by Elise Kova
They started juggling simple objects: sacks of beans and leather balls. The crowd began to ooh and aah as they added daggers and swords into the mix. The Northerners began moving and tossing the variety of objects to each other until all six were involved in a circular pattern of thrown objects. Vhalla was stunned by their control and deft hands. They made it look easy in their fearlessness.
When the show came to a close, a roar of applause rang out and the six took a bow. The same woman walked to the edge of the stage again.
“Good people, I hope you enjoyed today’s show. We hope you can make it for all of our shows leading up to our grand finale on the night of the Gala.” The woman held out her arms. “Tell all your friends!” She gave a wave with both hands and led her companions off the stage.
“I wonder what they’ll do for the finale...” Vhalla pondered aloud.
“We can find out, together. Come with me.” Sareem smiled and took her hand.
“You know I’m not one for the crowds on the last night of the festival,” she murmured a half-hearted excuse.
“Two isn’t a crowd.” Sareem began leading her away from the square in the slowly dissipating mass of people. “It would only be you and I.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Vhalla bit her lower lip, conflicted. Sareem hadn’t been doing a poor job, and the advice of the older ladies from the palace resonated back to her. Marry young and fulfill the natural role of a woman. Sareem clearly cared for her. She glanced up at him and was rewarded with a warm smile.
“All right,” Vhalla agreed softly. “I’ll meet you.”
“Meet me at The Golden Bun,” he pointed to the bakery as they passed down the road. “When the moon is one third in the sky. The finales normally happen at the moon’s apex so that’ll give us plenty of time. I know how girls like to get ready.”
Sareem laughed, and Vhalla tried to laugh along. She had no interest in getting ready for a second date with Sareem. Doubt was already tinting the edges of her decision, but he seemed so happy about it all that she had not the faintest inkling for how to back out of it now.
“Speaking of getting ready and fancy clothes and all...” Sareem looked up at the sky. “It’s almost time for the noon precession of Senators.”
As they climbed up the sloping, winding roads into the nicer area of town, the houses began to shift from white plaster to stone and solid wood construction. He led her in a direction she had never been before and the houses became even more opulent. Iron fences and tall hedges enclosed homes that actually had a rare small yard or garden. Almost every house had a noble seal upon it bearing a region of the Empire or a family crest, most Vhalla did not recognize nor have any interest in. Some houses had two flags; one that was the signet of the Empire, and another that was the signet of a country or region.
“The ones with two flags are senators’ homes. Those without are simply members of the Court,” Sareem pointed out. “It’s not a bad job, get a house and all with the position.” Vhalla stared in awe; some houses even had colored glass window designs like the library. “Of course, you have to be elected to the Senate, so I’m told it’s not an easy job to get.”
“Well worth it, I’d say.” Vhalla was still taking in the wonder about her.
“It’s annoying how well some live, isn’t it?” Sareem chuckled.
She nodded mutely, instantly thinking of Aldrik and the glimpses she had gained into his world. Vhalla did not know for certain, but she would guess that nothing in the houses they passed compared to the gold-guided, stained wood, and rich carpeted parlors of the prince’s home. In the back of her mind she wondered if he was there now, reading at a window. She wondered if there was anywhere else in the world she’d rather be.
Eventually, the houses gave way to a wide open expanse. The side road merged with a large marble street that matched the building at one end. It was a large circular structure with columns around the outside. Vhalla had never cared much for politics, and she didn’t recognize any of the names written on the plaques bolted to the pillars.
A good few others had lined up alongside the road. Vhalla looked about them curiously.
“When did politics become a spectator sport?” she inquired.
“Since always,” Sareem grinned. “I imagine some are here to lobby for a cause, others will likely scream dissent at the senators as they leave, while a few probably came for the same reason as us.” He shrugged. “The Senate is meant to keep the common folk happy by dealing with small things on behalf of the Empire, but that doesn’t mean they always do a good job.”
“Doesn’t it seem rather pointless?” Vhalla mused. The Emperor always had the final say.
“The Empire’s always been at war, maybe when the Emperor has time to focus on matters of state it will be,” Sareem joined in her musing. “But I think it’s nice to have some way that the common folk get a voice, otherwise it’d only be the Court, and it’s not as though the highborn really care for our plights.”
A bell rang out from over the top of the Senate Hall.
“Here they come,” Sareem whispered on the thirteenth ring.
It was indeed a spectacle. Men and women of all ages and shapes trickled out of the marble building by ones and twos. He told her there were thirteen in total so the show wouldn’t be over too quickly. Some made speedy departures through the crowd and off down side streets, presumably making a quick retreat home. Others took a more leisurely stroll. Just as Sareem had predicted, some people shouted while others shook hands with their elected officials.
But it wasn’t this that kept the smile upon Vhalla’s cheeks. It was their clothing. Clearly, drapery was the order of the day, a traditional Southern style that was quickly going out of fashion for the tailored looks of the West and practical sensibilities of the East. Every senator bore a golden medallion on a heavy chain, but the similarities ended there. The first was a man swathed in Eastern purple silk with a gold hem. He wore his whitening hair up in curls with peacock feathers sticking out at odd angles.
The next woman had a pinched face and a pointed nose, one that Sareem couldn’t help but comment on.
“She looks like she’s been forced to smell her own waste,” he whispered eagerly into her ear. Vhalla bit her knuckles to keep from laughing.
The next man had a pig nose, and the one after Sareem jested about rolling down the steps as his shape was far better suited for such than walking.
Vhalla was having such a fun time that she didn’t even mind it when Sareem draped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close for more whispering. She simply kept giggling like a fool and let Sareem continue his roll of taunts in her ear.
“Look there. Look, look, all the ruffles make her look like a chicken.”
Vhalla turned her head away from the building to examine one of the ladies in yellow. She had made some very unfortunate choices with all the ruffles of her dress piled upon her not so small rump. Vhalla was having more fun than she expected; she beamed at Sareem, and he grinned back at her. It felt like they were kids again and could simply laugh and be silly without the pressure of anything more.
Then the wind shifted, and the smile fell from her face.
She knew he was there before she even turned her head. She felt him. It was a subtle temperature shift carried on the breeze or the sound of his boots on the marble road. Vhalla turned her head slowly to see Aldrik walking alongside a Southern man with darkening blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. They were still a few steps away and were deep in conversation.
“Sareem, this was fun, but I’m really hungry, so let’s get going,” she pleaded, trying to shrug his arm off.
With a laugh he pulled her closer, his lips pressed against her ear uncomfortably. “But the best part is now walking toward us, the Head of Senate. And, we have the dark snob prince too,” he snickered.
Her lips parted and shut again quickly, barely catching a vehement defense on Aldrik’s behalf.
“The Emperor has ordered certa
in crystal relics be brought back from the North.” The senator’s voice gave Vhalla the same feeling as ripping paper, a chill uneasiness at its quiet yet harsh sound.
“I have not heard of this,” Aldrik responded. Even though they were whispering, Vhalla could hear their conversation along the wind. Their words grew louder with every nearing step.
“Sareem, please,” she begged. Vhalla reached up and grabbed his hand to pull Sareem’s arm off from her shoulders and drag him away herself. But it was too late.
Aldrik’s eyes fell on hers. He considered her a long moment, clearly no longer interested in whatever the senator was saying. His brow furrowed and a shadow darkened his face briefly before his expressionless mask slipped back into place and he looked forward once more.
Vhalla opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t come up with words to say. Sareem was muttering like a fool in her ear still, but she couldn’t hear him over the words of the Senator and prince.
“Was that someone you know, Prince Aldrik?” the head of Senate asked suddenly with no subtle interest.
“Hardly,” Aldrik’s voice was cold and fading. “Why would I associate with common-folk?”
Then he was gone. Aldrik kept walking until he was out of sight. He never looked back.
Sareem remained oblivious to the turmoil raging within her chest. Vhalla tortured herself with the notion of running after him. But anything she did would only make a scene. What had that look meant? Even the senator had noticed the subtle shift in the crown prince. She chewed it over as Sareem continued prattling away, leading her wherever he wished. Did it matter to Aldrik how she spent her time? Vhalla barely contained a scream of frustration.
She was poor company all the way back to the palace. But Sareem didn’t mind as he filled the silence enough for both of them. Vhalla refused his offer for dinner, heading straight for bed. Food would taste like ash in her mouth anyways.
VHALLA STARED AT her doorknob. She agreed to meet Aldrik today. He had invited her to lunch in the rose garden. Vhalla replayed the memory in her head with doubt. That was what happened. His confused gaze flashed through her mind as he had stared upon her and Sareem.
She twisted her fingers around each other. He would still want to see her, she assured herself. Vhalla grabbed her improvised mirror and fussed with her hair. It was the frizzy mess it always had been, and she stared at it hopelessly. He was the crown prince; she had no doubt he had been with women older, more beautiful, more experienced, and more refined than she. For all she knew, he was with one now.
Poking her finger through a new hole in her maroon tunic, Vhalla sighed. She was fussing over nothing, the apprentice in her scolded. The prince knew who she was. He had said it himself. Why would he associate with commoners like her?
The halls of the palace were mostly empty due to the festival. Those who were working flitted about carrying large trays of lavish food and pitchers of frothing drink. She kept her head down, wandering the passages washed in the afternoon sun.
Eventually, the people around her faded one by one in the hallways until Vhalla was alone. The garden appeared before her, and Vhalla entered through the same window as last time. It was a nice fall day, perfect for the festival. Some of the smaller plants had already begun to go dormant for the winter, and she wondered how long until the roses also began to fall.
The gardens and gazebo were deserted. Vhalla assured herself that she had only beaten him there, that he hadn’t forgotten. She wandered uncertainly throughout the gazebo, inspecting the roses. Thankfully, Aldrik did not keep her waiting for long.
Vhalla turned away from the center post of roses as she heard the click of his boots up the steps. Her heart pounded, and her mouth was dry. The prince fumbled with the door a moment before pushing it open. In one arm he balanced a decently sized wicker basket that emitted a tempting aroma.
They stared at each other, as though in disbelief. Vhalla swallowed. He straightened, adjusting the box.
“Hello,” she smiled. They had spent countless hours together. Nothing was different about this meeting, she reassured herself. Even if this meeting seemed to have no other purpose than for him to see her.
“Good afternoon,” he responded. Something in the resonance of his voice gave Vhalla pause. “You are fast this morning.”
“I had nothing else to do,” Vhalla replied, denying any kind of excitement—even to herself—over the meeting. He crossed the room, sitting on the far bench. Vhalla followed and took her prior seat at his side.
“I am beginning to think you never work. I will have to have a talk with our Master of Tome,” he declared in his princely tone.
Vhalla playfully stuck her tongue out like a child. “If I am not working, I think it may be because a certain Imperial Prince keeps taking me from work,” she retorted.
“Ah, you have me.” Aldrik grinned.
“It’s the festival, anyway.” Vhalla shrugged to hide her defensiveness at the notion that Aldrik may think she was lazy.
“It is,” he agreed. Opening the basket Aldrik revealed multiple trays of food, stacked upon each other. Vhalla had only heard the kitchen staff speak of preparing such luxuries, and the house servants whisper about sneaking bites in-between dinner for nobility. “I thought, perhaps, you had not eaten.”
Vhalla stared at the rows of carefully cut tea sandwiches. There was white bread, tan bread, bread with oats, and small rolls with brown crusts. She saw slices of cured ham and peppered turkey sneaking out from the sides, resting in beds of fresh produce. It seemed to practically glisten.
“Are you sure it’s okay?” she had to ask. “That food isn’t really meant for me.” He gave her a peculiar stare. “Staff, servants, we don’t eat food like this.”
“Well, now you do,” Aldrik said easily, lifting up the top tier to her. Vhalla’s stomach growled loudly enough to remind her that she had skipped dinner last night. Her face flushed bright red. “You cannot argue with that,” he chuckled.
Vhalla decided on an egg sandwich. The egg did not have the rubbery flavor or consistency like when they had been sitting for too long. There was not a mass of cream or butter sauce upon it either to hide the stale ingredients. Every flavor shined, and she stared at the small morsel in awe.
“What do the servants and staff eat?” the prince asked.
She regarded him curiously. “Sometimes stews, sometimes a rice hash, sometimes bread and meat.” Vhalla shrugged. “Normally whatever the kitchen has on hand. Two day old nights is how we refer to the worst nights. It’s things that the kitchen really should’ve discarded a day or two ago but covered in some kind of gravy or salt, and passes it off as food.” He’d stopped eating to stare at her, and she laughed at his still, almost horrified, look. “It really isn’t so bad. What do you normally eat?”
“Whatever I ask for,” he said, obviously.
Vhalla laughed louder. “It must be nice to be the prince.” She grinned, grabbing a few grapes from the tray and popping them into her mouth before starting on another sandwich.
He paused, his eyes fixed somewhere in the distance. “I suppose, in some ways,” Aldrik spoke slowly, and Vhalla swallowed her food to listen. “In others, I think I would rather be more common.”
“Other ways like what?” Vhalla asked quietly.
“You are free to make your own choices. I have...obligations,” he sighed cryptically.
“Obligations? Such as?” she asked, taking a small bite and listening intently.
“Well, my parrot,” he retorted and grinned at her scowl. “Lately, I have done a lot in my father’s absence. I have approved this or that, checked on the state of the Empire and capital, met with most of the ministers and senators,” he explained.
Vhalla was reminded of the day prior. She busied her mouth with another bite of food. Aldrik uncorked a bottle and passed it to her. What she had expected to be water was actually tea with a fruity flavor. It was refreshing and delicious; it almost made her forget the embarrassing moment
from the precession of senators.
“I was at the Senate meetings yesterday.” He was apparently not going to let the possibility for an uncomfortable confrontation slide. It was his turn to avoid her stare. She watched him shift uneasily on the bench, completely ignoring the food. Could the prince even feel genuinely awkward?
“I know.” Vhalla instantly wished she had thought of something better to say.
“That boy you were with...” Aldrik began slowly, his spoken grace suddenly failing him.
“He’s my friend,” Vhalla responded quickly, her lips on overdrive. “His name is Sareem. We’ve been friends for years. He’s like a brother, really. He asked to take me out, and I agreed because I thought it was the right thing to do but, well, of course I had fun, he can be a laugh. But he’s just a friend.”
The prince stared at her intently through her uncomfortable and hasty proclamation. Obsidian eyes pinned her to the spot, and Vhalla met them with all the honesty she could muster. Sareem was only a friend, she realized as she looked at the prince. He was nothing more to her. Vhalla swallowed hard, keenly aware of a dangerous feeling that had rooted in her chest over the past months without her consent. What was she doing?
“He is...only a friend.” She didn’t know why she was whispering, or which one of them she was reassuring.
Aldrik’s eyes relaxed, the intensity in them fading into a warm heat that pulsed down to her toes with each beat of her heart. The corners of his mouth came next; instead of relaxing into their normal thin line, they eased upward into a small smile. Vhalla bit her lip, trying to hide her reaction to his joy—and failed.
“Friends are good to have,” the prince said suddenly, turning away and resituating the trays. He reached for a sliced strawberry. Vhalla did the same and they chewed away the moment.
“Are you and Larel only friends?” She wanted to hit herself the moment the question slipped from her lips. It wasn’t any of her business, and the prince’s answer wouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter how comfortable he had seemed in the other woman’s room. He could be with whoever he pleased, Vhalla reminded herself.
