Vhalla listened to their whispers through the door before dragging her feet toward Baldair’s bed. She pulled the covers over her ears and shivered slightly. Staring at the wall, she started on the long process of trying to sort through her conflicting emotions.

VHALLA AWOKE TO a palm gently rubbing her back. She blinked tiredly, confused as to why the chests were on the side of the bed, rather than in the corner of the room. Then the night came back to her in a rush.

Turning quickly, she locked eyes with Baldair, who was seated at the edge of the bed. The prince gave her a tired smile. It betrayed his exhaustion and disappointment that, Vhalla had no doubt, was directed at a certain older brother.

“Good morning,” he whispered.

Vhalla knew how he kept women crawling back to his bed if he spoke to them in such velvety tones first thing in the day. “Aldrik?”

“He’s still asleep.” Baldair shifted so Vhalla could sit. “It’s barely dawn.”

Judging from the dim light filtering through the slats, what Baldair said was true.

“What happened?” Baldair asked softly.

Vhalla focused on the gray morning. “I realized I hadn’t been seeing him with both eyes open. How long has he been like that?”

“How long has Aldrik liked the spirits?” Baldair asked for clarity, and Vhalla nodded. “Mother, not long after he became a man.”

Vhalla frowned. Since about fifteen?

“It’s always been to varying degrees,” Baldair conceded. “Sometimes it’s no more than any other man or woman has. Other times ...”

“He must stop turning to it to manage his problems,” Vhalla decided. She had no issue with liquor, even the occasional indulgence that crossed the line of too much. But Aldrik didn’t see drink as casual entertainment now and again. He was trying to turn cups into solutions to problems, and that was dangerous. “He won’t just stop.” Baldair squeezed her arm. “He doesn’t know how to function without it when he’s up against a wall. It’s hard to make a case because he can function surprisingly well with it.”

“No, it’s not functioning if he thinks he needs it to get through a tough time.” Vhalla shook her head and swung her feet over the side of the bed.

“Where are you going?” Baldair asked. He made no movement.

“To my friends.” Vhalla paused at the door. “If Aldrik asks for me, you can tell him that he can come get me himself if he wants to see me again, with an apology, and a new promise.”

“You’re going to kill him if you force him to stop drinking altogether,” Baldair cautioned.

“He at least needs to stop thinking he needs it. He has me, he has you and Elecia.”

Baldair seemed surprised she included him. “He might beg to differ.”

Vhalla stared incredulously at the younger prince. How could anyone justify Aldrik’s actions? “He commits to fixing this, or we’re done.”

She was out the door before the prince worked through his surprise at the proclamation. The main hall was empty, and the camp was quiet. She headed toward Fritz’s tent without hesitation, crawling between him and Elecia upon arrival.

“What the—”

“You’re so jumpy.” Vhalla shook her head at Elecia.

“I don’t expect people crawling into my bed!”

“You let this one.” Vhalla pointed at Fritz, who continued to sleep. The man was seriously one of the heaviest sleepers Vhalla had ever met. “And he smells like sweaty boy.”

Elecia sighed and laid back down. “Speaking of sweaty boys and sharing beds, what are you doing here?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Vhalla pressed her eyes closed and was surprised when Elecia only spoke one more word on the matter.

“Fine.”

She managed a few more hours of sleep, better sleep than she’d gotten the whole night. Elecia was surprisingly snuggly when passed out, and Vhalla promptly used this knowledge, confirmed by Fritz, to tease the Westerner viciously. Vhalla had never seen Elecia so flushed with embarrassment and anger.

The morning progressed into the afternoon, and Vhalla braced herself for Jax to come looking for her at the crown prince’s request—but he never did. It made Vhalla wonder if Baldair had gotten word to Aldrik. Then Vhalla felt frustrated for thinking of the man and threw herself into some debate on magical theory with Fritz. It didn’t take long before the cycle repeated.

Elecia left eventually to do something with the clerics, but Fritz continued to lounge with her. He appeared eager to skip training for once.

“She’s been such a slave driver,” Fritz bemoaned the moment Elecia was gone. “All she wants me to do is train.” “Well, we are at war,” Vhalla teased.

“A war you will end.” Fritz smiled brightly at her. “You honestly believe that?” Vhalla rolled her eyes.

“Of course I do!” Fritz seemed shocked she’d think otherwise. “And I’m not the only one. You only got a small taste last night. The soldiers really think you’re something special.”

“I’m not, though.” Vhalla sighed, an odd pressure settling on her chest at that notion. She withheld any bitter comment about how any one of those soldiers could be a spy evading capture.

“You’re amazing.”

She snorted.

“You are!” Fritz insisted.

“You sound like my father.” Just mentioning her father made Vhalla ache for the East. But it was an odd sort of nostalgia. Vhalla didn’t think she could go back there for some time. She was too different; she wouldn’t have a place there any longer.

“Then your father is a genius,” Fritz insisted.

“He’d tell you my mother was the smart one.” Vhalla rested her forearm on her forehead.

Fritz rolled onto his stomach, propping him up by his elbows. “You never talk about her.”

“Nothing to say.”

“That can’t be true,” Fritz probed.

“She died when I was young, autumn fever.” Vhalla knew she’d told the Southerner that much before. “But,” Vhalla sighed sweetly. “She could coax a plant from the sandiest soil in the driest of years. She had strong legs that were never afraid to climb up to where I’d roosted in our tree, or on the roof. And she had the loveliest singing voice.”

“Do you sing?” Fritz interjected.

She shook her head. “I inherited my father’s voice, not hers.”

“Sing me a song.”

“No,” Vhalla laughed. “You don’t want to hear it.”

“Please,” Fritz begged.

He insisted until Vhalla finally agreed. The melody was slow and low, the lullaby her mother had sung every night. It told the story of a mother bird keeping her chicks in the nest, of plucking their feathers so they’d never fly. Vhalla didn’t even get to the part where the baby birds began to wear the other animal’s pelts when Fritz burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry,” Fritz wheezed. “You’re right, your voice is awful.” Vhalla rolled her eyes. “I told you so. My mother kept her singing voice, but she gave me her mind. She was the one who taught me how to read.”