looked at her for a long moment. Vhalla gave him an encouraging nod.
In that moment, she felt like she had lived a thousand lifetimes and loved a hundred times. She realized her own advice was true, and something about it made her yearn with sweet longing. In that moment, she wanted to see her prince more than anyone else in the world.
Grahm excused himself, and Vhalla watched him walk down the Tower. She wondered if he would head to Fritz’s room. Vhalla walked on air, following Grahm down the slope of the Tower, a couple paces behind. The second she saw the man pause at Fritz’s door, she turned and started back upward before her friend answered and she could be spotted.
Knowing Fritz was cared for, Vhalla walked past her room, continuing on. Silence settled into the Tower, and the doors became sparse. Vhalla caressed Larel’s bracelet, thinking of her friend’s words, of how Larel would advise Vhalla’s tumultuous soul.
Vhalla bypassed the minister’s office, going to an unadorned door that bore a black lock when others in the Tower were silver. She pressed both her palms to the door, leaning forward and pressing her ear against the wood. Vhalla stretched her hearing, listening for any signs of life in the room.
Silence.
Vhalla pushed away with a small sigh. It was better if she didn’t meet the prince again, privately. It was better if she stopped thinking about the man with whom she had been briefly—secretly—engaged to. It would all be better if the watch at her neck would stop giving off phantom heat at the mere thought of the man she loved.
Vhalla knocked on the minister’s door. Fritz may need time, but there was work to be done, and she couldn’t waste hours mourning a woman who had long been lost. Vhalla had done her mourning and made it a part of her. She’d carry it with her forever.
“Ah, Vhalla.” Victor smiled at the sight of her, holding open the door.
“Is now all right?”
“Certainly, come in.” He clicked the door closed behind her, heading back to his low table before a window. “Tea?”
“Why not?” She assumed the previous day’s chair, already settling into what felt like a routine.
“It’s a little different,” Victor proceeded with small talk. “I bought some lemongrass today in the market.”
“I like lemons.”
“Do you?” Victor passed her a steaming mug. “That’s good to know.”
Vhalla indulged in the steaming cup for a moment, deciding it was time to get to business. “Where do you hide the axe?”
She watched as Victor opened a secret panel in one of his cabinets, pulling out a locked box that the axe was hidden within. “No one else knows of that hiding spot.”
“Well, now someone else knows,” Vhalla remarked smartly, earning herself a chuckle. “Victor, the crystal weapons, each nation had one, didn’t they?”
“So the stories and evidence indicates,” Victor affirmed with a nod.
“Shaldan had Achel.” Vhalla motioned to the axe. “Mhashan had the Sword of Jadar. And Cyven had a scythe.”
“How did you come across that information?” He sounded impressed.
“I went to the library this morning,” Vhalla explained. “I was reading some old Eastern books in the archives and noticed every story held mention of a scythe of great power. Now that I know about the weapons, I didn’t think it could be chance.”
“It’s not.” The minister preempted her next question. “Though if it still exists, it’s not been mentioned in hundreds of years.”
“Did Lyndum have a weapon?”
“Lyndum was rumored to not have a weapon, but a crown.” Victor pressed his fingertips together in thought.
“A crown?” It made no sense.
“In some lore, the weapons were wielded by the Goddess herself as she forged and cultivated the earth and life. The crown was the symbol of her dominance over all things.” The minister paused to sip his tea, collecting his thoughts. “But if it’s true, the crown has been lost to time as well.”
“What about the sword? The Knights of Jadar said it was stolen by a Minister of Sorcery.”
“Egmun got his hands on it,” Victor affirmed, confirming her worst fears.
“He took it to the caves,” she continued. Something began to creep on the edge of her memory. Something about this story was familiar, despite having never heard it before.
“He did.” Victor watched her carefully.
“And then he . . .” Vhalla placed a palm on her forehead. A sword. A crystal sword. The axe glowed faintly before her, as though the whole universe was contained within it and all she had to do was