by Elise Kova
Folding the paper, the Emperor barked for an archer. They tied the parchment about an arrow. The shot was notched upon the bowstring, the archer pulled their weapon taut, and the paper was sent sailing over the wall.
“This ends today,” he announced. “They will forfeit and bind ties with the Solaris Empire—or they will die.” The Emperor strode off in the direction of the camp palace. “Notify me immediately for any reply,” he announced to the world in general.
Vhalla stared off in the hazy morning light to see that, somehow, the stupid structure had managed to be positioned on a side that had mostly survived the battle. Vhalla stumbled across the carcasses that lined the remains of the camp. She walked between the two silent princes. Relief had faded into the somber and grotesque scene before them. Their lives had been bought with the blood that now stained the earth red, the blood of the unlucky.
The majors broke away to oversee cleanup. Vhalla knew she should feel guilty for retreating back into the privacy of the camp palace when so many did not have a tent left to their name, but she couldn’t find the energy to do so. She simply wanted to collapse, her physical and magical strength depleted.
The Emperor was of a similar mind and was locked away by the time they crossed the threshold. Baldair closed the door behind her and Aldrik. A hand, warm even through armor, closed around hers. Before his brother, but away from the world, the crown prince pulled her to him. A gauntleted fist wrapped around her chin and tilted her face to his. His lips tasted of smoke and blood, but she savored him all the same.
The army had been victorious. They had survived. And her freedom was surely won. In that moment of shared relief and bliss, Vhalla breathed the first breath of the new dawn. She allowed herself to believe in all the prince had said: their future together began in that moment.
THE FOLLOWING DAY was the darkest business of war: the battle’s aftermath. After the rush of glory faded, after the cheers of victory ceased their reverberations, was the inevitable process of picking up the pieces. Tents were strewn, shattered, and trampled. People’s belongings, their meager tokens of home, were lost in the mud and blood of the field.
The first part was tending to the wounded. The clerics set up a triage, conserving their limited supplies for those who were in the most need. Firebearers cauterized particularly bad wounds. Groundbreakers assisted with poison afflictions and concocting new potions with what could be found in the nearby forests—what hadn’t been scorched. There were the inevitable few who were given mercy vials and the hardest choice, the last choice, of their lives.
Those who were not helping with the wounded had countless bodies to pick up. Bodies were stripped of anything that was valuable or reusable, and a tower of armor soon grew tall, void of their owners. Some fallen were lucky enough to have their friends be the ones who found them, others were of noble birth, and a token or two were put aside to return to their families. But more, North and South, were as nameless and faceless as the last.
Six colossal pyres were erected around the camp and bodies were ferried non-stop to them. Firebearers rotated the obligation of keeping the fires burning bright and hot.
In death, the Northerners and Southerners rested together before their bodies turned to ash and their souls departed to the realm of the Father. The pyres put out a thick smoke that reeked of human flesh and fat. Soldiers, no matter where in the camp, wrapped wet cloth around their faces to try to keep out the smoke and smell.
Outside was this grim march of activity, but within the room of the crown prince, the day progressed with relative peace. Aldrik and Vhalla had given just enough time to strip their armor and sponge the blood off their faces and hands before collapsing in the bed, soiled clothes and all.
It was not a beautiful sleep; it was a deep and worn out coma. Vhalla’s face was flat against the pillow, her mouth open, and her breathing deep. Aldrik splayed out on the bed, limbs this way and that, barely fitting alongside her. It was a sleep that rested in the comfort that they had one less thing to fear with the dawn.
Vhalla closed her mouth, wetting her lips. She cracked her eyes. The day’s light crept through the slats in the shutters, casting long, unbroken beams through the smoke that inevitably penetrated the room. She grimaced.
“It stinks,” Vhalla groaned, and Aldrik barely moved.
She rolled onto her side and curled against him, her head on his upper chest. Vhalla took comfort from his proximity, his slow breathing. She knew he no longer smelled it, or at least that was what he’d told her long ago. He had torched so many people that it barely registered to him as the awful stink it was. Vhalla settled back into sleep as his arm instinctively curled around her. She really hoped the pillows did not smell for however long they were forced to remain.
She had fallen back asleep, though she had no idea for how long, when there was a pounding on Baldair’s door. Vhalla rolled away from the source of the noise, as if it would make the person go away. Aldrik cursed softly, but did much the same.
“Boys,” the Emperor called through Baldair’s door. Still believing—or faking belief—that Aldrik slept in there so Vhalla could have his room for her protection.
They were both upright, Vhalla looking at the prince with wild, panicked eyes.
“We have received a reply. Come now,” Emperor Solaris demanded.
“Coming, coming,” Baldair’s muffled voice could barely be heard.
The Emperor appeared to have no interest in waiting for his sons as his footsteps faded away.
Aldrik turned to her, in shock. “A reply,” he breathed.
Vhalla couldn’t find words.
“A reply!” Aldrik placed his palms on either side of her face, pulling her in for a fierce kiss. “I would bet it is a surrender. Given the display of our might.”
Aldrik stood quickly, pulling on a fresh shirt. Or rather, a fresher one than the one he’d worn through the battle. Vhalla looked at the bed sheets, completely soiled from the state they’d went to sleep in. She was suddenly regretting the decision not to change her clothes. She didn’t look forward to sleeping in that filth before the march home.
“I will go help finish this war.” Aldrik paused by the door. “Then I will speak with my father, and you will be a Lady of the Court.”
“Do you really think so?” Vhalla’s hand gripped the watch around her neck tightly, realizing how much she needed it to be true.
“Of course.” Aldrik beamed. “You were brilliant. All eyes turned to you for inspiration; it was literally painted upon half the army. The merit of your accolade will not be questioned.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but there was a soft set of knocks on the door.
Aldrik opened it for Baldair.
“Are you coming?” Baldair glanced at her, and Vhalla smiled tiredly.
“Yes, yes.” Aldrik grabbed his chainmail off the floor, quickly donning it. “I shall return soon as I am able. Sleep more if you can,” he said to Vhalla.
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” She yawned and rolled onto her side, pulling up the covers once more.
“Lucky,” Vhalla heard Baldair mutter under his breath, and she couldn’t help but giggle softly. The door closed, and she listened to their footsteps disappear down the hall. Vhalla pulled the blanket to her nose. The smell was truly awful.
She wasn’t sure how long she had fallen asleep again for, but it was long enough for the light to have moved across the floor a noticeable distance. The shouting and arguing of men called her to life. Vhalla yawned, instantly regretting the instinctual movement as the semi-smoky air filled her lungs. She sat coughing, trying to listening more closely to the aggressive noises.
Vhalla tried to use her magical hearing to make out the words, but her Channel was too weak to sustain even that. What she could hear was that they were frequent and angry. The deep resonance of Aldrik’s fury competed against the Emperor’s sharp and fierce tones. Vhalla bit her lip and stood, her whole body aching.
Tugging a
t the chain around her neck, she opened her watch and checked the time. It was around two, which meant she had close to eight hours of sleep. Yet, she still felt exhausted. The magical depletion had taken its toll, and without the rush of battle to hide it, she realized how much she had used up the night before.
There was another bout of shouting, and she heard something crash. Vhalla winced. Whatever their topic of discussion was, it did not seem good, and it was pitting two people against each other, two people whom Vhalla wanted to keep as separate as possible for everyone’s benefit. Judging from the muffled nature of it and the location of the sound, they were likely at the far end of the main hall.
Deciding to brave whatever the world may hold, Vhalla ran a hand through her greasy hair and tried to plait it into a messy braid. It was hopeless, and Vhalla could only resign herself to the fact that Aldrik, the army, and the Emperor had seen her in worse situations. No one was about to win any awards for their beauty.
She didn’t even bother changing her tunic. Vhalla contemplated her armor, piled on the floor, but it was even dirtier; the last thing she wanted to do was put her metallic skin back on. The North had been subdued anyway, Vhalla mused as she left the room; there wouldn’t be any more battles.
She flinched, halting at the doorway to the main hall.
“You will do this!” the Emperor snapped.
“You cannot dictate what I will and will not do!” Vhalla heard another slam punctuate Aldrik’s words.
“This is not your decision,” the Emperor warned dangerously.
“More than anything, this is my decision!” Aldrik shot back. “Was this your play all along? Was this the real reason why you spoke against her suggestion of torching Soricium?”
Vhalla’s heart pounded in her ears, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear any more of this particular conversation. With a deep breath, and garnering more bravery than she had used to face the Northerners, Vhalla rounded into the main room, hoping her presence would stop the conversation. She assessed the royal family who stood in the far corner.
Aldrik’s hands were on the table, his shoulders squared against his father, who stood opposite. She saw a barely visible quivering in Aldrik’s arms. His jaw was clenched, and his face was actually flushed with anger. She had never seen him so out of control from rage alone. The Emperor’s arms were folded across his chest, and he sneered in disgust at his son.
Vhalla sympathized the most with Baldair, who was very much an innocent bystander. He had taken at least three full steps away and inched back further with the opportunity to look at her. Vhalla had never before felt so uncomfortable with the royal family’s attentions on her.
The Emperor barely contained a scowl at her. His eyes judged every inch of her short height. Aldrik turned to her, and she saw his anger drop completely to a pained expression. His mouth parted, and Vhalla stared at him hopelessly. He seemed to be unable to physically tolerate her visage for more than a second as he turned away with a shake of his head. Baldair’s eyes were the kindest with a mix of sorrow and pity that gave her no encouragement.
“Well, well, well, if it is not the ‘Hero of the North’,” the Emperor spoke slowly.
“My lord.” She gave a respectful bow.
“Come here.” He pointed to just before their table.
Vhalla was left with no other option, feeling like a child about to be chastised by her teacher. However, this teacher was a man bent on conquest and who had the power to kill her.
“Tell me, Miss Yarl.” Emperor Solaris rested his palm on the table, turning to Vhalla. “What is a fitting reward for someone of your status, for your achievements?”
Vhalla swallowed and resisted every urge to shred her clothing with fidgeting. Had Aldrik brought the notion of her ladyship up with his father? Was all this from simply the idea of her being raised to a member of the court? If it was, the Emperor must also know what Aldrik intended by it, otherwise he would not be so angered.
“My lord.” Vhalla’s mouth was dry, and not just from all the smoke. “It was simply an honor to serve the family Solaris.” She retreated into the safety of decorum and respect to avoid answering his question.
“I see.” His eyes flicked up and down over her. Vhalla shifted her feet, squirming at the feeling of his assessment stripping her bare. “I think some of the family Solaris were much better served than other members.”
The Emperor’s head swung back to Aldrik, and Vhalla’s mouth dropped open. The implications of his words were perfectly clear, and Vhalla wanted to scream. She wanted to lunge for him, she wanted to slap him, she wanted to put this power-hungry, maniacal man firmly in his place. What she ended up doing was standing there hopeless before the man who was her sovereign.
“Father!” Aldrik’s face turned upward in an instant, his voice was a low growl. “Don’t you dare.”
“Don’t I dare what?” the Emperor scolded his son like he was still a small boy. “Do not forget, Aldrik, I am the Emperor, not you. The world is under my rule, and my decision is law. You may not tell me what I do or do not dare to do.”
Aldrik’s hands clenched into fists on the table. Vhalla saw his barely contained control. The magic practically radiated off him, itching to set the whole building ablaze.
“You will not—” Aldrik’s voice was raised once more.
“Silence!” The Emperor’s other hand slammed down onto the table, and Aldrik’s head fell, he turned his face downward.
His defeat unnerved Vhalla more than anything else in that singular moment.
“Please excuse me, my lords.” She couldn’t take any more; she couldn’t handle one more suffocating moment of whatever was transpiring. Vhalla retreated before anyone could say otherwise.
She took in a deep breath of air outside of the doors, gagging and sputtering on the smoke. She brought a hand to her mouth with a grimace. However, no matter how awful it was outside, nothing compared to the suffocation of that room.
Vhalla started off aimlessly, no goal of where she should be other than not in the camp palace. The tents were smashed in lines from where the Northerners had launched their attacks. She could see some—most—were trampled beyond repair. Vhalla wondered how many people would be sharing an uncomfortable sleeping arrangement tonight. She wondered if she would be one of them, given the situation with the Emperor.
Her feet carried her instinctually to the one other place she’d been made comfortable after coming to the North. Astoundingly, the Golden Guard’s huts were still in order. She was halfway to them when the sharp sound of a door slamming echoed across camp.
Vhalla turned in the direction of the sound. The Emperor had a piece of paper clenched in his fist, and Aldrik trudged along behind him, Baldair lagging behind. She gulped nervously.
Jax and Erion were around the center campfire. Craig, Raylynn, and Daniel were nowhere to be seen. The men waved her over the second they noticed Vhalla’s presence.
“Good morning!” Jax greeted.
“Good afternoon,” Vhalla corrected, sitting on one of the stumps around the fire. She tugged on the chain around her neck, popping open the watch. “It’s almost three.”
“I’ve been admiring your timepiece,” Erion said quickly. Jax shot him a sideways look. “Not the first time I’ve noticed it about your neck. May I see?”
Vhalla paused, her fingers closing around the watch. She had no reason to say no. A refusal would merit an explanation she wasn’t ready to give. Resigned, Vhalla unclasped it around her neck and passed it over.
Erion ran his fingers over the front thoughtfully. The two Westerners exchanged a look. Jax gave Erion a small nod. “I thought Prince Aldrik had stopped crafting watches.”
Vhalla felt more exposed than she had while she was under the Emperor’s scrutiny. She snatched it back with a defensive glare, quickly putting it around her neck.
“I’m surprised he let you be so bold with it,” Jax whispered, half under his breath.
“It’s unlik
e our prince,” Erion hummed in agreement. “Quite the statement he’s making with you.”
Vhalla’s fingers rested over the watch through her shirt where it now rested against her chest. “How did you know?”
“I’ve known our prince since he was small,” Erion explained. Vhalla remembered Daniel telling her that Erion had been the original member of the Golden Guard. “He went through a phase as a child where it was all he did. But I see he continued to progress in secret.”
“Why? Why did he continue only in secret?” Vhalla asked.
“Who knows?” Erion shrugged.
She turned to Jax. He had a different expression. Vhalla gave him a probing stare.
“Likely so he could give them to ladies,” the lanky Westerner laughed away her silent inquiry. “Clearly, the prince gets more action than we thought!”
The two men were jesting back and forth, but Vhalla remained focused on Jax. There was madness to him, she’d always known that. But something ran deeper. There was more to this man than met the eye. He knew things.
“You lot are making it hard to sleep,” Daniel grumbled from his doorframe. He blinked in surprise the moment he noticed Vhalla’s presence among the group. “What’re you doing here?”
“Enjoying not fighting?” Vhalla made up a weak excuse. But it seemed to be accepted.
Daniel chuckled and assumed the place next to her.
“Speaking of fighting, I saw your bird,” Jax said eagerly.
“My bird?” Vhalla tilted her head.
“During the battle,” he clarified, which didn’t really make it any clearer in actuality. Jax considered her stumped face and continued, “The giant flame.”
Clarity washed across her, and Vhalla realized he meant when she had brought Aldrik’s flames into the sky. Hands together, fingers open, she could see how it may look like a bird. “I didn’t really plan for it to be a bird.”
“It was brilliant that it was!” Jax grinned. “I knew it must be you; Firebearers can’t sculpt flames like that.”
