The knocking persisted, the person clearly not getting the point.

“What?” she said with a groan.

The door opened a crack, and a pair of Western eyes looked in at her. Vhalla peered at Jax through thin slits. The man chuckled and let himself into her room.

“Lucky you, sleeping past dawn.” He wiggled onto the small bed next to her.

Vhalla rolled her eyes and pressed against the wall. The tall man was comically large atop the small mattress, his side flush against hers. But Vhalla had come to an understanding with the strange man known as Jax Wendyll. After their short time in the Crossroads, there was something base, gritty, yet simple about their relationship; it was ugly beautiful.

“I’d like to keep sleeping, you know,” she mumbled and buried her face into her pillow. It was cramped with two, but having someone next to her again was relaxing. Larel and Aldrik had both been Firebearers, and Jax was equally warm.

“But I need you.”

Vhalla cracked open one eye. “How?”

“Oh, in all the worst ways.” Jax waggled his eyebrows.

“Mother, you’re awful.” Vhalla’s dry remark earned a laugh. “Jax, really, why are you crawling into my bed?”

“Really, we could use your help on the grounds today.” Serious notes had finally worked their way into his words.

“I’ve been helping you for weeks. Why are you suddenly bothering with asking?” He had her attention now.

“We’re short-handed.”

“Have Baldair and Raylynn finally run off together?” Vhalla couldn’t stop herself. The more she’d come to know the guard, the more she’d learned who and what the easy targets were for jokes.

“One of those said parties is missing, though not who you’d expect. Ray is actually pulling her weight.” Even Jax sounded impressed. “But Baldair is still gone, and Craig woke feeling unwell.”

“Still gone?” The word had Vhalla wondering when was the last time she’d actually seen the golden-haired royal.

“Oh, you know him. Last I saw he was chasing Lady Imaj around the court. I’m sure they just ran off.” Jax’s laugh didn’t have the strength it usually did. He quickly rolled off the bed and pushed the topic along before Vhalla could linger further. “So, help?”

“Yes, yes.” Vhalla sat, realizing she was done with sleeping.

She knew she should go to the minister. They were so close to finishing the axe, and then it would be over. But it was one day, and Vhalla didn’t want to ignore her friends when they were in need. So, after quickly dressing, her feet carried her to the grounds with Jax.

Erion was relieved the second Jax arrived with her, and Vhalla was quickly put to work. The difference two sets of hands made in managing the palace guard and their training was noticeable. Her practice with Daniel actually qualified Vhalla to help train young swordsmen and women in training, so Vhalla haunted the grounds until dusk.

She ate with the guard following, and lingered until the moon had crested the horizion. Sweaty and exhausted, she finally dragged her feet up the Tower. Her crystal work was taking a lot out of her, and she was on a mission for a hot bath and her bed.

The heavy thud of a book dropping drew Vhalla’s attention into the dimly lit library. Footsteps moved across the floor, and Vhalla watched the flickering light of a single flame dance through over the tops of the books on the bookshelves. For once, she was thankful for his insomnia.

She needed to talk to Aldrik. She needed to speak with the prince about the crystal taint, about the princess, about making sure his father and the fragile peace that he’d bought with so much blood would last into spring, and about Aldrik’s succession as the Emperor of Peace. It had nothing to do with her admission the night prior, she assured herself.

She rounded a bookcase, looking at the dark form scanning a high shelf for a manuscript. Vhalla leaned against the shelves watching him. His hair was limp and messed, his shoulders had an uncharacteristic sway. For a brief moment, she feared everything she’d heard about his old habits was really a lie, that he’d never stopped—or had returned to—his less than healthy ways of coping with a problem.

Aldrik sighed heavily, pulling a book and scanning it. Something was wrong, but Vhalla couldn’t place her fingers on it.

“My prince,” she whispered, not wanting to startle him too badly. It didn’t work, and Aldrik nearly dropped the book he was holding. Vhalla realized too late that she had used their former term of endearment; she wondered if her presence or her words startled him more.

“What—when did you get here?” Dark circles blemished the area under his eyes.

“Aldrik.” Vhalla took a step closer, noticing his rumpled, extremely casual attire for the man who was usually perfection incarnate. “What’s wrong?”

His defensive instinct took over, but only for a brief moment. The tension in his shoulders vanished, and the man swayed, nearly collapsing in on himself. “Baldair. He’s sick, Vhalla.”

“It’s serious, isn’t it?” The day was still fresh in her mind, Baldair missing training yet again.

“It started as a cold, aches, chills,” Aldrik spoke softly to the bookshelf, unable to meet her gaze. “It’s Autumn Fever.”

“This late?” The fever normally set in at the first transition between summer and fall. Not into the winter.