Earth's End (Air Awakens Series Book 3)

by Elise Kova

  “No.”

  “Vhalla, you have known me for only—”

  “You built this.” She cut him off, and he blinked at her in surprise. “Us, you built us.” Vhalla showed him the watch he’d given her as proof. “And it is one of the most beautiful things I have ever known.”

  Aldrik didn’t have words; he simply pressed his forehead against hers and fought for control over his emotions. Vhalla felt the smallest of quivers in the hand that held hers, and she insisted there would be no tears. She insisted through each inhale that was weaker than the last exhale.

  “I love you, my lady, my future wife,” he whispered. Aldrik’s fingers shifted around hers, running over the watch at her neck.

  “I love you,” she replied. Nothing had ever been truer. “My future husband.”

  The words humbled them both into a surprised silence. They’d both said it. It had been secretly official for days, but somehow saying it so openly made it all the more real.

  Vhalla stared at Aldrik. They would both make it. Her fingers tightened around his.

  Aldrik finally pulled away, almost an hour later. It seemed to take that long for them both to muster the strength for him leave her side. Vhalla sat as well, watching him dress.

  “What will happen?” she asked softly.

  “We’re going over everything once more,” Aldrik explained as she walked over to him in nothing more than one of his long shirts.

  His eyes lingered on her bare legs as Vhalla latched up his plate carefully, reverently.

  “You’re much preferred over any other squire I’ve ever had tend to me,” Aldrik said with a small grin.

  Vhalla laughed softly. It was the lightest moment they’d had in a long time. A jest that normal lovers would make, not the hushed words of desperation they’d been sharing for weeks.

  “Happy to serve, my prince,” she murmured and raised his mailed hand to her lips, kissing it thoughtfully.

  “I love you.” Aldrik kissed her once more and left.

  Vhalla suddenly felt nauseous, and she placed a palm on her forehead. Fumbling with the watch on her neck, Vhalla studied the hands. It was almost noon; sunset would come sooner than she knew.

  She took the same care in donning her own armor. Vhalla made sure every clasp was fastened properly, each clip was tightened and in place. She made sure the chainmail of her hood had no kinks and her gauntlets and greaves were just so.

  The main room was surprisingly quiet. Baldair sat with the Golden Guard; a few other majors discussed one or two things, Aldrik among them. The Emperor seemed to be huddled around something at the far end with senior members. But otherwise there was little activity.

  She ended up sitting with the Golden Guard as Aldrik was too engrossed in what he was doing to break away. She had not eaten yet, but that didn’t spur her to do anything other than stare listlessly at the food. Vhalla reminded herself that sustenance was needed, but she couldn’t seem to muster the will. She was far too uneasy to eat.

  “Vhalla,” Daniel’s whisper jarred her out of her thoughts.

  The moment her eyes met his, they shared books of unspoken words. His gaze was like a distanced caress, absorbing her as though it were the last time. Vhalla realized that, in their own ways, they were all making peace with the fact that no one knew who would still be sitting at the table the next morning. They were all saying silent, fearful goodbyes.

  “Eat,” he said finally.

  “I know.” She picked up a fork.

  “Try not to be nervous,” he offered helpfully.

  “Try to tell the sun not to rise.” She was slightly annoyed he’d even suggest such.

  “Then have faith in the people surrounding you.” He leaned forward. “I will be there, at your side.”

  Vhalla stared in shock, suddenly remembering he was fighting on the front line of the side she and Aldrik were assigned to. The name that had been ink on a map of a battlefield suddenly became real, and with it, horror clawed its way through her. There were too many people she cared about, too many for her to protect them all.

  “The Black Legion knows to protect you and the prince,” Jax said with more seriousness than Vhalla had heard in a long time.

  Vhalla shifted her attention to the man at Daniel’s right. “I don’t want them to—”

  “To what?” Jax interrupted her. “To have the Tower not protect their leaders?”

  “I’m not their leader.” The protest was beginning to sound weak even to her own ears.

  “You’re not?” Jax leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “When was the last time you were in camp? Have you not seen more wings painted than rays of the Solaris sun?” Jax’s eyes fell on her watch, and Vhalla instinctually grabbed it. “You were not born to be their leader, you were chosen. And that has far greater weight.”

  Vhalla was instantly overwhelmed, and she quickly busied her mouth with food to swallow down the emotions that were trying to consume her. To chew away the nerves and the not so subtle implications Jax brought forth. Eventually her food disappeared, though Vhalla’s stomach still felt empty.

  The Golden Guard all came and went, each tending to something else. But Vhalla was never alone. Erion tried to give her confidence, Craig tried to make her laugh, but none of them could ease the turmoil in her heart. It was the waiting that killed her, the hours that ticked away as they milled around in that suddenly too-small room. She inwardly cursed the Northerners for not choosing to attack at dawn.

  Vhalla wished she had a book to read. No, not read; she wasn’t in a state where reading would be possible. But a book to look at, to hold, so she could feel like anything but a soldier about to kill.

  But as Aldrik’s hand clasped her shoulder with a nod, a soldier was what she must be. She pulled up her hood, he donned his helm, and they departed the camp palace together. Vhalla stared at Soricium, at its towering walls and giant trees, ablaze with the late orange light of the sun.

  She wondered what was going on within. If they, too, were preparing for battle. If they, too, felt like beasts pacing their cage.

  To the casual observer, the camp seemed to continue as normal. But Vhalla could see the men with swords drawn, waiting for the call, crouched in their tents. She saw the archers packed and hidden in their roosts in the spiked walls. She saw the increased patrol that would be the start of the Empire’s inner border around the palace, preventing any escapees.

  A whole army lay in wait, each in a carefully planned place. Each hidden away and prepared to strike to kill. Vhalla scanned the upper edge of the bowl Soricium sat in. She knew outer patrols had purposefully been withdrawn and made lax. They wanted the North to come. They wanted their enemy’s last hope to run right into their open and waiting jaws so they could devour the North whole.

  She stopped next to Aldrik in the shade of a siege tower. He turned toward the trees, and she saw him clench and relax his fists. Vhalla followed suit, opening her Channel. Kill or be killed. Right or wrong, this was the only option that was left to her. It did not matter why she was there; if she did not fight, she would fall.

  Vhalla turned up her face to gaze at the prince next to her. His face was barely recognizable with the helm and his set jaw. He scanned the trees with wild and nervous eyes. Vhalla took a breath and shifted her vision, extending her hearing.

  It was silent as the sun continued to dip down. Vhalla heard the Imperial soldiers shifting restlessly. What if she was wrong? If an attack didn’t come, she’d likely be hung.

  But through her nerves she heard them, a hazy mass in the distance, advancing through the treetops and on land. It was a hidden army, expecting to slaughter the soldiers settling into their tents for the night. The Northerners were outnumbered—at least on the eastern side—Vhalla realized. Without the element of surprise in the North’s favor, the South should take the battle.

  She decided to conserve her power and shifted her eyes back to normal. They would be upon them soon. Vhalla heard the whine of bowstrings bei
ng pulled taut in the twilight.

  There was one thing that gave away the camp as different from any other day: the quiet. Everyone waited with baited breath. Vhalla saw a flash of magic from the corners of her eyes. A man crouched in a tent, nowhere near where he usually slept, wielding a dagger made of ice.

  Fritz glanced over at her, and Vhalla mouthed his name in shock. He smiled weakly and gave a small nod. Elecia was at his side as well. Vhalla realized too late that instead of spending the night hunting legendary axes, she could’ve—she should’ve—spent it with her friends. Had she learned nothing from Larel’s death?

  There was a cry across the burnt and dusty plain, heralding the Northerners as they charged through the trees. Vhalla’s head snapped back to the distant rumble of footsteps. The enemy had made their play, they committed to their dash, not realizing the monster they were about to wake. Vhalla watched the army hold, each soldier exacting extreme control.

  The Northerner’s first line was almost on the outer edge of camp when the horn rang out. It echoed across one tower to the next. Tents were thrown aside, some cut right off, by the Imperial soldiers hiding beneath them. There was only a moment for the Northerners to register what was happening as the first wave of arrows crashed down upon them.

  She caught a glimpse of Daniel leading the first charge, and Vhalla’s heart beat so hard in her chest it should have broken a rib. Everyone she cared about readied themselves to launch their attack. Aldrik, Daniel, Fritz, Baldair, and even Elecia; how could she keep them all safe?

  To the chorus of the arrows knocking against bows and the hymn of steel finding steel, Aldrik brought his feet to a run. Vhalla sprinted at his side, pushing everything else from her mind and focusing on what she must be. She saw him raise his hand as the second wave of Northerners left the distant tree line. A furious beat began to ring out in her ears.

  This was it.

  VHALLA DIDN’T HEAR the groan of the trebuchet as it launched its first load toward the outer forest’s edge. The screeching of swords faded away. There was only him, there was only his body, his breath, his life, and the pulsing magic that flowed unhindered between them.

  Aldrik’s arm moved through the air and Vhalla knew his will before the magic left his body. Vhalla brought out a hand. Aldrik stopped suddenly; she halted with him in the same instant. The prince hardly registered her movement and Vhalla wondered if he felt it the same as she did. If he too knew that the deep connection they’d been fostering for months was finally ready to be shown to the world.

  His magic flared. Vhalla brought both hands up together. Her wind took up his flame, the magic crackling around her fingertips. The scaffold of his command supported it, and their Joining enabled Vhalla to build upon his sorcery, stitching hers to the edges—making it something greater than either part.

  Vhalla swept her arms across her body and watched the fire carry through the air, over the heads of the Imperial soldiers, igniting the distant trees and, with it, legions of Northern Groundbreakers who had taken their vantage there. The fire was white hot, and she shifted her hands, stirring it into a vortex of flame.

  Uncurling her fists, fingers taut, Vhalla thrust her hands above her head and open to the sky. The fire mimicked her motion and soared into the air, a flaming mirror of her movement. It was a pillar of fire, brilliant against the night sky as though it intended to swallow the moon whole. Vhalla lost control over it as she took a moment to admire their creation, the flames disappearing in the wind.

  Vhalla locked eyes with the prince as a cheer rose through the camp at the sight of their colossal pyre. They knew—the whole world saw it—it was as clear as the flames that still blazed in the ignited trees before them. Together, they were unstoppable. Bound, Joined, madly in love, there were no longer any boundaries that could limit them. They were a single force of nature.

  They stepped in time, picking up a run in perfect sync. Soldiers rushed behind them, but Vhalla wasn’t paying attention anymore. Her prince—his breath, his movements—was all she needed.

  Aldrik dug his heels in, halting a second time, and held out his arms. Firebearers rushed up from the ranks and made a straight line out from either arm. “Funnel them!” Aldrik shouted over the chaos.

  His arms motioned for where he wanted the flames. The Firebearers all moved in unison. Each had their own approach to wielding their magic, but they all focused on creating a separate patch of fire.

  The Northern Groundbreakers braved the flames; some weaker ones were unsuccessful as their stone skin lit like tinder. The other soldiers dashed and darted, quickly trying to avoid the blaze. As they crowded inward, there were the pitiable few who were forced screaming into the fires by their own allies pushing at their back. The ones who made it to the end of the funnel were met with the Imperial army’s front line.

  Her eyes fell on a flash of gold, a pommel shaped like wheat shining in the firelight. Vhalla didn’t know how she found Daniel out of all the soldiers, but her eyes were solely on him for a brief moment. He moved like a dancer to his own dirge of grim victory. It had its own macabre beauty.

  Taking a deep breath, Vhalla held out her hands once more. Ten, she would claim a Northerner’s weapon with each finger. Focusing around Daniel, ten swords soared into the air with a flick of her hands. Twisting her wrists, Vhalla sent them back upon the enemy, a rain of blades.

  A few Southern soldiers looked in confusion. Daniel turned briefly, but his eyes didn’t find hers in the pandemonium. But Vhalla knew he had been searching for her in that brief second. He knew the Windwalker was looking out for him when she could. Vhalla gave it no further thought; her hands were already in motion again.

  It was like playing an invisible instrument, her fingers plucking at the air. Aldrik made another call at her side, but she didn’t even hear. For every sword she picked into the air, two more seemed to appear rushing out from beneath the burning trees.

  “Vhalla!” the prince called for her, and she was broken from her trance by her name on his lips.

  They were moving again, Aldrik pushing the Black Legion forward to meet the already growing havoc of blood and death. Vhalla’s ears picked up the patter of arrows being knocked from a point in the trees to their right.

  “Aldrik!” She didn’t think twice for using his name without title. Aldrik turned to her quickly. “Give me flame!” Vhalla cried, and trusted it completely to be there as she swept her palm across the open sky.

  He raised his hand in time with hers, and she felt it once more, the sensation of a body beyond hers, herself outside of herself and him within her. The dark sky was set ablaze by a dome of fire, arrows burning and falling like smoldering rain harmlessly on the armored soldiers below.

  “More!” Vhalla demanded. He raised a second arm, obliging her will. Vhalla actually took a step as she swept her hand forward, sending a blanket of flame into the trees to the southeast where the arrows had originated.

  The second the magic left her control, Vhalla stumbled, off-balance from throwing out her arm. She swayed, but a firm hand gripped her, pulling her upright. The prince had a small smirk playing on his lips. A crazy little grin for the secret they shared, the secret that they were slowly exposing to the world.

  “My prince!” A soldier broke the trance. “The front line is breaking.” The man looked between Vhalla and Aldrik, awaiting orders.

  “No,” Vhalla breathed, her eyes darting to the front. She couldn’t find Daniel, and her chest twisted into a knot. “No,” she seethed.

  “Firebearers and Groundbreakers!” Aldrik bellowed. “Then Waterrunners. Support the charge of the blades first.”

  Vhalla watched as the soldiers prepared themselves for the second wave. More than half of them were Black Legion, but nearly all of them—swords included—had a wing painted upon their breastplate. The battle slowed for a brief moment, and Vhalla stepped forward and out of the shadow of the prince.

  “We stop them here!” she screamed. “They will not pass this line
. We stop them here!”

  As she thrust her fist into the air, the world was filled with such a shrill battle cry that it almost shattered the sky. Vhalla turned, watching the last of the front line crumble. Her breath caught in her throat as the Northerners made it to them, the maelstrom upon her.

  Aldrik was the first to move between them. His body halfway covered hers as he shouldered the attack of the enemy swordsmen. Aldrik’s mailed hand reached the enemy’s face, and the Northerner cried in anguish. The man collapsed as a charred ruin.

  She returned to life and disarmed their next attacker. With a flick of her fingers, the blade was in her hand just in time to turn and parry a new sword that whizzed from behind. The heartbeat in her ears was panicked. It was a frantic rhythm that tried to keep up with the madness around them.

  Vhalla ground her teeth. The Northerner was much stronger than she was, and he made quick work of disarming her stolen blade. She stumbled backwards, trying to regain her footing. There was a grunt behind her, a burst of flame. Aldrik had taken out the man she had disarmed, but his focus had yet to return to her. Vhalla’s attacker took a step back, raising his weapon above his head.

  A soldier lunged forward for the soft spot under the arm where the plate met. Vhalla saw a flash of blue, an ice dagger plunge deep into the man’s side. The Northerner cried in pain, his blade arced wide as he instinctively turned to face his new assailant. Fritz jumped backward. The man brought up his sword. Vhalla lunged.

  Her hand clamped over the Northerner’s shocked mouth, and she claimed his breath. She watched the fragile moment just before his face exploded before her, bits of nose and eyes splattering her cheeks and armor. There was hardly a moment to breathe, and Vhalla turned, thrusting out an arm to disarm a man who was attacking Aldrik.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” Aldrik called as he tossed a body aside.

  “Must you ask?” she shouted over the whizz of blades and bows, her back clanking against his as she dodged another sword.

  Aldrik’s amusement rang out, his mad and hearty laughter crackling through the air. He knew that she was him and her—both at once. Her movements were a mix of everything the Joining had given her and everything that she could be. Amidst the blood and carnage, she found herself wearing her own insane grin to mirror his. He turned left, she turned right; they spun away from each other, taking out two more in the movement.