The first thing she became aware of was a sound: the crackling of fire upon wood.

  Nessalir opened her eyes. She was lying on her back, and above her shadows danced along a dirt ceiling. Her muscles protested as she sat up and blinked a number of times, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the gloom.

  She was inside the barrow once more, near to the entrance. Balof had lit a fire on a pile of wood, and sat opposite her, cross-legged on the ground. Behind him, Huunang stood by and endeavored to look as annoyed as a horse was capable.

  "You're awake," Balof said, his dark eyes lighting up at the sight of her. "That wound on your shoulder was deep. Luckily, I found the herbs and bandages in your horse's satchel."

  Nessalir rubbed her shoulder, felt the cloth wrapping he had tied there. "Huunang allowed you to approach him?" she asked.

  Balof shrugged. "I have always been comfortable with animals."

  "And, it would seem, healing," said Nessalir. "This is fine work."

  "Thank you."

  They sat in silence for a moment, before Nessalir asked: "What could possibly have possessed you to come traipsing into this barrow alone?"

  The prince looked away, embarrassed. "I am… not an accomplished warrior," he said. "Nor am I an impressive one. Many would dare say I am not even a competent one. My brother Ralof was strong and fierce, loved by our father and our people. His strength and prowess was the talk of the land, and it was often said that no man of the North was a greater hunstman."

  "You were jealous," said Nessalir.

  Balof nodded. "I was. My brother had always been good to me, but my father… Since I was a child, I have always been keenly aware of the disappointment with which he regards me. I wished to prove myself, to finally do something impressive, and to make my father proud."

  He stood and paced around the fire. "In Heldara I'd thought to find a kindred spirit. She is my father's second wife, and many in the kingdom do not trust. I shared my desires and misgivings with her, and she told me of a crown buried with the Vile King that was said to bring power and fortune to whomever could claim it."

  "And so you went, thinking you might prove yourself by taking that crown," Nessalir finished for him. "Yet it was a trick. Heldara intended you to die here."

  "She spoke as though the crown was hidden behind deadly traps," said Balof. "I doubt she realized the prize itself was the trap, that to claim it was to lose yourself so that the Vile King might be reborn."

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  "Yes, had she known that, she might have gambled her future child's inheritance," Nessalir said with a smirk.

  Balof nodded. A smirk of his own briefly touched his face, but faded quickly. He sat down again.

  "My brother came to rescue me," he said. "He sought to save me from Durnethed. But the draugr ambushed him. They cut him down before my eyes. I can still recall with perfect clarity the look on his face. It was the first time I ever saw Ralof show fear." He shuddered. "My brother is dead because of my actions. I may as well be a kinslayer. That I am now Redair's crown prince, my father's heir? It is a travesty! One such as I deserves no crown!"

  He stared intently into the flames, as though there were something there that only he could see. "For saving my life, I owe you a great debt, Nessalir the Red. But it is a debt I fear I can never repay."

  "You owe me nothing," said Nessalir. "I was hired by your father, if you recall."

  "Hired to bring back his sons, yes?"

  "That is correct," said Nessalir.

  "A pity, then, that one of his sons is dead," Balof said. "And his other son will not be returning."

  Nessalir frowned. "And why is that?"

  "How can I show my face?" asked Balof. "How can I stand before my father after what I have done?"

  "How can you not?" asked Nessalir. "How can you not stand before Heldara, alive and with the full knowledge of her treachery, and let her see that she has failed? How can you allow the child of that woman to become the future sovereign of your family's kingdom?"

  Balof thought of this. "I am no warrior," he said. "I am not loved by the people. I shall be alone against her."

  "Not all great men are warriors," said Nessalir. "In Lorveg, before the coming of the Winter King, I loved a man who was great. He was a healer. He had dedicated his life to the preservation of others, to the soothing of those in pain. I am a warrior, Prince Balof. Pain and death are all I inflict. I envied this man for his power to undo my efforts, for the nobility of his cause. And I loved him fiercely for his kindness and his loyalty and his virtue. When Lorveg fell, I mourned that I could not save my homeland. But it was his loss which led me to weep."

  "Why are you telling me this?" asked Balof.

  "Because you need not be a warrior to earn your people's love," Nessalir told him. "In you, I see much of my first love. Look at how well you have treated my shoulder. You dragged me from the cold and tended to me when I was weak and vulnerable. You could be a great man, Prince Balog, and a great leader. If you run, if you leave for self-imposed exile, then you are simply ceding your kingdom to Heldara."

  Balof considered this as well. "I have no proof of her treachery," he said. "I can make no accusations against her."

  "Then you must work to undermine her, and you must gather allies. Or do you believe that your father's wife is more loved by the people than your brother?"

  He sat in silence for a moment, and then he smiled the first genuine smile that Nessalir had seen upon his face. "No," he said. "No I do not."

  "Then rest, Prince Balof," said Nessalir. She approached him, took from her pouch his family's signet ring, and pressed it into his palm. "For tomorrow we return to your father's hall."