by Elise Kova
Aldrik stilled, and Vhalla bit her lip. He cut off her hasty apology for speaking about his father. “He wasn’t always like this.”
Vhalla stilled, hanging on Aldrik’s words.
“When I was a boy, he hardly spoke of war or conquest.” Aldrik stared straight through her. “But, it changed ...”
“What did?” Vhalla encouraged.
“Emissaries from the North, long ago, refused something he wanted, and it turned my father sour.” Aldrik was so still his lips barely moved.
“What did they want?”
“The knights had one, and they—So, Egmun told him that it was necessary. He told Father the history of the continent and Egmun had said, he said it was necessary, that it was the last one. Father would never let it fall into the knights’ hands ...”
“What, Aldrik?” she pleaded, waiting for the prince to form cohesive sentences. Her flesh crawled at the name of her most hated senator. “What did Egmun want?”
“Knowledge,” Aldrik pressed his eyes closed tightly. “Above all else, he wanted knowledge—and then me.” The prince’s eyes snapped open, and there was something crushingly horrible about the way Aldrik looked at her. “When the North refused, Egmun said I could help, that I could still make my father proud. I gave it to him. I gave him that glimpse of truth, and I turned my father into this.”
“What?” Vhalla gripped his hands tightly. “Aldrik, you’re not making any sense.”
“No.” Aldrik shook his head and pulled out of her grasp. The action seemed so foreign now that they were so close; Vhalla didn’t even know how to react. “I won’t speak on this.”
“Aldrik—”
“I said no, Vhalla!”
She shrunk away.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Aldrik shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. “I told you, there are some things that I will never want to talk about. I need—” He swallowed thickly. “I need you to just accept that.”
Vhalla studied his face as he continued to avoid eye contact with her. There was a dangerous line she’d toed up against. The last time he had acted so out of sorts was the time she had confessed to having knowledge of his suicide attempt.
Taking a step closer, Vhalla reached out and pulled him to her, resting her cheek against his chest. His arms hung limply for a few breaths before sliding around her shoulders. Vhalla closed her eyes. “I accept it. I’m sorry for prying.”
“My Vhalla, my lady, my love,” he sighed.
“It’s all right; I understand.” In truth, she didn’t. Vhalla didn’t have any dark secret so horrible that it scrambled her mind. She didn’t have anything that would shut her down and turn her to stone at the mention of it, not even the Night of Fire and Wind.
But she understood that whatever it was must be horrific. Anything that could inspire someone to take their own life must be. Vhalla swallowed. There was a darkness at the very deepest part of her prince she had yet to penetrate. The fear it ignited in her paled in comparison to her desire to spend enough time with him to bring light into that void.
Their exchange raked against both their thoughts, making them silent throughout her Projection. Vhalla mindlessly traversed the long distance between the camp palace and Soricium. She kept her thoughts locked away within the innermost part of her mind to prevent any from reaching outward to him.
That cloud hung over them into the evening. Her time in the palace wasn’t very fruitful, some basic tidbits of information but nothing that could shift the tides of war in their favor. Aldrik told her to try to find out more information on the spies, but she couldn’t even find the Westerner. Wherever he was, the informant did an unintentionally good job of avoiding her.
In all, it felt disappointing and useless, and Vhalla was forced to swallow the fact that she couldn’t find a wealth of information every time she walked Soricium. Aldrik managed to swallow the same facts, with the help of a strong drink or two, and slowly the cloud dissipated. Their days fell into a repetition of short meetings with the majors in the mornings and evenings and of Projections during the day.
They tried to weed out the spy and debated it often in private, but to no avail. However the spies were communicating, it was well-orchestrated, and they seemed to have it down to a science. Vhalla would scan the faces of the majors at meetings, wondering who among them would put a knife through Aldrik’s shoulder blades. But nothing ever came of their search.
It was the monotony that finally began to rake against Vhalla’s brain. Her curiosity and hunger for new knowledge was stinted by the fact that she seemed to be taking a lot of steps to get nowhere. It didn’t help that Aldrik was intent on keeping her under house arrest. After the attempt on her life while moving the tower and the knowledge of spies in camp, he intentionally kept her busy within the camp palace at all times.
After two weeks of it she was ready to go crazy, and the fates took pity on her.
Vhalla pushed herself through the stone walls of Soricium as she had before, ignoring the oblivious Northerners. She wandered upward, through the various stairways within the trees and onto the platforms and walkways beyond.
She was beginning to learn the palace well enough that she would soon feel confident telling Aldrik she could lead someone through its walls. That was a whole different fear. She knew who would be leading the charge, and it stayed her tongue when Aldrik would ask how well she had learned the maze-like passageways.
He would be at the front. He would trust no one else at her side, and the idea of leading him headfirst into the most hostile environment in the world filled Vhalla with uncontrollable dread.
Up, around, countless switchbacks, and up further still, Vhalla retraced the previous days’ steps until she was in uncharted territory. She came to a wide platform with a low and intricately carved rail. Leaning against a beautifully sculpted alcove was a lean and sharp-looking woman, the archer Vhalla had seen before, and a younger girl no older than fourteen. The archer was on one side of the alcove and the girl on the other, the woman between them.
“Why do they move as they do?” the lean and sharp-looking woman asked.
Vhalla assumed the woman was the head clan’s Chieftain due to her delicate headdress.
I finally found him, Vhalla reported to Aldrik. She stared at the Western man addressing the three woman.
“The Westerner?” Aldrik asked.
Yes, but I need to listen.
Her prince withheld further comment.
“Have you considered our new deal? Perhaps my insights could be improved then,” the Westerner responded.
“You dare withhold information from me?” The woman’s Southern Common was clearer and finer than the other Northerner’s.
“Most certainly not, my lady. I only meant certain things could further improve our relationship.”
“My lady,” the woman repeated with malice. “Spare me your Southern notions of nobility.”
“I am not Southern.” The man bristled. “My people were enslaved by the greed of Solaris, much as yours are currently threatened by it. He turned Mhashan’s rich history into nothing more than a compass point on his map. I know your suffering.”
“You presume too much.” The Chieftain tilted her head back only so that she had further to stare down at the Westerner. “All are southern to Soricium.”
“Will you give us the axe?” the Western man asked, shifting the conversation back to its original topic.
“The axe. Tell me, what do you want with Achel?”
“That is inconsequential.” The man folded his arms over his chest.
“The Emperor brought war because we refused him Achel. But Achel sleeps in its stone tomb, under the eye of the gods. It has slept there since the days of great chaos when light was dark.” The Chieftain fingered the carved archway behind her. “We will not let it be taken by southern hands who have lost the old ways.”
“Are you going back on your offer?” the man asked with a frown.
&
nbsp; “Za had no place offering Achel,” the Chieftain said with a sideways look that radiated displeasure.
The archer Vhalla had seen before, Za, averted her eyes in clear shame. Vhalla followed the woman’s emerald stare to what they focused on instinctually. The Imperial camp stretched out below, a long distance to the burnt track that ran around its outer rim. But at the top of that rim was a splotch against the forest.
The same sensation Vhalla’d felt on the night of patrol lingered on the wind. Old Soricium, that’s where the archer was looking. Vhalla had no doubt.
“If Achel is out of the deal, then I will need to contact my allies in camp,” the man threatened to stall further.
“Go ahead, southerner. We would never give Achel to you.” The Chieftain sent the Westerner off in a huff.
Vhalla pulled back from her Projection, blinking her eyes slowly. Aldrik sat at his small table, pinching the bridge of his nose. He seemed more exhausted as spring inched closer.
“Oh, welcome back.” He noticed her as she sat. “You found the Westerner again?”
“I did, but nothing productive in finding out who his informants are or how they communicate.” She’d been trying to uncover it each time, to no avail. Vhalla was beginning to suspect they already had Windwalkers communicating for them.
Aldrik cursed. “Father is beginning to think there aren’t any.”
“There are,” Vhalla insisted, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.
“I believe you. He’s just searching for any opportunity to undermine you.” Aldrik stood and stretched.
“Aldrik.” Vhalla ignored the mention of the Emperor. “Crystals—”
“What?” He ceased all movement.
Vhalla knew she would get such a reaction, but she had no idea why. She took a deep breath, bracing herself. “Can crystals be used to make weapons?”
“Did you hear that in the fortress?” Aldrik asked.
Vhalla nodded. “They’re talking about something called Achel, a crystal axe...”
“The world has lost its mind.” Aldrik rolled his eyes, making a valiant attempt to shrug the tension out of his shoulders. “Crystal weapons from the days of early magic, forged by gods and given to the original leaders of each kingdom. It sounds like something the Knights of Jadar would believe could be used to ‘reclaim the West’ or some other equal nonsense. Don’t believe a word of it.”
“Before I left, Victor said—”
“He said what?” Aldrik turned on her, a cautionary glint in his eyes.
“Something about a crystal axe.” Her prince was making her nervous. Vhalla had rarely seen Aldrik so tilted off balance. She remembered exactly what the Minister asked. He wanted her to bring home a crystal weapon with legendary power. But those words remained hidden behind her lips.
“Victor can be a fool, the one thing I wish he hadn’t learned from Egmun, especially so when it comes to things that illustrate what he sees as the great power of sorcerers.” Aldrik ran a hand through his hair. “He spoke of it to my father, and now Father has it in his head to find the thing.”
That was the last person Vhalla wanted to gain any weapon with epic power.
“Why do people want it so badly?” Vhalla stood. “I’ve never heard anything about crystal weapons.”
“They’re whispered rumor, even among sorcerers.” Aldrik paced as he spoke, releasing nervous energy. “Crystals, as you know, can easily taint sorcerers through their magic Channels. Even Commons can be corrupted with enough time and strong enough exposure.”
“Like the War of the Crystal Caverns.” Aldrik stilled as Vhalla elaborated, “Sorcerers were trying to unleash the power locked within the caverns, and it corrupted them, it turned them into monsters, and then those who tried to stop them, until it was barely contain—”
“I know the history!” Aldrik snapped, whirling on her. Vhalla took a step back.
“Do you think me simple?” He scowled.
“Aldrik, why are you so upset?” Vhalla frowned.
“Why must you continue to bring up such things?” he exclaimed.
“Why do they bother you so?” Vhalla stood straighter, matching the prince toe-to-toe.
“I told you, I told you not to probe. It’s bad enough that any night you could dream and invade my memories,” Aldrik spat.
Vhalla deflated. She hadn’t even thought about that for weeks; since their Joining, her dreams would sometimes hold the prince’s memories.
“How dare you use that against me,” she whispered.
Aldrik pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Vhalla, I am tired. Just go for a while.”
She obliged him with a pointed glare and a huff, departing the room with a not-quite-gentle closing of the door. The Emperor was thankfully absent from the main hall. Majors came and went as they always did, most nodded in acknowledgment, but none bothered her or stopped what they were doing to strike a conversation.
Vhalla sat in the far corner, picking listlessly at some food. The constant Projection and not leaving the camp palace because of Aldrik’s concerns for her wellbeing all combined to make her mood rather foul. She was going to go crazy before the war was over, and wondering what the prince insisted on hiding from her wasn’t helping.
If only she could sleep and dream of the memory he wanted so badly to keep from her.
Elecia sat next to Vhalla, seeming to materialize out of nowhere. She was often in the camp palace; being the cousin of the crown prince and a noble earned her unquestioned entry. But she was always busy with the clerics, and Vhalla hadn’t had much time to talk with her other than in passing. Often, the woman seemed to only appear to slip Vhalla a vial containing a certain awful-tasting potion without a word.
“You’re not eating enough,” Elecia observed.
“I’m fine.” Vhalla rolled her eyes.
“You’ve been eating less and less. Why?”
Vhalla cursed the woman’s clerical attention. “Bugger off.”
“If you’re going to be a lady, you should at least learn some better insults.” Elecia hummed, “It’s likely this food.”
“It’s not—”
“You should eat something fresh off a campfire—much better.” Elecia stood. “Cleric’s orders.”
Vhalla stared up at the other woman in surprise. She slowly stood, swinging her legs over the bench. Elecia started for the door.
The night air hit Vhalla’s lungs and filled her with life once more. The camp palace was so stale, Vhalla realized. Leaving with her Projected form hadn’t been enough. She needed the wind.
“My cousin can be foolish.” Elecia started in a familiar direction. “He means well—we both know that. But he isn’t graceful when he deals with the things he wants having their own needs and desires.”
Vhalla was forced to sigh in agreement. “You sound like you speak from experience.”
“I am his most favorite cousin,” Elecia declared. “But he’s never quite had the desire or opportunity to consume my attention and time like he can yours.”
Vhalla curled and uncurled her fingers as Elecia spoke, enjoying the wind.
“He doesn’t know he’s smothering you.” Elecia blinked her eyes at Vhalla.
Elecia was checking her Channels, Vhalla realized.
“Your magic already looks better now that you’re outside.” Elecia turned forward again, satisfied. “Now, there’s someone who’s been chewing my ear off to see you.”
Fritz nearly tackled Vhalla the moment he saw her. Vhalla squeezed him as tightly as he did her. It felt surprisingly good to hold someone other than her prince, she realized.
“I was beginning to think that Aldrik really had conjured you from the wind, and you’d just been my imagination before.” Fritz linked arms with Vhalla.
“What?” Vhalla laughed, letting them lead her toward a campfire.
“The soldiers, they’ve every theory under the sun about you two,” Fritz explained.
“They do?” Vhalla blin
ked with surprise.
“Oh yes, that he conjured you from the air to fight for the Empire Solaris. That you are actually a Wind Demon. That you were gifted by the Mother herself to fight at his side.” Fritz counted his fingers as he listed. “And that you’re his secret lover and your power is magnified with your coupling.”
Vhalla turned the color of Western crimson.
“I think it’s the last one,” the Southerner sang to Elecia. Elecia thumped Fritz on the top of his head with a fist. “That s the very last thing I ever want to think of my cousin doing,” she proclaimed, despite being the one who provided Vhalla with a consistent supply of Elixir of the Moon. Elecia sniffed at Vhalla. “Especially with her.”
“The stories I could tell you.” Vhalla sniggered, watching as Elecia paled in horror.
“It is true then?” Fritz seemed like he was about to explode.
Vhalla’s face was back to burning, and she’d never been more thankful to arrive at a campfire surrounded by soldiers.
As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Elecia had been right: Vhalla needed the wind in her hair again. She also needed the casual company of commoners. She needed laughter. She needed to pretend she was free.
Fritz was also right: the soldiers seemed to have every theory about her, and they asked about them with varying levels of bravery. Vhalla did her best not to discourage their questions. The last thing she wanted was to turn herself into a distant figure. She’d spent her whole life struggling from the other side of nobility; she still struggled with Aldrik, and she vowed to not let it happen to her.
Eventually, unsurprisingly, Jax came looking for her. Vhalla begrudgingly agreed to return, which wasn’t easy when Fritz clung to her arm until she swore to come back soon. The sorcerers asked her to come and train them, and Vhalla vowed to do that as well.
The camp palace was quiet as most of the majors had retired. The Emperor and Baldair were also absent, so Vhalla excused herself directly to the back hall. She paused briefly before Aldrik’s door, sighing. She’d been wrong to push him about something she knew bothered him. She’d apologize.
His head turned up the moment she entered.
