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.

“Oh, still have some fight in you?” Grun chuckled as Vhalla stood. “Well, at least our Black Legion makes good punching bags. We should thank the Fire Lord for the only thing he’s ever given us.”

“Take it back.” Vhalla could barely hear herself over the racing heartbeat in her ears.

“Or wha—” Grun didn’t finish his sentence as Vhalla’s fist met the side of his face.

The man was built like a rock, and Vhalla could feel the bones in her arm compress through her shoulder as she punched his cheek. Her hand stung but she ignored it, quickly landing from her leaping punch and darting back.

Grun let out a cry of rage and swung his sword at her.

“Why do you hate me? Why do you hate us?” she cried, her body dodging the swings of his blade deftly.

“Because you’re abominations!” Grun shouted, attempting to grab her plate.

Vhalla was too fast and batted his hand out of the way, spinning around his side. “We are your comrades! We don’t want to fight you!”

“Says the woman who killed countless people on the Night of Fire and Wind!” Grun raised his blade over her head and brought it down on Vhalla’s shoulder. The clang of metal on metal was sharp and set her ear to ringing as she crumpled.

They thought she was a murderer.

“I didn’t kill them,” Vhalla whispered.

“Liar!” Grun raised his blade again. “They should’ve killed you that night!”

The goliath swung straight for her head. Vhalla stared at the blade as the world devolved into chaos at Grun’s clearly murderous intentions. This was not a spar; the man intended it to be an execution.

Vhalla raised her hand and the wind ripped Grun’s blade from his fingers, sending it far off into the sand in the distance. She swept her palm in front of her body and a secondary gust knocked Grun on his side. As Vhalla stood, she pressed her hand downward, holding the man to the ground despite his struggles.

“I am not your enemy,” she whispered in a disturbingly calm voice. “So I cannot die this day. I will not die until you see the truth.”