Confusion clouded the girl’s expression.
With an exaggerated sigh, Freya rolled her eyes and waved her off. ‘You don’t need to know every secret that passes through the world. Start unpacking. We’ll stay here for what’s left of the day and the night, most likely. Only the gods know how long they’ve been camped down there.’
‘Where do you suppose they’re headed?’ Ylva mused aloud, brows drawn together in thought. Before Freya could answer, she continued, ‘It must be the wolverian castle. But for what purpose?’
Freya bit the inside of her cheek, holding back her words. A part of her pitied Ylva. So earnest, so determined despite the fractured memories. And yet, perhaps ignorance was a kindness. If the witches truly sought to destroy House of Snow, then Ylva, who remembered none of them, would be spared the grief. There would be no mourning for a family she no longer recognised. Perhaps that was mercy.
‘We ought to eat,’ Freya said at last, choosing practicality over conversation.
Ylva nodded and darted off to the horses, where their satchels hung heavy with provisions. She returned swiftly, laying out a modest spread: dried meats, salted fruits, nuts, and a wedge of crumbly cheese. They ate in silence, the hush between them as thick as the mountain mist. But Freya could feel Ylva’s gaze shifting towards her again and again, subtle as a thunderclap.
‘Spit it out,’ Freya muttered around a mouthful of dried meat. ‘Keep staring like that and I’ll roll my eyes so hard they’ll fall out of my skull.’
Ylva choked on a slice of apple, coughing softly into her hand. Thankfully, they were high above and well beyond earshot of the witches below. No sound, however loud, would reach the enemy camp.
‘If the witches are heading north…’ Ylva began, her voice steadier now, eyes sharpened like steel. ‘If they attack the wolverians… there won’t be enough time to return and warn the valkyrians before it’s too late.’
Despite the hole where her memories once lived, Ylva had been brought up to speed after her rebirth. Valkyrians made it a point to educate every sister anew on current politics, military movements, the delicate threads of diplomacy. Knowledge, they believed, was the cornerstone of unity. How else could all valkyrians vote, if not informed?
Freya said nothing, chewing slowly, her focus fixed on some distant, indifferent horizon.
‘But you already knew that,’ Ylva added, her jaw tight, voice laced with quiet betrayal.
Freya exhaled a quiet sigh, plucked a few slices of apple, and tossed them towards the horses, who nickered gratefully as they chewed. She did not speak at once. Instead, she allowed herself the time to truly look at Ylva. No, not Ylva, not really. It was Wren’s face she saw. So achingly familiar. So heartbreakingly young. Wren, who had barely stepped into her twenties before fate had seized her by the throat and remade her into something immortal. A valkyrian. A warrior carved out of sorrow and steel.
When Freya finally spoke, her voice was cool, quiet. ‘What do you wish for me to say?’ The sharpness of her tone landed like a slap. Ylva flinched,leaning back as though the distance might soften the sting.
‘So what, then?’ Ylva demanded, voice trembling. ‘We simply stand by and watch as innocent wolverians are slaughtered?’
‘You heard Alma,’ Freya said, popping a few nuts into her mouth with a shrug. ‘We are observers. Nothing more.’
‘Unless innocent lives are at risk. Then surely—’
‘Then surely what?’ Freya cut in, her glacial blue eyes glinting with dry amusement. ‘You’ll fly down there, blades drawn, and stop a hundred witches yourself? Come now. No. We observe, and we leave them to their war.’
‘That’s not—’
‘That’s not what?’ Freya’s snort was laced with something bitter, ancient. ‘The valkyrian way? Let me remind you of a piece of history you may have forgotten in your rebirth. A hundred years ago, the drakonians razed the Kingdom of Magic to ash. And where were the valkyrians then? Did they intervene? They could have. But they did not. The Great War raged on for years while they stood idle, watching a kingdom burn. Only when the end was already upon us did they raise their swords and pretend to play saviours.’
Ylva’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Her voice, when it came, was barely a breath. ‘But why…?’
‘I’ll teach you my own lesson,’ Freya murmured, dropping a few more nuts into her mouth, the weight of sorrow coiling like ivy around her heart. ‘No one in these wretched eight kingdoms is truly innocent. They all bear bloodstains, whether upon their hands or buried deep within their souls. And more often than not, it’s those who shout the loudest about being righteous, kind, or brave who are the most deceitful of all. They’re the ones who never listen, who trustonly the sound of their own voice. They call themselves merciful, but only because they’ve convinced themselves that their way causes no harm. And they call themselves brave, when in truth, they fear any world not shaped in their own image.’
She sighed, rolling her neck to ease the stiffness earned from nights spent sleeping on the ground. ‘Valkyrians are so paralysed by the fear of repeating their past mistakes that they’ll do precisely that, over and over again. That is their gravest flaw.’
‘Why didn’t they do anything?’ Ylva asked, her voice small. ‘During the Great War?’
Freya looked down at her pale hands, deceptively youthful but bearing the spirit of someone who had walked through centuries. ‘Because to intervene would have meant killing more lives than letting a few burn. Eliminating one kingdom was easier than reshaping the world.’
‘But that’s wrong. The witches didn’t deserve—’
‘No one was innocent, Ylva,’ Freya said sharply, cutting her off. Her voice was quiet, but it was laced with fatigue.
Ylva exhaled, long and heavy, frustration dancing across her features. She grabbed a wedge of cheese and bit into it in silence, her stare distant. Freya couldn’t help the faint grin that tugged at her lips as she watched her. There was more the girl wanted to say. Freya could see it, plain as day, but for now, she was keeping it locked behind clenched teeth.
After a few minutes of quietly observing the valkyrian make a series of faces as she chewed, Freya gave in with a sigh, brushing the crumbs from her lap. ‘Come on then,’ she said, tone dry but not unkind, ‘say what’s gnawing at you and be done with it.’
‘It’s nothing,’ Ylva replied with a shrug,attempting nonchalance.
