“What are you wrapped up in?” Roan whispered. Her anger and frustration had shifted to a sympathy that grated Vhalla.

“I’m simply learning where I’m meant to be.” It was the only response because it was the truth.

“Vhalla, listen, I—”

“I think you should go, Roan.” Vhalla motioned out the door she held open before the other girl could finish her sentence.

“If you’re in trouble, we can help.” Roan stopped in the doorframe.

“I don’t need your help,” Vhalla responded coolly.

Roan met her gaze, and they stood a long moment. In all their past tiffs this would be the time when one of them would smile, crack a joke, and they would laugh. This would be the second that they hugged and flopped onto the bed to talk about how stupid they were and then share gossip before running off to dinner.

The sun sunk lower into the sky. Vhalla wasn’t about to be that girl. Apparently, neither was Roan.

The second the door closed, Vhalla rushed to the small portal that was her window, gulping in the evening breeze. Tomorrow, she would speak to the master before heading to the Gala. Vhalla stared off at the horizon and wondered if she could have a window as big as Larel’s in the Tower.

IT WAS EASY to wake up and get ready the next morning. Vhalla hadn’t actually slept. Her mind had spent the whole night processing everything that had happened. Things were moving faster than an avalanche, and it felt like her only option was to run with the moving ground under her feet—or be swept away by it.

The master would be headed to the library about now. Even during the Festival of the Sun someone had to tend to the books, and if the majority of the apprentices were off enjoying the celebrations, then it fell to the master.

Vhalla tugged on the hem of her shirt as she made her way through the mostly-deserted halls to some of the better levels of the palace. She would have to make her conversation short and direct.

Soon she found the courage to knock on Mohned’s chamber door. She waited, shifting her weight from foot to foot and fidgeting until she heard a soft shuffling sound right before the door opened. The timeworn and hunched frame of the master was swathed in a crimson robe.

“Vhalla?” Mohned adjusted his spectacles.

“Master, I need to speak with you,” she said before her resolve was lost and all hope along with it.

“Very well.” The master stepped to the side, permitting her entry.

Vhalla had been working with the master for seven years, but every time she entered his room she would still feel a sense of awe. Her time with princes had diminished some of that awe, but here she still felt some wonder as she looked at the bookshelves that ran the length of one wall. Each leather bound spine seemed to look at her, as if betrayed by what she was about to do.

“What do you need, Vhalla?” The master occupied one of three chairs around a small table, motioning at one opposite.

“I, well,” she sat as though pins and needles awaited her. “Master, I am so thankful for everything you have done for me all the years.”

“You are welcome.” The master’s beard folded around his weathered smile.

“But, you see, I...” Vhalla stared at the milky eyes of the man who had taken care of her since she had first set foot in the palace. She was going to betray all he had ever done for her. He had given her everything she had and now she was to tell him that she would leave. “I can’t...”

“What can you not do?” the master asked thoughtfully when words failed her.

“I can’t be in the library anymore,” Vhalla whispered. She saw nothing as the confession slipped past her lips and across the point of no return. The master’s silence worked her into an instant frenzy of fear and guilt. “Master, I want to be. I mean, part of me wants to be. But, you see, there’s this other part. There’s this part of me I never knew I had—and it may be something, something special. Master Mohned, I wish I could have both but I don’t think I can and I don’t think I can stay as a library apprentice.”

“I know, Vhalla,” he said softly, cutting off her rambling.

“You know?” she blurted in surprise.

“I do,” the master nodded.

“No, master, this isn’t—”

“You’re a Windwalker,” the master said simply.

Vhalla’s chest tightened. She suddenly felt raw and exposed, as though everything she knew had been stripped from her.

“M-master, that’s...” She couldn’t deny it, and the master did not make her.

“The prince came to me.” Master Mohned leaned back in his chair. “A few months ago he came to me and asked about you by name.”

“Prince Aldrik?” she whispered.

“The same.” Mohned nodded. “He came to me because he thought I could help him.”

“How?” Why hadn’t the prince told her that he had shared her secret with someone outside the Tower?

“Well, when I was a young man, about your age, I engaged in a certain kind of research,” Mohned began. “I wrote books, though many have since been confiscated, if they still exist at all.”

“Books about what?” Something was on the verge of clicking into place.

“About Windwalkers,” Mohned said easily.