Page 107

Baldr emptied the contents of his stomach onto the forest floor behind his tent.

He almost hadn't made it to the privacy of the dark woods before he started choking on bile.

The blood-curdling screams from the parents witnessing their children be possessed by the shadow draugr that Vilde created would haunt him for the rest of his days.

"The young blood works as a better conductor for the transfer of galder .

They are much more impressionable this way," Vilde explained with a wide smile on her face as she traced a long fingernail down the side of a young boy's face.

"My shadow draugr need strong, young bodies to transfer their incorporeal forms successfully. "

The youngling tried to swallow his fear and be brave for his parents, who watched, but the fire in his palms sparked when Vilde brought the small iron band out and clamped it around his throat.

The fire he'd been controlling vanished in a puff of smoke as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, his small body collapsing.

The mother shot forward, trying to wrap her bloodied fingers around Vilde's throat, but Helvig flicked out his fingers and a vine shot out to restrain the woman. She had fought the hardest for her child, even though all the parents had been difficult to hold back.

"Iona," the man who had been at her side breathed. His injuries were far worse than hers, his face swelling beyond recognition.

Unable to decide who to go to, the woman named Iona crumpled until only her restraints held her in place. Helvig released her so she would hit the ground, a snide chuckle escaping the King.

He'd had to leave after that. If he had stayed, he would have blown his cover by pulling the family to safety.

Already, he felt slimy for not standing in.

His duty was getting in the way of the things he wanted to do and the people he wanted to help.

He'd allowed himself to become lax about the injustices the King of Flame committed every day in the name of his duty to spy and relay back information to Nida.

It was starting to feel like the duplicity of this scheme wasn't worth the violent guilt he felt. Once, he had been able to separate himself from the injustice, but now? It ate at him every second of the day. Ever since he'd had to torture the General of Rivers.

He hated himself for it.

Duty had become a thin excuse for why he did the things he did.

He'd believed in his mission, had accepted the consequences, and had known the monster he'd needed to become to perform his role.

But those long hours spent in the cells below the Palace of Wind and Embers with the Kolbeck general had chipped away at his resolve.

Periods of their sessions had been wiped from the Rivers General's mind thanks to the use of a tonic he had bought discreetly from a healer in Logi.

Baldr had wanted to purchase a tonic for himself— the bliss of ignorance was almost too tempting to resist. But he had withstood.

His punishment would be the clawing shame that ravaged his soul for the rest of his miserable existence.

At least he would be able to spare the Rivers General some of the pain.

Not that it made Baldr feel any better for carrying out his orders.

He could have done more for him. He should have done more.

The burning loathing in the General's eyes when he had tried to kill Baldr the day he'd helped him escape proved that he would hold a grudge for the rest of his days. Good— he deserved the detestation aimed at him.

Grabbing the skin of water outside his tent, Baldr washed his mouth out before heading inside the tent to prepare for the fight at daybreak.

Per Helvig's request, he was to command the army from the back.

He'd call out orders and execute attack plans from the rear so he could see how the fight was progressing .

It went against everything he knew— their culture encouraged them to be the attacker, to be on the front lines to fight for their beliefs. But Helvig would have him send his men out first.

They weren't his men anyway; he wasn't sure why it bothered him so much to suddenly realize how alone he was in this position.

The only thing he could hold on to was the journal from the late Queen of Flame— the mysterious book that opened when he spilled his blood onto the clasp but revealed blank pages to anyone but him.

He flipped through a few pages absently, unsure of if he was going to finally sit down and read a passage or not, when the journal fell out of his hands when a rough wind blew into his tent. The book landed on the ground, pages open to the beginning of an entry about halfway through the journal.

Curiosity overwhelmed Baldr at the sight of the neat writing.

I don't write about him often. I don't wish to endanger him if these journals were to be found and the protective seals broken.

I try not to even think of him.

But that is the curse of my heart, of my fate.

To love from afar, to be no more than the starting block for Helvig's downfall.

If all I have been able to do is bring these lights into the darkness of the world, then my love for them will embolden their purpose— to illuminate the night sky as their predecessors before them.

So on this day, the day that marks Maude's sixth winter in this world, I think of him and pray to the gods that he is happy and healthy even if he never hears my voice again.

Baldr tried to do the math in his head— the Queen of Flame had died ten years ago when the Heir was sixteen. This would make this entry twenty years old now. So he and the Heir were born in the same year, he surmised.

He blinked a few times as the information settled in him.

Rapidly, different fragments of information started to throw themselves at him: he'd grown up an orphan, bouncing from home to home in Logi for as long as he could remember until he'd gone out on his own, memories of a white-haired older woman caring for him, the ability to read the words in the Queen of Flame's journal when no one else could…

. the inexplicable connection he felt with the Heir when their paths crossed.

The room started to spin as he lifted his head to look out the open flap of the tent, his hands shaking as he stowed the journal away into his pack.

Could it be true? Or had he manifested this convoluted path of explanation out of loneliness?

The question he feared would never be answered burned in Baldr's soul: who was the Queen of Flame writing about in that entry?

Hours later, perched on the back of a black war horse, Baldr sat stone-faced by Helvig's side at the rear of the army as they infiltrated the Lamenting Woods.

The Lieutenant General of Rivers had provided the hidden path they needed to follow in order to cross the threshold into Veter.

Already, the lavender rays of the dawning sun had started to peek over the horizon.

He was sure that Kolbeck was ready; his warnings had been sent within plenty of time to prepare.

He assumed they had arrived since the northern scouts he'd sent out had not returned, and he doubted that they had deserted the cause.

Helvig inspired only the most hateful thoughts in his soldiers— insisted on it.

"We're breaking through the tree line," one of the sergeants shouted from ahead.

"Hold your position!" Baldr ordered. "Your Majesty, I must insist again that you should remain behind in this battle. Leave the fight to your soldiers."

Helvig snorted, his dark honey hair tinged with red in the growing sun. "I shall stay and watch at the very least. I've been patiently waiting for this day to arrive. I want to be here when Alva surrenders."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Baldr murmured, keeping his focus peeled on the horizon.

Remorse gnawed at him as he tried to prepare for what they were about to do. Surely, countless would die as their armies clashed. They had not even brought their entire force, and they still outnumbered the Kingdom of Rivers soldiers by ten to one.

It would be a slaughter .

Though he had been caught up in his vile mood since he'd stepped out of his tent, Vilde's absence had not gone unnoticed. She wasn't at Helvig's side, as a Queen should be when their armies were about to attack.

His mood darkened as he realized she was probably still tearing her way through the lives of innocent families for the children's galder .

Flames flickered in his periphery, the fury of his realization burning through whatever hesitation he was having about maintaining his position at Helvig's side.

He would help those families escape the wicked Elven's clutches, even if it meant he had to sacrifice his life to do so.

Ahead of them, he could see through the trees and the heavy mist of the early morning that still clung to the ground all the way to the perimeter the Kingdom of Rivers had created.

Giant spikes carved from fallen trees jutted out at them in close-knit clusters all the way around the camp until a small break in the front.

It was there that Herrick Kolbeck, General of Rivers, stood in front of his army with his battle axe in hand.

The man was a beast of a warrior— dressed only in trousers and a tunic that hung openly in the front to display his iron-free neck and numerous burn marks, all granted to him under Baldr's hand.

The sight made him sick. He swallowed roughly at the evidence of his brutality. He had to be merciless in case Helvig ever came to supervise the questioning, which he had frequently. Those were the sessions Baldr had erased from Herrick's mind in an attempt to preserve his mind.

It may have been a small mercy, but that didn't change the things he had done.

At his side was Hakon Kolbeck, Heir of Rivers, and on his other side was Brynna Helvig. The Heir of Flame was nowhere to be found, even as he searched the many faces gathered behind them.

He searched until he stumbled upon dark amethyst gaze.

Heat rippled through him as their eyes met across a battlefield where he was fighting for the wrong side.

His every muscle burned with the need to reach her side, to throw down his sword and shed the Flame armor he wore, and join the people he truly fought for .

Her pupils flared as she recognized him, giving him only the smallest of nods that she saw him.

All this time, he'd dreamed of what it would be like to see her again and how he would feel. And now she stood before him, her ears curved and hidden beneath her braids with her twin daggers drawn in opposition to the army he fought with.

Yes, he was a spy for her. Yes, he was only here to gather intel. But it still wounded him to be on the conflicting side of his Dahlia.

Herrick raised his axe into the air with one hand, a single battle cry on his tongue as he led his soldiers toward slaughter. They didn't have the numbers; they both knew that.

But Baldr had his duty, and Herrick had his.

Only now, Baldr needed to stay alive long enough to free the families from Vilde's evil clutches.

The thought invigorated him as he eyed up the Flame Soldiers lined up in front of him, marking each and every one of them for death as he swore to the Allfather that he would make amends for his crimes one way or another.

Helvig shouted orders to his armies, launching them all into action. Soon, the two armies were clashing on all fronts— cries of battle and screams of death surrounded them even as the Lamenting Woods tried to dampen the cadence of war that had broken in Ahland.