“Vhalla, we’re sharing,” Larel called, walking over to her with a bundle of canvas in her hands.

Relief settled over her as Vhalla pulled her bedroll off Lightning’s saddle. Larel was with her. She felt guilty that the woman had become her keeper, but Vhalla was too mentally and physically exhausted to waste much energy on such a small guilt.

Seasoned soldiers took personal effects from their saddlebags, like blankets or small pillows, and made themselves comfortable in their cramped spaces. Some regarded her with curiosity, some ambivalence, which was better than the one or two dirty glances she received even within the Black Legion.

Larel drove two posts, which suspended a length of canvas, into the ground. The product was a simple triangular tent. Privacy came in the form of two flaps in the front and back that could be tied closed. It was barely big enough for their two bedrolls.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Larel announced after they’d finished settling.

“What’s for dinner?” Vhalla followed the Western woman as she walked toward one of the fire pits.

“Whatever the hunters can find with speed,” Larel answered.

Tonight that appeared to be a few deer, hare, and pheasant that already dripped fat into the fires from the turning spits. Vhalla received a shred of meat directly into her palm. She thought back to the lunch she’d shared with Prince Baldair at his formal table. Was he eating with his fingers now also?

“It’s not half bad,” Vhalla mused as she gnawed half-heartedly on a corner of the meat.

“I’ve always heard the Southern Forest was the easiest stretch of the march.” Larel tore off a strip with her teeth, eating ravenously. “The soldiers say that the Western Waste makes up for it in difficulty, and if we dip into our rations now we’ll never make it through the desert.”

Suddenly everyone was on their feet, giving the salute of the Black Legion. Vhalla was slower in bringing her fists to her chest. The crown prince walked up to the circle, his hands folded behind his back in a commanding stance. After a long moment of assessment, he gave a nod and the company relaxed. Aldrik walked over to the far corner and sat down next to a woman whom Vhalla had never seen.

Her skin was a deep tan color, not quite chocolatey, more like the color of a black tea that had been steeped for too long. Her hair was the same texture as the Northerners, and Vhalla instantly felt uncomfortable. Vhalla put her fingertips to her cheek, touching the faint red line of recently healed skin, remembering the Night of Fire and Wind. The woman’s hair curled like corkscrews in every direction, and she wore a red bandana around her forehead that pushed it back. She had angular features and striking green eyes. Vhalla’s uneasiness aside, the woman was rather beautiful.

She watched the odd exchange as the watercolor sky grew inky black. Aldrik sat with one knee up, an arm propped on it. He had removed his cape and sat leisurely in his armor. The woman was laughing, and Vhalla even saw a smile sneak across Aldrik’s cheeks from time to time. It was a smile that Vhalla had only ever seen given to her.

“Who is that?” Vhalla spoke so she couldn’t hear the whisper of his throaty laughter with the other woman on the wind.

“Who?” Larel tried to squint across the fire pit.

“The woman the prince is talking to. I’ve never seen her before.” If the woman had been in the Tower, it was amazing that Vhalla had missed it. The woman’s appearance alone made her uneasy.

“Ah, her.” Larel seemed to get a good look. “Fritz, you know her?”

“Her?” Fritz glanced now too and shook his head. “I’m not sure. I think I heard they were bringing people who knew about the North.”

“Do you think we can trust her?” Vhalla asked, unable to shake the unsettling feeling.

“The prince apparently does,” Larel replied with a shrug.

Vhalla returned her focus to the two in question. Their discussion seemed to have changed to something more heated, and they were arguing back and forth. Aldrik shifted and, as though he sensed her stare, two dark eyes caught her. Vhalla quickly averted her gaze.

For the remainder of the meal, she made it a point to avoid looking at him. Vhalla picked at her meat. Surely it was a discussion about the North, if that was why this woman travelled with them. Though the casual smiles and relaxed stances made it seem like war wasn’t the subject of conversation.

“Eat, Vhalla,” Larel instructed. “You’ll need your energy.”

Vhalla forced half of the meal down like it was medicine. Her desire for social interaction vanished, and she stood.

“I’m going to tuck in,” she announced to her friends.

“We have a long ride tomorrow,” Larel agreed.

“See you in the morning,” Fritz said with a smile.

Vhalla turned and walked away, not tired in the slightest.

SHE WAS TRAPPED in the labyrinth of her nightmares. Every shadowed figure cracked and turned into fog, dissipating at her touch. She ran past them all, feeling the wind roar on the edge of her consciousness. Vhalla ran screaming through the darkness and fire.

Two arms heaved her upright, shaking her awake.

Vhalla immediately wrestled with the other body, trying to tear herself away from the person’s grip. Her forehead was slick with sweat, and her clothes were nearly soaked. Wind howled through the mountains, heralding one of the last storms of summer.