They lay facing each other, hands held tightly. Vhalla squinted in the darkness, using the faint light of the moon to make out Larel’s face. The other woman stared back. As a Firebearer, Larel could summon a flame with a thought and give them light, but she didn’t.

“Larel,” Vhalla whimpered softly.

“You should get some sleep.” Larel knew of Vhalla’s imminent collapse just by the tone of her voice.

“Tomorrow’s the last day.” After the dream, her emotions were like an avalanche rushing toward the edge of a cliff. Vhalla was hopeless to do anything other than ride it out. She’d been hopeless at everything since her trial five days ago.

“It is, and Major Reale will only work you harder.” Larel’s voice was an extension of her resolve, as immovable as a mountain. She was the only grounding rock Vhalla had left.

“What’s the point?” Vhalla whispered through quivering lips. “I’m dead the moment we see real combat.” Originally, Vhalla had fantasized about what she would meet in the North—the war-torn land where she was commanded to march as a conscripted soldier of the Empire. But dreams and guilt had worn at her resolve until only a husk remained.

“You are not,” Larel insisted.

“I can barely do anything!” Her voice was pathetic, even to her own ears. But Vhalla was beyond caring. She’d summoned a false strength to make it through her trial, but it was gone now.

“Hush,” Larel ordered. The matter was no longer up for discussion. “You must sleep.”

Vhalla pressed her lips together. “Will you wake me?” she asked finally.

“I will,” Larel responded, as she did every night.

“I don’t know how I’ll sleep without you on the march,” Vhalla murmured softly.

“Don’t worry about that now, just rest.”

Larel kissed Vhalla’s knuckles softly, and Vhalla finally relented, closing her eyes.

Sleep was short, but it happened. Larel only woke Vhalla once more. It was an improvement from the previous four nights.

In the daylight Larel had the courtesy not to say anything about Vhalla’s night terrors. With the arrival of dawn, she departed Vhalla’s room quietly, leaving the Eastern woman to dress and prepare for the day.

Vhalla’s whole body felt stiff and sore, which made dressing take twice as long as normal. She rolled her shoulders and tilted her head from side to side as she shrugged on her black robe. Her reflection caught her attention: dark brown eyes flecked with gold were set upon a gaunt face and accentuated by dark circles. Even the usual yellowish, Eastern tan of her skin had turned ashen. Vhalla raised a hand to her short hair, remembering the afternoon following her verdict when she’d cut it all off.

“I hate it,” Vhalla declared, not sure if she was speaking to her hair or her reflection as a whole.