Their conversation fluctuated between Southern Common and the old tongue. Vhalla was relieved by the time food arrived, using the excuse to busy her mouth as an opportunity to listen to Gianna’s description of the great castle of Norin rather than speak.

“. . . though, I suppose it’s nothing like what you’re accustomed to.”

“Me?” Vhalla had explained her humble beginnings to Gianna; that, despite her current status and wealth, she wasn’t accustomed to luxury.

“With having grown up in the Southern Palace.”

“Ah,” Vhalla uttered a noise of comprehension.

“When will you be returning?”

Food paused on Vhalla’s spoon halfway between her mouth and the bowl. That was the one thing Gianna could ask that Vhalla wanted to avoid discussing at all costs. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t you miss it?”

“I . . .” Vhalla wanted to object. She wanted to say she didn’t miss the palace and its winding passages. She didn’t long for the chill and crisp mountain air, more refreshing than the coldest water she’d ever drank, even if it did set into her bones too quickly and made her shiver. She wanted to claim she didn’t want to run through the Imperial library again like a rebel child, running her fingers gleefully along the spines of the books.

But it would all be a lie.

“I do,” Vhalla confessed.

“But there’s something keeping you from returning.” Gianna’s dark eyes regarded Vhalla thoughtfully.

“There is.” Vhalla sighed, frustrated. It’d been so long since she’d talked with anyone openly about the heaviness in her heart; Vhalla wasn’t sure if she could remember how. But everyone else in Vhalla’s life had a reason to be kept at arm’s length. Gianna, however, was a neutral third party. “There is a man.”

Gianna burst out laughing, and she only laughed harder at Vhalla’s scowl. She quickly reduced her voice to a wheeze. “Vhalla Yarl, the Windwalker, the champion of the North, terrified about seeing a man?”

Vhalla’s eyes darted around for any who may have heard the name said aloud. Spying no one, she rolled her eyes. Just saying the name of the man would’ve explained the cause of her concern.

“We were involved,” Vhalla started delicately. “Things became complicated. His family wanted him to be with someone else, and now he’s betrothed.”

“I take it he’s a noble?” Gianna questioned.

Vhalla gave a gesture of affirmation. It was an easy assumption to make since only nobles considered arranged marriages. It was a trend that was going out of style across the continent.

“And he still loves you?”

The question stilled her. As much as Vhalla didn’t want to think about it, she had to ask: Was that the truth? Her eyes didn’t want to see it, her mind wanted to ignore it, but her heart knew it with every certain thrum.

“I think so,” Vhalla sighed softly.

“And you clearly still have feelings for him.” Gianna leaned against the tall back of the booth they sat in. “I don’t think you should be so worried.”

“But—”

“Listen,” Gianna demanded, and Vhalla obliged. “Whatever bride his family strapped him with cannot be better than the woman sitting before me. If I were you, I would gamble on going back. You may discover that they are more amenable to changing their minds when the Hero of the North stands before them.”

“I doubt it.” Vhalla thought of the Emperor, which immediately soured her appetite. She couldn’t settle with just normal people loathing her existence. She had to have some of the most powerful leaders in the world craving her demise.

“Then show them what they’re missing,” Gianna suggested with a shrug.

“What?”

The Western woman laughed at Vhalla’s startled expression. “Show his family what they lost in you. Spread your wings, tokshi, and fly. Soar above them, make their eyes tear as they stare into the sun to watch you reach new heights.”

The idea turned itself over in Vhalla’s head, settling like wet cement curing into a firm foundation. Show them, she thought, show them what they are missing. The watch felt hot against her chest, and the axe on her thigh seemed to thrum with power.

Vhalla opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her.

Her eyes drifted over to the entry. A man with a bushy mustache stood in the doorframe. The notable facial feature sat atop a triumphant sneer.

Vhalla glanced around frantically. She had been found and there was only one exit. Schnurr may not attack with all the witnesses currently enjoying their dinners. But all he had to do was wait, wait for his prey to finally leave and follow her like a hunter on a blood trail.

“Gianna,” Vhalla whispered, thinking frantically. “Listen to me.”

“Wha—”

“Don’t turn around,” Vhalla hissed, trying to keep her voice level. “You’re going to get up, and you’re going to go and not look back. You’re going to pretend like this was a casual meeting, we happened upon each other—you don’t really know me or who I am.

“Go back to your shop and burn everything of mine. But, most importantly, find my black ledger and destroy it, burn it, make it so that no one can ever read its words.” Her heart was racing. “By the Mother, do not read its contents, do not put those words anywhere inside your head.”