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Herrick watched as a droplet of water formed in the corner of his cell, the liquid growing heavier until it lost against gravity and splashed onto the floor.

Drip, drip, drip, drip.

Each dull splatter that rained on the damp stone reverberated in his ears, the cadence one that he had attached his hopeless mind to.

At some point, it had become so in tune with his pulse that he couldn't separate himself from the monotony of the sound.

Time was now static, his body eternally painfully raw to its surroundings as the cold air skimmed across his scorched flesh.

Maybe he was losing his senses. It didn't seem to matter anyway.

For hours, maybe days, Herrick listened to the slow drip to pass the time.

Baldr had not returned after his last visit.

At some point, the man had just stopped asking questions, preferring to hold his flames close enough to Herrick's skin so that it would blister slowly.

His throat was raw from how much he must have been screaming, trying everything in his power to separate Maude's flames from Baldr's in his mind.

He didn't want the fresh memories of his torture to infiltrate his only memories of the woman he loved.

Except, the longer the sessions wore on, the more he thought of Maude.

He had never feared her flames before, perhaps because he had access to his water galder and could protect himself.

But in this imprisoned state of not only his flesh but his galder ?

He was vulnerable in a way he had not felt since he was a youngling.

The last of the burn salve had been used up, his skin still raw and bright red, but it had eased the sting. The day after the salve had appeared in his cell, a small pouch of dried meat had been left in the same location. The day after that, a flask of watered-down wine that he was still rationing.

Someone in the palace was trying to help Herrick through this imprisonment.

After the wine had appeared, he had become suspicious of the person secreting things into his cell when he slept.

But when he had eaten and drank his fill from the gifts, he could no longer deny that he felt stronger for it.

Even if the salve hadn't been able to heal all of his burns, it had helped him stay healthy from infection.

The burns would permanently mar his skin, but Herrick couldn't care less about that.

Rousing himself for the first time in days, he launched into the routine he had created for himself those first two weeks he had been imprisoned.

If someone was trying to help him, that meant his friends were coming, and he needed to be ready to fight his way out of Logi so he could finish what Maude had started.

In his isolation, Herrick had turned over every reason for why Maude had left him in Dagsbrun.

The note she had left him forced him to believe that she hadn't wanted to leave him in some small part of her soul.

Maude was not one to beg forgiveness. He had seen the rage and need in her eyes to get to her father when Herrick had found her on the walls outside Logi, drenched in the blood of the soldiers stationed there.

Even then, he could see she had not wanted to leave his side. So he had let her go.

He was just finishing his routine when the torches that burned low on the walls flared to life, casting the dark stone into stark relief as two figures approached his cell.

Invisible ropes of air wrapped themselves around his wrists and ankles, pulling him toward the wall against his will.

Fighting against the restraints, Herrick stilled when the Flame King came into view beyond the bars of his cage.

“Ah, Prince Kolbeck.” Helvig's velvet-smooth voice rang through the silence of the dungeons, his words a knell that only promised suffering. "My High General reports that you have not been compliant with his questioning."

Tension hung between them as Herrick glared at the man who had sired Maude.

Try as he might, Herrick could not find a single thing in Helvig's features that reminded him of his eldr , only the harsh memories of her youth that she had shared with him in that quiet bedroom in Dagsbrun. Helvig looked at him expectantly .

"Did you need something, King of Flame?" Herrick asked, hoping that by angering the King, he would get to the point of this visit.

"I see now that Baldr has his work cut out for him," Helvig chuckled. "I trust he will succeed. The way he rose through the ranks after my previous general's failure and my lieutenant general's soft heart impressed me. My new regime will need his strength."

Herrick snorted. Regime? This man thought himself above the gods themselves.

"I suppose you'll have heard that I have been proclaimed the High King of this land," Helvig continued as if Herrick was not even there. "Many thanks to you and my daughter for helping me to achieve this goal, by the way. You both played so easily into my scheme."

Helvig tried to hide it, but Herrick saw the king swallow harder after speaking of Maude.

He watched as the King of Flame tried to shake off the lingering grief before he placed a hand on the pommel of the dagger he had strapped to his belt.

From where he was held against the wall, Herrick could see the blanched color of the blade so aptly named the Bone Dagger.

"This news is what brings me to you, Prince," he said, his hazel eyes burning into Herrick's with a hint of restrained madness in them. "Tomorrow, I shall be crowned the High King before all of Logi, and you, my captive, will be the sacrifice I plan to offer the gods in thanks for their favor."

His time had run out. Herrick tried to find any semblance of panic in his veins at the words, but all he could think was that he could finally join Maude in the hall of the gods.

As soon as he thought the words, sorrow flared in his chest. He would be leaving his friends, leaving Hakon.

He knew they would find their way, but Herrick's fight, it seemed, was over.

"Last chance to beg for mercy, Prince," Baldr offered from behind Helvig.

Herrick only gave them both a sharp smile. Helvig chuckled at the sight and turned on his heel, leaving him alone in his cell once more.

The morning of his execution, Herrick found one last gift under his blanket.

A thin dagger, the length of his palm, with a note wrapped around the hilt.

His "friend" in the palace had given him one last chance to fight his way out.

He couldn't help but wonder if the gods were interfering when his eyes beheld what the note read.

Be ready. You'll know when to use it.

Below the words was a single rune etched in ink so red it reminded Herrick of his eldr's hair.

Gebo .

Unity and partnership.

Herrick would not die today. He would take this chance and make it count.