Vhalla hadn’t actually slept. Her mind had spent the whole night processing everything that had happened. Things were moving faster than an avalanche, and it felt like her only option was to run with the moving ground under her feet—or be swept away by it. The master would be headed to the library about now. Even during the Festival of the Sun someone had to tend to the books, and if the majority of the apprentices were off enjoying the celebrations, then it fell to the master. Vhalla tugged on the hem of her shirt as she made her way through the mostly-deserted halls to some of the better levels of the palace. She would have to make her conversation short and direct. Soon she found the courage to knock on Mohned’s chamber door. She waited, shifting her weight from foot to foot and fidgeting until she heard a soft shuffling sound right before the door opened. The timeworn and hunched frame of the master was swathed in a crimson robe. “Vhalla?” Mohned adjusted his spectacles. “Master, I need to speak with you,”
