“It’s time.” Vhalla would go, but not because she needed a prince to keep her safe. She hadn’t shown the Senate the product of their efforts yet, the weapon they’d forged out of a library apprentice. “I will need something before I ride.”

“What is it?” Tim was ever-helpful. Vhalla had expected the people of the valley to shun her and her magic, but time and tales had healed the reputation of the Windwalker, rebuilding Vhalla in the eyes of the Southerners as their chosen champion. Furthermore, according to Tim, the Knights of Jadar had plagued the citizens of Mosant for decades as the town was on the route from the Crossroads to the Crystal Caverns. They would rather harbor a criminal than do anything that could remotely please the Western group.

“I need a cape.” Vhalla thought of the symbol she’d donned at the warfront. If she was the South’s war hero, she’d look the part. “I need a black cape with a silver wing on the back.”

Vhalla turned to meet Tim’s eyes. The woman wore a mischievous grin. Vhalla smiled back. To Tim, it was a game, a fantasy she was playing a part in. But Vhalla’s life wasn’t a storybook. She was returning to the South and showing herself as more than a piece on the carcivi boards of powerful men and women—she was a player.

She rested for two more days before finally leaving. As soon as the seamstress had finished Vhalla’s cape, Vhalla announced her intention. The Festival of the Sun was starting, and the last thing Vhalla wanted to do was engage in the revelries. Spending her time on the road, away from the celebrations, was a far better use of her days.

It was a gray morning when Vhalla said her goodbyes and set off on her mount, stolen from the dead Knights.

“Is it all right?” Tim asked. The white puffs of their breath became fainter as the chill of the dawn slipped away.

“It is.” Vhalla gripped the reins and adjusted her cape again. The cloak was a heavy wool, sturdy, made for the mountains in winter, and long enough to drape over the haunch of the horse. For the first time, Vhalla looked like a noble on a journey. Her hand went up to her watch, caressing it thoughtfully.

“I trust you have a plan.” Tim settled into her saddle. “A plan to not be marching to your death?”

Under the tall pine trees, the soft clanking sound of the stirrups filled the silence as Vhalla mused over how to respond. “Not really.”

“So, you’re going to ride back into the capital with a target on your back and deliver yourself neatly?”

“That’s as far as I’ve made it in my head,” Vhalla affirmed. She really didn’t have an idea of how returning to the capital would go. All she knew was that she wanted a public stage to put the Knights in their place once and for all. What better place than the greatest stage in the world?

Tim let the silence linger, but Vhalla could almost hear the woman shouting her unasked questions. They’d been together for a few days, but Tim had kept her inquisitions fairly tame.

Vhalla sighed softly. “Go ahead, ask what you want.”

“What?” Tim squeaked, startled.

“We have a long ride, and since you’ve chosen to come with me, I’m not going to have it be filled with awkward silences,” Vhalla explained.

“Oh, sorry.” Tim laughed uncomfortably, passing her reins from hand to hand. “I suppose I want to know what everyone else wants to know.”

“I don’t know what that is.” Vhalla could guess, but she wasn’t going to hand Tim information mindlessly.

“After the battle, you left. Where did you go?”

“The Crossroads.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to.” Vhalla saw Tim’s expression deflate from the corners of her eyes. She wasn’t talking with Ophain or Aldrik, just an average woman with no experience in subtlety. “I wanted to escape everything for a bit,” Vhalla explained further. “I needed to be no one.”

“So then, did you really kill those Western Lords there?” Tim ventured.

“I did.” Tim’s eyes were wide at Vhalla’s response. “They would’ve killed me, or worse, if I hadn’t fought them. They weren’t just lords; they were Knights of Jadar trying to use my powers to start a new war. More of the same ilk that died at the windmill.”

“Oh, that’s different then.” The woman easily shrugged off the idea of Vhalla committing murder in self-defense.

Vhalla appraised her traveling companion. Tim was soft-looking and girlish, but she had been in war as well. She had killed and carried invisible scars just as ugly as all soldiers did. Yet, despite that fact, Vhalla withheld the information that she’d killed Tim’s direct superior, Major Schnurr.

“Why are you really going back to the capital?” Vhalla asked her own unsaid question.

Tim sucked on her teeth in thought. “I want to train with the archers in the guard. They said there’d be a position for me.”

“They told you that after the war was over,” Vhalla pointed out. “You chose to go back to Mosant instead.”

“Oh, fine,” Tim laughed. “I want to travel with you.”

“That may not be the best idea,” Vhalla remarked dryly, watching the trail curve ahead of them.

“Maybe not,” Vhalla’s companion agreed. “But I feel like my fate is linked with yours.” The statement stilled Vhalla. “For a time, I was you. I saw and heard things I’d never seen or heard before. I was there to watch the rise of the Windwalker. Then I found you again. This is your story, but I want to see how it ends.”