Vhalla regarded him cautiously. She didn’t think for a minute he’d suddenly accepted her. But maybe she could show him she wasn’t dangerous, that she meant him no harm. “Very well,” she said before Daniel could object.
“Vhalla, you don’t have to.” The Eastern man took a step closer to her, dropping his voice. “Don’t feel pressured into this.”
“I don’t.” She shook her head, whispering, “Maybe it’ll be good to show him.”
“Well ...”
“Are you two done whispering your sweet nothings?” Grun asked dryly, drawing his sword opposite Vhalla.
Daniel stepped away quickly, his movements jerky and nervous. Was it the heat of the desert or was there a blush across his cheeks? Daniel lifted his palm; their mark to begin sparring would be when he lowered it.
She noticed how his dark brown hair moved as his hand cut through the air, his hazel eyes darting toward hers.
Distracted, Vhalla didn’t hear Grun move until he was upon her. She turned back at the last second, making a weak attempt to dodge. He smashed the pommel of his blade against her cheek in a back-handed swing, sending Vhalla flying into the sand.
“Grun!” Daniel and Craig both called.
“Just a spar.” The mountain of a man laughed. “If she wants to forfeit, she can.”
Vhalla coughed blood onto the sand. Her lip was split, and her face already felt swollen. She blinked away stars, trying to get her feet back under her.
Grun’s boot connected with her side, echoing against her plate as he kicked her. Vhalla rolled across the sand, the wind knocked from her. She curled in on herself, phantom blows attacking her body. Gasping, she tried to push the memories of Rat and Mole’s assault out of her mind.
“Really, this is it?” Grun laughed, goading some of the onlookers into cheers. “This is the fearsome Windwalker?”
“Vhalla, forfeit.” Daniel ran over to her side.
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed, holding out a palm. Something in her eyes froze Daniel in place as Vhalla pushed herself to her feet. Vhalla turned to Grun, feeling the wind at her back. Her heart began to race just by looking at him.
“Oh, still have some fight in you?” Grun chuckled as Vhalla stood. “Well, at least our Black Legion makes good punching bags. We should thank the Fire Lord for the only thing he’s ever given us.”
“Take it back.” Vhalla could barely hear herself over the racing heartbeat in her ears.
“Or wha—” Grun didn’t finish his sentence as Vhalla’s fist met the side of his face.
The man was built like a rock, and Vhalla could feel the bones in her arm compress through her shoulder as she punched his cheek. Her hand stung but she ignored it, quickly landing from her leaping punch and darting back.
Grun let out a cry of rage and swung his sword at her.
“Why do you hate me? Why do you hate us?” she cried, her body deftly dodging the swings of his blade.
“Because you’re abominations!” Grun shouted, attempting to grab her plate.
Vhalla was too fast and batted his hand out of the way, spinning around his side. “We are your comrades! We don’t want to fight you!”
“Says the woman who killed countless people on the Night of Fire and Wind!” Grun raised his blade over her head and brought it down on Vhalla’s shoulder. The clang of metal on metal was sharp and set her ear to ringing as she crumpled.
They thought she was a murderer.
“I didn’t kill them,” Vhalla whispered.
“Liar!” Grun raised his blade again. “They should’ve killed you that night!” The goliath swung, straight for her head.
Vhalla stared at the blade as the world devolved into chaos at Grun’s clearly murderous intentions. This was not a spar; the man intended it to be an execution.
Vhalla raised her hand and the wind ripped Grun’s blade from his fingers, sending it far off into the sand in the distance. She swept her palm in front of her body and a secondary gust knocked Grun on his side. As Vhalla stood, she pressed her hand downward, holding the man to the ground despite his struggles.
“I am not your enemy,” she whispered in a disturbingly calm voice. “So I cannot die this day. Iwill notdie until you see the truth.”
