The stables surpassed her wildest imagination. Hundreds of people filled every possible space. Each was plated in silver armor. Some were readying steeds, others were preparing carts.

Her awe was broken when the major barked a sharp order, sending Vhalla toward a side stall. She hadn’t expected to have her own mount. Vhalla’s steed was a mostly-black stallion with a white patch on its forehead. She patted its neck, and it shook a dark mane in dramatic protest. A bit of fire in the beast would suit her well, she decided. A young stable boy who gave her a wide berth worked quickly to saddle and bridle the mount. There was the echo of a voice in her that wanted to reassure the clearly fearful child, but Vhalla couldn’t find the strength to comfort anyone else. She was too dark inside to even smile, so it was no surprise that she nearly startled the boy to death when she spoke.

“What’s his name?”

“It-it’s a new one. I saw ‘im just this week. Don’t think he ‘as a name.” The boy finished tacking the horse and attaching one small saddlebag on either side. One was stocked with rations, and Vhalla’s meager possessions fit into the other—with some space left over.

She walked to the front of the horse and considered the beast. “Lightning,” she decided. It wasn’t very original, but it needed a name, and Lightning was as good as any. Lightning was fire in the sky, lightning was brilliant, lightning was fast, and lightning cut the heavens.

Putting her left foot in the stirrup, she swung her right over easily, taking the reins. Vhalla had never been taught how to properly ride, but a horse or two was something her family always kept for the farm. From a young age she’d rode astride, so sitting in a saddle seemed a natural stance. Vhalla glanced around at the other recruits; it wasn’t so natural for many.

Taking the reins in one hand, she put her heels to the beast’s sides and steered him out of the stable stall. Her armor clanked as she found the rhythm of the horse. Vhalla rode over to where the major was beginning to form the line.

“Major,” she said.

“Good to see you know your way around a horse.” The major assessed Vhalla from her feet in the stirrups to her grip on the reins. “You’ll be close to center, Yarl, at my right.” Referring to Fritz and Larel by their last names, she added, “Charem next to you, then Neiress. Then everyone else whom I can trust to not die promptly in a scuffle will be on the outside and rear.”

Vhalla placed her horse in line with enough space on both sides. There was a small commotion behind her, and Vhalla turned in her saddle. The palace’s giant ceremonial doors opened with the clanking and grinding of a large chain, and the Imperial family marched into the sun.

Prince Baldair wore his golden armor, and it shone brilliantly against the light. The Emperor wore a similar suit with large plate but all in white. Aldrik stood in stark contrast. He wore black scale that covered his entire body, similar to what Vhalla wore. Strapped atop the scale mail were large black plates rimmed in gold, which went from his hands to his elbows, his feet to his knees, on his shoulders, and upper chest. All three held helmets tucked under their arms and wore long white cloaks that flapped around their upper calves.

He looked nothing like the prince she’d seen barely hours before. But he was still utterly familiar to her.

The other members of the Imperial family had their horses brought out to them, but no one seemed interested in bringing Aldrik his. He approached the stomping beast and calmed it with a hand, leading it from its stall.

Vhalla’s stare was broken as Larel and Fritz rode over.

“Charem, Yarl’s right. Neiress, after,” the major barked, and Fritz and Larel fell in line around Vhalla.

“You’re holding the reins too tightly,” Vhalla advised quietly over Fritz to Larel, who seemed to be having trouble controlling her horse. Larel gave her an appreciative glance. Even though Vhalla would have rather them be safe in the Tower, she was glad to have her friends near her.

She began to notice strange glances from the other soldiers as more fell into line. There was a definite break between those dressed in silver and white and those dressed in silver and black. Friends were going to be in short supply on the march.

A quiet swept up from behind her, and the major turned. Aldrik sat atop his large War-strider, riding through the gap to Major Reale.

“My prince.” The major bowed her head.

“Major Reale.” Aldrik’s voice was sharp. “How many do we have?” His eyes scanned through the recruits.

“Just shy of fifty,” the major reported, confirming Vhalla’s suspicions that they were the smallest group.

“Then I want just shy of fifty coming home.” The prince took the reins in his hands as the major nodded. He directed his horse through the ranks, heading toward the front, but spared the second for a glance at Vhalla. Their eyes met, and his face relaxed a fraction, a conflicting mess of emotions building behind his stare.

Vhalla hardened her gaze as much as she could and gave him a small nod. He put his heels to his horse and posted a trot to the front of the line.

The time for sadness and pity was over. The girl who had come to the palace at eleven and lived her life in the library was dead; she’d been killed by the Senators whom she’d always been taught were sworn to protect her. The woman sitting in the saddle now had to find a heart crafted of black steel. She had to survive if for no other reason than to spite the world.

The host was in place, and the men and women shifted in their saddles. Vhalla clutched her reins tightly. She could do this, she told herself over the mental lies that her knees weren’t shaking in the stirrups.

“Open the gates!” the Emperor boomed.

The lower gates groaned to life, opening for the hoard of warriors behind them. The Emperor led the march as the host spilled out into the mountaintop city with a thunderous rumble. Somewhere at the front soldiers began to cry, a wordless shout of bloodlust, fear, victory, and hope.

Vhalla did not make a sound.

THE DIN OF the horses’ hooves on the cobblestone streets filled her ears. They set a brisk pace down the city and through the assembled crowds. More than one person stared with morbid curiosity or fear as the Black Legion passed, and Vhalla struggled not to give the masses any heed.

But, despite her best efforts, her eyes wandered; Vhalla was faced with a mix of horror, fear, and anger. Sorcerers, they were outcasts and unwanted creatures and—as far as many of the crowd were concerned—they had overstepped their boundaries the moment they left the Tower. More than once, someone was bold enough to throw something at them, though it normally missed and hit a pole-armed soldier at their front or an archer at their backs. The Black Legion was much smaller than the other groups.

By the increasing damage to the city, Vhalla realized they were close to the square of Sun and Moon. It had only been a few days since the already infamous Night of Fire and Wind, and most things were still in disrepair. Guilt swelled within her to near dizzying levels.

As they reached the lower wall of the city the houses became shorter, less opulent. It made the wall all the more impressive. The capital’s first line of defense was a massive structure that utilized natural features and stone of the mountain. The drawbridge of the main gate was already being lowered for the host to march through.

“Ride close!” Major Reale called from her left.

Vhalla steered her horse close to the center of the column, and they passed through the gate. The city continued to stretch on beyond the wall on the other side of the moat, a moat that would remain dry throughout the winter months. Even poorer homes lined the mountainside to the valley below.