But she understood that whatever it was must be horrific. Anything that could inspire someone to take their own life must be. Vhalla swallowed. There was a darkness at the very deepest part of her prince she had yet to penetrate. The fear it ignited in her paled in comparison to her desire to spend enough time with him to bring light into that void.

Their exchange raked against both their thoughts, making them silent throughout her Projection. Vhalla mindlessly traversed the long distance between the camp palace and Soricium. She kept her thoughts locked away within the innermost part of her mind to prevent any from reaching outward to him.

That cloud hung over them into the evening. Her time in the palace wasn’t very fruitful, some basic tidbits of information but nothing that could shift the tides of war in their favor. Aldrik told her to try to find out more information on the spies, but she couldn’t even find the Westerner. Wherever he was, the informant did an unintentionally good job of avoiding her.

In all, it felt disappointing and useless, and Vhalla was forced to swallow the fact that she couldn’t find a wealth of information every time she walked Soricium. Aldrik managed to swallow the same facts, with the help of a strong drink or two, and slowly the cloud dissipated. Their days fell into a repetition of short meetings with the majors in the mornings and evenings and of Projections during the day.

They tried to weed out the spy and debated it often in private, but to no avail. However the spies were communicating, it was well-orchestrated, and they seemed to have it down to a science. Vhalla would scan the faces of the majors at meetings, wondering who among them would put a knife through Aldrik’s shoulder blades. But nothing ever came of their search.

It was the monotony that finally began to rake against Vhalla’s brain. Her curiosity and hunger for new knowledge was stinted by the fact that she seemed to be taking a lot of steps to get nowhere. It didn’t help that Aldrik was intent on keeping her under house arrest. After the attempt on her life while moving the tower and the knowledge of spies in camp, he intentionally kept her busy within the camp palace at all times.

After two weeks of it she was ready to go crazy, and the fates took pity on her.

Vhalla pushed herself through the stone walls of Soricium as she had before, ignoring the oblivious Northerners. She wandered upward, through the various stairways within the trees and onto the platforms and walkways beyond.

She was beginning to learn the palace well enough that she would soon feel confident telling Aldrik she could lead someone through its walls. That was a whole different fear. She knew who would be leading the charge, and it stayed her tongue when Aldrik would ask how well she had learned the maze-like passageways.

He would be at the front. He would trust no one else at her side, and the idea of leading him headfirst into the most hostile environment in the world filled Vhalla with uncontrollable dread.

Up, around, countless switchbacks, and up further still, Vhalla retraced the previous days’ steps until she was in uncharted territory. She came to a wide platform with a low and intricately carved rail. Leaning against a beautifully sculpted alcove was a lean and sharp-looking woman, the archer Vhalla had seen before, and a younger girl no older than fourteen. The archer was on one side of the alcove and the girl on the other, the woman between them.

“Why do they move as they do?” the lean and sharp-looking woman asked.

Vhalla assumed the woman was the head clan’s Chieftain due to her delicate headdress.

I finally found him, Vhalla reported to Aldrik. She stared at the Western man addressing the three woman.

“The Westerner?” Aldrik asked.

Yes, but I need to listen.

Her prince withheld further comment.

“Have you considered our new deal? Perhaps my insights could be improved then,” the Westerner responded.

“You dare withhold information from me?” The woman’s Southern Common was clearer and finer than the other Northerner’s.

“Most certainly not, my lady. I only meant certain things could further improve our relationship.”

“My lady,” the woman repeated with malice. “Spare me your Southern notions of nobility.”

“I am not Southern.” The man bristled. “My people were enslaved by the greed of Solaris, much as yours are currently threatened by it. He turned Mhashan’s rich history into nothing more than a compass point on his map. I know your suffering.”

“You presume too much.” The Chieftain tilted her head back only so that she had further to stare down at the Westerner. “All are southern to Soricium.”

“Will you give us the axe?” the Western man asked, shifting the conversation back to its original topic.

“The axe. Tell me, what do you want with Achel?”

“That is inconsequential.” The man folded his arms over his chest.

“The Emperor brought war because we refused him Achel. But Achel sleeps in its stone tomb, under the eye of the gods. It has slept there since the days of great chaos when light was dark.” The Chieftain fingered the carved archway behind her. “We will not let it be taken by southern hands who have lost the old ways.”

“Are you going back on your offer?” the man asked with a frown.

“Za had no place offering Achel,” the Chieftain said with a sideways look that radiated displeasure.

The archer Vhalla had seen before, Za, averted her eyes in clear shame. Vhalla followed the woman’s emerald stare to what they focused on instinctually. The Imperial camp stretched out below, a long distance to the burnt track that ran around its outer rim. But at the top of that rim was a splotch against the forest.

The same sensation Vhalla’d felt on the night of patrol lingered on the wind. Old Soricium, that’s where the archer was looking. Vhalla had no doubt.

“If Achel is out of the deal, then I will need to contact my allies in camp,” the man threatened to stall further.

“Go ahead, southerner. We would never give Achel to you.” The Chieftain sent the Westerner off in a huff.

Vhalla pulled back from her Projection, blinking her eyes slowly. Aldrik sat at his small table, pinching the bridge of his nose. He seemed more exhausted as spring inched closer.

“Oh, welcome back.” He noticed her as she sat. “You found the Westerner again?”

“I did, but nothing productive in finding out who his informants are or how they communicate.” She’d been trying to uncover it each time, to no avail. Vhalla was beginning to suspect they already had Windwalkers communicating for them.

Aldrik cursed. “Father is beginning to think there aren’t any.”

“There are,” Vhalla insisted, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

“I believe you. He’s just searching for any opportunity to undermine you.” Aldrik stood and stretched.

“Aldrik.” Vhalla ignored the mention of the Emperor. “Crystals—”

“What?” He ceased all movement.

Vhalla knew she would get such a reaction, but she had no idea why. She took a deep breath, bracing herself. “Can crystals be used to make weapons?”

“Did you hear that in the fortress?” Aldrik asked.

Vhalla nodded. “They’re talking about something called Achel, a crystal axe...”

“The world has lost its mind.” Aldrik rolled his eyes, making a valiant attempt to shrug the tension out of his shoulders. “Crystal weapons from the days of early magic, forged by gods and given to the original leaders of each kingdom. It sounds like something the Knights of Jadar would believe could be used to ‘reclaim the West’ or some other equal nonsense. Don’t believe a word of it.”