by Elise Kova
“Your turn.” He bent down and picked up another stone, placing it in her palm.
The prince walked over to a decorative pile of mountain rocks around one side of the pond, perching himself on the largest. Resting his elbow on a bent knee he placed his chin in his hand and stared at her expectantly. Vhalla regarded him curiously before she brought her arm back for the throw.
“No, not like that,” he stopped her. “Without throwing it.”
“How do I...” she started.
“Move it, like you did the pages,” he instructed.
“I didn’t even know I was doing that,” Vhalla said, already annoyed.
“Somewhere in you, you did. I know this is going to be hard for you, but think less.” His words did not have a bite to them. “The execution of magic is not something that can be neatly summed up with words. I know you think, and wish, the whole world could be placed down on parchment in-between a strip of leather. But I regret it has fallen to me to inform you that such is simply not true.”
He gave her another one of his small smiles. It sparked warmth in her to see him being open toward her and not snarky. That spark quickly vanished when Vhalla looked doubtfully at the stone in her palm.
She held her hand out flat, the small stone in its center. Taking a breath, Vhalla tried to calm her mind and focus only on the afternoon air around her. Closing her eyes, the world materialized around her in the darkness. He was the first thing she saw with her magical sight.
Around the prince there was fire. It burned bright yellow—almost white—illuminating his features. In stark contrast was a dark spot in his abdomen, a black scar against the light. Vhalla opened her eyes and slowly turned to him.
“You’re not all right, are you?” she breathed. He frowned and she could almost feel him withdraw. “That magic, poison, whatever it is, it’s still in you.” She pointed at his side where she’d seen the spot. He considered her a long moment, unmoving.
“The stone, Vhalla,” Aldrik spoke softly and slowly.
He was shutting her out. Sighing, she closed her eyes. Some things wouldn’t change. It’d be foolish to expect them to. He was a prince, and she was an apprentice; some distances could never be crossed.
Her mind focused on the rock this time. Just like the bulb, she reminded herself.
The stone shuddered in her palm. Forward, Vhalla urged. Her brow furrowed, and she felt a drop of sweat roll down her neck, even though the temperature was nowhere near warm. Frustrated Vhalla opened her eyes to glare at the insubordinate pebble.
“That way!” she half pleaded, half snipped in annoyance.
The moment her opposite finger cut through the air in the desired direction, the stone shuddered to life. Vhalla jumped as it flew out of her palm, soared over the pond, through the shrubs on the other side, and buried itself into the stone wall behind.
Aldrik roared with laughter. She clenched her fists and scowled at him.
“That was amazing.” He slowly regained control of himself. “A little too much force, though.”
Frustrated, Vhalla picked up a second pebble and held it in her hand again. She connected with it faster this time, but it still refused to move despite her best mental commands. Lifting up her other hand, she flicked her wrist and it was sent soaring across the pond, though not as far.
Aldrik leaned forward, both elbows on his knees and his hands folded between. His raven eyes followed her every movement as Vhalla picked up the third stone. This time she did not even close her eyes to understand where the pebble was magically. Her fingers twitched, and it fell just to the other side of the water.
The fourth landed in the center of the pond with a dull plop and cry of victory from Vhalla.
Then there were the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh, each of which had a bad angle, moved too slowly, or landed wide again. Vhalla wiped her brow with the back of her hand, noticing her breathing had become labored.
The prince stood. “That is enough for today,” Aldrik said thoughtfully.
“But I’ve almost got it,” she protested.
“And are fully prepared to exhaust yourself in your attempt to get it.” He offered her his elbow. “Come.”
She clutched the eighth stone another second before giving in and replacing it with his arm. Vhalla took a deep breath, relaxing herself.
“We will need to work on your technique,” Aldrik explained as they walked. “You do not need to attach magical feats to physical movements.”
“It didn’t work the other way.” Vhalla shook her head.
“It will in time,” he encouraged her. “Do not become too reliant upon your magic requiring a physical motion.”
“Show me?” she asked timidly as they re-entered the greenhouse.
“What am I to show?” Aldrik asked, starting for the bench.
“Your magic, without motion,” Vhalla clarified.
“Very well.” The prince patted the bench next to him, and she assumed her prior position. Vhalla did not even realize that she had just made a demand of the prince.
Suddenly his outstretched palm was set ablaze. Tendrils of flame licked up from around his wrist. They circled his fingers and relished the air with their bright dance before fading. Vhalla stared, mesmerized. Aldrik did much the same.
With a timid hand she reached up. The moment her fingers crossed the point of heat the flame extinguished. His hand caught hers.
“Careful,” the prince said thoughtfully. “I would not want you to get burned.”
They hovered, the heat of his hand enveloping hers. Her throat felt gummy. Neither of them seemed to be able to fathom words over the ringing silence.
“Right,” Vhalla said, breaking the trance first, pulling her hand away and fussing with her cuticles as though they had become the most fascinating things in the world. It was hot enough in the greenhouse that her cheeks were flushed, and Vhalla quickly reached down to her bag underneath the bench, hiding her face.
Placing the leather satchel in her lap, Vhalla unwrapped the lemon cake after only a moment’s debate. She wasn’t even certain the prince liked sweets, but she still felt compelled to share her spoils with him. Ripping the hand-sized cake in two, Vhalla offered half—the smaller one—to him. Aldrik arched an eyebrow.
“It’s a lemon cake,” she explained.
“I know what it is.” He took it from her hand, sniffing it.
“It’s good, I promise.” She grinned. He took a bite. “They’re actually my favorite.”
“Not a bad batch,” he affirmed.
Vhalla’s chewing slowed. Of course the prince would have eaten the lemon cakes before.
“So, you simply carry a lemon cake with you each day?” he asked.
“No,” Vhalla shook her head. “I’m not supposed to have it as I’m an apprentice. It could get the kitchen staff in trouble if someone important knew they gave me one.” Aldrik smirked. Vhalla continued, hoping that did not come to pass, “But if I beg on my birthday to the right person, I normally get lucky.”
“Your birthday?” he asked. Vhalla nodded in affirmation. “Is today?” Vhalla nodded again, finishing off her first and proceeding to her second.
“It’s why Fritz gave me the book.” Vhalla nudged her bag with her toe. “Larel gave me this cuff.” Vhalla held out her wrist for him to see.
He inspected it thoughtfully a moment and Vhalla finished off the last of her lemon cake, using the opportunity to study his features again from the corners of her eyes. Vhalla was actually happy she could share something with the prince. But she wished that thing wasn’t a favorite food that she could only eat once every year.
Vhalla was halfway through her book when she noticed her pages had changed from a pale cream color to an orange glow. Sunset blazed above them and threatened to take her reading light away. Closing the book, she bent over and put it back in her bag.
“Finished?” he inquired. He’d been making notes in that black ledger all day.
“Not yet, about
half,” she responded, standing.
“I was under the impression that you read faster than that,” he mumbled over a few quick notes of his own.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Vhalla teased. Smiling around the man who had previously been a source of fear and anger was surprisingly easy.
He looked up at her and closed his ledger, taking a long strip of leather and wrapping it around the outside to hold the papers within.
“Are you leaving also?” she asked.
“I may as well.” He tucked the folio beneath his arm.
They started for the door. She did not feel like she was leaving with the same person she had met upon her arrival. Then again, with how her emotions had shifted, Aldrik may be able to say the same.
“How did you get in here?” Vhalla asked, once outside the gazebo.
He looked at her quizzically. “I am the crown prince; I am actually allowed to be here. The better question is how did you get in here?” Aldrik wore a small smirk.
“Well, I-I found a way.” Vhalla gripped the strap of her bag. He let out a laugh. “I couldn’t find the proper entrance!”
“That much is obvious; you are not supposed to know how to get into an Imperial Garden.” Vhalla shifted her feet. “But do not let that stop you. It has not until now, clearly.” He turned with a laugh and started walking to the gate. Stopping in the middle of the path Aldrik turned back to her. “Do you need me to let you out?”
The wind picked up at her back, as if encouraging her forward. Vhalla stared down at the black-clad prince. How much did she trust this man? Her thumb ran over the pads of her fingers where he had held her hand in his.
“If it’s not trouble?” Vhalla asked, mustering her courage. She did not understand what the Bond was, not really. He had been right about that. But there was something about the way his eyes fell on her that was different than any other person’s gaze.
Walking slowly down the steps of the gazebo, she met those eyes again as he offered her his elbow. Vhalla could not ignore the sparks that shot through her like lightning when they touched.
Aldrik led her through the iron gate and down a passageway, which had her gasping within steps. The floor was not carpet, nor stone; it was white marble set in a diamond pattern with smaller golden diamonds meeting at corners. The arched ceiling was painted in brightly colored frescos and the candles flickered magically to life as they walked by.
The prince remained silent as his guest absorbed the wonder in awe. Alabaster statues looked down from high ceilings. Windows made of colored glass and black lead cast bright pictures on the canvas of the floors and walls. It was a world she had only heard of, like a fairytale that was passed from the lips of one servant to the next.
“This place, is...” Her mind was slowly churning back to being capable of words. “It’s...”
“My home,” he finished for her.
“I’m not supposed to be here.” Vhalla shook her head as they stopped before a small side hall.
“You may be wherever I permit,” Aldrik reminded her. Despite his princely tone the words were thoughtful, and he looked at her as though she was the only one he wanted to permit entry. “I would like to teach you more.”
“I may enjoy that.” Vhalla wasn’t sure why she was whispering.
“Come back tomorrow?” he asked.
“I can’t,” Vhalla bit her lip. “I had today off for my birthday, but tomorrow I will be working.”
“If you could, would you come?” Vhalla had a hard time deciphering his look. Uncertainty was clear enough, but was there also want?
“If I could,” Vhalla replied with a nod.
“Very well.” The corners of his lips twitched. “This hall will take you back to the servants’ passages. Just head down.”
Vhalla took a step backward, her hand falling from his elbow. She turned before his stare made her head feel any lighter and started down the dim hallways away from the world of wonder and magic. The castle morphed around her, and she was lost in her thoughts all the way back to her room. If she could, she would rather learn magic than be in the library. That was what she said, wasn’t it? Was it true?
Vhalla rubbed her eyes and pushed open the door to her room. She knew she hadn’t eaten much, but she didn’t feel that hungry and her hunger wasn’t enough to deal with the dining hall.
On her table were three small presents. There was a blank journal from the master and a new quill and inkpot from Roan; Vhalla had a suspicion they had coordinated their gifts. Lastly, a thin rectangular box that had a small note attached:
Vhalla ˜
A very happy birthday. While I am glad you got the day off, your presence in the library was missed.
Sincerely yours,
˜ Sareem
She gave the note a tired smile. Placing it to the side on her desk she picked up the box. Unwrapping the used parchment, she found a ruby box within. Vhalla vaguely recognized it. It was from Chater’s, a clothing shop in the nice area of town not far from the library’s public entrance. She had only seen noble ladies walking out of the store, carrying the red boxes with pride.
Vhalla felt strange just holding it.
Slowly, she pulled off the top. Vhalla gasped. Within were two lovely sapphire gloves. They were fingerless, which suited her writing habit, and extended almost to her elbow. She remembered all the times last winter she complained about her hands being too cold to write. Her other gloves were old cotton things and worn thin with holes from over-use. Her gift were dyed leather and had a beautiful golden thread that embellished the base and sides with an intricate leaf and vine design.
Vhalla couldn’t imagine how much they had cost Sareem. She was fairly sure they were close to the same amount of the savings she had scraped together. As though she would ruin them with her touch, Vhalla returned the gloves to the box. With a sigh she buried her face into her pillow. What was Sareem thinking?
THE NEXT DAY Vhalla awoke groggy and tired. Dawn came so early. All of the excitement had exhausted her. Her body was still getting used to magic, she reminded herself. If she was using it at times without even consciously knowing it, then she was potentially wearing herself out more than she realized.
She let out a groan for two reasons. The first was because she realized she had forgotten her winter robes in the garden. She would have to get them back somehow; for now her summer ones would have to do. The second reason was because she saw Sareem’s gift once more. Vhalla tugged them on with little thought, ignoring how soft the leather actually was.
“Are those new?” Roan asked as they waited for the master.
“They are,” Vhalla nodded weakly in response.
“Can I see?”
Vhalla obliged her friend, stretching out an arm over the circulation desk where they both stood. Roan inspected the stitching carefully.
“Vhalla, these are quite nice.”
“I think they’re from Chater’s,” Vhalla mumbled.
“Chater’s? Were they a gift?” Roan released Vhalla’s hand slowly. An expression that was difficult to read crept up her face.
“They were from Sareem.” Vhalla looked back toward the palace side doors as though he would appear on command. The two girls were early, and he wasn’t.
“He likes you, Vhalla,” Roan said thoughtfully.
“I don’t think—” Something in the look on her friend’s face gave Vhalla pause. Roan was very certain of what she was saying. “Sareem? Really?”
“I think so.” Roan nodded.
The doors at one end of the library opened for the master and Sareem, and neither girl had an opportunity to speak after that. Roan was behind the desk with the master and Vhalla was sent among the books, as normal. She told herself that she really was going to seek out Sareem to thank him for his gift, that she wasn’t nervous, when he appeared at the end of her row.
“Sareem,” Vhalla said, pausing, placing a book on a shelf just beyond her short reach.
“Missed you yesterday.
” He smiled, crossing the distance between them.
“It was nice to have a day off.” Vhalla scolded herself for beating around the bush. “Thank you for the gloves. They’re perfect.”
“You like them?” His whole face lit up in a way that elicited a twinge of pain within her. “I never had sisters growing up, and well, I was hopeless picking them out.”
“You did well,” Vhalla reassured.
“Say, Vhalla,” Sareem opened, leaning against the bookcase, his hands picking off imaginary lint from his robes. “During the festival soon, we’ll have some time off. We only have to work one day and well, I was thinking that maybe...you and I could, well...”
Vhalla’s heart slowed. This couldn’t be happening. Roan couldn’t be right. She looked at her childhood friend nervously. Certainly he was attractive. He had filled out and lost some of his boyishness, and his darker skin tone really complemented his lighter eyes and hair. He comes from a good family, she reminded herself.
“Vhalla!” The master called from the central desk suddenly. She glanced behind her and back at Sareem. “Vhalla, come here.”
“Go ahead,” her friend looked utterly deflated. “I’ll catch up with you later. Happy birthday, Vhalla.”
She hovered awkwardly, waiting for one long moment before the master’s call had her running back to the desk. What had Sareem wanted to ask? She didn’t dwell on it for long as she was quickly distracted by a waiting guard.
“Your presence has been requested by a member of the Court to assess some books,” the guard announced, almost mechanically.
“Me? You don’t mean the master?” Vhalla looked at the old man who was barely taller than the central desk. One of the few people in the world that was shorter than her.
“They asked for you by name,” the guard replied.
“You dare not refuse.” The master sent her off easily enough, but Vhalla heard the signs of curiosity in his wavering voice.
The guard had not lied. Vhalla followed him up through the palace and into a stately study. Bookshelves dominated two walls and she was left alone to pick through their contents without clear instruction. One wall possessed four large windows, and soon the scenery competed for her attention.
