Herleif blinked away the tiredness from his eyes but was not ready to turn in for sleep. Wandering through the ongoing revelry, having given up on the search for Gunnar and his prickly lover long ago, he walked until it felt like he had traversed half the city. Everywhere, people still laughed, sang, and drank away the night, but there were others too who had already succumbed to the vast quantities of ale and mead, now passed out in some gutter or tavern or slumbered in another person's arms.

At one point, he caught the odd sight of Helge, Ragna, and Ragnar heading to their tent, with the addition of Marcelo joining their merry little band. He could only imagine how the young Knight would fare, outnumbered as he was, but he trusted that Helge and the twins would go easy on him. He hoped so, for Marcelo's sake.

The stars shone brightly as he rounded a corner and found the city gate rising before him in the distance. The gatehouse loomed black against the sky, blacker than night, a charred husk of blasted stone and wood after the fires of their attack had burned out. Somehow, seeing it from within the high walls was more foreboding than when he had stood on the other side. A chill ran down his spine to think of how he and his warriors might be trapped by Erik's mad whims, but he forced himself to keep a calm head and continued on.

Once he finally made his way to the gate, he saw that it was still guarded by a large group of Erik's men, all alert as they had forgone drinking for the night and were all the grumpier for it. There was still no way out of the city, but if he could not get out beyond the walls, then he would simply get a look from atop them instead.

Finding a set of stairs, he scaled them to the ramparts not far from the blackened gatehouse and took a moment to gaze out across the plain. His breath smoked in the cold night air despite knowing that the sun, which was barely an orange sliver on the horizon, would bring about yet another hot day soon. The plain itself was empty, a barren field silent and still. From the northwest were the geyser fields that protected their flank, and to the south beyond the plain was the forest that had funneled their advance to the city.

All was quiet, with no shape or shadow taking flight across the open expanse.

Perhaps they were alone, and there was no cause for alarm after all. This was a treacherous land of shifting earth, deep lava flows, and acidic lakes, all brought about by the volcano's destruction from the time of the Cataclysm. There were also wolves and other beasts that still held dominion over the wild places people had yet to reconquer. Erik's scouts could have fallen victim to any number of tragedies while out on their own or simply had nothing yet to report back on and so ventured ever further for any sign of danger. It was still too soon to tell, and Herleif willed himself to relax and simply enjoy the view for what it was; a beautiful spot from which to watch the coming dawn.

With a quiet sigh, he began to walk the length of the wall, feeling no less aimless for the chance to get a glimpse outside of the city himself. A few guards were on watch, no doubt having upset some superior or drawn the short straw when it came to manning the ramparts while their shield brothers feasted and drank. They saluted Herleif as he passed but likely would have paid him no mind if he was of a lower station. All seemed to be well both within and outside the Walled City, and Herleif was beginning to consider finally retiring for the night when he came across a familiar face he had not been expecting.

Lady Judith sat before a guard tower, an open bottle of wine sitting on the table beside her with a second next to it as she held her cup. She looked paler than usual and had dark circles under her eyes, but otherwise seemed content with her solitude while taking in the view. Herleif almost didn't approach but felt it would be rude to ignore her.

"I did not expect to find you keeping watch," he said with a kind smile as he approached.

Judith startled at his voice as if she had been deep in thought, spilling some wine on her hand that she didn't seem to notice. Herleif grimaced, seeing how her eyes were wet with tears that she quickly blinked away.

"Jarl Herleif," she said with a shaky smile and gestured to the empty chair at the table. "Please, join me. There is plenty of wine to share."

"Just Herleif is fine," he said, stepping around her to the seat she had offered. "If we can share a cup together, then I think we can go without needing titles for one night."

"Suits me. Honestly, I only feel like a commander when I am in full armor, anyway." Licking the red droplets from her hand, Judith handed over the cup to him. He eyed the two bottles between them, wondering how much she had already drunk before his arrival.

"You seem well provisioned."

Judith shrugged. "A good soldier knows how to prepare for an otherwise boring assignment. Besides, it has been some time since I have been good and drunk."

Herleif took a sip and licked his lips, finding the taste to be quite excellent. "And do we drink in celebration, or do we drown ourselves along with our sorrows?"

"I see no celebration here," Judith said, gesturing around at the empty stretch of wall and the plain beyond.

Herleif gave a hum as he took another sip and nodded his head before handing the cup back. She took it and drank, finishing the cup in just a few gulps before filling it again. It was good wine, so Herleif did not complain as they shared the cup between them and drank in silence. The stars twinkled above their heads, and the sun slowly inched its way higher from behind the horizon.

"How did you get these?" Priscilla asked, running her fingers over the three pale scars along Gunnar's side. He flinched at her touch, and she smiled to think that such a strong and brave warrior might be a bit ticklish.

"A wolf got me," he said, lifting his arm to get a better look at the marks carved into his skin.

Priscilla took the opportunity to move closer against his side, resting her head on his broad chest as he put his arm around her shoulders. "A wolf? So you never fought a bear, but you fought wolves and only came away with a few scratches?"

"Do not sound so surprised," he grinned. "There are wolves in the wild, and it is only right that a warrior such as I should go out and face them."

She gave a small snort of laughter. "Were you trying to tame them? There have always been stories of how Jarl Gudmundr had trained wolves to fight at his side during the battle of Svengård."

"Aye, but none would dare encroach on his legend. That tale will always be told with pride in the halls of our people, even if it was a defeat."

Resting against him, Priscilla thought for a moment on how a story could be told in two different ways. The difference was a simple victory or defeat, but to her people, the assault on Svengård was another sad chapter in the war that Apollyon had waged unchecked across Heathmoor, while to Gunnar's people, it was remembered as a glorious last stand. For years after, their people had continued to make war against each other, but now strange circumstances had brought the two of them together to fight side by side. She wondered what would be said of their battle once it was finally done, who would say it was a victory and who suffered utter defeat.

A shiver ran down her spine, and she pressed her body closer to Gunnar to share his warmth. They lay naked together beneath the silken sheets of the large bed, still lingering in the passion they had shared, now grown to a warm tenderness that was seen in how comfortable they were with each other's touch. Sliding her hand across his belly, she let her fingers skim over yet another scar, one of many that he proudly boasted like sagas carved into his skin.

"And this one?" she asked.

"A tussle with a group of outlaws," Gunnar said without looking. His eyes were closed as he rested with one arm behind his head, the other wrapped around her with his hand slowly tracing light circles on her hip. "I had just left Brosmegard to wander Valkenheim, and they thought I was an easy mark for whatever steel and gear I carried. I showed them otherwise, of course, but one managed to leave their mark on me."

Priscilla eyed the pale wound as she traced her fingers along its length. "You fought them all alone out in the wild?" she asked quietly, only receiving a confident hum in answer. "You could have died."

"If the cut had been any deeper, I might have. But it was not my time," Gunnar sighed, settling in among the many pillows as he enjoyed her gentle caress. "The Norns would not be so cruel in carving my fate."

Pushing herself up, Priscilla looked at Gunnar with one hand still resting on his chest. "You were not afraid to die alone for as long as you wandered? That is a fear I could hardly live with."

Gunnar cracked open his eyes to smile at her. "I did not think you were afraid of anything?"

"I hide it well," she said with a prideful tilt of her chin. "What about you?"

"We all must die one day," he sighed, "and when we do, we die alone. All that matters is the tale that we leave behind so that we are remembered."

She leaned over him, raising her hand to stroke his beard before resting on his cheek. "You are not alone now," she whispered.

"No," he whispered back. "I still have my brother, my people, and brave warriors to fight beside..."

A playful smile spread across her lips as her fingers lightly traced along his own. "And now you have me."

"Aye... and it is a far better fate than I deserve," he said, leaning up from the pillows to meet her tender kiss.

"When was the last time something like this has happened?" Herleif asked as he refilled the cup again, finishing off the first bottle. "A Viking and a Knight sharing a quiet night and a bottle of wine between them, I mean."

Judith didn't take her gaze away from the rising sun. "The council after Apollyon's war, perhaps? Holden Cross, Jarl Stigandr, and Empress Ayu all huddled around a small fire, arguing with each other about the future of our hopeless world. As if there was anything that could be done to heal the damage Apollyon had caused."

"She was called Stríðsúlfur by our people. The War Wolf. Even now, her legend is only told in hushed tales around the hearth fire, but I think now she is used to scare children into doing their chores as much as inspiring foolish warriors to risk their lives needlessly."

"Erik seems to think differently," Judith said. "Her name still holds sway with those who remember just how vicious she was and wish to rekindle some of that same fear for themselves. Her Blackstone Legion is broken but not gone. They were hunted to the fringes of our society by the Iron Legion after the war, driven into the shadows, but when the Royal Legion came to power, the Lord-Warden seemed content to solidify his own power rather than stamp them out once and for all. Even so, we had a whole new cult rise up and rip apart our lives because of his ineptitude."

Herleif could only nod along and drink, not wanting to interrupt until Judith was done with her rant. "Did you ever meet her?"

"Who?"

"Apollyon," he asked, handing her the cup. Judith grinned and gave a small snort before taking a long drink.

"I would not say I met her, but I saw her speak once when I was young," she began, wiping her lips. "She was gathering soldiers to her cause, bringing the other legions to heel and ultimately supplanting the Council with her will. Thinking back on it now, it is frightening how many people flocked to her. I would be lying if I told you I was not enthused by what she had to say. Seeing a woman like that with so much power, leading a united Ashfeld against our enemies was..." Her voice trailed away as her eyes turned to distant memories, giving a small shake of her head before she continued. "She was so charismatic. The type of person who could put a sword in your hand and make you feel invincible because you knew she would be fighting right there beside you. All of Ashfeld bowed to her in the end, before the Iron Legion rebelled, and in a way, I do not think she ever cared. She was wise, cunning, driven beyond any commander I had ever seen... and she was completely mad. Is it any wonder that the Divine Pyre was nearly able to do the same?"

"There is always madness in war," Herleif nodded. "Those that seek to master it must do so by creating it. There are many among us who enjoy the fight. The struggle to see who will live and who will die. The chieftain of our gods demands that we die in battle to enter his hall so that he might have the greatest of us to fight for him in the battle of Ragnarǫk. Apollyon was much like him in that way, I think. Are we any less mad for seeking out war to test ourselves as she did?"

"Perhaps you are asking the wrong person," Judith said and handed the cup over again. "I would like to think that I fight for more than just personal glory. I do not think that God would be pleased if I threw away my life so needlessly to claim my heavenly reward, not while he can work through me to help others while I live."

Herleif smiled and pondered her words as he finished the cup, and Judith began to open the second bottle for them to enjoy.

"Somehow," he said, setting the cup on the table to be refilled, "I think I understand what you mean."

Priscilla laid back as Gunnar examined the cut on her arm. The bandage wrapped just below her shoulder might have been considered the only item of clothing she still wore after their lovemaking, but Gunnar now set it aside to make sure it was healing fine. He was careful not to touch the angry pink skin that marred her arm, acting with a gentleness she had once thought incapable of his kind.

"It will scar nicely in time," he said, kissing her shoulder before settling down beside her. "A saga-worthy scar from the High Priest of the fire-worshipers. A shame you can't say anything about it for fear of angering Ivar or Erik. Maybe in a few years you can claim the glory of killing that blubbering shit and do some proper boasting."

She raised her brows at him while rubbing at her arm and laughed. "It is not in a Peacekeeper's nature to boast. I expect no thanks or glory for what I do. We of the Sisterhood do what we must to safeguard Ashfeld while others adorn themselves with laurels. Not every fight is remembered for all time."

Gunnar huffed as he put a hand to her chest and began to caress his fingers along her collarbone. "Scars are meant to be displayed. Each one of them is a story worth sharing."

"Not all of them," she said.

"You're one to talk. You barely have any to speak of," he grinned, sliding his hand from one shoulder to the other, then down, running his fingers between her breasts to draw forth a gentle sigh from her lips. "All I see is smooth perfection."

She couldn't help but smile at his compliment. It was becoming easier for him to make her blush, but now it did not seem like such a problem. Lingering under another person's attention and scrutiny was not something she was accustomed to, not since her time at the Sisterhood, but for now, she was enjoying the way that Gunnar admired her body. Unions between their people were not unheard of, but they always carried with them a stigma no matter where they occurred. For now, though, he seemed more than content to share his bed with her rather than any tall and buxom battle-goddess of his homeland.

Still, she could not help but tease him even as she felt herself float on his admiration like clouds. "Perfection takes effort, such as doing everything I can not to let my enemy's blade touch me during a fight." Gunnar gave a snort in response, more interested in the sight of her naked body than entertaining such silly notions. "Armor helps as well. Perhaps you would care to try it sometime?"

"And rob your eyes of such a manly feast?" he asked her. "I think not."

Her burst of laughter could not be contained, and he soon joined in her mirth, laughing together until he silenced her with a kiss. Relishing the feeling of his lips, she cupped his face in her hands and made sure he did not break away, instead seeking more, humming softly as his strong body pressed against her and his hand slid down her stomach to where the bed sheets rested across her hips. She spread her legs, welcoming his advance, then froze as his hand stopped just over her belly.

"What's this?" he asked, leaving her tense as he glanced down toward the line of puckered skin his fingers gently traced over.

Pushing down the sheet, he revealed the pink scar that had so far gone unnoticed while he had been focused on seeking other pleasures. Now, though, he touched the old wound gingerly before looking up at her with an amused smile as if he had found some playful secret she had been hiding. "Ah, now that's a scar! Almost in the same place as my own, I think. What drengr gave you this one?"

Priscilla did not reply right away. Looking down at the scar, the one that still lingered while the lash marks from her teachers had long ago faded away, she nibbled at her bottom lip and feared that she might begin telling lies again. The scar was not large, just the width of a slim dagger, much like her own, but the skin was rough and discolored against the rest of her body, refusing to be ignored or forgotten. It did not look so terrible on the surface, but the wound ran much deeper than anyone could possibly know.

Reaching down, she almost grabbed the sheets to pull up over her body, all thoughts of letting Gunnar touch and please her now forgotten. Her fingers just brushed against the silk when she stopped and took Gunnar's hand instead. Licking her lips, she glanced at him with a small, sad smile.

"It was a parting gift," she said at last. "From a very dear friend."

"Are you destined for your Valhalla, Herleif?" Judith asked.

Herleif gave her a sideways glance and frowned. "No man can know his destiny, only live the best he can on the road to meet it. But, if my luck holds, I will find my death upon the battlefield and join my ancestors in the Allfather's hall."

"Your brother often speaks of his destiny as if it is a sure thing," Judith said into the cup at her lips, "but you sound less convinced."

"My brother is an idiot," he answered gruffly. "Are you destined to enter your Heaven when you die?"

"Yes. God only asks that we do not hide from our sins and that we seek forgiveness from him as his obedient children. I have never questioned my faith in this matter."

"No, it is only your leaders on the council in Beaufort that you question."

"Mmhm..." She downed the cup without sharing, licking her lips and refilling it again.

Herleif reached over and snatched the cup from her hand before she could take another sip. "Was the insult they paid you really so severe? I can understand your anger at being abandoned against a mad foe, but I have never known any Knight to cast off their oath, much less a whole legion."

"I would not expect you to understand," Judith said, eyeing the cup he drank from. She then grabbed the bottle and tipped it up to her lips, gulping loudly as she swallowed its earthy, rich flavor.

Staring openly, Herleif could only shake his head. "I left behind my wife and three children to be a part of this raid. I have come here for steel, silver, gold, and slaves, and so far, most of it remains locked behind a thick iron door that we cannot open. Meanwhile, my children grow older without me, and my wife must bear the responsibilities of raising a family and ruling my lands alone. There is glory to be found here, that I know, but I have every intention of returning home as fast as the wind will take me once Erik has what he desires. You, on the other hand, seem not to have a care for your homeland now that we have put the Pyre to the sword-"

"I burned all my bridges when I left for Valkenheim, Herleif. There is no point in going back," Judith interrupted.

"Then why become a Warden in the first place?" he pressed. "You have built your life around fighting Ashfeld's enemies, that much is clear. You are a leader and a hard fighter. I named you drengr before, and I meant it. You do not strike me as the type to break their oath so easily, no matter how far you were pushed."

"Clearly, you presume to know me far too well, Jarl."

Herleif shut his mouth at her rebuke. He wanted to push her further, genuinely curious as to her reasons for abandoning both her post and her people to seek help from warriors who had once been her enemy, but he was treading dangerously close to giving offense. Taking up the cup again, he raised it to her and checked his tone before speaking again.

"I am very glad to know you, Lady Judith, " he said, feeling his face flush warmly as was so common when mixing wine with the truth. "Given everything that has happened between us, I hope you know I speak genuinely. You are a fine woman, and I can only feel proud to think that you might return to Bilrost with me as a friend. But is a life in Valkenheim what you truly wish for? Surely, if you were to stay, we could work out some sort of peace between our people? Something that makes this partnership one that can be shared by more than just you and I?"

"And shall this peace you imagine come about only after I have helped you slaughter my own people and sail away with their treasure?" Judith snapped angrily.

Herleif grumbled and shifted in his seat, feeling as if he had ruined the mood. He sat there with his cup and her with the bottle, each brooding in their own thoughts as the sun began to paint the sky with splashes of bright orange, red blood, and vibrant gold. As the dawn began to shine brighter, Herleif saw clouds of dust wafting across the horizon, giving the morning an empty feeling as they stood on guard against nothing at all.

Then Judith cleared her throat, drawing him from his dreary mood. When he looked at her, she no longer appeared angry but rather frozen and apprehensive. She seemed smaller than she had been a moment ago, clinging to the bottle in her lap like a weapon she might use to defend herself from his questions.

"The truth is," she said after a moment, speaking in a rough and shaky voice, "I no longer have anything here worth caring about. All my reasons to fight for Ashfeld are dead." She brought the bottle to her lips and took a long drink, wiping her lips with the back of her hand once the wine gave her the courage she sought. "They all died a long time ago."

"My life growing up was less than humble, but after I joined the Sisterhood of Peace, my skills afforded me a certain amount of attention from my teachers. With that came notice from the Legion Council and the Lord-Warden's court."

Priscilla paused, waiting for Gunnar to say something, but he only sat beside her and patiently waited for her to continue. "I was not the only one, though. When I first came to the Sisterhood, I felt very alone. I was young... younger than most of the other girls of the dormitory I had been placed in. They were neither kind nor welcoming at the start. Things are not made easy for new recruits as a way of gauging a girl's strengths and weaknesses before proper training begins."

She could still recall those early days of cold and hunger, of suspicious glances from girls who were meant to be her sisters. Everything had seemed so hopeless back then, enough that she thought fear and heartache might have been the end of her before she ever got the chance to prove herself to anyone. That was when hope had returned to her, but she had been too young and naive to know how it would eventually be her undoing.

"Luckily," she continued, "there was another girl who was also struggling and alone. Her name was Elise, and I honestly believed she saved my life when she offered me kindness rather than scorn."

On that day so long ago, when she had been cornered and beaten as the older girls stole her supper for themselves yet again, she remembered the one girl who had stepped in to fight for her. It had been the first time anyone had shown any sense of kindness to her since she had arrived at the Sisterhood. The first time since her life was destroyed that someone had cared.

"She was the illegitimate daughter of an Ashfeld lord and a Myre peasant. From what Elise told me, he was garrisoned in her mother's village during a border dispute. Whether he forced himself on her or they truly loved one another, I am unsure, but I know her mother died in childbirth, and he brought Elise back to Beaufort when the Samurai eventually pushed them out. Perhaps at the time he thought it was a kindness, but there is no place for a girl like her in a noble house. He had a wife, other children. She only stayed with them for a few years before she was given over to the Peacekeepers to be raised."

"That is a cruel fate to be dealt," Gunnar said softly. "It is always a bitter thing when we are not given the recognition we deserve in life."

"Such things did not matter to us, not back then," she said, feeling the sting of old memories behind her eyes. "We were inseparable, like true sisters. It started off with simply sharing meals, making sure we stayed together rather than getting caught alone. She shared her secrets with me about her past, about her hopes for the future, and so I began to do the same. She watched out for me, and as I improved in our lessons, I did the same for her. Girls were always bullying Elise for her mixed heritage, and so we threw ourselves into our training not so we could be the best at protecting Ashfeld but so that we could protect each other. We improved with each passing year, fighting each other, fighting the other girls. Our teachers praised us for our successes, and if either of us fell short of the mark, we would help each other pick up the pieces after punishment was dealt and try again. I knew every lash of the rod that she did, and if any of our sisters meant to cause us harm, we made sure they paid dearly. She was everything to me, my whole world, and there was nothing I would not do for her if she would ask."

Her shoulders slumped as she took a steadying breath, but still felt the ache gripping tight around her heart. "I loved her, and I truly thought she felt the same."

"I had two sons," Judith began. She stared down in her lap as she spoke, and Herleif could only swallow a gulp of dread at where her story might lead. "Laurent was my eldest, quiet and polite, and always so good to his brother Henri. They were both such sweet, wonderful boys."

"Where are they now?" Herleif asked, but he felt that he already knew the answer.

Judith pressed her lips together tight and squeezed her eyes shut before she answered. "They were both killed before either saw their sixteenth year. Laurent was a squire for a Lawbringer in Crow's Path when a raiding party took them by surprise. He might have had the chance to run, but in the end he chose to stand and fight, and he died. Henri marched with a legion into Gronstad and never returned. He had run away after we argued about him being too young to join the army. He wanted to avenge his brother, but after Laurent, I was too afraid to let some glory-starved commander lead him to his doom. His father and I had only just arranged to have him sent back when we received the news that there had been a battle."

Herleif hung his head, too afraid to even imagine the pain of losing a child. He regretted ever asking his questions, but now it was out in the open, sure as the table was there between them. "I am sorry," he said quietly. "I have no words... Our people have warred against each other for centuries, but to hear this, I feel ashamed."

"It was not the Vikings of Bilrost that killed them," said Judith, "At least not that I know."

"Does that matter? Are my hands no less stained with Ashfeld blood after all this?"

"Are mine?" Judith asked, looking up at him for the first time. Her eyes were wide and brimming with tears, and Herleif knew then why she had come seeking to drink in solitude in the first place. "Worse yet, do you have any idea what sort of hollow pride is heaped at a warrior's feet when her children die in battle?" Her bottom lip quivered as the tears began to fall. "Somehow, the fact that they died fighting the enemy meant that their deaths were just. That they had sacrificed themselves for some greater purpose. That I was meant to honor them as soldiers rather than mourn them as my own babies!"

She shot up from her chair with a pitiful cry, lifting the bottle and hurling it out over the wall. Wine sputtered from the bottle like dark blood as it flew, splattering the ramparts before disappearing over the edge. She stood shaking in her grief and fury, and Herleif could only watch helplessly as she panted for breath.

To lose a child to war or sickness was a horror that he hoped to never experience, but there was only one way into Valhǫll and his sons would surely dream of such glory for themselves just as he did when he was their age. Now, though, he knew that glory in war only came after all the pain and suffering, once the songs could be sung and boasts could be made by those who still lived. Valhǫll was the great reward for warriors who died bravely, but for him, nothing was worth outliving his children in this cold and unforgiving world.

Tipping back his cup, he downed the contents with one last gulp before tossing it empty on the table. He stood up and crossed to the edge of the wall, resting his elbows on the ramparts and staring out at the glowing sunlight through the dusty haze. "When did this happen?"

"Years ago," Judith panted, taking a few weary steps to stand beside him. "Before all of this. Before the Divine Pyre and meeting you."

"You kept to your oath after their deaths?"

She nodded. "I did what was expected of me. I am not the only woman to lose her children to a war with you Northmen or the Samurai. How could I lash out against the very institution I had sworn my life to without dishonoring their names? So, I mourned them and moved on. In time, I took command of the Lion Flame from my predecessor. I took Marcelo on as my protégé and maintained our stronghold on the northern border, defending our lands more than we attacked. There was little glory to be had, but we did our duty while I buried my grief and pretended to be glad that my sons could give their lives for their homeland. In a better world, that should have been enough to warrant saving us when the wolves came howling at our door. It should have been enough... But the world is cruel."

Gunnar frowned deeply as he listened. His silence was not unnerving but rather a comfort as he simply let her give voice to what she had kept buried for so long. Priscilla absently rubbed her thumb around her scar as she thought back to the days when she and Elise had felt like unconquerable heroes among their peers.

"As I said, we fought each other constantly in training, testing ourselves, always making sure that no one could touch us. Together, we rose to the top of our class and were happy to let everyone know it. I would not have called it a rivalry then, but looking back now... Eventually, the nobility took notice. A new Lord-Warden had risen to power over the Legion Council, and he sought to replace his advisors. Elise and I were both presented as suitable candidates to act as his new Silent Blade."

"And this is a great honor?" Gunnar questioned.

"The Silent Blade acts as the head of the Sisterhood. While the Lord-Warden encourages public unity, and the High Judge of the Brotherhood commands discipline among the legions, the Silent Blade carries out tasks for the Council in the shadows. She answers to no single legion and is responsible for maintaining our lines of communication and intelligence across all of Ashfeld and beyond."

Gunnar's brows rose as he gave a small chuckle. "That sounds like too much of an honor for a quiet mouse like you."

She knew his comment was made in jest, but it still stung her enough to fix him with a cold glare. He instantly shrank back, and she regretted it immediately. Taking his hand, she gave it a comforting squeeze before continuing.

"It was, but I was too young and foolish to know any better. We were brought to court as an offering, introduced to members of the Council, and shown off like prized peacocks to be admired. Suddenly, after years of battling against our sisters for everything we had, we wanted for nothing and were treated like heroes just returned from war. I had never known such splendor, and our teachers made sure that we acted the part of proper ladies so that we would not taint the court with our lowborn roots. There were still rumors, though. Plenty about the both of us and the gutters we had crawled up from. I shut them out and ignored the whispers, but I think they affected Elise more than either of us could have known. For me, being a part of Beaufort's court was like walking into a dream, one I could perhaps wake up from and forget if the honor of being the Silent Blade was not to be mine. Elise, though... I think for her, it was a glimpse at the world she was robbed of as a child. Illegitimate or not, she was the daughter of a noble, and if things had been different, she might have truly been a courtier to be admired, not a half-blood mongrel as was so often whispered behind her back."

So many whispers, rumors, and spiteful glances. They were exactly what the Legion Council needed but what no one wanted. For that, they were offered smiles and kind words to their faces and treated with petty disdain from the shadows as if she and Elise had not been exceptionally trained to punish such deceit. They heard everything, saw everything that occurred among the Council, whether they were meant to or not. Priscilla had moved on, but she had not forgotten. For Elise, though, it had been something she could never forgive.

"It changed her," Priscilla said thoughtfully. "I should have seen it, but things happened so quickly, and I was not there when she needed me."

"What happened?" asked Gunnar.

Nibbling on her lip, Priscilla took a moment to consider if she wanted to continue. It wasn't too late to stop, to deflect like she normally would. She had shared so much already, and it was not as if the tragedies of a girl at court mattered to a barbarian who was content to fight with wolves out in the wild. But Gunnar was no longer just a barbarian to be ignored or feared. If what she felt for him was real, as she hoped it was, he deserved to know the truth, or part of it, at least.

"To become the Silent Blade you must take part in the Trial, a mock duel where the victor must win three rounds before the court. Elise and I were rather looking forward to it, actually. We had each beaten the other dozens of times throughout the years, but this was to be the true test to determine who was the better fighter, with the ultimate reward as our prize. One of us would become the Silent Blade, and I surely thought that whoever lost would have the chance to bask in their glory."

There had been so much confusion and turmoil in the days after the Trial, but she remembered it all as if it had happened just the day before.

"We were separated the night before the duel. I had never had a room to myself in all my life, and now I had my own apartment in Beaufort Stronghold. I could not remember ever knowing such joy, but that quickly changed when I received a personal visit from the Lord-Warden in the middle of the night."

Gunnar stiffened at this, perhaps not liking the idea of an older man stealing into her room alone at night. She couldn't blame him. Even now, the memory of such a powerful and imposing figure standing before her, alone, twisted her stomach into knots as if she were still that young and naive girl deep down inside. The feeling of the Lord-Warden's imposing hand resting on her shoulder as they spoke was something she would never forget.

"He came with a proposal. An offer to expand the duties of the Silent Blade beyond the will of the Council. He had quarreled with the last Peacekeeper to hold the position and now sought a more obedient servant to act on his behalf. If I was willing to bend the knee to him alone, I would be allowed to act with his power, to speak with his voice, and rule over Ashfeld's affairs as he led the legions in battle against our enemies. I would not only be his spymaster but also his personal assassin, his right hand, acting with the full authority of the Legion Council under his command. He was offering more power than I could ever imagine, and in return, he asked me for a token of blood to prove my loyalty. Not mine, but Elise. If I spilled my sister's blood during the Trial, he would give me the world and more."

She shook her head, a small smile playing at her lips as she recalled the moment she had made her choice and doomed herself to humiliation and obscurity in the end.

"I refused him outright. Choosing between him and Elise was no choice at all. It was not that I was even afraid of what he was offering. That was only an extension of what I had been trained for, but I could not betray the one person who mattered to me the most. I would not."

Tears stung at the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them away, but more replaced them. "I knew that he would go to her with the same offer, that much was obvious. He simply wished to see which one of us would give ourselves to him willingly for the chance of standing above everyone who had mocked us, who had said we were unworthy to be counted among them. I was happy to show them by my own merit, without dishonor, and without his help. My only mistake was... My greatest mistake was hoping that Elise would make the same choice I did."

The wind was beginning to pick up, flickering a few strands of stray silver-blonde hair about Judith's tired face. Herleif squinted into the growing sunlight, seeing the dust clouds pick up in size as the wind tossed them about like waves. He thought he could smell rain in the air, but any clouds he saw were a far way off in the sky.

Judith took a breath and let out a shaky sigh. "When the Divine Pyre began preaching their blasphemy across the north, we soon found ourselves in desperate need of support as they began to consolidate power here at Mount Ignis. The Lord-Warden had used the Council to commit the greater part of our forces to a border war with the Samurai, intent on claiming an easy victory to boast of after season upon season of raids had weakened his reign. With the cultists growing more aggressive, I could not leave my post unattended to petition the Council for more troops, but my husband, Piers, had long been the Lion Flame's voice in Beaufort. While I was trying to contain the spread of the Divine Pyre from the volcano, he was at the capital fighting to have the Council turn their attention to where it should have been all along."

"He did not fight alongside you, your husband?" Herleif asked.

"Some men are better suited to using their words and minds to win wars rather than swords. My Piers was no warrior, but his work on the Council was the backbone for every success I had as commander, keeping my stronghold and my soldiers well supplied even as the nobility was growing disillusioned with protecting our coasts from you Northmen."

"I am all for supporting one's family, but choosing a quill over a sword does not seem very manly to me."

"Well, I was always there to deal with any man who felt the same," Judith quipped, "and I assure you, Piers was always willing to show his gratitude afterward."

Herleif couldn't help but laugh. It didn't last long, though, and even Judith's proud smile quickly faded. "How did he die?" he asked.

Judith went quiet and rubbed at the scar that stretched across her cheek. "Keeping the Pyre in check soon became an issue of keeping them contained as they grew more violent. Riots broke out against the Legion Council in villages across the northern territories, and we struggled for months to find out just how far the roots of the Pyre had spread. All the while, Piers was still fighting for us, still trying to make those pompous fools on the Council come to their senses and send help. I know he tried... In the depths of my soul, I know he would never give up as long as we continued the fight, but..."

Herleif was again watching the plumes of dust when she stopped, and he looked to see that she had buried her face in her hands. Without hesitation, he reached out a hand to put on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. She quickly grabbed his hand, squeezing it back as she sniffed and wiped away her tears.

"At some point, he left Beaufort and tried to make his way back to Sow Mesa. It seemed that he felt the need to finally try and fight by my side instead of staying where it was safe. I know not whether he traveled by road or tried to sneak his way north, but it hardly mattered in the end. I found out later that he was caught somewhere near The Fold, taken to some village where they were holding prisoners as heretics. As it was everywhere else the Pyre had tainted with their touch, everyone was given a choice. Submit, or die..."

She sniffed again, looking up so that the red sun reflected angrily in her wet eyes. "My husband chose death because that was the type of man he was. He was burned in a barn with a dozen other innocents who no one else cared for. After all he had done, after so many years of service, no one had been there to fight for him... I was not there... That was the day my oath to Ashfeld died. That was the day I finally had no one left to fight for."

"Who won the Trial?" Gunnar asked quietly. He looked at her with wide eyes that were fearful of her answer even though the end of her tale was already carved into her skin.

"I did," Priscilla said, staring across the room and seeing the flickering candles that had lit the hall as courtiers, legion officers, and her teachers had gathered to witness her and Elise fight until one bested the other in a contest of skill. "But I did not become the Silent Blade..."

Dressed in armor much finer than what she possessed now, she had saluted the Lord-Warden and bowed to the crowd, Elise mirroring each gesture perfectly before they stood before each other with shining sword and silver dagger drawn. The order was given for the duel to begin, and everything turned to flashes of steel and lightning.

The first round was over in moments. Both of them were too skilled for a fight to last any longer, and Priscilla had quickly deflected Elise's strike to bring her dagger beneath her friend's chin. They parted, took up their positions, and waited for the next signal. The second round began and ended just as quickly once the Lord-Warden's hand fell, with Elise's sword slipping past Priscilla's defense to strike at her heart. It might have been a killing blow if she had not checked her thrust, but the round went to Elise all the same.

Again they went at each other, striking at each other as enemies with precision and skill until Priscilla claimed another round. All the while, the Lord-Warden watched anxiously. Together, the two candidates took up their starting positions again, and still, no blood had been shed.

Priscilla suppressed her growing excitement as she waited for the order to begin. Elise stared at her impassively as they faced each other for a third time, revealing nothing for her opponent to use against her. If it had been anyone else, they might have missed the glint of anger in Elise's eyes, but Priscilla saw. With it, she knew the fight was hers. The girl who had stepped in to save her all those years ago could not save herself from losing now. Priscilla would be the next Silent Blade, but she would make sure that Elise was there to help her. They would always be together, standing above the rest on their own terms, making Ashfeld better for people just like them. She saw it all in that moment just before the fight started anew.

But, even as friends, as sisters, she could not see the truth hidden behind Elise's eyes as they crossed blades one last time.

With a harsh cry, Priscilla attacked with all her strength, enough to break Elise's guard and knock the sword clear from her friend's hand. As it clattered to the ground, Priscilla's next swing stopped short of slicing Elise's head in two, bringing the fight to an abrupt halt. Just like that, the Trial was over. She had beaten Elise fairly and won.

A prideful smile had spread across Priscilla's lips, her sword lingering by Elise's head as she waited for the Lord-Warden to declare her victory, but he did not. No one spoke as all the courtiers and teachers watched on while the Lord-Warden sat on his marble throne and waited.

Elise never returned her smile. She simply stared with those dark, spiteful eyes and watched as Priscilla averted her gaze to glance toward the Lord-Warden for his approval. That was when she struck. Without feeling or restraint, Elise struck.

"I can still feel it..." Priscilla said softly, her wet eyes lost in the candlelight as she gently ran her fingers over the scar given to her by the first person ever to know her heart. "When I think about it... I can still feel her dagger inside of me."

She was lying on the cold, stone floor, her hand pressed to her bleeding stomach as a red blade hovered above her. Nothing else happened. Nobody moved. The hall was silent except for the sound of her own desperate sobbing, and no one, not the courtiers she was meant to join or the teachers who had helped train her and pushed her to go so far, came to help. Not even Elise moved an inch as she lay bleeding like a sacrificial lamb before her.

Then there were boots, heavy boots, as the Lord-Warden brazenly stepped over her crumpled form to embrace Elise and lift her hand in victory to the crowd with the bloody dagger still grasped in her fist. Now, the crowd cheered, and they cheered loudly, letting their voices echo into the high rafters of the hall until Priscilla's desperate cries were drowned out by their adoration. Without pause, the Lord-Warden ushered Elise into the crowd to take her rightful place among the nobles who had happily slandered her just days before the Trial, and she went without complaint.

Priscilla had watched her go, calling out her name as loudly as her wavering voice would allow, but Elise never looked back. She left Priscilla behind on the floor like a discarded toy, bleeding and wounded beyond imagining. Priscilla cried louder, leaving a bloody trail across the floor as she tried to crawl after, but no one paid her any mind. Elise moved deeper and deeper into the crowd with the Lord-Warden by her side until she was finally gone from Priscilla's sight.

Hanging his head, Herleif silently thanked the gods that they had rid the world of such monsters as the Divine Pyre. At first, he had not thought of it as his fight, but after all he had seen of the destruction brought about by the cultists, from the ravaged villages along the Cherith to the broken souls left in the wake of their defeat, he was glad that he had picked up his sword and shield and taken part in the fight that had undoubtedly saved all of Heathmoor from a fiery doom.

Judith still held his hand as she looked out over the plain. "I learned of his death days later from refugees who had escaped the village and made it to the Lion's Den. A week after that, a Conqueror arrived with the Council's final decree. The Lord-Warden was committed to his war with the Samurai, and no help was coming. There was no one left to fight for us, and soon after, the Divine Pyre declared all-out war. We were on our own."

"I am truly sorry," he said again, although he felt it hardly did her loss any justice.

"There is no going back now. I have played my part willingly in this war and feel no satisfaction for it in the end. Not even revenge has brought me peace, and I am left to waste away my days alone."

Herleif was not sure there were any words that might heal even the slightest bit of pain Judith felt as her life had fallen apart around her, so he said the first thing that came to his mind and hoped he did not overstep. "Not anymore. On my life, I swear, in peace or in war, you never need to stand alone again."

Her face fell as she nearly gave herself over to more tears, but she squeezed his hand and steadied her breath, taking a moment to compose herself before she spoke again.

"Thank you, Herleif. That means more to me than you know." Giving his hand a friendly pat, she stood and wiped her eyes. "There is so much in life that I was not prepared for, least of all a life in Valkenheim, but so long as I live, I know that I have a purpose here on this earth. God will guide me, and that gives me courage. Whatever help I might be to you in the north, I will happily swear my sword and my life to fight by your side."

"The Norns weave strange fates of men's lives for the amusement of the gods," Herleif grinned, clapping Judith on the arm. "I can only hope that ours will be a great tale to please them now that we have come together. Ashfeld or Valkenheim, it matters not. All that matters is that when we leave this place and set sail on the same ship, we will both be going home."

"That is a heavy tale," Gunnar said with a deep sigh.

Priscilla sniffed and wiped away the tears running down her face. "I told you, not every scar has a story worth telling."

Gunnar pressed his lips tightly together, seemingly having no argument at hand. "Did you ever see Elise again?" he asked instead.

"Oh yes, many times. She became the head of my order, along with all the power that the Lord-Warden had promised her. At his command, she gutted the Council of anyone who might have opposed the Royal Legion, and anyone who spoke ill of her mixed heritage was dealt with harshly. She rules the Council in the Lord-Warden's name, carrying out his will with impunity. Meanwhile, I joined with the Lion Flame simply to get as far away from Beaufort as I could. Judith took me in, and the Lion Flame became my new family, but the story of my loss followed me wherever I went. Elise often visited the Lion's Den for inspection simply so she could drop in on 'an old friend'."

She had suffered, but she had served. There was no changing what had happened, no chance of rewriting history so that her weakness could be revealed as the betrayal it was. Elise had won in the end by choosing power over friendship, but she still left Priscilla scraps of her love to cling to, never letting her go.

"And I was always there to greet her, ever the loyal servant to the end," she sighed.

"You could have challenged her to another duel. A real one, to prove once and for all who was the better."

"She would have had no reason to accept. My defeat was witnessed before the entire court and was subject to public gossip by noon the next day. I could not sink anymore beneath her after suffering such humiliation."

"Perhaps," Gunnar grinned, "but that was before you ended up naked in bed with a filthy heathen."

She shot him a dirty look but could not hide the embarrassed smile playing across her lips. Sharing her past with Gunnar had drawn up too many emotions, more than what was good for her. Certainly more than her training should have allowed. It came easier than she would have thought, but by now, Gunnar's simple charm seemed more than enough to put her at ease.

His own smile turned to a soft chuckle as he slipped an arm around her, and she happily nuzzled against him again, if only to remember that the past was not always a ghost looming over her shoulder. Resting her cheek on his chest, she shut her eyes and let her memories fade back to the graves she had dug them up from, content to surrender herself to sleep as the first light of day began to seep in through the windows. If her teachers could see her now, spilling the secrets of her order to a heathen bedmate after a single night of pleasure, they would have cursed the day they took her into their care. She might have actually felt guilty if she did not enjoy laying there in his arms so much.

It was a night she never wanted to end, but morning would come all the same to cast aside the wishes she made beneath the stars.

"I should not have thrown the bottle," Judith muttered as she returned to her seat. "I still feel too sober for how many tears I have shed tonight."

"Surely there is more wine where that came from?" Herleif asked from his place on the wall. Judith nodded and laid her head back against the guardhouse as she closed her red and puffy eyes. "Do you think the rest of your soldiers will settle in Bilrost without much issue?"

"Marcelo will suffer the most for it," Judith said without opening her eyes. "He has always been a believer in Ashfeld's righteousness, but he would follow me into Hell if I asked it of him. The rest all have their own reasons for agreeing to cut ties with the Council and leave Ashfeld behind. We are not the legion we once were, and I made sure anyone who wanted out before we set sail across the sea had their chance to escape. Those that are left will fall into line."

Herleif nodded but frowned, running his hand over the stone crenelations as he leaned against them and looked out beyond the walls. The wind had died down, but there was still so much dust filling the air before the rising sun. "What of Priscilla?" he asked.

Now Judith cracked open one eye to look at him. "What of her?"

"She has been a thorn in my side for some time now, but her connection with Gunnar keeps me from speaking my mind."

"I agree, she can be troublesome. Priscilla has always done things her own way. That is how they train their greatest spies at the Sisterhood of Peace. Do you seek recompense for the business with Chaldeon and Erik making you his vassal? She has not the means to pay you for the insult, so if you seek blood I hope you will not take much."

"No, no... nothing so devastating," Herleif said. "I have already tried to make amends after it became clear she and Gunnar would always be joined at the hip, but she threw it in my face. Perhaps rightfully so..." he added quietly. "Demanding more of her now would only come across as a cruel display to hide a bruised ego. No, the situation with our dear Peacekeeper has been tenuous ever since Gunnar learned about her little family blood feud, but I am beginning to think that is the best we can hope for between us."

"What blood feud?"

Herleif grimaced and rubbed at his beard, feeling the wind pick up again as it blew through his hair. "Perhaps I should have told you of it sooner. This was back in Eitrivatnen, and I had not the mind to worry about it at the time. Like so many of your people, she too has had her family ripped apart by this wretched war. Whatever happened back at the harbor, she fought and killed her brother who had joined with the cultists, and it sounds as if her mother and father did not survive the Divine Pyre's rise to power either."

"Her brother?" Judith frowned, and he nodded at her curiously. "Priscilla never had a brother. She was orphaned in Beaufort as a young girl. The Peacekeepers found her starving in the slums when they took her in."

Herleif stared back at her, blinking slowly as the wind blew motes of dust over the walls. At first, her words did not seem to make sense in his mind, but in an instant, his every interaction with the meddling Peacekeeper flashed before his eyes.

"She what-?" he wheezed, feeling as if all his breath had just been punched out of him. Gritting his teeth, he balled his hands into fists and fought to keep himself from smashing his knuckles into the stone wall. He had been made a fool of after all, and worse, his brother had been made a puppet of a witch's dark schemes. His vision blurred red, and he began to pace back and forth, muttering under his breath.

"She lied... The bitch lied to us. All she does is lie... That little argi konu! She has been lying to me from the very beginning!" He roared his anger to the sky, and if he had possessed a hundred bottles of fine wine, he would have watered the ground with their red liquid as he threw them all over the wall in a blind rage.

"Herleif..." Judith said cautiously as she sat up from the wall.

"No! Say nothing for her! I would not touch her before, but I will certainly seek blood now, even if Gunnar should raise protest! I will not stand for one further insult from that woman! Not... Ah... Not- argh! This accursed dust!" he exclaimed, choking at the dusty cloud that slowly blew up over the wall. He did not understand why there was so much of it, especially since the wind had died down again, but he was too angry to care and continued to rant and curse as he coughed.

"Herleif!" Judith shouted over him, jumping from her chair now and rushing to the edge of the wall.

"May the gods curse that wench! I will have her head! I will give her to Ivar to carve the eagle into her back! I care not if she is your woman, Judith, she will pay, and she will pay in blood!"

"I give no shit for Priscilla or what you will do to her!" Judith exclaimed, her eyes flashing angrily as she grabbed him by the shoulder to pull him close as she pointed out over the wall. "Do you see that!?"

He almost pushed her away, too caught up in his anger and bruised pride to care for what she was saying, but as he looked to where she was pointing, he spotted something out on the plain that had not been there before. "What..?"

There on the horizon, which now seemed to be crowned with a mounting storm of dust and sand before the rising sun, a lone figure sat on horseback with a banner hanging above their head. At first, he thought it might have been one of Erik's scouts finally returned, but then the wind picked up once again, catching the banner to reveal a golden crown on a blue background as it fluttered in the air. Judith gasped at the sight of it and sprang back from the wall, which did nothing to quell Herleif's growing fear.

"No..." she whispered, bringing her hands up before her mouth in shock. "God, please no..."

"What is it? Who is that rider?" Herleif demanded. Looking back to the lone figure, he saw rays of sunlight leaking through the dust to reflect off silver armor with a bright gleam. The dust thinned out as the wind blew, and through it, far in the distance behind the rider, he could see dark shapes moving in the haze, enough to span the entire plain. "What is that, Judith!?"

Judith stood there, rooted to the spot, and when she looked at him with wide and fear-filled eyes, her face was already pale as a corpse.

"Gunnar?" Priscilla asked quietly. He gave a low hum, the vibration in his chest making her blush. "Yesterday, I asked you to run away with me, to leave this city and this war behind... Do you have an answer?"

He stiffened at her question, the hand that had been rubbing softly up and down her arm coming to a stop. "I do not understand why you would ask this?"

Priscilla grimaced. "I am not asking you to understand. Not now. I only wish to know if you will follow me when I go."

"We do not even have the treasure from the vault."

"Is that really all you care about? Your plunder?"

Gunnar went quiet for a moment, staring at the ceiling as he gathered his thoughts. "How can you expect me to abandon my brother and my people when you have experienced such betrayal firsthand?"

Priscilla squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in his chest. Fear set her heart racing, but the guilt threatened to turn her blood to ice in her veins. "What do you know of betrayal? It is because I know such a loss that I cannot bear to let you stay. You must come with me. You must..."

She startled as Gunnar sat up suddenly, but she clung to him as he made to move away, desperate to keep him close. He huffed and frowned, brow furrowed in frustration and confused by her words. "Why do you wish to stay in this wretched land? I know it is your home, but your people abandoned you, Priscilla. Your Lord-Warden cut you loose like dead weight, just as he did before, and yet now you wish to go back and beg me to go with you? What you are asking me doesn't make any sense."

"I no longer care if we should stay in Ashfeld," she said frantically, desperate to convince him however she could. "Here, the north, the swamps of the Myre... All that matters is that we leave this city far behind us and never look back!"

"No!" he growled. Anger was brewing in his stormy eyes as he frowned at her, making her feel small and ashamed. "You told me you wish to see your homeland prosper again, but what is left for you here? Tell me that! After all that has happened to you, from Elise to Gerard, what could possibly be left here that is still worth clinging to?"

"Gerard?" she frowned, "Who-?"

Realization and panic hit her all at once as his brows rose in surprise, and she nearly choked on her tongue as her mind raced to recall everything of the false tale she had woven about her so-called brother, the cultist Lawbringer used as a scapegoat in her hunt for Li Qiang. Her heart turned to a stone in her chest before it dropped into the pit of her stomach to remain forever. Gunnar waited expectantly for her to speak, but she remained silent as the grave, too afraid to utter another word. Instead, she simply looked away, refusing to acknowledge her mistake outright, which in her world was as good as a full admission of guilt.

"I will hear no more of this," Gunnar said at last, scowling as he rose from the bed. "We will speak no more of it... Once the vault is open and the treasure is ours, we will return to Bilrost together and never speak of this again. You will come home with me, and we shall make something of this strange fate that the Norns have woven for us."

"That is not enough," she snapped, turning back to glare at him now. "We have no future together unless we run. We must act before it is too late. You must come with me..."

"Why? What does that mean?" He whirled on her in an instant, his eyes flashing with anger and confusion. "What aren't you telling me, Priscilla? You have let that question go unanswered as well. You would ask me to give up my family and my home, but you will not tell me why!" Crossing back to the bed, he climbed up next to her and took her hands to squeeze and hold. "There has to be more that you aren't telling me."

She looked away from him, feeling unworthy of his touch. She could have pulled away, gotten up from the bed and ignored him, or even run out of the room, but she could not bring herself to do it, not to him. Once again, she had been presented with a choice, and just as before, all she could do was hope that she made the right decision in the end.

"Do not shut me out, Priscilla," he begged her. "Please..."

"You cannot ask me that, Gunnar, I have given you so much already."

"I want it all... I want you."

Priscilla hissed through clenched teeth, knowing that she was so close to breaking, so close to opening up and giving herself over completely like he asked. Only she couldn't. She could only glower at him instead, still refusing to break despite the tears shimmering in her eyes.

"I was not prepared for you," she whispered. "I was only prepared to fight my enemy, Viking."

His face fell before her eyes, and his hands slipped away as if she had just thrust her dagger into his gut. She saw herself reflected in his desperate stare, knowing every bit the sting of betrayal he felt. There was no coming back from it, only the torment of wondering if he had been so blind as to never see it coming or if he had simply refused to see her for the monster she was all along.

A moment ago, she had known warmth and love in his arms. Now, they stared at each other like two enemies who had stumbled upon each other in the night. Would they fight one another, striking with no idea how much blood was being spilled in the dark, or would they escape together, fleeing hand in hand like she wished to before her treachery was dragged into the light?

She opened her mouth to speak, to beg, or to cry, to utter some horrid note of what she was feeling, but a loud, terrifying horn sounded through the air to silence her. They both turned toward the window as the blast of noise echoed across the city from the walls, blaring over and over again, carrying with it a sickening weight of dread that made her face go pale and her heart stop in her chest. Then a second horn joined the first, and after a third, a fourth, a fifth, until the entire city trembled with the sound. Shouts soon followed from out on the street, carried with an infectious panic as they stared out the window in disbelief.

"The warning horns..." Gunnar said as he sprang up from the bed.

Outside, the sound of rushing footsteps and shifting bodies filled the streets as the horde was awoken. There were more shouts and calls of confusion, anger, and fear, but Gunnar simply stood and stared as the situation became undeniably clear.

Priscilla squeezed her eyes shut and felt hot tears roll down her cheeks, trembling where she lay but refusing to cry out. The feeling of her life breaking into pieces was something she was bitterly familiar with, but now it had been brought about by her very own hand. When she opened her eyes again, Gunnar had turned his back on her. He scowled darkly, gathering his things to dress, moving quickly to prepare himself and get down to the street.

She slid off the bed to do the same, donning her armor with the practiced ease of a warrior accustomed to such things and the suddenness with which they are needed. Fear and anger radiated off Gunnar like an icy chill, but she ignored it. They dressed in silence and did not speak a word to each other as they left the house to join the bustling crowd as echoing calls ushered them to their twisted fate.