“Vhalla,” Aldrik’s voice summoned her attention. “I want you to see what you are working toward. Reale has informed me that you have yet to master the basics.”

Vhalla nodded and ignored Elecia’s smug snort.

“Larel, Fritz, I would like for you both to pair off as a demonstration,” Aldrik commanded.

“What about me?” Elecia whined.

“You are not even supposed to be here.” Aldrik gave her a small glare, and the woman laughed. The sound made Vhalla’s skin crawl. “I would also like to see where you both are at, so do not maim or kill each other, but do not hold back.”

Larel and Fritz nodded, their faces sobering.

“Begin on my mark, then. And refrain from embarrassing yourselves.” Aldrik lifted a hand.

Fritz and Larel took a few steps away from each other, each sinking into a very different fighting stance. Fritz was more upright, his legs wide and his hands flat and lower, near his abdomen. Larel had her knees bent and her fists near her face, ready to pounce.

Aldrik dropped his hand, and Larel charged before Vhalla could blink. She drew back a fist as though she was going to throw a right hook but, at the last moment, dropped her shoulder for a left uppercut. Fritz raised his open palm, creating a shield of ice. It hissed and shattered as Larel’s fist, now swathed in flame, slammed into it.

Fritz pushed his other hand forward into her shoulder, freezing a portion of it. Larel gasped and stepped back, the ice quickly turning into a puddle around her feet. She had no time to catch her breath as he lunged. His wrist twitched, and he suddenly wielded a dagger of ice in his palm. Larel deflected by raising up her arm, and it shattered on her gauntlet.

She dropped and swept her foot on the ground, catching Fritz’s ankle and sending him tumbling backwards. Larel pulled back a flaming fist and threw her momentum into it. Fritz moved his hands as if to block, but he was too slow.

Vhalla’s hands rose to her mouth as she concealed a cry, fearful for her friend.

Larel’s fist smashed through Fritz’s face, and his body dissolved in a puff of smoke. The Western woman turned with a groan. Vhalla caught a shift in the light behind her. There was a flash of ice and Fritz faded back to sight, holding an ice dagger at Larel’s throat.

“Every time!” Larel threw up her hands, and Fritz backed away with a grin, tossing the wickedly sharp icicle aside. “Every time!” she said again, kicking the ground in frustration.

Vhalla stared in wonder.

“The minister told me about you,” Aldrik commented, taking a step over toward Fritz. “A gifted illusionist.”

“I don’t know if I’m gifted,” he said bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What, what was that?” Vhalla forced out in shock when her tongue was working again.

“She’s like a newborn bunny!” Elecia giggled to Aldrik, as though Vhalla wasn’t even there. “She has never seen illusions before.”

Aldrik shot the woman a pointed look before turning back to Vhalla, his features relaxing. “Fritz, would you like to explain it to Vhalla?” the prince ordered the Southern man, but never took his eyes off her.

“Water affinities can use the water in the air to distort the light, to create smoke screens, fogs,” Fritz started, clearly uncomfortable by the praise and attention.

“And illusions, if the sorcerer is skilled enough.” Aldrik motioned to Fritz, directing Vhalla’s attention back to her friend.

Fritz waved his hand in demonstration and an identical image formed next to him.

Vhalla gasped softly, taking a step toward the apparition. It looked like Fritz in every way, and Vhalla raised a hand—no one stopped her. The illusion dissipated under her fingertips, nothing more than a puff of vapor.

Vhalla’s eyes widened.

She was no longer standing in that forest clearing; she was living a waking nightmare. Her twisted dreams merged with the reality before her and the horrible memories that she had pushed from her consciousness. There was wind, there was fire, there was death, and there was blood splattered across her arms and face as she watched bodies torn to shreds by howling gusts. It had been her desire. She had wanted them dead. She had wanted them more than dead, she wanted the Northerners to suffer.

Vhalla took a step back, shaking her head. That wasn’t who she was.

“No,” she whispered. Someone took a step toward her; all she saw were shadows from her dreams. Shadows she ripped apart by touching. “Don’t come any closer,” she gave a quivering warning. Vhalla brought up her hands to her ears, the screams of the people whom she had murdered filling her consciousness. She realized in horrible clarity what had been haunting her, the blood on her hands that she’d been ignoring.

She felt dizzy. Her legs buckled beneath her, and her body doubled over.

“Vhalla, what’s wrong?” Fritz asked, his voice faint.

“Go,” she panted. They shouldn’t be near her. At the edge of her guilt-shattered conscious she could hear a wind roaring. Vhalla gripped her head tighter. She had meant to kill those Northerners on the Night of Fire and Wind, but she had not known what killing meant.

Two strong hands gripped her wrists and she lashed out, shaking her head and twisting her body. Vhalla attempted to knock the person away with a strong gust, but they didn’t even seem to feel it.

“Vhalla.” Aldrik’s voice was strong and level, cutting through the din of the chaos in her head. “Stop. Breathe,” he instructed, and she forced herself to oblige. His voice rang over the storm raging within her. “Open your eyes.”

Vhalla squinted open one eye, and then the next. Even though it was almost night, the world had a hazy glow to it. Aldrik was surrounded in the golden, almost white, flame that she’d seen him in before. He burned brighter than any of the others assembled. She struggled to shift her vision back to normal, and her eyes fluttered closed.

“Look at me.” Aldrik shook her.

She opened her eyes and focused on his face, slowly regaining control of her magic sight. Her breathing was ragged, and her hands trembled. Concern was written across Aldrik’s furrowed brow.

“Mother save me, I really killed them,” she gasped.

His mouth fell open a moment, but he recovered and relaxed his grip on her wrists. Aldrik stood, helping Vhalla to her feet. When she had her balance, Aldrik finally let go of her and took a step away. “Fritz, take her back to camp,” he ordered briskly.

“Is it a good idea for me to—” Fritz was uncertain.

“Do not try my patience, Charem,” Aldrik growled. He was every inch the Fire Lord.

It was all Fritz needed to spring to life. He scampered over to her and paused. “Can you walk? I mean, do you want help?”

She shook her head. “I can do it.”

Elecia stepped toward Aldrik. Her voice was low, but it was loud enough for Vhalla to hear. “She is not ready. You need to give this up now; there isn’t anything you can do for her.”

“Neiress,” Aldrik barked out Larel’s family name, ignoring Elecia. “I could use a round, if you feel up to it.”

“It would be my honor, my prince.” Larel gave a bow.

Fritz tugged Vhalla’s attention from the scene, pulling her toward the forest that was between them and camp. She glanced back over her shoulder as a fury of flames burst out in the deepening darkness. Elecia stood, leaning against a tree. The flames lit her face, and she ran her thumb across her lips in thought. Vhalla turned forward, relieved the woman wasn’t following them after Aldrik’s dismissal.

Fritz and Vhalla walked in an uneasy silence as the sounds of clanking armor and bursts of flame began to fade and meld into the growing sounds of camp. Vhalla focused on the ground, letting him lead her by the hand. She chewed over her words, trying to find some kind of explanation.

“Vhalla, I’m really, really sorry and-and I don’t know what I did but I didn’t mean to upset you.” Fritz broke the silence like a dam shattering. “I thought it’d be interesting for you to see, and I don’t know if it messed with your magic or something, but I promise I won’t do it again.”