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Adrenaline rushed through Herrick’s veins as the morning hours passed, bringing him closer and closer to his execution. The chains that kept the iron band around his throat burned into his skin, the icy heat from the galder suppressing metal working itself into his very bones.

The small dagger was strapped to the inside of his forearm with a flimsy strip of fabric he had torn from the blanket, the metal cooler than he would have thought possible in the dungeons below the Palace of Wind and Embers.

The person responsible for Herrick owning a weapon had left little instructions beyond the rune gebo drawn onto their last note.

He wasn’t sure why the sight of the symbol had resonated with him, but he knew to trust the feeling that hadn’t escaped him since he’d read the note.

Be ready.

Herrick was ready, but for what, he didn’t know yet.

Listening for any changes in movement from outside his cell, Herrick quickly tried to remember the layout of the palace.

He knew that they would be coming to retrieve him from the cells for the sacrifice soon, but he wasn’t entirely sure when.

The execution would take place when the sun was at its highest peak; only the King of Flame would pick such an ostentatious time to present a “sacrifice.”

Slow, steady footsteps echoed down the long hall leading to his cell.

Herrick braced himself for who he knew was about to show his face beyond the bars of his cage.

If his brother was coming to free him, he was running out of time.

The mental countdown until Herrick would be standing on a podium, strapped to a pyre, and overlooking the nobility of Logi continued to inch closer and closer to his death .

“You two, clear the halls leading to the front gates of the palace,” Baldr’s smooth voice breezed over to Herrick. “We don’t want any mistakes when we escort our valued guest to his honored fate.”

“Yes, sir,” the two guards said in unison before turning and heading back the way Baldr came as the High General appeared before his prisoner.

Alone, they glared at each other. Herrick felt his rage swell in him, the ice in his galder turning his blood frigid as he looked at his torturer for all these weeks.

He winced as the iron around his throat sapped his galder the moment it froze over.

Baldr smirked at whatever he saw in Herrick’s face.

“I see you are still resisting your fate, Prince,” Baldr crooned. “Not one to give up the fight, are you?”

Herrick bared his teeth in a grin, the movement uncomfortable as it stretched the unused muscles in his face. “Come to this side of the bars and find out.”

Baldr chuckled. With a lazy wave of his hand, he unlocked the cell and moved to step forward.

Shouts echoed from down the hall where Baldr had come from, the high-pitched screech of metal on metal distracting Herrick for a moment.

Be ready. You’ll know when to use it.

The hidden blade tingled against Herrick's skin as the clashing metal got louder. Guards shouted for help, finally dragging Baldr’s attention away from Herrick long enough for him to pull the dagger into his palm.

The soft click of a lock opening sounded behind Herrick, and the chains holding him prisoner to the wall by the iron band on his throat fell slack. No longer tethered, Herrick stepped forward once. Twice. Nothing held him back now.

He tried to summon his water, but the band around his neck still suppressed his galder . That was fine; Herrick preferred to fight this fight with his bare hands anyway.

Baldr turned to face him, his hand landing on the pommel of his sword right as Herrick lunged forward. He lifted his arms to block Herrick’s attack, but was too late. The dagger sliced down Baldr’s forearms, the blade cutting through cloth and leather armor like it was air .

Grunting in pain, Baldr threw Herrick’s weight off him.

His back slammed into the far wall of the corridor, stealing the breath from his lungs for a moment.

Scrambling to his feet, Herrick put the dagger back in its makeshift sheath on his arm and attacked the General again, his fists flying in a rage he didn’t know he possessed.

The two tumbled through the dirty hall, further into the dungeons and away from the clash of battle that had distracted Baldr long enough for Herrick to attack.

Worry surged through him as they fought; his strength was leaving him faster than he thought possible. The iron around his neck seemed to be sapping his galder from him as well as whatever physical strength remained after his imprisonment.

The shouts down the hall grew closer as Herrick managed to get on top of Baldr, his knees wrapped in a tight vice around the bastard's chest. It occurred to Herrick then that Baldr had not used his galder against him yet. The High General had chosen to fight back with fists rather than the fire that had burned through Herrick’s skin so many times that the scent of his scorching flesh would never leave him.

“You won’t get away,” Baldr wheezed, blood dripping from the nose Herrick had just shattered with his fist. The words sounded hollow, like he didn't really mean them. Another mind game.“The palace is too well guarded. Whoever has risked their necks for you won't make it out alive.”

Herrick felt that icy rage overwhelm him again. He knew who would risk coming after him, and he would not allow them to fall today just for his worthless life.

“You know me, General,” Herrick said as he reached for the dagger again. “I’m not one to give up a fight.”

Herrick brought the dagger down over Baldr, aiming for his chest. Whether the reaction was out of instinct or self-preservation, Baldr lifted a hand to block the knife.

Herrick felt the blade pierce Baldr’s palm before slicing through the bones and ligaments.

His blood splashed across his face, the heat a reminder of all the times this man had held his flame to Herrick’s chest in an attempt to break him.

Baldr roared as Herrick pulled the dagger out and moved to stab him again. Before he could, though, a voice shouted his name from down the hall. A voice he knew as well as his own.

“Herrick, we have to run! ”

Familiar caramel hair, longer than it had been before, was tied back into a tight knot behind his neck, and deep blue eyes found his. Herrick almost sagged from the relief of seeing his brother fighting to get to him. He nearly forgot about the bastard he had pinned beneath him.

“Leave him; we have to go now ,” Hakon shouted again as he felled the last soldier in his way and sprinted toward him. “Our window is closing.”

Herrick looked down at Baldr. He was so close to getting his revenge, so close to evening out the score between them.

But he couldn’t let Hakon get trapped in the palace with him.

His brother reached them before Herrick could act on the anger that had been riding him for weeks, pulling him off the High General.

“ Now ,” Hakon said again as he slammed an axe into his hand.

Baldr had begun to stand, his hand still bleeding profusely from the wound. Soon, it was wreathed in flames to burn it closed.

“Next time I see you, General, I will kill you,” Herrick said as Hakon started to drag him down the hall toward the sound of more shouts and fighting. “I swear to all the gods that the last thing you’ll see before you die is my face.”

Baldr launched a fireball at him, the heat from it stinging the side of his face with how close it had come.

“Soldiers! Bring me the prisoner!” Baldr roared as he struggled to his feet.

“Until next time,” Herrick taunted with a mock bow before he turned and sprinted after his brother. Hakon erected a wall of thick ice behind them to buy some time so they could escape, but he knew they had only minutes.

“It's good to see you,” Herrick huffed as he kept up with Hakon’s fast pace, the walls of his throat threatening to clog with the relief of seeing him.

He was starting to tire more rapidly and he knew he didn't have a lot of time left before the iron around his neck took the last of his strength.

He just hoped he could make it to wherever Hakon had come from before he collapsed.

The dark hall of the dungeons was littered with dead and dying Flame Soldiers that Hakon had cut down. The number of soldiers guarding his cell was staggering.

“Did you do this all yourself?” Herrick asked as they slowed to turn a corner.

“I had some help,” Hakon replied, his hand going to Herrick’s chest to stop him from rounding the corner. “Herrick, I need you to keep your head long enough for us to get to safety. Can you promise this?”

Dread filled him. “Of course.”

His brother nodded once before edging around the corner again, looking toward where the fighting was thickest. A flash of copper, like a burning flame, peeked out from between the new black uniforms belonging to the Flame Soldiers.

Bryn. Maude’s sister was here fighting with Hakon.

Relief flooded him. He had kept his promise to Maude.

By allowing her to escape with his friends, Herrick had kept her safe.

Now she was here, risking her life to free him in exchange.

Herrick wasn't sure how to deal with that, but it didn’t seem impactful enough for Hakon to have warned him ahead of time.

“It would be helpful if you swung that axe and helped, Kolbeck!” Bryn shouted to him, shooting them a feral grin as she sliced through the solder in front of her.

If she regretted cutting down the men and women she had trained, it didn’t show on her face.

Herrick threw himself into the fight, his axe and dagger showing no discrimination between the soldiers who put themselves in the way of his anger.

For weeks, he had stewed in his hatred, letting it consume him.

He had withstood torture, and never once had he given up his friends or his family.

Now, his blood sang at the sight of Flame Soldiers falling beneath his strength.