoughts.

“Jax!” Vhalla sprinted over to the man. “Are you all right?”

“I’ve had better. I’ve had worse.” He slumped against her.

Vhalla caught sight of his back. It was in tatters. A deep gash ran from shoulder to waist, two others framing it on either side.

“I need a cleric!” Vhalla called, helping Jax into a chair in a nearby room.

Her order was heeded; a man quickly rushed in, assessing the state of Jax’s back. Vhalla quickly helped by cutting Jax’s shirt off his shoulders.

“Lady Yarl, I had no idea you held such affections.” Jax waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Cutting off another man’s clothes isn’t becoming of the future Empress.”

Vhalla rolled her eyes. “Oh, hush.” She gave a small glance to the cleric that she hoped conveyed the silent request that any of Jax’s jests were not to be repeated elsewhere. The man seemed too focused on assessing the wounded Westerner to give much heed to what they were saying.

“How did this happen? What’s it like out there?” Vhalla wasn’t sure if she wanted the answers to her questions.

“A mess.” Jax grimaced as the man packed some salve into the wounds. “We may have had some of Mhashan’s might, but the soldiers were far from ready for an attack.

“We’ve taken down three beasts so far, but the bastards are nearly impervious to magic. The crystals give them some resistance and heal them at the same time. Takes three powerful sorcerers to bring them down.”

“Sorcerers are one thing we should have,” Vhalla hopefully thought aloud.

“We do, but not many at the level we need, and it has been slow communicating that the other soldiers need to protect our sorcerers exclusively.”

She knew what Jax was saying. Aldrik was one of those sorcerers, one of those skilled enough to take on the beasts. Vhalla didn’t know if she wanted to ask her next questions or not.

“Aldrik? Fritz? Elecia?”

He didn’t torture her. “All fine.”

“Were they injured as well?” Vhalla asked as the cleric worked on the last of his stitches.

“Not as of when I left.” Jax grinned. “I was the only one foolish enough to be willing to throw his life away to save a lovely lady in distress.”

“Well, I’m glad you were unsuccessful in throwing it away.” Vhalla patted his shoulder, standing. “Go to your room and rest when the cleric is finished.”

Jax looked utterly exhausted. Vhalla rubbed her own eyes tiredly. However worn she was, it was nothing to what the soldiers were facing at the front.

As the battle outside slowly began to quiet, the noise within the government building grew. The cries and groans of men and women, engaged in a different sort of fight for their lives, filled her ears and punctuated Vhalla’s every order. These people were in her care, and she would do everything she could to protect and save them.

Fritz was the next to return. Vhalla caught sight of him instantly as she had kept one eye on the door. She crossed over to him quickly, weaving through the men and women arranged on the floor of what was once her orderly medical station.

“Fritz,” she breathed in relief.

“Vhal.” He tiredly returned her embrace.

“Thank the Mother you’re all right.”

“You too, Vhal.” Her friend released her. “I was nervous something broke through.”

She shook her head. “The army held the line.” She’d been asking messengers all night for reports on the state of the city. They hadn’t even lost one building. “What’s the status?”

“The abominations are all dead. Aldrik is passing judgment on the remaining sorcerers now.”

Vhalla glanced at the room. If the battle was winding down, there wasn’t likely to be another influx of people to attend to. The clerics had developed their own systems based on her original suggestions as the night had waned, and Vhalla felt confident leaving them to it.

“Do you have a horse?” she asked her friend.

Fritz nodded.

“Stay here, get cleaned up.”

He stopped her. “Where are you going?”

“I should be there.” Vhalla shifted her arm to take his hand rather than gripping his wrist. “I need to be with him for this.”

“Vhalla, do you understand—”

“Of course I do.” She squeezed his fingers. “That’s why I must be there.”

Her Southern friend smiled tiredly. “Go on then, Miss Empress.”

Fritz let her go, and she was off. Vhalla appreciated that he hadn’t insisted upon going with her for her protection. She borrowed a sword from a soldier who would no longer need it, strapping it to her back. Even if the fight was over, she knew better than to charge unarmed into a battlefield. She had too much training now to even think otherwise.

With just the one weapon and a leather jerkin, she struck a course northward. Given all the reports she’d been receiving, it seemed like the most logical location for her Emperor. A red sunrise streaked across the sky, mirroring the crimson land before her.

The casualties had been heavy, heavier than she expected given the number of soldiers who had been in the Western force surrounding the city. But the hulking corpses of giant winged beasts offered a chilling explanation. Teeth longer than her body jutted out from their massive jowls. They had almost canine-like heads but with thick leathery skin pulled taut against oddly shaped muscles. Some had two arms, some had four, one even had six. They had the wings of a wyvern and scorpion-like tails. It was a creature that the Gods had never intended to exist, and the now-dormant crystals embedded in their bodies glinted like dull obsidian in the sunlight, slowly cracking into dust.

A handful of men and women were surrounded, forced to their knees. Soldiers waited around them, sorcerers and Commons alike, ready to execute the traitors who had ridden in to kill them all on the backs of monsters. The lean figure of a man was mounted before the lot—an Emperor casting judgment on those who fought against his throne.

“. . . forsake the false king.” Vhalla could hear Aldrik’s words as she approached. “Those who give information will be rewarded with their lives.”

No one spoke.

“You protect a coward,” Vhalla called out, announcing her presence. Aldrik turned in surprise as she rode up next to him. “You stand with a man whose power comes not through his own merit—as he would have you believe—but through theft.”

“What would you know?” one of the kneeling sorcerers demanded, curiosity drawing the words from him.

“I know all too well,” Vhalla replied quietly, “because I was the one whose powers he stole.”

Now she had their attention.

“Victor could not open the caverns on his own; he wasn’t strong enough to manage the crystals. I know because he needed me to help him do it. When he had what he wanted, he stole my magic to make him immune from the taint.”

“Lies!” one sneered. “The taint only affects those of weak will, Commons, and lesser sorcerers.”

Desperation carved the way for stupidity in the hearts of men.

“You can’t possibly believe that. Is that what Victor has told you? That you are the strong ones and immune?” She shook her head with a bitter sorrowful laugh. “He has written you off as expendable with his lies.”

“Are you really the Windwalker?” a timid voice asked from among them.

“I was.” Vhalla spoke only to the man who had asked. “I was the Windwalker until he stole my powers. Now I am a Commons. It was my magic that unleashed this monster upon the world—”

“Vhalla . . .” Aldrik had a cautionary note.

“—but because of that, no one will fight harder than me to do what is necessary to right that wrong.” The words hurt. They hurt like the wind still hurt on her cheeks, plain and un-magical. But it was finally the right kind of hurt. The hurt of a confession that needed to be said. “This is but a night. The sun will rise again, and I stand with the dawn.”

She looked to the Emperor. His eyes were a chameleon over the past few weeks, constantly changing to match the woman she was becoming.

“Who will stand with the sun?” He tore his eyes away from her to make his final demand.

The man who had asked his timid question stood slowly. “A false king sits on a false throne.”

“You disgrace sorcerers,” another loyalist spat. “You’ll follow a liar and a Commons.”

“Strength channels its own magic,” the man said in reply, looking directly at Vhalla.

“Who else will stand with us?” Vhalla demanded.

Two more stood.

“Why take pity on them?” a Western soldier finally spoke. “They fight against your Empire. Put them to death.”

“Because a wise woman taught me that no soul is beyond saving,” Aldrik replied easily.

Vhalla’s chest tightened, instantly thinking of Larel.

“Those who stand with us, live; those who do not, die. Make your choice. Dawn comes and it will wait for no man.” Aldrik turned back to Victor’s sorcerers.

Two more stood, five in total. That was all who were spared. Vhalla bore a silent witness to the other sorcerers who died for Victor’s ideal. Men and women who had become so tainted with his lies that they valued his dogma more than their lives.

Vhalla counted every man and woman put to death. Twenty-three in total. She shifted in her saddle and felt the sword pulling heavy on her shoulder. The next time she saw Victor she would stab him herself, Vhalla resolved, twenty-three times.

VHALLA RODE BACK to the government building in silence. She visually checked Aldrik over several times. He had countless bruises and a gash by his shoulder, and she was prepared to scold him for not seeking treatment sooner, but he was okay, overall. A sickly feeling had bubbled in her stomach, but it was quelled at the sight.

How many more times would she have to watch the people she loved ride off to war?

She stayed a quiet shadow at Aldrik’s side until a cleric demanded his attention, and then she slipped away. Vhalla drifted through the halls, suddenly exhausted. She’d put everything she could think to the test, to be the Empress the people needed, and she wasn’t sure if she had even come close.

Her feet moved with the intention of seeking out Fritz, but she paused just before a different friend’s door, the sliver of light stretching across the floor from Jax’s current accommodations.

“. . . worried about me?” She could barely hear Jax’s quiet words.

“I had other things to focus on.” Elecia, Vhalla realized. She took a step toward the open door, relieved to hear the woman was well enough to have the usual sarcastic bite to her voice.

“Aww, you were,” Jax teased.

“Are you all right or not?” Elecia sighed heavily.

“I am.” There was a long pause. “‘Cia, truly, I’m fine.”

“You better not be playing hero again,” the woman murmured.

“If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here now.”

Vhalla stilled. Jax had said he sustained his wound while saving a damsel in distress. Elecia wasn’t much of a damsel.

“Thank you.” Elecia’s gratitude was forced and awkward, but it was as sincere as anything else Vhalla had ever heard the woman say. Elecia was often times abrasive, certainly sarcastic, but she was usually sincere in what she said—good and bad.

“Think nothing of it, Lady Ci’Dan.”

“That’s not going to be possible. You know this changes things—”

“I said, think nothing of it.” A nerve was struck.

“Fine, Jax, I won’t.” Elecia’s footsteps neared their door, and Vhalla knocked softly on Fritz’s, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping.

“You know, you’re one of the few,” Jax’s words stopped both women, “who doesn’t still call me lord.”

“Your title was stripped.”

And Vhalla still didn’t know why.

“And it doesn’t stop the Western Court from reminding me of such by using it ironically.” Jax’s voice had changed.

“You know how court is.” Elecia’s voice indicated indifference, but there was a sorrowful and sincere echo that followed her words. “Some of them still take your side.”

“Who knows why,” Jax murmured.

“I still do.”

Fritz opened the door, distracting Vhalla from whatever was said next. She quickly pushed her way into the Southern man’s room before he said anything that Elecia would hear. The Western woman would never let Vhalla listen in on a private conversation. Rightfully so, Vhalla admitted to herself. But she wanted to know about Jax; she needed to know why he was attached to the crown. Why he was practically enslaved and yet so revered by his masters.

“Everything all right?”

These thoughts were shelved for another time the second Fritz asked his question. Vhalla wrapped her arms around his waist, holding her Southerner tightly. He still smelled of battle—sweat and the metallic tang of blood. But his arms wrapped around her without hesitation, without question. He held her silently as Vhalla took a breath and just let the world move without her for a brief moment.

“I’m glad you’re all right, Fritz.”

“Me too,” he laughed lightly.

“Why are you here?” The question escaped her as suddenly as she thought of it.

“I told you when we left my home: Larel would haunt me if I let you go alone.”

“That’s not good enough.” Vhalla shook her head.

“It’s not?”

“No, you’re still fighting. You’re at war on my behalf. Why are you doing it?”

“Silly Vhal.” Fritz sighed gently, and the sound transformed into a smile. “You were at my house, you met my sisters.”

Escaping the chaos of the Charem family home didn’t seem like a good enough reason either.

“They all have their place in the world. They each know who they will be. Cass is going to inherit the home. Reona will be an amazing wife and mother. Nia will be a chef or baker or something. They all have something. I never did.”

“You had your sorcery,” Vhalla pointed out.

“And it took me away from them.” Fritz had never seemed sorrowful about his magic before. His family was so accepting of it. “I went to the Tower and expected to find my place. And I’m still figuring that out. Grahm, Larel, you, you all know what you want. I want to know that, too. I want purpose.”

Vhalla clutched her friend’s hands tightly. “I don’t really know what I want.”

“Yes, you do.” Fritz actually laughed out loud at the notion. “There was a time when you didn’t, but you found it. Now I’m trying to find it, too.”

“Well . . .” Vhalla sat with Fritz on his bed. “What do you want to be? What do you want to do?”

Talking things through with Fritz was therapeutic. She gave him advice she needed to heed herself. It wasn’t any wonder why her messy-haired friend had stayed around for so long. They were so similar in all the ways they needed.

When Vhalla finally returned to her room, she saw the low glow of a fire coming from the door to Aldrik’s quarters. Her feet dragged forward, compelled by her heart. Aldrik worked dutifully at a small table by the fire, scribbling across parchment.

“Letters?” she asked.

“For my uncle and other Western lords,” Aldrik responded without turning.

Vhalla pulled off her boots, leaving them at the door. On light feet, she padded over to the hunched Emperor. Aldrik didn’t move as she slipped her arms around his shoulders.

“Ask for reinforcements, my love,” she requested.

“An order from the Empress?” His quill paused, but when it picked up writing once more, Vhalla saw he worked in her request.

“If the Emperor permits it.”

“Judging from how you handled affairs during that attack, I have little to worry about permitting,” Aldrik hummed, a relaxed and pleased sound, like the purr of a cat.

“I’m still scared,” she confessed. “Of being Empress.”

“Really?” He sounded genuinely surprised. “It doesn’t show.”

“I’ve just been pretending when I could think of nothing else to do.”

“Then you are more ready than you thought.”

“I’m afraid of losing my friends, of making the wrong decision,” Vhalla admitted. The load was easier to bear when she lightened it with words. “I crave peace, and I fear that I am a creature whose fate is written in bloodshed.”

“More untrue words have never been spoken.” Aldrik rested his quill on the table to look at her. “You spent eighteen years in peace. If anything, it is I who have placed this mantle of death upon you.”

Vhalla shook her head, but he continued before she could object verbally.

“I know what I have asked of you. I was born into it, I was raised for it. Now I expect you to accomplish acts and diplomacy, tasks that were groomed into me for years.” Aldrik pulled her down into his lap, running his hand over her cheek. “But hear me, I say born into, not born for. I may have the advantage of education, but you are as naturally fit to rule as I am, perhaps more so.”

She held her forehead against his, rubbing the tips of their noses together lightly. “Teach me?”

“Always.”

He taught her quite a few new things that night, ones that normally weren’t offered in Empress training. And, afterward, with heaving chests and sweat-dotted bodies, he spent well over an hour telling her the long histories he knew of the kings in the South and West. Aldrik made it a point to detail every failure and what led them to recovery or demise. He highlighted the stories he’d always admired and why, which were usually the tales that encompassed salvation through the admission of one’s shortcomings.

He teased her the first time her eyes fluttered closed. But the Emperor didn’t keep his lady awake. He spoke softly until exhaustion finally claimed her, holding her to him.

The next day, he took charge again. Before they even emerged from their respective rooms, he detailed every plan he had for the day, what he hoped to accomplish, and how he planned to go about doing it. He asked her to watch and learn.

As they met with the senator to discuss additional fortification of the East, it was finally like seeing the man emerge from behind the curtain. Aldrik deftly navigated his goals, accomplishing new plans and securing intangible reassurances of loyalty to Solaris. Knowing his approaches, the silver-tongued ruler was reduced to a parlor magician, and Vhalla knew his every sleight of hand.

He punctuated every decision with a long-term solution that would ensure the East remained bound to his leadership. When Aldrik brought up replacement senators, he did so in such a way that demanded the senator to naturally ask who he thought they should be. Vhalla had no doubt that the names he spouted weren’t off the top of his head, but a planned list of people who had some debt owed or had already passed some prior test of loyalty.

After the meeting, they set out to take lunch with the merchants of Hastan. On the way, he quizzed her on his wording and methodology. He asked her for her thoughts on why he chose one thing over another, how he had turned the situation. He demanded she find imperfections and make suggestions for improvements. Looking for his shortcomings only made Vhalla study the whole affair more closely.

Just before they arrived at the host’s modest manor, he shifted the conversation.

“I want you to lead this.”

“Lead how?” Vhalla was uncertain in what capacity he meant.

“These are your people.” He paused to lovingly brush some hair away from either side of her face. “I have an Eastern betrothed. Why would I not use it to my advantage?”

“I see.” She gave him a conspiratorial grin.

“Will you be my clever Eastern bride?”

“I suppose, if my Emperor demands it,” Vhalla sighed dramatically.

The levity calmed her nerves as they entered. By the time Vhalla sat at the dining table, she was relaxed. These were her people. And while Vhalla had little experience negotiating with merchants beyond the grocers and bakers in Leoul, she understood their wants and needs just as well as any Easterner could.

She indulged their questions of her childhood. Vhalla answered questions about her father’s field rotation and method for using the least amount of water possible. Tales of the Windwalker had spread throughout the East, and they were hungry for knowledge of the woman behind the stories.

The Emperor and Vhalla engaged in a verbal waltz, spinning in and out. Aldrik would steer the conversation to official business, and Vhalla would take the lead. When a lord bristled at Aldrik’s suggestion, Vhalla would act as a balm and drum up fond memories of Eastern festivals. If one of the ladies was put off by Aldrik’s determination, Vhalla took her hand with a smile and shared some of her bread in a gesture of good faith.

Following lunch, they proceeded out to the Western camp. It was still in disarray from the battle, and Vhalla wondered what she could do to help both them and the citizens of Hastan. There weren’t enough resources to go around.

The senator was waiting with Lord Sevin in his tent.

“Apologies for the delay,” Aldrik said with minimal sincerity. The Emperor could keep people waiting, he had told her. The world waited on them.

“No need to apologize, my lord.” The senator gave a small bow of her head in respect to each of them. “And lady.”

“Sevin, do you have final counts on men and supplies?”

“I do.” The Western Lord produced some papers.

“Excellent.” Aldrik began to read with Vhalla reading over his shoulder.

“Most of the supplies made it through the battle, but we sus- tained heavier casualties than expected,” the lord summarized.

“We have already requested further support from the West.” Aldrik turned his attention away from the parchment.

“Reinforcements may be slow,” Vhalla mused aloud. “And the East should learn how to defend itself.”

“What are you thinking, Lady Vhalla?” the senator asked.

“We should set up a system to spread the word that we need recruits. Five riders carry a message to the five nearest towns. There, they command five more riders to carry the word outward to five more towns.”

“And create a web across Cyven,” the senator finished Vhalla’s logic. “It’s not a bad suggestion.”

“It would depend on Lord Sevin’s men being capable of training them.” Vhalla looked to the Western lord. “They will be farmers and stable boys, as green as they come.”

“We can train them,” Sevin affirmed with a nod. “So long as they’re willing to be trained.”

“Once trained, they can help defend Hastan and build the army here for mobilization against the South when we are ready to attack.” Vhalla finally turned to Aldrik.

“I would like to see my betrothed’s suggestion made reality,” the Emperor ordered.

Vhalla remained quiet for the second half of the meeting, once more watching Aldrik work and learning everything she could. She fully expected to be questioned on his methods afterward, and she was proved correct.

On the way back to the government building, Aldrik inquired on his approach and offered her both criticism and praise. There were ample areas for improvement that quickly became apparent, but Aldrik was good to sandwich praise around them. Some were as simple as pointing out that she needed to improve her posture. Others had layers of nuances that Vhalla still didn’t completely understand as they entered the main building.

“And, above all other things,” Aldrik continued, “you must remember that you are their Empress.”

“But how can I relate to them if I am distanced?”

“Practice, to a certain extent. But it’s difficult,” he confessed. “It is more important for them to see you as their sovereign rather than their friend. That they know you are above them.”

Vhalla nodded, deep in thought.

“You are unpleased.” He smiled tiredly.

“You could tell?”

“I don’t need the Bond to see it. I know you well enough.”

Vhalla shook her head. There was a time where she worried that their affections were entirely a product of the Bond. How foolish that seemed now.

“Can I be both? Their leader and their friend?”

“To some, yes.” Aldrik nodded. “But not to the masses.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing I like books more than most people,” Vhalla muttered.

“A superb ruler in the making, indeed.” Aldrik gave her a knowing smile, and Vhalla relaxed further.

VHALLA WOKE TWO mornings later with a sickness in her stomach.

Aldrik briefly insisted upon fetching Elecia, but Vhalla refused. There wasn’t a clerical solution to nervousness, and she knew of no salves that cured stress. The medicine she needed was bound between leather and delivered with silence. She’d been avoiding asking because their days were so filled with preparations to leave for Norin in another two mornings’ time. When she finally broached the subject with her husband-to-be, he made her feel silly for even being concerned about leaving him to deal with the responsibilities alone.

The city’s records room was dusty and stagnant. It hadn’t been aired out in quite some time, and she went into a coughing fit with the first heavy scroll she pulled from the shelf. It wasn’t her first choice, but Hastan didn’t boast an impressive library, and she knew she’d be alone here. All she wanted was a quiet space and something to read.

Hastan’s governmental logs weren’t exactly thrilling material, but Vhalla had a new appreciation for the eloquence of politics and the importance of maturity in governance that made the reading more engaging than previous experiences.

Two scrolls in, Jax poked his head in and quipped, “Oh, Empress.”

“I’m not the Empress yet.” She adjusted the parchment before her.

“Close enough.” He grinned and let himself in the rest of the way. Jax leaned against the door as he shut it. “Our Emperor has asked me to check on you and see if you need anything.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t send Elecia,” Vhalla mumbled.

“He tried to.” Jax laughed at her correct assumption. “Elecia said if you were not well you were ‘quite capable’ of seeking her out on your own.”

“The woman has sense.” Vhalla gained yet another reason to appreciate Aldrik’s cousin.

“That I cannot argue.”

Jax’s unfiltered praise reminded Vhalla of the conversation she previously overheard. While she wouldn’t dare bring up the details, there was one thing that still nagged at her. Vhalla turned away from the scroll, studying Jax’s dark Western eyes. She tried to forage through their blackness, hoping they would somehow reveal the secret everyone had been so content to allude to but never speak of.

“Why are you owned by the crown?”

Panic flashed across his face. She’d caught him off-guard, and the defensive walls quickly rose in response. Vhalla pressed her lips together and fought a sad smile. She’d been with Aldrik now for so long that she knew what it looked like when a man was trying to smother the truth behind a mental defense.

“That’s not a story you want to hear.” He laughed suddenly. “Trust me.”

“That’s not for you to decide.” Vhalla leaned back in her chair and motioned to the only other seat in the room across from her. “Sit and tell me.”

“I do not think—”

“It’s an order, Jax.” She tried to make the words as gentle as possible, but no amount of tenderness could remove the hurt in his eyes. She’d crossed a line commanding him, a line she might not be able to erase.

He fell heavily into the chair, starting his tale with hasty resentment. “I was born into a noble family in the West. We weren’t important, not like the Le’Dans or Ci’Dans, but my family had pride and a few generations of nobility. I was the eldest and the only son, my sisters just a few years younger.”

“So you were set to inherit the estate.” Vhalla shifted in her chair and leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table. For the first time, she was getting a glimpse of the man underneath the madness.

“I would have,” Jax affirmed. “It was all set, and I was quite the little lord. The only thing that remained was finding a suitable match with another noble.”

“An arranged marriage,” she pieced together. It brought back memories of the last arranged marriage she had experienced: Aldrik’s. It tugged at the corners of her lips, pulling them into a frown at the thought.

“I loved her.” Jax wiped the expression from her face with three words, and Vhalla listened in surprise. “I loved her like the Father loves the Mother. I loved her more than the sun, more than life itself. I would have waited a thousand years had she needed it to be ready to accept my hand.”

“Did she need it?” Vhalla tried to weed out the imperfection in his currently glowing tale.

“No, the feelings were mutual.” Jax looked at nothing for a long moment. Then a shift. Vhalla wasn’t sure if she imagined it. But his expression clicked into something different. “Or rather, I thought they were . . .

“We would spend days on end together. Every chance we had we would see each other, be with each other. We wanted nothing more than to be around each other just breathing each other’s air. Everything was going to be so perfect, a love arranged but that was also meant to be.”

There was an uneasy shroud hovering over his words. He rattled them off his tongue with nearly rehearsed precision. As though it was no longer Jax speaking, and he was possessed by the shroud of someone else, someone who had not actually endured what he was about to tell her.

“Until, one day, I decided I would surprise her. I was studying at the Academia of Arcane Arts. Or maybe I was instructing a class. I don’t remember why . . . maybe they needed my assistance.” He shook his head. “Either way, I was early home. Earlier than anyone expected.

“It had been a few days since I had seen her. Days that may as well have been eternity. I surprised her at her family’s home . . . It was quiet, so quiet.”

Vhalla’s heart slowed with unease at the mad glint overcoming Jax’s eyes.

“So quiet that I could hear them. I followed the sounds, the cries, to her room. I found her there. I found her completely bare and beneath another man.” Jax began to chuckle. It was dark and as ominous as low thunder across a stormy sky. “I’d never even had a woman. I thought it romantic that I’d save my flesh for her hands alone. But she had known this man. Time and time again from what I discovered in that dim room.

“Coupling has no romance to it.”

Vhalla bit her tongue at an immediate objection. The man before her was a world away from reason.

“Trust me, Vhalla. It is the most animalistic need that craves satiation. I’ve scoured the world for something more, but I’ve never found it. We’re all just carnal beings, hunting, clawing, seeking to consume each other to fill the holes we’ve carved into our hearts from trying to scrape out our own inadequacies.”

“What happened next?” Vhalla spoke after a long moment. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the answer. But she knew she needed to know it.

“I killed them all.” He leaned back, slouching in his chair until his head rested on the back. His limbs were like long, willowy branches all stretched out. “First him. He had to die. He had to burn. He had touched her and oh, oh I killed him for it. I made her watch and she—” Jax choked on his tale a moment, but quickly regained his composure, “—she begged me to save him. She screamed for his life, as though she somehow loved him.

“Her family tried to stop me. They returned at her screams, and they tried to stop me. But they knew. They knew what had been happening. They needed to die as well. They burned, and she . . .”

Jax began laughing. It was a growl that rose from the depths of his throat and had him howling in morbid amusement in a moment. Vhalla failed to see the humor, but it was clearly the truth to his insanity. He stopped suddenly, looking back at her.

“Then, there was only me. I honestly don’t even remember half the magic that leapt from my fingers as arcs of fire across their flesh. But I do remember the satisfaction when they burned. Their blood was the first on my virgin hands.”

Vhalla was mortal. She’d had her streaks of jealousy, and she’d overcome them. She understood the nasty feelings that could rise in people; she’d lived enough now to have seen it from all sides. But this, this was more than she could comprehend. No matter what situation, she could never imagine herself harming Aldrik. What kind of love was a love that led a man to kill that which he coveted? Was such a love stronger than the one she held?

“I didn’t resist capture. By the Mother, I even pled guilty! There was nothing more for me. My future died with her, the woman I loved, the woman I killed. Lord Ophain stripped me of my title and rank.” Jax stood, wrapping up his tale with a nonchalant motion. “I should’ve been killed; that is the punishment for murder, after all.”

“Why weren’t you?” She tried to make sense of it all. Jax had survived for years. He had served under and even been respected by Baldair. Vhalla knew well what opinions the younger prince had held toward men who harmed women.

“You want me dead that badly?” Jax laughed.

“Answer the question.” Vhalla was no longer in the mood for his games.

Jax rolled his eyes and obliged. “I had a friend, someone better than I deserved. His brother and I had studied at the academy together, which was how we met. He came to my defense, pleading madness. He argued that the woman was the one who erred in breaking our contract. He came from an old family, and his name was both a help and a hindrance in court.”

“Erion.” Vhalla pieced it together. If Lord Ophain Ci’Dan had been overseeing Jax’s trial, the only name that could be a hindrance was the Le’Dan name. It also explained Jax’s connection to the guard.

“Bing-bong,” Jax chimed. He was morbidly chipper for being knee-deep in rehashing his dark history. “He managed to stall everything long enough for him to explain things to his friend, who was even higher.”

“Baldair . . .” Just the name evoked sorrow.

“The two of them constructed a new punishment for me. One that even Lord Ophain decided was fitting.” The Westerner paused at the door. “I would serve in the Golden Guard to pay my debt back to the people. If I did anything questionable, I would be killed.”

The terms were all too familiar to Vhalla. “For how long?”

“Until the end of my days.”

“Forever?” Even though she was once owned by the crown, Vhalla couldn’t imagine the notion of never-ending servitude. “You’re a slave.”

“I still prefer the title soldier.” He shrugged. “Though some still prefer to call me lord, as though it never happened, as though I could have been justified in what I did, as though I still have a family. Others at least add ‘fallen’ first.”

“Have you ever sought freedom?”

“No.” Jax looked through her. “That would be something I’d need to earn, not ask for. And my sins would never merit a pardon.”

“But your family—”

“I can’t look at myself in the mirror. Do you think I could ever face them again? I died to them the day I killed the woman I loved.”

Silence settled between them, still and heavy. Vhalla knew that, as the Empress, she’d have to face ugliness, horrors. But she wasn’t ready for those horrors to come from those she considered her friends. Then again, what were she and Jax now? It seemed she’d never really known the man.

Vhalla looked at him with fresh eyes, and it seemed he did the same. Things had changed between them, and Vhalla knew it was on her to decide how that change would manifest. Luckily, Jax didn’t seem eager to force her into a choice.

“If you require anything, future Empress, call for me and I will fetch it.” Jax gave a small bow. “Don’t forget, our Emperor decreed that my life is yours.”

“As if I needed a reminder . . .” Vhalla muttered at the door as it clicked closed behind Jax.

She leaned back, gripping her shirt over her stomach. She had been feeling better, but that unsettled sick feeling had returned in all its fury. Vhalla barely had enough time to escape the records room, bolting for her own chambers, before the sickness bubbled up.

“Vhalla?” Aldrik emerged from the door connecting their rooms.

Vhalla peeled herself away from the basin. Her knees felt a little shaky, and she leaned against the wall for support. She hadn’t expected Jax’s story to affect her so strongly.

“I thought you’d be out with the Western lords.”

“I came back to change before lunch.” He cast aside the muddy trousers he’d been carrying, crossing over to her. “Are you still unwell? Have you seen Elecia?”

Vhalla shook her head. She didn’t need a cleric. She needed the truth. She needed to know if everything Jax had just filled her head with was real.

“You and Jax.” Vhalla focused on the corner of the room instead of the bare-chested man before her. “Are you truly close?”

“He told you,” Aldrik breathed.

“How can you let him stay as he is?” Vhalla couldn’t fathom why Aldrik tolerated Jax’s presence, how Aldrik seemed to consider the other Western lord his friend. It seemed against everything she thought she knew of her lover.

“He wants it this way,” Aldrik said gently. “I never had the ability to free him until recently.”

“You would free him?” she balked. “He-he did something wretched.”

“Men who have done worse walk free.” Guilt crossed Aldrik’s features.

“What he did is nothing like what happened with you and the caverns.” Vhalla gripped her Emperor’s hands tightly. Aldrik looked surprised a moment, confirming that she’d guessed correctly. She’d come to know the demons he carried as well as the man himself.

“Very well,” Aldrik thought aloud. “You were able to forgive me and my crimes, perhaps you will be able to forgive his. I attached his life to yours, so it’s only fitting.”

“What is?” She frowned.

“You control his freedom, his fate.”

“Aldrik, I—”

“Vhalla, you will be Empress someday. If you cannot decide the fate of one man, how will you ever be able to pass judgment on the masses?” The infuriating royal was using this as a learning experience. “I wish I could spare you from it, but—”

“But you cannot,” she finished for him. The words were as heavy as lead. This was the price of her love. The cost of being with the man she had chosen. “What if I never decide that he has atoned?”

“Then that is your decision to live with.”

“You can be heartless,” Vhalla weakly replied with a small smile.

“You wound me.” His palms rested on her hips. “If I am heartless, it is because a library girl stole my heart.”

“You think you can distract me with your honeyed words?” She played coy, resting the back of her head against the doorframe.

“I think I can,” he proclaimed, and kissed her lightly.

Vhalla didn’t want to agree with him, but the Emperor could be persuasive when he wanted.

“NOW, VHALLA, I know I am one gorgeous spec- imen of a man, but I fear you will make your intended jealous if you continue to stare like that.” Jax grinned at her.

“I was not staring,” she mumbled, looking at the road ahead. They’d been riding for three days straight and were nearing the border between the East and the West. And the only easiness she clung to was that her stomach had thankfull quieted down.

“My lord,” Jax called across her to Aldrik. “I do not think it safe to have your lady around me.”

“I do not think I have much cause for concern from the likes of you,” Aldrik remarked dryly.

“Vhal’s only ever had eyes for one man,” Fritz added helpfully.

Elecia hummed and glanced at Vhalla from the corners of her eyes. The woman kept her mouth shut, but the look put the thought of Daniel into Vhalla’s mind. Vhalla met the other woman’s gaze and held it until Elecia looked away. Elecia didn’t know what she and Daniel had been or, rather, hadn’t been. She would not be made guilty for it.

The moment Elecia’s attention was no longer on her, Vhalla shifted in her saddle, hiding another look in Jax’s direction.

She still felt uneasy around the long-haired Westerner whose life she now owned. She knew this was a test of Aldrik’s to keep her calm and to learn how to manage herself around someone who made her feel conflicted emotions. If she couldn’t figure out how she felt about Jax, she was going to be hopeless when it came to managing the snakes at the Southern court. Assuming the Southern court was ever in session again.

Word of the attack on Hastan had rippled throughout the East on the backs of the messengers Vhalla had sent to call for soldiers. The towns they had stopped in and the inns they stayed at held a quiet that hadn’t been present before. War was coming, and it didn’t care if the people were ready or not.

The fields around them changed, crops differing with the shifting landscape. The soil was lighter, sandier, and the small rivers and streams that wove through the East were less full as they approached the West.

At the end of the third day, they ran into another Inquisitor group. Aldrik offered them the same deal he’d offered the prior Inquisitors, and the Southerners were all too happy to forsake the false king. At least, that’s what it seemed like. Vhalla held her tongue and let her expression betray nothing throughout the encounter. She wasn’t going to give away their intentions like before and endanger more people.

Through the former-Inquisitors, they learned of Victor’s latest decrees. The madman was finally acknowledging Aldrik and Vhalla were alive, though they were being painted as demons who rose from the dead, twisted and corrupt. It wasn’t the first time Vhalla had been called a demon, and she’d happily wear the mantle again if it cracked the resolve of Victor’s followers.

The Inquisitors told them that dissenters in the South were becoming commonplace and more citizens were using the opportunity to be an Inquisitor to escape the perpetually red streets. Victor’s personal army—the Black Brigade, as they were called—weeded out anyone who was potentially loyal to the old crown.

But one force gave birth to another counterforce. Before the Inquisitors departed, they gave one more interesting piece of information—the Silver Wings. The name was not lost on Vhalla, and it filled her with memories of the Tower sorcerers, proudly wearing their silver wing pins when she returned from the war. The description of the secretive group and the fierce loyalty among its members confirmed her suspicions. The Inquisitors said that those in the capital saw the Silver Wings as the only possible way to fight the false king’s tyranny.

This information improved their spirits on the following day’s ride. Knowing that Victor’s strength was wavering and the people were beginning to create organized forces against him put them all in a good mood. It was the most hope they’d dared to feel since leaving the South, and it was needed more than ever the next day.

An innkeeper had warned the group of what was waiting for them at the Western border, but nothing could prepare the group for what they actually encountered.

The border had been completely closed. A massive crystal gate stood over the road with walls stretching endless in either direction. Perched atop it were two winged beasts, the kind that had attacked Hastan. Vhalla stared at the shimmering, unnatural structure. All she could think about was Aldrik’s and her request for more soldiers from the West.

It didn’t matter if they’d sent all of the Western soldiers if those men and women couldn’t reach their destination.

“This looks a lot like Victor is compensating for something,” Jax appraised the size of the gate with a snigger.

“Now isn’t the time,” Elecia muttered from the other side of the Westerner. Her eyes were fixed forward.

“How are we going to get through?” Fritz asked outright. Their horses had slowed to a walk as they stared at the ominous and impenetrable barrier.

“I doubt they’ll just let us pass,” Elecia stated as she eyed Victor’s guards. She pointed to the small collection of structures built by and out of the crystal. “I also doubt that Victor would put just anyone here. They’re likely half-mad with taint, and even if they’re not, they’re certain to be the most loyal.”

“It doesn’t look like the walls stop, either.” Vhalla raised a hand to her brow, squinting in both directions. Even if they could go around, it would take them days in either direction. Time they didn’t really have.

“So what do we do, Emperor?” Jax asked.

“We watch,” Aldrik decided, pulling his horse to a stop.

They followed their sovereign’s orders, setting up on the edge of the road. They squinted in the distance, staying among the tall grasses of an unkempt field. Vhalla absentmindedly brushed out Lightning’s mane with her fingers.

“Why did Victor even make a gate?” she said suddenly. Her comrades jumped at the sudden break in the silence. “He wants to keep the East and West from helping each other. I think we can be certain about that. Split up the continent, break it down one piece at a time until everyone kneels.” No one argued with her. “So why make a gate at all? Why not just a wall?”

“That’s a good point,” Fritz agreed.

“He needs to move his men as well,” Vhalla continued her logic. “If he crushes the East by pouring all his forces here, then he’ll need to get them to the West, which explains why it’s on the main road.”

“Why wouldn’t he just destroy it when he needs to?” Fritz mused.

“Management of troops, being able to control entry points; maybe it exhausted him too much to build the wall that he didn’t want to take it down.” Now that was an interesting thought, one she shelved to muse over later. “So if he wasn’t planning on returning, his forces would need to be able to move themselves.”

Vhalla squinted at the gate, putting her thumb on the uneasy feeling that had surrounded her from the moment she saw it. It reminded her of the Crystal Caverns, the one Victor had forced her to open using Aldrik’s magic. Vhalla couldn’t keep herself from seeking out her Emperor, her heart aching dully at the thought of their lost Bond.

Then another thought came to her. “Aldrik.” She waved him and Elecia over from where they had been talking. “I know how to get in.”

“You do?” Elecia sounded surprised and impressed, but not skeptical.

“He’s tuned the gate to his magic, to open and close it, like—” Vhalla swallowed hard. “Like the Crystal Caverns.”

“It’s possible.” Aldrik’s jaw was taut at the mention of the caverns.

“It’s the only way to open them; he’s the only one with enough power, immunity, and crystal knowledge to do it.” Vhalla couldn’t stop herself from wondering if she would’ve been able to help open the gate if she still had her magic. But she didn’t dwell. Her magic was gone, and there was no possibility of getting it back now.

“So are you saying there’s no hope of opening them unless Victor decides to stroll by?” Jax asked.

Vhalla shook her head. “That wouldn’t make sense. Because if he was going to come back and open them himself, why make a gate at all? Fritz is right, he could’ve just destroyed it then. He must’ve left a key, a crystal vessel with the essence of his magic in it that the gate will respond to, allowing the troops to move back and forth as needed.”

“So what would this crystal look like?” Elecia asked.

“It could be in any shape, but you wouldn’t find it with regular sight. If I—If I still had my magic sight, I’d look at the magic on the gate and then find a spare crystal that matches it. These men and women must be half mad with taint; Victor couldn’t have made it too hard for them, so I imagine it’s somewhere fairly obvious.”

They were all silent for a long moment.

“Fritter,” Elecia said suddenly.

“Fritter?” That name was new.

“I’m going to need illusions. And yours are just wonderful.” She flashed Fritz a brilliant, toothy smile.

“Mine are all right,” Fritz replied with modesty.

“Elecia?” A marked concern had set up shop in Aldrik’s voice.

“What?” she sighed in exasperation, giving her cousin a hard look. “It’s not as though you can go. You’re our Emperor and you don’t have magic sight. You wouldn’t let her go—” Elecia motioned to Vhalla, “—even if she still had her magic sight.”

“I have magic sight and am not the Emperor or Empress,” Jax said suddenly. “Let me go.”

“No, the fewer people the better,” Elecia insisted. “Plus, you have your own obligations: you need to protect our Empress. Isn’t that your responsibility now?”

Jax didn’t argue. He sidestepped closer to Vhalla.

“Fritz will make an illusion just after nightfall to send them on a wild goose chase. I’ll use the confusion to sneak in and find this key. How do I make the gate open once I have it?”

“You should just need to make contact with the gate.” Vhalla rubbed her shoulder absentmindedly.

“Easy enough.”

“I don’t like it,” Aldrik announced. “It’s too risky.”

“Ah yes, and shall we sit here and wait for it to become less risky as the world is spiraling into chaos around us?” Elecia shot back in all her snarky glory. “Aldrik, I am going home. I want to see my mother and grandfather. I want letters on my father’s status.” In Aldrik’s silence, Elecia turned to Fritz. “Are you in?”

“I, um . . .” His blue eyes darted between the two nobles.

“You are,” Vhalla encouraged her friend, placing a palm on his shoulder. She addressed Aldrik, “It’s the best chance we have.”

“Is this what you choose?” the Emperor asked her.

Vhalla smiled tiredly at his sad eyes. He knew what he was doing. More training, more grooming, more assurances that she would be ready for the crown that he would place upon her brow in Norin. If she said no, her friends would remain safe for a while longer. Perhaps, with enough time, they could conceive a new plan.

“It is.” There wasn’t a trace of doubt in her voice. No matter what turmoil brewed within her, she didn’t let it show. Aldrik never betrayed his uncertainty; she wouldn’t either. “We will move tonight.”

Elecia gave her an approving nod before immediately launching into a conversation with Fritz about the type of illusions she needed. Vhalla tuned them out for a moment. She watched the sun set over the gate and knew it would set on their fates all too soon.

Come nightfall, Elecia had almost completely changed and reequipped herself. Her father had not let her leave Hastan without a good set of leathers and an even better set of steel. She had two blades strapped inside her boots, a small dagger on her hip. The woman checked the weapons ten times over, militant that they were just so.

The rest of them followed suit. The Western army had been honored to spare weaponry for the Imperial company. While they didn’t wear heavy plate for ease of mobility and wanting to remain inconspicuous, they all had some leather and steel. The five of them left their threadbare travelling cloaks at the roadside; once they passed into the West, it mattered less to keep a low profile.

Vhalla, Jax, Fritz, and Aldrik mounted as the stars winked into existence. Elecia remained on foot, hidden by the tall grasses.

“Start the fog,” Elecia commanded Fritz. “Slowly at first, let it thicken when I’m halfway.”

“You got it, boss.” Fritz failed in his attempt at levity.

“The rest of you, don’t forget my horse.” She tilted her head toward the rider-less steed. “I’m running through the gate, but I want to ride to Norin.”

“Be careful,” Aldrik ordered.

“Don’t be foolish enough to start doubting me now.” Elecia grinned and took a couple steps away. “You, both of you,” she pointed to Vhalla and Aldrik. “Just focus on getting through. Especially you, Aldrik; our world needs you to rally behind. No one else can fill that role.”

Vhalla knew what Elecia was really urging Aldrik to do. So did Jax, judging from the way he inched closer to her. Their Emperor couldn’t be reckless on her behalf. Vhalla patted the dagger on her thigh thoughtfully. One way or another, she wouldn’t let that happen.

“Stay close to me,” Aldrik whispered softly to her.

“I will,” she promised.

The dim light of the half moon was fading. Elecia crouched low, almost on her hands and knees, and began her slow trek through the fields leading up to the gate. It was a longer distance than Vhalla had originally thought, since they had stopped far enough out that they wouldn’t raise suspicion.

Elecia slowly blended in with the earth as she inched forward; eventually she became completely invisible in the darkness. Fritz squinted, watching a distant point, where they assumed Elecia would be. As he focused, a fog began to rise from the fields. Fritz slowly lifted an open palm and the clouds intensified.

“Won’t they realize it’s magical?” Vhalla breathed, not wanting to risk breaking her friend’s concentration.

“If they look carefully, they can.” Aldrik gripped his reins. “We’ll have to hope they don’t have a reason to look carefully.”

The gate was growing hazy. The torchlight of the encampment surrounding it faded to floating orbs in the mist.

“We should move.” Some mental timer of Fritz’s had clicked into its next cycle.

Slowly, they inched their horses through the fog-filled expanse. For the time being, they remained on the fields, the soft earth masking the horses’ hooves. Vhalla struggled to remain as still and taut as possible so her saddle didn’t rattle and ruin everything.

Crossing half the distance, they stopped again. Sweat rolled off Fritz’s brow. His hand was balled into a white-knuckled fist and the world held its breath between each of his soft pants.

Suddenly he sprang to life. Fritz drew his hand fast across his body, as though he was throwing something off into the distance. Upon the road, hazy figures appeared. Up close, they looked like nothing more than dense fog, but from the gate they would certainly be seen as riders.

“Emperor,” Fritz spoke between gasping breaths. He was using an unfathomable amount of magic. Vhalla wondered how long he could hold such a complex illusion for. “Throw flame from there to the gate, on my mark.”

Aldrik followed Fritz’s nonverbal gestures and gave a sharp nod. There was a whole shift in the Emperor’s form. Vhalla watched him transition from the man she adored into the Fire Lord the world feared.

Without further warning, Fritz cast his arm forward, nearly falling out of his saddle in the process. He grunted at the unseen magical exertion. The shadows began their phantom attack.

Aldrik flicked his wrist, sending a tongue of flame from the illusion soldiers to the camp. It was more effective than expected as one of their non-crystal shelters burst into flame. Cries and shouts filled the night air, followed by a screech that rattled the heavens. One of the beasts had left its perch in response. Large, leathery wings flapped, and the gleam of talons was barely visible through the haze.

“Come on,” Fritz pleaded.

“Come out and play,” taunted Jax with a bloodthirsty gleam in his eyes.

The beast swooped down off its perch, gunning for the illusions. Fritz swept his palms to the side and the fog riders dodged effortlessly. He pushed the magical burden to the right side of the camp and a good many of Victor’s loyalists poured out.

The beast cried, ascending once more to circle the sky. Vhalla wondered if it had somehow seen what was happening. Or if Victor had seen what was happening through his magical connection with the crystals. Its screeches could be a language in their own right, and it was trying to convey to the soldiers below the truth. If it was, she hoped no one could understand it.

Aldrik snapped his reins without word, trusting the three of them to follow his lead. They charged together, a second blurred streak through the fog. Fritz struggled to remain upright in his saddle, but he hung on.

The distorted and formless blur of Victor’s camp gained shape. Things had been set up to stay. Buildings were erected rather than tents, and latrines had been dug. Vhalla scowled at the crystal jutting up from the earth. Such a thing should’ve never existed.

The moment their horses crossed over onto the pristine stone of the East-West Way the soldiers who had remained in the encampment were alerted to their presence. Shouts rose only to be echoed by those who had chased the shadow riders. Vhalla’s head whipped back to Fritz. The Southerner was blinking, bleary eyed, his body halfway limp. The thinning of the fog wasn’t just her imagination.

Her heart raced. It pounded in her ears louder than Lightning’s hooves, and, for a brief moment, it gave her the illusion of the Bond. Vhalla gained strength from the beautiful lie.

The other beast launched off the gate, and fire arced through the sky. Aldrik and Jax moved in unison, creating a protective canopy of flame above them, thwarting the monster’s attack and setting buildings to flame at the same time.

With a flash of light, the gates sprang to life. Vhalla let out a holler of laughter in relief. There was no sign of Elecia, but if the woman had made it this far, she’d see it through the rest of the way. The massive doors sighed as they pushed against the ground, easing open.

A burst of desert air hit Vhalla’s cheeks, and she’d never felt anything sweeter. It was as though, despite everything, the wind still reached out to her. That it knew her Channel still lived deep within her, seeking it out. It called, promising that her future was there in its dusty breeze.

“Single file!” Aldrik bellowed. The heavy doors were moving slower than a glacier.

“Close the gate!” a man shouted from a high crystal ledge.

“Not on your life!” Elecia proclaimed, triumphantly. A dagger protruded from the man’s eye, and the Western woman threw the corpse aside, adjusting her bandana proudly.

“If you have time to pose, you have time to get down here!” Jax called up to her, throwing out another arc of fire.

Elecia ran down the pitch of the short roof below her, falling to the ground with a roll. She recovered, scrambling to her feet and launching into an all-out run. Two screeches filled the air, and Aldrik focused on maintaining a shield of fire large enough to cover the three of them.

Vhalla did as she was supposed to do. She focused on getting herself through the gate. Everyone had a job, and hers was to follow orders and keep herself alive.

“It’s the Fire Lord!” a woman growled.

These were Tower sorcerers; of course someone would recognize Aldrik’s magic. But when Vhalla cursed, Aldrik laughed.

“If you know who I am, why do you even try to fight?” He opened both arms wide. Two walls of fire ignited the camp, and most of the soldiers who were trying to rain their own magic upon them.

A scream wiped the expression from Aldrik’s face.

Elecia rolled on the ground, tackled by an icicle-wielding Waterrunner.

“Elecia!” Vhalla cried.

“‘Cia!” Aldrik used the childhood nickname in anguish.

Elecia threw the man off, pouncing on his chest and slitting his throat viciously. “Go!” she screamed.

Vhalla began to turn Lightning.

“By the Mother, woman, go.”

Vhalla’s heart beat in her throat. She had fallen to the last in their line, and if she didn’t go, Elecia likely wouldn’t make it. Another tongue of flame licked at a sorcerer behind Elecia, the woman running in a desperate attempt to catch up.

She turned forward and braced her heart at the feeling of leaving her friend behind.

They crossed through the doors, barely enough clearance for them to race through single-file. A whole encampment greeted them on the other side. But the crimson, phoenix-bearing pennons that fluttered were a welcome sight.

Western soldiers, likely those who had been sent to help the East, had been roused by the commotion. A line stood across the road, swords at the ready.

“Let us pass!” Aldrik ordered at the top of his lungs. “By the order of your true Emperor, let us pass!” He shot a ball of flame high into the sky for emphasis, and it lit up the ground below like a small sun.

The soldiers parted, and the Emperor’s company continued to race down the East-West way. Fire and ice erupted above them as the Western army joined the fray, fighting off the beasts and pushing through the gates. Vhalla swept her eyes quickly over her group. Aldrik in front, Fritz at her side, Jax pulling up the rear.

Vhalla whirled her horse in place, Lightning whinnying in protest at the sudden demand.

“We must go back.”

Her heart was about to break a rib, her breath frozen in her chest. Vhalla tried to make sense of the commotion at the gate. Western soldiers swarmed the opening. Groundbreakers attempted to raise stones to prevent the gate from closing. Firebearers kept the abominations at bay. They had kicked an ants’ nest, and Vhalla only cared about finding one in the swarm.

“Vhalla—”

She knew Aldrik would tell her to keep going. She knew she had made her choice. She was the one who had agreed to Elecia’s plan, knowing the risks. Now she had to live with the knowledge that she had gotten her friend killed.

“No, no, it’s my fault. I must go back for her.” Vhalla’s voice cracked for the first time in a long time.

“Vhalla—”

“I shouldn’t have left her behind. I was closest.” Vhalla remained focused on the gate, not allowing Aldrik to interrupt her. “She was my friend, she was to be my kin, and I just left her! Why did I let her do it?”

“Because you knew I could.” A female voice stopped her. Vhalla slowly drew her gaze to Jax’s horse. Wrapped tight and pressed to the back of the Western man was a set of emerald eyes Vhalla knew well. She’d been hidden by Jax’s cloak, but now she grinned in all her triumphant glory. “I didn’t know you cared so much. I want to make sure you’re at my real Rite of Sunset when the time comes. I think you’ll bring a tear to every—”

Elecia’s word was reduced to a grunt as Vhalla threw her arms around the other woman. It was awkward from their saddles and Jax seated next to her, but Vhalla didn’t care. She squeezed Elecia tightly, reassuring herself that the woman was alive and well.

“I thought you were dead.”

“Is this whole embracing nonsense going to be common when you become my cousin?” Elecia drawled. “Because it’s really not a thing here in the West.”

“I thought I killed you.” Vhalla smiled at Elecia’s abrasiveness and pulled away some.

“If I got killed, it would’ve been my fault because I wasn’t where I was supposed to be—not because you had given the order for us to move as we did.” The woman’s voice had softened significantly. “It may be hard for you to believe, Vhalla Yarl, but the world isn’t always about you.”

Vhalla laughed in relief. Elecia freed herself from the Easterner’s clutches and dismounted to return to her own mount. The woman gave Vhalla one more small smile, and a nod to Aldrik.

“Let’s keep moving while the beasts are distracted.” Aldrik appraised the gate once more. “We’ll rest at the first noble estate we come to.”

They rode into the dawn. Vhalla watched the sun rise over the dunes, and relief swept through her. They’d made it from the East. There were a million things that remained for her to worry over: her father, Hastan, Victor’s advances, and the creation of abominations. But, for a brief moment, she let herself appreciate the wind in her hair. She relished her friends surrounding her. And she believed that something great awaited them.

WHEN THEY FINALLY rode up to a manor, the lord was all too honored to put up the Emperor, future Empress, and their company. He welcomed them with open arms the moment they made their identities known. Over breakfast, he prattled off a long-winded explanation of how he was some distant relative of Aldrik’s. Thankfully, he finished just in time for them to be shown their rooms. Aldrik had his own, Elecia paired with Vhalla, and Fritz with Jax.

It was the first time Vhalla had really found herself alone with Elecia, Vhalla realized as she dabbed her face dry with a washcloth. She’d known the woman for over a year, and she had never spent much time one on one with her.

“So, is he really related to your family?” Vhalla struck up conversation, using the lord’s story as an easy starting point.

“Who knows?” Elecia yawned, collapsing into the bed. “The West is old, and the branches of the family trees are wide- reaching.”

Vhalla thought about this for a long moment. She vividly recalled her prior experiences with Western nobility. Vhalla sat heavily on her edge of the low bed.

“What is it?” the curly haired woman asked tentatively, clearly unsure of offering her ear.

“I won’t trouble you with it.”

Elecia rolled her eyes dramatically. “Poor Vhalla, shouldering her burdens all alone when she has so many people wanting to help.”

“You can be rather sharp, you know that?” Vhalla grinned faintly.

Elecia shrugged. “I’m honest. I can’t help it if you take that harshly.”

“I like it about you.”

“You like something about me?” Elecia gasped dramatically. “And here I had been thinking we were enemies.”

“I didn’t know what to think of you for a while.” Vhalla reclined, settling the covers over herself.

“Well that much was mutual. I had no idea what Aldrik saw in you.”

“Had, past tense,” Vhalla pointed out.

“Past tense.” Elecia didn’t try to scramble away from her word choice. “I still think you’ve a long way to go, but you’re making strides.”

“Thank you, truly.” It meant a lot coming from the Western woman.

“Yes, well . . .” Elecia was clearly uncomfortable. “That wasn’t what had you sighing earlier.”

“Are you sure we can trust this lord?”

“Has he given you indication otherwise?” The question was serious when it could’ve been skeptical.

“He hasn’t, but . . . how do we know he’s not a Knight of Jadar?” Vhalla knew better than to think the Knights of Jadar were gone just because she’d thwarted Major Schnurr. He had certainly been one of their leaders, but the organization had survived over a hundred years, and she suspected it would survive a lot longer.

Elecia considered this for a long moment. “Even if he was, the Knights would be unlikely to make a move right now.”

“Because of Aldrik?”

“In part,” Elecia agreed with a nod. “If it’s between having one of Western blood or a Southerner sit on the Empire’s throne, I have no doubt which they’d choose. Even given their loathing of our family.” There was bite to the last remark. “Beyond that, their goal has always been the crystals. With the caverns opened, they sort of lost that race. I’m certain they’re in the middle of a crisis of purpose and, since my grandfather is smart, he’ll use it to his advantage to regain that loyalty.”

“I don’t know if I’d want their loyalty.”

“Bitterness is unbecoming, Lady Empress,” Elecia teased.

Vhalla snorted.

“So is that,” Elecia laughed. “You’d think you’ve never been to a finishing class in your life.” Vhalla rolled her eyes at the face Elecia made. “Now, I am tired; snuff the light and let me sleep.”

“But of course, Lady Ci’Dan,” Vhalla proclaimed with dramatic flair, obliging the request.

“Lady Ci’Dan, don’t you forget it,” Elecia murmured. “For I expect to be appointed the next Lady of the West for my service when this is all over.”

“Deal,” Vhalla replied easily and honestly.

For the next two nights, Vhalla and Elecia shared a bed. On the third, they were able to find an inn, and Vhalla relished being in Aldrik’s arms once more. Elecia wasn’t a bad bedmate; in fact, Vhalla was beginning to enjoy the woman’s company more with each passing day.

But nothing was better than the feeling of Aldrik’s breath on her skin, the way he moved, the way he whispered in the dark. Vhalla relished it all. It was one of the many things that reaffirmed she had made the right decision—to stay with the man she loved—in spite of the chaos in the world around her.

It was easier with each passing day to stand gracefully at his side as he introduced them as a couple. Grabbing her stomach to try to quell the butterflies was still a regular occurrence, but it happened less and less. It was all practice for a new life, she reminded herself, one that would begin in Norin.

“It’s been a pleasure to have you this evening,” a lord praised them after dinner one night over drinks. Aldrik had reluctantly accepted a glass out of pure etiquette. Though he hadn’t touched it after the obligatory sip with the lord’s toast to them, his eyes did dart to the glass from time to time in silent debate.

“I knew the day you came out to the Southern Court that you were destined for greatness. I think we all did.”

She smiled as he lied through his teeth. “Is that so?”

“You had such natural grace and elegance, born of the Empire. Only fitting for you to be with our Emperor over that Northern girl.”

“I stand by what I said then. This Empire would have been lucky to have someone like Princess Sehra as its Empress.” Vhalla was not going to tolerate any animosity between the regions. An Empire of peace; she wouldn’t lose sight of that dream as long as she drew breath.

“Of course.” The lord clearly was not equipped with the eloquence to reply to Vhalla’s praise of Aldrik’s former betrothed.

Aldrik brought his lips together in a small smile, enjoying the lord’s struggle at Vhalla’s words. As Vhalla became more adept at navigating nobility, she began to play small games alongside Aldrik. She didn’t think she’d quite reached puppet master status, but she certainly was improving.

“I hear you have plans to wed in Norin. Quite exciting.”

“I am looking forward to making our love official.” Aldrik squeezed Vhalla’s hand lightly.

Vhalla gave him a small smile. He’d invited her to speak any objections she had to wedding in Norin, but Vhalla had never said a word. Everything had been in such turmoil before their escape from the East that she hadn’t had much time to think on it. By the time she could, it had already cemented in her mind as fact.

“The other lords and ladies I keep in correspondence with are also surprised that you will marry before reclaiming your throne.”

Aldrik obliged the lord, answering his unspoken question. “When I return South, it is to reclaim the home of my forefathers and present my bride with her future home. The Empire Solaris is strong still. Why wait to lay the foundation of the future?”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” The lord seemed satisfied with the answer, and Vhalla wondered how much of the ways of nobility, ways that had led Aldrik to deciding to wed in Norin, she didn’t understand. “While I realize that the Imperial chapel in the capital may be the preferred place for the ceremony, I am looking forward to a Western wedding. Perhaps a new tradition?” he mused aloud. “Our late princess had her wedding to the Emperor in Norin as well.”

Vhalla stole a look at Aldrik. His face betrayed no change in emotion, but she could almost physically feel him withdraw at the mention of his late mother. Vhalla put her glass down on the table, hardly touched out of solidarity for her betrothed.

“Please excuse me.” She stood. “I am weary from the day’s ride.”

“My lady, allow me to escort you.” Aldrik was on his feet as well, along with the Western lord.

“I’m fine, Aldrik, just tired. Please enjoy the company,” she encouraged.

Vhalla knew he needed to mingle with all the lords. Their Empire depended, in no small part, on their unquestioning loyalty and resources. She also knew, justly or not, that some things were more easily shared between men, and she trusted Aldrik to take advantage of the opportunity.

Despite what she said, Vhalla didn’t retire to her room. She hadn’t had much time alone with Fritz since the East. She found her Southerner curled up in a plush chair by the fireplace in his room.

“You look cozy.” Vhalla shut the door softly behind her.

“Quite cozy. Come join me, Vhal.” Fritz lifted up the edge of his blanket.

She was happy to accept his invitation and wedged herself next to him on the oversized chair. “Cozy indeed. What book did you find?”

“Something awfully boring. A collection of family autobiographies. They’re all talking about how amazing they are.”

Vhalla laughed, flipping through a few pages. She shook her head. “Nobility.”

“Hey now, you’re a noble. Soon to be the noblest of them all.”

Rather than laughing it off as she would any other time, Vhalla paused, studying the fire. “Do you think I will do a good job?”

“Nope.”

She blinked at him in shock.

“I know it.” Her friend nudged her playfully. “Don’t doubt yourself.”

“If I do, will you be there to reassure me?”

“Always.”

Vhalla closed the book in her hands, leaning on Fritz’s shoulder. “You’re right, this book is boring. You should tell me a story about you instead.”

“Well, I suppose if the Empress demands a story, she will get one.”

“I’m not the Empress yet.”

“Yet,” he agreed only on that one word. “All right, let’s see . . .” He shifted before settling into a more comfortable position. “When I joined the Tower, I was mostly alone. I didn’t really know how to make friends. I’d always had my sisters, and they had to tolerate me. But, well, you know, our home was far from the village, and my family was nervous about my magic freezing another child or something horrible. So I didn’t have much interaction with other kids.”

Even in the best of cases, like Fritz, magic was still a separating force.

“I was finally around people like me, and I had no idea how to bridge the moat that I had unknowingly dug around myself. Larel took pity on me, after one instruction, and went out of her way to sit with me in the library. For three months we met there at the same time, same table, every day. It was never formally said, but we both knew where we would wait for the other.”

“Was that the table where I found you?” Vhalla thought back to the first time she had laid eyes on the messy haired Southerner. It felt like a lifetime ago.

“It was.” He rested his cheek against her forehead. “I met Grahm there as well . . . One day, I walked in, and my table was taken. Now, the old me would’ve just sat somewhere else. But that was my table, and my friendship with Larel had made me bold. Plus, he was really, really cute.”

Vhalla laughed softly and closed her eyes. She wondered how often Fritz thought of Grahm. Right before she dozed off, she wondered if the Eastern man she had befriended was even still alive.

JUST A HANDFUL of weeks after leaving her home, Vhalla found herself once more in the Crossroads. It couldn’t have been a happier sight. The hustle and bustle of the market, the shades of every type of person strolling about. Victor’s tyranny and Vhalla’s last, less than favorable, experience at the Crossroads couldn’t diminish her fond memories or the good energy that was palpable in the air.

It was the center of the world. It was where she had confessed her love for the man she would marry. It was where she had made and lost friends. It was where she had found strength. She had dreamed, cried, laughed, and—it dawned on her in short order after arriving—gained a glimpse of the future.

Her gaze was locked on the main market as they passed, headed toward the standard Imperial hotel. Vhalla was suddenly very curious.

That night, Aldrik’s breathing was slow and consistent in her ear. He curled around her back, as had become their habit. It had been an hour since he’d last moved and, for once, Vhalla had outlasted him when it came to the race of who would be the first to slumber. The prince who was once unable to sleep was now an Emperor who slumbered mostly through the night and fell asleep relatively quickly after his head hit the pillow—so long as he wasn’t kept awake engaging in any activities with his future Empress.

With small wiggles over a painfully long period of time, Vhalla freed herself from his grasp. He stirred, a soft murmur in disapproval, but she had waited long enough that he was well and truly asleep. He was barely visible in the darkness, but with the slit of moonlight streaming between the curtains, Vhalla could make out his face.

His brow was relaxed, and he looked almost peaceful. Tonight, she had gone to bed with a very different man than the last time they had curled together in the Crossroads. His skin had a healthier glow, and the circles underneath his eyes had lightened. The journey in the West had been easy so far, and it felt like they were thawing out after an impossibly long winter.

Vhalla stood slowly, easing her weight off the bed. His fist curled around the blankets where she had just been, but Aldrik showed no other signs of waking. She retreated into the bathroom, easing the door silently closed behind her. The tile was cold on her toes as Vhalla began to rummage through the wardrobe. Word of the Emperor’s eminent arrival had spread, and the hotel had stocked the closet with clothing in advance, welcoming them with much pomp and circumstance.

She massaged her scarred shoulder after slipping a tunic over her head, thinking of their praises. The Western lords and ladies applauded what a smart match the Windwalker was for their Emperor. They never seemed to hear her when she corrected them, that she was just a Commons. It was no easier to bear the misplaced mantle now than it was when they first set out in the West.

Dressed, Vhalla poked her nose out into the dark room. Aldrik hadn’t moved and remained still as she crept past the sliding door. Vhalla ran a hand through her hair, teasing out the knots Aldrik’s eager hands always left in her tresses. She knew she should feel guilty, sneaking away from him as she was, but some things demanded answers.

She avoided the main lobby, staffed all hours of the day, slipping out a back door. No one paid her any mind, her hood drawn and her head down. She wanted to remain as inconspicuous as possible. She willed herself to fade into the shadows.

The late hours of the Crossroads were a very different place. Most stores were shuttered for the day, save for the more creative establishments that were just opening for halfway drunken and seedy-looking patrons. Men and women leaned against the corners of alleys with come-hither stares, beckoning those who came and went with promises of dreams and pleasure.

Vhalla drew her hood tighter; now was not the time to be the future Empress Solaris.

As one particularly shady-looking character beckoned to her, forcing Vhalla more into the middle of the road and out of the shadows, she wondered again why she had left the hotel. There was a touch of shame about what she was about to do, shame for the doubt that still lived in her heart despite all her friends’ assurances. Aldrik swore that their future was one of love, prosperity, and happiness. But he did not know what the next day held, let alone what would come in the years before them.

A familiar storefront seemed to materialize out of nowhere, interrupting her thoughts. It was completely dark, save for the light of a single candle on a table. Vhalla’s hand slipped from her shoulder to her neck, and she silently begged Aldrik to forgive her for her doubts.

The drapery in the doorway was drawn to the side, as if inviting her, and Vhalla entered boldly. Some unseen force pulled the curtain shut behind her, and Vhalla turned in surprise, her eyes trying to adjust to the sudden darkness. When her gaze swept back within once more, a face—illuminated by the candle—peered back.

“I knew you would come.” The woman’s voice was as smooth as silk and more melodic than any instrument Vhalla had ever heard. It beckoned. It beseeched. It hinted at promises that people wanted to give but were too afraid to make.

“You did?” Vhalla realized the low display case the woman stood behind was empty. Shelves that were once cluttered with all manner of items were now barren, occupied only by shadow.

“That was not the first time you have heard such, Vhalla Yarl.” The woman stepped into the circle of light created by the candle, and Vhalla could see her more clearly. She was once more draped in robes, but this time they were of a pristine white, trimmed in gold. Her long black hair cut a sharp contrast against the garment. Vhalla blinked in surprise at someone so boldly wearing the Imperial colors. “Wasn’t it true then, as well?”

“What are you talking about?” Aldrik’s face from the first night they had met in the library was clear across her memory.

“You know of what I speak.” The woman placed her fingertips on the table, dragging them as she slowly walked around. “The man whose crown you have worn spoke those words to you.”

“How do you know that?” Vhalla raised a hand to her forehead, remembering when Aldrik had placed his crown upon her brow in his chambers at the palace. There was no one else there then, and neither she nor Aldrik had told anyone.

“I know it the same way I knew your name the first time we met. This knowing is why you have sought me out.”

“If you know so much, then you know why I am here.” Vhalla reminded herself to be brave. She would not show fear, no matter what powers this woman possessed. Her bravery came easy, a soft whisper in the back of Vhalla’s mind reassuring her that she would not be harmed here.

“I do.” The woman folded her hands before her, leaning against the case. With the candle at her back, the woman’s features were shrouded in shadow. But her eyes. Vhalla was surely imagining their unnatural glow, a trick of the light, perhaps . . .

“Then let’s begin. Do you still have the supplies?” Vhalla looked around the empty room.

“Let us,” the woman agreed. “But I do not need supplies this night.”

“Isn’t that how curiosity shops work?”

“You have already cast your future to the flames and marked the three intersections of fate, Vhalla Yarl.” The woman held up a fist, uncurling fingers as she spoke. “At one such intersection I tried to guide you. At the other, I made an effort of saving you. You only have one meeting left now with me.”

“What?” Vhalla struggled to comprehend the woman’s meaning. She had only met Vi once before, and that was in this shop. Or so she thought. The night she stole Achel, the image of magic, glittering through the air like feathers, came to mind. “In the North? Was it you?”

“It was.”

“And the Knights of Jadar, the windmill.” Wheat.

“It was,” she repeated.

“What are you?” Chill horror poured ice into Vhalla’s veins. The Crossroads suddenly felt a world away, and Vhalla felt very alone with the woman before her. “Why are you doing this?”

“Tonight is not a night for your questions,” Vi declared. “I possess great strength, but coming to you when you are not at an intersection of fate is exhausting for even me.”

“If you will not answer my questions, then we have no further business.” Vhalla stepped backward, reaching for the curtain of the door and unable to find it.

“Tell me, do you love this world?”

The question caught Vhalla off-guard. “Of course I do.”

“Of course,” the woman repeated. “You don’t realize how much you say that. Of course you will do this, of course you will go there, of course you will oblige the demands made upon you.”

The many times Vhalla had said those words rushed through her mind. She didn’t say it that often, did she? Surely no more often than anyone else.

“Do you know why?” Strands of hair slipped over the woman’s shoulder as she tilted her head to the side quizzically. The question was clearly rhetorical as she continued, “Because it is what you were made for. Those things were what you were meant to do. Long before you ever met your prince or arrived at his castle, red strands of fate pulled you from the East, setting it all into motion.”

“You speak of the Mother.”

“If that is the name you choose.” The woman smiled. “You are trapped in a vortex. Time and again, you will repeat your fate dutifully. If we cannot change fate itself and save our world.”

The woman stepped away from the case. Barefoot, she didn’t make a sound as she floated over to Vhalla. Closer now, Vhalla could no longer deny the red glint to Vi’s eyes.

“Let me see you,” she whispered.

Vhalla was transfixed, helpless to do anything more than let the woman lower her hood. The woman’s face held an odd sort of longing tinted with sorrow.

“You are younger than I expected, and so much weight on your shoulders, future Empress.”

“I will be the Empress?” Vhalla jumped at the first definitive thing she’d heard in the Firebearer’s words.

“You will be.” The woman stepped away. “I told you then, you would find what you sought.”

“But I never sought—”

“You sought him,” the woman interrupted with a sudden intensity. “You knew who he was and what his title meant. You knew, even if you didn’t admit it to yourself; you knew what being with him would lead to. And now you have him.”

“I know all this already.” Vhalla was desperate for her to return to whatever comments she had on the future.

“Tell me, was the sacrifice worth it?” The woman once more folded her hands and leaned against the counter.

“Sacrifice?” Vhalla could think of a good many sacrifices, but she wasn’t about to let them roll off her tongue freely.

“The sacrifice of this world.”

“No, I didn’t—”

“For him, you hesitated in eradicating your magic when it was first born. For his defense, for his Empire, you took the axe, the last of the crystal weapons, and returned it to its birthplace. When you could have remained hidden, you sought answers to his truths. You cast aside the night’s shroud and dreams of home to stand on a sunlit stage.”

“No . . .” Vhalla’s heart was beginning to race. “No, I-I thought I was doing the right thing. Not just for him, but for everyone. I didn’t know. You should have told me all this before.”

“I did.” The ghost of a smile haunted the woman’s cheeks.

“No, yes, no!” Vhalla shook her head in frustration.

“Not in so many words,” Vi relented. “But the language of the Gods is hard to translate into mortal tongue. I did my best for you.”

“If I had known—”

“You wouldn’t have done anything differently.” Now there was a heavy sorrow in the woman’s voice. “I know that now. I have seen the vortex of fate clearly.”

“That’s not true,” Vhalla insisted.

The woman paused and passed judgment on Vhalla for a handful of minutes. “You were drawn by a man who ran the Black Tower, just as Aldrik was. You were taken to the caverns, just as he was. You were used to open a gate, just as he was. You were raised without a mother, just as he was. Pushed to battle, just as he was.

“In many ways, just as his father was before him.”

“You lie.”

“Your mother was forced to watch her mother live in hiding, be persecuted and face the threat of judgment, or worse.” Vhalla’s fairly recent discoveries about her childhood added extra gravity to the woman’s words. “Your mother saw the same future in you.”

“You don’t know any of this,” Vhalla said stiffly.

“Just as I did not know the first words he ever spoke to you?” The woman arched a dark eyebrow.

“Who are you?” Vhalla’s voice was beginning to rise.

“I am the one who is about to offer you a choice. A choice that will change everything and set into motion that which can break the vortex.” Vi had finally reached her point. “Tell me, Vhalla, with what you can see in your limited view, how will a child of the Emperor grow?”

“What?” She didn’t even realize the palm that had instinctually covered her lower abdomen.

“Think.”

Vhalla’s eyes widened as the woman’s words finally hit home. She had lived without her mother. Aldrik had lived without his. If the woman’s implications were to be believed, then his father had lived without at least one of his parents. In light of recent information, Vhalla was forced to wonder about the exact details of why her mother had lived without her grandmother.

“No.” Vhalla had seen the briefest glimpse of the vortex the woman spoke of. The spinning fate that had trapped her and everyone she loved within it. She stumbled over to Vi, grabbing the woman’s warm hand. “Tell me this is not the truth you see in the flames!” Vhalla didn’t plead for her own mortality, but at the thought of leaving Aldrik and a child she had never met.

“Do you want me to lie?” the woman’s voice was a cool contrast to her skin. “I will not lie to you, but I will offer you a choice.”

“A choice?” she repeated numbly, a strange tingling surrounding Vhalla’s body, starting from the woman’s fingertips.

“If you leave now, you will remain trapped. You and all you know and love will continue onward, time and time again, forever. Fate has grown too hungry, and it will never have its fill.”

“Or . . .?” Vhalla braced herself.

“Or you build a new fate.” The woman reached into the wide sash wrapped around her waist. She pulled on a silver chain, producing a familiar plain pocket watch. “Regain your powers as a Windwalker and be the crux by which balance can be restored to this world.”

“Is that . . .” Had she made an unintentional vessel all those months ago? “Of cour—” Vhalla stopped herself, changing her words. “Yes, I want to build a new fate.”

The woman pulled the watch away, snapping it into her palm when Vhalla reached for it. “I told you, fate is hungry, and it must have its due. You cannot gain a future without sacrificing the one that lies before you.”

“What must I do?”

“You choose if you will be the Empress this world needs. If you will sacrifice your future upon the altar of fate, before the eyes of Gods and men. If you will become an Empress that can save this world. If you will enter into a pact with me to ensure that the vortex is finally quieted.” Vi watched Vhalla’s reaction carefully with her glittering, dangerous eyes. “Buy time, with time.”

A hand clasped around Aldrik’s watch, knowing instantly what the woman wanted.

“Do you think if you give it to regain your magic, he will vanish from your side?” She gave a thin smile.

“Will he?” Vhalla pressured.

“No more insights; I cannot afford it. You have your choices: leave as you are and be trapped in the vortex that threatens to consume this world. Or give that which is most precious to you, the future you carry, for something far greater than you or I.”

Vhalla’s whole body trembled. She wanted to leave. Every inch of her screamed for her to run back to the bed she should have never left. She wanted to pretend she had never heard Vi’s words. Vhalla urged her mind to pretend that the woman was no more than a hoax.

But her heart knew. Even if her mind could not comprehend everything that was happening, Vhalla knew somewhere deep within her soul that what Vi said was true. She ached at the sight of the watch, at the thought of her magic once more.

“Let me come back,” Vhalla attempted. She wanted Aldrik; she wanted to at least discuss it all with him.

“No. The next time you come you will not find me. There is only one more time I can come to you.”

“So I’ll make my decision the next time we meet.” It was foolish, but Vhalla would be the hopeful fool.

“Choose now. It must be your choice alone.”

Vhalla couldn’t handle the woman’s eyes as her hands began to move. She couldn’t bear a witness on what she was about to do. Vhalla’s fingers closed around the clasp of the watch that she had hardly removed since Aldrik had promised his future with it.

“Tell me one thing.” Vhalla paused, just shy of handing over Aldrik’s token. Vhalla remembered the princess’s words, that it was a vessel holding his magic. “This will not be used to hurt Aldrik, will it?”

“I did not use this to hurt you.” Vi twisted her hand and dangled the watch with two fingers. “I could have sold this at a great price to the man who sits on the Southern throne.”

Vhalla looked down at the watch Aldrik had given her, unable to argue. Its once polished surface was scratched and beginning to tarnish from never-ending wear, but she loved it more now than the first day he had given it to her. Aldrik had said he had made the watch at the Crossroads. There was a dark poetry to losing it here as well.

With a trembling hand, Vhalla held out her most precious possession.

Just like that, it was gone. Vhalla looked on as the Firebearer curled her fingers around Aldrik’s gift. The thing he had put so much love into was gone. She had given it up.

Vhalla looked at the blank watch in her hand. It was a clean slate, perfect and unblemished. She had traded Aldrik’s gift for power. Was she any better than Victor?

The flame extinguished, and Vhalla’s head snapped back up, startled. The darkness pressed upon her, pushing at her chest.

“V-Vi?” Vhalla took a step backward to where she knew the door to be. “I-I changed my mind. I can’t give it up.”

Silence was her only reply.

“Please, I didn’t.” Vhalla’s neck already felt barren. “I don’t want to lose that. I’ve lost so much, not that. Our Bond is gone; the watch is the only part of him that I can carry with me.”

The darkness was oppressive, setting her ears to ringing. Vhalla clutched the blank watch tightly in her palm. A chill swept through the room, and Vhalla no longer felt that she was alone. The hair-raising feeling of being watched set her on edge.

Vhalla turned and fled as fast as her feet would carry her.

Stumbling into the street, Vhalla looked back frantically, with the feeling that something terrible was about to pursue her. The moon stared down at her, time continuing as normal. Vhalla felt dizzy and sick, looking back into the perfect blackness of the shop.

Her feet felt like lead. Her brain swam in her skull, and the world swayed. Vhalla struggled back to the hotel as fast as she could go. She was certain she was going to be sick. Just when another step was going to be too much, Vhalla was plunged into the bright light of the lobby.

“My lady!” The woman behind the desk blinked in confusion, startled to her feet. “What are you doing out? Are you all right?”

“I-I, yes.” Vhalla raised the back of her fist to her head, the watch still clasped within. She was clammy and cold. “I just need to lie down . . .”

The woman nodded but was clearly biting her tongue at the state of the Empress. Vhalla gripped at her shirt above her stomach. She hurt all through her middle, a strange and growing agony. Vhalla looked upward. She would feel better once she was with Aldrik once more. Once she could pretend everything that had just happened wasn’t real for a few hours longer.

Vhalla’s foot slipped on a step, and she fell with a cry. Something shattered within her as she hit the stairs. Vhalla hardly registered the woman rushing to her side.

“I will go fetch the Emperor.”

Vhalla forced her eyes open through the pain, staring at the watch in her hand. A wave of nausea hit, and Vhalla swallowed hard. “No. G-get Lady Ci’Dan. I need Elecia.”

The woman was off and running, leaving Vhalla to struggle to catch her breath alone. Wrapping her arms around her middle, Vhalla curled into a ball. Something was very, very wrong.

“Vhalla?” Elecia’s voice quickly cast aside the groggy tones of sleep as she knelt down before her. “What are you doing at this hour?”

“Help me,” Vhalla beseeched the Groundbreaker, one of the best clerics in the world.

“Come.” Elecia took one look at Vhalla’s sweat-dotted brow and began helping her up the stairs.

“Should I fetch a cleric?” the desk woman called.

“I am a cleric,” Elecia snapped back. “Not a word of this to anyone.”

The curly-haired woman practically carried Vhalla up two flights of stairs to her own room on the third floor. She gingerly helped Vhalla over to one of her chaises, easing her down before shutting the door. Another round of pain jolted through her, and Vhalla was once more doubled over.

“I don’t know.” Vhalla grimaced. “I don’t know, but it hurts.”

“Let me look at you.” The woman pulled Vhalla’s arms away from her abdomen, taking both her hands in hers. Elecia blinked her eyes and began looking from top to bottom with magic sight. “Why are you even awake at this hour? I thought you—”

Elecia’s eyes stopped on her abdomen.

The woman was a flurry of movement and offered no explanation as she dragged Vhalla into the bathroom. She tore at the ties of Vhalla’s cloak, pulling it off. Looking at her reflection, Vhalla could see what Elecia had seen moments early with her magic. Blood glistened darkly on the fabric covering the insides of her legs.

One fate sacrificed for another.

Vhalla gave an uncontrolled cry and collapsed in on herself.

“VHALLA, COME, WE need to get you cleaned up.” Elecia’s hands were on her trembling arms, hoisting Vhalla back to her feet. There was a clinical force to the other woman’s voice as she shut out every other emotion but the drive to act as a healer.

One of Vhalla’s hands clutched the watch so tightly her whole hand was white, blood pooling by her nails. The other hand covered her mouth, muffling the sobs that racked her body at the realization of what she’d unknowingly done. Another lightning pain jolted through her abdomen, and she was leaning against the counter as Elecia began to draw a bath.

“I can’t believe you both were so stupid. I trusted that you were being careful. That one of you would come to me if you needed Elixir of the Moon. I assumed Jax was getting it for you,” Elecia rambled. She began rummaging through various supplies before returning to Vhalla. The other woman’s hands registered on Vhalla’s bare skin as Vhalla was helped out of her clothes.

“Listen,” Elecia’s voice dramatically softened. “It’s all right. It will be all right. I can help lessen the pain, make it pass faster. This happens to more women than you know. I’ve seen it a lot, and, really, try thinking of this as a kindness from the Mother. The Goddess is looking out for you. The child would have grown up like Aldrik if you’d carried it to term, under speculations of being a bastard.”

Tears streamed off Vhalla’s cheeks, pooling on the floor. The child would’ve grown up like Aldrik, a kindness from the Mother; the words whirled in Vhalla’s head faster than a twister. As impossible as it was, there was a greater force within the world that Vhalla had seen a glimpse of in that curiosity shop. It was beyond comprehension, and it had traded her fate. No, it hadn’t traded her fate. This had been Vhalla’s choice. She wanted to scream or vomit, and the combination gave birth to nothing but silence and clotted blood.

“In the water with you now.”

“I-I can wash myself,” Vhalla fumbled over her words. She didn’t want any more of a witness to her shame. She wanted to be alone, to dunk her head beneath the water and muffle the world.

“No.” The edge had returned to Elecia’s tone. “I am not leaving you alone right now.”

Vhalla tried to help Elecia, but her hands shook too hard to do much of anything. She felt raw. Like she had just been reshaped by the maker Herself.

“What’s this?” Elecia asked, bringing Vhalla back to the present by tapping on her fist.

“It’s . . .” Vhalla didn’t have an explanation other than the impossible truth. “It’s a vessel of my magic.”

“What?” The other woman looked at her as though Vhalla had gone insane. “No, that’s—” The words froze in Elecia’s mouth as she blinked at the token in Vhalla’s palm. “By the Mother, where did you get this?”

By the Mother, indeed . . . Could there be another explanation for what had transpired? “I traded for it.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Elecia sighed. “Later.”

The other woman allowed Vhalla to keep the token while she finished bathing and drying her. Vhalla tried to help, to a point. But she felt too tired and numb to care.

Pulling her back into the attached bedroom, Elecia put two layers of cloth atop the bedsheets. Vhalla lay down as instructed. Her abdomen and back ached in a manner she had never quite felt before.

“I’m going to get Aldrik.” Elecia started for the door.

“No!” Vhalla sat up instantly, hissing in pain at the sudden movement. She had no explanation for Aldrik yet; she needed more time. She needed some kind of glue to piece together the shattered reality first. “Don’t tell him yet.”

“What?” Elecia stalked over back to the bed. “You mean to tell me he didn’t know?”

Vhalla could only shake her head.

“What did you both think when you stopped having your monthly bleed?”

“It had gone away on the march North,” Vhalla tried to explain. “I thought it the same. We hadn’t been eating well, and all the travel, strain . . .”

Elecia pinched the bridge of her nose with a heavy sigh. It wasn’t an illogical leap, and the woman couldn’t immediately refute it. When she opened her mouth to speak, she was cut off by a banging at the door.

“Elecia!” Aldrik was barely keeping his volume under a shout. “By the Mother, open the door.”

“‘Cia, are you there?” Fritz called also. “Is Vhalla?”

Elecia looked between the outer door and the bed.

“Don’t—” Vhalla pleaded.

“I’m sorry.” Elecia actually looked it. “But you will appreciate this later.”

“No!” Vhalla tried to swing her feet over the edge of the bed, stopped short by the pain the movement caused.

“Lie down!” Elecia barked.

Vhalla resituated herself and pulled the covers over her head. She didn’t care if she was being childish. She had been strong for so long that all she wanted to do was spend a moment hurting. She wanted to hide from the shame that was about to be heaped upon her the moment she saw Aldrik’s eyes.

“Don’t shout,” Elecia snapped from the outer room, presum- ably opening the door in the process.

“Is she here?” Aldrik was relentless.

“She is.”

“Where?” Aldrik’s footsteps fell across the floor.

“Aldrik, you need to calm down first.” There was a tone in Elecia’s voice that Vhalla had never heard the woman take with her cousin before. “And Fritz, you should go now.”

“Is she in here?” Aldrik’s voice grew louder, and Vhalla shrunk further into herself.

“Listen to me—” Elecia’s attempt was too late.

A large beam of light stretched across the bed like an accusatory arrow the moment Aldrik opened the wood and paper door between the bedroom and the main room. Vhalla didn’t move, her shoulders trembled, and she hardly breathed. What could she possibly say to him?

“Vhalla,” he breathed, relief saturating her name. It put an aching in her heart that competed with the pain of her middle. “You worried me so much. I woke, and you weren’t there.” She felt his weight as he sat on the edge of the bed. “I couldn’t find you, and when you weren’t in Fritz’s room, I—”

He reached out his hand, barely brushing the blanket that covered her shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” She cringed from his reach.

His hand hovered, obliging her wish but clearly uncomfortable with it. “My love . . . What could make you want to shy from my touch?”

“Aldrik . . .” She choked out his name.

“Let me reassure you,” he begged. “Was it a dream? A nightmare? There is nothing to fear.”

Delicately, tentatively, his palm lowered once more. Vhalla whimpered her consent, and it curled around her upper arm. It was equal parts reassurance and turmoil.

“Aldrik,” Elecia started.

“Don’t!” Vhalla sat, clutching the blankets around her.

“Where are your clothes?” Aldrik blinked, staring at her bare back.

“He deserves to know.” Elecia crossed her arms over her chest. “If you don’t tell him, then I will.”

“It is not your place to tell!”

“Then talk to the man who will be your husband!” Elecia slid the door closed so hard Vhalla and Aldrik jumped.

“Tell me what?” He rested his palm on her back, lightly kissing her temple. “Fear not, for whatever it is, we can tackle it together.”

“I-I lost our son,” Vhalla confessed, wide eyed. She remembered the note Aldrik had written, the one she had clutched to her breast. Her, him, their son.

“What are you saying?” Aldrik’s voice had gone monotone.

“We were careless.” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

“How were we careless?” He was too smart not to know the answers.

“You know how!” She turned to him, and a particularly sharp pain pulsed from deep within her abdomen. Vhalla collapsed back onto the bed with a choked sob.

Aldrik could only stare at her as it sunk in, and Vhalla avoided his gaze.

“Elecia.” He was on his feet, storming for the doors. “Elecia, tell me—”

“Stop being stupid,” Elecia said curtly, snapping open the doors and allowing herself back into the room. A hand, cooler than Aldrik’s, smoothed over Vhalla’s forehead. “Vhalla, here, drink this. It’ll help things move along.”

“I don’t want it.” She deserved every wave of pain she was to endure.

“Don’t start this. You promised me that your life would—”

“You don’t even know what my life means!” Vhalla twisted, ignoring the pain to stare down the Westerner. “You don’t know the sacrifices I’ve made. You think this—”

A small bottle was unceremoniously shoved into Vhalla’s mouth between words. It clanked against her teeth and her lips wrapped around it as Elecia forced it into her face. Vhalla swallowed the liquid within, resigned.

“Stop. Stop trying to make the illusion of strength. You don’t need it. Not here. Not now. Let yourself be sad until the real strength returns.” The empty bottle was gently pulled from her lips, and Elecia smoothed some of the hair away from Vhalla’s sweat-dotted forehead. It was a tender gesture that had no precedence between them.

“Cousin,” Elecia walked away as she spoke, “however completely idiotic I think you both have clearly been . . . However much I believe this could be interpreted as a blessing in disguise . . .” There was a long pause. “I am sorry.”

The other woman left, closing the doors once more behind her and resigning her room to the Emperor and his lady. The couch beyond sighed softly as Elecia settled upon it, and Vhalla couldn’t help but remember she had slept on couches in this hotel the last time they were in the Crossroads, spending her night hours healing.

Aldrik hovered for several long breaths before finally returning to the bed. Her love settled on the bed next to her but did not touch her, the small distance between them feeling like the world.

The silence crossed the threshold into agonizing when he finally spoke. “Look at me.”

“No.”

“Do not fight me, not now.” His hand pulled on her shoulder. “Please.”

It was the please that called through to her. Vhalla rolled and looked up at her Emperor with red and burning eyes. Her face was twisted in grief and glistening with snot and tears. Aldrik caressed the expression, replying with tenderness.

“I am . . .” He took a deep breath, “Relieved you are all right.”

Vhalla squeezed her eyes shut. He didn’t even understand a fraction of how she’d wronged them.

“I was so worried.” His lips ghosted against her forehead. “I woke, and you weren’t there. I went to Fritz, and when you weren’t with him . . . If I’d not found you, I was ready to burn down the Crossroads in a rage to find you.”

“Don’t say that,” Vhalla hissed in agony.

“It’s the truth.”

“You said it before.” She remembered him bidding her farewell at a secret door the first time they were at the Crossroads. “Do not say it again. We have to be different than before.”

“Different?”

“I traded fates. We must break the vortex. We must do better.” Vhalla felt sick at herself all over again for what she’d done. The night was becoming a messy blob of memories that were distorting with time. Did she really have any idea what the truth was? Or was she just slowly losing her mind?

“What are you talking about?”

“There was a Firebearer.” Vhalla struggled to collect herself to say what needed to be said. “I met her the last time I came.

She . . . then she told me . . . She told me I would lose you. She told me of Victor. I didn’t understand. I was worried, so I went—”

“You went out? Tonight?” The tender tones were fading from his words.

“I wanted to go alone . . .”

“To some curiosity shop? To a Firebearer with some smoke and mirror tricks? Why didn’t you tell me?” Justified agitation furrowed his brow.

“I didn’t want you to tell me not to go.”

“So you knew I would disapprove?” His touch vanished, and Aldrik withdrew. “You couldn’t respect my wishes. No, not even enough to try to talk it over with me?”

“I should’ve explained.”

“You should have. You don’t keep secrets from me, not you.” There was genuine pain now in his voice. His old insecurities flared brightly, and the wounds that had scarred his heart saw light once more.

“You know I don’t.” Vhalla looked at him for a long moment, challenging him to object.

He cursed softly and looked away.

“I’m sorry, I handled this poorly. I just wanted to know if . . . if we would really make it.”

“You shouldn’t have to ask a Firebearer to know that,” he mumbled.

“It isn’t as though we haven’t been on the run for weeks! I was scared, Aldrik. I thought that I could find something, some small reassurance to sooth the worry in my heart but . . .” She’d talked herself to the threshold she’d feared all along. How could she summarize what had transpired in a way that he would take seriously?

“But?” Aldrik pressed. “This Firebearer, did she touch you?” he growled. There was a protective dangerous gleam in his eyes. “Is it because of her that we lost . . .” Aldrik couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“No.” This was her responsibility, and Vhalla would accept it. “That was my fault alone.”

“It’s not your fault,” he mumbled.

She had to take a second and brace herself for what had to come next. Vhalla wanted to put the night behind her so badly, but she couldn’t do that if there were truths left unsaid. Through the slowly thickening haze in her head, she forced herself to carry on.

“I gave away the watch you made.”

He was so silent she wondered if he somehow hadn’t heard her. “You . . . what?”

“I had a reason!” Vhalla freed her hand from the blanket, thrusting her silver trophy before him. “This, Aldrik, with this—”

“Another pocket watch? Did you tire of mine so you wanted something more—”

“It’s a vessel!” Their pattern of interruption ended with that. His mouth hung open on the unformed word she had stolen from him with the truth. “It’s a vessel.”

“What?”

“It’s an unintentional vessel I made back when the Firebearer last looked into the flames to answer my question,” Vhalla explained quickly. “With this . . . With this I should be able to . . .”

Her words failed. Despite what she had just told him, the hurt had yet to vanish from his expression. Vhalla suspected she could’ve said she traded his watch for the entire Crescent Continent, and Aldrik would’ve still been pained. Tonight, she hadn’t paid the price for her choices. Aldrik had.

“It’s my fault . . . I wanted you, so I stayed. And because I stayed, I was where Victor could get me. All the people who have died, Erion, Craig, Raylynn, your father—it’s all because of me. All the pain is my responsibility. With this, with my magic, I can right what I wronged. I can beat Victor at his own game. He thinks he can kill or force all Windwalkers into hiding. But I will stand against him. I will do what I must for our people before I do what I want for myself.”

He was as still as a statue. Vhalla took the weight of his gaze upon her shoulders as well. She was carrying the world, and he was but one point upon it. Everything was lost if she did not make her vow a reality.

“I wanted to make things right. I hurt you while doing so, and I’m sorry. I never wanted to. But I . . .”

The heat of his palm on her lower abdomen silenced her. Vhalla stared at the man who was to be her husband. A storm raged just behind the darkness of his eyes.

He sighed. “What have I done to you?”

“Nothing I didn’t ask for.” She’d asked to be Empress. She’d chosen it the moment she’d chosen him. She’d been so busy surviving that she hadn’t accepted what that really meant. Now it wasn’t just about her survival, but her people’s.

“You should sleep. Your body needs to heal.”

Vhalla leaned forward, pressing her forehead into his sternum. Aldrik shifted to snake his arms around her. “I lost him,” she breathed.

“No.”

“The son of your dreams—” she tried to continue.

“Was not this child.”

Vhalla wished she could make him understand. His dreams had been scattered to the wind. Their future, the red lines of fate he had looked forward to, had been interrupted. But Vhalla didn’t try to make Aldrik comprehend the truth that was filling the hollow within her. Only one of them would have to bear this truth, and that would be her.

“We will try again.” He kissed the top of her head. “When we are wed, when I have my throne. That is when our child will be born. And when that day comes, this night will be nothing more than a forgotten nightmare.”

She needed his optimism. Her head was thick and heavy. Vhalla suspected the potion Elecia forced down her throat had been laced with Deep Sleep, but the cleric knew best. She closed her eyes, and Vhalla gave herself to that welcoming blackness.

The bed was cold, and dawn hovered in the morning air when Vhalla finally stirred. She heard Aldrik’s voice from the adjacent room, the sound pulling her the rest of the way from sleep.

“How did you find her?”

“She just appeared in the night,” Elecia responded.

Vhalla blinked groggily, the Deep Sleep slow to release her mind.

“She said she went to a curiosity shop. Jax, I want every last one in this Gods forsaken city turned up-side-down with the most discretion you can manage. If even one confesses any knowledge, I want to know everything. And—” Aldrik’s voice dripped acidic malice off his tongue. “—should you find one that laid a finger upon her . . .”

“No one will ever find the body,” Jax filled in the blank with methodological viciousness.

Vhalla shook her head, pulling herself into a seated position. Vi was long gone. Whatever that woman was, it was nothing like any of them had ever seen, and there was no way she had remained. Still, there was little point in trying to call Aldrik off on his demands. Vhalla was happy to concede to them if it pleased him and eased his pain.

“Now, Fritz, she claims this is a vessel.”

“It-it does feel like her magic,” Fritz confirmed with evident surprise.

“I already told you that.” Elecia’s eye roll was heard by Vhalla from the other room.

“You will help withdraw the magic so her Channel can be restored.”

“I’ve never—”

“I am not asking you, Fritznangle, I am telling you as your Emperor.”

Vhalla rubbed her abdomen. She needed to get up and call off her protective love before he made an ass of himself to their friends.

“But not yet,” Elecia said firmly. “I see what you are doing.”

“Elecia—” Aldrik warned.

“No. You are trying to fix it all and force it back to where it is comfortable for you. But you cannot force her. Her body is healing. This isn’t a battle scar, and it’s not going to be fixed when we don’t see blood anymore. You are healing, too.”

“Aldrik,” Vhalla called.

“Vhalla, what is it?” The doors were thrown open, and he rushed to her side. “What hurts?”

“I woke, and you weren’t here.” She tried to force a small smile.

“I was only taking care of a few things, my love. I’m here. I’m with you.”

“Stay,” Vhalla demanded.

Aldrik’s hair was a mess, and his eyes looked sunken. Somehow, his face had become gaunter in one night. Elecia’s advice to Aldrik hit Vhalla’s heart. They were both hurting, and that hurt would only be soothed by being together and letting themselves be sad.

Elecia came in as Aldrik situated himself next to her. She had clearly spent some of the night acquiring and preparing a new flight of potions for Vhalla to ingest. As the healer was leaving, Aldrik requested that she find a book for them to read.

Vhalla wondered if he had known what she needed to feel better. Or if, somehow in his own turmoil, he needed the same things as she. They spent the day tucked together, ignoring the world.

Aldrik didn’t even part from her when it came time to bathe again. He sent Elecia away, announcing that he would do it himself. Vhalla tried to avoid either of them helping her, but her attempts were futile.

“I can do it myself,” she insisted. “I don’t need you.”

“You’re right, you don’t need me. But I want to help you.” He guided her to the steaming bathwater.

“Aldrik, you don’t want to do this, it’s . . . very messy.” She had more eloquent words to describe the situation, but she didn’t use them. Clarity and eloquence bred heartbreak for her as they laid out neatly the situation she was in.

“Blood does not scare me.” Aldrik begun undressing her.

Vhalla grabbed his wrist. Tears of frustration and anger welled up in the corners of her eyes. Every word was trapped in her throat with no hope of freedom.

“If you want me to go,” he whispered. “Tell me plainly. Tell me to leave your side, and I will.”

She shook her head. She didn’t want him gone. She needed his presence and his love just as he seemed to need hers. The emotion persisted even when his hands washed away the blood that slicked her thighs.

The distance in his eyes eased as the days passed. The only time pain showed was when he focused on the sight of her barren neck. But Aldrik didn’t speak of it, and Vhalla didn’t force the issue. She could apologize and make excuses until the world ended. But it wouldn’t change anything.

The only thing that mildly helped was the day that Elecia deemed her healed enough to attempt recovering her magic from the vessel. It reminded them both that, despite what Vhalla had given up, hopefully something was gained.

“All right, Vhal,” Fritz began. “There isn’t much here. It should—should—be enough to have a Vessel to start calling to magic through your Channel. But you’ll need to withdraw every last bit of magic, to be certain.”

“Might it not work?” Vhalla asked nervously.

“If there’s not enough to unblock your Channel, the magic will just fizzle the first time you try to use it.”

“How do I withdraw it?” She didn’t allow herself to be scared. There wasn’t any other option but success.

“I’ll help you,” Fritz encouraged. “You hold it and imagine the watch is your Channel. Feel it, know it, and welcome it into you.” He curled her fingers around the watch and grasped her hand. “I’ll help push the magic out, help it move towards you.”

Vhalla nodded, nerves stilling her tongue.

“Are you ready?” He continued at her small nod, “Here it goes . . .”

He closed his eyes, and Vhalla did the same. Just like the very first time she had ever tried to use her magic, Vhalla imagined something just beyond herself, and tried to touch it. The world didn’t rebuild magic on a whim, nor did she feel a whisper of sorcery on the wind. There was only a subtle tingling in her fingertips.

Vhalla guarded her every hope. She felt as though she was on the edge and only needed one more good push to hold everything in her grasp. Her breathing echoed in her ears as she mentally reached for the truth the watch held.

She was the Windwalker. She would fill up the hollow that had been carved from her, fill it up with a new future.

“Vhalla, enough.” Fritz released her fist. “Don’t push too hard now.”

“But you said get it all.” Her eyes fluttered open.

“I think you did.” He inspected the watch. “You don’t want to expend magic, looking for magic.”

“So did it work?” Vhalla stared at her hands.

“We’ll know soon.” Fritz blinked his eyes a few times, shifting his vision to study her. “Your Channel will need more time to restore, if it’s going to. By the Mother, Vhal, if you think you even feel the hint of magic, do not be too eager to use it, or you’ll drain it all and be back in the same position as before.”

For the rest of the day, Vhalla remained on bedrest. She was getting bored of it, especially now that the bleeding had slowed to occasional spotting. But between Aldrik, Elecia, Fritz, and Jax, she had no option but to take it easy.

“How do you feel?” Aldrik asked as they settled for sleep.

“Tired.” Despite resting all day, it was true.

“I’ve always loved watching you sleep. Seeing you at peace.” He brushed hair lovingly away from her face. “I plan to do it forever.”

“Even now?” she whispered, wanting to hear the words between his words.

“Even now,” he affirmed.

There was pain still, but it was beginning to fade even for Aldrik. No matter how much they lost, they still had each other. And, so long as that was true, they could continue to meet the dawn.

Dawn, however, came too early for either of their tastes. Vhalla rolled over tiredly, a light sneaking through a crack in the curtains to hit her face. She felt so exhausted. Aldrik’s arms tightened around her, and he nuzzled the back of her neck.

“It’s bright,” Vhalla complained. “Make it go away.” She motioned to the curtains. The room darkened, and they both woke with a start.

Vhalla stared at the now drawn window dressings, as they swayed in the remnants of an unseen breeze.

VHALLA STARED AT her fingertips in dumb shock, her eyes darting between the unassuming digits and the settling curtain. Raising her hand, she took a shaky breath, determined to re-witness the truth that had just revealed itself to her.

Long, warm fingers curled gently around her wrist. “Don’t.” Aldrik shook his head at her. “Don’t push yourself.”

“But what if . . .” Vhalla stared at the window.

“The curtain closed by a draft?” His smile was small, but there was genuine joy in his eyes. Cupping her face in both palms, Aldrik graced her lips with a brief kiss. It felt like the first kiss in forever, and a butterfly emerged from its cocoon in her stomach. “Do not be silly, my sorcerer.”

“Am I?”

Aldrik held out his hand, palm up, and a tiny flame appeared in its center. “Blow it out. But only this small test, and then more rest.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Vhalla raised her hand. Aldrik shifted closer, the orange glow of the tiny mote illuminating his bare chest. Her fingers tensed, straightening and relaxing in an instant. The fire was snuffed, the light extinguished to nothing more than the ghost of a blue glow when Vhalla blinked.

“My magic,” she breathed.

The covers flew through the air as Vhalla tossed them aside. Swinging her feet off the side of the bed, she was stopped, mid-lunge, by an arm snatching her around the waist. Aldrik pulled her back to him, racing heart and all.

“I want to see.”

“You just saw.” He held her to him.

“No, no, it’s not enough.”

Aldrik nuzzled her neck, the tenderness stilling her. “You still must rest. You have been through a lot.”

“I know.” Ice surged through her veins at the memories. “I gave up everything for this, so let me go.”

“You did not.” Aldrik’s hair tickled her shoulder as he shook his head. “You gave up a child that you should have never even carried. And one of my many pathetic attempts at silver working.”

Her insides clenched, but not like it had over the past few days. She had witnessed a memory in which he’d presented a gift to the woman who should’ve loved him as her own child, and it was rejected. Vhalla twisted, seeing beyond him back to that young, nervous child.

“It was not pathetic.” She spoke firmly enough that it commanded his attention. “It was the best gift anyone had ever given me, and I would have loved it had it been misshapen and half-finished—because you were the one to give it to me. That’s what was truly important, that’s why I could give it up. Because our love is more than something I can wear. Our time is far greater than what can be counted by two hands and some numbers. Because, even without it, I still have you.”

The edge of a question slipped into her last statement, and Aldrik sighed, an exhausted smile curling his lips.

“You shall always have me.” He pulled her back onto the bed with him holding her as close as possible. “Our love is more than physical trappings. Be it tokens of affections or the bodies our eternal souls inhabit while we are chained to this mortal coil. I would have made a hundred watches if it would have returned your magic to you.”

There was pain in his words, even still. But there was also truth. He shared in the joy of her magic returning. Vhalla sighed softly and pressed closer against him. If she was going to continue to be restricted to bed, then she would make the most of it by filling her hours with him.

When Elecia and Fritz finally deemed Vhalla strong enough, physically and magically, to leave the bedroom, she paid the price of vanishing from the world for a short week. Letters had piled up from both Norin and Hastan. A new timeline also needed to be addressed for the rest of their journey to Norin.

Their break in the crystal gate at the border of East and West had held long enough for Western reinforcements to get through and march to Hastan. Elecia’s father reported that they couldn’t have come a moment too soon, as Hastan had sustained another attack by Victor shortly thereafter. This time, Victor had sent a larger force on foot, marching from the South and laying waste to cities and towns along the way, Leoul included.

That was when Vhalla realized that she was never going home. She had to continue to believe that her father had, indeed, moved ahead of the gate’s construction and she would meet him in Norin. In truth, home had always been where the people she loved were. For years, that had been the farm in Leoul. But now it was where her father, Aldrik, and friends were.

The news cast a somber cloud over her for a different reason as well. Leoul was farther north than Paca, which meant Daniel’s town had been right in the line of Victor’s marching forces. His fragile state lingered in the back of her mind; the sight of Victor’s sorcerers would have caused agony in the man who cast a shadow across her heart. Vhalla wondered if her friend had escaped safely, or if he had met the fate of nearly a third of the East.

If Vhalla had lacked any purpose before hearing this news, she certainly didn’t after. Rather than hardening, her heart became hotter. It burned and pushed hot blood through her veins faster than sandstorm winds. Vhalla racked her brain, considering all the information that had come through the reports sent from Hastan. She stayed up until her eyes crossed and blurred, trying to find the best way to distribute the East’s limited fighting forces.

The largest sites of food production had to be protected first, alongside Hastan as the head of the East. But there was no choice when it came to sacrificing some smaller towns as a result. It was among the hardest decisions Vhalla had ever made, and she allowed herself to feel pain at it. If she became numb, it would be a disservice to the people whose lives she was deciding.

To save the most lives, more messengers and more reminders were sent to those interested in joining the fight, reminders that they could retreat to Hastan. Vhalla made her will known through letters, sharing with the men and women of the East exactly how and why she was moving them. That it was, indeed, a choice made by the person claiming to be their leader. Vhalla knew she could never accept their loyalty if such facts were ever hidden.

Aldrik fussed over her incessantly. He worried constantly. Vhalla tolerated it, the guilt of Vi’s trade making her oblige Aldrik as recompense for her transgressions against him. But Elecia finally snapped.

The woman began dictating how Aldrik could—and could not—take care of his wife-to-be. She was having none of his doubts over her methods of healing. He finally relented and began running the Empire at Vhalla’s side in earnest.

Jax remained ever present as well, especially when Aldrik disappeared to grant some face time with a prominent lord or lady who ventured to the Crossroads to meet them. Jax’s revelations about his past lingered with Vhalla, but she didn’t give it much thought. There were far bigger concerns facing her than the crimes Jax had committed years ago. She’d sort through it eventually.

Only once had Aldrik pressed for Vhalla to show him where Vi’s curiosity shop had been located. They circled the market several times, but Vhalla couldn’t find the small curtained entrance or anything even remotely resembling it. Her Emperor did his best to hide his frustration, but Vhalla was unbothered. She hadn’t expected to ever encounter Vi again. The woman would only reveal herself on her own terms, not Vhalla’s. And as badly as Vhalla wanted to understand Vi’s actions, she’d felt Vi’s unnatural darkness and the weight of the woman’s eyes seeing more than Vhalla’s physical form too many times to question too deeply. Some things may not be meant to be understood.

The more time that passed, the fuzzier that night became. Vhalla finally stopped fighting it and let the memory hide away into the hazy shadows of the back of her mind. It happened more slowly for Aldrik, but they soon stopped talking about it. By the time a letter from Sehra arrived with the status of the North’s preparations, it had faded away into little more than a dark spot on their journey to Norin.

What had not faded, however, was Vhalla’s elation at regaining her magic. At every opportunity, Vhalla called upon her winds. Things were lifted and pushed, opened and shut. She demanded to sleep with the windows open just to feel the night breathe across her skin.

There was so much to do that the days slipped away from them, and they were late to leave the Crossroads. The last letter they received from Ophain began to question if they had any intention of coming to Norin or if they intended to make the Crossroads their headquarters. Vhalla broached the idea with the Emperor that night.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to stay?” She pointed to Ophain’s letter.

“Why?” Aldrik glanced up from the other end of the table where he had been working on finalizing troop numbers.

“Because Sehra will bring her army here, to the Crossroads.” Vhalla rummaged, looking over one of the maps that had been marked and crossed one too many times. “If she’s going to start her journey shortly, then we could tell your uncle and the troops from Norin to do the same. They should arrive within days of each other. It would save at least . . . at least two weeks of travel compared to us going to Norin and back.”

“We must wed.” Aldrik paused his quill, giving her his undivided attention.

Vhalla stared at the map for another long moment. She knew he saw it as such, that it was something they must do as a symbol. Even if she was growing more concerned about the timing by the day, Vhalla continued to concede.

“Then we will do it here,” she suggested.

“Impossible.”

“Are there no Crones who could perform the ceremony in the Crossroads?” She laughed at the ridiculousness of the notion.

“It must be done in the Western Sun Temple in Norin,” Aldrik insisted. “That is where my father wed.”

“Now hardly seems like the time for sentimentality,” she gently pointed out.

“Far from it,” he agreed. “But now is the time for putting on the right display for the lords and ladies, for the world. We are strong, and we do not allow a false king to force us to wed in hiding. Or hint that there is something illegitimate about our union that we should do it in a small chapel on the run.”

“I’m sure we could explain . . . It’s just so much time to lose.”

Aldrik considered it for several slow breaths. Making up his mind on something, he reached forward and grabbed a slip of parchment, beginning to scribble as he spoke, “We shall write to my uncle and tell him a date. We’ll invite the lords and ladies in advance so that the amount of time we must spend before the ceremony is limited to necessary preparations and appearances.”

Vhalla glanced back at the map, thinking of the waste it seemed. “Thank you,” she said finally. It was something.

They replied to Lord Ophain that night with the request of the date along with their promises to depart the Crossroads before he received their reply.

Shortly after, Aldrik started the task of making them new armor. It was a good distraction from the worry that blossomed in her chest by the fact that Lord Ophain had yet to make any mention of her father. Vhalla kept her fears in check and her hands busy with helping Aldrik in the smithy. Just like she couldn’t allow Jax’s presence to distract her, she couldn’t allow fears over her kin to distort her priorities. Her father would be all right, she assured herself. He’d been a soldier once and knew how to handle himself. There was nothing else for her to believe.

Vhalla’s first experience with the craftsman habits of her Emperor was enlightening. Aldrik tested and felt each piece of steel before he began working with it—he was nothing if not particular. Not one smelter denied him, naturally, and he was finally satisfied with his base materials.

They worked together to make flames hotter than he could alone. Aldrik worked in simple clothes, and Vhalla appreciated the look of the man with his hair pulled back from his face and soot rubbed into his nose. It was an elegant orchestration of their magic, but it was one that held melancholy notes. Had they still been Bonded, his flames wouldn’t hurt her and they could’ve been far less careful. His magic was no longer in her, but there was still something different about it. Vhalla knew it like an old friend. She recognized every spike, every subtle flux in his power and could account for it.

They were not Bound, but they were not separate either. They had become something new yet again.

Aldrik finished the armor the day before they were set to leave. He put on the final touches alone while Vhalla spent the day bidding farewell and reaffirming the loyalty of the lords and ladies in and around the Crossroads. When she returned to the room that night, the matching sets waited on stands. Aldrik smoothed over portions with his thumbs, unable to stop working the metal.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked, finally.

Vhalla tilted her head. Sitting cross-legged on one of the chaises, she studied the pieces on the stands. Something was off, and it took her too long to put her finger on what it was. “The color.”

“You don’t like it?” Aldrik sat down at her side.

“It’s not that I don’t like it.” Vhalla struggled with how to encapsulate her feelings.

The armor was indeed lovely, very identical in craftsmanship and style to her prior suit with some additional embellishments. Smaller shoulder pauldrons matched his, gold detailing lining their edges. The scales were more angled, giving it a sharper and stronger look. The outer steel had been layered with an alloy that shone white, setting off the gold detailing—like the pair of wings that sat with a sun in their center at the armor’s collar.

“It’s white.”

He laughed, but it sounded forced. “White is the Imperial color.” The man was nervous by her reaction.

Vhalla knew he understood her statement, but she played along. “You’ve never worn white, on anything.”

“That’s not true,” he objected.

“I’m not counting in private,” she hastily clarified. “Why not black?”

“Because—” He paused, abandoning the quick remark he’d been readying. Aldrik turned back to the two suits of armor and took a deep and slow breath. “Because that time is over.

“I need to lead my people—our people. I must be someone they look to, and I must look like that person.” Aldrik waged an internal battle with the armor. “I have no more family, so I am no longer a black sheep. I no longer have my life overshadowed by my father’s missions and visions for his Empire. I cannot afford to let a personal tantrum, or bitterness, distance me from the subjects whose trust I so need. I need their loyalty, and I would rather earn that through admiration than fear.”

He peeled his eyes away from the simple thing that had caused him so much introspection. He looked to her, and the man still managed to look uncertain at the exact moment that Vhalla thought he had attained clarity. He was no longer a wildfire burning with rage. He was now the fires of the forges he’d stoked. He burned for a purpose and remained focused on that singular goal.

Vhalla rested her hand on his, initiating touch for the first time since the night she had traded with Vi. Aldrik’s eyes darted over her face. It had been so long since she was nervous around him that the butterflies in her stomach were awkward, though not unwelcome. She reached up to touch the face of the man she adored, to pull it toward her. To hook his chin and guide his lips to where they belonged—against hers.

Delicate exploration paid quick dividends as a breathless chorus filled the room when they pulled apart. Neither of them were ready yet, Vhalla realized, to be as intimate as they had once been. But the fact that something was still there, given all that had happened, the fact that he was still capable of wanting her and that her body had not forgotten how to want, returned to them a level of closeness that had been woefully missing.

For the first time in nearly two weeks, the Emperor and Empress slept peacefully through the night—completely folded in the other’s arms.

DESPITE KNOWING THE armor’s color and the reasoning behind it, nothing could have prepared Vhalla for the next morning when Aldrik strapped himself into it for the first time. His hair was combed back and his helm had been attached to a saddlebag so that the people could see him on their ride out. Vhalla did the same, following his lead in their departure from the Crossroads.

He was radiant, every bit of the leader Vhalla had always known he could be. He was a seedling that had been transplanted from the dirt in his father’s shade and placed in the sun for the first time. He greeted the assembled masses and waved to merchants and lords alike as the Emperor’s company wound its way out the main road. Vhalla witnessed their people finally seeing what she had known all along: he was born for this.

On their way out of the Crossroads, Fritz had his first opportunity to comment on her armor. “Your symbol changed.” Fritz fingered a corner of the cloth that went down to her waist, somewhere between a cape and a cloak with a slit in the front for mobility. It was fixed by the sun and wings at her collarbone. Vhalla touched the new symbol, the same one that was emblazoned in gold on her back.

“I suppose it did.” Vhalla glanced over to Aldrik. He wore a similar garment, though his only had the sun of the Empire on its back.

“Why?” Fritz mused aloud to no one in particular.

“A second wing, because the Windwalker has been born again,” Aldrik answered. “The whole Imperial sun because she will wear this armor after she has formally become my Empress.”

“No longer cutting it in half and pretending it’s not obvious?” Jax grinned.

Aldrik rolled his eyes.

“He has a point,” Elecia teased her cousin. “It’s unlike you, Aldrik, to have given her something so overtly Imperial.”

Vhalla remained silent through the teasing. It hurt. Her friends didn’t mean for it to. But they didn’t know that her watch, the one Aldrik had given her, was gone forever. Judging from the long look Aldrik gave her, he was thinking much the same.

Then the wind shifted and, with it, her Emperor’s expression.

“This is what is obviously Imperial. It’s a new dawn for us both, and she wears my craftsmanship upon her once more,” Aldrik spoke only for her.

“As I should,” Vhalla replied gently.

They set a good pace through the desert. The East-West Way made an easy path from the Crossroads to Norin, and they once more found themselves spending time in the company of lords and ladies along the way. The further West they went, the stronger the culture of old Mhashan became.

Vhalla was on-edge the first time she saw the Western phoenix with a sword in its talons. No one questioned her decision to ride hard into the next day for the next opportunity for shelter. Like the scar on her shoulder, there were some wounds that could be mostly forgotten day to day, with enough time and healing, but would always be tender when probed.

As summer came early to the desert, Vhalla and Fritz used their magic in tandem to keep them from cooking alive in their armor. Fritz applied thin layers of ice atop the metal, which Vhalla’s winds quickly evaporated. At first, they were wet and windswept. But Vhalla and Fritz managed to get the hang of it enough that soon the five of them were not only kept cool, but they were comfortable as well.

The ride progressed without problem, and they woke before the sun on their final day of their ride into Norin. They’d stayed with one of Aldrik’s distant cousins, sending word ahead to Ophain that they were only a few hours from the city proper. Vhalla had wanted to keep pushing, but Aldrik was insistent that certain conventions must be observed, and their arrival would be one of them.

Normal butterflies were replaced by a whole flock of birds in her stomach as the city began to grow around them. Sunlight sparkled over their recently polished armor, and they had all washed properly at the lord’s home before the final leg of the journey. Elecia was all smiles at the idea of returning home, but Jax had grown quieter and quieter as the days progressed.

The man had reduced himself to nothing more than a silent shadow. The lords and ladies along the route had maintained only the bare minimum of etiquette toward the man. A select few treated him with as much respect as the rest of his noble company. However, there was a moment when the lords and ladies first saw his face, a moment where they had to check their reactions at the sight of him.

All thoughts of Jax’s odd mood vanished like pennons flapping in the wind. Sand changed to a more soil-like consistency, and large palms appeared in the growing density of the city. Norin waited before her.

It was a city unlike any she had ever witnessed before, and it had surely been built by giants. The outer wall of Norin was so tall that Vhalla wondered how they had engineered mechanisms to carry stones that high. The houses within the outer wall were constructed of clay and wood, simple structures packed one atop the other in a mission to rival the wall with their height. Vhalla remembered Master Mohned’s history, and she wondered if this was the place that he had grown up. The thought was quickly accompanied by a pang of sorrow at the fact that her master likely met an untimely demise at the hand of Victor.

The inner wall of Norin separated the squalor of the slums from the working and middle classes. At present, men and women lined the streets in the first section of the city; common folk, lords, ladies, merchants, dignities, and all shades between them encroached on Vhalla and Aldrik’s forward progression. Vhalla would have felt uneasy by the mass had they not been happily crying her name alongside Aldrik’s.

They threw rose pedals from rooftops and sent tongues of flame into the sky. They waved small pennons, all crying for her attention. Men, women, children, all reached for those who had returned from the dead to lead them. Vhalla was thankful for the strong legs of the horse beneath her.

The castle of Norin appeared before them, stretching up in defiance against the sky. In the sunlight, the clay and stone used in the construction seemed to glow scarlet. A red castle that skewered the sky with its flat-topped spires and arched walls. It was set apart from the most affluent section of the city by a wide, dry moat, a single drawbridge spanning the distance.

Vhalla understood how the West had nearly taken a decade to fall.

“My lady.” Aldrik pulled her from her thoughts by offering her his palm.

Vhalla shifted Lightning’s reins into one hand in order to take his hand. In the light of the sun, before all their subjects, the Emperor and future Empress rode together. Vhalla wondered if the people had ever seen the man with a wider smile across his lips.

She doubted it.

A man waited for them at the end of the drawbridge, a man who was the spitting image of Aldrik, plus a few years, gray hairs, and darker skin. The courtyard surrounding the drawbridge entrance was filled to the brim with people, so much so that the newcomers could barely cross. Lord Ophain met them halfway atop his massive War-strider.

“The Emperor Solaris has returned home to the West!” Lord Ophain announced proudly.

“It is my honor to be among so many of my kind once more,” Aldrik replied. Despite being close to each other, they shouted in an attempt for all to hear.

“But you have not come alone.” The lord’s verbal dance for the people’s sake was obvious.

“No.” Aldrik raised their joined hands slightly, putting them on display. Vhalla swallowed any discomfort, reminding herself that this was now her world and her duty. “I have come with the first Windwalker in nearly a century and a half. She is the hero of the North, a lady of two courts, a woman who has not only saved my life countless times but is one whom I have found to be peerless.”

For being a man who had a reputation for not being well loved, Aldrik had a natural talent for working the people into a frenzy. The cries of the masses nearly deafened her as he rose her hand to his mouth, kissing its back.

“I present to you all the woman I have chosen to be your Empress, the Lady Vhalla Yarl!”

After that, all hope for further announcement was lost as the raves for an Imperial wedding drowned out everything. Lord Ophain said a few more things to Aldrik as they began moving once more, but Vhalla couldn’t hear the words. Her free hand had been lost to the outstretched palms of the people surrounding them. They reached for her as though she was the hope by which their lives depended.

Vhalla would do all she could to not let that hope be in vain.

The cries echoed with them as they started down the drawbridge, finally free to move once more. They steered their mounts toward waiting stable hands, who stood immediately within the castle. Aldrik relinquished her hand for his reins once out of sight of the people, and Vhalla breathed a small sigh of relief at no longer being on display. As proud as she was to be his, there were some feelings that Vhalla knew would take time for her to become accustomed to.

“It is truly good to see you, Uncle,” Aldrik said as he dismounted.

“I prayed to the Mother every day for your safe arrival.” The two men briefly embraced as the horses were led away.

“I did not think I would ever have the opportunity to see you again,” Vhalla said as she dismounted and adjusted the cape about her shoulders.

“I confess, there was a time where I, too, was uncertain.” The lord rested both hands on her shoulders in a familial motion. “But I should have known the Mother would not intertwine two people so carefully, only to deny them.” Ophain released her and moved toward the castle. “Now, there is much to be done.”

“We will need to organize a careful timeline,” Aldrik agreed.

“Indeed, but first,” the lord of the West paused and gave a conspiratorial smile to Vhalla, “there is someone who I think very much wishes to see you.”

Vhalla stared at the lord while she mentally reminded her heart to beat. “Where is he?”

“Just up the stairs to the right when you first enter. We’ll all go together.”

She couldn’t wait. Vhalla bounded away as fast as her feet could carry her. Her heart pounded, and she felt dizzy. Every feeling that she had suppressed about her father traveling alone to Norin came rushing to her all at once. She prayed she hadn’t misunderstood the lord’s unspoken meaning about who waited to see her.

Vhalla skidded to a stop at the wide open doors to a parlor. They framed a man who stood looking out over the window at the city below. The trellised glass perfectly framed the street she had just rode upon.

Her father’s Eastern hair and complexion looked odd in the bright colors of Western fashions. She’d never seen him in a vest before, and it fit him so well that it nearly took years off his appearance. The man turned at the sound of the panting woman.

“Papa!” Vhalla cried.

“Little bird.” He didn’t quite share the same shock at her existence as she did for his.

Rex Yarl opened his arms and accepted his daughter—windswept, sun-kissed, sandy, armored—into his embrace. Vhalla held him fiercely, her face pressed into his shoulder. She hugged him as though he would disappear the moment she let go, like nothing more than a wishful illusion.

But he was still there as her arms finally slackened and Vhalla took a step away. Vhalla studied him carefully, looking for the smallest thing amiss. But her father was as he’d always been. Sun-leathered, burnished skin folded around his gentle smile.

“You made it.” She beamed from ear to ear. “You made it before the gate. You’re here, in Norin!”

“Did you ever doubt me?” Rex said with mock offense.

“Of course not.” Vhalla shook her head and allowed herself to fully believe her own half-truth. “How long ago did you arrive?”

“Not too long before you.” He motioned to a large recessed area before the hearth. “I hoped to be a pleasant surprise.”

Vhalla took in the room for the first time. The hearths were decorated in mosaic tile and precious gems that went from floor to ceiling and lined the bottoms of the wooden beams that broke up the clay ceiling. The floors were wooden and stained a deep red. Their polish picked up the silver accents throughout the space.

“Papa, you’re limping!” Her attention was quickly restored to her father the moment they started for the sitting area.

“It’s nothing.”

“What happened?” Vhalla asked, concern lacing every word as she unnecessarily helped her father sit.

“Oh, I was clumsy.” He laughed the laugh she so loved. “I made it all the way to Norin without problem only to slip on some stairs and bend my ankle oddly.”

Vhalla rolled her eyes and collapsed down next to him. She avoided the lush fabrics of the pillows and blankets in the sitting space and instead chose the hard wood around it. Her armor was likely to snag on fine fabric and her boots would grind in dust so fine it would be impossible to get out.

“You should be more careful,” she scolded, starting on the clips of her cape. “What if you really hurt yourself ? You would’ve had me worrying the whole time while I was here.”

“And the last thing I want you doing is worrying during your wedding,” her father interjected.

Vhalla paused and time stopped. Her father had known about her and Aldrik in the East. But something had changed; the way he looked at her now was completely different from any gaze her father had given her before.

Rex picked up her discarded cape thoughtfully. His fingers ran over the emblem of the sun reverently even as he folded it. Her father, the soldier, he’d been the one to instill in her the deep concern and reverence for their Empire and those who stood as its figureheads. Now she had become a person her father would always look to.

It was an odd reversal from the man whom Vhalla had always admired.

“You looked like an Empress out there, little bird.” There was a note in her father’s voice that made Vhalla’s heart want to break.

“It was what she was born to do,” a voice as dark as midnight slid across the room in agreement.

Vhalla turned. Aldrik and Ophain had finally caught up. Elecia was in their company as well and stood beside a woman Vhalla assumed easily was Elecia’s mother. The woman had the exact same rich shade of darkened skin and beautifully curled hair that seemed to defy gravity in its brilliance.

Bringing up the last of the nobility were two more women. They both had straight dark hair and piercing black eyes. One was shorter and carried a little more weight on her form. She wore her hair cut at the shoulders with a side-swept fringe. The other was tall, but sturdy—much like Aldrik’s build—and had a long thick braid running down her back. Vhalla knew who they were without the need for introduction. Their high cheekbones and thin lips marked them of the Ci’Dan stock. Aldrik’s aunts.

“Let me help you.” Aldrik sat next to Vhalla as the rest of the company assumed places around the perimeter of the sitting area before the hearth. His fingers deftly reached for the clips that were in hard to reach places, allowing Vhalla to shed her metal skin.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Yarl,” Elecia’s mother said, breaking the short silence on behalf of the group.

“Likewise, Lady . . .”

“Ioine,” the woman finished for her with a bright smile. “Though no title is necessary.”

“Then I must ask the same, just Vhalla.”

“Are you certain?” The woman had an easy elegance about her. It was quickly apparent who Elecia modeled herself after.

“Of course. We are to be family.” Vhalla put the matter to rest with that simple truth.

“Family, indeed,” added the woman with the braid, as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Vhalla struggled to assess if the motion was hostile, skeptical, or merely curious. “I apologize; I’ve not yet caught your names.”

“Tina.”

“I am Lilo.” The younger woman smiled wide enough to make up for her sister’s blank expression.

“An honor to meet you both.” Vhalla gave a small nod of her head in respect. It didn’t matter that she would be the Empress in a short turn of the moon. These women were Western princesses. They had been commanding respect for decades before Vhalla was even alive.

“We have heard much about you.” Tina was as expressionless as Aldrik was when Vhalla had first met him.

“I can only imagine.” Vhalla didn’t let her voice waver. The woman was trying to intimidate her, and Vhalla was determined to disappoint her in that endeavor.

“There is good reason why the West has not had much surprise regarding your betrothal,” Tina spoke as castle help entered the room to serve dark Western tea and rice pressed into shapes. “The Western court has been rampant with talk over the woman who not only earned the first crimson proclamation in years but also earned the prince’s heart.

“And then,” she continued. “It was rampant with the Knights of Jadar howling foul against that same woman. Crying wrongs against them. You can see how it could be difficult to know what to think.”

“Actually, I cannot.” The woman arched a dark eyebrow at Vhalla’s remark. “I would think that you should know exactly what to think of anyone who displeased the Knights of Jadar. Those who have so wrongfully cast aside your noble lineage in exchange for madness and fools’ missions.”

The corners of Tina’s mouth tensed briefly. Vhalla would have missed it had she not just spent years of her life breaking down the subtle mannerisms of the most private man in the Empire. Acceptance flashed across her face as she reveled in the momentary amusement Vhalla had provided her.

“Speaking of families and upsetting the Knights of Jadar,” Lord Ophain interrupted as he set his glass aside with a chuckle, “we have a wedding to plan. The false king’s seat has been successfully thrown into question with our current successes against his forces and the truth that both of you live. To meet your aggressive date, there are quite a few details to be formalized.”

“I think a wedding will be just what the people need,” Lilo chimed in brightly. “Take their minds off decay and death, and give them a reason to be happy. Your wedding will be such a joyous reminder that the sun still burns brightly.”

“Speaking of, let us show you our home, Lady Yarl.” Tina stood. “This is not where the ceremony would be, but the audiences leading up to the wedding and the revelries following would occur within these halls. You should know the place that is to become your home as well.”

“A wonderful idea, sister!” Lilo was on her feet as well. “Then we can show you your chambers, as I’m sure you’re tired from the day’s ride.”

“Very well.” Vhalla would agree to anything if she felt it would make things go faster. Her wedding was evolving into more of a chore than she’d ever expected. Every mention of it brought back memories of the decisions she had to make about the East’s defense. Her people were dying and she was planning a party. “Father, would you like to come?”

“Leave the men to chat,” Tina spoke before her father had a chance.

Elecia and Ioine stood as well at the subtle command.

Vhalla raised her chin and looked the Western woman in the eye for a long, hard moment. She had just reunited with her father after fearing for his life. Being told to dismiss him didn’t sit well with Vhalla, and the words slipped her lips before she could stop them. “Father, would you like to join me as they show me the castle?” Vhalla asked again slowly, ignoring Tina’s order.

Aldrik tore his eyes away from the exchange, hiding his face in the process. Vhalla could’ve sworn she saw a satisfied smile escaping across his mouth.

“My ankle still pains me,” her father refused gently. “Plus, I have had a few days to explore. You enjoy it now.”

“Take dinner with me later.” Vhalla knelt to kiss both her father’s cheeks. “I want to catch up with you.”

“I won’t refuse that, little bird.”

“Good, I didn’t want to have to beg you,” she teased lightly.

“Enjoy the home of my forefathers.” Aldrik caught her hand, holding it for a long moment before relinquishing her once more. His eyes shifted to his eldest aunt. “Do not show her the library.”

“There’s a library?” Vhalla gasped.

“Call me selfish.” His mouth curled into an irresistible and utterly unapologetic smirk. “Take care of her, Aunt Tina.”

“Yes, my Emperor.” Tina revealed the most expression Vhalla had seen from her when the woman referred to Aldrik as such.

Vhalla was led out of the room, with Elecia and her mother following. She barely contained a belated eye roll at the thought of Tina’s previous suggestion. Perhaps outlawing the notion of “words amongst men” would be her first decree as Empress. As far as Vhalla had ever experienced, men and women spoke the same words and there was no reason why men couldn’t say certain things in her presence.

Her ire quickly faded to awe as she marveled at every wonder the castle held. In the richness of its history, the home of Mhashan’s ruling family rivaled the palace in the Southern capital. In architecture and art, they could not be more different. There were countless rooms to sit and lounge within. Steel rang out on steel from well-fitted training grounds. Hundreds of years of history were packed into every hall.

“How did you and Aldrik meet?” Tina asked as they strolled through a large room of statues and paintings.

“Through notes in a book,” Vhalla answered vaguely. She tried to make a show of studying the sculpture before her to avoid further questioning. It didn’t work.

The woman arched a dark eyebrow. “Notes in a book?”

Vhalla briefly wondered if the ability to do so was passed down in the family or if they were tutored in it. She’d seen Aldrik give her the same inquisitive look countless times. Her palm rested on her lower stomach without thought. Would their children make such a look?

“They were notes that were ultimately of help to him.” Vhalla didn’t want to give up much more than that, as the thought of their lost Bond hurt. “He reached out to me after that.”

“That was forward and most unlike our nephew.” Tina may as well have screamed that she suspected there was more to Vhalla’s story than she was being told.

“Well, I didn’t know it was him for the longest time.” Vhalla smiled faintly at the memory of their first notes exchanged. “I called him a phantom then.”

“He did have a liking for all things dark,” Lilo agreed. “Though he seems to have finally taken to the color of his station.”

“The color doesn’t matter.” Vhalla strolled onward as she mused. “Underneath it all, he will always be Aldrik, the man who was born to lead us.”

“And . . .” Tina stepped into Vhalla’s personal space. Her voice dropped to a hush, glancing pointedly at the guards positioned at the far ends of the room. “Do you know clearly what that is? What lies underneath the clothes he wears?”

“What?” Vhalla spun, frowning up at the much taller woman. Elecia sniggered, and Vhalla felt a flush on her cheeks. All hope of denial was gone, and Vhalla shot her friend a frustrated glare.

“My dear.” Tina wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pushing Vhalla along to the next painting. “Do not be shy. We have our suspicions already. Your secrets are safe with us.”

“We would never hurt our little Aldrik.” Lilo linked her arm with Vhalla’s open one, effectively pinning her between the two sisters. “Remember, he’s all we have left of our sister.”

They stopped at a large portrait, and Vhalla’s breath caught in her throat. The woman sat, swathed in an Imperial white robe with a golden trim. A crimson shawl about her shoulders pooled on the floor. One hand held a mote of flame, the other a golden scepter with a sun at the top. The fire that lived in her eyes existed beyond death and time. It was complemented by a familiar curl at the corners of her mouth, betraying an air of confidence that could easily border on arrogance. Angular eyes and high cheekbones were framed by long black hair that fell under her shoulders unbound.

The woman looked like authority incarnate. She looked as though she could kill the person who stood before her—or save them for a heaven that man had never known. She was everything Vhalla would have expected Aldrik’s mother to be, and more.

“Would she have liked me?” Vhalla murmured, the thought escaping her mind as a quiet musing.

“For what you have done for her son, she would have loved you,” Lilo answered before Tina could.

“She looks just like him.” Vhalla realized that Aldrik was already older than the woman in the painting. That idea carried a new weight to his mother’s death. Vhalla was nearly the age at which his mother had died.

“The Ci’Dan blood is strong,” Tina said proudly. “I am sure your children will look much like him also.”

Vhalla couldn’t speak. She grabbed her shirt above her stomach where a phantom pain rippled through her at the thought. Elecia looked on with silent concern as Vhalla struggled to find the right words. She’d already failed once; she had traded the future where an heir was assured. Now she carved her own path, and no one knew what that may hold.

“Do not be nervous, dear!” Lilo sensed the right emotion but for the wrong reasons.

“Listen to my sister,” Tina agreed. “After all, your greatest duty will be producing an heir.”

“What?” Vhalla freed herself of the women’s grips so she could read their facial expressions. She’d always known such to be a fact of their union. But, her greatest duty?

“Surely, Aldrik has spoken on it . . . As soon as you are wed, you will need to bear him an heir.”

“After the war,” Vhalla whispered.

“That won’t do.” Tina shook her head and spoke as though she was leading a child into the world for the first time. “We live in uncertain times. You will need to leave the fighting in the South to him and the armies.”

“But—” Vhalla wasn’t even allowed protest.

“If he dies, the Solaris name will then live on. You can rule in his stead until the heir is of age,” Tina continued. No matter how much love she spoke of her nephew, the words rang heartless. “This will ensure the future stability of the Empire. We can keep you safe here as you bring the child to term.”

“No.” Vhalla repeated herself before the softness in her objection could be mistaken for weakness, “No.”

“Vhalla, this is—”

“This is for the best? Is that what you will tell me?” Vhalla stared intently at Aldrik’s aunt and, for once, the woman held her tongue. “Forgive me, but you know nothing about our history—not really. So I am uninclined to entertain your opinions. Separating me from Aldrik has only ever led to heartbreak and misfortune.”

Vhalla paused, choosing to speak another truth, a deeper truth. “I may be a woman and I may be his lady, but I am capable of doing something that even he cannot. It is something beyond crowns and titles, and it cannot be given or passed along.” Vhalla stood tall with the portrait of Aldrik’s mother at her back.

“Aldrik can produce an heir with any woman who is healthy and of age. He can share the seed of the Empire so long as that one functional requirement is met. He cannot bring down the tyrant which spills the blood of our people. He cannot touch crystals as I can. He does not know them as I do. He has not been taken to the Father’s halls and brought back for the purpose of saving this world, of breaking the vortex that spins outward from the Crystal Caverns. He cannot destroy the monster that has been wrought from greed and put an end to it once and for all.

“But I can.” Wind swirled around her fingertips. “I can do those things. So if you are truly so worried for the stability of the Empire, then keep Aldrik here. Let me fight alone, and should I die, then let him bear the heir you so desire.”

The three women she’d just met stared at her in dumb shock.

“However . . .” Vhalla couldn’t help a knowing smirk from playing on her lips. “Do tell me if you plan on suggesting such a course to him. For, from what I know of my Aldrik, he will not handle the notion of sitting by while I fight as gracefully as I have endured the reverse suggestion. His reaction to such a thought is a sight I would much enjoy being privy to.”

Vhalla looked between the four women, as if daring one of them to speak an objection. The wind slowly fell from her hands, and Vhalla questioned herself briefly. But only as briefly as a breath. She was the Empress-to-be, and Empresses did not doubt. They were confident and graceful creatures full of knowing smiles and organized secrets. Vhalla would soon be of the same rank as the portrait of the woman at her back.

“But please.” She forced her face to relax and was proud when it fell into a sincere smile. “Do not think I will avoid future counsel.”

“Right,” Tina remarked cautiously as Vhalla proceeded to the next statue.

There were no future suggestions or recommendations on how Vhalla should act as Empress. They were quieter when she spoke and more attentive to her words from then on. Vhalla watched, without fully realizing, as the women from one of the oldest and noble families in the West submitted before her. They never did so physically, but they bent knee long before the others who would come to her throne in the days to follow.

VHALLA SHIFTED IN her seat. It was the first time she had sat on a throne—though that was a loose term for where she was now located—and all she could think was how uncomfortable it was. She was positioned at Aldrik’s right hand on a raised platform at the end of a long audience chamber. They sat upon legless chairs with their seats flat on the ground, simple compared to the thrones of the South. But what the furniture lacked in its simplicity, the room made up for in its opulence.

The wall behind them was decorated almost entirely in silver and ruby. It had script covering it that told the story of the very first King of Mhashan, written in the native tongue. The silver crept into the wall to their right, running the length of the room and glinting on the highly polished floors. Columns framed wide openings to their left, overlooking all of Norin—the world that they ruled on display before them.

It was certainly a space that had been designed to evoke humility at the might of the two who sat in the most revered spot. Rather than clashing with it, Vhalla blended in. They had dressed her in the traditional clothing of the West. Shining silks and intricate embroidery turned reds and golds into textile artworks.

On her bottom half was a large and flowing split skirt with a band of red trim. A crimson vest was worn atop a flowing shirt of golden silk, fitted that morning to her measurements. Pearl buttons made a line up the middle of her breastbone to the high collar that extended up towards her ears. Her hair had been coiffed and held in place by a delicate golden band, although it was determined to escape.

Aldrik was dressed in the same fashion, and Vhalla kept glancing at him from the corners of her eyes. He wore loose white trousers and a long-sleeved shirt beneath his own fitted tunic that was decorated in crimson suns. A large red scarf had been wrapped many times over his shoulders and it bore a long tail that he folded and carried expertly over his arm.

He’d easily transitioned from the fitted, modern, military fashions to Mhashan’s traditional garb. Aldrik was poised and relaxed, the small golden crown across his brow making no difference in his dealings with the lords and ladies who came before them. Vhalla had not yet been bestowed a crown of her own.

Vhalla struggled to pay attention as the endless rotation of lords and ladies were ushered in and out of the large silver doors at the far end of the hall. Had the discussion strayed to anything that seemed remotely important, she would’ve been eager to lend her insights and opinions. But, for the most part, Aldrik seemed to be on repeat, and the nobility only varied their script slightly.

The Emperor began by giving a court member his thanks for their unwavering loyalty. The lords and ladies would then humble themselves and offer up some empty compliment or blessing on their union. Aldrik would promise that their loyalty would not be forgotten after the war, and Vhalla would chime in with hopes that their families would maintain positive relationships for years to come.

Repeat, again, and again.

It was a tiresome dance for her. Vhalla understood the necessity on paper, but she had a harder time coming to terms with it in practice. Aldrik had insisted on it late the night before and reiterated it that morning. He explained that there was more than met the eye to what was being done, that it served as a visual display of their power as a unified force. That the process inspired loyalty by discouraging others from being the “odd one out”, which could lead to dissention.

Vhalla hoped that the Knights of Jadar would show their faces. They wouldn’t dare bring Jadar’s armed phoenix into the hall, but Vhalla hoped they felt forced to come and kneel before her. The idea of that satisfaction helped sustain her through the first half of the day and into lunch.

“We should resume soon.” Aldrik had hardly touched his food. He’d been focused on the letters his uncle had given him. Vhalla’s plate looked much the same as she’d been engaged in discussing news from the East and North.

“How many more are there?” she attempted to ask casually.

“Not too many,” Aldrik encouraged.

“You’re certain this is more important than reviewing troops?” Vhalla motioned to the letters.

“I am.” The Emperor stood. “My uncle can review the letters and help the East, but he cannot sit for us in the audience hall.”

“It is my honor to see the East protected,” Ophain encouraged.

“Thank you.” Vhalla relented with a tired smile.

“Endure this a little longer.” Aldrik stopped her before they crossed the threshold back into the public chambers. “I have something special for you when we finish.”

“Something special?”

“Yes, assuming my aunt granted my wishes of not taking you to the castle library.” Aldrik removed his crown and adjusted his hair, soothing any fly-aways from its slicked-back perfection.

“I wondered how long you could keep it from me,” Vhalla teased.

“Not very long, clearly.” He cupped her cheek, caressing it with his thumb. “Would it please you?”

“How is that even a question?”

They shared a knowing grin and were off again. Vhalla continued to dutifully play her part as both future leader and respecting wife. Some of the friendlier noblemen specifically asked her questions, and Aldrik remained silent so that Vhalla could establish herself as their Empress. Unsurprisingly, he later had critiques on her approach.

She listened as dutifully as possible, but the second dust and parchment hit her nose, all hope was lost. The library was at the top of the castle, not far from the hall that held their quarters. Vhalla clutched Aldrik’s arm in heart-pounding anticipation. But nothing could have prepared her for one of the most beautiful sights she’d ever seen.

The hexagon extended upward five floors, managing to be both intimate and expansive. Blood red carpet covered the usual hardwoods of the West, muffling her footfalls. The furniture was a mix of lower Western styles for lounging and higher Southern styles for studying. Two fireplaces crackled opposite each other, filling the bottom level with warmth and an inviting glow. Flame bulbs carried the glow upward, positioned on the six red beams that stretched up through the rows of bookcases at each of the hexagon’s points. A massive iron chandelier lit the upper two floors and washed the room in a pleasant ambient light.

Despite the library’s size, each shelf was crammed full. Narrow walkways outlined each level, giving access to the plethora of knowledge. Vhalla tried to assess how many books this library contained in comparison to the library in the Southern capital, and added the two together to gage the size of the entire Imperial collection.

“Do you like it?”

Vhalla didn’t know if her head spun from the wondrousness of it all or his voice rumbling at her back. “It is amazing.”

“And it is all yours.” His hands smoothed over the silk covering her shoulders.

Vhalla felt like a princess. It hit her all at once. Like a fairytale come true. She was garbed in foreign finery, revered as nobility, preparing to marry the Emperor. It was more than she could’ve ever dreamed—and it had come at a cost that was far greater than she could’ve ever imagined.

“Mine,” she repeated softly.

“Every book in our Empire will belong to you. It will be your choice if you share them or keep them.” He intertwined his fingers with hers, beginning to lead her up a side stair.

“Knowledge should always be shared,” Vhalla decreed thoughtfully.

“I don’t know if I agree.” He surprised her as they rounded the second stair. Aldrik continued, “If we could have kept the knowledge of the caverns from Egmun, Victor would have never known to pursue them.”

“But,” Vhalla followed his logic, “if I had known the full truth about the caverns from the start, I may have done some things differently.”

“A fair point,” he conceded.

All talk on the failures of the past and what knowledge—or the lack of—had wrought ceased as Aldrik led her through a small door wedged between bookcases. Vhalla blinked against the bright unfiltered sunlight in contrast to the dim light of the library. A wave of heat hit her cheeks, followed by the quiet whispers of wind through leaves. A familiar scent greeted her nose.

Her senses adjusted, and Vhalla took in the garden before her. It was familiar, yet different, from the smaller glass greenhouse in the Southern palace where she had read with Aldrik. This was its own room, tucked into the walls of the castle tower. Glass replaced stone on two of the walls and above. Roses, giant and beautiful, wound up trellises that arched over the pathway cutting through the modestly sized space.

“This way.” Aldrik hooked her arm, offering no further explanation.

Vhalla was well aware of where they were. It was as though the wind itself here had been trapped by time, weighted in the scent of roses. There was the hum of magic around them, different and yet so very similar to the man who was leading her toward a marble obelisk. The figure of a woman sat atop it, a ruby sun at her back. She recognized it from a dream of Aldrik’s she’d viewed so long ago.

“This was her garden,” Vhalla stated.

“It was.” Aldrik looked only momentarily surprised at Vhalla’s ability to piece together where he had taken her. “My father proposed to her here, asking the youngest of three princesses to take a throne that she was never meant to have.”

Vhalla attempted to push her resentment for the former Emperor aside. In some ways, he was like her original perceptions of the North. Vhalla had a very limited scope as to who the late Emperor Solaris really was. She’d known him during the final years of his life, the point in time where all he’d seemed to covet was his Empire and his legacy.

But perhaps—behind the weathered, bearded, and scarred face of the Emperor she knew—there had been a young man. A man who had been as attractive as Aldrik. Vhalla saw a woman who was tall, given Aldrik’s family’s propensity to height, looming over a kneeling Emperor. She would make him wait, in Vhalla’s vision. The late Princess Fiera would be one to smile coyly and keep her true wants hidden just long enough to make the man tremble, to remind him that she was in control.

“They must have loved each other very much.”

“So my family tells me.” Aldrik didn’t look anywhere but his mother’s face. “My father took rose clippings and had them transported South for her so that she would feel at home.”

“A garden she never saw,” Vhalla thought sadly.

“My father told me once that he was still glad for building it. That it helped my mother live on. Though, eventually, I think it caused him more hurt than anything.”

“So you took up the mantle of tending to it.” Vhalla reflected on Aldrik’s story, on the history that she had, for so long, barely understood surrounding his family. His mother had given up ever seeing that garden, ever spending time in it, for the sake of saving her son from madmen.

Vhalla’s eyes met the statue’s once more, and she wished she could speak with the woman whose visage she now looked upon. Vhalla understood what had compelled Aldrik’s mother to run to the caverns that night, and it was something they now shared across time and life and death. She had known a truth about the world. Be it of her own insight or of some unknown guidance—like a Firebearer named Vi—Aldrik’s mother had known what the caverns could reap.

It would stop with her, Vhalla vowed. She would end the cycle that they were trapped within, enslaved to the Caverns across time and generations. It would all end with her.

Over the next week, Vhalla tolerated the audiences with the lords and ladies with poise. She smiled and said the expected words, doing what was now the dance of her station. It began to pay off in the war councils that were held in the evening.

She was discovering how strong the West really was and how deep old Mhashan’s pockets ran. Vhalla began to ransack the library for records of famous noble families and began keeping a list of their names, which she reviewed at night. By day, she would smile wide and loudly praise lords and ladies from these houses. Unsurprisingly, it became just that much easier to secure promises for supplies for the war and checks to be cashed when it came time to rebuild the Empire.

Aldrik must have pieced together what she was doing, but he made no comment against it. In the language of the Emperor, his silence was as good as resounding approval. So when the Le’Dan family appeared on their docket for the morning, Vhalla knew she was about to deal with the second oldest family in the West, the only name to rival power against the Ci’Dans.

“I am sure Richard will have much to say regarding your union.” Ophain passed the list of appearances for the day back to Aldrik.

“I’m familiar with how that family operates. You forget that my brother kept a Le’Dan on his guard,” Aldrik replied.

She’d overlooked it. Vhalla had known Erion’s last name, but she’d been so wrapped up in everything else. Her spoon paused on the plate, shuffling her food like the thoughts in her head.

“My Emperor.” A thought had occurred to her. “Let me lead the meeting with the Le’Dans.”

Ophain and Aldrik both gave her shifting stares. Their expressions went from startled, to surprised, to intrigued.

“I’ve been listening,” she explained. “I know what to say and what to do. And I think it would be wise.”

“Why so?” Aldrik didn’t seem to be objecting.

“Because your family holds bad blood with them. Whereas I doubt the Le’Dan name has any distaste for clan Yarl.” Vhalla grinned slyly and was given a similar expression in return from Aldrik. “Beyond that, in the North, Erion said his family stood with the Windwalker. Given light of recent events, I want to be the one to talk to them.”

Comprehension raised Aldrik’s brows a fraction. The Golden Guard had been entrusted to protect her alongside the crown. She wanted to be the one to apologize for the death of their son. She needed to be.

“Very well. You shall lead.”

The contents of Vhalla’s stomach mirrored a spinner’s wheel all morning. Every lord and lady that was marched in was one closer to the Le’Dans. She was just thankful they were the last before lunch, otherwise Vhalla was certain that she wouldn’t have been able to eat a thing.

“The Lords Richard and Erion, accompanied by Lady Cara Le’Dan,” the doorman at the end of the hall announced.

Vhalla was on her feet.

“Vhalla—” Aldrik hissed.

She didn’t hear. All she saw was the doors swing open. A man she didn’t recognize stood alongside a pretty Southern woman. Vhalla’s eyes widened at the cane-wielding soldier standing to the man’s right.

“Erion!” Her slippers made no sound as Vhalla sprinted across the length of the hall. She threw her arms around his waist and pulled him in for a tight embrace, her momentum nearly toppling the unsuspecting and unsteady lord.

“Son, you didn’t tell us you were so close to the future Empress,” the man to her right remarked with a chuckle.

“Easterners.” Erion clearly didn’t know how to handle her unexpected affection.

“You’re all right.” Vhalla looked up at Erion’s face. He had dark circles under his eyes, and there were gray strands of hair that Vhalla hadn’t seen before. But he was alive. “I was given no indication, I thought, Daniel said—”

“Daniel?” Erion’s face became serious. “You spoke to Daniel?”

“We found him on the way to the East,” Vhalla tried to explain hastily. “He was feeling, he said that Craig had—”

“My lady,” Aldrik interrupted her sharply.

Vhalla turned back toward the Emperor, who still held his place on the raised section of the room. Vhalla knew she had completely botched the test she had earned from him in this respect. She straightened, taking a deep breath. If she had already broken all decorum, she may as well do whatever she wanted at this point.

“My Emperor, I did not realize that I would have an old friend among our company. As I have already disturbed this audience, I seek your permission to escort my friend through the galleries.”

Aldrik was visibly conflicted. It wasn’t an elegant situation no matter what they did. The worst thing he could do would be to refuse her now and make the interaction awkward.

“Very well.” Aldrik forced a horribly fake smile. “If the Lord and Lady Le’Dan give their permission as well for you to not be in attendance for their audience.”

“Of course, my lord,” Richard Le’Dan said hastily. “We would never wish to go against your lady’s desires.”

Vhalla heard Aldrik begin speaking a somewhat different script than usual as the doors closed behind her and Erion. It took a lot to throw Aldrik off balance, and Vhalla wasn’t sure if she should be proud or concerned at the fact that she had accomplished it without even trying.

“My lady.” Erion offered her his elbow.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Vhalla asked as she hastily took his arm. She tried to subtly offer him support on his wobbling legs, remembering what Daniel had said about Victor’s abuse.

“Not even in the slightest.” He shook his head. “You said you had news of Daniel?”

Vhalla’s chest tightened. She recounted the story of how she had found Daniel, glossing over some of the darker aspects of his mental state. The distance in Erion’s eyes told her that he already had a reason to suspect how bad it had actually been. It was out of respect for the horrors that the man had so clearly known that Vhalla left out the fact that Daniel’s hometown, the place that she had left him, had fallen to Victor’s troops.

“You inherit an Empire full of broken and half-people, Vhalla.” Erion motioned to his now lame legs with his cane.

His trousers hid what she suspected to be scarred and ravaged flesh. In truth, she was surprised he was walking at all after Daniel’s testament regarding the injury. The young lord watched her face tensely.

“I will kill him.” She didn’t apologize. Apologies wouldn’t return Erion the life he had earned as a warrior, that he had fashioned for himself since he was a boy. They were men and women of action. She’d offer him solutions. “I can find you work here, in the palace.”

“I decline your offer.” Erion’s cane clicked along softly. “But I will thank you for it.”

“Are you certain? I know you cannot fight, but you have a wealth of experience with tactics and—”

“And most of my brainpower has been spent healing and relearning how to walk. Most of my willpower goes to getting out of bed.” The words were heavy. “My days for battle are over, and I am sick of its taste. I may never expunge the blood from my dreams, but I am done washing it off my hands for this lifetime. I’ve decided to manage my family’s shop here in Norin, and learn the trade of my forefathers.” They began walking again. “When you win the war, the Empire will need to be rebuilt. That will take gold, and gold comes from commerce. I hope to serve our Empire in that way. I’m commissioning some ships to be made for longer trips to the Crescent Continent, even.”

“Have you ever been?” Vhalla remembered what the Emperor had said about the magic of the Crescent Continent.

“The journey across the barrier islands is perilous and one not many dare make.” Erion shook his head. “I am merely orchestrating the voyages.”

“Right,” Vhalla mused, mostly to herself. Perhaps the difficulty was a good thing.

“Have you been to the harbor in Norin yet?” Erion asked.

“I haven’t even left the castle since we arrived,” Vhalla confessed.

“I imagine a soon-to-be Empress would be busy. But if you find the time, it’s a wonderful place and unlike anything you’ll see anywhere else. I’d offer to escort you there myself but—” he looked down at his legs. “I think you would prefer a guard who could actually protect you should something go awry.”

“Oh, I’m sure if I left the castle that Aldrik or—” Vhalla stopped herself for a second, quickly collecting her thoughts. “Have you seen Jax yet?”

“No, I was going to head to him after our audience. I was quite elated to see him well and riding at your side.”

Vhalla studied the brotherly smile on Erion’s cheeks. This man had been Baldair’s right hand, and they’d both held Jax in high esteem. Two men, who Vhalla had nothing but respect for, deemed Jax acceptable. Combined with Elecia and Aldrik’s general acceptance . . .

“How can you call yourself his friend?” Vhalla blurted.

“Pardon?” Confusion stilled him.

“You defended him in his trial, even after what he did.” She wanted so badly to understand what everyone else seemed to know. Vhalla was giving Jax the benefit of the doubt based on those around her, but she was tired of being expected to have blind faith.

“He told you, then?”

“He did.” She frowned. “I have barely been able to look him in the eye for weeks. I don’t understand.”

“What did he tell you?” Erion asked slowly.

“The truth of how he came to be in Baldair’s service.”

“The truth? Or Jax’s truth?”

His words stopped her heart. Vhalla hadn’t even thought to question that the man would be lying to her. It had been so horrible. Who lied to make something worse than what it was?

“A murder in cold blood for a lover’s revenge?”

“Something like that,” she admitted, wondering the source of the shift in Erion’s eyes.

“Even after all this time,” Erion muttered then cursed under his breath.

“No. What?” she demanded, refusing to let Erion pull away.

“It’s not my place.”

“He said you spoke for him in court.” Vhalla thought quickly, not wanting to let the conversation die. “You can tell me why. That is your place to say.”

Erion considered her for a long, hard moment. “He told you I spoke for him?”

“He did.”

“And you still believed him?”

“Well . . .”

“I’m hurt, Vhalla.” Erion’s expression echoed the truth of his words. “You think I am the type to rise to defend a man who slays innocent women in their beds?” She had no real answer. “Do you think Baldair would permit a man with a history of violence toward the innocent into his guard?”

That was exactly what she’d been struggling to reconcile. “So, he lied about it? Why would he lie?”

“You know his full name. I’m certain, as Empress, you have access to those records.” Erion stepped away. “If you want to know so badly, go and find out.”

“Should I walk you back?” She glanced at the hall from where they’d come.

“I know the way.”

“Erion, I’m glad you’re all right.” Vhalla gave him one more quick embrace. This time the Westerner was ready, and his arms tentatively wrapped around her shoulders.

“I am glad you are as well, and that one of my brothers still defends you as Baldair would have wanted.” There was a waver in Erion’s voice when he said the late prince’s name. “Fight for us all, Vhalla.”

“Always,” she vowed.

He let her go, and Vhalla was off. She tore a path through the castle unapologetically, a woman on a mission. The library wasn’t prepared for her whirlwind as Vhalla scanned the shelves with purpose. The old records were kept on the highest floor, and Vhalla searched for manuscripts and scrolls similar to what was kept in Hastan.

If the truth was on the shelf, she would find it. Manuscripts littered the floor around her, and the scrolls were mostly unrolled. It was in the fifth book that she had finally found what she suspected was the right year. On the first page, Jax’s name stared back at her in the list of trials and decrees the book contained.

Vhalla flipped eagerly, opening to the page.

A frayed edge of parchment stared back at her. The pages, five or six by the looks of it, had all been ripped from the book. Only the first page, introducing the crimes, and the last page dictating the sentence, remained. Vhalla snapped the book shut and took a deep breath. Were some truths better not to find?

She stood, resolute. She’d long since banned lies in her world. It was time to make sure Jax Wendyl understood that fact.

THE DAY WAS hot. It already felt like the late days of summer in the South, but spring was barely upon them. Vhalla’s cheeks were flushed by frustration as much as from the weather.

The guards and soldiers parted before her as she stormed through the grounds. The bottoms of her split skirt brushed upon the hard-packed, sandy dirt, wind flying under her toes. Vhalla clenched and unclenched her fingers.

“Major Jax,” she called the moment she spotted his high bun among a group of soldiers performing drills.

Jax paused. Aldrik had trained her well because Vhalla didn’t miss the flash of panic in his eyes. Her expression had instilled the appropriate amount of concern in him. Maybe this time it’d be enough for him to tell her the truth.

“Why, Lady Yarl, been some time. And here I thought you’d forgotten about little ol’ me,” he chuckled.

“Not quite.” She folded her hands at the small of her back. “I require you.”

“That’s what they all say.” Jax gave a lecherous wink to a nearby soldier, who laughed uncomfortably.

“In there.” Vhalla pointed to a castle entry, a gust of wind unlatching and opening a door.

Jax followed her orders, and she followed him into the privacy of the small storeroom. Her hands were nearly shaking as she eased the door shut, trying not to slam it.

“As much as I appreciate your Western-clad beauty, I feel obligated to tell you that the men will talk.” Jax leaned against a table, adjusting his high bun.

“Why are the records missing?”

Jax froze. His hands slowly fell from his hair. Vhalla watched as the madman began to take over.

“What records are you asking about?”

“Don’t play coy, and don’t lie to me. Your records,” she snapped.

“I never lied to you.”

“How dare you.” The hurt was real. It was just as bad, perhaps even worse, as Jax’s original tale. “You told me I could trust you with my life, and you didn’t trust me with your truth.”

“I did not lie.” The man gripped the table, digging his nails into the wood. “Don’t chase this.”

“You did. I know you did,” she insisted.

“You drew your own conclusions, and I didn’t correct them.” Jax slapped the table and stood upright. “Now leave this be.”

“No.” Vhalla moved in front of the door. “If you are my friend, you will tell me.”

“Who said I wanted to be your friend?” Jax snapped back. “Let me leave, Lady Yarl. And don’t go chasing ghosts again.”

“I will not!” She had such precious few people in the world. The idea of losing Jax to old crimes immolated her senses. Their friendship would only be salvaged if he could trust her.

“Why don’t you just ask Aldrik?” Jax was suddenly unable to look at her.

“I want to hear it from you.” Vhalla lifted her hands, trying to calm them both. “I need to hear it from you.”

“You already heard what I had to say. I owe you nothing more.”

“You didn’t kill her, did you?” Vhalla rested her hands gently on his upper arms.

He flinched at the touch. “I did,” Jax insisted, but his resolve had fractured just enough that he continued. “But I never meant to.”

“What happened?” Vhalla prodded gently.

“Nothing that should have.”

“Was it an accident?” She tried to tilt her head to meet his eyes.

“Partly.”

“Tell me please,” Vhalla whispered. “I want to help you.”

His shoulders began to tremble. Vhalla thought he was crying, but mad laughter echoed hauntingly into her ears. Jax wrenched himself away, throwing out his arms. “Oh, oh you siren. You wretched wench. I see now, I see now how you ensnared Aldrik.” Jax pointed his finger in her face, and Vhalla was too startled to react. “You think you can save everyone. You think you’re a damned Goddess, glowing high above the masses who cower at your feet. You think you can fix the broken and heal the wounded because you want to.”

Fire sparked around his finger, close enough that Vhalla’s nose was nearly burned.

“You want to know something? You-you misbegotten noble, you are as bad as every other who has stepped before you. You are pathetic, useless, inept. You can barely defend yourself, and you think you can defend those you love.”

Vhalla leaned against the door. She endured his insults, his raving. She held her head high and waited out the madness.

“I can help you.” Vhalla had never believed anything more than those four words in that moment.

“You can’t help! I couldn’t help!” Spit flew from his mouth, landing on her cheek. He raged on, “She could not help herself as she ran into the flames to save her father. To save that worthless sack of putrid flesh that didn’t deserve to die a clean death of fire.”

“Her father?”

“Yes, her father, you simpleton!” Jax lunged for her, and Vhalla’s head cracked against the door hard as he shook her by the collar. “What would you have done? Tell me. Tell me! They knew, they all knew, and they didn’t stop him!” he howled. “A father is meant to protect his young, to love them. But not like that. Never like that.”

She blinked away the stars from where Jax had knocked her head. He was right, he hadn’t lied to her. He’d said he’d discovered a man with his bride-to-be, a man who had taken her multiple times. But it hadn’t been just any man. Vhalla felt sick.

“You were trying to save her.”

Jax growled and threw her to the side. He leaned against the door, his head hanging between his arms. His back heaved with his rasping breaths. “Go . . . go and never speak about this ever again.”

“Jax, it wasn’t—”

“Go!” Fire flared over his shoulders as he spun, its heat making her blink water from her eyes. “If you ever speak of this to me again, I do not care who you are, Vhalla Yarl, I do not care what clothes you wear, or what title you bear. I will kill you.”

The man had been pushed far enough. Vhalla took a deep breath and waited for the fire to disappear. It left a dark burnt spot on the ceiling.

“I’m sorry for hurting you and making you recall this.” She rested a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye when she said it. The contact stilled him and panicked him once more. But it was a different kind of panic, something more akin to a lost child than a lunatic.

“I said go,” Jax demanded.

Vhalla obliged him and stepped back into the sunlight of the dusty training ground.

She ignored every look from the soldiers, unashamed of her activities with Jax. There were some things that, as Empress, she didn’t have to explain. Vhalla didn’t want to exercise her authority often or without good reason. But this qualified as a good reason.

Vhalla escaped their eyes and started up a small stair that wound straight up to the king’s and queen’s—or now the Emperor’s and Empress’s—chambers. She made it several steps before she stopped to catch her breath, leaning against the wall for support. Her knees trembled, and her arm couldn’t seem to support her. She slid down the wall and sat on the steps, her chest heaving for air.

She’d gone hunting for the truth, and she had finally found it. But what did she do with it? Aldrik had said that he’d put Jax’s life into her hands. That it would fall to her to pardon the man or let him continue on with his service.

After meeting all the lords and ladies, Vhalla knew that the West valued tradition above all other things. They saw Jax as a fallen lord; pardoning him would likely earn their ire. But Vhalla didn’t want to keep him under her command by holding a leash that she didn’t think was necessary.

Though, did Jax even want to be pardoned? Was justice still just if it went against the person’s fundamental wishes? She had so many questions but not a single answer.

Vhalla pulled herself off the floor. There was someone else she hadn’t fielded thoughts from. Someone who had just as much noble training as Aldrik. Someone else who’d been born to lead.

She knocked on Elecia’s door and waited.

“Enter,” the woman called.

Vhalla obliged and was surprised to find she had company. “Fritz? What’re you doing here?”

“‘Cia is teaching me how to play carcivi.” He pointed to the board that sat on the low table between them.

“‘Cia? Does everyone get to call you ‘Cia but me?” Vhalla joined them in front of the open window.

“We’ll see if I ever deem you worthy,” Elecia joked back. She studied Vhalla for a long moment from the corners of her eyes. “So, future Empress, why are you here when I’m fairly certain you have other far more important people to be meeting?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Me?” She seemed surprised that Vhalla would seek her out.

“Yes. I want your advice,” Vhalla affirmed.

“What about mine?” Fritz squinted at Vhalla, making a show of pouting.

“Yours is always welcome, Fritz.” The Southerner would add a completely different perspective from someone who wasn’t of the West and wasn’t nobility either.

“Don’t you have an Emperor you could ask?” Elecia ignored the carcivi board entirely now, giving Vhalla her full attention.

“I do, but I know what he’ll say. I want to know what you’ll say.” Vhalla gave the skeptical woman a small smile. “What kind of Empress will I be if I ignore some of the best counsel available to me?”

Elecia seemed surprised. She tapped on one of the carcivi tokens for a moment in thought. “Very well, what is it you seek?”

“I spoke with Jax.” Vhalla let the weight of the interaction with Jax pull down her voice, taking the smile off her cheeks with it.

“I see.” Elecia heard everything Vhalla had hoped for.

“I know the truth now.”

“He told you?” Elecia seemed surprised. “The truth? Not one of his colorful lies that he uses to scare people away?”

“He told me one of those first.” Vhalla wanted to put to rest any confusion over what she really did or did not know.

“And you got the truth out of him . . .” There was a concerned glint to Elecia’s voice that Vhalla affirmed with a small nod. Got the truth out of him, that was a good way to put it, because it certainly hadn’t been graceful. “So, if you know, what do you need from me?”

“What are you two talking about?” Fritz reminded them both that he was still there.

Vhalla and Elecia shared an uncertain look. “Fritz—” they started at the same time.

“Fritz,” Vhalla took the lead. This was her responsibility now. She was the one who had dredged it up, she would be the one who would handle it. “Jax is owned by the crown as a punishment for a crime.”

Fritz didn’t seem shocked, but his expression told her clearly that this was the first time he was hearing it put so simply.

“But the crime, however heinous it seems on the surface, isn’t what it appears. He’s innocent.”

“Not quite,” Elecia interjected with a heavy sigh. “He did kill the lord—”

“But, given the circumstances—”

“I understand that.” Elecia held up a hand, indicating that she now had the floor, and Vhalla would wait to speak. “But that fact remains. And while that murder may have been in the defense of another, he killed the lord’s wife and other child in cold blood.”

Vhalla wouldn’t quite have described Jax’s blood as cold. “But only because they knew what was happening.”

“Even still,” Elecia shook her head. “It’s all a gray area mess. When his betrothed ran into the fire, his emotions were too far gone to stop the flames. He’s not as guilty as he makes himself sound, I’ll grant you that, but he’s not innocent either.”

“Did he—does he—feel sorry for it?” Fritz asked.

“Somewhat,” Elecia conceded.

“Why does he lie about it?” Vhalla quickly corrected herself, “Or tell half-truths.”

“To save her memory.” Elecia looked out the window, avoiding eye-contact for what may have been the first time in her life. The woman’s voice was soft, almost gentle, contemplative. “He loved her deeply, and he would rather endure people scorning him than try to clear his name at the cost of letting the world know how she had been violated. And the only one who knows the real truth of what happened that night is Jax; he’s the only one alive to tell the tale. The rest of us who know certainly won’t violate his trust by doing so.”

“Do you believe him?” Fritz stole the words out of Vhalla’s mouth.

“I do.” Elecia returned physically and mentally to the group. “When I first found out, I went to Aldrik, who pointed me to Erion. He told me how Jax had hand-picked through the char for her bones, carrying them in a box along with his confession, begging for a proper Rite of Sunset.”

“What would you do if you were me?” Vhalla outright asked Elecia. She didn’t bother explaining herself further because she knew she didn’t really need to; Elecia’s expression told her as much. The woman was smart; she knew full well the power and nobility that Vhalla was marrying into.

“I am not you, Vhalla Yarl,” Elecia said after a long second of contemplation. “I have grown up in a world of rules and regulations. I have been taught what can and cannot be done from the moment I could speak my first word.

“You, you are not so chained. And so you see the world with eyes that I could never have. You have hopes that no one else would allow themselves to even dream of.” Elecia gave the tiniest of smirks. “Forgive me, but I wish not to sway your actions in this matter. I want to see what you will do. I want to know what kind of Empress you will be.”

IWANT TO know what kind of Empress you will be.

The words repeated, again and again, in Vhalla’s mind the closer the wedding neared. She would be Empress. There was no more denying, dodging, or burying the fact under obligation. Her calendar soon became filled with as many wedding planning details as it was with audiences and war councils, and it drove her mad.

At least with the audiences, Vhalla could smile through the necessities knowing that she was working toward strengthening their army. When it came to picking one fabric or another for a dress, Vhalla couldn’t care less. She felt as though it did nothing but take her away from actually being useful.

It put Vhalla on edge, and her annoyed, frayed nerves didn’t do anyone any favors.

“What do you mean, we can’t do anything?” She couldn’t stop the words, just like she couldn’t keep herself from glaring at the map before her.

The continent was covered in multi-colored figures, each representing civilians, military, Victor’s forces, and just about every other factor that could be an influence in the happenings of the world. It reminded her of all the times she had mentally thought of nobility as a game. Well, now the pieces were spread out before her.

“It simply doesn’t make sense,” a lord answered. Vhalla had forgotten his name already, and she could imagine quite a few colorful titles to fill in the blank.

“We are to just ignore them? To forfeit? That is no small portion of the East. Victor’s hold will go from a quarter to nearly half.”

“But they are just farmers; they don’t offer anything with regards to military strength or stalling the false king’s army. They are already lost,” a different major remarked, almost casually. It wasn’t until her sharp inhale and cold stare that he realized where he had just placed his foot.

“Forgive me, major.” Vhalla tried to keep her voice even. She did not want to sound like a petulant child, but a noble lady. “They are certainly not just farmers.”

“Lady Yarl, I did not mean to offend you or any of your noble kin.” He gave a small bow of his head.

Vhalla wanted none of it. His fake sincerity was as valuable to her as coal in the face of diamonds.

“Very well. Lord Ophain,” Vhalla began boldly, pointing to the West’s border with the South. “If I understand your major’s logic correctly, then these towns should be considered lost.”

“M-my lady!” the major balked.

“They are just some mining towns, no?” Vhalla knew the West’s terrain by now like the back of her hand. She could possibly list more cities and towns than even some of the nobles in the room. So she continued, not letting her rhetorical question hang too long. “Do they offer anything to our military strength?” The twenty or so nobles around the table were silent. “Then let us pull back any defense that is currently there.”

“That is the West!” Another joined the conversation with his impassioned declaration. “The West protects its own. I will not stand for this.”

“And neither will I.” Vhalla silenced the murmurings of the table, her words quick as a whip. “It’s easier if it is not your own kin; I understand that truth.” Vhalla paused, staring at the map for a long hard moment. “But the real truth is this.”

She plucked a quill from an inkwell and began to cross out and scribble over the lines on the map between the East, West, South, and North. Vhalla triumphantly returned the writing instrument to its place. She smiled briefly at the map that the majority of the room now considered ruined.

“These are your kin.” She motioned to the whole continent. Vhalla looked at the assembled lords and ladies, most of which were twice her age and possibly had three times her experience on the field. Almost all had olive-hued skin and darker Northern tones. She had to speak to her audience and make them understand. “Each of you are part of this Empire. I witnessed every person in this room kneel before our Emperor and swear your lives and your futures to his hand. He is not your Western King, but our Emperor. Your brothers and sisters are here in the West as much as they are in the South, East, and North. If you truly believe that the West looks after its own, then that should extend to all those under the light of Solaris.”

Vhalla glanced at Aldrik from the corners of her eyes. He’d let her lead through the majority of the exchange, as he had done when it came to anything involving the East. But his expression was difficult to read.

“I want to assure you that I understand the sacrifices war can, and will, demand of those engaged in the bloody business. I know that not everyone can be saved.” Vhalla tapped on the map. “But I will not stand by and allow lives to be written off carelessly—no matter where those lives are—because it is more convenient when it is not a place that you were born into.”

“Bleeding heart Easterner,” someone mumbled.

“Out,” Aldrik snapped suddenly. Given the fiery stare he was giving one particular major, Vhalla suspected he knew the source of the insult.

“My Emperor, I—”

“Out.” Aldrik’s voice took on a dangerous quiet that Vhalla knew well. “I will not have you speaking to my intended that way.”

“Aldrik,” Vhalla interjected. “It’s all right.”

“Vhalla, he should not be permitted to say such to you.” His eyes darted between her and the major.

“If he is to say such things, then let him say it where my ears can hear, rather than as a coward behind my back.” Vhalla spoke loudly enough for the table to hear, only pretending to be speaking to Aldrik. “But I want him to stay so that he knows I ask nothing of him that I am not prepared to give myself. I will protect the East, South, West, and North as though they are all my family. I only ask the same of those I fight with.”

Vhalla appreciated the few nods of approval she received. The man in question had the sense to look at least moderately ashamed by his outburst. Under the table, Vhalla felt long fingers curl around hers in support.

“Shall we continue?” she prompted the group.

“The question remains, how to manage our troops?” Another major pointed back to the map.

“We can send some additional aid to the East; granted, it will weaken our own borders.”

“If we spread these out here,” Aldrik moved some red soldiers along the West’s southern line, “it should give enough to spare.”

Vhalla stared at the black figures indicating Victor’s forces. They were fewer, but they were spread wide, and growing. Every time a soldier fell, Victor leveraged the corpse by turning it into a crystal-walking abomination. Vhalla tried to put herself in the mind of the madman: what would he do next?

“If we move those troops, we can expect at least these two towns to fall.” Another set of hands moved the pieces.

“We could send some from Norin,” another suggested.

“No, he will likely make an attempt on the Imperial wedding.” The idea was shot down. “What’s the word on the North?”

“The North is just now marching. Princess Sehra has moved ahead to show her support for our union, but the main forces will not reach the Crossroads until just before we are set to arrive,” Aldrik answered.

“We’re keeping troops here for the wedding?” Vhalla thought aloud, her introspective considerations slowing her response.

“Certainly,” Aldrik responded. “It is a public affair. There should be little doubt that Victor knows of our pending nuptials, and he will use it as an opportunity to strike us down or remove all joy from the people’s symbol of the continuing Empire.”

You are a symbol. Baldair’s words from long ago returned to her, and Vhalla loathed them. She was tired of being a symbol. Symbols were stagnant, frozen, representative, and spurring of action but never the action itself.

Vhalla looked at the map with new eyes. They were playing the part that was expected of them by nobility, and while they did, they were a predictable target for their enemy. The wedding kept troops from moving.

“This could be the chance for us to strike first,” she said suddenly.

“What?” Aldrik spoke the surprise of the table.

“Victor expects us to be rendered immobile for the ceremony. It makes more sense for him to use the wedding as an opportunity to pick off half our forces spread across the Empire than strike us directly.” Vhalla moved some of the dark wooden sculptures and tokens along the East and pushed them into the West.

“However, if we attack in force now, when he least expects it . . .” She quickly shifted their tokens of war, pushing them down through the Southern border and into the weak point of Victor’s army at the bottom of the West. “We can move before he has time to react. We can punch a hole straight for the capital.”

“We cannot change the date of the wedding now.” Aldrik turned to her. “There are still arrangements to finalize, lords and ladies who have yet to arrive.”

“We can do something small, say our vows and be done.” The war was more important than a grand ceremony. “Or, we could even keep up the wedding for appearances, making our attack even more of a surprise.”

“Vhalla, there are certain expectations,” he replied with a careful glance at those assembled. “The ceremony is not an option.”

“I am sorry, but I did not realize my wedding was dictated by the nobility of the realm,” Vhalla snapped. Aldrik’s eyes widened slightly, and her face instantly relaxed, apologetic. She hadn’t meant to be so sharp, not to him.

“My lords and ladies, please excuse us a moment.” Aldrik’s eyes didn’t leave hers as the entire room shuffled out, leaving the Emperor and Empress alone. “Vhalla, what are you doing?”

“Aldrik, it makes perfect sense.” She motioned to her play with the tokens on the map. “This is an advantage; it’s a chance at deception. If we wait, Victor will only become stronger, and we’ll be playing into his expectations.”

“In theory.” Aldrik spoke before she had finished exhaling the last word. “But I can tell you what is not theory—the fact that those lords and ladies, whom you seem so ready to insult, give us their gold and supplies to pay for our army’s needs. We cannot shun them.”

“They should look at what we are doing and understand that we are trying to put their gold and loyalty to good use, rather than losing what could be a key advantage to formality,” she countered.

“We have already announced one thing; nobility and people will lose faith in our word if we do anything different.” Aldrik frowned.

“Not if we win.” Vhalla shook her head. “All will be forgiven when Victor is dead.”

“So you hope.” Aldrik leaned on the table with a sigh. “Vhalla, you don’t understand. Noble families hold grudges like no other. Nothing, no slight, no matter how small, is ever forgotten.”

“If we go on as planned, we may not even have subjects to be angry at us.”

“You do not know war,” Aldrik muttered.

“I know war better than most, Aldrik Solaris.” She rounded in front of him. The insult had lit a tiny flame in her that Vhalla struggled to keep under control. “I have spent the past three years of my life at war. I have been utilized as a weapon and coveted as a tool. I have killed countless men and women. And while I may not have made as many hard choices as you for as many years, do not tell me I do not know war.”

Aldrik stared at her in surprise before pulling his eyes away with a touch of shame. Vhalla hadn’t intended to make him feel guilty for his role in the events that had put her in a position to experience war. Reaching out, she took his hand gently in hers, trying to soothe the tension.

“I know you,” she whispered. “I know you well enough to know you think I’m right.”

“Were things not as they are, yes, yes, your theory holds merit.” Aldrik sighed heavily. His hands held her face, underscoring the tenderness. “But there are so many forces at play here. And, sometimes, the safer course is the best one. Let us do this one thing right.”

“One thing?” She didn’t understand.

“I-I took you to bed for the first time on sweat-stained sheets in a war camp. I took you because I promised myself that I would make you mine properly one day.”

“I had not thought poorly of our first time together.” Vhalla stepped away, pulling her face from his palms.

“Then I shamed my love for you by allowing myself to be engaged to another. By allowing that engagement to push you away.”

“You saved my life with that engagement.” Vhalla wondered if he had somehow forgotten the sword at her throat when his hand was forced to sign that fateful paper. “And I acted harshly towards you that night as well. It’s forgiven and forgotten.”

“I let my family and those beneath me witness my stealing you away when Bal—” his voice cracked. He cleared his throat to continue, “—when Baldair died. I let you become the other woman, the prince’s whore.”

“There was hardly enough time for anyone to know with all that happened after,” Vhalla contested. “Any who would remember are friends or will long forget when your throne is restored.”

“I asked you to remain mine when I had no future for you, and I vowed to do things right.” He reached for her hands, holding them tightly. “I have yet to live up to that vow.”

“Aldrik, you have not wronged me.” She tried to smile encouragingly.

“Then, the baby.”

She bristled at the words. A chill ran up Vhalla’s spine, triggering uneasiness in her mind. It was like magic across her flesh, reminding her of what happened, of the murky night that was being lost to time—that she wanted to lose to time.

“I know it was the Mother giving us a chance to do things right. To not harbor a child in secret or rush a marriage to make it a legitimate heir.”

“Our marriage was already rushed.” Ice water ran through her veins. “It was not the Mother who lost our child, it was—”

“Hush. Please, Vhalla, just listen to me.” He squeezed her fingers encouragingly. “I want to see you as my bride and do this one thing right. I want this wedding.”

“Aldrik, this wedding is nothing more than a formality of something that already lives between us.” Vhalla sighed in frustration. “It doesn’t matter when and how we marry; we know our bond.”

“It matters to everyone else.”

“I am not marrying everyone else!” Her patience cracked. “I am marrying you, and your thoughts and my thoughts are the only thoughts that matter on the subject. I am not going to put my own wedding before the lives of our people. How can I look at them when there are innocent people dying, and I am keeping soldiers from saving them so that I may say some vows?”

“I will not have them whisper rumors of you as they did of my mother.” Aldrik pulled away and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I will not have them speak more poorly of this than they already do.”

“Speak poorly of this?” she repeated.

“Enough.”

“No.” Vhalla rounded him as he tried to avoid her stare. “What do you mean, ‘Speak poorly of this’?”

“It does not matter.”

“It does,” her voice rose a small fraction with her insistence.

“Fine.” Aldrik scowled. “Fine, you infuriating woman. You want to know of every uncertainty presented by the Western lords and ladies to me or my uncle? How you are too thin, too wild, too risky, to be trusted with carrying an heir? How you have won yourself above your station by giving the lonely prince what is between your legs? How you are too young, too soft, too inexperienced to lead? How I should have taken a Western bride, or even kept the Northern one, to strengthen ties and support my armies? How I am a fool’s Emperor for taking a no-named commoner as my bride? How you are only with me for power and gold?”

Vhalla stared at him in shock. She’d been kept completely unaware. That burned more within her than the shame and embarrassment of the accusations.

“Were you going to tell me?” she whispered.

“Vhalla—”

“Were you going to tell me?” The dam broke within her. “Or were you just planning on keeping me in the dark? Were you going to prove them right, that I am too soft for the truth, that I am ignorant and unfit to be your Empress? Because not even you trust me with what is said!”

“Vhalla, you prove them wrong just by being you. I did not want you to worry and change.” Aldrik’s voice already sought her forgiveness. Forgiveness she didn’t want to give.

“Were you going to tell me?”

“I don’t know.” He withdrew.

“Fine.” Vhalla glared. “Since you clearly have such a handle on managing what I can and cannot hear or think, see or do, then you can just manage your wedding and your war as you want.”

“Vhalla! Vhalla!” he called when she was halfway for the door.

“But if we wait on this wedding, you can make my dress crimson. I will not wear gold if my Imperial nobility is bought with the blood of innocent civilians who died while I had a party.” Vhalla glared back at him once more. She never heard if he said anything else because she slammed the door on his attempt at further words.

Vhalla stormed up the castle alone.

HER CHAMBERS IN the Western castle were opulent. Low platform beds covered with expertly woven silks complemented endless polished floors that picked up the shine of gemstones and silver embedded into the ceiling. Warm, summer-like breezes flooded the room through open windows, blocked only by chiffon curtains and tall pillars.

It was an exercise in excess by the original architect and decorator. A decadence that Vhalla should have every right to appreciate, an experience that she could never otherwise have.

But now it felt cold.

She hadn’t been spending her days in these chambers; hiding there now only served as a reminder of the harsh words she’d spoken to Aldrik. She’d actually retreated here because she knew it was the one place that he would not come. The lord’s and lady’s quarters were across the hall from each other, and while Vhalla heard his door open and close, he made no effort to seek her out.

Not that she blamed him. Or perhaps she did. The man did an excellent job at making her feel so justified one minute, only to have her feel wildly conflicted the next.

After pacing ruts into the floor, Vhalla decided that lingering wasn’t going to solve anything. She undressed quickly, rummaging through the virtual mountains of clothes to find something simple. Riding leggings that were no doubt intended to be worn underneath a skirt were paired with an oversized shirt that Vhalla fashioned as a tunic. It was certain to horrify the staff and Western nobility. But apparently her existence was already offensive, so she might as well be comfortably offensive.

On the way down to the training grounds, Vhalla walked on air, fluttered pennons, and played with the wind. She delighted in everything that she had taken for granted in the years prior to losing her magic. Things that she would never let be taken from her again.

Fussing with the tail of her braid, Vhalla entered the training ground. Here was another relationship she had ruined with harsh words and pushiness. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to see Jax again—or if he was ready to see her.

“Where is Major Jax?” Vhalla asked the first woman to cross her path on the dusty field.

“Major Jax?” the woman repeated. “I think he’s training with sorcerers in the pit.”

“Can you show me?” Vhalla folded her hands at the small of her back, quickly releasing them when she remembered how imposing Aldrik looked while doing so.

The young woman bowed deeply and stiffly guided her future Empress. More than one soldier gave pause and looked at her. Vhalla wondered if it was because she was the future Empress, or as a result of her prior run-in with Jax. She knew how soldiers talked.

The pit was exactly as the name suggested. Recessed into the ground and hexagonal in shape, the large fighting arena had all kinds of people at its edge cheering or shouting suggestions to two Firebearers sparring within. Jax was situated on one side, shouting with the rest of them. But he was one of the last to quiet and turn as her presence was noted.

“Major Jax.” Vhalla swallowed the silence between them before it became far too obvious. “Could I perhaps join in a spar or two?”

He stared at her a long moment, looking her up and down. Where Vhalla expected the average Westerner to look disapproving at her relaxed and more masculine clothing, she found Jax’s stare appreciative.

“If the lady wants a spar, than a spar she will get!” Jax’s voice had not changed at all. It was back to how she’d always heard it: jovial, jesting, and entertained with the nature of existence. “Which one of you wants the honor of going against the first Windwalker in nearly a century and a half?”

No one moved. No one seemed able to look at her. And, most certainly, no one volunteered.

“Come now,” Jax encouraged. “Ren, you’re up!”

The man who Jax tasked with this duty appeared to be of Northern descent. Vhalla assessed him as she was helped into a leather jerkin, coated in something sweet smelling. She recognized the greenish sheen as something the Northerners used to protect against Firebearers.

“Ready?” Jax called. Vhalla gave a definitive nod, but Ren gave a hesitant glance. “Go!”

Vhalla wasted no time, and the man was on his back in an instant. Vhalla stared dumbly as Ren stood, gave a bow, and quickly retreated from the ring.

There hadn’t been a single spark of fire, chill of ice, or rumble of earth. Vhalla frowned. He’d not tried to attack her in any way.

The next soldier Jax threw at her acted much the same. A quick start and quick finish left her uncomfortable. As the dust settled atop the third, Vhalla couldn’t contain herself any longer.

“Why won’t you spar with me?” she demanded of the woman who pulled herself off the ground.

“What?”

“What was that?” Vhalla persisted. “You didn’t even fight back.”

“I-I-I . . . your prowess is such that none of us could hope to match.” The woman retreated awkwardly, eager to escape the ring.

Vhalla’s arms dropped limply to her sides. They were letting her win. Vhalla had been through war and had trained under a multitude of soldiers, but she no longer had the Bond to draw from, and these people had been soldiers the majority of their adult lives. Vhalla should at least have to struggle against them.

“Oh, this just won’t do,” Jax admonished. “You sorry lot have done the worst thing someone can manage: disappoint a pretty lady.” He pointed across the pit toward something Vhalla couldn’t see. “Fritz! You’re needed.”

Vhalla’s heart soared from just hearing her friend’s name. The second he actually stepped into the ring, Vhalla was nearly tackling him in an overpowering embrace. She wondered if Jax had figured out her mental state upon entering the training grounds.

“Vhal, it’s only been two days since I last saw you,” Fritz laughed.

“It feels like forever,” Vhalla insisted.

“Well, now I’m going to beat you up!” Her friend grinned.

“You can try!” she retorted playfully. “Jax, thank you; this is exactly what I needed.”

“Oh, Lady Yarl, I always give the beautiful ones what they want.” Jax winked.

Vhalla rolled her eyes playfully and returned her attention to Fritz. “I don’t want you to go easy on me.”

“I’ve seen you fight,” Fritz snorted with amusement. “The last thing I’m going to do is go easy on you.”

She was unsurprised when Fritz bested her right away. Vhalla was rusty, and she’d forgotten all the tricks this Waterrunner kept up his sleeve, from ice daggers to illusions. They went two out of three, and Vhalla could only get the upper hand once. It was satisfying. She was certain her losses weren’t just a result of her own lack of training but because Fritz had improved.

Jax scolded everyone watching by pointing out how Fritz hadn’t held back, despite going against their Emperor’s betrothed. Vhalla gave a supportive nod when Jax explained that the best soldiers fought with everything they had, every time. He shot her one wary look from the corners of his eyes. Things had not quite gone back to normal between them, despite how experienced he was at faking it.

Vhalla pulled her friend from the training grounds. They wove up through the palace and made their roost around a table in the library. Along the way, a servant noticed them, and Vhalla sent for tea and candied lemon peels.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing audiences or some such?” Fritz finally asked.

Vhalla sighed heavily.

“So the afternoon war meeting gossip was true?”

“News travels that fast?” Vhalla gave in without struggle.

“Some majors came to the grounds while you and Aldrik were talking,” Fritz explained.

“I made a real mess of things, I think.” Vhalla collapsed back onto the pillows and stared up at the library that stretched above her. She longed for the days where her biggest decision was what book to read first.

“Even if you did, Aldrik is still over the sun for you and you know it,” Fritz spoke while chewing through a lemon peel. He was on his fourth one. “That means everyone has to love you.”

“I don’t want forced love.” She couldn’t help but think of Jax, still strapped to his obligations with the crown. What if his display on the grounds was because he had to tolerate her? What if he hated her but was still obligated to protect her? The notion made Vhalla sick.

“You’re going to have it—and don’t give me that look.” Fritz flopped next to her. “You won’t ever have everyone love you, just as you won’t have everyone hate you. Find the right people to love you and return the hatred of others with ambivalence or hatred of your own.”

“Since when did you become so philosophical?” Vhalla twisted to consider her friend.

“I’ve always been brilliant, and you know it.” Fritz kissed her nose lightly.

“You have been.” Vhalla’s eyes fluttered closed, and she enjoyed Fritz’ simple closeness. “Thank you for staying with me.”

“If you ever had doubts, I’ll scold you.” She could feel him considering her thoughtfully without needing to see his eyes running over her face. “What is bothering you, really?”

“I’m going to be married so soon,” she whispered. “What if I am not meant to be Empress?”

“Who is meant to be anything?” Fritz sat. “Are you worried because of the mutterings of a few crusty nobles?”

“You sound like Jax.” She opened one eye to grin up at her friend.

“There are worse things. Jax is cute.” Fritz gave a little smile at the idea.

Vhalla kept her mouth shut, wondering where his heart would lead him after Grahm. Surely, the man he had known and loved had died with the fall of the Tower. There wasn’t any other likely scenario. Vhalla couldn’t imagine Grahm kneeling to Victor.

Fritz didn’t say anything about his love either, and they let the memory of their friend rest like so many others who were at the capital during Victor’s takeover.

“I think,” Fritz hummed, “that you should leave the castle.”

“What?” Vhalla sat as well, stuffing two lemon peels into her mouth at once.

“You and me, let’s go out.” Her friend was on his feet. “No one has to know; that way they won’t make a fuss.”

“Fritznangle . . .” Vhalla cautioned. It wasn’t as though she was trapped, but she was already publically shirking her duties for the day.

“I think it’ll do you good,” he encouraged. “When was the last time you were around real people? Not soldiers or nobles? Those are the people whose opinions really matter, Vhal. Sure, nobles are important and support the crown. But you know who supports the nobles? The common man. So stop hiding in your literary roost and come out onto the street.”

Vhalla allowed him to pull her to her feet.

“Plus, I really want to see the Port of Norin, and Elecia still hasn’t shown me.” He gave her a conspiratorial grin that was too infectious not to return, and they were off.

The main street stretched out from the castle, the street that they used to enter the city and reach the castle. It looked far different without the masses crowding it. With the normal ebb and flow of people, it reminded her of the Crossroads as merchants and patrons alike lingered under large sun shades.

They’d barely made it off the main street when she was finally noticed. Every peddler and shop owner wanted her to try something, wear something, or simply “bless their shop” with a breeze. Vhalla obliged with smiles and did her best to accommodate everyone. If Fritz was frustrated by the slow going, he didn’t let it show. He seemed equally enamored by the dried dates, strawberries, mangos, and all manner of exotic fruits. By the end of just one street, they both had new necklaces of braided leather and bellies full of sweets.

The castle loomed over them, barely visible between houses and towering high above the canopy of fabric that lined every stall. The farther she stepped from the place, the better she began to feel. Fritz had been right; this was what she’d needed. She needed to feel welcomed by the people, to see the blazing sun framed by two wings, and to forget about obligations and duties for just a little while.

The houses of Norin began to grow as they neared the harbor. Stores became richer and more elaborate, each competing for the attention of shoppers milling through the honeycombed streets and lavish squares. Live models posed in store windows, slowly changing pose to show off the fabric or cut in a new way. There were jewels as big as her fist, and Vhalla eyed the skilled craftsmanship of one shop, stopping long enough to be recognized by its owner—Erion Le’Dan.

With that, they gained a local guide for the rest of the day. Erion told them interesting notes of history and facts about the wealthiest nobles who lived around the harbor. He even gave his own take on the largest port in the world. But no amount of explanation or reading could have prepared Vhalla for what awaited at the Great Port of Norin.

Ships upon ships were docked as far as the eye could see. Some Vhalla recognized from reading, large hulls and wide sails with endless lengths of rope hanging and coiled about their decks. Others were strange and foreign. Some were long with flat oars sticking from the sides. Farther down the docks sat boats with sails that looked like the fins of a fish, pointed and folding like a fan.

Some vessels were in dry dock, supported and suspended mid-air. Workers scrubbed the hulls, repainting and repairing as necessary.

Others ships were leaving to make space.

Somehow, in the bustle of Norin’s mecca of trade and commerce, even the future Empress could go unnoticed. Burly men carried chests up and down gangplanks. Nets full of fish were hoisted from cargo holds and dragged to shops, where the fish were then butchered and sold. People of every shape and color went about their business as if the world was as it had always been.

War did not affect these people, Vhalla realized. Famine, religion, nobility, or turmoil, it did not change their lives. One thing reigned supreme, and everything else fell around it: gold.

She expressed such thoughts to Erion over an icy cocktail, a red dragon, while they rested their legs.

“That’s astute of you,” Erion praised her without any apparent ulterior motive. “Because these men and women have little care for who is in power. They’ll work for the highest bidder.”

“Is that how your family is?” Vhalla asked. The question struck a surprising cord, one she hadn’t expected.

“Do you think so?”

“I can’t say I know your lineage well enough to have an opinion.”

“Don’t dodge the question,” Erion scolded lightly.

“There must be a nugget of truth.” Vhalla could blame the alcohol for her loose tongue. It’d been months since Vhalla had really drank, mainly out of respect for Aldrik’s continuing struggle to avoid alcohol in times of stress. And while she wasn’t about to lose her head, the liquor had a welcome burn. But she didn’t use the likely excuse.

No, her loose tongue was entirely the fault of the sun, the warm sea breeze on her cheeks, and the freeing sensation of not feeling like the world was on her shoulders. “You seemed very quick to support me in the North.”

“Fair enough.” He raised his glass in acknowledgement of her point. “Any family who has thrived for as long as we have didn’t do it by strapping themselves to dogma. Even if you were chosen by a Ci’Dan, that Ci’Dan happened to be the Emperor’s crowned son, and supporting you could support us in the long run.”

She laughed at his candor and let the fact lie, picking something else that had been nagging at her to focus on. “Then why does dogma seem so important to the Western Court?”

“This has been bothering her,” Fritz outed.

Vhalla shot him a look that he just grinned away.

“They want to see what you do when rules are imposed upon you. They want to push you and see if you break,” Erion answered easily. “They’re testing you, Vhalla.”

“But how do I pass? Do I do as they ask? Do I thwart them at every turn?” She honestly was at a loss.

“You’re thinking too small.” Erion hummed, looking out over the port. “You see all these ships?”

She nodded.

“When do you think they come and go?”

“When they have somewhere to be?” She assumed the merchants had deadlines and the rest were chartered.

Erion shook his head. “When the wind is good,” he answered his own question. “All that rigging and lumber and men, it’s all at the whim of the wind. Now they try to tame it, they try to control it. They have created hulking sails and innovative drafts to cut through the water as quickly as possible. But they remain at the whim of the wind. A force that cannot be understood, nor explained, for it just happens.”

The lord looked back at her, but Vhalla had already processed his point.

“They are the ships, and you are the wind. You do not lower yourself to their rules or expectations. You blow in whatever direction you feel is needed and leave them with no choice but to oblige.”

Vhalla thought about Erion’s words as they finished slowly strolling through the port. The only thing that distracted her was when he pointed out a particularly colorful vessel. She noted that it was a trade ship from the Crescent Continent, an uncommon sight even for the grandest port in the world. Vhalla wanted to investigate further, but that was the one thing Erion advised against. He cautioned that the people of the Crescent Continent could be quite backwards and barbaric, and it was best to leave any dealings to their approved liaisons.

Vhalla held her tongue that “backwards and barbaric” were often times only used when one culture didn’t properly understand another. She had heard people describe the North that way before she’d come to properly understand a region of the Empire that she now held in deep respect.

By the time Fritz and Vhalla returned to the castle, the sun hung low in the sky. The stable hand who had helped them tack the horses earlier in the day reported that the Lord Ophain and the Emperor had inquired about where they had gone. Whatever the lad had said must have been sufficient because neither had launched any kind of search.

Vhalla bid farewell to Fritz and ended her walk in silence. She eased the door open to Aldrik’s room, uncaring if there was a servant walking by who saw her entering the Emperor’s chambers. She was done with their propriety. She wanted to see the man she loved.

Taking her shoes off at the door, Vhalla walked on small pockets of wind, avoiding making a sound. She stopped the second Aldrik came into view. His hair was still styled for the obligations of the day, and he sat facing the hearth. He had an empty cup by him, but no sign of a bottle anywhere that could betray what its contents may have been.

Gathering her resolve, she walked as silently as possible around the couch upon which he sat. He had one leg bent, his lower calf resting on the thigh of his left leg. A book was open, but Vhalla could see no sign of ink or quill. He was researching lightly or reading purely for pleasure, judging from his lack of note-taking supplies.

Dark eyes rose slowly and froze upon seeing her. Those eyes that glittered and were wonderfully illuminated by the fire. Across the world and all the time that had passed between them, those eyes could still hold her in place.

“Aldrik—”

“Vhalla—”

“Go ahead,” she encouraged softly.

“Did you have fun in the city?” he finally asked.

“I did.” Vhalla nodded and watched the flames flicker and dance upon the marble hearth. No fuel for their blaze crackled, and the fire felt warmer knowing it was his.

“I’m glad.” Aldrik returned to his book.

Was that all there was? No, she took a step forward. That could not be it. They could not pretend away this impasse. She could not let the day fade away in a manner that widened the gap forming between them since their arrival in Norin.

Vhalla crossed the distance between them and knelt at his feet.

“Vhalla—” he sighed tiredly.

“Listen.” He leaned back in the chair, clearly unamused at being interrupted by her yet again. “Listen, please. If you listen, I will listen to what you need to say, I promise.”

Aldrik motioned for her to continue.

“I need you to know that I trust you.” Vhalla looked at the book in his lap as she spoke, as though the mere sight of it could bring her support. “I know I am not well versed in interacting with the society that our marriage will require I interact with. And I know full well how that can make a mess. The truth is, Aldrik, I don’t care about the ways of nobility.”

He was about to interject but she continued too quickly.

“But I care about you.” For once, Vhalla pierced him with a stare. She felt that exhilarating sensation of looking right into him and seeing his inner mechanisms. “I am the wind, Aldrik, but you are the compass point to which my passions gust. And I will learn to be perfect for you.”

Vhalla shifted, her legs falling asleep beneath her. Aldrik placed both feet on the floor, moving the book. The unspoken invitation was accepted, and Vhalla rested her cheek on his thigh. His long fingers wove through her hair, and Vhalla could not stop the contented sigh that escaped her lips.

“I don’t want perfect,” Aldrik uttered. “I will never be perfect, and I will never deserve perfect.”

“But I can try.”

“Why?” He chuckled deeply. “Vhalla, we will always have our tiffs; even the best couples do. What matters to me is that you come to me and I go to you. That we embrace love more than hate.”

“Everyone around me is so philosophical today.” She shook her head in amusement.

“My Vhalla.” The long pause drew her eyes open. Aldrik waged a mental war with the fire, the flames flashing and dimming a few times. “I moved some troops. The borders will receive further support.”

“How?” Vhalla straightened.

“I forfeited the defense that was remaining here in Norin for our wedding.”

“But—”

“The city will remain defended,” he inserted the answer before the question could be asked. “But there will be no extra. The more I thought it through, the more I felt you were right. Victor will attack from the south and continue to push his line of influence before trying to jump straight to Norin. He’ll chip away at our strength while we wed. So perhaps we can give him a small surprise with the new placement of force.”

“Aldrik . . .” She struggled to find words.

“We will march shortly after the wedding.” A glint of desperation appeared in his eyes, one she had never noticed before. “I have already sent word to the princess’s mother, beseeching her to have their warriors waiting for us in the Crossroads. We will end this war soon enough.”

“But first.” He took his hands in hers, leaning forward. “My Vhalla, my lady, my love, please marry me properly. Not for the appearance for the nobles or the war. Marry me because—” Aldrik looked away, and Vhalla swore it was only the red of the fire on his cheeks. “Because I want a proper wedding for us.”

It was then she realized what a fool she’d been. Certainly politics was a factor, but Aldrik truly wanted it. More than anything, he wanted a ceremony, and he was clearly doing all he could to appease her enough to earn her consent.

“I’m sorry, Aldrik.”

“Tell me, what else can be done to reassure you? If you want a red dress, then it shall be so, but can we not make it for a better reason than—”

“This isn’t about colors of dresses.” She laughed weakly. “I’m sorry I never realized how much it meant to you.”

Aldrik’s lips parted in surprise, and his brow relaxed. Aldrik looked away, suddenly bashful. With just her fingertips, she guided his attention back to her.

But Vhalla was hungry for more than just his attention. Her lips met his before any more words could be exchanged. A low growl rumbled up his throat, a sound she harmonized with, full of yearning. Vhalla stood slowly, prolonging the kiss as much as possible.

“Come,” she whispered over his lips.

“Vhalla . . .” his voice was low and dangerous in a way that made her knees weak.

“Come,” she repeated, guiding him with a tug on his hands.

The book fell from the Emperor’s lap as he rose to meet her. It may have been the first time in her life that Vhalla let a book fall without frantically checking to see if any pages were bent. Aldrik’s arms pressed her against him. One kiss, one step, and they made their way toward the bedroom.

They were perfectly imperfect. Vhalla knew they would fight again. She knew fire and air had a tendency to burn hot. But she wouldn’t have it any other way. For tonight, she would beg for their flames.

VHALLA ROLLED OVER, groping at the bedside table. Her fingers searched for something wooden, round, and heavier than the rest. It rolled away, and she stretched with a groan.

“Trouble?” Aldrik shifted, loosening his hold on her waist.

Picking up one of the vials, Vhalla inspected its lack of stopper and cast it aside with a hollow thud. “I wouldn’t have trouble if half of them weren’t empty,” she muttered. “Why are they all still here?”

“We can’t really discard so many without raising suspicion.”

“You’re a Firebearer.” Vhalla rolled her eyes, even though she couldn’t see her face in the dim light of the room. “Burn them.”

“You and your logic.” Aldrik finally gave up on the unspoken idea of going back to sleep and sat up, burning every empty vial she tossed into the air. Vhalla scattered the ashes with a gust of wind.

Elixir of the Moon had been something that Elecia was all too prepared to provide since the events of the night at the Crossroads. In the eyes of the court, they were still playing the role of proper man- and wife-to-be, keeping their separate sleeping quarters until their wedding. But more often than not, Jax slotted himself for the night shift, a shift he made sure was scheduled until late mornings. Even more mysterious was the fact that he didn’t show up half the time, which was noted without comment.

Downing the foul liquid in one quick gulp, Vhalla tossed the vial with a grimace. It exploded in a final burst of flame before hitting the floor. She barely had time to scatter its remnants when an arm pulled her against a very naked man.

“Are you pleased?” he hummed. His voice was deep and throaty with sleep.

“With what?”

“With everything.”

Vhalla thought for a long moment before replying, as was their morning ritual. “As pleased as I can be until we finish with our wedding and can march once more.”

“Soon.” He nuzzled the base of her neck, his lips brushing over what must be the makings of a bruise. “Tell me what it looks like.”

“My answer was no last night, and it is still no this morning.” Vhalla laughed breathily at the way his morning stubble rubbed against her chin.

“I will see it tomorrow.” He was making every attempt to convince her to spill the details of her wedding gown. And if the revelries of the night before couldn’t, then his kisses in the morning certainly wouldn’t.

“Yes, you will.” Vhalla wiggled beneath him and freed herself.

“Stubborn.” He rolled onto his back with a small grin.

“You love me that way.”

Vhalla was the first to escape the bed, which ended their escape from the world.

Following their small tiff about their wedding, they had discovered that no matter how bleak the world was, if they wanted to survive, then they had to savor the things that gave them joy. So each morning they woke and pretended they were nothing more than two lovers enjoying the dawn. Vhalla had felt guilty about it at first. But it made them stronger as a unit and put them in a better place to lead their people.

The second part of their new morning ritual was to go through the letters and notes that multiplied in the night while they slept. They would alternate reading them aloud over breakfast, once more just the two of them, and would decide together where they stood on matters. At the same time, Vhalla would go over her notes from the previous day’s council. They were regularly corresponding with Sehra now, which gave Vhalla hope that their support from the North would arrive in time.

Her efforts to utilize more silent smiles amid the nobles was paying off. She wore out her quill with notes about what to discuss with Aldrik in private. This habit didn’t stop her from interjecting her thoughts into those public discussions, but it was improving her diplomatic relationships. She also found it helped her organize her thoughts better, so that when she did speak she did so with more tact.

Aldrik had taken to doing the same, which surprised her, and it helped them present a unified front on all matters. The first comment of praise had come through Elecia, saying Vhalla seemed more reflective in meetings.

But the time Vhalla could spend in meetings had been shortening as Lilo and Tina began to buzz more with wedding preparations. They were frustrated on more than one occasion by her lack of opinion, but Vhalla told them that she was content doing things in the traditional Western fashion. The things that mattered most to Vhalla was that she and Aldrik wed, that Aldrik was content, and that they could move onto fighting their war.

However little it had mattered to her, Vhalla still woke on her wedding day with a small family of butterflies in her stomach. Music wafted up from the streets, and the revels began long before the ceremony. Vhalla woke alone so that there was no risk of the wedding preparation crew discovering her in Aldrik’s bed—she was really growing tired of that façade.

Fritz kept her company throughout the day, and Elecia played messenger between Vhalla’s and Aldrik’s rooms. Vhalla inquired as to what Aldrik was doing as she prepared; she was certain he was not having his face powered ten times over. Elecia informed her with a dramatic eye roll that Aldrik was on a mission to pace the room until his shoes had to be replaced.

The wedding was set for midday, when the sun would be at its apex, which left little time for anything else. As Vhalla’s gown was undergoing the final pinning around the hem, and the last embellishments were being stitched on, her aunts-to-be graced her with their presence. Tina eyed Vhalla up and down, passing silent approval.

“You look like a Solaris Empress,” she finally spoke.

“That’s what I’m supposed to look like, isn’t it?” Vhalla smoothed her hands over the skirt. Golden silks draped in the Southern fashion underneath a more Western-styled jacket that went from her hips all the way to her neck, capping her shoulders.

“It is.”

“We have something for you.” There was an odd mix of excitement and sorrow in Lilo’s voice. “However, it is silver, over the Imperial gold.”

The older woman motioned for a servant to bring forward a medium-sized box. Vhalla watched in curiosity that quickly turned to awe as it opened to reveal one of the most beautiful crowns she’d ever seen. Diamond-shaped rubies hung from delicate pointed archways that rose from the base of the crown. The silverwork around the brow looked more like lace than metal. It was delicate, feminine, beautiful, and strong in equal measure.

“She would have wanted you to have it.” Tina’s usually steely tones had gone soft as well. “Fiera was not one to change who she was. Even when she married an Emperor of the South, she wanted a crown of silver.”

“So, this crown truly is . . .” Vhalla looked between the women in shock.

“Our sister’s, Aldrik’s mother’s.” Vhalla had never seen a more joyfully heartbreaking smile than what Lilo wore on her lips. “She was the Empress this realm needed, if only she’d lived to fulfill that role.”

“But she gave us Aldrik. And hopefully he has brought us an Empress who will be worthy of picking up my sister’s crown.” Tina’s words left little doubt on what she truly thought of Vhalla.

“I will be,” Vhalla swore.

“Good. I would expect no less.” The older woman gave a firm nod.

Eventually, Vhalla and the crown were left alone. Aldrik’s aunts talked with her for a little bit longer, but they left shortly before the last servant. Vhalla sent away all remaining help, preferring the company of her thoughts in her final moments as an unmarried woman. It wasn’t that she was nervous about her and Aldrik. The time for such things was long gone. Their perfect imperfection, constantly striving and pushing each other to do better, it would be her life’s mission and joy—with or without crowns and vows.

The sound of the door opening again brought Vhalla back to reality. Her eyes met a pair nearly identical to her own, and Vhalla gave her father a small smile. Rex Yarl had been dressed up in Western fashions, but styled in Eastern purples. She had to stifle a laugh fueled by nerves at the sight of her father so polished.

“Little bird.” He opened his arms, and Vhalla went to him without hesitation so that he could wrap her in a tight embrace. “You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Her mouth had filled with cotton, and she was suddenly terrified she’d forget her vows. “You clean up well yourself, for a low-born, Eastern farmer.”

They shared a knowing laugh at what had been used against both of them.

“Well, this farmer’s daughter is about to marry a man befitting her status.”

Vhalla’s heart threatened to explode. In her father’s words, Aldrik was vying to be worthy of her, not the other way around. She leaned up and kissed him on a clean-shaven cheek.

“Was Mother nervous?” Vhalla whispered. Her parents had nothing but love for each other; in Vhalla’s mind, they’d had nothing to fear going into their union.

“She told me so the second we had said our vows before the Mother.” Rex offered his arm to his daughter. “Every chance worth taking will make you a little scared. That means you’re taking a risk. And where there is risk, there is reward.”

Her father rode with her in a closed carriage to the Cathedral of the Mother. Vhalla remained out of sight from the prying eyes of the public. Her hand never left her father’s as her heart threatened to choke her—it felt like it was beating in her throat instead of her chest.

Vhalla waited in a small antechamber with her father. She could hear the talking of people through the gilded doors before her muffled like it was a world away. She was about to cross the threshold to a place she thought she would never see, to be with a man she should’ve never met, to become someone she was never meant to be. The room fell to a hush, and Lord Ophain’s voice boomed through the following silence.

She took a deep breath as the doors swung open before her, and Vhalla didn’t look anywhere but forward. Her hand gripped her father’s elbow so hard that she’d have to apologize for bruises later. But, for now, she would just focus on being the Empress the people needed. Love, war, life was a series of battlefields strung together with the courage to march forward.

A sculpture of the Mother reaching out her arms, holding a giant fire that lit the entire room, dominated the center of the dome above. Men and women packed the large hall, blocking out the imagery of the Father depicted in the lower part of the room, that showed how he yearned for the Mother above. Vhalla walked toward a circular marble space where Lord Ophain waited next to a cowled Crone.

Aldrik entered from the far side of the room, descending a grand stair from the domed ceiling. The fire flared brighter as he made his entrance, arcing around him as though he was hand chosen by the Gods to be their leader.

The men and women who sat on the wooden risers along the outside of the room whispered. Their whispers traveled unhindered on the wind to her ears. How dare this Eastern commoner marry their Emperor? A smile carved into Vhalla’s lips. She’d let them have their words. No matter what she did, they would talk. Today was hers and Aldrik’s, and she wasn’t even going to let thoughts of others trouble her.

The Emperor paused for half a breath as their eyes met. It was silent acknowledgement of the precipice upon which they stood. They were the most unlikely of pairs who had travelled an extraordinarily unconventional path.

Vhalla wanted to run to him.

They met before Lord Ophain and the Crone, mirror images of each other. Vhalla’s dress was gold, trimmed and embroidered with suns in white. Aldrik’s clothes were white, lined with gold up along his trousers and at the top of his large cuffed sleeves.

There wasn’t a scrap of black on him, other than his raven hair. For the first time, Vhalla realized that by wearing white, he didn’t look like a sign of defeat. It didn’t look like a color he’d worn to appease his father. It didn’t look like something he was forcing himself to do for his people. It was as natural to him as the replica of the sun crown that was settled upon his brow.

Her father extended her hand, and Vhalla’s palm practically leapt to meet Aldrik’s. Her fingers hooked around his, and he half pulled her a step. In a complete lack of form, Aldrik drew her knuckles to his lips, giving her a satisfied grin as he shocked the court. The rest of the world vanished for one blissful moment, and Vhalla savored the fact that she was indeed going to marry the man who had so claimed her heart.

Lord Ophain cleared his throat softly, pulling them both back to reality. The crowd wore looks of surprise, accompanied by whispers. Vhalla gave the tiniest of smiles when her eyes fell on Fritz, and he risked breaking his wrist with his frantic, not so subtle waving.

“It was here, upon this spot, where our last Emperor married our princess, my sister,” Lord Ophain began his opening remarks, addressing the crowd. “The West lives in the blood of the Empire, and our Emperor is one of our own. And, while unjoyful events have led him to being our Emperor so young, the circumstances of this world have seen him to our most sacred of halls for yet another Imperial union.

“I have long since born witness to the lines that connect our Emperor, Aldrik Ci’Dan Solaris, with the Lady Vhalla Yarl.” Lord Ophain’s focus rested upon them, and only them. He produced a scroll from his jacket pocket for emphasis. “It is with the blessing of the West, East, and North that this union will be the foundation upon which a harmonious Solaris Empire may be rebuilt.”

Vhalla followed the direction of Lord Ophain’s nod. Za and Sehra returned the motion. They had made it. The acknowledgement wasn’t lost on the other nobles in the room, and Vhalla contained a sigh of relief.

“Eons ago,” the head Crone began to speak, “the Father lived in a land of eternal night. It was in that darkness that he met the Mother. She was a brilliant star, a point of light that cut through the night like a sword of law and order. It was with her dazzling radiance that she brought the day.”

The Crone raised her wrinkled hands, and the fires that hovered above burned even brighter.

“The Mother could not live with the Father in that world of night, and he could not live in her world of day.” The Crone dropped her hands and motioned to the stone floor beneath them. “So they began to spin in an eternal dance, one where they could look upon each other from the beginning and until the end of days. In this dance, their children were born, and the first men walked upon the new earth.

“The Mother watches over our lives, bringing us life and joy. The Father watches over our timelessness, seeing us safely into the lands beyond.” The Crone produced a long red ribbon from within her sleeve. “From our births to our deaths, we are bound to the plans which they have laid. We walk the red lines they have given us.”

Vhalla resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably. She wondered what the Crone would say to someone who had changed their fate. Or if the very notion that fates could even be changed would be blasphemous. Vhalla wondered if, perhaps, just perhaps, Vi had been wrong from the start. If every last thing had been as Ophain said, the red lines of fate that the Mother had laid. After all, who could change things, like time and fate and futures, other than the Mother herself ?

“By this, it is not for us to question those who are called to each other, just as it is no more our place to question those called to greatness. To do so would be an affront to the divine.” The Crone’s voice was powerful in its frailty. “From the highest nobility to the lowest of common, we are no different from each other in the Mother’s eyes. We are all threads in the same great weave.”

The Crone stepped forward. With gnarled fingers, purple veins spider webbing under the thin skin of their backs, she wrapped the red ribbon around Vhalla and Aldrik’s outstretched hands.

“Vhalla Yarl.” The faceless Crone turned to her. “May the Mother bless you with the greatness of her warmth.” She wrapped the ribbon again and turned to Aldrik. “Aldrik Ci’Dan Solaris, may the Father bless you with his resolution.”

The Crone carried on in this manner, binding their hands after every blessing. The Mother was to give Vhalla beauty, kindness, and many heirs. The Father was to give Aldrik strength, determination, and foresight. Vhalla had the distinct feeling that he was getting the better end of the bargain, but she held her tongue. They’d practiced the ceremony enough times that she knew every stage of what was coming.

“Vhalla Yarl, what do you pledge to your Emperor?”

“I will be yours,” she spoke with raw and delicate earnest. “I will be faithful to you. I will be yours from this day, and every day, into eternity.”

“Aldrik Ci’Dan Solaris?”

“I will be yours,” Aldrik replied. Vhalla’s eyes widened a fraction. He’d gone off-script. It was slight, and he quickly returned to the expected words, but it had been there. He had offered himself as much to her as she had to him. It was a subtle statement, but a statement nonetheless. “I will shelter you. I will protect you. I will keep you as my own, as my Empress.”

“These vows have been said before Gods and men,” the Crone continued, as though Aldrik’s modification hadn’t even happened. “May they never be broken, and may these two never prove unfaithful to the words that have been spoken.

“Should the Mother above bless this union, may she touch this couple with her flame. Should the Father above bless this union, may the Mother’s flames leave their skin unmarred.” The Crone raised her hands.

A golden flame sparked at the short bottoms of the ribbon wrapped around their hands. Vhalla held Aldrik’s hand tightly. Her fingers already bore burn scars, and she could endure the pain for formality’s sake.

But the fire did not burn her. It consumed the ribbon, but only licked lightly on their skin. It was true magic, a type she had never seen before.

“With this sign from the Gods themselves, you are now united as one, husband and wife. May your life, and reign, be one of light,” the Crone announced.

Just like that, it was done. The crowd burst into fierce applause, and Vhalla blinked as if returning from a trance. Even if it was just for appearances, the masses seemed happy. They celebrated. And, for that moment, Vhalla, too, allowed herself to pretend that the world wasn’t at war. That they wouldn’t march out at dawn.

“Vhalla, kneel,” Aldrik whispered.

She swallowed hard and adjusted her skirts. Falling as gracefully as possible to one knee, she suddenly felt more nervous than she had all day. Aldrik released her hand slowly, making sure she was stable, before turning to his uncle.

The box Lord Ophain held was of no surprise to Vhalla. But, judging from the look on Aldrik’s face, it was a surprise to him. His hands paused, hovering mid-air just before opening the box.

“Uncle . . .” he breathed.

“She would’ve wanted it,” the lord insisted.

Aldrik’s long fingers ran over the top of the box before settling on the latch and opening it. Reaching in, he produced the same glittering crown Vhalla had seen earlier. Clearly, some of the nobles recognized it and were all too eager to tell their friends in the near vicinity all about the important history of the relic.

“Lady Vhalla Ya—” he caught himself. “Lady Vhalla Solaris.”

Hearing her new name was quite a strange, yet wonderful, sensation.

“Wife of the Emperor, common born and nobly appointed.” Aldrik lowered the crown upon her waiting brow. The moment his fingers vanished she felt the weight of it upon her head. “Rise and stand with me—as Empress Solaris.”

Just like that, the world changed. Aldrik held out both hands before her and helped her to her feet. Vhalla stood, not as a common-born library girl, a soldier, a sorcerer, or a lady, but as an Empress.

If the cheers for their wedding had been loud, the cheers for her coronation were near deafening. It was as though the people truly believed that, by having a whole royal family again, they stood a better chance against the madman in the south.

“My Empress.” Aldrik gripped her hands tightly, a beaming smile threatening to break through his trained decorum. “Ascend with me.”

Vhalla walked at his side up the stairs that he had descended earlier. She held her skirts with one hand, his hand in the other. She was terrified but hopeful. And all she wanted was him.

The door at the top of the balcony closed behind them, and the sound broke her trance. Vhalla found herself in a dimly lit hall, alone with the man who was now her husband. There were no words for the joy, the triumph. Vhalla threw out all necessary decorum and forced the Emperor against the door.

Her mouth crashed against his, and Aldrik’s arms closed around her waist. They had done it. In spite of it all, they had found each other. He tasted of pure elation and of something much sweeter, something she hadn’t dared even breathe in for some time: hope.

“SOOO,” JAX DRAWLED from the end of the hall. “You two skipping the party?”

Vhalla pulled away, grinning wildly. She still had his jacket balled in her fists. His hands were halfway under the upper layer she wore overtop her skirts.

“What do you think, Empress?” Aldrik cocked his head to the side with a small grin.

“I think we are our own party.”

Aldrik laughed and pressed his lips against hers. Vhalla returned his kiss in earnest. Though she couldn’t commit to it fully due to the sensation of someone else’s eyes.

“Jax, are you . . . just going to stand there?” She fell back down onto her heels.

“It’s not every day you get to watch your sovereigns put on a show like two raging teens.” Jax leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. “Since it’s in a public place, I figured that meant you didn’t mind spectators. Or maybe you’d finally take me up on my offer of a third.”

“Oh, by the Mother.” Vhalla rolled her eyes and finally stepped away from her husband. “I suppose we should go.”

“If we must.” Aldrik’s cheeks held a faint rosy flush.

The rest of the royals and highest nobility were waiting for them in a small antechamber. Tina and Lilo both pressed their cheeks to hers in modest signs of affection. For the West, however, they were overt displays. Ophain welcomed her to the family as well.

Vhalla was momentarily distracted by Aldrik and her father sharing a brief familial embrace. He had lost his family in the South, but, in their own way, they were rebuilding anew. She hoped that her father could be someone Aldrik felt comfortable with.

Her eyes shifted towards foreign whispers. Za and Sehra stood a few paces away from everyone else, talking between themselves.

Vhalla crossed over. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Are you?” the princess asked thoughtfully.

“I am,” she affirmed. “It was an important display for the Empire.” Vhalla didn’t mince words. She knew the princess wouldn’t want it, and there was no longer time for it.

“You seem to be settling into your crown already, Lady Empress,” Sehra praised.

“The crown has little to do with it. I am no longer interested in fronts. I want action.”

Aldrik walked over, placing his palm on the small of her back.

“Emperor Solaris.” Sehra gave a small nod of her head, the most subservience the girl had ever demonstrated.

“Princess Sehra.” Aldrik mirrored the motion. “How did you find the ceremony?”

“Long and needlessly cumbersome, as I find most things in the South to be.” She gave the tiniest of smiles. “And one that I am very glad I was not forced to be at the center of.”

Vhalla should be offended, but she found herself amused. “Join us in the carriage?” she asked as they started for the large doors out of the cathedral.

“I would think those just married would seek some time alone,” the other royal hummed.

“We have had ample time to be alone. I am much more interested in speaking to you regarding the status of the North’s armies and any strategies you may have for reclaiming the South.” Vhalla readjusted her crown as the doors to the cathedral opened.

They lost the ability to converse due to the deafening cheers. Aldrik’s fingers remained entwined with hers as the Imperial couple waved at the gathered masses. Firebearers sent tongues of flame toward the heavens, and Commons waved pennons. With the world at its most beautiful and his hand in hers, for a second, it was a perfect dream. But Vhalla had yet to earn her happily ever after, if there was one to be had after the long march South.

Sehra and Za entered the carriage first and settled as Vhalla and Aldrik continued to smile and wave. Za was awkward with her bow and quiver, tools that never left the warrior’s side. Vhalla and Aldrik navigated around them while they took their seats.

“We have amassed an army of three thousand strong from Norin and the surrounding coastal cities,” Aldrik said, wasting no time in bringing Sehra up to speed on the most recent numbers. “That will join with another fifteen hundred from around the Crossroads and the East.”

“So then we will have nearly five thousand in total,” Sehra summed up gravely. It was a number that most strategists would be pleased with. But the princess’s emerald eyes still carried weight.

“What do you fear?” Vhalla asked.

“These men, they’re green. We have spent much time using our best to kill each other that we are now lame before a real force,” Sehra replied. “The earth quivers before this man’s magic. Even in Yargen, the trees shudder and cry out. He is tapping into something great.”

“That is why we will move as fast as we can.” Vhalla glanced at Aldrik, who gave an affirmative nod. They’d fulfilled their obligations to the nobles and secured their crowns and their armies. “Our army is set to march in three days’ time.”

“My warriors will arrive at the Crossroads in five.”

“Then forgive me, princess, because I know you have just arrived, but I will ask you and Za to ride ahead and meet them. The Western nobility will feel more at ease if they know the Northern army’s leader is present to keep them under control.”

“You think Shaldan people need keep under control?” Za frowned.

“No, I—”

“Peace, Za.” Sehra rested a hand on her guard’s knee. “She is worried for perception, not reality. The Southern peoples yet fear our might.”

Vhalla didn’t correct Sehra. She was truthfully afraid of the Western lords looking for any reason to pick a fight with the people who had been their enemies only months ago. Vhalla knew men and women whose sons and daughters had died in the Northern campaigns. If Vhalla and Aldrik could send letters in advance informing them that the North had an appointed and native commander who was holding them accountable, it would help keep the chain of command streamlined and respected.

“We will rest for two days at the Crossroads to replenish stock and rest the horses,” Aldrik said to no one in particular.

“Then I will tell my people that they will expect to move in about two weeks’ time,” Sehra reasoned. “Have you plans to get through his walls?”

“Was there a crystal one to the north?” Vhalla frowned. Sehra nodded. “How did you get through it?”

“I used the power of Yargen,” Sehra replied, as though that fact would be obvious.

Vhalla accepted it at face value. When the war was over, she was going to ensure she sat down and learned exactly what the power of Yargen was and how it worked.

“But that will not work in the Waste. It is too far from the old trees.”

“I see.” Vhalla adjusted her crown, the jostling of the carriage threatening to throw it off her brow. “Aldrik, has anyone scouted south?”

“We can send someone. It should take—” he was cut short as the carriage came to a sudden stop with a loud whinny.

“Tainted!” Vhalla heard someone scream. “She’s tainted!”

A commotion rose outside the carriage. The four inside shared a brief look before bursting out the doors. Vhalla clenched her fists, prepared for whatever she was about to face.

A group of people blocked the path to the drawbridge of the castle. They surrounded a single horse and rider. Guards lined the drawbridge, swords drawn.

The rider looked as though she had come a long way. Her body was frail and her clothes threadbare. Her shoulders heaved, and her hands shook. Vhalla’s eyes lingered on the woman’s hands. Black veins bulged under the skin, as though trying to break through. Old cuts lingered open, having turned raw and leathery rather than healing. The woman raised her face. What was once Southern eyes had been turned nearly entirely red.

“Take,” she rasped. “Take me—to Vhalla Yarl.”

There was something about the voice that cut deep into Vhalla’s consciousness. Something that was familiar in the most terrible of ways. To everyone else, the woman looked like a tainted monster. Blackened gums receding away from lengthening teeth, blood red eyes and gnarled hands—it all made for a terrifying picture.

But Vhalla mentally smeared away the blood and decay. She imagined the woman’s eyes to be blue and her frame thicker. She imagined her hair was not matted and, after a wash, would be blonde. But not the fair shades of blonde. A darker shade, one that could almost pass for Eastern.

“By the might of the Mother, we will smite you down,” a guard boldly proclaimed.

“Wait!” Vhalla stepped forward, and the crowd melted away from her.

Heat registered next to her as fire crackled around Aldrik’s closed fists.

“What do you want with Vhalla Yarl?” she asked the familiar creature.

There was a delay, and the tainted woman swayed. She looked as though she was about to make an effort to dismount, but gave up halfway through. Her body fell to the road below with a sickening thud.

“Vhalla, stop.” Aldrik caught her wrist, stopping her from running to the prone creature. “Don’t go near it.”

“It’s Tim.” At least, she hoped it was.

Shock relaxed his jaw, and Aldrik looked between the woman he held and the one unmoving on the ground. He squinted, trying to see what she had seen. Vhalla didn’t have time for it.

Wrenching her arm from Aldrik’s, she sprinted over to the prone woman, stopping a step out of her reach. The taint was even worse close-up. It looked as though the very thing that was holding Tim together had somehow turned sour, and now her body was falling apart from the inside.

“Timanthia?” Vhalla breathed.

No one made a sound.

The woman struggled, gasping for air through bleeding gums and black saliva. She half snarled, half cried, as she tried to will her body to move. Vhalla knelt down, hearing Aldrik’s footsteps behind her.

“T-take it. Take it. From him. I came. For you,” Tim’s voice crackled and rasped. She raised an arm weakly.

Vhalla’s hands closed around silver. She felt the etchings along the outside of the bangle, familiar and almost warm to the touch. It was scratched and scuffed. But it was undeniably the token Larel had given to Vhalla years ago.

“Listen to. Listen, and help them,” Tim pleaded. She gripped Vhalla’s skirts, blinking away bloody tears that poured over her cheeks. “Take it and kill me.”

“Can nothing be done for her?” Vhalla whispered to no one. She was unable to tear her eyes away from the other woman’s face. At the grotesque shade that had been cast upon what was once beauty.

“She’s too far gone,” Sehra responded.

Vhalla wanted to scream. She had a thousand questions. How had Tim made it to Norin? Why had she come? How had she survived, and what had she endured? Vhalla needed hours to dissect all the information locked within Tim’s story. And all she was giving Vhalla was a bracelet. Vhalla carefully twisted the bangle and slipped it off while holding Tim’s wrist steady.

“Lady Empress, I don’t think it wise—” the highest ranking guard began cautioning.

“I did not ask what you thought.” She put the jewlery on her own wrist and slowly returned Tim’s arm to the woman’s side. Vhalla stared down at the face of suffering. This was what their time had cost.

They were partying, while their people were dying.

Vhalla caressed Tim’s cheek gently, unafraid of crystal taint. Sorrow was being smothered by anger, by pain. She didn’t want to cry. She wanted to end it all, once and for all. She wanted to see that there never was another day, ever, where crystal taint would be feared.

“K-k-kill . . .” Tim’s lower lip quivered overtop her unnaturally shaped teeth.

“Tim, thank you.” Vhalla’s hand shifted to cover the woman’s mouth. “Thank you.”

Just enough magic, just enough to turn her insides to liquid. To shred her lungs and tear through her heart. Wind roared under Vhalla’s skin and poured into Tim. The woman shuddered and the second her neck burst Vhalla withdrew her palm.

Everyone looked on as the Empress slowly stood. Vhalla balled her hand into a fist, blood dripping between her clenched fingers. Vhalla raised her voice for all to hear.

“We march at dawn!”

“MY LADY, THE army can’t possibly march at dawn.” One of the majors tried to catch up with her as she strode through the castle. “That’s not enough time.”

“Find time,” Vhalla demanded unapologetically.

“We need more supplies, carts are still being packed, and—”

“Essentials first, everything else second. The climate will be temperate in the West; we can forego some of the bedding now and pick it up at the Crossroads for the South. We’ll send word ahead on what we need.” Vhalla glanced at the party that developed around her. “Tina, please write to every Western lord and lady between here and the East demanding that supplies be sent to the Crossroads.”

“Major . . .” Vhalla didn’t know what the man’s name was and didn’t care enough to wait for him to say it. “Go with Lady Tina and help give instructions on everything we may need.”

They crossed through a series of inner gardens and back through another slew of halls before Vhalla broke out to the training grounds. She held up her hand, imagining she was winding a ball of wind in its center. The sky screeched briefly with the noise of the unseen twister she created, summoning every soldier’s focus.

“Men and women of the Solaris Army.” The woman in the golden dress, silver crown, and blood-stained hand captured their attention. “For too long we have sat quietly. For too long we have talked about preparing. For too long we have practiced. And I am no exception.”

Vhalla held out her dress, uncaring for the blood she smeared on the gold fabric. She hadn’t expected to be so right when she’d told Aldrik that she’d wear the blood of their subjects. “I have fulfilled my duties as a noblewoman at the cost of my duties as a soldier.”

She never thought she’d identify as a soldier.

“No more.” Vhalla had no idea who was behind her, listening to her words. She only remained focused ahead. “Tomorrow, I ride with the dawn. I make for the Crossroads and for the South. I march to put an end to the false king.

“The lords tell me that there is not enough time, that you are not ready.” Vhalla held out her arms, beseeching. “Is this true? Are you not ready to reclaim your Empire?”

They objected with a swift and powerful, “Nay!”

“Good. Go now, and do what you must to ready yourselves. I only want the best at my side!”

It was like she’d kicked an ants’ nest. The soldiers began running, quickly organizing themselves under their own ranks. Majors stepped forward to bark quick orders.

Vhalla turned. Aldrik stood at her side, his mouth made a firm line.

“Let us get into more fitting clothes for war,” he suggested.

Their momentary escape from the growing madness was unquestioned, and they quickly ascended away from the chaos to what was now their chambers. The morning of preparations and nerves was gone. In its wake came renewed purpose.

“Aldrik,” she started as soon as the door closed. “I know you likely do not approve.”

“Vhalla—”

“But we have lingered long enough.” She held out her hands. Vhalla wanted him to understand. “We are ready for this. Sehra is ready. Every moment we wait is another death.”

“Vhalla—”

“I know you can’t speak against me publically, but give me counsel here. I will not back down on this, but I want to know how you think we should go about it.”

“Vhalla.” He took both her hands firmly and silenced her. “I support you.”

She blinked. “You do?”

“I wouldn’t have proclaimed it in the street. I may have pushed in private.” Aldrik shook his head. “But we have done things as I wanted. You are Empress now, and your word holds just as much weight as mine, publically. I will let you lead this war.”

“We will,” Vhalla amended. “It is not I or you, it is now we. We will, for our people.”

“Don your armor,” he suggested as they broke apart to dress. “At least the chainmail. It will set the right mindset.”

“Help me from this?” Vhalla asked as she was half sewn into her dress.

Aldrik obliged, chuckling softly. “This was not why I imagined I’d get you out of your dress on our wedding day.”

“My Emperor, there will be ample time for such things at a later date.” Vhalla rolled her eyes, hunting down clothes substantial enough to go under her chainmail. Vhalla paused, staring at the bangle Tim had given her.

Take it. From him. Listen.

Vhalla stilled, trying to logic through what Tim’s presence had really meant. Her emotions cooled, and her mind spun. She had clearly been trying to deliver the bracelet to Vhalla. Listen; that could mean that Tim wanted Vhalla to pay attention to her. Unless, it didn’t.

She was a blur from the room, not even bothering to put on her shoes.

“Vhalla!” Aldrik called after her, confused.

Fritz had been at the wedding with Elecia, but the castle was now in utter chaos. Still, she had to start somewhere, and it seemed just as likely if she could find one of them she’d find the other.

“Where’s Elecia Ci’Dan?” Vhalla demanded of a guard between panting breaths. “Have you seen her?”

“My lady?”

“Elecia Ci’Dan?” she repeated.

“I’ve not seen her . . .”

Vhalla muttered a curse under her breath and started for the Westerner’s room. They weren’t there, and they weren’t in Fritz’s either. Vhalla finally found them on the training grounds helping organize and prepare.

“Fritz!” Vhalla practically tackled the man as she tried to pluck him out of a stream of people walking in the opposite direction.

“Vhal? Vhal, what?” Fritz teetered and regained his feet. “Are you all right? I heard what happened and—”

“We need to listen to it.” Vhalla held up the bracelet.

“Is that?” Fritz recognized it instantly, but he didn’t believe it.

“It is,” she insisted.

“How can you be sure?” He looked skeptical still.

“I know one way we can find out.” Vhalla pressed the bracelet into Fritz’s hands. “We need to listen to it again.”

“Nothing will have changed.”

“Fritz, please,” Vhalla pleaded.

He finally obliged, and they went to the nearest vacant guest room, stealing the washbasin from within. Aldrik caught up with them along the way, and Vhalla offered a short explanation as to the importance of the token.

“This may not be the best of ideas.” The Emperor was suddenly uneasy as Fritz placed the bangle into the water. “It may be from Victor. There could be magic within it that will activate when it is tampered with.”

“No,” Vhalla insisted. “If Victor was going to attack me with it, he would have done so when my hand first came into contact with it. I know what crystals feel like, and that does not feel like crystal magic.”

Though, if one of Vhalla’s two theories were correct, they might hear Victor’s voice.

“It will be fine.” Fritz’s words were braver and more certain than he sounded. “Larel would never hurt me.”

Before any further objection could be made, his fingers dipped into the bowl. The water rippled, and they all held their breath as Fritz drew the words out from the vessel. Listen—that had been Tim’s dying wish. Vhalla braced herself for what she was about to hear.

First, a familiar voice filled the room. It was the same as Vhalla and Fritz had heard an eternity ago. Larel’s words of encouragement and hope, echoed through the room, and Aldrik’s fingers slipped between hers. He had never heard the message, and Vhalla watched from the corners of her eyes as Aldrik listened to the farewells of his first true friend.

The last words faded and silence followed. Just as Fritz was about to pull his hands from the water, a new voice began to speak. Vhalla had braced herself for the mad voice of a man drunk on crystal magic. But what she heard instead was harder to handle.

“Vhalla, if you are listening to this, then Tim made it.” Grahm’s voice echoed across the water. It was weak and thin, whispered as though his lips were brushing right across the bracelet itself when he recorded his hasty message. “Tim, she—they-they did things to her. Anyone with a wing meets such a fate, or worse. We tried to get her out, but she was lost, she volunteered. She wanted to get our message to you before you left Norin.

“We’ve heard word that you will be our Empress. You and our Emperor rose from the dead; you’re the only one who can stop him now. You have defied him once; you can teach us all how to do it.”

Guilt burdened her heart. Her perceived resurrection was giving the people in the South a false hope. She was not their savior. She had been the one who dammed them to begin with.

“We’ve grown a Silver Wing network, there are many of us now. We will help, when the time comes. We could smuggle people out, but our routes have slowly been closed off. The best we can offer you would be a way in.” Grahm’s speech began to pick up pace. The man poured words frantically into the vessel. “When you come, carve a wing into the sky. We will know. We will lower the guard at any cost so you can enter. If—”

Grahm’s voice broke, and he rasped heavily.

“If there are any of us left.” He drew a long and quivering breath. “This place, is not what you remember. It is a city of taint, and death, and crystal. Be careful and-and . . .”

There was one final pause. So long Vhalla worried that he had somehow been caught and was never able to finish his impassioned plea.

“And if-if Fritz is still with you . . . If he’s there. Fritz, by the Mother. I am doing all I can. Tell me he is well. Tell me my dreams are not lies. Because I still, I can still dream.”

The water stilled and mirrored the motionless trio standing around the dish. Fritz made a strangled noise and dropped his face into his wet palms. Vhalla was at his side in a rush, clutching him, supporting him as his knees went weak. His sobs burned her eyes and ripped through the remaining shreds of her heart.

“Vh-Vhal, we must go to him.”

“We are,” she soothed, rubbing her friend’s back.

“He-he sounds so scared!” Fritz buried his face where her neck met her shoulder.

“I know.” Vhalla took a deep breath. “But he is also strong. Just as you are. We will stand with him on the other side of this.”

Her words may have been lies. Vhalla knew she would live with that forever if they were. But as the truth had yet to unfurl its grand design upon the tapestry of time, Vhalla was content to make such a vow.

She helped Fritz back to his room. Aldrik excused himself to handle other business, giving the two friends time with just each other. The sun was already setting, and, in a complete reversal of what he had once done before, Vhalla saw him bathed and tucked into bed before leaving. Reminding him that the sooner he slept, the sooner the dawn would come.

The day had been one somber reminder after the next that death was at their doorstep. Their time of preparation and—for lack of more eloquent, nicer words—hiding was over. They were about to stand upon the precipice and greet true evil. And Vhalla only wanted people to join of their own free will.

She found Jax and Elecia talking near a back storeroom in the training grounds. They were arguing over how many potions of this or that to bring when Vhalla interrupted them.

“Jax, a moment.”

“Ah, how I have longed for the moment you seek me out by your lonesome when the moon is in the heavens above,” he held out his arms dramatically, as though Vhalla would believe a word of what he said as sincerity.

“It’s important.” Her words shifted Jax’s expression from the light-hearted and fun-loving major to the darker soldier that Vhalla had become more familiar with during her time in Norin. Elecia was keen enough to excuse herself.

“What is it, Lady Solaris?” he asked as Vhalla shut the door behind him in a small side hall. “I don’t think either of us need to be reminded of, or want to repeat, the last time you pulled me off the training grounds for a private little chat.”

“Why do you think I picked a hallway this time?” Vhalla motioned to the left and right. “Look, we can both pick a different escape route.”

The Jax she plucked from the grounds would’ve laughed. This Jax remained solemn at her remark, assessing her warily. Vhalla clenched her fists, opening her Channel for good measure.

“We march with the dawn.”

“You didn’t pull me here to tell me that.”

“Do you want to go?” Vhalla cut straight to the point.

“I don’t know where else I would be. I have not been told to vacate my post as your guard. I realize it’s not been necessary here, but when we march again—”

“Is that what you want to do?” she interrupted him. “Do you want that post?”

“It is an order.” The panic she’d been expecting all along finally began to sneak up on him.

“No, that’s what I’m telling you; it’s not.”

He shook his head in horror. Vhalla could feel him willing her not to say the words, but she would say them anyway, for them both.

“I pardon you.” Vhalla stood as tall as she could, trying to evoke the Empress that people expected to see. An Empress that Vhalla didn’t even know if she’d ever be. “Jax Wendyl, for your crimes—”

“Don’t,” he breathed.

“I hereby grant you an Imperial pardon. You are a free man and you can now go where you will.”

“Your first Imperial pardon, on me?” His words were cut with laughter. “They will make a fool of you.”

“Let them.” Vhalla shrugged. “You know how I care so deeply for the opinions of others. I will write my name and your pardon in the Western record. A record no one will ever see. It’s up to you from here.”

“So I am your shameful act in a dark hall?” he sneered.

“No.” Vhalla remained resolute. “If you want to tell the world, then tell them. I merely am respecting your choice as a free man.” Vhalla braved a step forward. “Jax, if you stand with me as my guard, I want you to stand with me of your own will. Not because you are ordered. Not as my slave. But as my friend and comrade—or I don’t want you there at all.”

“You don’t understand . . . I’m the mad dog. I’m the fallen lord. I’m the one who the lords hide their daughters from and only feel safe around when I am on an imperial leash!” he snapped. “Do you think you can make me worth her? That you can absolve me and make me someone that she could look upon with fondness from the Father’s realms?”

“No.” Vhalla kept her voice calm and level, realizing he was very close to lashing out as he had last time. “That’s something that is well beyond my power to give. Such a thing must come from you.”

“What do you want from me?” he cried.

“To be your friend.”

“I don’t have friends, I have masters!”

“What was Baldair, then?” Emotion betrayed her the second the younger prince’s name was mentioned. “Was he just a master? Is that all his memory is to you?”

Jax stared at her, in a complete loss for words. Vhalla took a step away and started down the hall to leave him to his thoughts. She went straight up to the library, hunted down a familiar tome, and found the page listing Jax’s sentence. Alone in the library, Vhalla penned her name as the Empress for the first time, and she freed a man.

COME THE DAWN, Jax rode at her side. He remained at her left hand for the entire march to the Crossroads. It was as though their conversation had never happened. He didn’t bring it up again, and Vhalla honored his silent wish by doing the same. The only person she even told about the small confrontation was Aldrik.

The Emperor supported her decree with Jax like he did with most of her other decisions. Vhalla demanded a hard pace through the West and regular training for all groups. Sehra had been right; many soldiers were green, and she was determined that, by the time they arrived at the Southern border, all soldiers would have a shot at surviving the upcoming battles.

She intentionally kept her meetings short and restricted only to the mornings. Vhalla and Aldrik settled into a rotation where he focused on the appeasement of the lords and majors, and Vhalla spent her time among the soldiers. As much as possible, she wanted to lead by example. If she wanted them to perform three rounds of drills each day, she would perform them herself.

Vhalla also made sure the men and women saw her learning. She split her time between training with sorcerers and training with the sword. One where she could be a teacher, the other where she was still much the student.

Before leaving Norin, she’d commissioned a new blade. It was short and light, well balanced but sturdy. The pommel was wheat, in the shape of wings.

Every time she felt the weight of the blade in her hand or on her hip, every time the wind soared through the skies at her command, she thought of Victor. Vhalla tried to envision what his face would look like when she killed him. There was no other alternative in Vhalla’s mind. She would be the one to do it. She had created him—she would be the one to destroy him.

On the ride into the Crossroads, Vhalla tried—once again— to find the small curiosity shop where she’d met Vi. But between the crowds, the sun shades, and the tongues of fire celebrating their arrival, she couldn’t find it. It lingered on her mind for the rest of the day as Vhalla tried to recall exactly where it had been or what it had looked like. She began to wonder if the whole encounter was nothing more than a walking dream. Exhausted, Vhalla pushed it from her mind and fell into the arms of her lover in the first bed they’d had in weeks. If she was to meet Vi again, Vhalla was fairly confident that the woman would be the one to find her.

The next morning Vhalla met with the high-ranking warriors in Sehra’s forces. She took careful note of the princess’s advice on what was likely to offend those from the North and learned a few phrases of greeting in their native tongue. Despite her mouth struggling to form the words, the Northerners seemed to appreciate that an effort was made. It was one of the only things they appreciated about being faced with the Solaris family, who they still very obviously considered to be their Southern oppressors.

Elecia was at her side, in place of Aldrik, for the greetings. The woman couldn’t speak the Northern tongue either, but she already knew a few key words and phrases and could make the sounds with ease. Vhalla made her now-cousin promise to teach her a few phrases when the war was over so she could be a better delegate to the Empire’s newest addition.

Decisions became no easier to make with time. The day before they were intended to leave, they received a message that Hastan’s scouts had confirmed movement of Victor’s army further north. An attack on the Eastern capital was likely. Vhalla knew that if they pushed the army East, they may be able to make it to the capital in time to crush Victor’s offense. If they didn’t, Hastan had a fifty-fifty chance of enduring or falling.

Vhalla’s hand shook as she quilled the response back to the Eastern senator. Aldrik had offered to do it, but Vhalla was insistent. These were her people, and she had always made sure they knew orders that put them in danger—the decision that they could sacrifice the East—came from her and why.

Her world kept producing rainbows of conflict cast in deepening shades of gray. The only black and white was her ink on parchment informing Hastan that help would not be coming. That they would use Victor’s attack to strike when the Southern border was likely to be weaker.

Rested and restocked, the army proceeded south from the Crossroads. Vhalla resumed her previous regimen of training among the soldiers. As much as possible, she made herself available to them. Fritz had been right: the day that they had escaped from Norin’s castle, these were her people.

Her favorite Southerner was at her side one night when she took dinner with the swords she had trained with that day.

“My lady,” one remarked during a lull in the prior conversation. “I was there when you stopped the sandstorm.”

“Were you?” Vhalla smiled politely. She’d heard this story at least one hundred times on the march.

“We all thought she was suicidal.” He began speaking more to the rest of the group than to her. “I was in the late prince’s legion, but in the back. So not really that far from where our Empress rode.”

Everyone seemed more interested in the man’s story than the woman who was the living topic of the tale, but Vhalla was content to let them tell it as they saw fit. Fritz still got great amusement at all the embellishments the men would include, and Vhalla elbowed him in the side more than once to curb his snickering.

“I knew then,” the man wrapped up his tale. “I said to my mates, ‘This woman is special.’ I knew she was far better than I saw others giving her credit for. But the prince, now the crown prince is a man with a good head on his shoulders. Well learned. He sees it.”

Vhalla tore off a strip of dried meat and chewed it to tenderness. That was another recent hobby, soldiers and nobility claiming that they knew her and Aldrik would be together. Certainly the support pleased her, but it rested uneasily in Vhalla’s heart. She had no doubt some of them had seen it, but she also had no doubt that many of them had spoken ill of their former dark prince.

She kept her feelings to herself, except for Aldrik. He agreed with her that it was a relief to have the soldiers supporting them. It helped keep a balance. Whatever issues the nobility still harbored toward her, the common man’s love kept their lips still.

Golden wings and suns were emblazoned upon nearly every breast. They looked to her for strength; they believed her wings would never be still, that she really had risen from the dead. It was a mantle she never wanted but had no choice in wearing. There was precious little hope, and, as the giant crystal wall closing the border of South and West came into view, Vhalla knew they needed all the hope they could get.

The weather had begun to chill, the heat of the Western Waste giving way to firmer ground and the cool winds of the South. The army halted for the majors to convene, to discuss the best plan of attack. Scouts with telescopic lenses peered at the wall, reporting what they could discern.

Five hideous crystal beasts prowled the wall’s top. Vhalla knew that if they could see the creatures, the creatures and their all-seeing eyes could see her. That was the most immediate threat. Then came opening the gate. This wasn’t like the East where they only needed to slip a few horses through. The army needed the doors to be wide open and hold that way. Finally, logic dictated that Victor had more forces on the other side of the wall, bracing for such an occasion.

It would need to be a three phase attack. The first would focus on the monsters. If they were lucky, the forces on the other side of the wall would be slow or dumb, or both, and the army could pick off the abominations.

When the creatures were gone, they would need to open—or destroy—the gate. Vhalla volunteered herself to investigate it first. She could practically feel Aldrik bristling at the notion, but he held his tongue. They had gone through too many conversations over the weeks regarding her necessity to the war. She was the only one who could manage crystals and was brave, or stupid, enough to do so with reckless abandon.

Once the gates were opened, the army would tackle whatever else Victor had waiting for them and venture forward into the largely unknown southern territory. The meeting with the majors ran late in the day. They carefully watched and planned.

Whatever the beasts were, they didn’t seem particularly intelligent. They remained stoic guardians as the army moved forward. Archers lined up on command, Vhalla at their center point. Jax, not Aldrik, was at her side. The Emperor was positioned not far off with the Black Legion—a term they were already discussing retiring in light of Victor’s naming system.

“I will dislodge the beasts from the walls.” Vhalla rode down the ranks, reminding the soldiers of the plans their leaders should’ve trickled down to them. “One or two, I will pin to the ground for the swordsmen and pole arms. While I do this, you will need to fend off the others in the sky.”

The Black Legion was lined behind the archers, and they all gave her their full attention.

“Archers, sorcerers, even if your attacks do not hit their mark, so long as you keep them at bay, you have been successful.”

Vhalla paused her mount, her eyes meeting Aldrik’s. The Emperor gave her a small nod, and Vhalla adjusted her grip on the reins. Her heart willed him to be safe in the impending skirmish.

“He doesn’t want you here,” Jax spoke only for her ears.

“No, he would rather I was still in Norin,” Vhalla agreed.

“Well, I want you to know that I told him he need not worry.” Jax sat back in his saddle, adjusting the high bun on his head. “For I will protect our delicate and most innocent Empress.”

Vhalla snorted in amusement. Laughter was a precious commodity these days. And if Jax was good for anything, it was creating that rare resource in droves.

Clenching her fists, she opened her Channels, directing her attention to the beasts. Raising her hands, she felt the world for miles around. The winds of the Western Waste had always been a monster of their own. Now it was time to pit monster against monster.

Dropping her hands suddenly, and with a grunt at the magical exertion, two of the crystal abominations were sent crashing from their perches by the sudden and unseen force of her wind. Vhalla pulled toward her, the wind literally tugging at her taut fingers. The beasts tumbled awkwardly in their struggle to become airborne.

Panting and determined, Vhalla pressed down harder. Their leathery, crystal-tipped wings functioned like sails, catching her gusts. Palms flat and open, Vhalla held two creatures against the sand.

The roar of the soldiers could barely be heard over the cries of the other crystal monsters taking to the sky. Fire and arrows rang out. Every time one tried to swoop down, a giant inferno or swarm of arrows kept it at bay.

Beads of sweat ran down her forehead. She could feel them, as though her hands were physically upon them. Struggling, twisting, writhing, they fought against her physically and magically.

Vhalla was so focused on her magic that Jax’s shout of warning went completely unheard. She had to keep the beasts down long enough for the soldiers to overwhelm them. She had to keep the wind focused only on them, but not on the swordsmen and women who had begun their bloody work of slaying the beasts.

A pair of arms closed around her, and Vhalla was pulled against Jax’s chest. Sand filled her mouth as she was tackled to the ground, face first, off her horse. Flames burst around them, burning as hot as she’d ever seen. The heat was suffocating and Vhalla struggled to breathe, her body shielded by the one atop her.

A crack and sizzling noise threatened to split open the earth, and Vhalla cried out at the discomfort as electric magic pulsed through her mind. Sweat dripped from her face, and she stayed still, letting Jax’s body shield her from the flames as much as possible. Magic, powerful and wild, surged about them, barely diffused by Jax’s shield of flame.

“Jax! Too hot!” She was boiling alive.

“Well, I didn’t know they could use lightning!”

“You can’t sustain this for much longer.” Vhalla twisted, ready to make a break for it.

“Someone will take it down,” he insisted.

“After the next shot, Jax, send the fire straight up.”

“I am keeping you alive!” Jax shouted.

There was another crack, and his shield wavered.

“Quit this noble nonsense and be the insane asshole I want!”

His shoulders shook, and the man sprung to his feet. The fire that had been blazing about them shot up as a pillar through the air. Vhalla swung her hands down with a cry, giving the beast no option but to be impaled upon his flames. The creature’s cry was as loud as it was agonizing. And it only made Jax’s flames burn all the hotter and her winds blow harder.

With a mad dash, they both narrowly avoided the charred remains of the creature as it crashed down to earth. The crystals that had shone so brilliantly on its wings went dull, like scratched obsidian, then cracked. Vhalla scrambled to her feet, feeling her Channel in preparation for her next attack.

The remaining two beasts were engaged with different groups of sorcerers and soldiers. Fire, ice, and arrows sought purchase against their nearly impenetrable bodies, trying to bring them out of the air. Vhalla picked one at random, sending it out of the sky. By the time she could turn to the other, the sorcerers had finished it.

It was a small victory, but a victory nevertheless. It would be the first of many, she vowed. One after another, the tainted wretches that stood against them would fall.

THEY QUICKLY MOVED on the wall. There wasn’t time to waste. Each moment that ticked threatened enemy reinforcements and monsters. Vhalla brought her fingers to her mouth and gave a sharp whistle. With a half jump and step on the air, she mounted Lightning in a single motion.

“Make a path!” she called at the top of her lungs. Soldiers were quick to oblige.

Like thunder, a War-strider appeared at her side. Aldrik’s new mount was as large as Baston ever was. Vhalla gave the Emperor a quick glance-over, looking for wounds—and he did the same to her.

He looked uneasily at the gate. “Are you sure about this?”

“Do you have a better idea?” Vhalla glanced at the Northern forces slowly regrouping around their princess. “Sehra said she can’t help here. What other choice do we have?”

They both pulled their mounts to a stop before the wall. Vhalla knew Victor would be aware when each of his beasts died. There was a connection between him and the crystals. She’d known it from the first abomination she’d encountered.

“Don’t come any closer, Aldrik.” Her words of caution were needless; the man knew as well as she the risks associated with crystals.

Vhalla dismounted, blinking her eyes. The magic was unlike anything she’d ever seen. It swirled in a tight jumble just above the crystal. But it was strangely familiar. She was reminded of the axe, the layers of magic that lingered upon it.

Holding out a hand, Vhalla made contact.

It was a mess of power, pulsing through her fingertips, testing her as much as she was testing it. It was like professional musicians sitting together, skilled but all strumming notes to a different song, creating nothing but a cacophony. Yet there was an underlying beat, one she knew. It resonated deep within her; it echoed across her being and accepted her.

Vhalla’s magic called to itself.

She broke away, peeling her hand from the wall. The residual magic swirled between her fingers, slowly fading. Vhalla began to laugh, dazed and shocked.

“What is it?” Aldrik took a cautionary step forward.

“It’s mine,” she observed. Amazement and resentment fought for her heart. “All of this, he’s doing by lacing my magic under it to hold the crystals together in the shapes he wants.”

“The crown . . .”

Vhalla gave a solemn nod of affirmation. There was much to think on with this revelation. Victor couldn’t tap into her Channel. Having her magic in the crown didn’t make him a Windwalker. Which meant that perhaps he had a finite amount of magic he was working with and slowly exhausting. The idea upheld their earlier theories of why he built walls with gates rather than building or tearing them down as he needed.

With two hands, she made full contact with the wall. Vhalla closed her eyes, thinking of it as an odd sort of Joining. She only

needed to gain control of that underlying current beneath all the nonsense that was structured atop it.

Reaching out to the magic, she tried to welcome it once more into herself. It was just slightly different, the crystal magic and Victor’s pulling it in odd directions. It squirmed and slithered, resistant to accepting her. Resistant to letting her regain control.

Embracing the connection completely, she allowed what she thought was her magical pulse from the caverns to merge with her current magic. It connected with her in one breath—and horror settled in. The magic was not purely hers any longer.

A heartbeat echoed through her ears.

Mentally retreating, Vhalla tried to pull away. She tried to force the unwelcome presence that had piggybacked its way into her through her own sorcery. But it was already pulsing through her, poisoning her. Like spindly vines, it dug into her with deadly thorns. It joined with her essence.

She stumbled backward, a clamor of armor. Vhalla stared at her hands in horror as a maniacal chuckle echoed on the edge of her mind before fading away. She held her head tightly, trying to purge the slimy feeling that coated the underside of her skin.

“No.”

“What is it? What happened?” Aldrik rushed over.

“Don’t touch me!” She stopped him at arm’s length. Too much had happened in those few seconds, and she needed to come to terms with it all.

“Vhalla—”

“Not now,” she grit out.

His brow furrowed and he frowned in concern. But they were here to do a job, and they both knew it. Aldrik’s expression shifted as he visually invoked his training as both a leader and a lord to the forefront. “Can you open it?”

“I can do one better.” Vhalla pushed herself to her feet, clenching her fists. There was a deep pleasure coursing through her in the realization of new knowledge gained. She just wished she could say for certain it was her own.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered.

“I’ll be fine.” Vhalla hoped saying it would make it true.

The power within her rumbled as Vhalla stared at the wall. Vhalla turned and marched back to her steed, mounting Lightning with confidence. She gripped the reins, hatred bubbling deep within her.

“Men and women of the Empire Solaris!” she shouted. The soldiers snapped to attention, near and far, as the wind carried her voice across the field. Aldrik mounted next to her. “Behind this wall is our land. For some of you, it is home. For others, it is the home of your children or your forefathers. The wall is a scar upon our Empire—when I remove it, you will push forward and you will kill every man, woman, and monster who does not mark themselves loyal to the true Emperor of this land!”

With cheers of bloodlust at her back, Vhalla returned her attention to the wall, summoning every ounce of her strength and of the new found understanding she’d gained of the dark Channel that now lived within her. Victor had made this wall. And if he could make it, she could tear it down.

Vhalla raised her hands slowly, shifting her magic. She thought of the crystal forces she had felt, of the madman’s magic lying underneath it. She loathed the moment foreign magic churned within her, responding, bubbling up through her hands. Vhalla grimaced.

Pure energy flew from her fingertips to the center of the gate. It was shapeless and colorless. The only time Vhalla had seen magic of its nature was in the North and in the Crystal Caverns.

Aldrik’s lips parted, and he looked away from the cracking gate. He focused only on her as the earth cried out in a monumental groan. He’d recognized the sorcery. It had been used on him as well. The Emperor shook his head slowly, horror spinning panic within his eyes. He knew, he had to know what now existed within her.

“To kill a monster, you must become one yourself.” It was all she could confess to the man she loved. Deep within her, rage spiraled out of control. Victor knew what she had done and could feel what it meant.

“Vhalla—” Her name on Aldrik’s lips was a pained and strangled whine.

“There’s no time now.” Vhalla turned back to the gate. Cracks raced to be the first to the top. Large stones began to loosen and fall as the magic of the crystals faded and fell dormant. The gate crumbled, and the whole wall began to topple like dominos following. “We have a war to fight.”

“Later.” He grabbed her forearm. Her resolve cracked at the wild concern in his eyes. “This will not just fade away unspoken.”

“Later.” Vhalla tried to coax her voice into being as gentle as possible, which was difficult when a foreign feeling of loathing began to mix with the cries of battle.

Aldrik pulled away, jaw clenched and brow furrowed. He turned sharply toward the startled encampment on the other side of the gate and rained fire down on the enemy. Vhalla’s eyes were alight with the flames as she heard the symphony of dying screams.

Kicking Lightning’s sides, Vhalla rushed to the head of the charge. For the first time in her life, it was she who raced forward with an army at her back. Vhalla held out her right hand and swept it to the side before quickly repeating the process with the left. The rubble cleared for those behind her, making a path along the Great Imperial Way.

Victor’s monsters and men were fending off the inferno Aldrik reaped upon them. The fire vanished when she crossed the line where the wall had been moments before.

“Swear fealty to the Solaris Empire, and you will be spared!” she cried. “Strike an ‘X’ into the black of your armor or clothes so that we may know who stands with the sun!”

“Long live the Supreme King Victor!” one sorcerer spat.

He didn’t have time to even raise his hand before an icicle impaled him. Vhalla glanced over her shoulder, looking for Fritz.

One or two of Victor’s soldiers attempted to accept her offer, hastily scratching a large ‘X’ onto their makeshift armor. It was an army enslaved, and their loyalty only went so far. But these had mostly become Victor’s men. Whatever the false king had promised must have been tempting, because more sorcerers quickly turned on their allies, killing any who would try to return their loyalty to Solaris.

Vhalla kept charging forward. At the least, they could use the momentary confusion to their advantage. But for every one conscious sorcerer, there were five more tainted, mad, and under Victor’s control. Her attempt had been made, but it was a fairly futile one.

Fire combusted by her side, and Vhalla barely had enough time to ditch the horse and roll. The smell of singed fur assaulted her senses, but she had more pressing matters than checking if her trusty steed was well. A sorcerer was upon her. With a gleaming sharp ice dagger, he slashed into the ground by her face.

Vhalla threw up an arm, and he flew backward. Just as she stood, a heavy greave kneed her in the face, shattering her nose. She was an easy target in white and Vhalla was quickly learning why nobility didn’t usually lead charges.

She coughed up blood, surprised she had not lost any teeth or bit her tongue off. Just a laceration inside her cheek. A heartbeat began to race at the edge of her consciousness. It was both familiar and terribly different at the same time, and she struggled to fight it. It was an unwanted and unwelcome sound, a rhythm that beat to the drums of war and bloodlust.

The man with the ice had recovered and was lunging again. With a cry that was part animal, Vhalla thrust a hand onto his face, dodging the other man’s second punch. Blood splattered the ground as the Waterrunner’s head exploded.

She spun, wind under her toes, making her nimble. Making her powerful.

Her sword rang out against its sheathe, reverberating up her arms and into her chest. The sound echoed in harmony with the pulse that propelled her. She would write their requiem in blood. There was minimal resistance as Vhalla put the wind at her elbows to shove her blade clear through the man’s skull, starting with his eye.

Vhalla kicked him off her blade. Laughter rasped against the inside of her throat. They would all die. Any who opposed her were weak. This was the only truth of the world. The weak would die to form the foundation of the world, the world the strong would inherit. A beautifully, wonderfully, chaotic world. It was only nature.

She turned her head, and, at her behest, lightning crackled across a sorcerer’s flesh. He shuddered, his eyes lolling in their sockets as his body became coated in burn marks that quickly turned black. He fell dead, and Vhalla turned for her next victim. It was as though the battle moved slowly for her. She saw every pulse of magic from the sorcerers and from the tainted. Each flash of weaponry was seen in perfect clarity.

She was death itself. No, she was stronger than death. She had beaten death twice! That made it hers to administer. Her body moved without thought, reckless and wild.

A pair of arms closed around her torso.

“Vhalla,” Jax’s voice hissed in her ear. “Vhalla, enough.”

She blinked the haze from her mind. The familiar call of her name pulled her back to the present, like waking from a dream. The battlefield had changed from her prior recollections. The last of the soldiers had fallen, their victory apparent. Vhalla panted heavily, trying to make sense of it.

Turning her, his palms on her shoulders as though he would need to physically hold her in place, Jax checked her up and down. A frown weighed on the corners of his lips.

“What did I do?” she breathed.

His scowl only deepened at her question. “We should get you to Elecia; she’ll heal you up.”

Vhalla followed dutifully, noticing her feet when she followed behind the Western man. It was as though she had bathed in blood. The white of her armor was coated and splatted in bits of gore. Soldiers stared. Some began to cheer, but others looked at her with a touch of fear.

Elecia made quick work of fixing Vhalla’s nose. But there was a reserved nature to her ministrations. The woman studied Vhalla carefully for far too long.

“We should get you washed up,” she said finally.

“I can do it.” Vhalla stood.

“I want to come, continue inspecting you.” Elecia half blocked Vhalla’s path and put on her best imitation of Aldrik when he was uninterested in any arguments. “We’ll be setting up camp here for the night anyway.”

“Very well,” Vhalla sighed.

They walked through the beginnings of a camp being erected just beyond the edge of the carnage. Elecia paused, resting her hand on a tree before heading away in a diagonal direction. Vhalla dragged her feet along.

“What are you doing?” Curiosity still got the better of her.

“Seeing where the trees roots get the most water in order to find us a stream or spring.” Elecia glanced over her shoulder. “You’re painted red.”

Vhalla looked back down at her armor with a small frown. If only she could remember killing the people whose blood she wore.

Elecia’s magic delivered. The spring they found was small and shallow, barely up to Vhalla’s short-statured waist. They were still in the transitional shrub land of West and South.

Her armor felt heavy and her fingers uncoordinated as she tried to unclasp it. Elecia sighed softly and helped Vhalla. The women found a spot at the water’s rocky edge to sit.

“Elecia, look, I’m fine.” Vhalla held out her arms putting herself on display. “You don’t need to be here to check or heal me.”

“It’s not your physical body I’m worried about,” the woman solemnly uttered. “Now, in the water.”

Vhalla obliged, wading into the center of the pool. The spring was chilly on her skin. It sharpened her senses and grounded her in the present. Vhalla watched as the water clouded with blood.

“What happened today?” Elecia demanded.

Vhalla cringed inwardly. She wanted to scream; she wanted to sob. Vhalla tilted her head back and looked at the unbroken sky. She opened her mouth and took a deep breath.

“The wall had my magic in it.”

“Yours?”

“Alongside Victor’s and the crystal magic,” Vhalla affirmed. “I don’t think he can quite control or manipulate the crystals without it. My magic was like a support structure holding the rest together.”

“He’s not a Windwalker, but if he has Windwalker magic to work with . . . I suppose it makes as much sense as anything else involving crystals,” Elecia worked out.

“I thought I could pull out the scaffolding, or that I could reclaim it and gain control of the crystals. I invited it into me. I invited him into me.”

“Who?”

Vhalla’s eyes drifted over to the other woman. She dropped her head to one side, debating between laughing and continuing to stare at her incredulously. “You’re not one to ask dumb questions.”

Elecia frowned.

“I didn’t want it.” Vhalla returned to staring at her fingers, as though they were disconnected from her body. “But I didn’t think it could or would come in alongside my magic. Now he has some of my magic, I have some of his. I feel him. It’s like we, we’re . . .”

The word was thick and heavy on Vhalla’s tongue. It tasted like death. She was tainted, but it wasn’t the taint everyone knew.

“We’re Bonded.”

There was nothing but the sound of the winds and the rustling of small trees and grasses. Elecia stared at her a long moment, blinking her eyes. Vhalla wondered if the woman could see it, now that she knew what to look for.

“You’re shivering.” Elecia quickly splashed some water over her own bloodstains and stood. “Come, we’ll get you back to Aldrik and get you warm.”

“I don’t think I should be around Aldrik,” Vhalla confessed.

“Well, you can tell him that, because I most certainly won’t be the one to do so.” Elecia held out a hand. “You’re stronger than this, Vhalla Yarl.”

Vhalla searched Elecia’s emerald eyes for the hint of deception. If the words were a lie, Elecia did a great job of delivering them with confidence. Vhalla stood on her own, ignoring the offered help up. She didn’t want anyone touching her. She had used crystal magic. She could be walking taint.

Night fell quickly and, despite Vhalla deciding to risk some magic to dry their clothing, they were both cold by the time they arrived back at camp. Jax and Aldrik stood around a campfire, speaking with Fritz and a few other majors who quickly cleared out when the Lady Ci’Dan and the Empress sat.

“Vhal.” Everyone looked at Fritz in surprise. Apparently, none of them expected him to be the one to break the silence. “What happened today?”

“A battle.”

“No, I’ve seen you fight before. That wasn’t you,” Fritz said softly, almost fearfully.

He had no idea what he needed to fear.

“I’m Bonded to Victor.” It was going to come out sooner or later; Vhalla didn’t see the point in delay.

“What?” Fritz leaned backward in surprise.

“Vhalla.” Aldrik grabbed her hand from wringing her own fingers in her absentminded habit. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered and pulled her hand from his.

“No.”

“His magic is in me, mine is in him. I feel him as I felt you.” Vhalla didn’t want to break her husband’s heart just weeks into their marriage.

“How?” Aldrik breathed. The majority of his brainpower was clearly being used to process what she was saying, rather than mustering eloquent words.

Vhalla sighed and summarized it as she had for Elecia, about the wall and Victor’s magic being atop hers and the crystal’s magic.

“Vhalla, are you sure?” Fritz had the audacity to look hopeful, as if she were somehow mistaken.

“I know what this feels like!” Vhalla snapped. Fritz’s eyes widened, and she immediately regained control of herself. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just—it’s been a long day.”

“Well, something is different.” Elecia blinked her eyes a few times, and inspected her again. “I don’t know enough to determine if it is a Bond or not. But there is some kind of strange synthesis.”

“What do you think it is?” Aldrik asked.

“I just said I don’t know.” Elecia shook her head.

“Well, he doesn’t have your magic in him,” Aldrik pointed out with a finger. “It’s just the crown.”

“True.” Elecia didn’t put up much of a fight. “But who knows what he has accomplished with all his crystal work. Vhalla seems to already be able to use crystal magic like Victor. A feat she never really accomplished with your Bond, which was quite strong. Crystals break all the rules of magic we know, and those rules surrounding Bonding are fuzzy at best.”

“But this could be good.” Jax rubbed his chin, no longer the silent observer. “We saw it today; you can tear down what he makes like it’s nothing. This could be a useful tool.”

“I am not a tool.” Vhalla looked at him darkly. “Would you want the madman in you? How would you like to feel his rage burning under your flesh? Then maybe you wouldn’t think it’s so damned convenient!”

They all stared at her in shock. Vhalla’s mouth dropped open as well, struggling to find words—words that were truly hers. It was like a switch on her emotions that she no longer knew how to control. Jax, for once, had no dark or perverse retort. Vhalla buried her face into her palms.

“I’m tired,” she mumbled, unable to face them a moment longer.

Hands, hot palms, slid over her, easing over the invisible wounds that bled under her skin. Aldrik engulfed her, smoke, sweat, fire, and scent all his own. Vhalla trembled, she wanted to push away the emotions that were threatening to break out. She tried to drown the unwelcome disgust that coated the back of her mouth with thoughts of Aldrik’s love.

“Friends, leave us.”

Vhalla heard shuffling and was almost content to let them leave without another word. But she had to clutch onto the things that made her Vhalla, and her friends were one of those things.

“Jax.” She pulled her head away from Aldrik’s chest. He stopped, just within the light of the campfire. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t let it trouble you, Empress.” If Jax was putting on a front, he did quite a good job at feigning earnestness.

“Come, my Vhalla.” Aldrik pulled her to her feet. “There is a warm bedroll waiting for us.”

Vhalla stopped trying to fight him. She gave into the comfort of her husband’s presence. One foot, then the next, it was the only thing that she filled her mind with, afraid if she went too far in any direction, Victor would take over.

Under the blankets, Aldrik coaxed out the stubborn stiffness anxiety had put in her shoulders and arms. His heated caress, his soothing whisper. It drew Vhalla against him, basking in his love as though it were the only thing that would keep her alive now.

“I don’t want this . . .” she breathed in Aldrik’s essence to fuel her frightful confession. “I can feel him. Even now, lurking back behind my thoughts. Waiting for the currents of magic and minds to let him have a hold again.”

Aldrik held her hand bone-crushingly tight, bringing it to his lips to kiss her fingertips.

“I’m Bonded to that man. I lost our Bond, and now—”

“It is not a Bond,” Aldrik spoke with conviction.

“I know this feeling, this—”

He silenced her with a firm kiss. One that was magical enough to muster hope. “We shared a Bond,” he whispered across her lips. “A Bond is wonderous. A Bond is life. It is the most beautiful connection that can ever be shared. This—this is not a Bond.”

Vhalla kept her mouth silent. A wolf was not a dog because you called it so. But she would give her husband hope, even if she couldn’t share it. Vhalla closed her eyes and gave herself to his reassurances. She hoped that by morning she could actually believe them.

VICTOR.” THE EMPEROR Tiberus Solaris was removing his plate with the assistance of various servants. He stood in an open space with polearms displayed on the walls, their points still sharpened and oiled. The tiling was vaguely familiar, white marble laid at a diamond pattern. “You know I am very busy right now with the festival starting soon.”

“I know, my lord,” the Minister of Sorcery acknowledged with a bow. “But you told me to come to you with the results of my research on your future campaigns.”

“You have found something useful?” The Emperor looked at Victor through his reflection in a large mirror. His arms held straight out, the help had almost finished removing the many layers of complex plate that made up his ceremonial armor.

“Very useful.” Victor struggled to keep the apparent glee from curling his mouth. “But tell me first, where is your eldest son now?” The Emperor turned to the minister and arched a single brow. Victor smiled calmly. It was a smug little look that breathed of arrogance and assurance. It was a bold front to put before the late- Emperor Solaris, and one people only did when they were certain that the information they possessed outweighed any potential ire.

“Leave us,” the Emperor ordered, his eyes focused on Victor. The servants cleared the room on command. Dressed down to just pants and a thick cotton tunic, the Emperor took a step toward Victor, regarding him carefully. “Were it not for your manner, I would presume he would be making the necessary preparations for our court dinner for the start of the Festival of the Sun.”

There was a long moment of silence while Victor clearly weighed his options for how to proceed. “What do you know of the common girl named Vhalla Yarl?”

“Vhalla Yarl?” The Emperor shook his head. “The name is not familiar. I usually make little effort to remember the names of the lowborn.”

“He has not sent one report to you about her?” Victor stroked his goatee thoughtfully. He made a show of speaking to himself. “I’m sure it just slipped Aldrik’s mind.”

The Emperor’s expression changed momentarily at Victor’s words. The royal had taken the bait.

“I am sure her name will be well known by you soon enough,” Victor assured.

“Why?” the Emperor asked cautiously.

“Your son is with her now,” Victor reported triumphantly.

“Aldrik?” The Emperor seemed genuinely surprised, but quickly waved it off. “Aldrik is not one to fraternize with common folk. I try not to get in the way of his amusements when it comes to playing his mind games with them. Keeps a healthy amount of fear in those beneath our notice.”

“If anything, she has played a mind game on him.” Victor’s tone turned serious, not wanted to heed the obvious dismissal of the topic. “Every time he comes to me, he inquires after her well- being. He trained her personally. He carried her to me following an incident, cradled in his arms and begged me to help her. He races to her side at every possible moment. We both know he has previously made some less than ideal choices off the lower rungs of society.”

“I am not worried about a child.” The Emperor folded his hands behind his back and leisurely strolled over to a window, looking over his city. “If she is a problem, I will remove her like . . . Oh, what was her name?”

“Inad?” Victor finished easily.

Vhalla recognized the name of Aldrik’s first love.

“Yes, her.” The Emperor nodded. “I appreciate your diligence now, like then, Victor, but I am not worried. Now, I think this conversation—”

“This girl is able to give you the means to conquer the Crescent Continent,” Victor interjected quickly.

“What?” The Emperor turned in place, too invested in Victor’s words to be upset by the interruption.

“That’s why I thought Aldrik would tell you. I realize you’ve been keeping your overseas visions from him, but I thought he would tell you for the sake of taking the North.” Victor sighed heavily and pressed his fingers against his temple. “But he’s so protective of the girl.”

“You have found me a Windwalker.” The Emperor’s words were nearly reverent, his excitement palpable. Then his expression darkened. “Why would my son keep this from me?”

“Harnessing the true usefulness of her power, at the least, will require her enslavement. If not her death.” Victor shrugged, as though the thought was nothing to him.

“Aldrik, my idiot son with his mother’s heart.” The Emperor sighed heavily. “Thank you for telling me this. I will have the girl conscripted into service.”

“If I may advise you . . .” The Emperor motioned for Victor to continue. “Be patient. The two are fire and air. Aldrik can be untamed, as you know, and she can barely control her magic at present. I think there will come an opportunity for you to use her to your advantage.”

“Or I will see one made,” the Emperor remarked. “Victor, I am thankful to have such loyal servants such as yourself. It is a refreshing change from my last Minister of Sorcery.”

“There is one more thing, my lord,” Victor added, his eyes shining with manipulation. “One more thing; to make her truly the key to your conquest across the sea, I will need something from the North to unlock the caverns.”

“A small price for what you promise. I will see that we acquire what you need.”

“It is a treasure of Yargen, of the variety Egmun procured—an axe made of crystal. If I have it, I will see that you witness the true power of the caverns.” Victor barely hid his giddiness, even as his words held more than one meaning.

“Consider it done. And report back to me with any further knowledge you gain on the girl . . . and my son.”

“Of course, I am nothing if not your most obedient servant.” A mad grin spread triumphantly across Victor’s face the second he’d turned away from the Emperor.

That expression, the wicked glee, was what Vhalla woke to. She didn’t wake screaming or thrashing, but her whole body ached, and her head hurt as though she’d run a marathon in her sleep. The sun had yet to rise, and the canvas above her was a hazy and dull blue. Aldrik’s arm wrapped around her middle, and, judging from his deep and steady breathing, Vhalla knew he had yet to stir.

Vhalla didn’t wake him. She stayed still and quiet, trying to dissect the dream. She turned it over in her mind and picked it apart. Victor had played them all. He played on their hatred of each other, their distance. He knew Aldrik well enough to know that the prince would never fully trust his father. He knew the Emperor didn’t think Aldrik ready for his plans for the Crescent Continent.

Aldrik didn’t want to use the word “Bond” to describe what had happened between her and Victor, but Vhalla could offer no other alternative. She was Bonded to Victor. She had him within her. The madman, the monster who had stolen her magic. Vhalla was deeply connected with the one person in the world she truly wanted to kill.

Jax’s suggestion echoed within her. Perhaps if she could manipulate the Bond, she could help them with the knowledge she could glean, with the powers she gained over the crystals.

With the sun, Vhalla began to feel a rise in other emotions, a dark sea that raged in the back of her mind stirring to life. She rolled away from Aldrik, unable to endure his tender touch a moment longer.

“Vhalla?” he mumbled, pawing at the empty space she left.

“Go back to sleep,” she demanded quietly. “There’s still time yet.”

Aldrik opened a single dark eye, looking up at her skeptically.

Vhalla forced a smile onto her lips. When he still seemed insistent, she rested a palm on his shoulder. “Just the bathroom,” she lied.

How far she had come. She, the library girl who was notorious for being a bad liar, was believed by the silver-tongued prince.

Aldrik closed his eye and mumbled something about her coming back soon. Vhalla tugged on her chainmail and left him, hoping he could endure the disappointment of discovering her absence.

A barren land greeted her. The bloodshed from the previous day was still visible in the distance. Carrion birds picked at the remnants. Vhalla turned her eyes away from it and looked

southward. That would only be a small portion of the destruction she’d reap. She’d turn Victor’s power against him and take the world from under his feet.

She stood staring at the destruction before her until people began to stir.

Aldrik said nothing about her morning walk as they rode. He attempted to strike up various conversations with her, but none sparked, and he was left talking around her to Jax or Fritz. Elecia was equally quiet, her eyes heavy on Vhalla.

But Vhalla ignored them all. She kept her eyes trained on the great, distant horizon that she suspected would be her final battle field.

They marched through lunch into the afternoon, finally striking camp at dinnertime.

Vhalla sat at their shared campfire for a few moments as everyone eagerly dug into their portions. She passed her meat from hand to hand, and then passed it off to Jax. The man regarded her with concern but didn’t say anything.

“You hardly ate,” Aldrik said when she stood.

“Not hungry.”

“Where are you going, Vhal?” Fritz asked from across the campfire.

“To spar.” Someone would be willing to help her relieve the nervous energy that crawled under her skin.

“You should eat more.” Aldrik caught her wrist.

“I told you, I am not hungry.” There was an edge to his voice that only she seemed able to hear. It was an awful grating sound that didn’t appear to bother anyone else.

“Vhalla, please,” he encouraged.

“I will eat what I please!” She wrenched her hand from his grip. A frown crossed her husband’s face, an expression that Vhalla couldn’t endure. It swayed her mind into more familiar territory. “I just . . . want to work on my swordsmanship.”

Vhalla vanished before any of them could say anything else—hunting down the first partner she could find.

One parry, two, repeat; the pattern rang through her head in time with the steel vibrating in her hand. Turn, dodge, duck, lunge, kick, she was getting better. The unsuspecting swordsman had claimed he would be all too honored to be the Empress’s practice for the night, but he’d bitten off more than he could chew against the Windwalker.

Five exhausted partners later, Vhalla sheathed her sword. Sweat rolled off her face, and she panted heavily, but she was no closer to feeling satiated. Victor’s energy still churned underneath her skin.

The next day, her head began to hurt on and off. She could feel Victor’s presence, like a shadow clinging on her back, and it was becoming more and more difficult to sort her emotions from his. This Bond was unlike anything she had felt with Aldrik.

Damn crystals.

The forest grew denser with each passing day, and the ground began to turn into hills that would later become mountains and valleys. Vhalla kept her eyes down for most of the day, silent, focusing on keeping Victor’s magic contained within her. Closer, she realized. Each sway of the horse was bringing her closer to her goal. Shouldn’t she feel happier?

Happiness was illusive, and her dreams began to occur more regularly. No, they weren’t dreams. They were memories. And their assaults were more aggressive than it had ever been with Aldrik.

“What’re you gonna do about it, huh? Man witch?” a boy, barely old enough for a coming of age ceremony, taunted. “Gonna use your magic on us?”

Victor, no older than thirteen, stood with his back against a wall. Based on the construction of the buildings, he appeared to be somewhere in the capital.

“Yeah, magic boy, let’s see it.”

Victor scowled and ran his thumbs over the tips of his fingers. “You wouldn’t want that, I’m warning you.”

“Warnings?” The first boy glanced between his two friends. “I think he’s scared.”

“I’m not scared of a Commons,” Victor swore. “You should be scared of me.”

“We’ll see.” The boy cracked his knuckles and swung.

Victor dodged and put his hand on the boy’s chest. Ice covered his torso, rendering his arms mostly immobile from the elbow up. The second boy stepped forward, and Victor repeated the process with confidence.

“Don’t want to fight me now?” he asked the remaining riff raff.

The last boy shook his head.

“Hey, hey.” He held out his arms and placed his palms on the half frozen children. The ice vanished into the air. “Look, we can all still be friends.”

Two just chattered, while the third looked too horrified to speak.

“I need you to remember two things though . . . The first is to never think you’re better than a sorcerer—ever again.” Victor patted what had been the leader on the shoulder, grinning brightly.

“The second is to remember that you belong to me now.”

The boys, the alley, faded away like black smoke. There was only the young Victor before her, as arrogant and triumphant as his adult counterpart.

He looked up at her, and Vhalla was frozen, helpless to do anything.

“Now, you’ve been very naughty, raiding my mind,” the boy spoke slowly. “Let’s see what’s in yours.”

Vhalla felt him. She felt his magic like icy fingers peeling back and penetrating the depths of her mind without her consent. He probed her, taking what was most precious to her.

“No . . .” Her protest was weak, his magic already within her.

A young woman with a mess of hair sprinted through the darkness, a new world building under her footsteps. She put her shoulder to the Imperial library’s door and pushed. Vhalla willed it to stop. She wished for nothing more than to stop the replay of her life before her eyes.

“There he is.” Victor’s voice echoed in her ears. “Let’s see, did you find him attractive then?”

Vhalla remained silent, trying to hide her emotions. But she felt the echo of her dream self. The way Aldrik had first captivated her with his unconventional appeal. Victor felt it too; she knew he did by the satisfaction in his voice.

“I read all his little notes to you. The ones you hid away in your room. He never had time for apprentices, he always claimed, but I guess that didn’t extend to girls whose legs he wanted to spread.”

Rage betrayed her.

“There it is! There’s the anger!” he egged on.

Vhalla focused on the young woman before her, watching Aldrik lead her past self through the bookshelves. They both looked so much younger. There wasn’t a scar on her body. The dark circles under his eyes were only just forming.

“Yes, yes, you love him so much, you can’t hide it from me. But, Vhalla, I-I can be kind. I will show you. Tell him to give up his claim to the throne, and I will let you both fade away. If his army bows to me, I will let you both flee across the sea.”

“I will kill you.” Her voice quivered with barely controllable rage.

“No, I think not.” Victor chuckled, his voice growing distant. “The longer we are linked, the more our lives grow entwined. If I die, you will die.”

“That’s not true. Bonds don’t work that way.” She remembered Aldrik telling her so, and Vhalla needed it to be true now more than ever.

“But it is true. I will make sure it is. Because I don’t think he will kill me if it means killing you.”

“You lie,” Vhalla screamed mentally. “You lie!”

Vhalla woke with a start. Her skin was flushed, and her blood boiled within her as if trying to purge Victor like an infection. She cradled her face in her hands and, for the first time, contemplated running.

No, Vhalla shook her head at herself. There was no one else. Even if she could find another Windwalker, they’d never withstand this burden. Even if they were willing, they would die before they ever had enough training to be a threat.

A movement from behind startled her. Vhalla turned, her hands flying from her face. Magic was ready upon her fingertips when Aldrik caught them effortlessly. She panted softly, withdrawing the power she’d been ready to unleash on him.

“Vhalla,” Aldrik whispered softly. The blankets pooled around his waist as he sat. “What is it?”

“Don’t touch me.” She twisted, avoiding the hand that sought her cheek.

“Vhalla!” He heaped frustration upon her name. “You waste away before my eyes. I cannot convince you to eat. You thrash in your sleep. And now, now I may not touch you?”

Vhalla stared at her bare-chested husband. Their rations had yet to expire, and the training had been good on his body. In stark contrast, her arms looking more gangly, her waist thinner. She resisted a stirring of want, not the first she’d fought on the march since the gate. Monsters weren’t allowed to want Emperors.

“No.” She withdrew. “You may not.”

Aldrik stared as though she had slapped him. He didn’t utter another word as Vhalla dressed and clipped into her armor.

The Emperor let her go.

Jax waited outside the tent, scrambling to his feet as she stormed out.

“Go,” Vhalla ordered. She was struggling to contain the rage within her.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Jax jested.

Vhalla spun on her heel, glaring up at the Westerner. Her hand had flattened and her fingertips stopped at his throat. The broken nail of her middle finger scratched lightly against the hard knot in his neck, right where she had been ready to gouge. Jax didn’t even flinch. He either trusted her a great deal, or he truly didn’t care about dying. Both seemed equally likely.

“Elecia’s right, you are not well, are you?” he whispered.

Vhalla eased away. “I’m fine.”

“Vhalla, you should—”

“I am your Empress!” Her voice raised half a fraction as she raised a finger, pointing it at the tall Westerner’s face. “And you, you fallen disgraced lord, will not tell me what I should and should not do.”

Jax blinked down at her. Vhalla’s breathing was heavy. When he said nothing, she continued on her way alone. Being alone was fine, because if it came to it, Jax wouldn’t be able to protect her. None of them could touch her any longer. The more she trained, the stronger she became. She was evolving into something better than them all.

HER THEORIES WERE proven true when an enemy force greeted them halfway through the Great Southern Forest. Victor had planned this attack carefully, and it wasn’t until giant flaming trees were falling upon the Imperial army that they even realized the enemy surrounded them. Vhalla watched as the first tree fell, soldiers scrambling out of its way ahead of her, and wondered if she should just let them die. Any who couldn’t protect themselves didn’t deserve life.

However, her hand moved and pushed tree after tree away with gust after gust, sparing her mostly Commons army.

The enemy charged from their hiding places on either side of the road. Vhalla was off Lightning within seconds, her sword drawn. She would tear them all apart herself, with steel or wind.

The first sound of her blade crunching through a skull was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard. Vhalla couldn’t keep a gleeful smile off her face as she turned and depressed a hand into another’s mouth. The woman’s eyes widened and Vhalla savored the look. There it was. That moment right before someone’s death. The split second when they realized their own mortality. That they were going to die by her fingers. She’d never allowed herself to enjoy it before and, oh, she’d been missing so much!

Licking her lips, tasting her kill, Vhalla was already onto the next one. The skies opened, and a late autumn rain drenched the field. Vhalla trusted wind more than ground to keep her feet from slipping.

The rain washed off her trophies, and Vhalla was forced to keep up with the downpour if she wanted any of the satisfying crimson.

Kill them.

Yes, she agreed.

Kill them all.

She vowed she would.

Enemy sorcerers were still in the treetops to rain arrows and fire down to the ground. Vhalla pushed them to their deaths one by one. She bobbled them like toys on the way down, deciding if she wanted to kill them from the fall or tear them apart with her hands.

The heartbeat in her ears would’ve driven her mad if she hadn’t given herself to it. It was physically painful to resist. And it had always been her lifeline in battle.

Vhalla’s hand clamped down on another mouth. What number was this? Too many to count. Too many to count! She stared at the wide eyes, a mad grin curling her cheeks.

A shoulder slammed into Vhalla’s side, destroying her focus before the final blow could be delivered. Vhalla snarled, ready to assault the wretch who had dared interrupt her.

“Vhal, stop!” Fritz shouted over the rain. His hair stuck to his face like a wet mop.

“M-my lady,” the soldier Vhalla had been about to kill stuttered. “The-the ‘X’ . . . I fight for you.”

“Go.” Vhalla didn’t even offer an apology to the ally she had been about to slay. She just grabbed her head with her hands.

“Vhal . . .” Fritz walked forward slowly.

“Fritz, I don’t want you,” she remarked with blisteringly short temper. Even his face annoyed her.

He took another step toward her. “What’s wrong with you?”

“If I told you, what do you think you could do?” she shouted. “You could not even complete your apprenticeship vessel creation!”

Fritz paled. He stared with eyes as hopelessly vast as the ocean. Vhalla panted, her nails digging into her scalp. Her head was beginning to hurt again, and, thanks to Fritz, she hadn’t even been able to assess the field to see if they could afford to be talking.

“Vhal, I . . . I never told you that.”

“Yes, you did,” she muttered trying to recall exactly when.

“No, I didn’t.” He blinked rain from his eyes. “I was embarrassed. I didn’t want you to think your friend was just a screw up.”

“I already knew you were a screw up!”

The look of hurt that crossed her friend’s face was so genuinely raw that it summoned something equally real from deep within her, a woman she once knew. A woman she’d been. Vhalla’s hand rose to her mouth in shock.

“Fritz,” she breathed at his back. “Fritz, wait—”

“Sorry, Lady Empress, I didn’t mean to trouble you with the likes of a screw up like me.” His voice was barely audible over the rain.

“I didn’t mean that!” Her efforts were for nothing as he walked back toward the main host where it regrouped along the road.

Vhalla stared numbly at the battlefield. How many people had she killed? Had any begged for their lives? Had she killed another ally before the one Fritz had saved from her? Vhalla honestly couldn’t say.

She dropped her head, her fingers digging into the blood and mud around her. This was not the Empire she had wanted to build. This was not the Empress she had wanted to be.

This is the Empress you were born to be.

“Lady Empress,” Jax said stiffly, interrupting her from her thoughts. His voice echoed through her ears as though she was trapped underwater. She was drowning, and they all still thought she was breathing. “The majors are meeting to regroup.”

He left her before she could say anything.

The meeting tent had clearly been treated by Waterrunners, as it was perfectly dry within. Flames hovered near every person, both drying and warming. Vhalla took her place at Aldrik’s right hand at the front of the room.

“The swords sustained the majority of the casualties,” a cleric reported.

“Though it is not so substantial that we would need to reform our ranks,” another added.

“If the false king continues to attack by trees, we may want to consider spreading archers through the column for a faster response.”

“It may be a safe thing to do,” another agreed.

“My Emperor, what do you think?” the major deferred the responsibility.

“Let me consult with the Empress,” Aldrik said suddenly.

Vhalla turned, realizing he’d been staring at her the whole time. The majors departed on command. Jax didn’t so much as look at her, whispering hastily to Elecia.

“Vhalla . . .” Aldrik crossed the gap between them. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” She avoided his gaze.

“You fought well.”

She winced at the compliment.

“You are becoming a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield.” Aldrik tried leaning forward to catch her eyes. “So, what do you think we should do?”

“Whatever you and the majors think is best.” She sighed heavily. “I am very tired. I trust you.”

“I need your opinion.” He was being relentless.

“Why?”

“Well, you said you could feel him . . .” Vhalla looked up sharply at the Emperor, a scowl growing on her face as he spoke. It only made him speak faster, and the more he opened his mouth the further his foot went into it. “I know, I understand, that you may not want to. But for us—no, for everyone—for all of our subjects, if you can find out what his next move is, then we can prepare.”

The laughter escaped as a spasm of amusement. It quivered her breath, trembled her shoulders, until it erupted as a raspy noise between her lips. It silenced Aldrik and brought a paused, distant look she’d not seen in some time.

“I see.” She stepped away from him. “I see. You are your father’s son after all.”

“What?”

“So willing to use my magic to get what you want. ‘Hush, Vhalla. It’s not a Bond Vhalla.’ It’s easy, not having him in your ear.”

Aldrik stepped back as though she’d struck him.

“You don’t know what it’s like having him in your head!” she shouted and didn’t care who may hear. “You want me to listen to him? To all the words he tries so hard to whisper into my subconscious? To all the visions he shows me if I dare shut my eyes and try to sleep.”

“Vhalla—” Aldrik returned to life.

“How many times must I tell you not to touch me?!” She wrapped her arms around herself, her nails breaking as they dug into her armor. “Don’t do it, Aldrik. Don’t give him one more scrap of emotion to take from me and turn into something else. To use as fuel to break me down.”

Her knees hit the ground, and Vhalla looked up at him, pleading. She looked at him as though he were the Father incarnate. Ready to beg him to take her to the realms beyond.

“By the Mother and Father, Gods, make it stop!” She could feel him in her. He wanted her to give him control. Victor wanted nothing more than to ransack her mind and claim her body. He would turn her into one of his crystal abominations if she let him. “Aldrik, I know you wanted it of me, but-but I can’t.”

Aldrik said nothing. Kneeling on the damp ground before her, Aldrik held out his arms. And the Emperor waited.

Vhalla’s self-control finally cracked. He was a risk worth taking; he’d always been. Aldrik’s arms enveloped her, and Vhalla pushed her face into his chest so hard it almost broke her nose again. She didn’t even try to stop the tears, and he held her all the harder.

“I don’t know—his magic is in me, Aldrik; it could hurt you.” Sense wasn’t winning as Vhalla sought out his comfort, her head finding its way to his neck and shoulder.

“You could never hurt me,” Aldrik whispered.

Vhalla could not choke down a sob, praying that it was still true. His heartbeat pulsed within his neck, and Vhalla listened closely. She focused on it above all other noise in her head.

“I’m sorry,” Aldrik continued, his breath ruffling her hair. “I shouldn’t have let you endure this for so long. I didn’t think it was this bad. I thought it was stress and war, and I was a fool. Forgive me.” He pressed his lips to her temple. “I love you, Vhalla Yarl Solaris.”

Vhalla closed her eyes and let her new, full name echo throughout her mind. It reverberated all the way down into the depths of emotions she had tried to hide. Her love for him would always be there, burning just under the surface. Vhalla opened her mouth to tell him the same, to make her own apologies, to commit to working together and building a new dawn.

But a scream was the only sound to escape as a stabbing pain knocked the wind from her chest.

“Vhalla!” Aldrik’s voice was raised, frantic.

Vhalla, another voice seared at the edge of her consciousness. It sounded like a dagger being drawn across glass.

She gasped for air, a violent shudder coursing through her. It was as though someone had removed her lungs and replaced them with ice.

“Vhalla, what’s wrong? What is it?” Aldrik was hopelessly frantic.

“Al—”

Don’t say his name, Victor’s voice purred. Do it and you’ll only make this worse.

“Aldrik!” Vhalla choked out defiantly. “He-he—”

She couldn’t utter another word. All the air was gone. Vhalla balled in on herself, trying to become so small the world would forget she existed. The agony was as great as some of the worst pains that had been inflicted upon her in the past two years.

“Major Jax!” Aldrik shouted.

Movement barely registered in her blurring vision. Her breath was quick and shallow, and she fought for every gasp. The firelight was reduced to glowing orbs in her quickly tunneling vision. More shouting, arguing, running footsteps, it was all happening to someone else very far away.

How badly does it hurt? Victor raked against her mind.

She couldn’t even choke out a response.

All because you said his name. I did warn you. Do you know what this is, Vhalla? Do you know what’s happening to you?

She was dying.

“Vhal, Vhalla!” a different voice cried for her.

Her eyes fluttered closed.

There is no pain here.

No pain, she agreed weakly. Darkness welcomed her.

If he truly loved you, he would take you away. But do you see what he does to you?

Victor smashed his way into her consciousness with the grace of a sledgehammer. He was pilfering from her awareness, encroaching upon all that she was. His essence was like a snare, the more she fought it, the tighter it wound.

“Vhalla! Don’t - - - - -ave to fig- -t!” The voices were fading; she was reaching the bottom of that abyss she was sinking into.

The truth is, Victor continued. It was as though he stood right next to her. He loves his crown, his Empire, his legacy. He fights for his own glory, just like his father.

You’re wrong.

Why do you still fight me, wretch? Do you not think the late Solaris started with pure intentions? You knew the man he was. Aldrik will be the same; he’s tasting war, and he will hunger for it forever. The sensation of Victor pressed upon her, and Vhalla struggled to maintain her sense of self. But what’s Vhalla’s role in his world? Why doesn’t she fight for the winning side? Fight with me . . . What’ll be your destiny?

To kill you. Vhalla fought for—and meant—each of those words. He was like ice, invading her, freezing her in a prison of her mind where there was only him.

You know you can’t. Look at you now, prone before my might. Your tenacity to resist is charming, but I am much stronger than you give me credit for. It will only result in the deaths of those you—

Vhalla didn’t know if hers or Victor’s scream was louder. A blinding white light penetrated through the darkness. It immolated the shade of Victor that had been moving into her mind. It scorched her and exposed her like a babe raw to the world.

She opened her eyes weakly, not expecting the face that stared back at her. Princess Sehra dominated Vhalla’s field of vision. Her hands slowly pulled away from Vhalla’s temples before she sagged into Za’s waiting arms.

“Vhalla, my Vhalla,” Aldrik coaxed from her side.

She shuddered violently, but squeezed his hand as tight as she could.

“She’s too cold.” Elecia pulled her hand away from Vhalla’s face. “We must warm her up.”

“What’s happening?” Fritz asked the question on everyone’s mind.

“He’s using the crystals to entwine his magic with hers,” Sehra answered, instantly gaining the floor. “I wondered, when she lowered the gate, but I did not expect this . . .”

“Y-you saved me.” Vhalla couldn’t believe it.

“I did,” the princess didn’t mince words. “But he will be back. He’s stinging, but that was not a fatal blow.”

“Thank you,” Vhalla whispered.

Sehra regarded her for a long moment before giving a small nod.

“What did you do?” There was genuine gratitude in Aldrik’s voice.

“I used the power of Yargen to put a stop to the crystals,” Sehra spoke as though the fact should’ve been obvious.

“What is the power of Yargen?” Jax asked the question Vhalla had been meaning to.

Sehra and Za shared a look. After a quiet exchange in the Northern tongue, Sehra spoke again, although the rest of the room was keenly aware that they would be hearing an edited version.

“That which you call the Mother has a name, Yargen. She cultivated the earth and gave those tools to the initial peoples of this land.”

Vhalla had heard this story before, she realized. Victor had mentioned it.

“One tool was an axe, Achel, capable of splitting the earth and creating life. It was given to the first Child of Yargen, and the place they did so was Soricium. When their job was done, they committed Achel to rest. I am a descendent of the first child, and Yargen has chosen me to hold her magic.” Sehra went from addressing the group, to only addressing Jax. “So the magic of Yargen is her strength, the force of life and light and order.”

“So, crystals are of the Gods?” Vhalla asked slowly as she warmed, thanks to Aldrik’s fire burning near her.

“They are,” Sehra affirmed. “It is their power in physical form. Something that we mortals can barely dip into without severe consequences.”

“The taint,” Fritz put “severe consequences” in more common words.

“And why I cannot do what I just did very often.” Sehra looked over Vhalla solemnly. “I could not break the connection you have with him, only stall it for a time. He will come back for you. If you can harness his magic, the crystal magic, you are the thing which stands in his way.”

“How often can you do it?” Aldrik asked.

“I’m far from Soricium.” Sehra shook her head. “Even surrounded by life here, there is much wickedness and impure magic upon these lands. My link to Yargen is not strong enough to do it more than every few days.”

“Every few days? She could die!” The Emperor wasn’t pleased with the news.

“You kill Sehra if she does more.” Za scowled. “Southern King be thankful.”

Aldrik opened his mouth to speak, and Vhalla stopped him with a touch. “Za is right. And I wouldn’t want Sehra to die for me.” Vhalla turned to the princess. “How much longer until he can be back in my mind?”

“I cannot say.” She shook her head solemnly. “It all depends on how badly he seeks it.”

“How much longer until we reach the capital?”

“Fifteen days,” Aldrik said finally.

He’d said a number. But all Vhalla heard was a death sentence.

VHALLA HAD THE best sleep in what felt like years. There was no grating on the underside of her flesh, nor were there any nightmares. She could enjoy the loving support of her husband without fear, and Aldrik indulged her every want for comfort.

The next morning, Vhalla sought out Fritz first thing and apologized. Her friend was understanding, even apologetic himself for not being more understanding of the situation. They both said their peace and continued on as normal—as much as possible. She did the same with Jax, though the Westerner seemed to have already forgotten their tension.

Her heightened awareness did not serve her on the march, however. Vhalla forced herself to ignore the stares and whispers as the army mounted and began marching. She kept her head high and kept her face impassive. But her ears heard.

“Did you see how she fought?”

“The Empress of blood.”

“Crimson twister.”

“Death bringer.”

Aldrik kept glaring from the corners of his eyes, a silent challenge for anyone to raise their voice to something more than a whisper. None rose to his challenge, and the gossip eventually faded. But it weighed heavy in her mind in the days that followed.

Vhalla woke from sleep with a searing pain through her mind.

All those things said of you.

She gripped her head, panting. Aldrik stirred.

They will never respect you. They will always fear you. You put your powers on display, your might, and that was their response? To call you a monster? Look at the ignorance of Commons. Victor’s voice echoed through her mind right behind her temples.

“Go away,” Vhalla hissed.

“Vhalla?” Aldrik sat, clearly hesitant to touch her. “Is he awake?”

Is that the man you claim to love? Tell Aldrik hello for me. I so look forward to killing him again. Do tell me, how did you survive the Crystal Caverns? The same way you forced me out of your mind yesterday? What power was that?

“I said go away.” Vhalla closed her eyes and imagined her mind like the wide plains of the East. Vast and overwhelmed with wind. Someplace that she knew, but any other man could be lost within.

Why don’t you come to me? Come to me, Vhalla. Victor’s voice was already weaker. Sehra had been right, he was certainly recovering from whatever the princess had done.

“Go away!” she screamed.

Victor released his hold on her mind.

Their tent flap opened without permission, a pair of concerned Western eyes looking between them. Vhalla stared back at Jax and realized her responses to Victor had been said aloud. Aldrik shook his head, and the guard retreated.

Vhalla did not want to acknowledge the looks the next morning. She ignored the faces of the people who she was supposed to lead. She tried to hold herself together as the world felt like it was slowly falling apart beneath her. She didn’t want to reveal the increasingly fragile sanity of their Empress.

No one would share her fire pit at night. No one would look at her for longer than a few seconds at a time. The majors spoke primarily to Aldrik. Everything she had worked for felt like it was falling between her fingertips.

The third night, the dreams returned.

Vhalla stood in a throne room, a place she once knew. On one end sat a large golden chair. On the other stood massive ceremonial doors, so large they required chains and two men each to open and close. Large vaulted ceilings displayed stonework reminiscent of the Imperial library. Where golden pennons once hung, black velvet strips featuring a silver dragon ran the lengths of the long columns.

A man sat in a chair, a crystal crown upon his brow. It glinted off the light from the windows overhead, but glowed mostly with its own unnatural aura. The glow was mirrored in the faintly shining crystals that were overtaking the room from the floor beneath the throne. Victor’s hair had been cut, and he now wore it in a style similar to Aldrik—combed back. It was a slightly looser hairdo, but it was similar enough that Vhalla wondered if it had been a conscious change.

He looked every inch a king upon the throne, save for the stones marring his skin. The crystals were embedded into his flesh, jutting from his body, growing from his bones. His veins pulsated black around them, the taint struggling to take hold. On occasion he’d shift his attention from the scene before him to one of the stones. It’d flash faintly, as if whispering to him, communicating with some distant point.

She wanted to feel hatred at the sight of him, she wanted to be ready to launch herself—even in a dream state—into an attack. But all Vhalla felt was empty. He didn’t look like a man any longer, he looked like a God. A God who had worn her down past the point of exhaustion.

However, following his line of sight, the object that he looked at with such malicious delight, brought feeling back to her—and the feeling was horror. It compelled her to movement. She held out a translucent hand, as though she was more than just a spectator in the nightmarish memory to which she bore witness.

Laughter rang out from all sides of the hall. Men and women swathed in black robes sat on one side of long tables, feasting and enjoying in the night’s revelries. In the center of the room were ten people, naked with sacks tied over their heads. They were of varying ages, from varying backgrounds, but the one commonality they shared was trembling fear.

“Who would like to go first?” Victor called from behind her.

“I found and put to death four Commons for besmirching your name!” a black robed man cried as he stood.

“I orchestrated the Eastern advance!” another shouted.

A third stood. “Two of the fare are women I supplied— Easterners!”

“To the man who is our benefactor goes the honor of the first spoils.” Victor’s voice grated through the cavernous space like rocks scratching over glass.

Stop, Vhalla pleaded futilely with the memory. She knew the time she was witnessing had long passed, but the fragile sanity she’d managed to scrape back together was threatening to break if she was forced to endure another moment of what was coming.

The man stood, walking around the table with a small applause from his peers. Arms folded over his chest, he strolled down the line of shivering people. Each one flinched as his boots clicked past them. Victor shifted in his seat, grabbing both arms of the throne in anticipation.

“They are Commons.” The man walked back to one of the dinner tables, grabbing a long meat knife from a plate. “They are not worth our magic, not even to die.”

With a swift kick to the shoulder, the Common man on the end of the line was sent onto his back. Arms and feet bound, he could do little more than whimper on the floor. Kneeling beside his victim, the hooded soldier gripped his blade firmly.

Placing the silver flat against the man’s flesh at the elbow, he slowly worked the blade under the skin. With careful precision, he picked at the skin, pulling up a tiny flap. He pinched the stretching flesh, proceeding to flay the man’s arm.

Vhalla wanted to scream. She wanted to shout. She wanted to be free of this nightmare. But she couldn’t be. No matter how hard she struggled, she couldn’t escape. So she gave in. She gave the people the only honor she could give them. She bore witness to the horrors Victor’s men reaped upon the Commons. She saw with her own eyes the horrors that could thrive in men’s hearts when their victims begged for freedom, mercy, and the end.

It was during their fifth torture when an arm shook her, freeing her and jolting Vhalla awake. Vhalla promptly retched, barely missing the edge of their sleeping mat.

Aldrik placed his hands on her shoulders, and she flinched. The memories seared behind her eyelids. Covering her mouth, Vhalla struggled to regain control of her body. Her head hurt, her eyes only saw the nightmares, and her shoulders wouldn’t stop trembling.

That entire day, Vhalla felt that same horrible emptiness she’d endured in the dream. A feeling of hopelessness before the horrors. She didn’t know anymore which feelings were her feelings and which feelings Victor was projecting into her. She was untouchable to her friends; no matter how much they yearned to help, it was useless. She had to endure the nightmares, the shakes, the horrors, his voice, one hour after the next.

Egmun had been right, Vhalla mused one night. He had warned them that this would happen if she lived. He had tried to kill her from the onset. He couldn’t say why; his own history was a secret. But he had known. It was just another piece in a puzzle that came together too late. What if they had all actually worked together from the start rather than casting doubt upon each other?

Vhalla looked up at the sky tiredly, too exhausted to straighten her back. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept. Her eyes drifted over to Aldrik; dark circles surrounded his eyes, his cheeks looked hollow, and his skin was translucent. Her condition was beginning to have a very real effect on their Emperor, the only one who could band the empire together and lead the army as they had.

If I die, you die. Vhalla hadn’t believed Victor’s words then. But if they were true, it could present an unexpected solution to their problem. Her mind circled around the notion for the rest of the day’s ride.

That night, Aldrik presented her the last thing she’d expected.

“I thought we wanted to use this connection for me to find out information, to find something useful.” She stared at the vial of Deep Sleep.

“You’re not sleeping. You won’t get to him at all if you keep this up.”

“So you want to drug me?” The words could have been sharp, but they were only tired. She didn’t see the point in fighting any more. “You’ll knock me out because I’m too much of a hassle.”

“That isn’t what this is.” His mouth said one thing, his eyes said another.

“I know what they’re saying, Aldrik. I know this is easier for you.” Vhalla reached for the vial. His hands clasped over hers, gripping her fingers fiercely. Vhalla hid her wince. Victor’s magic and the crystals continued to increase their hold, and Aldrik’s sorcery was becoming a searing pain every time they touched.

“I want you well,” he insisted. “Please, Vhalla.”

“If you insist,” she reluctantly agreed.

When the host stopped for the night, a vial was forced into her hand. Food was shoved in her face, and she was watched carefully while she ate. Then she was told to drink.

Her friends had become her keepers. Her husband was now her overseer before being her lover. They were reduced to handlers, pushing her from one place to the next.

She felt stronger after getting rest each night. But darkness grew on the edge of her mind. It itched and beckoned to her. It told her that she was certainly still dreaming, the Deep Sleep just made her oblivious to it in the morning. She had a nagging sensation of forgetting something important, but she also bore the burden of that forgotten something.

Her improved strength proved to be more than useful at the next crystal barrier they met. Set up where the Great Southern Road forked with the path to the East, Vhalla barely exhausted a thought to dismantle the crystals that were attempting to inundate bolts of pure magic upon them. But once again, she couldn’t recall the ensuing battle with Victor’s forces. All she knew was that she had to swallow that sickening liquid the second the sun hung low in the sky.

Victor had guessed her game, and he began to haunt her during the daylight since he could no longer reach her in dreams. Unlike his prior efforts with direct attacks on her mindset, he now inflicted chatter—bored chatter—upon her. As if she was no longer even fun to toy with.

You are getting closer to me, dear Vhalla, Victor hummed across her consciousness.

“Don’t call me that,” she mumbled under her breath, swaying with Lightning’s slow steps.

I can feel you, he continued. Can you feel me?

Each day, his assault became more relentless than the last. As the mountains rose higher around them, Vhalla’s head slowly began to clear. She was certain it was the last stages of exhaustion and mental psychosis setting in, her body and mind finally throwing in the towel.

Does it not feel better, being closer to me? Closer to that other part of you you’ve been missing?

Come to me.

I have use of you. I had to kill you before—but now, now you are more. I can use you.

Each time she tried to fight against him, it only resulted in another mental assault. So Vhalla learned to keep quiet. She only had to endure a few days more. A few days that would feel like years.

Deep Sleep was a finite resource, and they finally ran out. Elecia didn’t have the means to make more, and they were so close to the capital that it seemed unnecessary to spend precious time trying scrape together the ingredients. Without it, Vhalla was terrified to close her eyes. So she lay awake, fighting sleep, fighting thoughts of anything.

Vhalla, Victor whispered across her mind. Aldrik had long since fallen asleep, his back to her. Do you want it to end?

“It will end,” she breathed. “With your death.”

Still so confident? Victor’s amusement reverberated across the edge of her mind. Fine, then come to me.

“I cannot kill you.”

I lied.

“You did not; I know how Bonds work.” Vhalla was not playing his game.

I will destroy the Bond.

Vhalla brought her hand to her mouth to clamp with a sob. Those words were sweeter than any she’d ever heard. It was a lie; she knew it was. But she wanted so desperately for it to be true.

“Why?” Her voice was barely audible to her own ears.

So I can kill you, he snarled.

That much she did believe.

Come to me, Vhalla. Set aside your army, and I will set aside mine.

She sat up, looking at Aldrik. His brow was furrowed, and his sleep did not look particularly restful. They had been married for little more than two months, and only one day of it had been happy. She wondered if he regretted taking her hand.

Come to me, Vhalla, the voice called.

“Just you and me?” She began to clip on her armor, painfully slow as to not wake her sleeping husband and Emperor.

Just us. Let us finish what was interrupted in the caves. Victor’s voice held a promising tone.

Vhalla looked back to Aldrik. She ached in the spot where her heart used to be. But that woman was gone. She had been worn down and drugged away.

“One thing,” Vhalla breathed. “If I come to you, you will kill me.” She was hopeless before the monster she saw sitting on the throne in his memories. Vhalla knew it to be true.

That has been my plan from the beginning, Victor said simply, his words twisting a number of ways.

“If I come to you now, like this, spare Aldrik,” Vhalla pleaded weakly.

Why would I spare the man who threatens my throne? Victor sounded amused.

“Because he will be of no threat once you break him with the horrible way in which you will kill me.” Vhalla thought back to the Commons’ screams. She would just be another voice pleading for an end.

Fine. Once his army is dead, his friends and family tortured before his eyes, and his home taken, I will put him on a little boat and let him row to the Crescent Continent and live there, Victor offered.

“So long as he lives.” Vhalla reached out a hand, her fingertips hovering just over Aldrik’s cheek. She didn’t dare touch him.

Vhalla crawled out of the tent and started alone down the Great Southern Road. She took nothing but herself, Lightning, and her armor. All she had left behind was a few wet spots on the Emperor’s pillow where the last of the woman he married had broken at the hands of a psychopath.

RAIN. OF COURSE it would rain—it was the mountains in the summer. The fine mist that coated her cheeks stuck her hair to her forehead barely thirty minutes into her ride. Vhalla shivered in the saddle, gripping the wet leather of the horse’s reins.

“I’m sorry, Lightning.” She patted the horse’s side, barely a dark shadow in the overcast moonlight. “I can’t say I know what they’ll do to you when I get there. But no matter how horrible it is, I won’t be long after you.”

Vhalla focused grimly on the road ahead. She put Aldrik behind her. He will be safe there, she knowingly lied to herself. The more distance she could put between her and him, the better he would be. Her emotions had become too wild and barely controllable in Victor’s wake.

The trees served as silent sentinels to her lone march. She could barely remember what they had looked like the last time she had so peacefully travelled this road. It had been that long. She’d travelled it as a soldier on the run, and now this. It had been just two years since she’d met the prince. Two years that encompassed more events in her life than the seventeen before it. Vhalla was fast approaching twenty, but she doubted she’d live through that birthday.

Two years ago, her dreams had only been of sorcery and roses—of a garden that she doubted she’d ever see again. But there had been a madman in their midst. Someone who had known who she was and, one way or another, Vhalla’s relatively peaceful life would’ve ended.

A twig snapped behind her. Vhalla’s head shot up, and she turned, heart racing, just in time to see another horse dart from the trees in her direction.

She was faster, and Lightning surged into a full sprint when spurred by her heels and a snap of the reins. The other rider cut onto the road, giving quick pursuit. The hooves were like thunder in the quiet forest, and Vhalla tried to make out the rider through the misty rain and darkness.

“Vhalla!” Jax called. “Tonight is an awful night for a ride!”

She clenched her jaw. He, out of all people, would be the only one able to make jokes at a time like this. “Go back! Don’t try to stop me!”

He determinedly closed the gap between them, and Vhalla could see he’d left his tent in haste. His long dark hair was heavy with water, and it flapped in chunks behind him. He wore nothing but chainmail, without even a shirt under, from the looks of it. Vhalla couldn’t imagine the metal chill or pinching links as he bounded down the road for her.

“I want to ride with you! Isn’t that my job?” He grinned madly.

Vhalla cursed under her breath. Why couldn’t she have broken like him? She could’ve pushed her madness into being entirely different and detached from the world.

“Go back!” she shouted.

“Don’t do this. You don’t want to do this!”

He was pleading, she realized. He’d seen the growing insanity in her over the days, insanity that was now written as panic on her face. “Go, Jax!” Her cry had a whine to it. She didn’t want him to force her hand. She didn’t want to fight her friend.

“You know I can’t—I won’t do that!” he swore.

Vhalla’s hand cut through the air. She telegraphed her move clearly, making the sweep of her arm as obvious as possible. She had never attacked one of her friends in malice or frustration, and she knew it would break her if she did so now.

Jax wasn’t afraid to do what needed to be done. Fire crackled under Lightning’s hooves. Short bursts, barely enough to burn the wet steed but more than enough to startle. The horse reared, trying to stomp out the flames that had already vanished. Vhalla was thrown off with a large crash of armor.

The hooves of Jax’s horse stilled, and his boots clicked across the stone of the road. Vhalla rolled, pushing herself off the ground, fighting for her feet. She clenched both her fists, showing her Channel was open.

“Vhalla.” Jax held out a hand. “Stop, this isn’t you.”

“You don’t know me!” she screamed.

“I do!” he shouted back, his voice full and deep. “I’ve watched over you for more than a year. Don’t act like I haven’t been there to bear witness to most of the misfortune that has befallen you. Don’t act like I can’t sympathize with half of it!”

“Stay away.” Vhalla took a step back, her breaths ragged. Her heart raced like a cornered animal, and a dangerous beat was starting against her eardrums.

“Vhalla, what do you think you can achieve alone? You have a whole army!” He threw his hands up in the air. “You went from nothing to an army. Hold on a little longer. Two days more, and we will all be there together. I will kill him for you if I must.”

“You can’t.”

“Do you think Victor scares me?” Jax scoffed.

“He should!” She hated she was defending Victor’s skill, but she wasn’t about to have someone make light of the man who had succeeded in scrambling her brain for weeks.

“I will kill him even if it means my life. I vowed I would see you through this alive!”

As if she could have forgotten. They were all tied together so closely now. Knots in their lines of fate binding an Emperor, a library apprentice, a commoner Waterrunner, a noble Ci’Dan, a fallen lord, and a Northern princess. Her hand cut through the air, trying to push him away. Jax wasn’t expecting the gale, and he was pushed off his feet, tumbling down the road.

“You can’t kill him without killing me!” she shouted.

“What?” Jax struggled back to his feet, determined.

“If he dies, I die. If I die, he dies.” Vhalla took a step back. Lightning had finally calmed down just a little further up the road. “Don’t you get it? I-I’m trying to do you all a kindness! Aldrik won’t make that decision, and he won’t let me make it myself once he knows. If I go now, I can absolve you all of having to make that choice!”

“That’s what this is?” Jax matched her retreat with advances. “A funeral march? You’re going off to die like some wounded animal because you don’t want to deal with finding an alternative?”

“I—” the words coated the inside of her mouth and tasted like bile. Was that all this was—a coward’s suicide?

“Vhalla, come back, please,” Jax dropped his voice, and it suddenly became gentle. “We can figure this out still. The sun isn’t up yet. We’ll call this a bad dream.”

“My whole existence has become one bad dream!” She sent wind at him once more.

Jax was ready this time, and a burst of flame pushed against her wind. Vhalla was startled and was forced to blink water from her eyes at the sudden heat. He tackled her, head on, running through the flame. Chainmail clanged loudly on armor, and they rolled on the road. Vhalla struggled against him, throwing a punch.

The heartbeat was threatening to take over, and Vhalla didn’t know how to regain control. She didn’t want to kill Jax, and she knew the moment she gave Victor a hint of control, he would force her hand.

“Stop, Vhalla!” He was like a sea monster, long arms came out of nowhere every time she thought she’d wiggled free, pulling her down again and again.

“Let me go!”

“I won’t!” Something new took over him—hurt. “What about Aldrik? Tell me! What will you have him do when he wakes and his bed is empty? What would you have me tell him? His love, the only woman—the only person—I have ever seen him truly devote himself to has gone to end her own life?”

“My life will put an end to this nightmare!” she screamed, even though his face was inches from hers.

“I don’t believe you have to die for him to.” He shook his head violently. “Did he tell you that? Or did you invent it on your own? Either way, it’s horse shit.”

Vhalla finally stopped fighting. He eased himself off of her and let her gain a seated position. He still held her by the wrists, ready to restrain her once more.

“This isn’t just about Aldrik,” raw emotion cluttered his frantic words. “What about the rest of us? What about Fritz? Elecia cares for you too now; you can see that, right? Oh, Mother, I know that woman has a crooked way of showing it. But she does, I promise you.” Jax leaned forward, struggling to see her face. “We all believe in you two. We are all fighting for you. Do you know why?”

She shook her head. She didn’t have the faintest idea.

“Because you two represent something, something more than you do individually. You are the impossible dreamers. The two who took on fate to be together. No one believed you could be anything. More than once, you both strove for more, for dreams that you should’ve never dreamed.

“So when you say you fight for peace, people believe it. Because you have cheated death and fate. Compared to that, finding peace will surely be easy.”

Vhalla bit her lip. Her shoulders quivered, but she struggled to keep her tears in. Even if he was lying, it was a nice lie to believe.

“What about you?” she whispered.

“Pardon?” His grip went slack in surprise, but Vhalla didn’t take the chance to run.

“What about you, Jax? You mention Fritz, and Elecia, and Aldrik . . . What about you?”

His face relaxed into something she’d never seen before. His eyes were heavy and sad, so wide Vhalla could see her reflection in the dark irises. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her to him.

Vhalla was too startled to move. She had always initiated contact with Jax. He had never been this friendly with her, and, in a perfect role reversal, it was her turn not to move. She didn’t have the foggiest idea of how to react.

“Well, let’s see. You are the one Baldair told me to protect. You are the woman who gave me my freedom. Vhalla Solaris, I was never here for the Emperor. I’m here for you. You are my sovereign. And I will fight in your name until my last days because it is the only thing I have ever believed in other than Baldair’s Golden Guard.”

Her hands came to life, and Vhalla clung to him. The tears flooded from her, and she nearly howled with sobs. Her friend, her sworn guard, held her as she let out the pain she’d held in for weeks. He said nothing further; he let her mourn and unleash her cries to the sky.

Vhalla released it all. And when her throat was raw, her nose a waterfall, and her eyes burning, she finally stopped. Jax’s arms loosened, and she pulled away, looking him in the eyes. His palm clasped around her neck, the other on her shoulder.

“Now, will you come back?”

“Don’t let him get the better of me again,” she whispered. Vhalla didn’t think Jax could do anything, but just asking made her feel better.

“What can I do?” He clearly wanted to help but didn’t know how.

Vhalla didn’t have any idea either. “Treat me like a friend again?” She needed her friends. She needed them to be her friends, to trust and not fear her.

Jax seemed taken aback, but he recovered quickly. He gave her a nod and a tiny smile. They headed back for camp together, and, come the dawn, neither spoke of her early morning ride.

HER HEART BEGAN to race the moment the capital city came into view. As the army ascended the road, they began to see the destruction Victor had wrought. Where previously there had been small towns leading up to the capital, now only stood ransacked and destroyed remains. Trees and foliage looked wilted and weak, and then she noticed they had taken on a greyish hue.

Vhalla realized the taint was infecting the very earth. The closer they got to the capital, the less vegetation grew. Everything was still and deathly silent.

The night prior, the majors had gone over the plan of attack, preparing the Imperial company’s ascent. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much strategy. An army of their size couldn’t exactly sneak into the city, and Victor already knew they were coming. Once inside, they would divide into a two-pronged attack, half of the army taking the main roads, the other half marching in parallel a few blocks away. That way, if Victor trapped the main road, they had more chances to reach the castle, while still being close enough to assist each other.

But how to enter the city, that was the question that hovered in all the majors’ minds. When they neared, only about an hour away, Vhalla gathered her magic and said a small prayer to the Mother. She turned her eyes toward the overcast sky and swept her fingers through the air. Vhalla envisioned gusts of wind cutting through the clouds, pushing them away, dispersing them.

Vhalla assessed her work. She hoped it looked like a wing. But even more, she hoped Grahm was still alive to see her signal.

They proceeded with their march, and Vhalla maintained their signal in the sky. They began to hear a clamor rising from the capital. The horrid cry of a crystal beast tore through the sky, and far ahead, the drawbridge of the capital of the Solaris Empire began to open.

It had worked, and they had their war.

As soon as the bridge was down, as soon as they were within distance, the charge was called. There was no turning back now, and Vhalla’s head seared from temple to temple. Victor was already trying to worm his way into her consciousness, to dissuade her from her attack.

Vhalla clenched her fists multiple times. This was it, the precipice of her destiny. She would lay it all down here. Her eyes swept to her left, meeting Aldrik’s. They both looked terrible. Waterlogged, haggard, filthy, and exhausted. But flames were already lighting the air around his face. The wind was in her hair. They would burn and howl together.

Victor’s tricks started just on the other side of the gate. A wall of crystals had been erected, cutting off all paths from the gate. Vhalla held out her hands, unleashing his power, the power of the crystals. She would let him in, but only to use his strength against him. The crystals darkened and fractured, collapsing under their own weight the second she rendered them useless.

Fritz, Elecia, and Sehra led a portion of the army down the main road. Vhalla, Aldrik, and Jax headed right. The majors wanted to see Vhalla and Aldrik split, to double the odds of one of their sovereigns making it through alive, but the couple had refused. Splitting them now would only hurt their chances.

Vhalla waved her arm through the air. Aldrik’s magic rode the back of hers to create a curtain of flame suspended over them, blocking the ice and fire attacks from the sorcerers on the roofs above. Vhalla pulled on Lightning’s reins.

“Archers, rooftops!” she cried.

Fighting had already broken out in the streets before they’d arrived. Vhalla saw blood staining the ground ahead. Spread lifelessly before sorcerers were men and women with silver wings painted on their breasts and backs.

Vhalla drew her sword and threw it. Directing it with her pointer finger, it sliced across sorcerers’ throats, felling two before she summoned it back. Aldrik’s fire burst forth at her left, and Vhalla brought her attention to where it burned, helping it with her winds.

The Imperial army made steady progress into the city, until the first monster descended upon them. The beast had a clear path, all talons and gaping jowls. Vhalla tried to suck the wind out from under it, but a searing pain from the back of her mind caused her magic to falter at the last moment.

She narrowly dodged, tumbling off Lightning. Gripping her head, she rolled to her feet and tried to find her sword. The monster had taken out Lightning, and half the army with him.

The horse had taken her to the end of the earth and back. Its death hit her in the chest, as hard as the death of any dear friend. Rage built in her throat. She didn’t care if it was Victor’s emotion or hers. She hoped it was both. She hoped she could feel his anger at knowing that her army was upon him. That they were not backing down, not now, not after they’d come so far.

Wincing, Vhalla drew herself to her feet as the monster banked high through the clouds. Sorcerers around her sent tongues of fire and spears of ice, but the magic failed to penetrate its leathery skin.

“Stay your magic!” Vhalla ordered. The soldiers faithfully turned their attention elsewhere. “Jax, guard me!”

Vhalla didn’t even check to ensure he was. She trusted her guard and friend to be where she needed him. There was no room for fear or doubt in this battle. Her friends would do what they needed to do to survive, just as she would. The worry was etched in her heart, the closest to prayer she could afford.

She invited Victor’s magic within her, and she felt it build. If he could make crystal monsters, she could destroy them. Vhalla unleashed his magic with a cry, and the monster exploded with a burst of light, shards of blackened crystal falling to earth like dark starlight.

She gasped for air, slumping. An arm was across her chest— strong, holding her up, supporting her. The magic had taken more out of her, using it more quickly than the last time. The army rushed around her, the battle raging on. A shield of fire sprung up, blocking an attack on the prone Empress.

“Thanks, Jax,” she panted.

“Not quite.” Vhalla looked up. She hadn’t been expecting Aldrik there. His armor was scorched, scuffed, and bloody. “Are you all right?”

“I will be.” She put on a brave front—there wasn’t another choice.

Aldrik’s arm lingered for one more brief moment. It couldn’t have been more than a second, but it felt like an eternity. He spoke silent volumes. His heart sung to hers, and Vhalla’s replied in kind. She knew he was there; they fought as one. No matter what happened, they stood here together.

Stable on her feet, Vhalla turned back, reentering the fray.

Victor had clearly prepared his soldiers for this attack. While the road they walked on was mostly un-trapped—Vhalla suspected Fritz, Elecia, and Sehra weren’t having nearly as easy of a time—there was more than one large-scale assault from the false king.

Attack after attack, they pushed on. Vhalla had waved on more men and women from back lines to front than she could count. She was sending them to their deaths. They knew it, as they sprinted over the corpses of their comrades, but they pushed forward anyway. The whole army persisted with one goal in exact precision—get to Victor, kill Victor.

Victor’s men were clever. Every crystal soldier could count for two of the Empire’s army, taking advantage of magic and terrain. They jumped in and out of buildings. Stalled with walls of ice and fire. Groundbreakers ran from alleyways, slicing throats and continuing on without engaging, swords ringing clumsily against their hardened flesh.

Another monster soared overhead, so Vhalla repeated the process from earlier. She focused all her magic to strike the beast down from where it flew. As the crystal beast’s corpse fell harmlessly to the ground, so did she.

Aldrik hoisted her up with both arms, wrapping her arm around his shoulders and carried her.

“Aldrik, we must—”

“You cannot stay on the front line.” He pushed backward.

Vhalla hated the taste of retreat. “But you can.”

“Vhalla—”

“Jax!” she called. Vhalla had no idea where the Westerner was, but he couldn’t be far. Her assumption proved correct as she retreated into the center of the host. “Jax, I’m turning useless. But Aldrik isn’t.”

“I’ll look after you.” He knew what she was asking before she voiced her request.

They held up the rear guard as the fighting pushed into the night. When the moon was a third through the sky, Victor’s men seemed to stop coming. Vhalla had destroyed one more crystal beast, but it took nearly everything she had to do so.

It was a stalemate, frustratingly quiet for both sides. The Imperial army held their line, Aldrik mindful not to give up their advance. Victor stopped sending men and monsters—or had no more to send.

Crystals littered the streets like dark shards of glass. Vhalla watched how they pulsed softly in the moonlight. Everyone had told her she could use crystal magic without it tainting her. Maybe that much was true. But it felt like it was tearing her apart every time she summoned it. Such unassuming stones, already fading and turning to dust, held so much weight.

“How do you feel?” Jax asked quietly, setting her down. They’d found a tavern, long abandoned, to regroup with the majors.

“How do I look?”

“Like death warmed up.”

“Then assume how I feel to be ten times worse.” Vhalla pressed her eyes closed, holding her head. Victor had been quiet; perhaps he was as exhausted as she.

Their table of majors was thinner than it had been the night before, reflective of this day’s death toll. Aldrik had ordered them all to sit rather than stand.

He looked just as dead on his feet as she felt. Someone had struck his cheek, and a small chunk was missing from his ear, which indicated a sword had swung way too close to his face for her liking. But, otherwise, their Emperor was mostly in one piece. Vhalla breathed an internal sigh of relief, focusing on the plans before her.

Strokes of the pen on parchment began to carve out the remnants of their army. Compared to the host that had started at the city’s entrance, only a small number—maybe a couple hundred—remained. They would need a miracle, and another hundred or two soldiers to stand a chance.

The door to the tavern was kicked open. All the majors turned, startled, half reaching for their weapons. Fritz stood in the doorframe, bloody, and holding their miracle.

“ELECIA!” BY THE time Vhalla said the other woman’s name, the healer was already on her feet.

Elecia crossed the room and helped Fritz carry the man he was supporting to the table. Majors moved out of the way, freeing up a space where they could lay down Grahm. Vhalla looked at the Eastern man’s body, Fritz at her side fidgeting.

Her eyes landed on the source of Fritz’s stress. Grahm’s hand was covered in tiny crystals jutting out from blackening skin. His fingers looked like they were in the late stages of frostbite. Spider-webbed veins connected each crystal, pulsing deathly taint between them, working their way up Grahm’s arm.

“What happened?” she asked Fritz.

“We were beginning to establish a wall, a-a perimeter, so we didn’t lose the ground we gained,” Fritz started. “I saw more fighting. I thought it was another guerrilla force, the Wings, you know?” Her friend was clearly struggling to keep himself together. “But there were a lot of them. I went to investigate; I brought help with me because, you never know . . .”

Vhalla slipped her hand into Fritz’s. She held him gently enough that it didn’t distract him from his tale. But her fingers were firm, insistent that he wouldn’t escape her. At any moment, her Southern friend looked like he could fall apart, and Vhalla would be there if he did.

“It was a group of Silver Wings, a large one. Not like the rest of them. They were trying to regroup as well, and Grahm was leading them.”

There was a deep gash in Grahm’s shoulder by his neck. A finger’s width in almost any direction, and it likely would’ve been a fatal wound without a healer. Elecia’s hands smeared with blood as she pressed them into the severed flesh, trying to force it to knit together.

“Elecia, can you fix him?” Fritz whispered.

“I’m trying,” the woman didn’t glance up, not removing her focus from the wound.

They were ignoring the inevitability of the crystals. Vhalla dropped to a knee, looking closely at Grahm’s hand. He groaned softly, awareness returning with Elecia’s ministrations. From her new vantage, Vhalla could see Elecia’s eyes regularly darting to stones as well. The other woman was nervous about magically interacting with someone who was tainted.

“I have an idea.” Vhalla caught Elecia’s gaze. “But I want him to be physically stable before I try it.”

“That sounds foreboding,” Elecia mumbled.

Vhalla couldn’t disagree. “I’m going to take control of the crystals and destroy them, like I do with the monsters and the gates.”

“What will that do to him?” Fritz asked.

“I can’t say for certain.” Vhalla wasn’t going to make it out to be something it wasn’t. It was a last resort that could just as easily kill Grahm as save his life.

“Well, if you’re going to do it, do it now.” Elecia pulled her hands away. “While I have enough strength left in me to try to put him back together when you finish tearing him apart.”

No one expected Elecia’s sarcasm to be literal.

Vhalla raised her hand over Grahm’s, blinking her eyes and shifting into her magic sight. Her magic was thin and struggling. Vhalla briefly wondered what would happen at the moment when she had the same amount of her own magic as she had crystal magic laced with Victor’s. But she didn’t give it thought. Her friend was before her and ailing. It wasn’t the time for doubt.

Just like she did with the monsters, Vhalla connected herself to the crystals and willed their destruction. They exploded angrily off Grahm’s hand. Black shards littered the ground along with chunks of Grahm’s flesh.

All the majors took a step back to avoid being splattered with tainted blood.

The man lying on the bench cried out, roused back to awareness by the pain.

“Hold him down!” Elecia demanded.

Fritz was the first to respond. Sitting, he cupped Grahm’s head in both of his, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. “Grahm, it’ll be all right.”

Elecia hesitated only for a second before her hand thrust into the tainted flesh that had ripped open with the destruction of the crystals. Skin that was blackened and leathery turned into mush and goo in the instant the crystals had exploded. Elecia pulled her hand away, black flesh clinging to it like coagulated meat fat. She tried again in a different spot, the skin literally sliding over Grahm’s bones.

Grahm twisted his head, trying to shake them off.

“Hold him down!” Elecia insisted, thinking quickly. She turned to the other person in the room she trusted implicitly. “Aldrik, I’m going to need your fire.”

The Emperor gave his affirmation without question.

“Fritz, I need you to freeze him.”

“What?” Fritz didn’t follow.

“I need you to freeze him, slowly, don’t shock him. I need his heart to slow; the less aware he is of what’s happening and the slower his blood flow, the better,” Elecia spoke slowly and clearly.

“He’s another Waterrunner and—”

“And the taint has already passed his elbow. The damn things were like boils, and the infection is flooding the body!”

Vhalla stared in horror, wondering if she’d damned her friend. She swallowed, trying to follow Elecia’s train of thought. Grahm was dead from the moment the taint set in. This was their only chance to save him.

She ran over to the tavern’s bar, locating a long rag. On the way back she scooped up one of the major’s swords.

“Wait, that’s—”

The Empress silenced the major with a pointed glare. She didn’t really give a damn that it was his. It could’ve been the Mother’s for all Vhalla cared. The man realized it and silenced himself. Most of the majors took it as the cue to flee the room.

“Wait, you can’t possibly mean to . . .” Fritz gaped in horror as Vhalla began to tourniquet Grahm’s upper arm.

“This needs to go in his mouth to keep him from biting his tongue.” Vhalla twisted up the other rag, placing it between Grahm’s teeth.

“Isn’t there—”

“Freeze him, hold him still, and say nothing else.” Elecia’s breathing was heavy, nerves beginning to take over. She was a good cleric, but this was going to be a test for the woman. “Vhalla, push over that bench, spread his arm across it.”

Aldrik helped Vhalla accomplish Elecia’s order. It had become the most makeshift operating table the any of them had ever seen, and it was all that stood between Grahm and certain death. Elecia drew the sword and adjusted her stance a few times, pushing the benches into just the right spots.

“Vhalla, hold his arm. Fritz his shoulders. Aldrik be ready with the fire,” she commanded.

Vhalla gripped Grahm’s wrist. Her fingers compressed against the rotted flesh and bones that squished and slid like pond scum on a rock. She ignored the chilling sensation and held the arm as straight as possible.

“Can’t we rethink this?”

“Keep him subdued, Fritznangle!”

“But—”

“Fritz, trust Elecia!” Vhalla pleaded with her friend.

Fritz turned his head away as Elecia lined up her mark with the sword. Vhalla saw her plant her feet to the ground. She felt the tingle of magic through the air as the Groundbreaker made her arms as heavy as rocks in order to create as much momentum possible.

The blade whizzed through the air, and Fritz flinched as it connected with bone. Vhalla felt the crack reverberate through Grahm’s arm. The man screamed into the rag in his mouth.

Elecia was undeterred. She freed the blade with a small jostle, and raised it again for a second swing. Marrow oozed from the wound, blood pooling on the benches and dripping to the floor.

It took two swings to sever Grahm’s arm from his body.

“Aldrik, cauterize it, lightly,” Elecia instructed. “I only want to help the clotting along, I may need to remove more later once I see what the taint or infection is doing.”

“Remove more later?” Fritz swayed weakly.

“Hopefully when we have proper medical supplies,” Elecia murmured.

Grahm moaned in agony as wisps of flame sealed his wound. But his pain seemed to be lessening due to Fritz’s numbing of the spot, a makeshift sedative. Vhalla prayed that, when he woke, he would barely remember what occurred.

Elecia quickly bandaged the wound. But she didn’t release the tourniquet until the blood stopped seeping through the cloth. Fritz hadn’t let go of Grahm; he stared in dumb shock at his lover’s face.

“I’m going to go find something for him,” Elecia announced. She swayed slightly. Vhalla knew the exhaustion was just as much mental as it was physical. “Some cleric in the rear guard must have something . . .”

“Will he be okay now?” Fritz whispered.

“I hope so.” Vhalla cringed as she picked up the severed arm, enough meat left above the elbow for it to wag uncomfortably. She deposited it in the alleyway behind the tavern. Vhalla ran her hands over her pants legs all the way back, trying to remove the feeling of liquefied tainted flesh and a limp severed limb.

Grahm groaned softly. Vhalla quickly kicked away the bloody bench upon her return. It was bad enough what had happened to him. She didn’t want him waking up and having to see the remnants.

“Grahm?” Fritz breathed.

“Fritz?” The Eastern man began to rouse.

“I’m here. I’m here with you,” Fritz reassured.

“I need, I need to bring updates . . .” he murmured, almost delirious.

Shock did incredible things to the body, Vhalla reasoned.

“Hush, it’s all right.”

“No,” Grahm refused Fritz’s consoling, squinting his eyes open. “I need to tell the Emperor . . .”

“What?” Aldrik stepped into Grahm’s field of vision so the patient wouldn’t have to turn his head.

“Silver Wings,” Grahm fought for every word. “My Emperor, they fight for you.”

Vhalla stood, taking her place next to Aldrik. Grahm’s eyes widened a fraction, as though he was struggling to see her.

“Lady Empress, it’s true?”

“Grahm, thank you for your service,” Vhalla soothed.

“It-it was our honor.” He swallowed thickly. No doubt his mouth still had the cotton taste of the rag. “We have one hundred men and women who escaped the palace. They fought with me.” Grahm looked up at Fritz. “Did they make it?”

“Most.” Fritz nodded.

“Thank the Mother,” Grahm’s eyes pressed closed. “They’ll know the paths, once you get in. There’s another hundred or more, if they . . . fighting in the palace. They will help you. Victor’s retreated - up. They’ll help you get there . . . He’s . . . There’re more monsters. He’s not done . . .”

“We understand. We do. Now rest.” Fritz smoothed away hair from the man’s forehead.

“Fritz . . .” Grahm stared up at his man, who was doing a better job of holding Graham than holding his own emotions together. “I’m glad I could see you again.”

“Me, too.”

“I love you,” Grahm whispered.

“And I love you.” Tears fell from Fritz’s eyes. “Now, don’t die.”

Elecia returned, crossing over to Grahm with intent, ending the conversation. She poured three vials down his throat that she swore would have nearly the same effect as Deep Sleep and helped Fritz carry Grahm up to the second floor of the tavern to be kept safe and hidden during the remainder of the battles.

Vhalla let out a heavy sigh. Aldrik’s arms wrapped around her; she accepted his comfort and strength, stealing a moment alone with her husband. The room was quiet; even the night outside was still.

“What are we fighting for?” Vhalla closed her eyes for a moment, but all she saw was blood. Blood of her allies. Blood of her enemies. Enough blood to drown in ten times over. “What will be left when the wars are done?”

“That’s what we’re fighting for.” He squeezed her gently. “Whatever, whomever, is left.”

“Even if that’s not us.” Vhalla stepped away, not giving into the alluring comfort of retreat that his presence offered. There was still a war to win.

VICTOR HAD LITTLE concern for the unspoken etiquette of war. Just as Grahm and his soldiers had forewarned, the false king had been preparing another wave of monsters and abominations. The lull was only long enough for him to plan that next attack.

They had barely enough time to brace themselves. But they did have some time, which was entirely thanks to Grahm and the Silver Wings.

The rush of battle seemed duller the second time around, and Vhalla struggled to move her feet with the same speed as she had before. Majors ran screaming into the early morning light, organizing what was left of the troops.

Vhalla followed, leading what was now her command. The defensive wall they’d built out of ice and earth had been destroyed. Vhalla sprinted in a direction opposite Aldrik, but Jax remained glued to her side. Jax was foolishly determined to live up to his prior oaths of dying for her life, if need be. Vhalla was equally determined to make sure it didn’t come to pass. They weren’t nearly as synced as she and Aldrik were, but it was better than any other soldier, and they were both fast learners.

Fritz remained behind with Grahm, a new reason to hold the line. Elecia’s clerical opinion was uncertain; she couldn’t be sure that he’d pull through, if the taint was even gone. The notion was one Vhalla refused to entertain.

Victor was terribly clever. His initial wave of soldiers carried crystals. Every one soldier that moved upon the Imperial army created two or three more enemy soldiers as they shoved small crystals into the corpses scattered throughout the battlefield. The crystals flared, and Vhalla could feel Victor’s will summoning them back to a twisted form of life.

His magic twisted within her. She grabbed hold of the wriggling mass under her skin, pouring it into her hands. It resisted her some now, her exhausted state prevented her from being able to easily funnel it to her will. But the sorcery eventually sprung from her hands and rendered useless half of the crystal-reanimated soldiers.

Vhalla gripped her knees, winded a moment.

You wretched creature! Victor’s voice raged faintly in the back of her mind.

“This works both ways,” she panted. “If you’re going to insist on invading my mind, then I’m going to use that against you.”

The magic was a brutal and uncomfortable feeling. Each time she used it, it was harder than the last. It was like wrapping a noose around her own neck and tightening it one pull at a time. But this would be their final push; the castle gates were in sight, and Vhalla would give it all she had. And if that meant working herself to death, then she would die and hope to take Victor with her.

She moved through the field, willing her magic alongside his. They’d almost reached the castle when Victor finally gathered the strength to stop her, making her feel the same sharp feeling inside as that night in the tent.

“Jax!” she cried. He was at her side in an instant. “I need-need—” She inhaled sharply, the freezing pain blurring her vision. “Sehra.”

The Westerner looked conflicted, assessing the field quickly. Deciding it was too unsafe to leave her where she was, he picked her up in his arms and bolted in the direction of the other half of the army. Vhalla watched Aldrik until he disappeared from her field of vision. The Emperor pushed on toward his palace.

“Princess Sehra!” Jax called. “Sehra!”

Vhalla began to shudder, and Jax’s grip tightened on her. They had to move faster, but she was in too much pain, and her teeth wouldn’t stop chattering long enough for her to tell him so. She closed her eyes, focusing on fighting the magic, on doing whatever she could. Vhalla felt the world slipping away as she began falling into the dark void known as death.

But, like before, light exploded within her, bright and brilliant. Vhalla’s mind cleared, and awareness surged through her, momentarily free of Victor’s weight.

Sehra was held tightly in Za’s arms, the archer shaking her sovereign, trying to wake her.

“Sehra . . .” Vhalla sat. “Sehra!” she joined Za’s call.

The princess opened her eyes weakly. “That was the last time . . .” she breathed weakly.

“I understand.” Vhalla nodded. “We won’t need it again.”

“Sehra use too much of her power.” Za began angrily. “Sehra in danger. She can no more—”

“I know, Za.” Vhalla boldly rested a palm on the archer’s shoulder. “Take her away, go, hide. If you can, flee.”

When Vhalla expected Za to be relieved, her scowl only deepened.

“You think North listen to South command with no Sehra, no Za?” She shook her head. “North is proud. North finish our fight.”

Vhalla stared in awe as Za stood and helped the exhausted Sehra to her feet. An explosion of fire shook the ground nearby, jolting them all back to the battle. Vhalla looked between the two Northerners and the exit of the alley they were currently hiding in.

“Stay alive, both of you,” Vhalla demanded before returning to the battle at Jax’s side.

With Victor’s magic shut off, Vhalla could no longer disarm crystal traps or slay beasts from the sky. The army was forced to complete the final push to the castle gates using only traditional means—magic and steel. Vhalla and Jax returned to a thin, disorganized host. She scanned for majors, for any leadership, and found none. It had devolved into utter chaos.

“Jax,” she spoke from the outside edge of the fray.

“Lady Empress?”

“This may be where we die.” She faced the truth openly.

“No.” He shook his head. “You’ve never done things the easy way, Vhalla. And death now would be the easy way out.”

“You’re insane,” Vhalla laughed quietly and spurred her feet into a run.

She ran toward that dream that had lingered in her heart since the Night of Fire and Wind. A dream of peace, of freedom, of a tomorrow without fear. The streets were littered with bodies to be vaulted over or step upon. Bodies that could have been a friend. Or could have been a soldier she’d trained under. Or one she’d eaten with on the march. But she wouldn’t grieve for them now. She wouldn’t collapse before the overwhelming titan known as fear and worry. As long as one of their army lived, all their hearts beat as one. She’d want the same if it was her face-down in her own blood.

Soldiers locked in combat all around her, but Vhalla only had one focus. It stretched beyond the man in white and gold armor wielding flames—flames that didn’t burn nearly as bright as they once had. Her eyes locked with her current foe—the locked gates of the palace.

“Those for Solaris, with me!” she screamed painfully.

“What’s the plan?” Aldrik cried, seeing her running head-first through the chaos.

The only obvious one, Vhalla thought. She may no longer have Victor’s magic, so there was only one option when it came to opening the crystal encrusted gates. It was dangerous and reckless, and it was something she’d avoided doing since the sandstorm in the West. Since Aldrik had cautioned her about throwing herself into her Channel.

But desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Hold your ground here!” she directed, keeping the soldiers away from the gates.

Wind already howled through the streets. It spun under her feet, nearly lifting her into the air with its force. She wanted to do this as brutally and forcefully as Victor had when he had wrenched the fragile peace that so many had died for under the previous Emperor’s hands.

The wind rushed in her ears, but it was not enough. She needed every ounce of air the sky had left to give her. This was not a summer breeze or a mountain gale; she would be the wind, unstoppable and untamable.

And Vhalla let go.

She relinquished herself to the wind. The world faded away, and she lost sense of her corporal body. Muscles and bones popped and stretched with the force of the twister as her body was flung toward the doors, riding on the wind.

The air refused to let her be harmed while in its embrace so it was left with only one option—break down the gates before her, or smash her into them. They splintered. The crystals around them came crashing down, shattered with the brute force of her magic. Vhalla rolled across the ground, her magic failing the second she realized her mission had been accomplished.

Everything hurt. Everything was stretched past its limit, so far it couldn’t even break. Her bones were too tired to even do that much.

She dug into the recesses of her magic and her will with determination. Vhalla raised her head, drawing herself to her knees. The doors to the ceremonial throne room began to open before her, no doubt thanks to the Wings. Far beyond, Vhalla could see a throne glittering with crystal, a place where she knew Victor had sat and sown horror.

It was a throne she would reclaim before the day was done.

THEY PUSHED UPWARD through the palace, fighting against Victor’s every resistance. The soldiers who could still conjure a flame or hold a sword reclaimed the palace, one floor at a time. Sorcerers seemed to materialize from the stonework itself to resist them. But the Imperial army continued, determined. They all hoped that, should they put an end to Victor, the rest would fall.

Aldrik led their center. Vhalla was at his right hand, Jax at hers. The teams were smaller now, and there was barely enough room in some hallways to run three side by side, much less fight.

Running with them were three men and women who she had neither met nor seen before, but she already trusted them implicitly. They had survived this far, and she had to assume it was for a reason.

The hallway they sprinted through opened up into a larger artery of the palace. Several sorcerers were waiting, and magic sparked on instinct. Aldrik and Jax were a well-made pair.

The Emperor stepped first, arcing fire between them and Victor’s supporters. Jax sprinted, full-tilt, into the flames. By the time Aldrik’s magic had vanished, Jax was searing one of the five to the bone. Vhalla was close on his tail but far enough behind to avoid being burned; she was ready the second the flames disappeared, ready to blow the face off one of the men.

“Keep on!” Jax shouted to her and Aldrik. “We’ll handle this rabble.”

They were close now, close to the pinnacle of the world. It was like they were spiraling upward into Victor’s domain. Once beautiful statues had been toppled. Paintings had ink splattered overtop. Banners of Solaris hung in tatters, defiled. Crystals became more plentiful, as though the caverns had moved with Victor and taken root in the palace, determined to spread its taint across the world and to cast its lot in with the most likely man to help it do so.

They had been fighting for hours, days, weeks, months, but suddenly the two of them stood at the end of the hall leading to the Imperial quarters. The once beautiful golden doors hung at odd angles, completely encased in giant spears of crystal. This was where Victor had chosen to make his stand.

They both paused, catching their breath, staring at the magic that was tangible in the air. It was the last barrier between them and their impossible dream. But it was a barrier of a power far beyond explanation and the madman who harnessed it.

“I’m not going to insult you and tell you to turn back,” she said, wishing her voice sounded a little stronger.

“Then I will do the same.” Aldrik turned to her, and she looked at him. It was a sliver of quiet before the storm. “I’m not going to say goodbye.”

“Then I will do the same,” she parroted in turn.

Vhalla turned, and Aldrik caught her arm. He didn’t have the strength he usually commanded when drawing her close, and Vhalla didn’t quite leap toward him as she usually did, but their desperate kiss still held weight. It didn’t feel like her first kiss; it was greater than that, more refined, heavier with all the words they couldn’t say. Her lips tingled for that brief second, and Vhalla wondered if they’d both lied, if that had been goodbye.

The Emperor and Empress started down the hall that spelled certain doom, intent on reclaiming their home.

Vhalla unfurled the taut control she’d held over Victor’s magic inside her. She slowly let it seep unhindered into her one final time. Sparks glittered on her fingers as she cleared a path through the crystal barricade to the central atrium of the Imperial quarters.

Victor sat bare-chested upon a throne of crystal. Stones embedded in his flesh pulsed in time with the crystals around him, their magic radiating outward. Victor had been right all along—the Crystal Caverns did, indeed, have a heart, and instead of killing it with the axe, he had claimed it and traded it for his own.

In a slightly different light, the crown shone weakly on his head. Her magic was dwindling from it slowly—perhaps another explanation for his weakening control over her—and that meant the taint was fighting more forcefully for his body.

They didn’t come armed with anything other than their magic; they held no crystal weapons to aide them, but Vhalla knew this was their best chance to destroy the heart of the Crystal Caverns once and for all—while it was attached to flesh. Victor slowly raised his head from where his chin had fallen onto his chest, flashing a wild smile.

“Look who it is . . .” he rasped, his voice like stones grating together. “The prodigal Emperor and Empress, returning to reclaim their home. You’ve created quite the stir.”

Aldrik was blank, impassive, immune to the taunts. Vhalla tried to follow his example.

“If you want power, come to me,” he cooed. “You’ve had a taste, you little leech. Come to me and have it all.”

Vhalla’s shoulders quivered, and a muffled huffing noise escaped before she could contain it. The next thing she knew she had thrown her head back in laughter. He had no principles or morals; it shouldn’t be surprising that even now the man had no shame.

“Oh, Victor.” Vhalla shook her head. “You underestimate just how much I need you to die!”

The gust of wind was among the strongest she’d ever produced, and Vhalla didn’t even lift a finger to create it—Victor had no time to brace himself. He was slammed back into the crystals behind him, his head snapping against their smooth surface. Vhalla knew better than to think that would be all it took.

Victor leapt up before she had time to summon her magic for a second attack. Aldrik was ready, however, and fire blazed through the air. Vhalla watched as he winced, his fire flashing in color briefly as he drew from the magic of the crystals to level the playing field between him and the other two combatants.

The crystals on Victor’s chest shone, and the fire moved over his skin harmlessly, as though repelled. Vhalla and Aldrik split, dodging in different directions as Victor launched into his first attack. They scrambled to their feet as the room tried to eat them whole. Gurgling and groaning, the walls shuddered to life. Thick layers of crystal rippled and rolled like waves at Victor’s will. Vhalla turned, holding out a hand and deflecting a sharp crystal point with her fingers. But these stones held a deeper connection with the madman than any prior, and she couldn’t control it for long.

Aldrik grunted, and Victor’s laugh followed, drawing her attention from her own struggle. Her head whipped around, hair sticking to her sweaty cheeks as she saw him, armor caught on a glowing crystal point. Aldrik grit his teeth, clearly not wanting to grant Victor the satisfaction, but it was a battle he was losing.

With a scream of her husband’s name, Vhalla cast aside instinct for self-preservation and swung at Victor from a distance. One of the crystals upon his chest exploded with a satisfying pop and spray of dark blood. The man gave a welcome cry of agony.

Aldrik heard her unsaid words and pushed out his magic. A blaze encompassed Victor, drawing another satisfying scream. He backed off Aldrik, letting the Emperor free himself from the crystal point that had been trying to penetrate his plate.

Free of the flame, Victor moved. A short sword appeared in his palm, a sword made of ice so white it almost shone like metal. Vhalla tried to catch her breath, crossing over to the two men fighting, but Aldrik was closer to their enemy.

Fire burned brightly around Aldrik’s body, keeping the edge off Victor’s icy blade, but that was about all he could do. With crystal magic sustaining the sword against Aldrik’s flames, the two men danced in fire and ice. Every move Aldrik made was toward Victor’s face, and Victor moved to jab a spear of ice between Aldrik’s plate. They had fought before. Each knew the other’s tricks and favorite methods, resulting in a stalemate.

Vhalla shattered the even-footing with a kick to Victor’s face. She’d been trying to throw the crown off his brow, but it was embedded into his body as much as the other crystals. Victor reeled, but Aldrik was forgotten as the false king spun and grabbed her, throwing her into the wall.

She gasped in both pain and surprise as a crystal jabbed the side of her head; a little lower and it would’ve taken off her ear. The crystal’s magic overwhelmed her. It felt like it was trying to eat her whole.

Victor used the moment to turn back to Aldrik, gathering his strength. Dark veins pulsed outward from the crystals embedded into his skin. Pure magic zapped from his fingers straight into Aldrik’s chest, sending the Emperor flying.

Vhalla screamed. She had to keep moving, she had to fight. Her fingers closed tightly around a crystal point at her side. It seared beneath her fingers, as though it had its own consciousness and was rejecting her. Vhalla forced every ounce of her mental strength to command it to bend to her will. It resisted, but bend it did.

Hearing her footsteps nearing, Victor turned his attention from Aldrik. His sword of ice held up against her sword of crystal. Vhalla panted, and he bared his teeth at her.

Daniel. Her friend, he’d been brought into her life for a reason, and that reason had not been to be her lover. Vhalla’s feet moved as he taught. They were light, as though she was still back in that tiny clearing between the houses he had made into his little patch of East. Vhalla parried, reposed, spun the weapon, and twirled with the wind.

Victor had never had the luxury of learning the sword from one of the greatest swordsmen alive—if the Golden Guard status meant anything—and it lived on in her training. Vhalla saw an opening and took it. The crystal sword embedded into his jaw, taking out a chunk.

Aldrik joined his magic with her assault. Startled, Victor couldn’t shield himself as he had last time, and his flesh bubbled with horrible burns along one side. He lunged for her, giving Aldrik no choice but to call off his flames or incinerate them both.

Vhalla kicked him off her, tumbling overtop the sharp points of crystals. Grabbing one again, she repeated the process as before. But this time, she could only manage a dagger—her magic was weakening. She didn’t need much more. They were close, and this fight would soon be over.

Straddling his chest, Vhalla held up the wicked sharp point. With both hands, she brought it down onto the man’s face—and hit an invisible wall. Her muscles locked, and time felt like it froze. Vhalla tried to push the blade down further into Victor’s mangled visage. But, try as she might, she couldn’t strike the death blow.

He rasped through his shattered jaw and mangled lips. Victor was laughing at her. Because she realized it at the same time as he did—a simple rule about Bonds: one cannot kill the person they are Bonded to.

The truth that had drawn her to Aldrik, that had assured her all those months ago that there was more to the prince than met the eye, that he wasn’t lying about his every intention with her, was now keeping her from her kill. She wanted to scream at the injustice of it all. Victor was hers, hers to kill. He had taken everything from her, and now he was going to take this, too.

“Do it,” Aldrik encouraged. “End this.”

“You do it, Aldrik.” Vhalla eased away. It physically hurt to do so when she wanted so badly just to drive the dagger through Victor’s eye again and again.

“He won’t do it.” Victor’s eyes darted between them. The crystals in his skin were beginning to glow again, drawing strength from the magic in the room. “Not when he fought so hard to get you.”

“What?” Aldrik hissed, instantly defensive by the subconscious notion of what Victor was implying.

“She didn’t tell you? Well, let me say—”

His nose crunched as Vhalla screamed, cutting off Victor’s sentence. She had leapt on him, flipping the dagger in her palm to smash the hilt against his nose, shattering it. Before the man had a chance to catch his breath, Vhalla brought the crystal onto his purpling flesh again. She hit him again and again, twenty-three times in total.

The skin of Victor’s face changed from flesh-colored to a sickening grey, to a deep crimson. Hot spots speckled her face as his blood dotted her skin from every vicious bludgeon. She heaped her pain, her frustration, upon her target. And, just as she was to cross the threshold into what would be his death, her hands stopped again.

And Vhalla let out a raw scream of anguish. “Kill him, Aldrik!”

Aldrik didn’t move. He hesitated, and she wanted to loathe him for that.

“I can’t.” Vhalla glared down at Victor. The man was somehow laughing through his chipped teeth and mangled torso. “I can’t, so you have to do it!”

“If I die, she dies.” Victor threw the verbal gauntlet.

“No more talking!” Vhalla shoved half the dagger, blunted side, down the man’s throat.

“Is it true?” Aldrik demanded, the last of his hopeful ignorance cracking. Looking at the pain painted in blood on her face should’ve been evidence enough.

“He’s the false king, you can’t trust anything he says.” Her voice broke from frustration and exhaustion. She wanted it ended. Victor was determined. Aldrik was hesitating. And she couldn’t do it.

“If I kill him, will you die?” Aldrik rephrased the question.

“He must die!”

“Will you die, Vhalla?” Aldrik raised his voice to compete with hers.

“Kill him.”

“Will. You. Die?” He’d crossed over to where she was still kneeling on Victor’s chest.

Vhalla stared up at him, unmoving. She didn’t blink; she didn’t even breathe. There wasn’t anything to say, and, in her speechlessness, he saw the truth.

“No,” Aldrik breathed, shaking his head. “No, Vhalla.” He looked back down to Victor. “We will chain him in Windwalker’s chains. He’ll keep the crown so he can live out the remainder of his miserable life. We can move him West, or into the darkest dungeons here. We can find a cell where he’ll never see the light of day again.”

Vhalla drew herself to her feet as he rambled. She unstrapped her plate, there was only one option left now.

“You didn’t believe it,” Vhalla reminded him. She didn’t want Aldrik to force her hand in this way. “When we were Bonded, you didn’t believe that if one of us died, both of us would.”

“But there isn’t enough research to say one way or the other.”

“Exactly. So we never let it get in our way before.” She remembered the sandstorm. Was she able to run head-first into certain danger because she’d believed she’d be magically stopped if it was going to kill him? Or because she never believed in mutual death? “It’s time to conduct some research.”

Aldrik opened his mouth to speak, but Victor had had enough time to recover, and he sent a wave of magic at both of them. Vhalla and Aldrik tumbled in different directions. The points of the crystals were far more agonizing with only her chainmail.

The Emperor engaged the false king. But Vhalla had a different battle to fight, one with herself. She pulled the fine chain Aldrik had made for her over her head, casting it aside. The clang of it falling to the floor distracted both men and neither seemed to be able to conceive what she was doing.

One more spear of crystal. Not a sword, not a dagger, just something with a wicked point. Aldrik’s eyes widened in horror. Victor snarled with the same realization.

Vhalla’s breath quickened. Did she have the strength to do this? Was she brave enough to really put an entire Empire before herself? It was time to find out.

They both moved, trying to stop her for different reasons. Vhalla clutched the crystal, white knuckled, and drove it through her abdomen. She grit her teeth, pain instant and agonizing.

“You bitch!” Victor roared.

“If you kill him, Aldrik, maybe I will die,” she panted. “Maybe I won’t. And you can help. But if you do not kill him, I will kill myself to try to take him with me, and you have no more Bonds to bring me back.”

A surge of magic hit Vhalla square in the chest. She flew backwards, the bloodied crystal falling from her fingers. Her unprotected back was torn open by the stones. Vhalla wheezed with laughter, letting herself be reduced to a puddle of blood.

“The Bond says I can’t kill you, Victor, but apparently it says nothing about letting myself die!” Vhalla laughed grimly. Unlike when Victor had been freezing her to death, Vhalla’s senses felt heightened. Blood flowed freely from the gaping hole in her abdomen, coating her fingers that instinctually pressed against it. But she saw Victor clearly. She saw her husband. She would witness the end.

“I will encase you in crystal, you impossible cur, and you shall be mine forever!” Victor let out an animalistic sound of anguish, what was left of his face twisting into rage. He raised a hand and crystals encroached upon her. Vhalla struggled to keep them at bay, her magic finally faltering.

An explosion of fire distracted Victor from trapping Vhalla in place. She dismissed the remaining crystals with small explosions of black glass, which shredded her skin in the process. Vhalla saw Aldrik engaging Victor with all the fight he had left in him. Victor was pinned against the wall, Aldrik’s hand clasped over his mouth.

“You do not speak that way to your Empress,” Aldrik growled.

Fire licked around Aldrik’s palm, and he unleashed his magical wrath upon the man who had killed his family and stolen his throne. What crystals remained on Victor’s body began to shine, but his magic was weak and fading, just as Vhalla’s was. She put her last remaining strength into rendering his magic useless, into exploding every crystal that marred his body.

Aldrik’s flames burned hotter and hotter. Vhalla willed her magic into him. She willed the crystal’s magic. She willed fate and love and everything that she held dear in the world into her Emperor’s fire. It burned from Victor’s nose, licked from his ears, boiled his eyes in their sockets before bursting through his skin with flames as brilliant as the crystal’s magic.

She felt the moment it was over. Vhalla wheezed, struggling for air.

Victor’s body went limp, pinned against the wall by Aldrik’s hand. Aldrik slowly released, letting the charred remnants fall to the floor. When he turned, he looked at her with eyes brimming with tears, with fear.

It wasn’t Victor’s death that hit her, it was the fracturing of the crystal magic. All the crystals in the room darkened and splintered. Like a rug pulled out from underneath her, Vhalla felt her magical essence struggling to find something to grab to now that Victor’s magic and the crystals were gone. Her body was the splintering fractures across their surfaces.

Vhalla gasped into the air, focusing on breathing, focusing on seeing the dawn she had fought so hard for.

HER BODY WAS wracked with shudders and shakes. Vhalla clenched her teeth together out of fear that a violent convulsion would result in her accidently biting off her tongue. She rolled onto her side, trying to find her feet, trying to stand.

Whatever the nature of the Bond between her and the— now dead—Victor, there was more to it than she gave credit for. Moonlight streamed through the glass above her, shining through the refractions of dying crystals. Perhaps that was it, more than the Bond. Perhaps it was that she too had come to share in the heart of the crystals, and, as they died, she would, too. Or perhaps it was just the gaping wound in her stomach.

“Vhalla, Vhalla,” he repeated her name, over and over again, as though all other words had vanished from his lexicon. Aldrik’s arms enveloped her, hoisting her up, holding her to him.

“I’m sorry, Al-Al—”

“Hang on,” a soft whine of agony weakened his words. “This isn’t the end.”

Vhalla reached up a hand and clutched the bloody and soot-covered plate that kept his chest from her. She lamented the metal’s existence. She would give anything to rest her head one more time on him and hear his heartbeat and breaths. Her fingers clawed at the armor, as though she could scrape away the barrier.

“I had to.” She finally found a grip on his armor and her mental capacity. “Please, don’t resent me, my love, I had to.”

“I know, I know.” Aldrik was sprinting down the hall. The sounds of glass shattering filled her ears. “We must get you to Elecia.”

She sighed softly with a shake of her head. A cool numbness was tickling the edges of her fingers. It was lulling her into a gentle stasis. “I’m sorry that you will endure this—”

“I am enduring nothing!” he shouted, less at her than the world. Aldrik swallowed hard, and Vhalla watched the lump in his throat bob like the invisible knot he was trying to dislodge. “Don’t you dare leave me, Vhalla Yarl Solaris. Not now.”

Her eyes fluttered closed. Vhalla Yarl Solaris, she thought to herself. That was her name. So much had happened, but Vi was wrong. Vhalla hadn’t traded her fate. This was simply another turn of the vortex. The first Empress Solaris had died a fate connected to the Crystal Caverns; the second would do the same.

Aldrik sprinted downward. The crystals no longer responded to their presence. They stayed dull and darkened as the two Imperials sprinted through the palace. Aldrik’s fingers dug welts into her flesh.

His efforts were beautiful. He was beautiful. Even wounded, a chunk of his ear missing, that bump in his nose that had been set wrong—he was stunning to her. A shudder almost cast her from his arms, forcing the Emperor to slow.

“Aldrik—”

“Hush,” he commanded tensely. “Don’t talk, please, not one word. Save your strength.”

He was on the move again, propelling them forward. His eyes remained glued to a distant horizon. Hope flickered through them, an ever elusive beacon in their world. Her vision blurred, and Vhalla finally began to panic.

She didn’t want to lose him. Her magic was there, barely felt. But everything was disjointed. Nothing connected, forcing her into a limbo between life and death. Vhalla’s eyes fluttered closed. Victor had taken everything from her. He could not win the world, so he would settle for taking her part of it in death.

“Vhalla, open your eyes.” Aldrik intentionally jostled her in his arms. Her head lolled against his shoulder. “Open your eyes, damn it!”

She obliged, a small sliver of light returning to her. She tried to think of how much ground he could’ve covered with her, where they would be going. His chest heaved in contrast to the small swells of hers.

Imperial soldiers were ahead, a whole patrol of them. Aldrik’s feet quickened with the dangerous fuel that Vhalla knew to be hope. Her chest ached, and not just because of the beginning stages of cardiac failure.

“Where is Elecia?” Aldrik barked, his voice thick and hoarse.

“M-my lord?” The soldier was aghast at the visage of their Emperor carrying their dying Empress.

“Lady Elecia Ci’Dan! Where did she set up her triage?” Aldrik’s grip tightened even further.

Vhalla didn’t have the strength to tell him he was hurting her. She would be gone soon; no matter how much she struggled, death was a siren, and she’d fully heard its call. She missed any reply, her eyes fluttering closed once more.

“We’re almost there,” Aldrik reassured frantically. “Elecia will fix you. I know she will.”

The balmy summer hit her skin, and it was a breath of fresh air. Vhalla tried to place where she was in the palace. There were over a hundred gardens and a thousand possibilities. But chance didn’t work randomly in her world. The moment her nose picked up the faint scent of roses, Vhalla knew the Gods didn’t play games.

“Elecia’s in the hall, just here,” Aldrik said frantically. Vhalla realized he was talking to her. “She’s coming. She’ll be—”

The door to the greenhouse opened suddenly. “Let me see her,” Elecia announced.

The woman’s fingers were on Vhalla’s face and neck. They ran down her body and back. They ghosted over her wound, unafraid of the gore, and paused at her breast over the fluttering beats of her heart.

Elecia pulled her hands away, and no one said anything for a small eternity. Vhalla cracked her eyes open, turning to the Western woman. She tried to smile. She tried to be strong. Nothing was about her anymore. It was about them, those who would inherit the world they’d fought so hard for.

“I don’t know what to do,” the healer confessed.

“I know,” Vhalla whispered.

“You’re going to die.” Elecia fought for her clinical detachment, but a whimper of emotion betrayed the facade. “Aldrik, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I don’t know—”

“Start with the wound, ‘Cia. Please, please try,” Aldrik spoke with utter desperation.

Elecia obliged, and Vhalla felt the other woman’s magic pouring into her. She felt it seeking pathways that had been broken and strewn to the winds, unable to knit the broken flesh and muscle. Her magic had been too damaged by the crystals. It would have to be fixed before any other healing could be done.

The woman must have realized it in the same moment as Vhalla, because she stood suddenly. “I’m going to try to find Sehra!”

Elecia had bolted out the door before any of them could react. She left silence and death in her wake. Vhalla blinked intensely. She wouldn’t leave now without saying goodbye.

“Aldrik.” He was at her side in an instant. His long fingers scooped up hers, blood smearing across his gauntlets. “I’m so glad I saved you, back then.”

“Don’t say goodbye, please.” He was close to breaking. He was fighting the obvious.

“I don’t regret it. I don’t.” She could only hope he understood, that something she said would be enough for him to continue on without her.

She was crying, Vhalla realized. The shining points of light of her memories illuminated the dark and tumultuous road that had taken her to this moment. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to give up everything she’d fought for.

The door opened again, and both of their eyes looked at the lone figure. The princess floated over to the two Imperials, looking much more rested than the last time Vhalla had seen her. Two emerald eyes looked between Aldrik and Vhalla.

“Sehra,” Aldrik pleaded. “Save her please, your magic, can it—”

“I understand,” she whispered. The princess kneeled next to Vhalla. Her focus was only on the Empress. “You did well.”

Vhalla was struggling to see. The princess faded, vacillating between her normal visage and something different. Hazy blurs and lines that didn’t quite connect. Long fingers, almost like Aldrik’s, cupped her cheek thoughtfully. The gesture was more forward than the princess had ever been.

“The crystals’ magic is diminishing. They were never meant to be used as they were, manipulated for man’s greed. They weren’t left with that intent.”

“What?” Aldrik asked Vhalla’s question.

“You saw them.” Sehra spoke to both of them, to no one. “They turn brittle and shatter under their own weight. They will be gone by dawn.”

“Princess, we need to act quickly,” Aldrik urged. “She’s dying.”

“I know,” Sehra said without hesitation. “Vhalla Yarl, after all that you have been through, do you still want to be upon this earth?”

“How can you ask that?” Vhalla opened her eyes. “Of course, I do.”

“Of course,” Sehra repeated softly. “Very well. I will grant you the power of Yargen one more time. I will change this fate set before you.”

The princess had a gently, almost motherly—familial— smile. She placed both hands on Vhalla’s face. Her whole palm tingled, and Vhalla felt the same light she’d experienced every time before.

No, it wasn’t the same. Sehra’s power before had been like a battering ram, forcing its way into her. This was familiar, like it complemented her. It flowed through Vhalla’s veins with palpable force. Her heart beat in time to it. Her flesh mended with it. Vhalla blinked, the red dawn flashing a moment in the woman’s eyes.

Whatever Sehra did, it worked. And when she pulled her hands away, Vhalla’s whole body felt warm, as though she’d been lying in the sun for hours. Her eyes fell back into focus, her breathing strengthened, her heartbeat regulated once more.

The princess stood tiredly, swaying slightly.

“Are you all right?” Aldrik took a step toward the young woman.

“I am, but time is short,” she answered cryptically. “I’m no longer meant for this world.”

Sehra started for the door. Aldrik looked between Vhalla and the Northern princess.

“Sehra, we can seek out another cleric.”

“No need.” Her hand paused on the door knob. Vhalla sat slowly, trying to make out the familiar glint in the woman’s eyes. “You did well, but things are only beginning now. The vortex still spins.”

“Sehra!” Vhalla was on her feet, not realizing how quickly she could suddenly move, how strong she felt.

“If that is the name you choose.” With those words, the woman vanished through the fogged glass of the door.

Vhalla looked to Aldrik. He was confused. Which meant it hadn’t been a dream or hallucination. He’d heard those words. That had been real.

“Sehra!” Vhalla cried. She threw open the door. “Sehra!”

A cleric looked over from the gate leading into the Imperial hall, confused at the Empress’s cries.

“Tell me,” Vhalla called. “Have you seen the Northern Princess Sehra?”

“I haven’t seen the lady for hours,” he answered uncertainly.

“Did you miss her?” Vhalla walked over quickly, Aldrik on her heels. “Could you not have seen her?”

“I have been here since the Emperor took you-you . . . Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“Just now, someone left.” Aldrik looked through the garden.

“My lord, lady, I-I . . .” The man was clearly at a loss for words, incapable of giving them the answers they wanted. “I suppose, it’s possible, that I missed someone.”

“Vhalla?” Elecia’s voice called. Sehra, Za, Jax, and Fritz were in tow. The group that was to be Vhalla’s mourning party. “You should lie down!”

The Western noble crossed to her in a few hasty steps. Her hands were on Vhalla, but she barely felt them. Vhalla stared at Aldrik, and he met her eyes with equal confuson. There was no explanation that she could give him. Trying to explain the full details of her last, tragic encounter with Vi would be impossible now.

Magic glowing around crystals that had looked like feathers.

Fire that had saved her life by burning wheat.

And a final encounter in a garden of roses.

If that is the name you choose.

It was a series of dreams connected by an impossibility. Something beyond her world. A force greater than everything Vhalla had ever known. Something that would fade with time into a vague dream-like memory.

“Vhalla.” Elecia forcefully grabbed Vhalla’s face, pulling it back toward her. “What did you do? What did you take?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Then how do you explain this?” Elecia grabbed the front of Vhalla’s shirt and pulled it up without concern for propriety. There, on Vhalla’s stomach, was soft pink flesh where a mortal wound had been moments before. Elecia turned to Aldrik. “You were with her.”

“It-it must be something you did,” Aldrik inserted, grasping at any explanation.

“I didn’t do anything.”

Vhalla’s eyes met the princess’s. It was as though the Northern woman somehow knew. Her mouth curved in a telling smile, all the information the Empress would ever be able to worm from her.

“Maybe there was a cleric. We may have been misinformed,” Aldrik mumbled. He turned back to Elecia with conviction. “Elecia, is Vhalla—”

“She’s amazing!” Elecia had eyes as wide as a child in a pastry shop. “I must find who did this. They may be the best cleric in the world. She should be dead; there’s no reason for her to be alive and healthier than ever. I must find out what they did!”

Elecia dashed off, asking the same cleric Vhalla had just spoken to. She moved down the hall, one person to the next. But she wasn’t going to find anyone, Vhalla simply knew it to be fact. There was never anyone to find after.

“So, you’re not actually dying?” Jax leaned against the iron gate with a dramatic sigh. “And here I had the best farewell speech planned.”

“I guess it has to wait.” Vhalla gave him a small smile.

“Good, I couldn’t handle any more death.” Fritz threw his arms around her shoulders, and Vhalla clutched him tightly. “Thank the Mother.”

Perhaps they had more reason than they all knew to thank the Mother, Vhalla thought to herself, briefly. One impossible and unlikely explanation of what had happened was just as good as any other.

“Grahm?” she whispered into her friend’s ear.

He just shook his head. Vhalla couldn’t translate his shining tears. Were they joy? Were they telling her not to worry now? Or were they world-crushing sorrow?

Whatever it was, Vhalla would be at his side to shoulder those emotions as well.

“My lady.” Aldrik’s voice was heavy with something that she couldn’t quite decipher.

She turned back to her lord. He held her gaze with every bit of adoration the world had been capable of producing. Vhalla’s arms slid from around her friend’s.

Vhalla turned to stand right before the Emperor. The man who she’d met as the Fire Lord, the aloof and distant prince. The man she’d fallen in love with. The man who’d been constant while she’d grown—side by side and even when apart.

They’d been pushed to the brink and pulled back again. Throughout it all, they’d managed to keep a few friends alive, but had lost so many along the way.

“What do we do now?” she breathed.

“Now?” He took a step toward her, crossing her personal space. Aldrik hooked her chin, guiding it upward. “Now, we rule, we live, and by the Mother, we get a bit of time to love.”

“Do you promise?” Vhalla’s hands curled around his armor.

“More than anything, this I promise.” The corner of his mouth pulled up into a one-sided grin.

He couldn’t look at her like that. Vhalla tugged him and kissed him before friend and subject alike as dawn broke upon the Solaris Empire.

WINTER FELL HEAVY in the mountains. Snow painted a thick white carpet across the barren earth, save for the hoof-prints and wheel ruts left behind the carriage. It was a large and unnecessarily lavish contraption, even by her standards; it creaked and moaned as it bumbled up the rocky mountain roads. A wheel snagged momentarily in a particularly large divot, which sent everything within the cabin lurching, a curly-haired Western woman included.

“Watch where you are driving!” Elecia stuck her head out the window, instantly regretting the decision as wind whipped about her face, blowing snow into her eyes.

“Apologies m’lady! It’s difficult to see with all this snow!” the driver called back.

Elecia sat back down in a huff, crossing her arms over her chest. An Imperial summons. It had finally come to that. Her cousin and that crazy Eastern woman he had taken for a wife had been all too determined for months to get Elecia back South.

She plucked the letter from where it had slipped onto the floor. The words were hard to read amidst the jostling, so she quickly folded it, stashing it into the small leather purse at her side. Resting her elbow on the small shelf built upon the tiny door of the carriage, Elecia looked out at the winter world surrounding her. If they were going to be so stubborn, then she would dig her heels in as far as she could.

“I hate snow,” Elecia muttered to herself.

After the battle, Elecia had eventually returned to the West. She had stayed through the last Southern winter to help heal the remaining wounded soldiers and, upon Aldrik’s request, to help reestablish a clerical program in the palace. Elecia had, of course, bemoaned her sacrifice the entire time she remained there. But she kept it to herself that she actually had enjoyed having full control of how she thought clerics should be trained. When she left things were running smoothly in the capable hands of a particularly talented healer named Luzbelle.

It hadn’t all been smooth. Dissenters were still rampant through the winter and Jax, who had been made head of the guard, was busy trying to get the city—and Empire—back under control. Aldrik was often busy with Jax in that respect, and many nights Elecia had found the two men deep in argument over how best to ensure the continent was once more safe and loyal. It had pleased her to see that, even as things returned to normal, her cousin still avoided the bottle. She saw how he looked at it on long days, but Aldrik never touched it. Even when Jax gave in and sipped from his own glass.

The last she heard, Jax was being sent off to the East to help rebuild there. It was an equally personal mission as he went hunting for Daniel. But their last correspondence had painted a bleak picture on that front. It made her contemplate how he was doing on many an occasion. She wondered if he was back in the South, or if he had just decided to take up residence in Hastan. Elecia wondered, but she had a pretty good idea already.

Eventually, as what often occurred, people tired of fighting. The crystals had vanished, remaining as mysterious as they’d ever been. They had fractured and broken down, shattering under their own weight before turning to dust. It was as though all the magic had been exhausted, and Elecia couldn’t fathom how no matter how hard she tried.

The caverns had been crystal-free and filled with dust when Vhalla and Aldrik had sent Groundbreakers to check. Even still, they left nothing to chance. The Groundbreakers had collapsed the mountainside. One of their first Imperial decrees was striking the infamous place from all maps and records.

She hummed to herself, and a little smile crept upon Elecia’s face. She was looking forward to seeing them all once more. She allowed herself to enjoy life and be excited now. The last thing she wanted any of them to see was her enthusiasm at the idea of a reunion. Mother forbid they got the idea that she would stay longer than necessary. She had an image to upkeep.

However, the luggage strapped to the back of her carriage may betray her. Even her father had questioned the quantity of possessions she had brought. Elecia scolded him for thinking a woman could need anything less. He said little else, his focus fraying with her mother leaving for the North.

Things had actually progressed smoothly on that front. Last Elecia heard, Vhalla and Aldrik were struggling with breaking the news of the deal they’d struck with Sehra to their advisors and quickly recovering Senate. But the princess seemed ever patient, poised, and unworried. She was not a scheming ruler waiting at Vhalla’s bedside for a child. It reassured Elecia and her mother, who was the newly appointed ambassador. Despite the turmoil, things were moving toward peace.

Elecia stretched her legs, glancing out the window. She may have been able to walk to the capital faster.

The carriage door swung open as the wheels ground to a halt. Elecia hardly acknowledged the man who had driven her halfway across the continent. He had been so-so at best, she mused as she drew her cloak about her. It was a wonderful garment that had been specially made at her request, lined with thick fur, an inner layer of wool, and an outer layer of rich red velvet to keep out the chill—function and fashion. It kept her warm, she determined as she stepped off the metal rung onto the snow-covered ground of the stables.

Rebuilding had progressed nicely. The new stables were erected, and the decorative wood overlays looked to have been receiving their first coats of paint and gilding when the wet part of winter had set in and stalled work. She thought the wings over a certain horse’s stable were a bit much. But Aldrik always had a flair for the dramatic and overt symbolism when it came to the woman. As if he really needed to mark his territory; the woman only had eyes for him. The irony had never been lost on Elecia when her cousin was so secretive on everything else.

“Elecia!” a familiar voice called.

Fritz raced over to her from the palace stairs, darting from a side door. His hair had grown out, and part was pulled back behind his head in a limp ponytail. Elecia tilted her head. Somehow, the weight pulled out the wave and frizz and made it more presentable. It matched the formal clothes they had thrown him into, more befitting of his station than the shaggy cut he wore prior.

“It’s been awhile.” Elecia smiled. She had decided forever ago that Fritz was worthy of her smiles. But only if too many people weren’t looking.

“Too!” He threw his arms around her, and, were it not for Elecia planting her feet to the ground with a small tingle of magic a moment before he reached her, she would’ve toppled into the wet snow. “Long!”

“You are making a scene.” She patted his back nicely before shoving him away with both hands. He could be as bad as an Easterner with his affection. A habit he’d no doubt learned from a certain someone. “Now, let me look at you.”

“Are you coming to see Vhal? You must be, right? I hear she’s refused all other clerics. Wait ‘til you see her! She’s—” Fritz was practically bouncing up and down.

“Yes, yes. I’m here to see our stubborn little Empress,” Elecia cut him off before he got carried away. With a small amount of amusement, she reached up and looked at the broken moon pin he had affixed to his chest. “Don’t you look official, Lord Charem?”

“Stop it.” Fritz pulled away with a laugh. He had been the hardest to convince to accept his new role in Aldrik and Vhalla’s world order. With Victor dead, a new Minister of Sorcery was needed. Once Vhalla got the idea in her head of Fritz filling the role, no one could persuade her differently. The woman was bound to have at least one or two good ideas.

“How have you been settling into it?” Elecia asked, folding her hands behind her back. Aldrik always looked so regal when he did so. She was the cousin of the Emperor and the Lady of the West in training; she had every right to look regal.

“Some bumps, here and there.” Fritz scratched the back of his head as they walked for the palace, Elecia’s baggage being unloaded behind them. “Not everyone agreed with Vhal on my appointment.”

“Power hungry mongrels, Fritz.” Elecia shook her head, sending the snow scattering onto the stone steps leading into the palace. “No matter what, there were going to be people clamoring for prestige in the aftermath.”

“That’s what Aldrik said.” Fritz sent snow scattering off his own shoulders.

“Aldrik.” Elecia glanced down, adjusting her cloak. It served to hide a small grin. It had always grated her cousin that a common born Southerner seemed to have little qualms addressing him by his first name without ever receiving express permission. Naturally, Elecia saw no point in correcting Fritz. Someone had to give Aldrik a hard time when she wasn’t around. “How is my dear cousin?”

“Slowly going crazy.” Fritz laughed. “With Vhalla as she is.”

“Lovely,” Elecia rolled her eyes. Why did men seek to complicate the littlest things when it came to the nature of women?

They ascended the stairs together until they reached halfway to the Imperial quarters. Fritz told her how they had decided to postpone the Festival of the Sun this year. That there was too much left to rebuild to be putting on a lavish festival. Elecia hummed over that; it wouldn’t have been her choice.

She understood why last year’s Festival of the Sun had been cancelled. It would have come only months after Victor’s ultimate demise. But this year, this year she felt the people could use a touch of normalcy in their lives. It was one of the many times that Elecia wondered what kind of Empress she would have been if given the chance.

An Eastern man waited in the hall. His palm was on the stone of a windowsill, and, with a small smile, he watched the snow fall outside. He turned upon hearing them approach.

“Grahm,” Elecia held out her hand.

“Lady Ci’Dan.” Grahm took her hand and shook it warmly. It had taken some time to convince Elecia that Grahm was worthy of the Southerner whom she had claimed as her own—but he won her over eventually. “It is good to see you in the palace once more. How are you?”

The man’s work with the Silver Wings had made him the figurehead of the resistance, someone people looked to. Elecia’s tolerance of him warmed to a quiet appreciation as time dragged on. And the effect he had on Fritz was heartwarming. If Aldrik and Vhalla weren’t bad, these two were almost enough to make her feel lonely.

Elecia’s eyes glossed over the knot in Grahm’s sleeve. She’d managed to salvage that mess of an amputation following the final battle of the war. The amputation, the crystals going dormant, or both had saved Grahm’s life. Though, Fritz still wrote her time to time asking about the dreams that still afflicted his now engaged, fearful of the taint. Elecia reassured him; there were so many reasons for them all to have nightmares.

“I am in the South in the winter; how well do you think I am?” Elecia bemoaned once more, drawing her cloak tighter about her for effect.

“Shall I have a Firebearer appointed to your chambers again to ensure they are properly warmed before bed?” Grahm asked.

With that offer, Elecia knew instantly who was the real Minister of Sorcery. “You thought that would even be a question?” She sniffed at the cold air about her.

“It will be my pleasure.” Grahm smiled.

“Join us for dinner?” Fritz asked, tugging on her hand like a little brother.

“If the Imperial family does not demand me.” Elecia nodded.

“I haven’t seen Vhal in forever!” Fritz whined. “If they demand you, then bring me with you!”

“It’s only been three days.” Grahm chuckled, adjusting the knot at the bottom of a limp sleeve.

“Forever!” Fritz repeated, exasperated.

His friendship with the Eastern woman had intrigued Elecia at the beginning. It took some time before she realized what drew people to Vhalla Yarl. As much as she tried otherwise, she, too, was eventually ensnared by the woman’s determination and general optimism. Elecia would likely die before she let the Empress know. Someone had to make sure their Windwalker did not get haughty.

“She’s busy with the library,” Grahm reminded Fritz.

“Oh, who was appointed Master of Tome?” Elecia asked. It had not been decided when she left. The last master had not made it through the war, and the news had hit Vhalla hard.

“Vhal’s old friend, I think her name is . . .” Fritz chewed it over. “Roan, it’s Roan.”

Elecia remembered Vhalla going through multiple conversations with the woman. They’d seemed tense. She hadn’t understood at the time; anyone would be ecstatic to be elevated beyond their status. But the Empress had refused to speak on it, handling it entirely between her and the Southern woman. Well, whatever it was had clearly been worked out.

Time was what they all needed. People moved away as soon as they were free to do so. For the first months after the end of the war, the capital felt like a town of facades, beautiful outside but empty on the inside.

Too many people had seen too much and experienced such horrors that the streets would never be the same again. It led to a decline in the normally steep price of capital homes, and Aldrik had been smart enough to raise taxes before people took advantage of the low prices and started buying. Thus, the crown’s coffers were replenishing.

Even now, the castle seemed understaffed to Elecia. After saying goodbye to Fritz and Grahm, it was too long before she saw another staff or servant. Time would heal this, too, of that she was certain.

Elecia had not been immune. She’d had to leave and return for the West. It was all too much to still be in the place where there had been so much blood and death. She needed to see her family and simply relax, but she hadn’t told anyone else that. The last thing she wanted people to think was that she was weak. Others would be like her. Once they breathed, they would come home.

The Imperial halls were almost back to normal. Once all the crystal debris had been cleared, they had put a low priority— comparative to all which needed to be done—on restoring the artistic nature of the palace. She was surprised at how far they had come in one year. As she rounded the staircase up the main atrium that housed the Emperor and Empress, she was impressed at how normal it all seemed.

She paused briefly and looked down the hall that she knew led to Aldrik and Baldair’s old rooms. What were they being used for now? Perhaps Vhalla’s father had been put up in one. It seemed a shame to let them sit empty. Though, the Imperial living area was so large and room-filled that there was almost always going to be something that stood vacant.

The door to the Emperor and Empress’s chambers was a large portal at the highest point in the atrium. It was an arched double doorway cast entirely in gold. Aldrik’s father had been so gaudy in his choices for decor. She gave the knocker a solid rap, wondering if they had truly not heard of her arrival yet.

A minute dragged by, and Elecia began to feel offended by lack of greeting.

“They’re not there,” a male voice echoed up from halfway down the stairs—through the entire hollow of the room.

Elecia stilled, turning slowly. She didn’t allow for one crack in her usual demeanor. She pretended to ignore the tingle on her skin as she turned to look at the frustratingly stunning specimen of a man. Jax gave her an easy smile in reply.

“Would you like me to escort you to them, Lady Ci’Dan?” He ascended a few more stairs, holding out a hand.

She noticed immediately the golden bracer that adorned his wrist. Elecia wondered if he’d managed to start the Golden Guard once more in Baldair’s honor, if he’d created a new charter dedicated to the defense of the whole Imperial family. But she didn’t ask. Her tongue had turned to lead in her mouth.

“That would be acceptable.” Elecia nodded and took his hand as casually as possible.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, her hand shifted safely to the crook of his elbow. They continued through the palace in silence. Elecia’s stomach felt awkward. Were they going to talk about last winter at all?

“How are you, ‘Cia?” Jax’s voice shifted from the laughing playboy to the dangerously broken man she knew lived beneath.

Elecia had grown up in the remnants of Western royalty. From the moment Aldrik and Jax had taken a magical shining to each other after Baldair’s “adoption” of the man, he had been in her life anytime she was near the royal family. He was one of the few people left alive who she would tolerate using her childhood nickname, and it was partly because he knew she would flay him if he used it publicaly.

“I’m well,” Elecia replied softly. “How are you?”

“Well enough. The guard here is taking shape nicely once more,” he answered casually.

Elecia glanced up at him. He had taken to wearing his hair loose and down over his shoulders after she had commented once on how it looked nice. She was surprised to see he still did and prayed to the Mother that he did not cite her as the reason for the change in style.

“That’s good. It is nice to know that one even as incompetent as yourself can put together a bunch of men and women with swords,” Elecia hummed.

“I should keep you around more often. Here I was allowing myself to feel proud of my work.” Jax laughed. “You’ll never let me get a big head, will you?”

“It shall be my duty to bear,” she replied. “How was the East?”

“Fine.”

A one word response; how she hated those. Elecia bit her cheeks and kept her questions to herself. The last thing she wanted to seem was eager or worried about what non-work related activities he might have participated in with any men or women.

From the moment they arrived at the garden, Elecia’s eyes were glued on the fantastic glass gazebo that she had been in awe over since her grandfather had told her why it was built. Its walls were steamed from the heat of the inside reacting to the thick snow falling around it. Elecia could only make out the green blurs that she knew to be rose bushes.

“Will you tell them for me that lunch will be ready soon?”

“Why don’t you tell them yourself ?” Elecia paused, still under cover from the snow.

“I’m a guard; I should do so.” Jax grinned, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the iron of one side of the gate.

“You just don’t want to get cold and wet.” Elecia rolled her eyes before trudging into the snow. She mentally ordered herself not to glance at the pair of eyes she felt on her back as she reached the door of the glass structure.

Warmth hit her the moment she eased open the door and, once she was inside, Elecia shrugged off her cloak. Aldrik was very diligent about the temperature, and she noticed the roses were preparing themselves for another bloom as a result. It wasn’t until she rounded the central pillar she was even certain she was not alone, given that not one sound could be heard.

Aldrik sat with his arm draped around the woman who napped upon his shoulder. He was dressed in a regal white and gold ensemble, fitting of his station. Elecia had never told Vhalla, but she had always been thankful for whatever the woman had done to make Aldrik show the world that he was their ruler.

As striking as black looked on him, he needed to dress to his role. His eyes looked up from the book that was in his lap, and a smile crept upon his lips. Her cousin was handsome with his small smiles. Even Elecia could not deny that.

“My love.” Aldrik rubbed the sleeping woman’s shoulder lightly. “Elecia is here.”

Vhalla groaned softly, blinking her eyes open. She wore a long golden gown that creatively draped her in Southern classical design. Even the blue ribbon that was just under her growing bust was a nice touch. But no trick of cloth could be used to hide or diminish the massive swell of the Empress’s stomach.

“Elecia!” Vhalla struggled to sit up. A palm instinctually rested on the curve of her belly. Elecia wondered what made all pregnant women, regardless of age, class, or location, do so. “You finally came! It is so good to see you!”

“Sit, foolish woman,” Elecia demanded as Vhalla tried to stand to greet her. Aldrik did not even make an effort, his arm fastened to Vhalla’s shoulders.

“I missed you, too,” Vhalla laughed.

“All right, let me see what my cousin has inflicted upon you.” Elecia crossed over to the Empress.

Aldrik glanced away. Men—at least the good ones—always had a touch of guilt for what they were going to force their women to endure on their children’s behalf. As they should,

Elecia believed. It was part of the reason why she insisted every man be present for the birth of their child. Not just for support and to see their offspring, but to ensure they understood what it was that their loved ones went through. It was also a direct way to point out the risk it held for mother and child. The truth was that a birthing room could as easily be the last moments of life rather than the first.

“She hasn’t allowed any clerics to touch her—”Aldrik began.

“I didn’t trust them, and I wanted the best,” Vhalla proclaimed as though the fact were obvious.

“So you said in your letter.” Elecia placed her palms on her hips, looking down at the Empress. “Really, Vhalla, it’s dangerous for a woman to go so long without a cleric taking a look.”

“It hasn’t been that long.” Vhalla rolled her eyes.

“When did she start to show?” Elecia turned to the dark-haired man. Hardly anything about him had changed since she had seen him last. It was something Elecia appreciated. Aldrik was consistent. He’d even worn his hair the same length as long as she had known him.

“Perhaps . . .” Aldrik was lost in thought. His gaze was fixed on Vhalla’s stomach as though it would tell him. “Three months ago?”

“Three months?” Elecia blinked. “You’re further than I thought then. A spring birth, I’d estimate.”

“You shouldn’t have taken so long.” Vhalla grinned up at her, and Elecia only offered an unlady-like snort in response. It was adorable when the woman thought she could return Elecia’s humor in kind.

“I was busy.” Elecia knelt down before the Empress.

“Were you?” Vhalla asked with an annoying little smile.

“Are you well?” Aldrik inquired.

“I am, cousin.” Elecia nodded with a smile just for him and completely ignored Vhalla’s question. “And you both?”

“We could not be happier,” Aldrik proclaimed boldly, his fingers wrapping around Vhalla’s still resting on the swell of her stomach.

Elecia shook her head with a small smile as the two shared a look, and she was forgotten for a moment. She wasn’t going to be the one to mention the Northern princess’s deal and cast a shadow over that look he was giving his wife.

“That’s beautiful, but she has not been properly looked at yet. Let me see if you truly have cause to be happy,” Elecia cautioned, reaching forward and placing her hands upon the swollen abdomen of the other woman.

“Is there a risk?” Aldrik leaned forward. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know yet.” Elecia shook her head. “If she’s progressed this far without problem, then you should be well on your way to a healthy child. But we can’t be certain until I’ve taken a look at her, and more until the babe is here.”

“Right.” Aldrik sat back. Vhalla gave him a little grin. Apparently, the worried questioning was not new, and it wasn’t about to stop. “Her feet are swollen, and the small of her back aches.”

“So rub them.” Elecia rolled her eyes.

“Can it be made better?” Aldrik asked. “Perhaps some potion or—”

“Aldrik,” Vhalla stopped him with a squeeze of her hand.

“I’m fine.”

Elecia saw the look her cousin was being given by his wife and returned her attention to the work at hand. She remembered how Aldrik had reacted to the miscarriage at the Crossroads. Clearly, women’s matters still troubled him deeply.

Closing her eyes, Elecia shifted her focus, delicately sending waves of magic through the veins in Vhalla’s body. Elecia checked the responses echoing back to her. If the response was slow or did not come, something was likely broken. If it was cold, that could mean there was a problem of a different sort. If it was too warm, it normally indicated sickness or infection. But everything returned to her palms with ease.

“You feel good, Vhalla,” Elecia encouraged, more for her cousin’s sake than anyone else’s. “Let me check the child also.”

Elecia probed gently, connecting through mother to what was carried within the womb. She paused, furrowing her brow and shutting her eyes once more. Listening closely, she tried to make sense of the response that echoed in her ears.

“Elecia, what is it? What’s wrong?” Aldrik asked hastily at her expression.

“Quiet,” Elecia ordered without opening her eyes. Vhalla’s heartbeat was clear and strong. However, underneath that was not one but two additional heartbeats.

Elecia pulled her hands away slowly, opening her eyes. Three total heartbeats. It was small wonder Vhalla was so large so early.

“So!” Elecia stood quickly. “Do you want a boy or a girl?”

“The baby is well? Do you know that already?” Aldrik looked with eager interest.

“Who do you think I am?” Elecia laughed. Had they not called her out from the West just for the care she could give? Though, now that she knew the truth of the Empress’s pregnancy, Elecia was thankful for it. There was a hard road ahead before these babies could be brought screaming into the world.

“It’s a boy,” Vhalla said definitively. “I’ve never had an appetite like this.” She rubbed a palm on her stomach, and Elecia withheld comment on why she thought that fact to be true. “Clearly it must be a boy to demand so much food of me.”

“Not all women are like you and have trouble eating. You carry a girl, I can feel it.” Aldrik kissed her temple.

“You can feel it?” Vhalla laughed, smiling brightly at her husband. “I carry him in me, I know what I feel.”

Elecia smirked. Both of them looked back to her expectantly. She turned for the door and began shrugging her cloak back on.

“I’m hungry. Maybe I’ll tell you what they are over lunch,” Elecia announced. The information was far too satisfying to give it all up at once.

There was a long silence. Elecia looked over from the ties on her cloak to see them frozen in place. Aldrik’s hand was still on Vhalla’s back, the other wrapped around hers as he helped her up. The Empress blinked at Elecia, total shock in her eyes.

“Elecia,” Aldrik finally forced on both of their behalves. “They?”

Elecia shook her head with a laugh. He was truly going to be in for trouble. She began to wonder what kind of father Aldrik would be. She thought she had a far better idea already of the mother before her, but Aldrik was an amusing mystery yet. Far removed from the man he once was, Elecia had faith that he would surprise them all.

“Good luck, both of you. You’ll need it for both of them.” Elecia glanced back to Vhalla’s swollen stomach.

She did not say it aloud, but she already looked forward to meeting the children of fire and wind.

ELISE KOVA
USA Today Bestselling Author

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BOOK ONE OF THE GOLDEN GUARD TRILOGY

AN AIR AWAKENS PREQUEL

See where the Golden Guard began...

A coastal summer is turned upside down by a violent murder, and a quest for lost pirate treasure turns into a hunt for the killer.

Jax Wendyll is the crown's dog. As punishment for the unspeakable crimes that tourment him to this day, his life has been conscripted to the Empire Solaris. However, in an Empire afflicted by peace, his duties are relegated to unquestioningly aiding the antics of the youngest prince, Baldair.

Erion Le'Dan, a nobleman's son, expects a quiet summer visit to the Imperial Palace, his only agenda to visit with his unlikely friends. But Jax's discovery the legendary pirate Adela Lagmir’s old workroom inspires a hunt for her long lost treasure.

The pursuit of Adela's truth takes the three men to the Imperial summer manor, built along the old pirate mainstays. When Adela’s trident is branded into a murdered servant, Prince Baldair’s summer amusement of treasure-hunting becomes a hunt to find the killer. But, as mysteries compound, the ghosts of Jax's past may not be the only things haunting them.

Also from Elise Kova

Her vengeance. His vision.

Ari lost everything she once loved when the Five Guilds’ resistance fell to the Dragon King. Now, she uses her unparalleled gift for clockwork machinery in tandem with notoriously unscrupulous morals to contribute to a thriving underground organ market. There isn’t a place on Loom that is secure from the engineer turned thief, and her magical talents are sold to the highest bidder as long as the job defies their Dragon oppressors.

Cvareh would do anything to see his sister usurp the Dragon King and sit on the throne. His family’s house has endured the shame of being the lowest rung in the Dragons’ society for far too long. The Alchemist Guild, down on Loom, may just hold the key to putting his kin in power, if Cvareh can get to them before the Dragon King’s assassins.

When Ari stumbles upon a wounded Cvareh, she sees an opportunity to slaughter an enemy and make a profit off his corpse. But the Dragon sees an opportunity to navigate Loom with the best person to get him where he wants to go. He offers her the one thing Ari can’t refuse:

A wish of her greatest desire, if she brings him to

the Alchemists of Loom.

ELISE KOVA has always had a profound love of fantastical worlds. Somehow, she managed to focus on the real world long enough to graduate with a Master’s in Business Administration before crawling back under her favorite writing blanket to conceptualize her next magic system. She currently lives in St. Petersburg, Florida, and when she is not writing can be found playing video games, watching anime, or talking with readers on social media.

Visit her on the Web at www.elisekova.com
Twitter (@EliseKova)
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FOREMOST, I’LL SAY it again—Thank you to all the people who were mentioned in my dedication and everyone else who supported me from the very beginning. I had no idea what Air Awakens was going to turn into and I’m so glad you all didn’t let me give up on it.

My mentor, Michelle Madow, author of the Secret Diamond Sisters and the Transcend Time Saga—thank you for your endless support. You have been irreplaceable in my journey into the publishing world and I’m really not sure where I would be without you. All your criticisms and insights pushed me harder and made me better, things that you had no reason to do other than because you are an amazing friend. Your edits and story revisions were mind-blowing to me and this book would not be what it is without you.

My editor, Monica Wanat—I knew from the moment I met you that it would be the start of a beautiful relationship. You cut words that I did not even see needed to be cut and made the story better for it. Thank you for helping fix my flaws and polish my tale.

My cover artist, Merilliza Chan—you shattered my every expectation for artwork and gave me something that I could not have conceptualized in my wildest dreams. People say, “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” But with the cover you’ve created I hope they do! You made Vhalla come to life in a way that I could not. For that, I am eternally grateful and I can barely contain my excitement for the next cover in the series. 

Jessica—without you there really may not have been an Air Awakens at all. It was you and all of our discussions and endless car rides filled with talk of books and really epic music that put the passion back in writing for me. I hope you know the important role you’ve filled in my life and what an amazing friend you truly are. Thank you for reminding me to be patient and torture my characters.

Katie—where would I be if I didn’t have you to geek out with? In a very sad place, that’s where. Your enthusiasm kept me going long after the initial glamor of penning these words faded. Were it not for you I may have never found the courage to press on. You inspired more than you know in Air Awakens.

Dorothea, Pete, and Tom—my lunches with you three were essential for me getting organized and keeping my head on straight during an overwhelming process. I hope to return the favor as I put some experience under my belt. 

Betsy—your love and enthusiasm is irreplaceable. You make me smile constantly and I know that I’ll always have someone in my corner.

Jeffkun—I could not have done this without your support, tolerance, patience, and love. You could have told me to quit, or been frustrated at every night when I sat on the couch, put in my headphones, and went into my own world, but you weren’t. You let me go on my adventures and you’ve never made me feel foolish for dreaming, wishing, hoping, or trying.

The AAAPodcast Community—it exceeded my every expectation when you all didn’t roll their eyes at me, but were supportive of this venture. Astro, ChibiRob, SailorB, Reiji, Kenshin, Kou, Rextyn, Brooks Austin, just to name a few of you. Thank you for your support, not just the “me” that you listen to talk about anime week to week, but the real person behind.

My sister, Meredith—the other half of me, my “octurnal twin,” thank you for your confidence, your love, and your pragmatism. You’re always there when I need it most and you’ve always been a nurturing force for everything that’s positive in my life. You’re the person who taught me the true depth of familial love and inspired relationships in this story.

My parents, Madeline and Vince, I don’t have enough words to say thank you. Not just for your support in Air Awakens and your thoughts about my drafts, but for everything you both have ever done for me as a person. I am not perfect, and I will always have more to learn and grow from, but I would not be half the woman I am today without you both. I hope you enjoy all the revisions to this and future installments of Air Awakens. 

MY COVER ARTIST, Merilliza Chan—I have to start with you, my dear, my “official fan art” creator. Your artwork for the Air Awakens covers continues to get better, time after time. The noises I made when seeing the final Fire Falling cover were inhuman. That armor? Aldrik’s face? It’s too beautiful. You inspire me to write better to make sure that the story I’m crafting lives up to the promises your artwork makes. 

My editor, Monica Wanat—where would I be without you? With way too many “he said/she said”, that’s where! I can’t tell you how many times I’d point excitedly at the screen and think, “Yes, yes! This is what I meant!” You’re right there in my head and really elevate my work to a level of polished professionalism that I couldn’t achieve without you. I know you’ve had a lot going on lately and I want you to know I have such a deep admiration for your perseverance.

Katie—I hope you truly understand how influential you are to everything Air Awakens has become. If I didn’t have you to bounce ideas off and talk through things, I’m not sure what I’d do.

My betas, Nick, Dani, and Jamie—your contributions, viewpoints, opinions, and counterpoints really help me craft such a tight story. Thank you for taking the time to work with me, challenge me, and deal with all the times I’m freaking out thinking all the words are wrong.

My sister, Meredith—I don’t think I can express exactly how important your excitement has been for me. It’s pulled me out of the monotony of writing and editing and reminded me to be excited about this process. To be proud of what I’ve accomplished and really enjoy the steps of this journey. No matter how near or far we may be physically, you’ll always be an essential piece to my life.

My mentor, Michelle Madow, author of the Secret Diamond Sisters and the Transcend Time Saga—you are so talented and wonderful. You’ve helped me go from unorganized ideas to a “real author.” I’m so excited to read what you have coming out next! Thank you for including me in your world and giving me guidance.

Rob and the Gatekeeper Press team—you all have been absolutely amazing. The work you’ve put in, all your help, your insights, professionalism, how available you’ve been to me, it’s an honor to work with you. You make things happen that I frankly could not on my own and I’m so glad I decided to work with you. I know I can be demanding at times, but I hope—I like to think—that we push each other to be better.

My Street Team—thank you for helping promote, love, and breathe life into Air Awakens. I love talking with you all, and I’m so glad you’re with me on this journey. Each of you has done your part and more and I can only hope I continue to give you great stories to enjoy.

Jeffkun—thank you for not only tolerating this path I’m on but supporting it. When most brides are freaking out about centerpieces, I was freaking out about publication deadlines, and you just rolled with it. I can’t do this thing called life without you.

The AAAPodcast Community—I know half of you must be tired of hearing about my books by now, so it’s not lost on me how supportive you all continue to be.

My parents, Madeline and Vince—for being my biggest, unquestioning cheerleaders and the two people I know I can always count on. I love you both. 

NICK—THE FACT THAT you read with such attention to detail and dedication means the world to me. I never expected someone to read all the books, so many times over, searching for every symbolism and hidden meaning. You push me to become a better author and force me to think through everything. You demand a higher quality from me, and I know my writing is better for working so closely with you.

Katie—I’m not afraid to say, “I need you.” Because it’s so true. I know I’ve said it before but I have to again, your excitement has been crucial for me in working through all the difficulties surrounding Air Awakens and continuing onward in the publication process. You’re such a fun person when reading, and you really help me strike a balance with my work that I can still enjoy it.

Jeffkun—my love, this book really would not have happened if it weren’t for you. All the times you dealt with my late night claims of being to bed “in five minutes.” And all of the times you didn’t get upset for me not cooking dinner when it was so definitely my turn or leaving the laundry out for way too long. All the times you cooked so I didn’t have to. Cleaned so I didn’t have to. Rubbed my shoulders when I’d spent too many hours hunched over a computer. It all enabled this to happen, and I’m so honored to be your wife.

Aunt Susan—thank you for your time reading my manuscripts! I really appreciate your feedback and it’s so helpful in getting me to relax and have faith in the final product.

My cover artist, Merilliza Chan—darling, what more can I possibly say? Three amazing covers. There’s no better gift you could give me than helping bringing to life Air Awakens in the covers you make. Thank you for all your hard work and for your feedback on my writing. I really love working with you.

My editor, Monica Wanat—I hope you still can enjoy editing Air Awakens, because there’s so much more left! I look forward to getting marked manuscripts back from you because the transformation process they go through is astounding. I deeply appreciate your professionalism and how I feel like you’re constantly pushing me to become a better author.

Rob and the Gatekeeper Press team—it’s not always perfect, but I think we’ve gotten this whole publishing groove down. Your dedication to me and my stories is astounding, above and beyond the call. I’m not always the easiest client to work with, but you never made me feel like I was more trouble than I was worth, and you always came through.

Michelle Madow, author of the Transcend Time Saga and the Elementals series—I can’t believe we’re already three books in! You’ve helped me so much along the way. From insights, to tweets, to mental support, you’re such an amazing mentor and I would’ve been struggling without you.

My sister, Meredith—I love how you’ve done everything from making spreadsheets to freaking out with me about people being interested in my books. You seem to know things before I tell you them because you’re paying such close attention. It’s such a big deal to me to have your support because I look up to you so greatly.

My parents, Madeline and Vince—I’m glad I can help fill your new home with books I wrote! Thank you, always, for all your support in me as a person and as an author. I love you both.

Jamie and Dani—I hope you can see in this final version all of the changes that you both directly impacted. I enjoy having you both as beta readers, and your insights have been essential to my shaping of Air Awakens.

The AAAPodcast Community—always, eternally, thank you for your support in this. I promise, it’s not keeping me from watching too much anime . . .

My Street Team—I’m lucky to have the best Street Team in the world. Your excitement and interest for Air Awakens, discussions, and so on keeps me so invigorated and willing to keep writing. I love working with you all, and I hope that I will never disappoint you. Thanks to everyone: Shara, Jasmin, Jhoanne, Joana, Cassandra, Jamie, Sana, Royala, Iris, Maud, Denise, Sandra, Emily, Alexis, Sabrina, Andrea, Jade, Mia, Adel, Dani, Lauren, Erika, Christine, Tho, Kelly, Megan, Desyerie, Amani, Aila, Avery, Emily, Skyly, Ali, Aentee, Fatima, Logan, WanHian, Brianna, Laura, Angelia, Shelly, Ashley, Jessica, Alexandra, Malene, Natalia, Annalisse, Theresa, Fiona, Nikki, Sophie, Carly, Karina, Suzann, Alice, Mi-Mi, Annie, Autumn, Kaavya, Raisa, Carmela, Devin, Vanessa, Madeline, Hadassah, Salwa, Kathleen, Heidi, Vivien, Tayla, Shannon, Eileen, Alicia, Roz, Michaela, Linda, Megan, Emily, Amanda, Kaitlin, Linda, Parryse, Vinky, Lee, Jaclyn, Lisa, Aiko, Tara, Amanda, Melissa, Hameedah, Brian, Jan, Erin, Sarah, Pammy, Leila, Ting, and Abigail.

Katie—I’m not afraid to say, “I need you.” Because it’s so true. I know I’ve said it before but I have to again, your excitement has been crucial for me in working through all the difficulties surrounding Air Awakens and continuing onward in the publication process. You’re such a fun person when reading, and you really help me strike a balance with my work that I can still enjoy it.

Jeffkun—my love, this book really would not have happened if it weren’t for you. All the times you dealt with my late night claims of being to bed “in five minutes.” And all of the times you didn’t get upset for me not cooking dinner when it was so definitely my turn or leaving the laundry out for way too long. All the times you cooked so I didn’t have to. Cleaned so I didn’t have to. Rubbed my shoulders when I’d spent too many hours hunched over a computer. It all enabled this to happen, and I’m so honored to be your wife.

Aunt Susan—thank you for your time reading my manuscripts! I really appreciate your feedback and it’s so helpful in getting me to relax and have faith in the final product.

My cover artist, Merilliza Chan—darling, what more can I possibly say? Three amazing covers. There’s no better gift you could give me than helping bringing to life Air Awakens in the covers you make. Thank you for all your hard work and for your feedback on my writing. I really love working with you.

My editor, Monica Wanat—I hope you still can enjoy editing Air Awakens, because there’s so much more left! I look forward to getting marked manuscripts back from you because the transformation process they go through is astounding. I deeply appreciate your professionalism and how I feel like you’re constantly pushing me to become a better author.

Rob and the Gatekeeper Press team—it’s not always perfect, but I think we’ve gotten this whole publishing groove down. Your dedication to me and my stories is astounding, above and beyond the call. I’m not always the easiest client to work with, but you never made me feel like I was more trouble than I was worth, and you always came through.

Michelle Madow, author of the Transcend Time Saga and the Elementals series—I can’t believe we’re already three books in! You’ve helped me so much along the way. From insights, to tweets, to mental support, you’re such an amazing mentor and I would’ve been struggling without you.

My sister, Meredith—I love how you’ve done everything from making spreadsheets to freaking out with me about people being interested in my books. You seem to know things before I tell you them because you’re paying such close attention. It’s such a big deal to me to have your support because I look up to you so greatly.

My parents, Madeline and Vince—I’m glad I can help fill your new home with books I wrote! Thank you, always, for all your support in me as a person and as an author. I love you both.

Jamie and Dani—I hope you can see in this final version all of the changes that you both directly impacted. I enjoy having you both as beta readers, and your insights have been essential to my shaping of Air Awakens.

The AAAPodcast Community—always, eternally, thank you for your support in this. I promise, it’s not keeping me from watching too much anime . . .

My Street Team—I’m lucky to have the best Street Team in the world. Your excitement and interest for Air Awakens, discussions, and so on keeps me so invigorated and willing to keep writing. I love working with you all, and I hope that I will never disappoint you. Thanks to everyone: Shara, Jasmin, Jhoanne, Joana, Cassandra, Jamie, Sana, Royala, Iris, Maud, Denise, Sandra, Emily, Alexis, Sabrina, Andrea, Jade, Mia, Adel, Dani, Lauren, Erika, Christine, Tho, Kelly, Megan, Desyerie, Amani, Aila, Avery, Emily, Skyly, Ali, Aentee, Fatima, Logan, WanHian, Brianna, Laura, Angelia, Shelly, Ashley, Jessica, Alexandra, Malene, Natalia, Annalisse, Theresa, Fiona, Nikki, Sophie, Carly, Karina, Suzann, Alice, Mi-Mi, Annie, Autumn, Kaavya, Raisa, Carmela, Devin, Vanessa, Madeline, Hadassah, Salwa, Kathleen, Heidi, Vivien, Tayla, Shannon, Eileen, Alicia, Roz, Michaela, Linda, Megan, Emily, Amanda, Kaitlin, Linda, Parryse, Vinky, Lee, Jaclyn, Lisa, Aiko, Tara, Amanda, Melissa, Hameedah, Brian, Jan, Erin, Sarah, Pammy, Leila, Ting, and Abigail.

J

AMIE, DANI, AND IRIS—you three prove to me that true friendship doesn’t know the limits of time and space. You three are all so important to me as an author and, just as friends. 

Danielle L. Jensen, author of the Malediction Trilogy—darling, you’re wonderful. I don’t know how you tolerate me some days, but I couldn’t have asked for a better friend. From industry insights to simple encouragements, you really help me hold it together.

Nick—I can’t wait to sit with you again and have you tear apart my manuscripts. You constantly make me a better author and take time to do it just becaue you are an amazing friend, so thank you.

My cover artist, Merilliza Chan—I can’t believe we’re almost at the end of this journey together. I feel like we’ve been through so much and have learned so much as creators. I hope you know how much working with you has meant to me.

My editor, Monica Wanat—your professionalism and understanding of my odd situations and way too regular manuscript delays has been invaluable on this journey.

The Tower Guard—each and every one of you are amazing. I hope you believe me when I tell you this. As of writing this there are 147 of you in our little group and I couldn’t have asked for a better batch of people. Thank you for your support and for believing in me.

MY DEAR READER—without you, this would be nothing. Every word I write now and forevermore is my love letter to you. Every key stroke is done with thanks that you let me take you on these journeys into fantastical worlds. Thank you for following me, for reading this tale, and, hopefully, for letting me take you on many more adventures in the future. I may not know your name, but that makes you no less precious to me.

Jeffkun—this book is for you. Thank you, my love, for letting me embark into the unknown. I can’t imagine anyone else by my side while I venture forward. I don’t tell you enough how I couldn’t have done this without you and your support. The most epic love story I could write is the one I pen every day spent at your side.

Merilliza Chan—you will always have a place in my heart as the first cover designer I worked with. You’re as beautiful a person inside as your art is outside. I wish you all the success in the world and every dream you have to be a reality.

Monica Wanat—thank you for dutifully looking over more than 500,000 of my words. I learned a lot in our time together and I’m very grateful you were willing to edit for a newbie author such as myself.

Nick—I could write an entire book on what you mean to me as a friend and it wouldn’t be enough. So I’ll settle for a sentence and the faith that you know how desperately I need our hour long phone calls to talk me off mental ledges and talk out all my wild story ideas.

Katie—every time we’re together, I just think, “How lucky we are to be alive right now.” (Yes, I just immortalized our Hamilton obsession and there’s nothing you can do about it) You remind me to have fun, to let go, to not be so obsessed on the future that I forget the present. Thank you for being the best friend a girl could ever ask for.

Mer—I love you sister. But you knew that already. You never let me forget what I’m capable of, you never let me give up, and you’re never afraid to tell me what I need to hear. Beyond that, you’re my “octurnal twin” and there’s no one else I’d rather be up until three A.M., eating cookie dough ice cream, and having Taylor Swift dance parties with.

Mom and Dad—you two are my biggest cheerleaders and largest supporters. Thank you for always being there to help me, for every bookmark you passed out, for every manuscript you’ve read. You both inspire me to be the best I can be both as an author and as a person. Every day, I consider myself lucky that you both are my parents.

Aunt Susan—I look forward to both your comments on and edits of my manuscripts. Thank you for your time and your support. It took a huge weight off my shoulders and I am deeply appreciative.

Betsy—thank you for not just supporting me in the literary world, but in life. You’re wonderful and I’m so lucky to have you as family now.

Susan Dennard, author of Truthwitch—you, you beautiful person you, what am I supposed to say? You’re the awesomeist of awesomes? You’re as kind as your writing is superb? I’m so glad we met and bewildered—I mean overjoyed—that you’re not scared off by my crazy. Thank you for being an ear, offering advice, and just being a good friend.

Danielle L. Jensen, author of the Malediction Trilogy—I’m surprised Twitter hasn’t kicked us off for the gigabits of space our message history must be taking up. Even though we’ve yet to meet (as of when I’m writing this) I already feel like you’re a girlfriend I’ve had for years, the type of friend who you sit on the couch with in your PJs and order pizza after a long week. Thank you for that.

Michelle Madow, author of Elementals—look at how far I’ve come! You helped me right at the start and have been in my corner since. I deeply appreciate all the insights you’ve given me along the way.

Rob and the Gatekeeper Press Team—I couldn’t have done this without you. I’m so glad I found you all right at the start of my publishing journey. I couldn’t imagine my stress levels if I hadn’t had you to help manage things. I appreciate your insights, professionalism, and dependability.

Jamie—I feel like you are my book blog consultant. You know so much about the bookish world and I can’t tell you how valuable your thoughts have been to me. But, beyond that, you’re a great person and an even better friend. I appreciate everything you give to me more than you know. I don’t say it enough, but thank you.

Dani—my “real Vhalla Yarl”, thank you for always being there when I need and ear. I feel like we’re truly kindred spirits and I can’t wait to give you a big hug in person! Your help on these manuscripts has been essential to getting them where they need to be.

Iris—I’m so glad I met you at the start of my career. You’re a lovely person and have been a great friend to me through the ups and downs of all of this.

Lauren & Sabrina—your enthusiasm and willingness to give advice has truly helped me throughout this process. I know whenever I’ve had a hard day I can talk to you two and I’ll be met with love and positivity. Thank you both.

My Tower Guard—I’m struggling to write this, because nothing I write seems like enough for you. Every single one of you has been essential in helping me through this process. When I need something, you’ve risen to task. When I was down, you were there to pick me back up. When I questioned, you reminded me of why I’m doing this without even trying. Thank you to each and every one of you. I hope that we can go on many more adventures together. 