Vhalla threw the brush against the wall and buried her face in her hands. She didn’t want to cry anymore; she was tired of feeling weak and sad. She was tired of feeling hopeless, tired of fighting, and tired of feeling like the world was against her. Standing, she walked back over to the mirror, looking at the mass of knots halfway through her hair.

A glint of silver caught her eye, and Vhalla picked up a razor. Grabbing a hunk of hair she took a breath. The wet clump that fell to the floor was one of the most psychologically beneficial things she’d done in some time. Vhalla grabbed the next fist of hair and the razor glided through it effortlessly, then the next, and the next.

She would cut it away. She would cut away the anger, the pain, and the frustration. She’d cut and cut until she was sculpted into something better, something stronger. They wanted to kill her, so this Vhalla would die, she resolved, and a new Vhalla would be born from her ashes.

“Vhalla?” Larel’s faint voice broke the silence. Vhalla wondered why her shoulders wouldn’t stop shaking.

“It was a hopeless mess; I didn’t really like it anyways.” Vhalla shrugged at the pile of hair on the floor, as though she were indifferent to the length she had always carried on her head. Her fingers went easily though the remaining hair now, short enough that the nape of her neck showed.

“Sit,” Larel instructed, motioning to the stool in the stall while retrieving the straight razor. Larel proceeded to apply a more masterful hand to her hack job. “Do you want bangs?” Larel motioned across her own forehead at the hair that landed right before her eyes.

Vhalla shrugged. “Anything is fine.” She didn’t care much now; the healing part of her haircut was over.

Larel hummed a moment and then worked with the hair around her face. Vhalla thought she should feel nervous with someone holding a knife so close to her eyes, but she felt completely calm near Larel. The dark-skinned woman cut a low swoop that left the hair almost falling over her right eye, and began to touch up her work.

“There.” Larel stepped back. “Come here, look.”

Larel held her hand, gently leading her to the mirror. Vhalla did not recognize the person staring back at her. Dull skin and listless eyes had a dangerously piercing quality about them. She brought her fingers up to her hair. Vhalla had never worn it this short before, and she wasn’t sure who she was with it cut so severe.

“Thank you.” Vhalla didn’t know what else to say.

“You’re welcome.” Larel smiled kindly and placed a large towel around her shoulders. It felt like silk after the burlap.

Larel instructed her to sit again on the small bath stool and began to apply salves to her wounds. Larel handed her a bottle of liquid to drink that created a momentary fire in her veins. Her shoulder required closer inspection.

“Who stitched this?” Larel asked, reaching for a small tub of white paste.

“Prince Baldair,” Vhalla answered.

“Prince Baldair?” Larel repeated, raising her eyebrows. “That sounds like a story.”

“He said his brother called in a favor,” Vhalla repeated his words, but left out the remark of him wanting to do it for his own reasons as well.

“Those two... One of them is always claiming a debt of the other.” Larel clicked her tongue and shook her head.

Vhalla decided to let her questions slide.

She pondered her own relationship with the crown prince. Was she indebted to him? Could he be indebted to her? Either notion made her feel uncomfortable. She didn’t like feeling like there was a score being kept. She would do almost anything for Aldrik, it didn’t matter if she owed him or not.

Larel finished putting clean bandages and salve on her wounds. After inspecting Vhalla’s head, she left the wound bare. Vhalla dressed slowly, savoring her clean clothing.

The dark-haired woman held out a piece of black fabric to her. Vhalla looked the dangling garment for a long moment. This was who she was now. Taking it, she studied the short black jacket. It had slightly longer sleeves than Larel’s, reaching to right before her elbows, but it had the same short upward collar and stopped at her waist.

Vhalla swung it on one arm and then the next, adjusting it with both hands. She looked in the mirror at the new person staring back at her.

A sorcerer with battle scars, dead friends, and blood on her hands occupied the mirror. The frightened faces of the senators came back to Vhalla with vivid clarity. They were sending her to war, so she would go and become something they had every right to fear.

COMING IN NOVEMBER 2015

Soldier... Sorcerer... Savior... Who is Vhalla Yarl?

Vhalla Yarl marches to war as property of the Solaris Empire. The Emperor counts on her to bring victory, the Senate counts on her death, and the only thing Vhalla can count on is the fight of her life. As she grapples with the ghosts of her past, new challenges in the present threaten to shatter the remnants of her fragile sanity. Will she maintain her humanity? Or will she truly become the Empire’s monster?

“I WANT TO PRACTICE against a sorcerer,” Grun said before Vhalla could walk away from the makeshift ring. “Spar with me.”

Vhalla looked at him cautiously. She didn’t think for a minute he’d suddenly accepted her. But maybe she could show him she wasn’t dangerous, that she meant him no harm. “Very well,” she said before Daniel could object.

“Vhalla, you don’t have to.” The Eastern man took a step closer to her, dropping his voice. “Don’t feel pressured into this.”

“I don’t.” She shook her head, whispering, “Maybe it’ll be good to show him.”

“Well...”

“Are you two done whispering your sweet nothings?” Grun asked dryly, drawing his sword opposite Vhalla.

Daniel stepped away quickly, his movements jerky and nervous. Was it the heat of the desert or was there a blush across his cheeks? Daniel lifted his palm; their mark to begin sparring would be when he lowered it.

She noticed how his dark brown hair moved as his hand cut through the air, his hazel eyes darting toward hers.

Distracted, Vhalla didn’t hear Grun move until he was upon her. She turned back at the last second, making a weak attempt to dodge. He smashed the pommel of his blade against her cheek in a back-handed swing, sending Vhalla flying into the sand.

“Grun!” Daniel and Craig both called.

“Just a spar.” The mountain of a man laughed. “If she wants to forfeit, she can.”

Vhalla coughed blood onto the sand. Her lip was split, and her face already felt swollen. She blinked away stars, trying to get her feet back under her.

Grun’s boot connected with her side, echoing against her plate as he kicked her. Vhalla rolled across the sand, the wind knocked from her. She curled in on herself, phantom blows attacking her body. Gasping, she tried to push the memories of Rat and Mole’s assault out of her mind.

“Really, this is it?” Grun laughed, goading some of the onlookers into cheers. “This is the fearsome Windwalker?”

“Vhalla, forfeit.” Daniel ran over to her side.

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed, holding out a palm. Something in her eyes froze Daniel in place. Vhalla turned to Grun, feeling the wind at her back. Her heart began to race just by looking at him.