“Always for the greater good of our Empire.” The words were rehearsed. They’d been said so many times they spewed from Aldrik’s mouth without thought, completely void of emotion. They were so hollow that Vhalla could sense the dam that trembled in the prince, holding back a plea of, let me go to her. “You do not want her to die, Father. I told you, I can train her, mold her—”

“Right, right.” The Emperor turned to Baldair, who Vhalla had almost completely forgotten was there. “Baldair, fetch a cleric to tend to Aldrik’s pet.”

“Father...” Baldair frowned.

“Thank you.” The Emperor completely ignored the disapproving tones in his younger son’s voice.

Aldrik continued to stand silently as the Emperor walked away. Vhalla felt his resignation. She knew his acceptance of a deeper truth that, despite all his wants, he couldn’t go to the woman he wished to be nearest to.

“Baldair,” Aldrik whispered once the Emperor was just far enough away.

“What do you want?” Vhalla felt a twinge of disappointment in Aldrik toward the disgust that laced Baldair’s words.

“Go to her yourself,” Aldrik demanded.

“What?”

“Go to her yourself, damn it,” Aldrik hissed. “You owe me.”

“I don’t owe you anything.” Baldair crossed his arms on his chest.

“What happened to being the noble knight who proclaims protection of the weak and innocent?” Aldrik sneered. Vhalla felt his satisfaction when he saw Baldair’s expression change. The prince knew just what words to say to goad his brother in the direction he wanted. “You owe me for the last six Elixirs of the Moon I pilfered from the clerics without their noticing. Unless you’d like me to reconsider that arrangement.”

“Fine, but not for you,” Baldair huffed. “For the girl.”

“Fine.” Aldrik strode off, satisfied for the moment. His father was a few steps ahead and seemingly oblivious to the muffled exchange. Aldrik clenched and unclenched his fists.

He damned everything he ever loved. How could he have even thought being near her could end well? How could he have let himself blur the lines with the girl so far?

The questions radiated through Aldrik’s mind and into Vhalla’s consciousness as he stormed through the hall. A chair burst into flame by him, an outburst of emotion that couldn’t be tamed. Aldrik scowled at it and extinguished the fire.

Vhalla woke shivering in the North with thoughts, pilfered from Aldrik’s dream consciousness. He had to get control. He couldn’t let them see. He couldn’t let them know what she was.

THE SOLDIER SAID that “the pass” previously was the greatest river in the world. But it had long since dried up. It was hard for Serien to believe that the deep, rocky ravine could’ve ever held water.

But somewhere across the chasm was Aldrik. The Emperor may have wanted to threaten her into submission, but all he did was give her a point in time to wait for. Another day, maybe two, and they would be across the pass; she would be with him once more. She would be careful, but she would tell him of his father’s threats, and somehow they would overcome them.

Serien looked at the Emperor from the corners of her eyes. He wouldn’t get in their way, no matter how long and hard he tried. He couldn’t fathom what his son felt for her and what she felt for him. But someday he would see.

It was halfway through the day when she first heard steel on steel and the sounds of combat echoing through the winds of the pass. Serien shivered, suddenly cold despite the jungle’s heat.

Aldrik.

She wanted to run, to sprint, her heart beginning to race with a wild beat. He needed her. He did. She just knew it. Vhalla could feel it through the Bond.

Neither Vhalla nor Serien were prepared for the moment the troops rounded a curve in the pass. Fire burned the treetops as soldiers engaged on the opposite side of the pass. It was an all-out assault, and she was uselessly far. Vhalla searched frantically to try to find Aldrik among the chaos.

The North, however, was taking no chances with what side their query would approach from, and the Imperial soldier’s shock was the ideal opportunity for a second surprise attack. Men and women, warriors in boiled leather, charged from the brush before them.

The Emperor frantically tried to call out orders but they were too disorganized and flat-footed. The Northerners cut through the front of the ranks with ease. The Imperial soldiers tried to compose themselves, the second and third rows of men and women drawing their swords. But shock made them clumsy and the points of their blades chipped off their enemies’ magic stone skin.

What was an organized unit was quickly devolving into chaos. Trained soldiers tried to call for the new recruits to hold the line, but the battlefield was already stained with blood that was turning men mad. The Emperor shouted from atop his mount, trying to reclaim order. The might of the North pressed upon them, determined otherwise.

An odd calm had overtaken her. The bursts of flame across the ravine shone in her eyes, illuminating a deeper truth resonating within her. You are a symbol, Baldair’s words echoed through her subconscious. Vhalla’s fingers went to the belt strapping on her sword, dodging the first Northerner’s blade in the process.

She would not meet these people in terror. If she was going to die, then she would die with dignity. Vhalla dashed backward and pulled off her gauntlets, feeling the wind beneath her fingers as they unlatched her plate. She would not die as Serien. If she was going to die, then she would die as the Windwalker.