Fire Falling

“But I’ll try to make sure that doesn’t happen.” Baldair stood, helping her to her feet.

“Why?” She looked at him skeptically. “I have no interest in creating debts.”

He chuckled aloud. “That isn’t why I’m doing it. I have much to atone for when it comes to my brother. Maybe I didn’t realize how much until I saw him happy again. Either way, consider me your sword, Vhalla Yarl.”

She assessed him thoughtfully. He could be lying. But Baldair had never seemed to be intentionally malicious. Even the actions that had previously displeased her she couldn’t resent him for. If he was to be believed, it all came from a good place.

Vhalla raised her hand. “Then consider me your wind.”

Baldair smiled and clasped his palm against hers.

It was hard to be Serien when Vhalla was so happy, but she donned the guise of the other woman—mentally anyways. Serien was what she had to be, it was all she could be by daylight. To be anything else would make her worth noticing, and she was beginning to discover she enjoyed not being important.

“There you are!” Daniel waved her over for breakfast, and Serien sat between him and Craig. “I was worried.”

“Sorry about that. I went for a walk,” she lied easily and neither man questioned her. Serien wondered if Vhalla’s old friends would call her a bad liar now.

Daniel and Craig were easy going when other soldiers were beginning to fray at the seams. This was the two men’s third tour, and they knew what to expect. Serien thought about asking what she would see, but doing so was pointless. What awaited her would be there no matter what words they shared. But she knew who she would face it with.

So when the host was being divided, Serien walked with confidence to Aldrik’s group. None of the majors had instructed her to do so, but one catch of the prince’s eyes and she knew she was in the right place. They would face the North together. Serien balled her hands into fists, opening a Channel she shouldn’t possess.

The army began to settle, and the Emperor rode to the front. “Before we march, there have been a few changes to the groupings to better leverage the skills of our soldiers,” he announced. “The following people will move to Prince Baldair’s group ...”

The Emperor listed off a few names and a handful of soldiers from his and Aldrik’s groups found a new place.

He listed off a few more names, “... will move to Prince Aldrik’s group.” More shuffling followed. Serien shifted her weight from one foot to the next. She was ready to leave.

The Emperor continued with a few more names, suddenly drawing her attention, “... and Serien Leral. Will be under my command.”

The most powerful man in all the realms had somehow found her among the hundreds of soldiers, though it couldn’t have been hard as she had foolishly placed herself near Aldrik’s side. Serien looked up at the prince, panic originating from the other woman and rising up like bile in her throat.

The prince alternated between glaring at his father and looking hopelessly at her.

She couldn’t refuse, and her prince couldn’t speak for her, not in front of all these people. Serien dragged her feet to life. They were being separated. The Emperor had done this just to spite them. Serien wanted to scream, she wanted to blow the Emperor off his high horse with the strongest gale he would ever feel.

Vhalla’s emotions crept up on her: the fear of abandonment, fear of her friends dying while she was distant and helpless. Later Vhalla and all her emotions would escape. That shivering and shaking woman would break through Serien’s strength and claw her way to the surface. She would cry at the injustice of it all, at the unheeded warnings and blind hope.

But at this moment, she would keep herself together. She would be Serien, and she would keep her dignity. Serien held her head as high as possible, high enough that it tightened her throat and held in the tears and screams. She would not give the Emperor the satisfaction of seeing the last shred of her hope being crushed under his boot.



THE JUNGLES OF the North were unlike anything Serien had ever seen before. The Southern forests were tall timbers with a few low shrubs and trees but mostly a carpet of twigs and leaves covered the ground. The North was a dense and oppressive contrast. Bushes and trees closed in at every level, vines as thick as her arm spider webbed across the branches high above.

The ceiling the trees created was deep, and everything was cast in a hazy green shade. Despite the fact that it was the middle of winter, the humidity in the air instantly made it a little too warm for the amount of armor she wore.

The terrain slowed them, and everyone had been deathly silent from the moment they entered the forest. It was an abrupt line in the sand of the Western Waste. A clear marker created by burnt and cut down trees where the Empire ended. It was strange to think of herself as no longer being in the Solaris Empire.

With a step, the world she had always known ended.

But it hadn’t just been one step. It’d been countless steps that had taken her here, and they’d all begun with a rainy night and an injured prince. Not all the steps had been made with confidence, and some had led her to pitfalls, but she was strangely glad she had made them.

Now, however, she didn’t know where her feet would take her. Serien stood a stone’s throw from the Emperor and fake Windwalker. She glanced at the man from the corners of her eyes. He rode confidently atop his War-strider, but his shoulders betrayed him. Despite his age he was attentive, alert, mindful of every place a threat could appear.