Vhalla’s cheeks burned scarlet as the room recovered from its stunned silence and burst into cheers.

“But, I regret to say, she does not yet have a drink!” Craig laughed.

Like magic, there were three glasses of varying shapes and sizes before her.

“Try this one.” Daniel placed a fourth glass in front of her; it was only the height of her fist and filled with a syrupy red liquid.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A Crimson Dragon.” He tapped his nose. “The West is known for them.”

Vhalla recognized the name and took a timid sip. It was icy cold and burned the back of her throat. She blinked away tears and held in a cough.

“Not a drinker?” Craig laughed.

“Nope!” Vhalla took another sip for good measure.

The Crimson Dragon was gone and the alcohol in two other glasses went quickly after. She and Daniel had found themselves engaged in an intense argument over the weight of a prize pig at one of Paca’s infamous festivals. Vhalla leaned on the table for support as she turned to face him.

“No, hundred,” she insisted. “I swear, I swear, that pig was a hundred stone.”

“Vhalla, you crazy Leoulian,” Daniel laughed and took another long gulp from his flagon. She watched the bump on his neck move as he swallowed. “No pig weighs anything close to a hundred stones.” He pointed a finger at her.

“Don’t you point at me.” She grabbed his index finger, a fit of the giggles overtaking her. “It is so rude.”

“Unhand me, woman.” Daniel tried to make his face serious, and Vhalla laughed at the way he pursed his lips together. Somehow everything was awfully funny right now.

“Fine. Fine. But you’re wrong, and you know it.” She leaned back into her chair.

“Vhalla, Daniel, we’re going.” Craig shook her shoulder.

Vhalla blinked, wondering when the rest of the table had stood. She’d only just started talking to Daniel.

“Where?” Her fellow Easterner was as confused as she was.

“Dancing!” Fritz twirled.

Vhalla burst out with uncontrollable laughter, almost spilling drink number ... something, everywhere.

“Do you want to go?” Larel laughed. The Western woman was looking out for Vhalla even when she had a flush to her cheeks. The big sister Vhalla never had.

“Of course!” Vhalla chirped cheerfully.

She attempted to jump to her feet and almost fell. A muscular arm quickly wrapped itself around her shoulder. Vhalla caught Daniel’s eyes in surprise. He was a lot sturdier than he looked.

“This is a bad idea,” he laughed.

“You—you will learn this the longer you’re around me: I am the queen of bad ideas.” Vhalla barely suppressed commenting about Prince Aldrik.

Daniel led her out into the night behind Fritz, Larel, Craig, Raylynn, and others Vhalla couldn’t even name.

The dance hall they ended up in was hot and hazy. Even though all the large doors on the ground floor were open to the cool night breezes, steam from sweat hovered in the room. It was a large, open, wooden space with a stage on one wall, a bar on the other, and benches lining the border—a place to rest exhausted feet.

Vhalla collapsed with a fit of laughter onto one said bench. The mass of people continued to move to the music before her. Somewhere in there Fritz was making a fool of himself with his third or fourth boy, and Larel, Craig, and Raylynn were nowhere to be found. Western dancing had loud drums, brass horns, and favored a strong rhythm. As such the steps were faster compared to the Southern style, people twisted and turned, kicked and spun around each other.

Daniel sat heavily next to her, his thigh touched hers, and he wiped sweat from his brow. He passed her a mug. Vhalla took a long drink and peered at him.

“Water?” She frowned.

“For your head, tomorrow. Start now,” he panted.

“I don’t want water.” She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed.

“Fine, but don’t cry to me in the morning.” He handed her his ale, and she took a sip before passing it back to him.

“It’s hot.” Vhalla swayed back and forth.

“Want to get some air?” he asked.

She nodded.

Instead of leading her out the main doors, he went up a side staircase. Vhalla slipped on one of the steps, and he caught her as they both burst into laughter. She leaned against the wall, trying to get her giggles under control.

“Vhalla, you’re too smart to be this stupid when you’re drunk,” Daniel wheezed between laughs. Something about the giddiness was infectious, and Vhalla slid against the wall. He caught her arm, pulling her to him. “Come on, we’ve barely taken ten steps.”

Daniel helped her upward, and the stairs led them onto the roof. They weren’t the only ones with this idea as a few others milled about enjoying the night air. Vhalla walked out to an empty corner of the roof and gasped faintly.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered in misty awe. The Crossroads was lit up across the horizon. The rectangular windows of the flat-roofed square buildings glittered across the black desert. In some windows, bright curtains of reds and maroons tinted the light; in others, stained glass projected colors onto the roads and nearby buildings.

“It’s your first time, right?” Daniel sat onto the small ledge that bordered the edge of the roof. Vhalla sat also, swinging her legs over the side. “Vhalla, careful.” He grabbed her upper arm.

“Silly,” she laughed, swaying and placing her hand on the stony clay to lean close to him. “I can’t be hurt falling—well I can’t die.” He tilted his head curiously. “Fire can’t hurt Firebearers, water can’t hurt Waterrunners, earth can’t hurt Groundbreakers, I guess?” Vhalla found herself giggling again, she had no idea. “But wind can’t kill me; I’ve fallen from higher places and lived.” She began to ramble, turning away from him.

“It’s how I had my Awakening, actually. An Awakening is when a sorcerer first has their powers really shown in full to them. Before then they just Manifest in some ways here or there without control. This is the second time a man took me to a roof. But, the last time Aldrik decided to push me off.” She made a pushing motion with her hands and started laughing. “By the Mother, I was cross with him. I was a mess too. He gave me a pretty good apology after though. Aldrik’s wonderfully complex, had a reason for most of it, even if it’s still pretty awful knowing the reason. I wish more people could’ve seen his face when he apologized—he looked like a little kid!” Vhalla roared with laughter. Hadn’t she been upset with him a few hours ago? Slowly, her giggles faded as she caught a glimpse of Daniel’s face. “What?”

“Vhalla—” he murmured, bringing his heavy flagon to his lips, “—you’ve drunk too much.” He smiled tiredly and reached over. Daniel placed his palm on her head and stroked her hair once. “No more of that, before you say something you’ll really regret in the morning.”

She found she was somehow still holding the mug of water, and she drank deeply. Vhalla found herself swaying slightly in the breeze, or perhaps it was the feeling of ale in her head. She leaned to the side and her temple found his shoulder. They sat silently, he looked back toward the roof, and she looked out over the city.

“He’s lucky,” Daniel whispered.

“He doesn’t want me,” she said for the first time aloud. Daniel’s silence was an invitation for her to continue. “I think I’m a burden, or a tool, or an amusement. Nothing more.”

“I don’t think so,” Daniel murmured. “I’ve seen him around you—we all have.”

Vhalla wondered if she imagined the swordsman leaning toward her a fraction.

She took a deep breath and grabbed for his flagon, the water forgotten a moment. Daniel relinquished it. “He wants me for his father, for their war, that’s all.”

“Then he’s more of a fool and an ass than people give him credit for.” Daniel’s fingers brushed hers as she passed the flagon back to him.