Water's Wrath

“You will be hunted.”

“I already am.”

“They will condemn you. If you do this, you may never be able to return to the life you had.”

Vhalla’s shoulders shook, and she freed haunted laughter into the air. “Return to the life I had? That option left me long ago.” Her hand rested on the axe holster once more. “If I want a future, I’m going to have to cut it from the hands of fate myself.”

Jax stilled, assessing her. Vhalla took a step backward, giving him a half-mad smile of her own. The man was indeed kind, in his own way. But she was too old to have people mothering her.

“If you insist.” He adjusted his bun and straightened away from the wall. “Then I’m coming with you.”

“What?” That was the last thing she expected to hear. “No, I need to do this alone—”

“Save me the speech.” Jax rolled his eyes. “Guards have already been called, and they’re going to be scouting the city. You have blood on your hands—literally—and I’m going to venture a good guess that you have nowhere to go. The Knights will move fast. You need a Westerner to help you navigate these alleyways.”

Vhalla knew what he was offering was more than help escaping through the narrow passages between buildings. He was offering her his knowledge of Western culture. His insights into the seedy shadows, which she could lurk within and be lost. His wisdom was gained from years of time spent around princes—and the very same lords Vhalla was determined to slay.

“You will become my accomplice,” she pointed out.

Jax grinned madly. “They can only strip me of my nobility once—for murdering a lord.”

Vhalla blinked, blindsided.

“You didn’t know?” Jax chuckled darkly. “I suppose you wouldn’t; you never drank much with Western majors, never heard the fantastical stories of the golden prince’s Black Dog. You didn’t think you were the only monster on an Imperial leash, did you?”

Vhalla stared, frozen. She’d known it in the warfront—she’d realized they were both tied to the crown, but she’d had no idea why. Her innocence had led her to being turned into the weapon she was now, which ultimately led to the surrender of her freedom. But for Jax, his crimes were of a different sort, the sort that had put a noose around his neck where Baldair, or the Emperor himself, held the other end. He hadn’t managed to free himself in however long his service had been for.

“Murder?” she asked.

“Don’t ask questions if you aren’t prepared for the answers,” Jax advised ominously. “For now, come this way, my little monster.”

Jax set off deeper into the narrow back-alleys of the Crossroads, and Vhalla followed on blind faith. She tried to process what Jax had told her and everything she’d seen. Certainly, the Western majors hadn’t been fond of him. He’d insulted the West’s noble traditions from the minute she’d met him. But he was friends with Elecia, the granddaughter of the Lord of the West. He was close with Aldrik, and the way he interacted with Baldair in no way resembled slave and master.

As they passed through an intersection, Vhalla heard guards running through a nearby street.

“Stay alert for the Windwalker. If the Windwalker is found, bring her to the royal hotel!”

“You’re sure about this?” Jax paused to ask again.

Vhalla only nodded. She wasn’t going back to the Emperor and letting him chain her, chains that he would vow to exchange for her freedom if she gave him another part of her soul. She would confront her crimes and the royal family with her innocence apparent, when none would question her—whenever that ended up being.

The buildings became danker, darker, more flimsily built and even more poorly maintained. Most everyone on the street wore large cowls that hid their faces so no one would witness their presence in this questionable area of town. Jax stopped and knocked three times on a small door, waited ten breaths, and then knocked again. The door slid open, and a man with beady eyes and a scruffy chin blinked up at them.

“We want to stay.” Jax knelt down.

“What will you trade me?” the man asked.

Jax unclipped the golden bracer he wore over his shirt, a symbol of his membership in the Golden Guard. Beady eyes lit up, and the little man was over-eager for the token. Jax pulled it away as the man reached for it.

“You found this.” Jax spoke low and slow, flames glittering around his fingers. “If anyone asks, you don’t know where it came from. Understand?”

Beady eyes nodded furiously.

“We want two weeks.”

“Fine, fine. Give it here.” The small man snatched it from Jax’s fingers and crawled out of the door.

Jax motioned and Vhalla hunched down to pass through the tiny portal, dropping onto a step, and then onto the packed-earth floor of a truly disgusting room. The small window looked more like a sewage chute that had been used by the people who lived along the streets above. The sleeping palette in the corner smelled of mold and damp. A small fire burned in the opposite corner near some hard tack and salted meat, which she wasn’t sure was good enough for the rats she suspected also shared the space at night.

“What is this place?” Vhalla was breathing through her mouth, trying to get used to the stench.

“It’s a hiding hole.” Jax pulled off his cape, dropping it by the door. “They’re used for more colorful dealings here in the Crossroads. Prostitution, gambling, human trafficking.”