Water's Wrath (Air Awakens #4)(17)

“No, I said I’d let him live, never that I’d let him go. And I never said how long I’d let him live, either.” The major laughed. “Leave him. We have the Windwalker and the last crystal weapon. We set out for the caverns tonight.”

Vhalla struggled and fought; she bit and scratched and kicked. She was helpless without her magic, the Bond, and the axe. But she still struggled against her fate. Finally frustrated, the pommel of a Knight’s sword met the side of her head, and Vhalla went limp between the men holding her.

She’d tried to stop the Knights, but she’d failed. She’d tried to save Jax, but he’d died. She’d tried to make a deal with devils, but she’d forgot that devils lie.





VHALLA OPENED HER eyes and heaved up the sparse contents of her stomach.

The light speared searing, blinding pain into her brain, which sent her body into rebellion. The second time she heaved was the moment she tried to move. Now, sitting in her own sick, Vhalla struggled to blink away the blazing sun. Blood coated the side of her face. Her whole body felt like it’d been carved from lead. Her mind struggled to churn, but it only made the ripples of nausea turn into waves.

“She’s awake,” a man called.

Vhalla stopped moving to spare her energy, convincing her eyes to focus. She was rewarded with marginal success as a hazy blob transformed into a Western man. The swaying of the animal she’d been tied to, however, reduced him once more to a sickening blur.

Her throat was dry. Her lips were cracked. Her wrists were heavy. She felt ropes around her waist and shoulders, tying her upright to a saddle. Vhalla tried to flex her fingers, the sunburn agonizing. Easterners had a tendency to tan before burning, so if she was reddened, she must’ve been exposed to the harsh Western sun for some time.

A horse rode up beside her, and Vhalla felt tugs on the ropes that bound her. She struggled to piece together what was happening, her circumstances coming back in a hazy blur. Another Western man came into focus beside her as panic slowly bubbled up within her.

He noticed her attention and patted her head. “Good morning, oh great lady.”

Vhalla went to swat away his hand only to find her wrists tethered together. She looked down and felt sick all over again. But it wasn’t the same nausea as before. It was a cold and crawling dread that felt like glass against her bones, which made her skin prickle and her shoulders quake.

Locked firmly around her wrists was a familiar pair of shackles. Shimmering unnaturally around their circumference were crystals. They pulsed with magic-blocking power. She remembered them being snapped over her wrists by Schnurr.

“For our safety.” The man tapped on her shackles. “We can’t have—”

Vhalla shrieked in anger and swung her whole body. She brought the irons—hard—into the side of the man’s face. The ropes binding her bit into her skin and drew blood at the motion, but Vhalla ignored it. Raw instinct took over, and she swung again with murderous intent before the man could completely recover—his nose shattered.

“Get it under control!” a voice demanded.

Another horse rode up beside her. Vhalla snarled like an animal, barring her teeth dangerously, ready to fight for her life. This man, well-armored and clearly well-trained, didn’t hesitate to go right for his sword.

“I’ve seen you fight.” She stilled as he held his sword at her throat. “You may be made of wind, but steel will cut you.”

Vhalla panted, straining against the ropes. She clenched and unclenched her fists over and over, trying to summon magic that wouldn’t come. The shackles seemed to glow brighter, fighting against her magical struggle.

“We won’t kill you, yet, but we can make you hurt a lot more than you currently do.” He waited until she eased away, panting in the saddle. “Good girl.”

“Where are we headed?” she demanded.

The man glanced forward, and Vhalla followed his stare. At the head of the small caravan was a bushy-mustached man. Major Schnurr.

“You may tell her,” Schnurr called. “It will change little now.”

“We are going to use you as the tool you were born to be.”

Vhalla attempted a bold laugh to sell her lie. She’d known what they sought for weeks, more or less. “You all are larger fools than I thought. I can’t manage crystals any better than any other sorcerer.”

The Knight actually seemed doubtful for a moment.

“Don’t listen to her.” The man immediately in front of her shook his head. “All Windwalkers are the same; not one was ever found who couldn’t manage the crystals.”

“I can’t,” Vhalla insisted. “I can’t, and you are all going to face Imperial judgment for this as I am a Lady of the Court. High crimes for no returns!”

The two men exchanged a look.

“Ignore the Wind Demon’s lies,” Major Schnurr scolded. “She’d say anything to save her skin, and the Empire hunts her presently for justice, not us. We’d be heroes for turning her in.”

“But, sir—”

“If she can’t manage crystals, her skin would’ve already begun to turn to leather and her eyes red with taint from carrying the axe as long as she has.” The major patted his saddlebag and returned his attention forward, talking with another man. There were six Knights in all. Two in the front, the two talking to Vhalla, and two behind, one of whom was nursing his wounded face.