Her hands trembled and Vhalla felt herself at the edge of exhaustion. With a cry she did everything Aldrik had cautioned her against since her very first lesson with him. Vhalla threw herself into her Channel with the singular thought that this storm ended here, that it would not reach her friends—it would not reach him.

The moments that followed were a strange dichotomy of feeling, like her body was dying and her mind was being born again. Light seared at the edges of her closed eyes and flooded her senses. With an almost audible click she felt herself connect to the storm through her Channel. She felt every edge of it, understood its violent gales. It was hers now, an extension of her magic that she possessed a fragile measure of control over.

She struggled to move her arms. Vhalla felt the connection with her physical body wavering. She cried mentally, straining against the impending failure of her systems. A little more—it was both a prayer and a rally—a little more. Her arms out at her sides, Vhalla took a deep breath and felt the sand fill her lungs. She gave one last push to make the storm a part of her. And then turned that power inward, pushing it down into her Channel and smothering it.

The winds died and silence filled her ears. Vhalla’s legs gave out, and she collapsed to her knees, her arms dropping to her sides. Cracking her eyes open she saw the blazing brightness of the sun against a blue sky. A small sob escaped her mouth and she coughed, her lungs on fire. There was still a strange blur of light and dark playing at the edge of her vision. Vhalla felt her shoulder hit the stone of the road, then her temple—and the world went black.

Chapter 13

A SINGLE FLAME DANCED at her bedside and the moon shifted through foreign curtains as Vhalla drifted in and out of consciousness. She shifted restlessly, trying to free herself from the prison of exhaustion and the twilight state of dreams.

A warm palm touched her cheek, followed by the whispering of soothing words. She stirred at the rustle of the blanket being pulled over her. Vhalla cracked her eyes open.

The room came slowly into focus. Vhalla didn’t recognize the tasteful decoration or sumptuous décor. But she did recognize the woman tending her bedside.

“This is getting old,” Vhalla whispered weakly, nearly startling Larel out of her skin.

“You’re awake,” the Western woman breathed with a sigh of relief. “This is getting old. Stop beating yourself up.” The levity was not lost on Larel, and the woman was joyous just at the sight of Vhalla’s open eyes.

“Where are we?” Vhalla asked between a fit of coughing. It felt as though her insides had been shredded.

“The Crossroads.” Larel held a cup of water to Vhalla’s parched lips.