Page 39

Baldr leaned one hand against the wall of his cabin on board the longship he had sailed to find the Kolbeck brothers under the order of the Flame King, breathing deeply as his nausea and dizziness washed over him.

He had used too much galder this morning, the effort it had taken to fend off the Rivers General and the Flame Soldiers had strained him, but the sickness he now expected from his actions had bubbled in his stomach until it had almost overwhelmed him.

Every time Baldr had to partake in his duties that went against his morality, it left him sick to his stomach.

It was like his body was rejecting the actions he took to keep his cover as the High General of Ahland.

When he had been a Flame Soldier, things had been simpler— there was no need for deeds that grated against his soul.

His true job coming to light would end in execution, but that never bothered him as much as it should have.

The amount of times Baldr had stared into the darkness of his office late at night after each encounter with Kolbeck, going back and forth with himself on whether he deserved to keep breathing, left him with the unsettling feeling that he didn't recognize himself anymore.

He was a shell of who he used to be: someone honorable, someone who believed in making hard choices in the name of better fate.

He'd never imagined that he would have to be the one doing monstrous things to an innocent just so he could keep his position.

Was Ahland worth the sacrifice of tarnishing his soul in the name of protecting the innocent citizens of their land?

Even if it meant he had to bring the General of Rivers down with him?

Baldr couldn't answer that anymore .

He knew he would one day have to face the judgment of the gods over his actions all done in the name of duty, but he didn't care where it landed him.

He deserved to rot in Hela's domain for the things he had done to that innocent man.

Helping him escape would never atone for the scars the Rivers General now held— both physical and mental.

In the escape, Baldr had sent soldiers away from the halls under the ruse of the coronation demanding different patrol routes so that when he freed Herrick, he only had Baldr to go after and not an entire unit of soldiers that would not hesitate to end the General of Rivers' life.

The attack was expected— he was the villain in Kolbeck's story, but Herrick had only been able to get a few blows in before the Heir of Rivers pulled him off Baldr. The stab wound to his hand had been the worst of his wounds even though it did not bother him nearly enough as it should.

With his injured hand, he wiped his mouth clean before he unwrapped the bloody bandage.

The two inch wound on his palm was outlined in red from the aggravation of his movements.

It throbbed, each flexion of his fingers or twitch of his muscles sending waves of sharp pain up his arm.

Since he had rewrapped it a few hours ago, the wound had already started to heal thanks to the galder in his blood.

The thin line was surprisingly jagged running from the base of his index finger to the middle of his palm, the deep red tissue of the center now smoothed over from the burns he'd inflicted. It would scar, even if the tissue would try to heal on its own over the years.

He wished it wouldn't. The reminder of all the things he had done would stay with Herrick forever— why did he get to forget?

So he'd burned the wound with a pulse of his fire, forever imprinting it on his palm as a reminder of how much he deserved to rot.

Not that the Rivers General would find it adequate repayment, he had made that very clear.

Only Baldr's death would repay the trauma.

Sitting back, he began rewrapping his hand in clean linen after washing it.

They would arrive back at the palace in a few hours and he would have to try and explain why he had failed in bringing the Kolbeck's back to Logi.

Hopefully, Helvig was in a better mood today.

If he wasn't, Baldr only prayed his ending would be swift .

Too soon, Baldr stood with his back straight and hands behind his back, weathering the verbal assault he was being subjected to by King Helvig about his failed attack.

Blood dripped from his bandaged hand, the soft drip, drip, drip of the viscous fluid hitting the marble becoming a cadence he held on to as his head swam from pain and exhaustion.

He glanced down to the puddle of blood from his hand staining the gaudy marble floor and thought it actually looked better that way.

He quickly compartmentalized every thought and sensation, storing it away for a later time. All of his energy was going into maintaining his facade.

He watched dispassionately as the King's face turned a dark shade of purple, the air in his lungs going into the hateful words he spewed instead of the blood needed to fuel his body.

The soldiers behind him were long dead after Helvig had suffocated them in a fit of his rage, but Baldr didn't notice.

He had barely glanced at the fallen soldiers, their black uniforms crumpling as their bodies hit the marble floor of the throne room.

The nobles behind Helvig put on a brave face during this meeting, but Baldr could see how the fear in their eyes was a glaze over their false shells.

The throne room was ostentatious. The gold trimming and filigree, the black marble floors that seemed to work in opposition to the blood-red walls, the pillars holding ash tree carvings of the gods twice his size that the King did not acknowledge, and the large windows behind the throne with a stunning view of Logi the King refused to look upon— it all disgusted Baldr, everything it stood for.

Detached, he observed all of this with a limited attention span.

"—complete lack of forethought in handling this mission has made me question your ability to maintain this role, General," Helvig was shouting, his hazel eyes burning with the fury Baldr knew could wreak havoc on the city.

His attention snapped back to the present at the threat of losing his position.

"My deepest apologies, Your Majesty. The Kolbeck Prince's had a small contingent of soldiers with them who overwhelmed our forces.

It was unknown to us that they were traveling in such a large group, we were unprepared.

It was an error that will never be repeated.

I never claimed to hold the same level of strategy that you possess, my King, only that I have achieved an above-average knack for it. "

Baldr bowed deeply when he finished, hoping the King would succumb to the flattery when he had no better explanation to account for how the pursuit had ended. Not one that he would accept, anyway. How was he supposed to tell the King that he had orchestrated the failure to the best of his ability?

Helvig grumbled a bit, settling back into his ridiculous golden chair. "Who was traveling on this ship?"

Baldr exhaled the tiniest breath of relief but let the feeling pass quickly in case it showed.

"The Kolbecks, the traitor Lieutenant General, a tall shieldmaiden who has been known to travel with the Princes, a few of the vitki prisoners who were freed, and a few Elven, Your Majesty," Baldr listed, his words succinct and monotone.

"And what of the woman who carved a new chasm through my palace grounds?" The King asked.

"If she was there, I did not cross her path, Your Majesty," he lied. "Perhaps they were separated before the battle."

His heart thundered in his chest as instinct told him to remain silent on her existence, at least for now.

He didn't know why his intuition was to protect her, but the stone sitting in his gut told him it was right.

Jasmine and the burning cedar that belonged to her had felt known to him, like they had met before and he couldn't remember when.

"Perhaps. Order a ship of soldiers to patrol the northern border. If they catch sight of this woman, they are to capture her and bring her to me. As for the Kolbecks," Helvig said, running a pale finger over his mouth that was twisting into a cruel smirk. "Jonas!"

Helvig called for his steward. The man moved fluidly to where the King stood, his unfazed demeanor impressing Baldr, as usual.

"Your Majesty," Jonas said as he bowed deeply.

"Fetch Vilde, have her meet me here," he ordered before looking over his shoulder to the nobles standing behind him. "Get out. "

They did not hesitate, all bowing as they passed the King and then half-hopping, half-running out of the door to safety. Baldr watched them move, a bored expression on his face. He went to bow and take his leave, but Helvig stopped him.

"General, you are to meet me in the War Room at moon rise. We have some planning to do," the King said as he nodded his dismissal.

Baldr bowed, his bloody fist crossed over his chest, before straightening and pivoting.

The bodies of the soldiers he had commanded were being cleared away as he left the throne room.

He clenched his fists, resisting the urge to douse them with his flames.

Once he was past the threshold of the throne room with the door shut firmly behind him, Baldr finally deflated a bit.

The hall was deserted, the blood-red walls encroaching on him as he hurried back to the soldier's barracks and his office.

He had a few hours to reign himself in before he had to play cruel General with the King again.

Just when Baldr was about to turn the corner, a tall, slender figure appeared from behind the hidden door in the wall a few paces in front of him.

While hidden doors were not so uncommon to him now, the woman who stepped out from behind it was.

Or should he say female?