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.