by Elise Kova
“We’ll be out shortly, then.” Aldrik turned back to Baldair, who disappeared with another shake of his head. Aldrik dragged his feet back over to the bed. “I don’t want you to leave.”
“I don’t want to.” Vhalla couldn’t help but laugh at his pouting. “But we have no excuse, my prince.” Vhalla ran her palm up his arm to his shoulder and back down to his hand.
“You’ll be with me again soon,” he reassured them both as he brought her fingers to his lips.
They both dressed slowly, giving into distractions. But only so many kisses could delay the inevitable, and Vhalla found herself buttoned up once more, in tow behind him. Aldrik paused just before they neared the entryway into the main room. The sounds of the men and women laughing and drinking, giving into the evening revelries, were dull compared to the beautiful chorus she and Aldrik had sung the whole afternoon with their muted sighs and hushed whispers.
“I love you,” he breathed, glancing down at her.
“I love you, Aldrik,” Vhalla repeated back, not appreciating the nervous glint to his eyes.
They plunged into the room, made bright by hovering flames, and all eyes instantly went to them. Vhalla wished her face didn’t immediately flush such an incriminatory shade of scarlet. She averted her eyes, hoping no one would notice.
“So good of you to join us,” the Emperor finally spoke.
“I hope we have not been the cause of any delays.” Aldrik’s mannerisms clearly conveyed that he didn’t care if they had been.
“I would like a primary report of your findings.” The Emperor froze them both in place.
“Well—” Aldrik began.
“From her,” the Emperor interjected.
Vhalla tore her eyes off the floor in surprise, only to find all attention on her. She suddenly wondered if she’d smoothed her hair enough, or if it still bore remnants of Aldrik’s eager hands. She wondered if there was a bruise somewhere visible from his ravenous hunger to taste her. She wondered if she smelled of him.
“My lord, it’s all, it’s very complex ...” Vhalla struggled to say something, anything.
“Is it?” The Emperor arched an eyebrow. “Did you not see within Soricium castle with your own eyes?”
“I did,” she lied.
“Then tell me what you saw; I so long to see the inside those walls.” A predatory sneer spread across his lips. Vhalla knew she was being tested, and she knew she was failing.
“I saw...” Her eyes flicked to Aldrik and hopelessness filled his expression at the inability to help. Her treacherous mind was filled only with images of his naked form. “I saw ...”
Aldrik’s lips parted. His mind raced behind the dark of his eyes, trying to formulate an excuse for her that wouldn’t incriminate them both.
“Mother, Jax!” Daniel suddenly jumped out of his seat at the crash of a flagon.
“Sorry, sorry!” The Westerner stood also, eagerly patting at the Easterner’s soaked crotch.
“Jax!” Daniel jumped back. “I don’t need that. I need a new pair of trousers.”
“Could I help you change?” Jax straightened and cocked his head to the side.
“Gods, no!” Daniel groaned.
“Fine, fine.” Jax sat with his hands in the air in a sign of defeat. “But if you’re going, take the Lady Vhalla with you, she looks like she hasn’t slept in days.”
Vhalla blinked at her name. Her attention slowly shifted to Daniel, whose expression was icy and guarded. Her heart began to race, and every beat whispered, he knows.
“Fine.” One word unleashed an avalanche of unexplainable guilt upon her shoulders.
Aldrik used the opportunity to start toward the table, turning away when Vhalla looked back to him for some sort of input on the situation.
Elecia gave Vhalla a cool and cautionary assessment from
Aldrik’s side but said nothing. “Miss Yarl, you have not—”
“Let her go, Father,” Aldrik drawled. There was a bitter edge to his voice. “She’s clearly exhausted from her Projections and isn’t thinking straight. She needs rest.”
Vhalla glanced between the prince and the Emperor. Daniel was already halfway to the door, and she was missing her opportunity to flee. Nodding her head in a hasty bow, she made her escape into the night at Daniel’s side.
It felt like a decade when it had only been a day since she had last seen Daniel. It was amazing how much could change in hours. Vhalla struggled to break the silence.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Thank Jax,” Daniel muttered.
“You played along,” Vhalla pointed out.
“My pants are soaked with ale; I would change with or without you.” Daniel focused forward, avoiding her.
Vhalla didn’t know why she continued to follow him, but she did almost instinctually. “Daniel, what’s wrong?” She hated herself the moment she asked, the moment they entered his shack and he turned on her with pain-filled eyes.
“Really? Must you even ask?” All the nights he’d whispered comfort to her were cut away by the blades hidden between his words. “Don’t bother lowering yourself to trouble with me.”
“What?” Vhalla blinked at the caustic tone. He’d known, hadn’t he known all along, how it was between them?
“I know you’re rather busy attending to the demands of the royal family.” The statement was harmless enough, but the way Daniel said it.
“Don’t do this,” Vhalla snapped. She wasn’t going to let him make her feel guilty for Aldrik. For the bliss they’d shared. “You knew how it was between us.” Vhalla didn’t clarify who she meant by us.
“You misunderstand me,” he mumbled.
“No, I understand you perfectly.” Vhalla grabbed up her small pile of clothes and chainmail from the corner she’d been occupying. “I understand you’re presuming too much from simple comfort.”
“I was just comfort? Well, isn’t that something I could brag about, being the comfort of the first woman the Fire L—”
“Don’t you dare.” Vhalla inhaled sharply, staring down daggers at him.
Daniel blinked at her, as if catching himself. As if logic and reason suddenly snapped back into place, locking down the jealousy he’d been letting get away from him. He moved to touch her.
Vhalla turned quickly and plunged into the night air. Of everyone, thoughtful Daniel was the last person she expected judgment from, and it hurt. She pursed her lips in frustration, and her feet quickened beneath her, carrying her faster and faster from him.
“Vhalla, wait! I’m sorry, I don’t want it to be like this.” The flap of his shack door swayed behind him. “I didn’t—” The words stuck in his throat when Vhalla didn’t stop. “I didn’t mean it, Vhalla!”
She didn’t look back. She didn’t want to let him see the confusion in her eyes.
IT SOUNDED AS though Daniel was going to pursue her, but only for about ten steps. Vhalla kept her eyes forward, her nails digging into the chainmail buried within the bundle of clothing. In frustration, she threw the bundle into the closet military storehouse she could find, all but the chainmail Aldrik had crafted.
Vhalla wiggled into the armor, glaring at the soiled fabric. It wasn’t hers. The clothing had been pulled off the dead bodies of soldiers and given to a communal pile Vhalla had been forced to leech off since arriving in the North. It was a pile she’d weeded through with Daniel.
Nothing was hers anymore. Her name had been taken and given, time and again. Her appearance had been borrowed. Even her magic wasn’t hers to use at will.
She rubbed her eyes with her palm, suddenly feeling exhausted. Vhalla wondered what would happen if she ran. She had already proven she could be faster than anyone else with the wind underneath a horse. If she left, would the Emperor catch her?
Vhalla gazed at the camp palace in the fading light. Her feet had been carrying her toward it on instinct. Even when she was fantasizing over the idea of fleeing, she moved toward to the man who held the chains
that ensnared her—just to be near his son.
The Bond she held with Aldrik was stronger than any threats the Emperor could make. Yet despite that resounding truth, the chainmail felt heavy on her shoulders. Aldrik had promised her it would never be easy, but she wasn’t sure how much longer they could keep fighting before something broke. What would the cost be, when all was tallied?
“Can you at least tell me where she is?” A small commotion at the entrance to the camp palace distracted Vhalla.
“We don’t know the whereabouts of the Windwalker.” The guards couldn’t have been less interested in helping the dirty-blonde Southerner seeking entry.
Vhalla paused, standing at the fork that would carry her around to the back of the camp palace and Aldrik’s window.
“I’m trying to return her things,” the woman explained. “Can I at least bring them here?”
“Do we look like help to you?” The other guard yawned. “You know none of us want this job ...”
“Listen.” The woman took a deep breath and puffed out her chest. “You two are going to help me find the Windwalker. She’s gone long enough without her armor, and I know she’ll want it back.”
“And we told you—”
“You have my armor?” Vhalla called, halfway across the distance.
The woman turned, and a vague recognition crossed Vhalla’s mind at the sight of the woman’s face. She had been one of Vhalla’s doppelgangers. The woman stared at Vhalla like a frightened doe, suddenly stumbling over her words. “It-it’s you.”
“Do you have my armor?” Vhalla repeated.
“I do.” The woman nodded.
“I do! At my tent.”
“Great, you two run along now.” The guards shooed them.
Vhalla shot the offending guard a pointed glare at the wave of his hand. She was surprised when it actually gave the man pause, and he quickly snapped to attention under the weight of her stare.
“You’re really her.” The woman peered at Vhalla from the corners of her eyes as they headed in a direction of camp Vhalla had yet to wander.
Vhalla was less shy about sizing up her companion. “Her?” “Vhalla Yarl,” she spoke as if the fact should’ve been obvious. “We’ve met before,” Vhalla reminded her.
“That didn’t really count though,” the woman mumbled. “You were ...”
“A mess.” Vhalla laughed bitterly at the other woman’s shock toward her self-depreciation. “I lost a dear friend that night.”
Mentioning Larel flashed pain across the scar on Vhalla’s memory. But it felt like the right pain. It felt like a pain that was turning into a bitter ache that would make her stronger, not the crippling sort she’d been wallowing in before.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You know?” Vhalla asked skeptically.
“You, her, the Southerner, the lady ...” It took Vhalla a moment to realize her companion was speaking of Larel, Fritz, and Elecia. “You were the Black Knights.”
“The Black Knights?” Vhalla laughed.
“That’s what the other soldiers called you.” The woman was laughing, too, realizing how silly it sounded as well. “The Black Knights, the start of the dark prince’s personal guard.”
“That’s an interesting thought ...” Vhalla smiled tiredly. She couldn’t imagine Aldrik creating a rival to Prince Baldair’s infamous Golden Guard. “What’s your name, by the way?”
The other woman paused, as if surprised Vhalla didn’t know it. The woman didn’t know Vhalla had made it a point not to learn the names of her doppelgangers. They became people when she did, they became deaths that could hurt and inspire guilt.
Then again, Vhalla inwardly cringed at the memory of the Emperor’s Windwalker look-alike. Dead, shot down, and left to rot in the jungles of the North. She hadn’t known that woman’s name, but the guilt remained. For better or worse, Vhalla realized, she had too much of a soul left to ignore sacrifice. The least she could do was learn the names of those who were making that sacrifice.
“Timanthia,” she said with a small cringe. “But I hate that name; Tim is fine.”
“Tim, then,” Vhalla affirmed with a nod. They’d come to a stop before a small tent.
“I’m glad I could get your armor back to you.” Tim began rummaging through the inside of the tent, passing out the scale mail.
Vhalla ghosted her fingers over the steel. It felt almost warm, as if Aldrik’s forging fire still lived within it. Tim allowed Vhalla a moment, stacking the gauntlets and greaves between where Vhalla knelt and the tent.
“I know it’s important,” Tim’s voice had dropped to a whisper. Vhalla’s eyes flicked up, clearly hearing the underlying current that there was more to be said. Tim paused, caught in conflict at Vhalla’s expectant stare. “He told me he’d made it for you.”
Vhalla’s nails scraped against the armor as she instantly tensed.
“Don’t worry,” Tim reassured her.
Vhalla wondered how much the other woman knew in order to be reassuring her.
“No matter what the rumors are, he only called me to his tent for show.”
The words stung, and Vhalla averted her eyes to hide the warring emotions. Aldrik had been doing what he had to. She’d been doing the same. They were both so guilty they were innocent.
“I want you to know ...” Tim clearly forced herself to continue, she looked as awkward as Vhalla suddenly felt. “If he remembers anything he said when he was halfway into the bottles ...” Tim’s eyes were suddenly shifty. “Like his strange dreams ... Anyways, I won’t tell anyone.”
Vhalla assessed the other woman with a probing stare. She wanted to ask what Tim was talking about specifically, but at the same time she wanted to foremost ensure the woman’s sincerity. Vhalla knew what little love people held for their crown prince. “Why would you protect his secrets?”
Tim surprised her. “Because he’s not like people think, is he?” Vhalla’s mouth dropped open, stunned.
“Sorry, I won’t say anything more; it’s not my place.” Tim stood, dusting off her legs. “I’m glad I could return your things.” “I appreciate it.” Vhalla nodded dumbly. Someone else had seen Aldrik like she had. Another person had burrowed underneath his fiery, arrogant exterior into the man she knew. Part of Vhalla wanted to embrace the woman for it, for being an unlikely companion in a knowledge that was dear to her heart. A very different part wanted to claw Tim’s eyes out and rip the thoughts from her mind.
She wanted to know what Tim was hiding. Vhalla wanted to know if she already knew that secret. But if she didn’t, it could be worse, so Vhalla held her tongue.
The armor Aldrik had made for her was like a safety blanket. Vhalla swaddled herself in it, clipping every clasp with silent reverence. It fit perfectly as it always had, as if to say, you are still the woman you were.
“If you ever need anything, or find yourself in Mosant after the war is over,” Tim was speaking, “don’t hesitate to seek me out.”
“I won’t.” Vhalla took the other woman’s hand, slinging her pack over one shoulder. She wasn’t sure if she’d actually take the woman up on her offer, but it couldn’t hurt to file the information away in the corner of her mind.
As Vhalla turned, a shadow blocked her path, and she instantly recognized the bushy-mustached Western man. He had a smirk pushing up the corner of his most recognizable feature.
“Major Schnurr.” Tim saluted.
Vhalla begrudgingly mirrored Tim’s movements, distinctly remembering the man’s harsh words hours before.
“Lady Yarl.” The title sounded like a slur when it slithered across his lips. “What do you think you’re doing in my ranks?” “I was returning her armor,” Tim spoke easily. It made Vhalla question if the other woman felt the oppressive presence from the man or if it was only Vhalla.
“So I see.” The man raked his eyes from Vhalla’s toes to her forehead.
Vhalla clenched her fists.
“Since you don’t seem to be
doing anything at present, you can assist Tim here this evening with her patrol,” Major Schnurr ordered.
“What?” Vhalla blinked.
“Oh-ho, does the Windwalker think herself above some basic labor?” He leaned forward. “Want to enjoy the protection of the army without contributing your share?”
Vhalla smothered a smart remark of how she had contributed quite a bit. She doubted Major Schnurr could tout saving the lives of the Imperial family on his list of accomplishments. As much as she wanted to argue, she saw the sun continuing its downward journey. Aldrik was waiting for her.
“Yarl,” the major folded his arms over his chest. “You misunderstand me. I’m not asking, I’m telling you.”
“Of course,” Vhalla was forced to begrudgingly agree.
“Two rounds for your hesitation,” the major said off-handedly as he walked by.
“Major, she won’t sleep if she does two rounds—” Tim made a weak defense.
“Then the Windwalker will learn not to question her duty to the militia and learn her place.”
Tim asked Vhalla later, during their patrol out along the scorched earth that served as the barrier to the Imperial camp, if Vhalla had done something to offend the major. Seething, Vhalla struggled to find a reason, but couldn’t.
The first time she’d even seen Major Schnurr was during her demonstration for the Emperor at the Crossroads. He had been one of the assembled majors, but he hadn’t said anything then, and she certainly hadn’t paid him any mind. Tim was an archer, so Vhalla had no idea who the major reported to. Likely through Baldair, if she was forced to guess. But Vhalla couldn’t come up with a reason why Baldair would slight her, especially not after how close they’d become.
No, there was only one person Vhalla could think of who would to go to any lengths to make her life as difficult as possible. And that man was above them all. It put Vhalla into a sour silence that Tim futilely tried to battle against with small talk.
Eventually the large, burned track around the outmost upper ridge of the camp curved and Vhalla could see the pale outline of stone ruins illuminated in the moonlight. An overgrown skeleton, half destroyed and reclaimed by time, it was like something from a storybook. The stone felt out of place compared to the wooden structures Vhalla had seen Northerners use for building. As if in agreement, those same trees were determined to take root within it and branch through the ancient construction, returning it to the earth in pieces.
