“You think you will lead them to victory?” the man sneered up at her, his face a mess of mutilated flesh. “We sent birds, we reported, we have friends here in the West who hold no more love for you. Every sentry; every soldier; every man, woman, and child will aim their arrows, their blades, their stones, their axes, their fists, their picks, and their poisons at you. You cannot comprehend our power, and you will die.”

“Daniel, give me your dagger,” Vhalla demanded softly.

“Vhalla—”

“Give it to me!” She pried her eyes away from the Northerner, the pain manifesting as hot rage.

Daniel looked hopelessly to Baldair, who turned to the Emperor. The royal considered it only briefly, before nodding at the Golden Guard. Daniel flipped the weapon, carefully grabbing the blade to hold out the hilt to her.

The metal of the hilt felt like her magic did the first time she’d opened her Channel. It was a rush of power. But this was darker, of a more twisted and primal nature. Vhalla limped forward toward the disabled man, her calf beginning to protest her weight. Her clothes were soaked in blood, her own and otherwise, and her shoulders were heavy with guilt.

The Northerner squinted up at her with hatred and rage. For the briefest of moments, Vhalla wondered if he had loved those she’d killed on the Night of Fire and Wind the same way she had loved Larel. If she simply stared into a mirror of herself, she just happened to be on the lucky side of the reflection.

The man snarled and lunged. Vhalla moved to meet him. She did not need the Joining; she would do this alone. Vhalla remembered what Daniel had said as she felt the resistance of the blade sink straight through the man’s eye, embedding itself into his skull.

There was no sound but the wind as Vhalla remained frozen in time, staring at the remaining wide-eye and lifeless face of the man she had killed. This was not a blind rage, it wasn’t a burst of power, and it was not a memory her mind would later block. It was the deliberate end to a life, and it had been horribly simple.

Vhalla suddenly felt sick, and she swayed as her whole body trembled. She felt empty and yet so full with agony that she was certain she was going to split apart at the seams and die.

Her calf gave out with the waning resolve, and Vhalla staggered, falling.

Daniel moved to catch her, but Aldrik was faster. The prince caught and twisted her. Vhalla found herself weightless as Aldrik hoisted her into the air, holding her to his chest. She grimaced as he shifted his arm around the severed flesh of her back, finding a way to hold her with the least amount of pain possible.