“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 first thing in the morning. 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 were the rooms were not tiny for even someone of her rank.

The Tower.

The thought was a breath of fresh air. Suddenly, the shutter over her window slit threw back 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 princes 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 it 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.” She didn’t even look to ensure it was him, wrapped up in the bobbing items.

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.