Reverently, she unfolded the cloth, moving it aside. The axe was carved from a single stone, glittering like the cosmos underwater in the dim light of the setting sun. Vhalla now knew it may be the last of the legendary and mysterious crystal weapons—if the Knights didn’t already have one in their possession. She had been told it had the power to sever a soul.

Vhalla held it up, feeling the weight of it. A deep power coursed through her, seeping into her bones. She didn’t need it to cut through souls. She only needed it to cut through the shadows that threatened to swallow her whole. To cut down those who would use her. To hack away at the oppressive darkness that continued to try to smother her so she could defend a new dawn.

THE IDEA OF finding a single Southerner in the Crossroads was complete and utter idiocy. Still, Vhalla waded through the sea of people flooding the streets and markets, foolishly hopeful. She saw soldiers she felt like she should know. Men and women who still donned the dark scale mail of the Black Legion. But the messy-haired man that she sought eluded her.

Cautiously, she ventured back to the center of the Crossroads. She’d not been there in the three days since speaking to Lord Ophain, and now it seemed all the riskier knowing the royal family was present. Yet Vhalla lingered, watching the other hotels and inns around the center of the world. Men and women came and went, but she didn’t see Fritz.

Then again, even if she found her friend, she wasn’t sure what she would say to him. She wasn’t ready to return South yet. She still had more to learn about the Knights, and she had to ensure they knew she wasn’t easy prey to hunt—to dissuade them from their foolish mission of furthering the cause of the long dead King Jadar. Truthfully, she didn’t want to say anything to him, she just wanted to listen to Fritz talk. She wanted to hear her friend’s voice.

Vhalla adjusted the hood on her newly acquired cape. The plain garment was the second most important thing she’d purchased recently. Strapped tightly around her waist and buckled around her thigh, just above her knee, was a specially made axe holster. Vhalla hadn’t brought the actual crystal weapon to a craftsman to measure, of course; she’d purchased an axe of similar size and shape. As such, the fit wasn’t perfect, but it kept the weapon concealed and on her person at all times.

There wasn’t any other safe place for it, she reasoned. The longer it stayed with her, the more Vhalla wondered how she could’ve ever been foolish enough to think of leaving it unattended for weeks, hidden beneath her bed.

Finally giving up her hunt, Vhalla wandered back in the direction of Gianna’s bookstore. The sun was low in the sky by the time she arrived, and the shop-keeper was already closing up. Vhalla said nothing and started for the stairs.

“You haven’t been the same since the day you went off for ink.”

“A lot on my mind.” Vhalla paused, halfway up the stair.

“That much is apparent.” Gianna appraised her helper thoughtfully. Something in the Western woman’s gaze reminded Vhalla of another set of eyes; a dark pair that also missed nothing, a pair she would never be able to look into again for as long as she lived. “You haven’t been working as much on learning the Western language. It’s going to go stale if you don’t practice.”

“It’s only been three days,” Vhalla pointed out.

“For you, three days away from books means something is terribly wrong.” The woman gave Vhalla a sweet smile. “Come, we’ll go somewhere you’ll be forced to practice.”

Vhalla fell into step alongside Gianna as they walked away from the now locked and dim store. She hadn’t put up much of a fight and didn’t bother questioning where they were going. Gianna hadn’t ever done anything to slight or harm her. In fact, when Vhalla had arrived in Gianna’s shop on a whim weeks ago, the Westerner hadn’t kicked the younger woman out after Vhalla had huddled up in the corner for hours, reading as much as she could.

Vhalla had slept on the street that night, then returned to Gianna’s the next morning. Gianna had shared her lunch and let the odd patron stay the day again, despite Vhalla not actually buying anything. By the fourth morning, Gianna had figured out her latest ‘customer’ had nowhere else to be and put Vhalla up in the small attic in exchange for an extra pair of hands in the shop.

It’d taken three weeks for Vhalla to realize that Gianna had no need of a shop assistant. Now, it’d taken over six weeks for her to say anything about it.

“Thank you,” Vhalla blurted suddenly.

“For what?” Gianna’s question reminded Vhalla that her companion could not actually read her mind.

“For taking me in.”

“Hon, you know that is nothing to thank me for.” Gianna laughed. “My girl is gone and grown and married and raising kids of her own in Norin. It’s good to have company in the house again.”

The statement made Vhalla think of her own father, which only brought a fresh wave of shame over having yet to return to the East. No matter how much gold she sent, it wouldn’t make up for her absence. But that absence had crept on so long that now Vhalla had no idea how to break it.

Gianna led them to a restaurant that specialized in Western foods. Proud of its authenticity, the entire staff and most of the patrons spoke exclusively the language of old Mhashan. Vhalla’s tongue curled and rolled off the words, doing her best to pronounce them as carefully as Gianna had taught her.