by Elise Kova
But Vhalla was hungry for more than just his attention. Her lips met his before any more words could be exchanged. A low growl rumbled up his throat, a sound she harmonized with, full of yearning. Vhalla stood slowly, prolonging the kiss as much as possible.
“Come,” she whispered over his lips.
“Vhalla . . .” his voice was low and dangerous in a way that made her knees weak.
“Come,” she repeated, guiding him with a tug on his hands.
The book fell from the Emperor’s lap as he rose to meet her. It may have been the first time in her life that Vhalla let a book fall without frantically checking to see if any pages were bent. Aldrik’s arms pressed her against him. One kiss, one step, and they made their way toward the bedroom.
They were perfectly imperfect. Vhalla knew they would fight again. She knew fire and air had a tendency to burn hot. But she wouldn’t have it any other way. For tonight, she would beg for their flames.
CHAPTER 22
Vhalla rolled over, groping at the bedside table. Her fingers searched for something wooden, round, and heavier than the rest. It rolled away, and she stretched with a groan.
“Trouble?” Aldrik shifted, loosening his hold on her waist.
Picking up one of the vials, Vhalla inspected its lack of stopper and cast it aside with a hollow thud. “I wouldn’t have trouble if half of them weren’t empty,” she muttered. “Why are they all still here?”
“We can’t really discard so many without raising suspicion.”
“You’re a Firebearer.” Vhalla rolled her eyes, even though she couldn’t see her face in the dim light of the room. “Burn them.”
“You and your logic.” Aldrik finally gave up on the unspoken idea of going back to sleep and sat up, burning every empty vial she tossed into the air. Vhalla scattered the ashes with a gust of wind.
Elixir of the Moon had been something that Elecia was all too prepared to provide since the events of the night at the Crossroads. In the eyes of the court, they were still playing the role of proper man- and wife-to-be, keeping their separate sleeping quarters until their wedding. But more often than not, Jax slotted himself for the night shift, a shift he made sure was scheduled until late mornings. Even more mysterious was the fact that he didn’t show up half the time, which was noted without comment.
Downing the foul liquid in one quick gulp, Vhalla tossed the vial with a grimace. It exploded in a final burst of flame before hitting the floor. She barely had time to scatter its remnants when an arm pulled her against a very naked man.
“Are you pleased?” he hummed. His voice was deep and throaty with sleep.
“With what?”
“With everything.”
Vhalla thought for a long moment before replying, as was their morning ritual. “As pleased as I can be until we finish with our wedding and can march once more.”
“Soon.” He nuzzled the base of her neck, his lips brushing over what must be the makings of a bruise. “Tell me what it looks like.”
“My answer was no last night, and it is still no this morning.” Vhalla laughed breathily at the way his morning stubble rubbed against her chin.
“I will see it tomorrow.” He was making every attempt to convince her to spill the details of her wedding gown. And if the revelries of the night before couldn’t, then his kisses in the morning certainly wouldn’t.
“Yes, you will.” Vhalla wiggled beneath him and freed herself.
“Stubborn.” He rolled onto his back with a small grin.
“You love me that way.”
Vhalla was the first to escape the bed, which ended their escape from the world.
Following their small tiff about their wedding, they had discovered that no matter how bleak the world was, if they wanted to survive, then they had to savor the things that gave them joy. So each morning they woke and pretended they were nothing more than two lovers enjoying the dawn. Vhalla had felt guilty about it at first. But it made them stronger as a unit and put them in a better place to lead their people.
The second part of their new morning ritual was to go through the letters and notes that multiplied in the night while they slept. They would alternate reading them aloud over breakfast, once more just the two of them, and would decide together where they stood on matters. At the same time, Vhalla would go over her notes from the previous day’s council. They were regularly corresponding with Sehra now, which gave Vhalla hope that their support from the North would arrive in time.
Her efforts to speak less to and silently smile more to the nobles were paying off. She wore out her quill with notes about what to discuss with Aldrik in private. This habit didn’t stop her from interjecting her thoughts into those public discussions, but it was improving her diplomatic relationships. She also found it helped her organize her thoughts better, so that when she did speak she did so with more tact.
Aldrik had taken to doing the same, which surprised her, and it helped them present a unified front on all matters. The first comment of praise had come through Elecia, saying Vhalla seemed more reflective in meetings.
But the time Vhalla could spend in meetings had been shortening as Lilo and Tina began to buzz more with wedding preparations. They were frustrated on more than one occasion by her lack of opinion, but Vhalla told them that she was content doing things in the traditional Western fashion. The things that mattered most to Vhalla was that she and Aldrik wed, that Aldrik was content, and that they could move onto fighting their war.
However little it had mattered to her, Vhalla still woke on her wedding day with a small family of butterflies in her stomach. Music wafted up from the streets, and the revels began long before the ceremony. Vhalla woke alone so that there was no risk of the wedding preparation crew discovering her in Aldrik’s bed—she was really growing tired of that façade.
Fritz kept her company throughout the day, and Elecia played messenger between Vhalla’s and Aldrik’s rooms. Vhalla inquired as to what Aldrik was doing as she prepared; she was certain he was not having his face powered ten times over. Elecia informed her with a dramatic eye roll that Aldrik was on a mission to pace the room until his shoes had to be replaced.
The wedding was set for midday, when the sun would be at its apex, which left little time for anything else. As Vhalla’s gown was undergoing the final pinning around the hem, and the last embellishments were being stitched on, her aunts-to-be graced her with their presence. Tina eyed Vhalla up and down, passing silent approval.
“You look like a Solaris Empress,” she finally spoke.
“That’s what I’m supposed to look like, isn’t it?” Vhalla smoothed her hands over the skirt. Golden silks draped in the Southern fashion underneath a more Western-styled jacket that went from her hips all the way to her neck, capping her shoulders.
“It is.”
“We have something for you.” There was an odd mix of excitement and sorrow in Lilo’s voice. “However, it is silver, over the Imperial gold.”
The older woman motioned for a servant to bring forward a medium-sized box. Vhalla watched in curiosity that quickly turned to awe as it opened to reveal one of the most beautiful crowns she’d ever seen. Diamond-shaped rubies hung from delicate pointed archways that rose from the base of the crown. The silverwork around the brow looked more like lace than metal. It was delicate, feminine, beautiful, and strong in equal measure.
“She would have wanted you to have it.” Tina’s usually steely tones had gone soft as well. “Fiera was not one to change who she was. Even when she married an Emperor of the South, she wanted a crown of silver.”
“So, this crown truly is . . .” Vhalla looked between the women in shock.
“Our sister’s, Aldrik’s mother’s.” Vhalla had never seen a more joyfully heartbreaking smile than what Lilo wore on her lips. “She was the Empress this realm needed, if only she’d lived to fulfill that role.”
“But she gave us Aldrik. And hopefully he has b
rought us an Empress who will be worthy of picking up my sister’s crown.” Tina’s words left little doubt on what she truly thought of Vhalla.
“I will be,” Vhalla swore.
“Good. I would expect no less.” The older woman gave a firm nod.
Eventually, Vhalla and the crown were left alone. Aldrik’s aunts talked with her for a little bit longer, but they left shortly before the last servant. Vhalla sent away all remaining help, preferring the company of her thoughts in her final moments as an unmarried woman. It wasn’t that she was nervous about her and Aldrik. The time for such things was long gone. Their perfect imperfection, constantly striving and pushing each other to do better, it would be her life’s mission and joy—with or without crowns and vows.
The sound of the door opening again brought Vhalla back to reality. Her eyes met a pair nearly identical to her own, and Vhalla gave her father a small smile. Rex Yarl had been dressed up in Western fashions, but styled in Eastern purples. She had to stifle a laugh fueled by nerves at the sight of her father so polished.
“Little bird.” He opened his arms, and Vhalla went to him without hesitation so that he could wrap her in a tight embrace. “You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Her mouth had filled with cotton, and she was suddenly terrified she’d forget her vows. “You clean up well yourself, for a low-born, Eastern farmer.”
They shared a knowing laugh at what had been used against both of them.
“Well, this farmer’s daughter is about to marry a man befitting her status.”
Vhalla’s heart threatened to explode. In her father’s words, Aldrik was vying to be worthy of her, not the other way around. She leaned up and kissed him on a clean-shaven cheek.
“Was Mother nervous?” Vhalla whispered. Her parents had nothing but love for each other; in Vhalla’s mind, they’d had nothing to fear going into their union.
“She told me so the second we had said our vows before the Mother.” Rex offered his arm to his daughter. “Every chance worth taking will make you a little scared. That means you’re taking a risk. And where there is risk, there is reward.”
Her father rode with her in a closed carriage to the Cathedral of the Mother. Vhalla remained out of sight from the prying eyes of the public. Her hand never left her father’s as her heart threatened to choke her—it felt like it was beating in her throat instead of her chest.
Vhalla waited in a small antechamber with her father. She could hear the talking of people through the gilded doors before her muffled like it was a world away. She was about to cross the threshold to a place she thought she would never see, to be with a man she should’ve never met, to become someone she was never meant to be. The room fell to a hush, and Lord Ophain’s voice boomed through the following silence.
She took a deep breath as the doors swung open before her, and Vhalla didn’t look anywhere but forward. Her hand gripped her father’s elbow so hard that she’d have to apologize for bruises later. But, for now, she would just focus on being the Empress the people needed. Love, war, life was a series of battlefields strung together with the courage to march forward.
A sculpture of the Mother reaching out her arms, holding a giant fire that lit the entire room, dominated the center of the dome above. Men and women packed the large hall, blocking out the imagery of the Father depicted in the lower part of the room, that showed how he yearned for the Mother above. Vhalla walked toward a circular marble space where Lord Ophain waited next to a cowled Crone.
Aldrik entered from the far side of the room, descending a grand stair from the domed ceiling. The fire flared brighter as he made his entrance, arcing around him as though he was hand chosen by the Gods to be their leader.
The men and women who sat on the wooden risers along the outside of the room whispered. Their whispers traveled unhindered on the wind to her ears. How dare this Eastern commoner marry their Emperor? A smile carved into Vhalla’s lips. She’d let them have their words. No matter what she did, they would talk. Today was hers and Aldrik’s, and she wasn’t even going to let thoughts of others trouble her.
The Emperor paused for half a breath as their eyes met. It was silent acknowledgement of the precipice upon which they stood. They were the most unlikely of pairs who had travelled an extraordinarily unconventional path.
Vhalla wanted to run to him.
They met before Lord Ophain and the Crone, mirror images of each other. Vhalla’s dress was gold, trimmed and embroidered with suns in white. Aldrik’s clothes were white, lined with gold up along his trousers and at the top of his large cuffed sleeves.
There wasn’t a scrap of black on him, other than his raven hair. For the first time, Vhalla realized that by wearing white, he didn’t look like a sign of defeat. It didn’t look like a color he’d worn to appease his father. It didn’t look like something he was forcing himself to do for his people. It was as natural to him as the replica of the sun crown that was settled upon his brow.
Her father extended out her hand, and Vhalla’s palm practically leapt to meet Aldrik’s. Her fingers hooked around his, and he half pulled her a step. In a complete lack of form, Aldrik drew her knuckles to his lips, giving her a satisfied grin as he shocked the court. The rest of the world vanished for one blissful moment, and Vhalla savored the fact that she was indeed going to marry the man who had so claimed her heart.
Lord Ophain cleared his throat softly, pulling them both back to reality. The crowd wore looks of surprise, accompanied by whispers. Vhalla gave the tiniest of smiles when her eyes fell on Fritz, and he risked breaking his wrist with his frantic, not so subtle waving.
“It was here, upon this spot, where our last Emperor married our princess, my sister,” Lord Ophain began his opening remarks, addressing the crowd. “The West lives in the blood of the Empire, and our Emperor is one of our own. And, while unjoyful events have led him to being our Emperor so young, the circumstances of this world have seen him to our most sacred of halls for yet another Imperial union.
“I have long since born witness to the lines that connect our Emperor, Aldrik Ci’Dan Solaris, with the Lady Vhalla Yarl.” Lord Ophain’s focus rested upon them, and only them. He produced a scroll from his jacket pocket for emphasis. “It is with the blessing of the West, East, and North that this union will be the foundation upon which a harmonious Solaris Empire may be rebuilt.”
Vhalla followed the direction of Lord Ophain’s nod. Za and Sehra returned the motion. They had made it. The acknowledgement wasn’t lost on the other nobles in the room, and Vhalla contained a sigh of relief.
“Eons ago,” the head Crone began to speak, “the Father lived in a land of eternal night. It was in that darkness that he met the Mother. She was a brilliant star, a point of light that cut through the night like a sword of law and order. It was with her dazzling radiance that she brought the day.”
The Crone raised her wrinkled hands, and the fires that hovered above burned even brighter.
“The Mother could not live with the Father in that world of night, and he could not live in her world of day.” The Crone dropped her hands and motioned to the stone floor beneath them. “So they began to spin in an eternal dance, one where they could look upon each other from the beginning and until the end of days. In this dance, their children were born, and the first men walked upon the new earth.
“The Mother watches over our lives, bringing us life and joy. The Father watches over our timelessness, seeing us safely into the lands beyond.” The Crone produced a long red ribbon from within her sleeve. “From our births to our deaths, we are bound to the plans which they have laid. We walk the red lines they have given us.”
Vhalla resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably. She wondered what the Crone would say to someone who had changed their fate. Or if the very notion that fates could even be changed would be blasphemous. Vhalla wondered if, perhaps, just perhaps, Vi had been wrong from the start. If every last thing had been as Ophain said, the red
lines of fate that the Mother had laid. After all, who could change things, like time and fate and futures, other than the Mother herself?
“By this, it is not for us to question those who are called to each other, just as it is no more our place to question those called to greatness. To do so would be an affront to the divine.” The Crone’s voice was powerful in its frailty. “From the highest nobility to the lowest of common, we are no different from each other in the Mother’s eyes. We are all threads in the same great weave.”
The Crone stepped forward. With gnarled fingers, purple veins spider webbing under the thin skin of their backs, she wrapped the red ribbon around Vhalla and Aldrik’s outstretched hands.
“Vhalla Yarl.” The faceless Crone turned to her. “May the Mother bless you with the greatness of her warmth.” She wrapped the ribbon again and turned to Aldrik. “Aldrik Ci’Dan Solaris, may the Father bless you with his resolution.”
The Crone carried on in this manner, binding their hands after every blessing. The Mother was to give Vhalla beauty, kindness, and many heirs. The Father was to give Aldrik strength, determination, and foresight. Vhalla had the distinct feeling that he was getting the better end of the bargain, but she held her tongue. They’d practiced the ceremony enough times that she knew every stage of what was coming.
“Vhalla Yarl, what do you pledge to your Emperor?”
“I will be yours,” she spoke with raw and delicate earnest. “I will be faithful to you. I will be yours from this day, and every day, into eternity.”
“Aldrik Ci’Dan Solaris?”
“I will be yours,” Aldrik replied. Vhalla’s eyes widened a fraction. He’d gone off-script. It was slight, and he quickly returned to the expected words, but it had been there. He had offered himself as much to her as she had to him. It was a subtle statement, but a statement nonetheless. “I will shelter you. I will protect you. I will keep you as my own, as my Empress.”
