“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 that 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 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. 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, 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 were 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?”