she loved, and there was no heavier guilt than that feeling.
“I’m sorry. I’m really, truly sorry. If I could do it again and fix it I would,” Vhalla said honestly.
“You don’t get that luxury.” Roan frowned. “And you don’t get my forgiveness either.”
“Roan, please—” Vhalla tried to stop the other woman as she began to head back to the desk.
“No, Vhalla Yarl, I don’t want anything to do with you. You made your choice. Go back to your Tower.” Roan looked over Vhalla’s robes. She shook her head and continued away.
Vhalla buried her face in her palms. But she didn’t cry. She allowed the air she breathed to echo through the hollow that ballooned in her chest.
This was her true punishment for the Night of Fire and Wind.
On the march, Vhalla had gained Larel and Fritz and Daniel and the rest of the guard. She’d learned the love of a prince. At war, she’d become betrothed. She’d paid the cost with her humanity, and that seemed enough to satiate the Senate.
But this—this was the final ember of the Night of Fire and Wind finally flickering out. It was extinguishing the last light of her life from before she had become the Vhalla Yarl. There was no beacon back to the past, no warmth to keep her lingering. There was only forward now.
Roan ignored her again at the desk.
“Master.” Vhalla wasn’t about to let her trip be a total failure.
“Yes?”
“Before I left, you had me bind some books from the East. I was wondering if I might read them?”
“You didn’t before?” The master was honestly surprised.
“No . . .” Vhalla had been far too distracted with other things at that point.
“I expected you had.” Mohned stroked his scraggly beard in thought. “No trouble. Come.”
He took the library’s keyring from its hook behind the desk and began the slow shuffle toward the archives. Vhalla followed silently, adjusting the sleeves on her robes in thought.
“Roan took it very hard,” the master stated the obvious. “Sareem’s death, your magic, you leaving.” Mohned sighed. “I was worried for her recovery.”
“I’m sorry.” Vhalla felt like her apologies would soon mean nothing if she kept offering them left and right.
“Sorry will neither change nor help now.” Mohned’s weathered voice was as soft as flipping pages. “Be patient, instead. Be kind in spite of her outward hostility. She still has a place for you in her heart.”
Vhalla shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“She asked about you. To every person who even breathed a word with a messenger from the North. She hung on Court gossip. She began to read books on magic.”
She couldn’t believe the same person the master was describing was the icy woman whom Vhalla had just faced.
“But presented with you, in the flesh . . . I think some wounds are still too fresh.”
“I know how that is,” Vhalla sighed.
“So give her time.”
“How long?”
“It could be weeks, months, even years. You’ll know when it begins to feel right again. When her pain has been softened by love once more.” The master paused at the door to the archives. He gave Vhalla another long look. “I am glad, truly, to see you well.”
“‘Well’ may be a matter of perspective,” Vhalla muttered. She felt thin and empty, filled with ghosts and specters.
“From my perspective, a girl I watched grow up is finally coming into her own.” Mohned smiled tiredly. “And your hair is shorter.”
“Oh.” Vhalla’s hand went up to the ends of her hair, caught off-guard by the sudden change in conversation. The master hadn’t seen her since she’d cut it. “It used to be a lot shorter.” It now was back almost to her shoulder blades.
“I prefer it long, if you’ll permit this old man’s opinion,” Mohned offered with a chuckle.
“As do I.” Vhalla smiled as Mohned unlocked the door to the archives.
She followed him down the center iron staircase to where she remembered the books to be, helping him draw back curtains for light.
“I had given you this task so that you would read,” Mohned explained as Vhalla pulled the books carefully from the shelf. “You mean to tell me the one time I intended for you to give into the distraction of reading, you were actually working?”
“It seems so.” Vhalla’s hands paused on the large tome. She remembered what Aldrik had said on the last day of her trial. “Aldrik went to you, when he knew I was a sorcerer.”
Mohned paused, and Vhalla inwardly cringed, realizing she forgot the prince’s title. The master