“The majors have some questions regarding your Projections that I could not answer over breakfast.” Aldrik led them toward the standing table. Vhalla recognized her sloppy sketches of the interior.

“You have informed them of my findings?” Vhalla asked delicately, glancing up at Aldrik from the corners of her eyes.

“The relevant information about the interior of the palace,” he affirmed.

Vhalla translated his words to mean that the majors at large didn’t know that there were traitors among them. It was likely for the better. Sending the majors into a frenzy would only make the person—or people—harder to find if the majors tipped off the spies that they’d been discovered

“From here to here.” Erion pointed from the exterior to interior wall. “How wide is it?”

“About four men, toe to head,” Vhalla replied, ignoring the Emperor settling in at the end of the table. She was thankful for Aldrik positioning himself between her and his father.

“And here to here?” Craig’s golden bracer shone as he pointed to one of the shacks she’d marked as food storage.

“Another ten men, maybe?” Vhalla guessed.

“The trebuchets will reach, then,” Craig assessed.

“They should,” Erion agreed, and both men turned to the Emperor.

“Miss Yarl,” the Emperor ground her name like glass between his teeth. “Are you certain of the locations of the food stores?”

“I am,” she firmly replied. “Their construction?”

“Similar to what we have here. Canvas, hide, leather, wood.” Vhalla gripped the table, knowing what orders were about to be called. She stared at the maps she drew. The ink that had sealed the fate of the Northerners she’d walked among.

“It has been proposed that we launch flaming debris or dead livestock to destroy and or poison their food stores. Prolong the siege and starve them out, instead of risking an all-out attack,” the Emperor stated, affirming her suspicions. “What do you think?”

Vhalla studied the Emperor’s face. What answer would he want her to give? This was a game, it was all a game. Vhalla planted her feet and held her head high.

“It will not work,” Vhalla proclaimed boldly, much to the shock of the table. “We must attack them outright.”

“Excuse me?” The Emperor was too startled by her tenacity to formulate a sufficient counter.

Vhalla reminded herself of what she was. She was death; she was the executioner of the North. Well, if she held their fate in her hands, she would swing the axe as fast and as cleanly as possible.

“What is this treason?” Major Schnurr sneered. “Do you speak against the will of the Emperor?”

“I speak for what will lead us to victory,” Vhalla shot back.

“Victory?” the major scoffed. “What does a little girl know of battle and victory?”

The Western major knew just what to say to make Vhalla’s blood boil. “I know plenty.”

The rest of the table remained silent, not daring to enter the foolhardy volley of words the Windwalker had decided to engage in.

“You? A lowborn library apprentice? Taught your letters when you were fifteen, no doubt.” The major had no interest in conceding.

“I was taught my letters when I was six,” Vhalla interjected. A number of eyebrows raised.

“Impossible, you—”

“Major, with all due respect, you know nothing about me. I credit you, I credit you all.” Vhalla regarded the table, her neck long and chin strong. She was sure to elongate her words and avoid conjunctions like the upper classes did, like Aldrik and the Emperor. “You were raised in nobility. You know a world I do not. You know what forks to use at a formal settings, and you do not hesitate in battle. But I was raised in a world none of you can fathom.”

Vhalla turned back to Major Schnurr, refocusing her frustrations on him alone. “I was raised in a world where I had thousands of friends, each one waiting for me on a shelf every day. While you practiced with the bow or sword, I read. The Imperial Library houses my confidants, and I spent nearly a decade hanging onto their every word. I know them well, and if you will stop questioning me, I will be so kind to impart their secrets to you.”

Slack-jaws stayed silent, and wide eyes watched her intently. Vhalla swallowed hard. She still hadn’t slept enough. She was tired from lack of sleep and from being seen as the girl she was no longer.

“Continue, Vhalla Yarl. We all want to hear what you have to say,” Major Zerian finally spoke for the table.

Vhalla nodded in relief at him. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. No one would take her seriously if they considered her overemotional.

“We are not going to starve them out. We are not going push them to forfeit by making their lives difficult. The army has been doing that for eight months with no real results.” Vhalla motioned to all the papers of the table. “To the clans of Shaldan, Soricium is life.” She was not about to discredit their proud history by blanketing them as the North.

“In Shaldan’s lore, Soricium is the birthplace of the world. They consider that forest to be the primordial trees the old gods made first.” Vhalla racked her brain for every dusty book in the archives that she’d ever read. She pulled facts from the night Aldrik returned, the night she’d read more about the North in one sitting than ever before. The night that Vhalla had saved the prince, she prayed she’d also gained the knowledge to save countless more by ending this war quickly.

“The head clan is said to have descended from these original peoples, a pure line dating back to the beginning of time. They are a people who see their leaders as descending from gods. Expecting them to abandon their land, their home, their lineage is setting you up for failure. Soricium is Shaldan, and the Head Clan is Soricium. If you don’t understand that, you cannot comprehend why the clans continue to fight when the Empire has taken so much of their land.”

“So, what do you propose we do?” Baldair asked.

Vhalla gave him a small nod of appreciation for backing her. “To win this war, we must crush them. We must level Soricium and kill the head clan. Otherwise, they will have cause to rise again.”

“It seems an easy enough victory,” a woman mused.

“Do not expect it to be,” Vhalla cautioned. Hadn’t they been listening? “The Northerners will defend Soricium and the head clan until every last dying breath. If we were to gain a surrender, it would not be in awe of our power, or tactical prowess, or advantage in training.”

Vhalla turned to the Emperor, loathing simmering hotly in her veins. She saw what his mission was so clearly. He didn’t desire peace, he lusted for subjugation. He craved power and the ownership it gave him. His eyes shone dangerously at her, and Vhalla decided not to heed the warning in them.

“They will lay their swords at your feet and bend knee to salvage the last of their history, to protect the last tree standing from the savagery that we will show.”

Vhalla should have stopped herself, but she commanded the moment. This genocide had created an unlikely connection with her own history. She was of a people who had been used as slaves and burned for their existence. It made her disgusted with the ugly business she had sunk neck deep in.