by Elise Kova
“You know how a Bond is made,” Larel said delicately. “You are both a part of each other. There are records of people going mad because they lost their Bonded. Some theorize that, depending on the depth of the Bond, should one die the other will as well.”
Vhalla sat upright, resting her forehead in her palm. It was self-preservation for him. “He’s keeping me safe because if he doesn’t—”
“He’s keeping you safe because he wants to keep you safe,” Larel interrupted.
Vhalla looked over at the other woman, who was now also sitting. Larel wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulders, pulling Vhalla back, and engulfing Vhalla in her warm safety.
Larel’s voice was sad and sincere. “Aldrik’s been through a good deal, much of which he’s never even imparted to me. But I’ve seen the edges of the darkness he shoulders. I don’t think he worries for his sanity or his mortality. He doesn’t want you to die because he’s afraid that it would mean he’d have to live without you.” Larel stroked the top of Vhalla’s head.
“Listen close. I’ve known him for twelve years. And a good many of those were spent, dare I say it, as his best friend. I know Aldrik—the good and bad.” Larel sighed. “I don’t want to say anything he hasn’t said himself. But he cares for you, Vhalla. In a way that I’ve never seen him really care for anyone before.”
Vhalla pressed her eyes closed, imagining she was back in the palace. “Thank you for telling me all this, Larel.”
“Sweet Vhalla, you know I will always be here for you.” Larel squeezed her tightly, and Vhalla slept peacefully for the first time in what seemed like years.
THE NEXT MORNING Aldrik kept his promise and rode at her side. They talked the day away, almost exclusively with each other. He asked about her life in the East, her farm, her family. Vhalla probed him for magical knowledge that she had no other way of learning. The man was practically a walking library.
There were no remnants of tensions between her, Fritz, and Larel either. Fritz had caught on quickly that whatever oddities had been going on were resolved, and the Southerner had enough sense not to linger. Armed with her friends at her side and secure in the knowledge of the stability of her and Aldrik’s relationship, Vhalla ignored Elecia throughout training—much to the other woman’s frustration.
Vhalla used her Channeling liberally, to the surprise of everyone but Aldrik. Fritz and Larel were expectedly encouraging. Elecia was obviously perturbed and avoided her for the next three days.
Vhalla was amazed at how easily control came following those first few days of Channeling without hesitation or fear. Supported by her friends and Aldrik, Vhalla found herself finally relishing her magic. The wind slipped easily between her fingers, heeding her will, and Vhalla was quickly surpassing the basic introductions to magic Aldrik had given her months ago. Magic, she was discovering, was like poetry. Once you understood the logic, the meter, the rhyme behind it, you could embellish upon it and make it your own.
On the third night, she was setting up Larel’s and her tent with just her magic alone. That was the first time Vhalla felt eyes on her for her sorcery, eyes that weren’t daunting or scared. The Black Legion began to pay attention to their Windwalker once more, not for the Night of Fire and Wind, but for the daily feats she was beginning to be able to perform. It was a sanity-supporting confidence-booster for Vhalla.
She was in such a high place with it all that when Aldrik paired her with Elecia during training—at the other woman’s request—Vhalla didn’t even blink. She accepted the other woman’s presence opposite her. If it was an actual competition for Aldrik’s attention, it was one Vhalla was winning. The crown prince had rode at her side without stop, and tomorrow they would practice Projection again.
Aldrik had been intent on working toward more hand-to-hand combat, and Vhalla was happy to oblige. The Northern-looking woman needed to be knocked off her high horse and tonight was Vhalla’s night, Vhalla assured herself. She’d been feeling stronger with every passing week, less sore, more capable.
“You sure you want to do this, Yarl?” Elecia smirked, her eyes darting toward Aldrik.
“It’s just practice, right?” Vhalla sunk into her preferred fighting stance, one arm up and the other at chest-height.
“Oh, of course.” Elecia balled her right hand into a fist, clasping her left overtop.
Vhalla clenched her hands into fists and welcomed her magic as well. “Your mark, or mine?”
“Mine—don’t want you cheating.” Elecia laced her voice with sarcasm, but Vhalla knew it was a thin veil for sincerity, and her eye twitched.
Elecia moved, and Vhalla instantly went on the offensive.
The dark-skinned woman dodged and ducked ably. She narrowly avoided Vhalla’s hooks and jabs. But Vhalla’s punches were missing by a narrower margin than she would’ve expected.
Vhalla took a breath and focused. She began to feel the ripples in the currents of air as the other woman’s muscles tensed and pulsed before she threw a punch or kick. Vhalla’s body knew before her eyes could see. Vhalla’s heart began to race. She could do this: she could fight.
A pulse began to fill Vhalla’s ears, and she allowed herself to rely on instinct. Vhalla moved like the wind, fast and precise. Her hands swung in exact arcs, hitting their target almost every time. The constant offense had Elecia beginning to panic, and panic made the other woman sloppy. Vhalla heard nothing other than the heartbeat.
Elecia threw a fist at Vhalla’s face; knowing it was coming, Vhalla dodged at the last second. She clamped her hand around Elecia’s wrist and savored the look of pure shock as her foot kicked the other woman’s feet from beneath her. Elecia fell to her knees, and Vhalla reached for the woman’s face with her free hand, clamping it over Elecia’s mouth.
The dark-haired woman’s eyes went wide with terror.
“That’s enough,” Aldrik barked from their right. “Vhalla, let her go.”
The heartbeat in Vhalla’s ears began to fade: it was almost like coming out of a trance. As if seeing the other woman for the first time, Vhalla quickly pulled her hand away, staring at the appendage that had found a mind of its own.
“What in the Mother’s name was that?” Elecia sprang to her feet.
“Just a spar,” Vhalla said curtly. She wasn’t about to let shock give Elecia leeway to ignore the fact that she’d been outperformed. “A spar you were bested in.”
“Right,” Elecia mumbled, her eyes swung to Aldrik. “Bested by an awfully familiar fighting style.”
“I think that’s enough for the night.” Aldrik’s tone was clear: he didn’t want any further discussion on it.
“Why?” Elecia took a step forward. “So you can continue to train her in secret?” Was that hurt in the other woman’s voice? “What do you do those nights you call her to your tent?”
“That is not your concern.” Vhalla had never heard Aldrik so sharp with Elecia.
“It is, because you are my—”
“Just go, Elecia.” Aldrik pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh.
He was her what? Vhalla wanted to scream the question, but she was barely finding enough air to breathe through the whole exchange.
“Fine, Aldrik. If you want to train her in secret, go right ahead. But don’t think your favor heaped upon the undeserving lowborn will go unnoticed or unquestioned.” Elecia was at the insults again, and Vhalla wished they would dull just a little more instead of still feeling like daggers to her gut.
“All of you, go back,” Aldrik commanded as Elecia stormed away.
“Aldrik,” Vhalla said softly as Fritz and Larel got a few steps ahead.
“Where did you learn how to do that?” The prince stared down the bridge of his nose at her.
“Where else could I learn?” She didn’t understand why she was being given his displeasure. “You, Elecia, Larel, Fritz, Major Reale, you know everyone who’s ever taught me.”
“The way you moved. None of them could have taught you that.�
� He was somber.
“Well, I have a good teacher.” Vhalla attempted a smile that she quickly abandoned.
Aldrik’s eyes were dark with a tempest of emotion, none of which good. “It was more than that, Vhalla,” he pressed.
“I don’t know what else you think I’ve done.” She took a step away, crossing her arms. “If you remember, my life hasn’t been mine for the past few weeks. I’m owned by the crown, my prince.”
“Is that it? You’re just owned by the crown? There is nothing more?” Aldrik shortened the gap between them with two steps.
“What else more would there be?” Why else would she be headed to war?
His eyes widened by a fraction, and Vhalla realized that they weren’t talking about her presence in the military or combat. Aldrik stormed past her, his shoulder hitting hers lightly.
“Aldrik, you know that wasn’t what I meant,” she called after him.
He froze and looked back at her. Was that appreciation on his face? Was he impressed that she recognized the subtle shifts in their conversation?
The moment was fleeting, and he left her without another word.
Vhalla wanted to scream. The wind tickled under her palm, responding to her frustrations. For the first time Vhalla considered running and abandoning her duty.
Later, in their tent, Vhalla vented to Larel about it all. “I don’t even know what I did!” The other woman was silent. “I thought he would’ve been pleased I’m not utterly useless.”
“You were never useless,” Larel corrected unhelpfully.
“I bested Elecia!” Vhalla flopped back onto her bedroll. “I thought he’d be proud.”
Larel paused a long moment, lying on her side next to Vhalla. They set up their bedrolls against each other to give more room for their armor and things in the small tent. It seemed a much better use of space, and Vhalla had already shattered any contact barriers from the nights she’d spent shaking and sobbing in Larel’s arms.
“The way you fought, Vhalla,” Larel began delicately.
“Not you too,” she groaned.
“Well, you moved very differently than ever before,” Larel pointed out. “What happened?”
“We’ve been training for weeks,” Vhalla stressed. “I hope I’m getting better.”
“Neither Fritz nor I could best Elecia.”
“But you two weren’t really sparring.” Vhalla turned on her side to face Larel.
“We were.” Larel nodded. “How did you do it?”
Vhalla paused, trying to put her defensiveness aside and think. “I don’t know, I just moved.”
“You ‘just moved?’” Larel quickly dropped the skepticism when she saw Vhalla’s face.
“I didn’t even think,” Vhalla added softly, attempting to analyze what had happened. “It was as though my body knew what to do, and I just had to trust it.”
“You fought like Aldrik.” Larel continued before Vhalla could point out that the prince had been training her, “No, Vhalla, you fought exactly like Aldrik.”
“But—”
Larel shook her head. “You could have been his mirror. I’ve sparred enough times with the prince to know how he moves. Down to how you turned your feet, Vhalla. And then, when you grabbed Elecia’s face ... That’s how Aldrik executes his enemy.” Vhalla remembered the Northerner on the Night of Fire and Wind, the one Aldrik had killed before her. He’d grabbed the swordswoman’s face and burned her alive from the inside out. Vhalla shivered. “I don’t know how ...”
“The Joining would be my suspicion.” Larel arrived at the obvious conclusion.
“I have to go talk to him.” Vhalla was kept from scrambling to her feet by an arm around her shoulders.
“Tomorrow,” Larel said thoughtfully. “I think Aldrik was very surprised by this turn of events. Give him some space to cool and process this.”
Vhalla frowned but obliged her friend. Larel gave the best council and had the wisdom of years with Aldrik behind her. And the dawn wasn’t that far.
But when the dawn came, Aldrik was nowhere to be seen. Vhalla scanned the campfires; the tents that were being torn down but she couldn’t find his tall shadow anywhere. She didn’t see him until she was falling in line with Fritz and Larel.
He ignored the space Vhalla had left for him, the space that had been constantly filled for days, and went directly to Elecia. Vhalla said her goodbye to Fritz and Larel and made a quick trot to the front of the line. His moods and his uncomfortable distances were beginning to wear down Vhalla’s patience. She didn’t care that by day their closeness had to be a secret—whatever that closeness even meant. She was tired of everything being on his terms and what he needed.
“Well, look who it is.” Craig was the first to notice her, and Daniel beamed from ear to ear as she approached. “We thought you had forsaken us, Miss Windwalker.”
“My favorite boys in gold?” Vhalla laughed away the tension of the Black Legion, falling in between Craig and Daniel. “How could I ever forsake you?”
“Good morning, Vhalla.” Prince Baldair gave her a smile across Daniel.
“Good morning, my prince.” Vhalla lowered her eyes respectfully. When she raised them again, they caught Raylynn’s and the Southern woman gave her a small nod. Things had dramatically improved between them. “How are the swords this day?”
“Sharp as ever,” Craig announced proudly. “Especially this one over here.” He pointed toward Daniel, and the Easterner was overcome with sudden modestly. “He’s been undefeated in the ring for two weeks now.”
“The ring?” Vhalla asked. “Sparring?”
“We must keep the reflexes sharp.” Baldair gave her a sideways glance. “Surely you have some kind of practice in the Black Legion as well.”
“We do.” Vhalla passed her reins uncomfortably from hand to hand.
“It’s strange to imagine you fighting,” Daniel thought aloud. “Not that I want to say you couldn’t or shouldn’t. When you were on trial, you didn’t seem like a combatant,” he added hastily.
“I wasn’t.” Vhalla stared forward toward the barren horizon. She’d picked the right day to ride at the front of the host. The remaining shrub trees and grasses of the forest were dissolving into the sands of the Western Waste. The Great Imperial Way cut through the pale yellow dunes like an alabaster snake, and there was nothing else for as far as she could see ahead of them.
“Would you spar with me?” Daniel asked. “I’ve never had much of an opportunity to spar with sorcerers; Jax is usually busy with the Black Legion. I’d love to have the practice.” He smiled and pushed his sweat-slicked hair away from his face.
“Sure.” Vhalla nodded and adjusted the chainmail hood Aldrik had made for her, keeping the sun off her cheeks.
“When we stop, then.” Daniel seemed genuinely excited.
As a result of her decision to enter the fray, their talk settled on the history of the Black Legion and Tower of Sorcerers. Unsurprisingly, the rift between sorcerers and Commons ran deeply, and what Craig and Daniel said about it being worse in the military proved true. When the host broke for the day, the swordsmen and women regarded Vhalla cautiously as she lingered. She’d ridden with Craig and Daniel enough times to no longer receive looks or whispers, but staying with them after they stopped seemed to cross a new line.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Vhalla asked after they tied off their mounts.
“Yes, Danny, are you sure you want to do this?” Raylynn gave Vhalla a sideways glance. Things may have improved between them, but the improvement was marginal.
“I am,” Daniel laughed. “I know Vhalla won’t hurt me.”
Raylynn clearly didn’t share the same sentiment, but Vhalla found Daniel’s trust and confidence refreshing. He seemed to always give her the benefit of the doubt, to trust her without needing a reason. It had quickly devolved into a foreign feeling since becoming a sorcerer.
Vhalla and Daniel squaring off attracted the attention of more than one pers
on, and the other soldiers began to gather, curiously gawking at the sorcerer in black plate opposite a Golden Guard.
“An easy round, then?” Daniel drew his sword. It was a beautiful blade with a golden pommel in the shape of wheat. Vhalla had admired it on many occasions as they had spoken of their homes in the East. “To forfeit?”
“To forfeit.” Vhalla nodded, clenching her fists. She was almost dizzy with power. The winds of the desert were swift, unblocked, and strong.
“Craig, if you’ll do the honors.” Daniel glanced at their friend.
“On my mark.” Craig stepped between them, raising his hand. “Mark!” He dropped his palm through the air, jumping back at the same time.
Vhalla acted on Craig’s breath and was a whole step ahead of Daniel by the time Craig was even moving. She drew an arm across her chest, sending a gust of sandy wind into Daniel’s face. Daniel, to his credit, did not falter over such a probing attack and twirled his sword in his palm for a backhanded swing.
Ducking under the blade, Vhalla spun around Daniel like a dancer. She placed a palm to the center of his back, sending him falling with a gust of wind. She was disappointed; Vhalla had expected more of a challenge from such an esteemed member of Prince Baldair’s guard.
But Daniel was prepared to show her how he had earned his golden bracer. As he fell he dug his sword into the sand, spinning around it to sweep her feet out from under her. In her surprise, Vhalla barely had time to catch herself and, when she did, the tip of a blade was at her throat.
“You’re not bad,” Daniel panted.
“Neither are you,” she replied with a sly smile.
Daniel’s face turned up into a grin as though they shared a wild secret now with each other. Vhalla would’ve never guessed it, but there was something about sparring with a person that was almost intimate.
The moment was quickly ruined as a man stepped forward from the observers. “By the Mother, what do you think you’re doing, Lord Taffl?”
Vhalla recognized the hulking form of a man. He was the one who had confronted her at the start of the march. The one Daniel and Craig had coaxed out of accosting her.
