The silence of the palace hallway was welcome, and Vhalla breathed a sigh of relief the second she was free of the crowd. She clutched the saddlebag tightly to her side, setting off in the hall toward the center of the palace. She didn’t know quite where she was, but she knew the general direction. Nostalgia crept into her mind, welcoming her despite her disorientation.
It was a sweet dulling of the senses. The way her feet sounded against the floor or the candles that dripped years of wax over their sconces, it was all familiar. It felt like home.
But it was a façade. She’d seen first-hand the ugliness that festered in the hearts of the people who had built this palace. She was now one of them. And the illusion could only last for so long before it was broken.
“Look at you,” a voice sneered.
Vhalla reeled in place.
Egmun stepped slowly from a side hall. Had he been following her? “Put a title on her and she becomes bold. Do you think yourself powerful?”
“I know I am.” Vhalla did nothing to hide her scowl. There was no one around, and it seemed Egmun had no interest in “playing nice” either.
“You should’ve never left this palace alive.” Egmun took a step closer, and Vhalla took a step back. “I should’ve killed you myself when I had the chance.”
“Another step closer and I will be the one killing you,” she threatened.
He paused, chuckling darkly. “We both know you won’t.”
“You have no idea what I’m capable of,” Vhalla whispered.
“Oh, I have more idea than you realize.” Egmun bore his teeth in a wide grin. “But you won’t kill me, because you would do anything to avoid giving me what I want, even if that means denying yourself that particular satisfaction.”
“You want me to kill you?” That was a turn she hadn’t been expecting.
“Oh, dying like this would be less than ideal. But I would hope the Knights, the Emperor, someone, would put on a better showing of getting you condemned for the death of the Head of Senate.” Egmun pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh and the distinctly Aldrik-like motion threw her mentally off-balance. “The Knights were a failure. But it all comes down to the fact that I will do whatever it takes to see your end, ended in such a horrible way that no one will dare speak the name Vhalla Yarl, the Windwalker, for years.”
“You’re mad.” She’d never been more certain.
“I was, once. Now I’m the only sane one here,” Egmun observed quietly.
“What is your obsession with me?” she finally asked. The question was out, and Vhalla held her breath to await what she knew would be a terrible answer.
“Oh, you already know,” Egmun hummed. “I want you to die. I thought the Knights would do it, or the North would, or you, in your feebleness, would be broken by the trials of war. Disappointments, the lot of them; now here we are.”
“Why do you want me dead? I never did anything to you!”
“You existed!” the senator snarled. “No, it’s worse than that. You let your existence be known. You, you didn’t stay put. They should’ve never let you out of the East.”
“What do you know?” Vhalla whispered.
“I know you will be the death of us all.” It seemed to be the most level thing he’d said and for that it was all the more terrifying. “I know, I know better than any what you are capable of.”
“How?”
“I sought wisdom that was never meant for mortal men, and I traded my magic for it. No one else will pay that price, and now I am the only one who can protect our world.”
“You’re mad,” Vhalla breathed. Something was seriously broken within the Head of Senate. A god-complex, a power-hungry madman, a deranged lunatic stood before her and affirmed it with every word.
“I am the only one of us who isn’t.” Egmun frowned.
“So why don’t you kill me now then?”
“You’ve made yourself untouchable.” The Head of Senate finally took a step away. “You’ve powers that I cannot compete with. You’ve put a spell over the people. You’ve crawled into bed with a prince.”
Vhalla clenched her fists and grit her teeth.
“And now you’ll return to the Tower to study under the puppet-master of those powers that be.” Egmun shook his head, starting in the opposite direction. “I have only one final thing I could try.”
Vhalla braced herself for an attack. She readied for an ambush, for Egmun to turn and lunge for her. But the senator only glanced over his shoulder, his eyes glittering with crazed and broken amusement.
“Ask yourself, Vhalla Yarl. . . Ask yourself, is your life worth more than this world?”
With that, the senator departed.
Long after he’d vanished, Vhalla contemplated the hall where he had disappeared. She took a step, stumbling over her feet and leaning against the wall for support. She was shaken down to her soul. Egmun, her most hated entity in the world, had shown her an emotion she didn’t know he’d had: compassion. Not for her, but for the people of the Empire.
She gripped the saddlebag with white knuckles, holding an axe that could sever souls. Another piece fell clearly into her mind as Vhalla realized she’d just succeeded in bringing the last crystal weapon back to the South, nearly back to the land of the Crystal Caverns.
The North had just been the battle. There was a much greater struggle at play here, and people had yet to show their true hands. The war still raged on.
ALL THINGS CONSIDERED, Vhalla hadn’t really spoken much with the Head of Senate. But it seemed every time she did, the impression was destined to linger, and Egmun’s words repeated in Vhalla’s mind, imprinting themselves as she made her way for the bottom entry of the Tower of Sorcerers. She clutched the saddlebag, her fingers tracing the outlines of its stitching in thought. Egmun.
Egmun had been the Minister of Sorcery, and then something changed. He said he had traded his magic; was it taken from him somehow? If so, by what? Vhalla’s mind went down every dark path when thinking of the Senator and came up with a memory that wasn’t even hers, of Egmun egging on a boy Aldrik to commit his first murder.
The questions circled like a tornado, faster and faster, until all other thoughts were destroyed by their repetition. Vhalla pushed open the door for the Tower of Sorcerers, completely absorbed in trying to recall every word she’d ever written in her journal on Aldrik and deeply wishing she’d taken it with her from Gianna’s. It took her five steps to notice she wasn’t alone.
The large, circular lobby was filled with people, as it had been the last time she’d been there. But now they weren’t wearing armor, and there wasn’t the tension of dread. Hope glittered in every flame bulb. Hope for a future that they would see because they were the ones who had survived the battles. Their eyes looked to her in admiration, as though she was the foundation of those dreams.
Vhalla hastily took in those assembled, and her eyes fell on a man. Words and thoughts and emotions tangled into a knot and lodged themselves in her throat. She had cried so many tears of sorrow that it made the moisture at the corners of her eyes burn sweetly with joy.
Fritznangle Charem, Waterrunner and friend of the Windwalker, stood opposite her, already crying like a babe. The room blurred until only he remained in focus. Fritz took a step forward, and Vhalla matched his sprint.
There was only one thing that could’ve made her part with the bag containing the axe, and that was the man she threw her arms around. The saddlebag was forgotten on the floor, and Vhalla clutched Fritz as though he was nothing more than an illusion about to fade on the wind.
The room was congratulating her; there may have even been cheers. But Vhalla focused on her friend’s face, wiping away the rivulets of tears streaming around his wide grin with her thumbs.