Three-hundred thirty-seven.

It was significant. It couldn’t possibly be chance. Aldrik’s hate for crystals, for Egmun, the guilt he shouldered . . . But, how?

“Excuse me?” a patron called, drawing Vhalla’s attention back to her duties.

Her days progressed much the same, split between bookkeeping, research, and language study with Gianna at night. Two more weeks slipped through her fingers before Vhalla finally cracked the spine of The Knights’ Code, and even then it was rough reading.

“Tokshi.” Gianna rested her hands on the desk.

Vhalla straightened to attention. Her back hurt from being hunched over and her fingers ached from the furious notes she was taking.

“Dinner is ready. Close up shop.” Gianna’s tone was enough to indicate that there was more to say without her needing to hover as Vhalla pulled the shutters. “Why do you read so furiously?”

“I like reading.” Vhalla smiled. It wasn’t entirely a lie.

“You do,” Gianna agreed. “But you do not like this book.” She tapped The Knights’ Code and put it back on its shelf.

Vhalla glared at the tome, as though the bound parchment had somehow betrayed her and told Gianna of Vhalla’s real intent in reading it.

“Why do you read something you don’t enjoy? Why this?”

“Do you know about the Knights of Jadar?” Vhalla asked.

Gianna visibly tensed. “Why would you ask that?”

The woman’s eyes darted to the open door, and Vhalla eased it closed, granting her host the illusion of privacy. “I want to know.”

“That is not something you, of all people, want to look for.” Gianna knew who Vhalla was. Vhalla had never lied to the kind woman who was putting her up, and she’d told the broad strokes of her own history over the countless dinners they’d shared together. Perhaps because Gianna knew exactly who Vhalla was, the woman respected the Windwalker’s privacy and wish to remain anonymous, preferring the Western term for student—tokshi—over Vhalla’s actual name.

“Why?” Vhalla knew why, but she wanted to hear Gianna’s reasons.

Gianna sighed.

“Tell me.”

“Dinner is ready.” The shop owner turned, starting for the stairs. “Come and eat. The wind will carry you away if you don’t put food in your stomach once in a while.”

Vhalla obliged mutely. She allowed the silence to stew after they both had settled at the table and started into the rice hash Gianna had made.

“I will tell you one story,” Gianna said finally. “And then you must put that book aside.”

“I can’t promise you that.”

“Try?”

“It depends on what the story is.” Vhalla played a game of mock carcivi with her hash.

“You are something else.” The woman chuckled and shook her head. “You could just lie to appease me.”

“I’ve had enough lies for a lifetime.” Vhalla’s eyes drifted upward.

Gianna paused, searching Vhalla’s face. She took a deep breath before beginning. “The Knights of Jadar have been around for over one-hundred and fifty years, and they weren’t always the hushed organization they are now, zealots clinging to the old ways. The stories tell of a different time. A time not so long ago, when they would ride in the streets and women would reach for them, men would cry their names.”

Vhalla leaned forward in her chair. The way Gianna told her story had a certain reverence, a nostalgia for something that Vhalla had no real connection with. Gianna couldn’t have been more than a young child at the start of the war in the West and the fall of the knights.

“They were the best of the best. They protected the weak and fought for Mhashan, defending our way of life. To be counted among their ranks was the highest honor.”

Vhalla bit her tongue on the fact that the Knights had put countless Windwalkers to death long before, during the Burning Times, at the will of the king who had founded them.

“But when the last King of Mhashan was slain, when the Ci’Dan family bent knee before the Emperor, and when Princess Fiera married into his family . . . The Knights were spurned. They tried to raise a rebellion. The princess and Lord Ophain did their best to discourage such, but they were fighting a losing battle.”

“Why?” Vhalla’s food was forgotten.

“The Knights claimed to have the Sword of Jadar.” Vhalla shook her head, indicating she didn’t know what the woman was speaking of. “King Jadar was a great Firebearer, but only passed his magic to one of his sons.”

“Magic isn’t in the blood; it can’t be passed on.” A fact Vhalla knew all too well from being born from two Commons.

“No . . .” Gianna agreed half-heartedly. “That’s true, but . . . There’s something special about the magic that lives in families. Certainly, sorcerers are born to Commons, but there’s usually magic somewhere in the family tree. It’s not impossible, but it is less common to find it without.

“Either way, King Jadar was said to have crafted a sword that harnessed his power and gave it to one of his sons. That son became the leader of the Knights of Jadar, and as long as he wielded the sword he was rumored to be undefeatable.”

“So what happened to the sword?” Vhalla asked.