“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.”