“It’s not your fault.” She shook her head, feeling guilty. “It reminded me of something ... You couldn’t have known. Please, don’t feel bad. It really was amazing.”

“If you want to talk about it,” he offered, returning to her side as they began to walk again.

“No.” She put an end to the notion sharply.

Fritz walked her all the way back to her tent. When she insisted she had no appetite, he went to dinner on the promise that he would set aside a portion for her. Vhalla wasn’t sure if he would be successful, but she was too tired to care. She barely found the energy to pull off her armor before collapsing in the bedroll.

Despite being overwhelmed and at the brink of exhaustion, sleep didn’t come. Vhalla watched shadows from campfires dance on the walls of her tent. She closed her eyes briefly, but every time she did a new horror awaited her. Vhalla wasn’t sure how much time had passed but Larel’s entrance was a relief.

“Welcome back,” she whispered.

“You’re awake?”

“Can’t sleep,” Vhalla explained the obvious.

“You need to try,” Larel ordered softly, putting her armor at the foot of her bedroll.

“How was the rest of the training?” Vhalla asked, changing the subject.

“Whenever the prince steps into the fray, the memory of your experience always lingers.” Larel rubbed her shoulder generously as she crawled under her blanket.

Silence settled heavily between them, suppressing the words that needed to be said. It lasted so long that Vhalla was sure Larel had fallen asleep. But the other woman took a slow breath. “Vhalla.”

“Yes?” she whispered back.

“I know it isn’t my business ...” Larel’s uneasy start set Vhalla’s heart to racing. “But you know he cares for you, right?”

Vhalla stared into the darkness at Larel’s shadowy outline. She shifted, her stomach getting that strange feeling again—likely because she hadn’t eaten. “He’s a friend,” she confessed for the first time to anyone. Vhalla thought back to the day in the chapel and her mind betrayed her by also flooding her with memories of a dance in the water gardens of the palace on the night of the gala. It all seemed like a dream from where she was now.

“A friend?” Larel mused over the notion aloud.

“A dear friend ...” Vhalla felt the strange urge to qualify.

Larel clicked her tongue but withheld further comment.

Vhalla curled into a ball with a sigh and finally closed her eyes. Horrors did not greet her. A prince with a golden circlet was painted across her memories.

“VHAL ... Vhal.” Fritz nudged her gently.

“What?” Vhalla yawned.

“You need to eat something.”

This again. “I’m not hungry.” She rubbed her eyes with the soft leather that covered her palms. It had been three days since the night in the forest, and none of them had mentioned training since. It made Vhalla feel all the more broken, defective.

“When was the last time you ate?” Larel was in on it now too.

“I ...” Vhalla struggled to answer the question honestly. “I ate breakfast yesterday, and dinner the night before.”

“You call that eating?” Fritz shook his head. “Those were hardly snacks.”

“Let it go.” Annoyance crept into her tone.

“Vhalla,” a voice said sternly to her left.

Apprehension filled her at the sound of his voice. Aldrik had hardly spoken to her since the night Vhalla broke down, and she hadn’t had the courage to say anything to him. It was fine to imagine that she could cut her hair and become someone strong, the monster that the Senate had every right to fear. But the moment she was presented with the beast she was, she fell apart. She was weak, so it made sense that he wanted nothing to do with her.

“You are already a risk to everyone by not being skilled in combat or having a handle on your magic. The least you can do is keep your body in good condition by eating.” He gave her a long stare. “And sleeping,” the prince added, as if noticing the darkening circles under her eyes for the first time.

With a sigh, Vhalla grabbed the meat Fritz held out to her and tore into it. It was cold, and slimy, and tasteless. The food on the march had quickly lost its novelty, and now it was just another reminder of where she was, of who she was.

“Eat it all,” Aldrik instructed dryly. “It will be more graceful if you eat it yourself rather than one of us forcing it down your throat.”

She took smaller bites, but managed to get—and keep—it all down. The food settled heavily in her stomach and threatened to come up with the swaying of the horse.

As if to capitalize on her sour mood, Elecia appeared out of nowhere and wedged herself between Vhalla and Aldrik.

“Good morning!” she said cheerfully.

Aldrik gave her a nod, and Fritz and Larel offered their greetings. Vhalla focused on the road ahead.

“Come now, do not be rude,” Elecia said with a patronizing grin.

“Hello.” Vhalla did not even make eye contact.

“My, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” Elecia laughed and clapped a hand over Vhalla’s shoulder. “Don’t be so serious!” She smiled, and Vhalla continued to ignore her. “Or not.” Elecia shrugged and turned to Aldrik. “So, I don’t know if you heard, but I recently began studying remedies for Channel blockers ...”

Vhalla was forced to spend the next two hours listening to Elecia and Aldrik discuss the properties of Channels and how they could be disrupted or blocked. The discussion was over Vhalla’s head, so she tried to tune them out. It annoyed her; they irrationally annoyed her. This woman, whom she had barely met, held a conversation with Aldrik that made Vhalla feel stupid.

Eventually her nonsensical frustration finally won and Vhalla interrupted the conversations. “So, when are we going to train again?” she asked with more conviction than she felt. All four people stared at her blankly.

“Train?” Elecia laughed. “Why would you want to?”

“Because I’m going to war,” Vhalla said sharply.

“But last time—”

“Are you sure you’re feeling up to it?” Larel interrupted Elecia.

“Is that a good idea?” Fritz said uncertainly.

“I can.” Vhalla nodded to herself. “I will.” She turned to Aldrik, searching his silence for encouragement, approval—something.

“Very well,” he said after what seemed like forever. “We need to work on your Channeling first, so we shall focus on that tonight.”

“Channeling?” Vhalla repeated.

“Wait, you mean to tell me she does not even know how to Channel?” Elecia looked between Vhalla and Aldrik. “You have hope for her, and she doesn’t even—”

“It is not your decision,” Aldrik barked harshly.

Vhalla was pleased by the amount Elecia was being interrupted. The sentiment was not shared, and the other woman adjusted her red bandana before riding off in a huff.

“What’s Channeling?” Vhalla forced herself to ask. She hated herself for not knowing, but not asking would only exacerbate the problem. Aldrik had mentioned it months ago, but he’d never bothered to explain.

“It’s how a sorcerer uses magic,” Fritz began.

“I can use magic,” she retorted in a defensive and tired tone.

“Yes, you can but,” Fritz twirled his reins around his fingers, “but not well.”

His words were like a dagger to her gut. Even he saw her as useless. Vhalla swallowed the pain of that realization, forcing it away from her eyes where it may show.

“Think of it like this,” Larel started gently. “You have a pitcher and a cup. You have to get the water from the pitcher into the cup. One way you can do it is by dipping the cup into the pitcher. But this is messy and maybe it doesn’t fit right and so on.”

“So you pour from the pitcher instead,” Vhalla finished the logic. Larel nodded and smiled. It was a welcome sight that gave Vhalla some ease.