“Wasn’t she coming to study here a bit?” Trying to recall details between the final battle and leaving the North was a struggle, it all blurred together into one ugly mess.

“In spring.” Fritz sighed heavily. “She doesn’t like Southern winters.”

“You can’t blame her.” Vhalla thought back to the time she’d spent in the West. If she’d grown up in such a climate, she’d truly loathe the chill that was already slipping into the halls.

“I can blame her and I do!” Fritz grumbled. “I’ve missed her, and you.”

“Tell me what I’ve missed.” Vhalla pulled her friend close, enjoying having him at her side once more.

They strolled leisurely and began what would be the long process of catching up. How she had missed her favorite Southerner. His laughter was like sunlight, and his heart was more golden than his scraggly hair.

“You remember where your room is, right?” Fritz asked, pausing with Grahm at a door.

“You’re not coming with me?” Vhalla blinked. She expected Fritz to be glued to her side, demanding all the details of their adventures apart. But it seemed he presently had other priorities.

“To your room?” Fritz laughed. “No, I figured you’d want some time to wash up alone. Unless you want me to scrub your back?”

Vhalla grinned. “I doubt you’d be let into the women’s baths.”

“Grahm was beginning to teach me the process of making vessels, you see,” Fritz explained, taking a step closer to the other man. “I want to keep studying.”

Fritz was studying something, all right.

“I’d enjoy learning more about vessels, from an expert.” Vhalla smiled nicely at Grahm.

“I actually need to speak with you on the subject, now that you’re back.” Her fellow Easterner was completely oblivious to the silent but certain exchange between his two companions.

“Oh?”

“Yes, but it’ll keep for now. Go and relax,” Grahm encouraged.

So Vhalla finished her journey as it had begun, in silence and alone. Her future felt as equally uncertain now as it had the first time she’d entered the Tower. Vhalla ran her fingers over the nameplate that was on the door of one of the highest rooms in the Tower of Sorcerers. Her name had been engraved in tight, slanted script.

With a deep breath, she opened the door and was hit with an unexpected wave of nostalgia. This had not been her home for long. She’d only slept in the bed for a few nights between her trial and departing for war. But it was her home now. It had been the place she had dreamed of returning to with Larel and Fritz. She’d been the library apprentice everyone expected—and hoped—would die. Now she was the Windwalker, a lady and hero, and this was her home.

Vhalla ran her fingers reverently over the small table, the bed, and stopped at the wardrobe. Opening the doors, Vhalla stared at the contents for a long moment before promptly closing it. Her clothes were folded and hung on pegs, exactly the same as Larel had left it.

Closing her eyes, Vhalla pressed her forehead against the shut doors, as if she was locking a specter of the other woman in the wardrobe. As if she could protect herself from it entering her heart once more and consuming her soul. Then again, Larel had given her Serien, and Serien had become part of the woman Vhalla had grown into. She opened the doors again.

Vhalla knelt and carefully plucked a silver bracelet from atop a stack of carefully organized notes. If she were a Firebearer, she would have burnt them. But Vhalla resigned herself to living a little longer with the notes that Aldrik had exchanged with her a lifetime ago. She ignored any whisper in her heart that her reason for keeping them had little to do with whether or not she could start a fire.

She decided to proceed directly to Victor’s office. Despite all the grime that coated her, Vhalla didn’t want to wait a moment longer to deliver the axe to the minister. The conversation with Egmun was still fresh, and she had some questions for the current Minister of Sorcery.

The minister’s quarters were higher than hers, and there was almost nothing close to it, save for one more door that was completely unmarked. If Victor’s office had been farther down the Tower, Vhalla might have missed the heated conversation under the noise of sorcerer apprentices coming and going about their daily duties. But this high up, the halls were empty and silent. Vhalla clenched her fists, heightening her hearing by opening her magic and inviting the air into her.

“. . . she is too bold, Victor.” The Emperor’s voice.

Vhalla looked around frantically. Swallowing the knowledge of whose chambers she was about to hide near, she sprinted up to the shallow alcove, pressing herself against the unmarked door at the top of the Tower. It would’ve been too far for anyone else to hear, but the silence and still air allowed her to magically stretch out her hearing, and she heard as clearly as if she was standing with her ear pressed against the door.

“. . . bother you. She was only saving her skin from Egmun.”

“Yes, Egmun has given me counsel on what he thinks we should do with her.” Footsteps stilled and Vhalla could only assume the Emperor had been pacing. “You think she can be controlled?”

“I told you as much when you last returned from the war. Aldrik has command over the girl, you have command over him; she is yours,” Victor said easily, setting Vhalla’s heart to racing.