Vhalla tumbled with the swordsman, biting and scratching like a rabid beast. A heartbeat overwhelmed her senses, and Vhalla allowed Aldrik’s knowledge of combat to take over. She wanted to know every horrible way he could ever conceive to reap pain and torture upon these vile creatures.

She moved a hand, quickly disarming the man. He was well-trained and swung with his opposite hand, sending Vhalla off him with a jab to her face. She rolled, recovering quickly despite the searing pain in her calf.

The woman was upon her, and Vhalla barely had time to wave her hand through the air and deflect the blade mid-swing. That movement allowed the man to recover his weapon, and Vhalla was forced to duck to miss another attack. She was outmaneuvered and outnumbered in the small room.

Vhalla made a dash for the door, having to push it open from her knees to avoid the blade that sunk into the wood where her head had been moments before. Vhalla scrambled into the hall, other guests of the inn opening their doors in confusion as the Windwalker sprinted down the narrow stair. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping her upright.

The female assailant let out a cry of frustration, quick on Vhalla’s heels. “Die, Wind Demon!”

Vhalla half-turned to dodge a dagger thrown at her, tripping down the last of the stairs. The night owls roosting in the lobby were quickly pressed against the outer walls as the Northern assassin and Windwalker rolled head over heels. Some were soldiers who quickly reached for weapons that weren’t there. One lunged bare-handed only to be cut down by the Northern man.

She had no time to consider the demise of the nameless Southerner. Her calf burned with what Vhalla suspected was more than pain. Her movements were becoming sluggish and delayed, despite Aldrik’s instincts remaining sharp with every pulse of her heart. She bumped into a chair and lost her balance. The swordsman raised his sword as the woman recovered from a gust of air Vhalla had sent her way.

A woman plowed into his side, knocking the Northerner off-balance and sending his blade in a wide arc. Vhalla met the unfamiliar pair of eyes. “Run!” That was the last word the brave woman said as the Northerner plunged the curved blade through her throat.

Vhalla didn’t know what running would do, but she did so anyways, barreling through the doors of the inn and into the square. The army was unarmed and off-guard. The soldiers were fat and lazy from the days of peace and relaxation that the Crossroads had afforded. It was so far from the North that they’d all so wrongly assumed they were safe. Even if they had been armed, half of the Crossroads was drunk by this time of night anyways.

But there was one ally ready to greet her. Vhalla felt the wind and quickly turned it on the man racing out to her. It sent the Northerner tumbling head over heels, his head cracking hard against the wall of the inn.

She had expected that to kill him, knock him out, daze him at least, but the man seemed to be made of metal or stone as he just blinked and rose again to his feet. She took a step back, sending another gust of wind at him, but it was equally ineffective. She had killed these people before—why couldn’t she kill them now?

A bloodthirsty cry summoned Vhalla’s attention as the Northern woman was nearly upon her. Vhalla swung out her hand, preparing to deflect the attack. The numbness that had been seeping from her calf had spread into her fingers and the wind didn’t heed her call.

“The eyes!” a voice cried from behind her.

A dagger crafted of blue ice shattered on the assassin’s face, narrowly missing her cheek. The distraction gave Vhalla enough time to roll out of the way of her blade. Vhalla turned, breathless, toward the source of the voice.

Fritz pulled back his hand, another ice dagger appearing in his fingers. He threw and missed again, leaving Vhalla to roll helplessly between sword swings.

Daniel charged as the woman lunged a third time. He had a breathtaking command over his body as each tight step narrowly preempted the assassin’s motions. Vhalla recognized the dagger he wielded as one he’d purchased when they’d gone shopping. The soldier had been wearing it under his pants leg since.

The Easterner demonstrated how he earned a golden bracer by not even blinking as he sunk the dagger to its hilt into the Northerner’s eye. The woman shuddered but didn’t make a sound as her body limply fell to the ground, sliding off Daniel’s blade. Vhalla stared at the lifeless body but found no sympathy. Instead she turned her rage to the remaining target.

The other assassin, seeing himself outnumbered against the army that quickly gathered with weapons in hand, turned to run.

Vhalla tried to jump to her feet, throwing out a hand uselessly. Whatever poison that they had laced the blade with sent shivers up her spine that blocked her Channel. However, as if summoned from her fingers, an inferno sprang up, sending the Northerner tumbling backwards as he tried to avoid running into the flames.

She twisted on the ground, looking for the origin of the fire. The crowd scattered like rats, fearing the blinding light of the fire that burned from Aldrik’s fists to his elbows, searing off the rumpled shirt he wore. His dark eyes were alight with flame and pure malice. Vhalla did not recognize the man before her as the man she had held and kissed a day prior.

This was the Fire Lord.

Aldrik’s focus was past her, toying with the Northerner as he sent the assassin scurrying to avoid one blindingly powerful magic flame after the next. Baldair was quick to follow behind his brother, freezing in his step as he took in the carnage before him. Vhalla pushed against the ground, trying to keep herself even partly upright. She was safe now and the heartbeat was beginning to fade. Behind it lurked an agony that threatened to tear her apart.

Aldrik had finally made it to her, and she saw his shoulders quiver with rage as he looked down upon her mangled and bruised body. “Lord Taffl, Baldair,” Aldrik spoke to Daniel and his brother but his eyes never left her. “Apprehend that man and bring him here—alive.”

The prince knelt at her side. “Vhalla,” he whispered.

“Aldrik,” she choked out, emotions overwhelming her. Vhalla’s face twisted in agony. “Aldrik, she’s-she’s-I, it’s my fault, it’s my fault.”

“Vhal ...” Fritz had been the only one of the steadily growing onlookers to approach the two. He sunk to his knees as well.

Vhalla hung her head between her shoulders and wailed in mourning.

“Mother, no ...” Fritz gasped. Vhalla expected him to be staring in horror at her. But he looked beyond.

She followed the Southerner’s gaze over her shoulder, past where Baldair and Daniel were dragging the overpowered assassin toward Aldrik. Her eyes followed the bloody trail she’d left to the inn that was now in need of repair from where she’d slammed a stone-skinned Northerner into its side. Vhalla’s eyes fell on a small row of bodies that was being lined up before the doorway. There was the man who’d been cut almost in half through the abdomen, the woman with the wound to her neck, another two Vhalla didn’t even remember falling in the scuffle, and then a Western woman.

Vhalla scrambled to her feet, Aldrik and Fritz in too much of a daze to stop her. Limping the pain away, she broke into a clumsy run. Daniel tried to grab her as she passed but his hands were too busy keeping the Northerner under control.

She pushed away the man who was situating Larel’s body in the line of the fallen, collapsing at her friend’s side. “No no no no no Larel.” Vhalla pressed her palms against the woman’s mortal wound, as if she could somehow heal it now. “You can’t, you can’t do this to me!”