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 almost looking 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 garland 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.”