Aldrik knew what she saw. “The poison crystalized, rooting itself enough that I could not remove it. It was the best I could do.”

“It’s not letting your Channel work properly, is it?” Vhalla frowned, suddenly realizing what that dark spot meant.

“Exactly ...” His voice began to grow heavy. “That is why I could not protect you as I should have that night.” Aldrik paused. “Vhalla, it’s my fault.”

“What is?” Apprehension trailed its icy fingers up her spine.

He took her still hovering hand in both of his. “You should not have had to kill them. If I had been more capable, you would not have been forced to.” Emotion burned behind his eyes and it struck her clear as day. Channeling was a side-project for him. The main goal was the Night of Fire and Wind. He was playing the puppet master again, and Larel was certainly helping.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Teach me Channeling or we’re done.” She wrenched her hand from his.

“I was fourteen,” he began, ignoring her. Her mouth was still twisted in annoyance. “The first time I killed a man.”

Her face relaxed.

“Looking back, I didn’t even have a good reason to kill him.”

Vhalla shifted closer to hear, his voice faint and his eyes glossy. He seemed to stare through the world around him.

“I was told that he was a bad man, that he was going to harm my family and his death would make us stronger.” Aldrik chuckled bitterly. “As if death makes anyone stronger ...”

The pressure of his gaze weighed on every inch of her body.

“I will never forget that in the end, he asked for mercy from his prince. He asked for forgiveness, and I gave him death.” Aldrik’s body was very still, and his eyes searched hers, yearning for something.

“Aldrik,” Vhalla whispered. She didn’t know what she could offer him. “I’m sorry.” She initiated contact, taking his hand in her own.

He didn’t pull away. “After that, the killing became easier. Soon, I forgot their faces, their cries, their stories. They merged into one communal grave in my mind, which became a gaping wound that everyone who perishes by my hand falls into. But I never forgot that first man’s face. I have tried to plunge him into that hollow void and push him away, but I have never forgotten.”

Vhalla stared at him in a mix of horror and pity. She squeezed his hand and was surprised when she felt a squeeze back.

“I see you taking steps down this path, and I don’t want you be lost to that darkness.” He laughed and bore the most unfiltered sorrow she had ever seen from him. “What is worse is, thanks to the extraordinary wisdom of the people’s Senate, I cannot protect you from that.”

“So, what do I do?” Vhalla finally sought guidance for her guilt.

“Never forget who you are, and do not let the dead define you.” He spoke as if he’d been reading her thoughts for weeks. “Talk to me or Fritz or Larel. I do not think any of us are prepared to lose you to your demons.”

She stared at him; she didn’t want to think about the Night of Fire and Wind. She wanted it to go away. He’d lured her into his den with his pretenses, and now she was the captive of his stares and touch. Vhalla closed her eyes and took a breath.

“Every night, I see them. I hear their screams and I feel their blood on my hands, on my face.” She shuddered as her voice broke and pulled her hand away from his to wrap her arms around herself. “At first I didn’t know what they were, but that night, in the forest, I remembered.” It seemed silly to her, to say she’d forgotten the first time she’d killed a person but her mind had been so efficient at pushing it away.

“I wish I could be better comfort to you,” he murmured softly. Aldrik leaned over and, with only his fingertips, he pushed aside some stray hair. They both seemed to catch their breath as his skin lightly brushed her face. He pulled away, his hand balling into a fist.

“You are,” she said quickly, earning herself a surprised stare.

“I am?” he repeated skeptically.

“I—” Vhalla stumbled over her words. “I am ... happier ... with you, near you.” Something about him softened, but there was a sadness to it that made Vhalla feel guilty for her confession.

“In any case.” He was back to avoiding her attentions. “My ear and my door are always open for you.”

“Thank you.” Vhalla wondered how many people he had offered that to. She couldn’t imagine it was many.

“For now though, we should make sure you know how to Channel.” Aldrik seemed as uncomfortable as she was and the moment—whatever it had been—vanished.

They set to work on what Vhalla discovered was the seemingly impossible task of Channeling. Vhalla saw shades of the phantom she had exchanged notes with months ago as he spoke volumes of knowledge worth of magical theory with deft ease. His silver tongue licked across her intellect, wetting her mental palate for new information.

But the willingness to learn and the practical execution were also much like he had told her months ago—it was harder to do than conceive. At her every attempt Aldrik instructed that she “only needed to find the magic within her” or “tap into her power.” But Vhalla felt like she was shooting for an unknown target in the dark.

By the time he fetched food, she found herself exhausted. Their conversation turned casual and Vhalla relaxed, absentmindedly consuming the meal before her. He made her sides split with laughter by telling her a story of when he taught his younger brother to ride a horse for the first time. Vhalla shared the first time she’d gone to help in the field but had ended up just playing in the mud for most of the day. He seemed to find it as shocking as he did amusing. For that brief hour the horrors she had seen, she had committed, didn’t matter.