Vhalla looked sideways at Baldair. Clearly he had not offered much defense for his role in that particular offense.

“For the crime of public destruction, we have found you guilty.”

She began to feel dizzy.

Egmun continued to read as they looked down upon her. “For the crime of heresy, we have found you not guilty.”

It was a start.

“For the crime of murder, we have found you not guilty.”

She gripped the bars taking a slow breath.

“For the crime of treason,” Egmun’s eyes flicked over to her a brief moment. “We have found you not guilty.”

Vhalla rested her forehead on the cool iron of her cage. She wanted to feel relieved, but something about the pain in Aldrik’s eyes cautioned her otherwise.

“To atone for your crimes it is the will of the Senate, the people, that you will be conscripted into the military to apply your abilities to the war in the North.”

Vhalla blinked. They were making her a soldier. She didn’t know anything about fighting; sending her there was a death sentence. Her eyes widened; that was the point. Either way they would win. If she succeeded they would claim the glory, or the Northerners would kill her for them.

“You are to be considered property of the Empire for the remaining duration of the war and will be deployed to the front in one week’s time,” Egmun continued.

“I don’t know anything about combat,” she said meekly.

The Head Elect looked at her slowly. “We have been assured your powers are special, beyond compare. If that is the case, I am sure you will learn quickly,” Egmun sneered at her.

Vhalla looked about frantically; Aldrik clutched his seat so hard his hands shook.

“Should you be found to disobey an Imperial Order, partake in any treasonous activities, or flee your duty, you will be put to death by the righteous flames of the leader of the Black Legion—” Egmun paused with a dark grin in her direction. “—the Crown Prince Aldrik.”

Her mouth dropped open, and she looked over frantically.

His face hadn’t changed. Vhalla turned to Prince Baldair, who glared at his brother. She turned to the other senators, but unsurprisingly there was little love there.

“This is the will of the Senate, on behalf of the people.” Egmun rolled the parchment and began to descend the risers of the Senate. His footsteps echoed like a hammer against her brain.

Vhalla felt numb; she wasn’t sentenced to death, but she might as well have been.

When Egmun was halfway to the Emperor, starting up for the Imperial Platform, she allowed herself to look at Aldrik. He shifted in his chair and for a brief moment he placed his hand on his hip. His message was clear.

No matter what, he couldn’t kill her because of the Bond.

This was an order just as dangerous to him as it was to her. She wasn’t sure if she was glad, or tortured by knowing where this placed him. If he was told to kill her and he refused, Valla had no doubt these very senators would turn it against him. Vhalla gripped the bars and barely kept in a scream. They did not know the true gravity of what they had done.

Egmun handed the parchment to the Emperor and slowly returned to his seat.

“Vhalla Yarl, before the Light of the Mother I have heard your crimes, your evidence, and the people’s will in your fate. I find this to be a fair and just punishment for the offenses you have committed against the Empire.” A servant brought a small bowl of hot wax and a large metal seal on a platter. The Emperor dripped the molten liquid onto the parchment and pressed his seal onto the paper that held her future.

“So it has been written, so it shall be.”

“Guards, return her to the palace via the care of the Tower,” Egmun said with a gleeful grin.

Vhalla was ushered away by Craig and Daniel. She didn’t even have a chance to see Aldrik once more. Instead of turning back to her cell, they began heading upward.

They ascended through an inner passage, the stones of the wall and floor slowly became more polished and carefully laid. The torches lining the walls became more frequent and the hallway began to be bathed in more light than darkness. After a series of doors they reached an archway that emptied into a larger hall. A girl waited, her hands folded before her.

“Larel?” Vhalla blinked.

The Western woman smiled faintly, turning to Craig and Daniel. “I will take her from here. I am her escort to the Tower,” Larel informed Vhalla’s companions.

They nodded. “We will leave her to you then,” Craig said.

Vhalla turned. “Thank you for your kindness,” she said in earnest.

“Take care, Miss Windwalker,” Daniel added, with a sad but genuine smile. “Maybe we’ll see you on the march?”

“You’ll be there?” Vhalla asked as Larel took her hand gently.

“We will,” Craig affirmed with a nod.

Vhalla opened her mouth but there wasn’t time to say anything else. She gave her guards one more nod of appreciation before allowing Larel to lead her away. Vhalla had never been more ready to leave anywhere in her life. Her head was still reeling from the verdict.

Larel lead her quietly and efficiently through the hallways of the castle. They wove between main halls and down small side passages, avoiding all people. Eventually, they arrived at a large painting of the Father. He was leaning against a pile of rubble, lusting after a distant point of light in the sky. Larel pushed it to the side, motioning for Vhalla to step through.

Vhalla immediately knew she was in the Tower, as the candles and torches had been replaced with flame bulbs. A wave of emotion washed over her, and she leaned against the stone, trying to catch her breath. It hadn’t sunk in yet. Larel rested a hand gently on her shoulder.

“Your room isn’t far,” Larel spoke softly, focused on one task at a time.

“My room?” she repeated.

“And your black robe,” she said very matter of fact. Vhalla followed her numbly to the main stairwell. They turned left and proceeded upward. They passed the door that Vhalla knew led to the room where she had healed, then they continued up. A few doors after, they reached one that looked much like any other, save for a unique steel plaque in its center. She rested her hand upon it, feeling the letters engraved on its surface, Vhalla Yarl. Larel produced an iron skeleton key and unlocked it.

The room was an upgrade from her previous quarters. It had similar standard-issue furniture. There was a decent-sized wardrobe, mirror, desk, and chair. None of this attracted her attention.

Vhalla walked over to a large floor-to-ceiling window, unhooking the latch. She stepped out onto a small balcony, barely more than a window ledge with a railing. It was the first time she had been outside in days, and the cold crisp air greeted her like an old friend.

“Is this really my room?” she asked in awe.

Larel nodded. “The minister thought, given your Affinity, that a room like this would be good for you.”

Vhalla wondered how many other apprentices in the Tower—in the whole palace—had a room with outdoor access, however small and limited.

She walked back inside. Opening the wardrobe she found all her clothes neatly hung inside.

“I brought your things,” Larel explained.

Vhalla noticed a familiar trunk beneath her bed. The rest of her meager possessions had been neatly organized at the base of her wardrobe. Vhalla bit her lip when she noticed a thick pile of notes, organized and bound tightly with a piece of twine. She looked back at Larel.