by Elise Kova
“I will not!” She had such precious few people in the world. The idea of losing Jax to old crimes immolated her senses. Their friendship would only be salvaged if he could trust her.
“Why don’t you just ask Aldrik?” Jax was suddenly unable to look at her.
“I want to hear it from you.” Vhalla lifted her hands, trying to calm them both. “I need to hear it from you.”
“You already heard what I had to say. I owe you nothing more.”
“You didn’t kill her, did you?” Vhalla rested her hands gently on his upper arms.
He flinched at the touch. “I did,” Jax insisted, but his resolve had fractured just enough that he continued. “But I never meant to.”
“What happened?” Vhalla prodded gently.
“Nothing that should have.”
“Was it an accident?” She tried to tilt her head to meet his eyes.
“Partly.”
“Tell me please,” Vhalla whispered. “I want to help you.”
His shoulders began to tremble. Vhalla thought he was crying, but mad laughter echoed hauntingly into her ears. Jax wrenched himself away, throwing out his arms. “Oh, oh you siren. You wretched wench. I see now, I see now how you ensnared Aldrik.” Jax pointed his finger in her face, and Vhalla was too startled to react. “You think you can save everyone. You think you’re a damned Goddess, glowing high above the masses who cower at your feet. You think you can fix the broken and heal the wounded because you want to.”
Fire sparked around his finger, close enough that Vhalla’s nose was nearly burned.
“You want to know something? You-you misbegotten noble, you are as bad as every other who has stepped before you. You are pathetic, useless, inept. You can barely defend yourself, and you think you can defend those you love.”
Vhalla leaned against the door. She endured his insults, his raving. She held her head high and waited out the madness.
“I can help you.” Vhalla had never believed anything more than those four words in that moment.
“You can’t help! I couldn’t help!” Spit flew from his mouth, landing on her cheek. He raged on, “She could not help herself as she ran into the flames to save her father. To save that worthless sack of putrid flesh that didn’t deserve to die a clean death of fire.”
“Her father?”
“Yes, her father, you simpleton!” Jax lunged for her, and Vhalla’s head cracked against the door hard as he shook her by the collar. “What would you have done? Tell me. Tell me! They knew, they all knew, and they didn’t stop him!” he howled. “A father is meant to protect his young, to love them. But not like that. Never like that.”
She blinked away the stars from where Jax had knocked her head. He was right, he hadn’t lied to her. He’d said he’d discovered a man with his bride-to-be, a man who had taken her multiple times. But it hadn’t been just any man. Vhalla felt sick.
“You were trying to save her.”
Jax growled and threw her to the side. He leaned against the door, his head hanging between his arms. His back heaved with his rasping breaths. “Go . . . go and never speak about this ever again.”
“Jax, it wasn’t—”
“Go!” Fire flared over his shoulders as he spun, its heat making her blink water from her eyes. “If you ever speak of this to me again, I do not care who you are, Vhalla Yarl, I do not care what clothes you wear, or what title you bear. I will kill you.”
The man had been pushed far enough. Vhalla took a deep breath and waited for the fire to disappear. It left a dark burnt spot on the ceiling.
“I’m sorry for hurting you and making you recall this.” She rested a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye when she said it. The contact stilled him and panicked him once more. But it was a different kind of panic, something more akin to a lost child than a lunatic.
“I said go,” Jax demanded.
Vhalla obliged him and stepped back into the sunlight of the dusty training ground.
She ignored every look from the soldiers, unashamed of her activities with Jax. There were some things that, as Empress, she didn’t have to explain. Vhalla didn’t want to exercise her authority often or without good reason. But this qualified as a good reason.
Vhalla escaped their eyes and started up a small stair that wound straight up to the king’s and queen’s—or now the Emperor’s and Empress’s—chambers. She made it several steps before she stopped to catch her breath, leaning against the wall for support. Her knees trembled, and her arm couldn’t seem to support her. She slid down the wall and sat on the steps, her chest heaving for air.
She’d gone hunting for the truth, and she had finally found it. But what did she do with it? Aldrik had said that he’d put Jax’s life into her hands. That it would fall to her to pardon the man or let him continue on with his service.
After meeting all the lords and ladies, Vhalla knew that the West valued tradition above all other things. They saw Jax as a fallen lord; pardoning him would likely earn their ire. But Vhalla didn’t want to keep him under her command by holding a leash that she didn’t think was necessary.
Though, did Jax even want to be pardoned? Was justice still just if it went against the person’s fundamental wishes? She had so many questions but not a single answer.
Vhalla pulled herself off the floor. There was someone else she hadn’t fielded thoughts from. Someone who had just as much noble training as Aldrik. Someone else who’d been born to lead.
She knocked on Elecia’s door and waited.
“Enter,” the woman called.
Vhalla obliged and was surprised to find she had company. “Fritz? What’re you doing here?”
“‘Cia is teaching me how to play carcivi.” He pointed to the board that sat on the low table between them.
“‘Cia? Does everyone get to call you ‘Cia but me?” Vhalla joined them in front of the open window.
“We’ll see if I ever deem you worthy,” Elecia joked back. She studied Vhalla for a long moment from the corners of her eyes. “So, future Empress, why are you here when I’m fairly certain you have other far more important people to be meeting?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“Me?” She seemed surprised that Vhalla would seek her out.
“Yes. I want your advice,” Vhalla affirmed.
“What about mine?” Fritz squinted at Vhalla, making a show of pouting.
“Yours is always welcome, Fritz.” The Southerner would add a completely different perspective from someone who wasn’t of the West and wasn’t nobility either.
“Don’t you have an Emperor you could ask?” Elecia ignored the carcivi board entirely now, giving Vhalla her full attention.
“I do, but I know what he’ll say. I want to know what you’ll say.” Vhalla gave the skeptical woman a small smile. “What kind of Empress will I be if I ignore some of the best counsel available to me?”
Elecia seemed surprised. She tapped on one of the carcivi tokens for a moment in thought. “Very well, what is it you seek?”
“I spoke with Jax.” Vhalla let the weight of the interaction with Jax pull down her voice, taking the smile off her cheeks with it.
“I see.” Elecia heard everything Vhalla had hoped for.
“I know the truth now.”
“He told you?” Elecia seemed surprised. “The truth? Not one of his colorful lies that he uses to scare people away?”
“He told me one of those first.” Vhalla wanted to put to rest any confusion over what she really did or did not know.
“And you got the truth out of him . . .” There was a concerned glint to Elecia’s voice that Vhalla affirmed with a small nod. Got the truth out of him, that was a good way to put it, because it certainly hadn’t been graceful. “So, if you know, what do you need from me?”
“What are you two talking about?” Fritz reminded them both that he was still there.
Vhalla and Elecia shared an uncertain look. “Fritz—” they started at the same time.<
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“Fritz,” Vhalla took the lead. This was her responsibility now. She was the one who had dredged it up, she would be the one who would handle it. “Jax is owned by the crown as a punishment for a crime.”
Fritz didn’t seem shocked, but his expression told her clearly that this was the first time he was hearing it put so simply.
“But the crime, however heinous it seems on the surface, isn’t what it appears. He’s innocent.”
“Not quite,” Elecia interjected with a heavy sigh. “He did kill the lord—”
“But, given the circumstances—”
“I understand that.” Elecia held up a hand, indicating that she now had the floor, and Vhalla would wait to speak. “But that fact remains. And while that murder may have been in the defense of another, he killed the lord’s wife and other child in cold blood.”
Vhalla wouldn’t quite have described Jax’s blood as cold. “But only because they knew what was happening.”
“Even still,” Elecia shook her head. “It’s all a gray area mess. When his betrothed ran into the fire, his emotions were too far gone to stop the flames. He’s not as guilty as he makes himself sound, I’ll grant you that, but he’s not innocent either.”
“Did he—does he—feel sorry for it?” Fritz asked.
“Somewhat,” Elecia conceded.
“Why does he lie about it?” Vhalla quickly corrected herself, “Or tell half-truths.”
“To save her memory.” Elecia looked out the window, avoiding eye-contact for what may have been the first time in her life. The woman’s voice was soft, almost gentle, contemplative. “He loved her deeply, and he would rather endure people scorning him than try to clear his name at the cost of letting the world know how she had been violated. And the only one who knows the real truth of what happened that night is Jax; he’s the only one alive to tell the tale. The rest of us who know certainly won’t violate his trust by doing so.”
“Do you believe him?” Fritz stole the words out of Vhalla’s mouth.
“I do.” Elecia returned physically and mentally to the group. “When I first found out, I went to Aldrik, who pointed me to Erion. He told me how Jax had hand-picked through the char for her bones, carrying them in a box along with his confession, begging for a proper Rite of Sunset.”
“What would you do if you were me?” Vhalla outright asked Elecia. She didn’t bother explaining herself further because she knew she didn’t really need to; Elecia’s expression told her as much. The woman was smart; she knew full well the power and nobility that Vhalla was marrying into.
“I am not you, Vhalla Yarl,” Elecia said after a long second of contemplation. “I have grown up in a world of rules and regulations. I have been taught what can and cannot be done from the moment I could speak my first word.
“You, you are not so chained. And so you see the world with eyes that I could never have. You have hopes that no one else would allow themselves to even dream of.” Elecia gave the tiniest of smirks. “Forgive me, but I wish not to sway your actions in this matter. I want to see what you will do. I want to know what kind of Empress you will be.”
IWANT TO know what kind of Empress you will be.
The words repeated, again and again, in Vhalla’s mind the closer the wedding neared. She would be Empress. There was no more denying, dodging, or burying the fact under obligation. Her calendar soon became filled with as many wedding planning details as it was with audiences and war councils, and it drove her mad.
At least with the audiences, Vhalla could smile through the necessities knowing that she was working toward strengthening their army. When it came to picking one fabric or another for a dress, Vhalla couldn’t care less. She felt as though it did nothing but take her away from actually being useful.
It put Vhalla on edge, and her annoyed, frayed nerves didn’t do anyone any favors.
“What do you mean, we can’t do anything?” She couldn’t stop the words, just like she couldn’t keep herself from glaring at the map before her.
The continent was covered in multi-colored figures, each representing civilians, military, Victor’s forces, and just about every other factor that could be an influence in the happenings of the world. It reminded her of all the times she had mentally thought of nobility as a game. Well, now the pieces were spread out before her.
“It simply doesn’t make sense,” a lord answered. Vhalla had forgotten his name already, and she could imagine quite a few colorful titles to fill in the blank.
“We are to just ignore them? To forfeit? That is no small portion of the East. Victor’s hold will go from a quarter to nearly half.”
“But they are just farmers; they don’t offer anything with regards to military strength or stalling the false king’s army. They are already lost,” a different major remarked, almost casually. It wasn’t until her sharp inhale and cold stare that he realized where he had just placed his foot.
“Forgive me, major.” Vhalla tried to keep her voice even. She did not want to sound like a petulant child, but a noble lady. “They are certainly not just farmers.”
“Lady Yarl, I did not mean to offend you or any of your noble kin.” He gave a small bow of his head.
Vhalla wanted none of it. His fake sincerity was as valuable to her as coal in the face of diamonds.
“Very well. Lord Ophain,” Vhalla began boldly, pointing to the West’s border with the South. “If I understand your major’s logic correctly, then these towns should be considered lost.”
“M-my lady!” the major balked.
“They are just some mining towns, no?” Vhalla knew the West’s terrain by now like the back of her hand. She could possibly list more cities and towns than even some of the nobles in the room. So she continued, not letting her rhetorical question hang too long. “Do they offer anything to our military strength?” The twenty or so nobles around the table were silent. “Then let us pull back any defense that is currently there.”
“That is the West!” Another joined the conversation with his impassioned declaration. “The West protects its own. I will not stand for this.”
“And neither will I.” Vhalla silenced the murmurings of the table, her words quick as a whip. “It’s easier if it is not your own kin; I understand that truth.” Vhalla paused, staring at the map for a long hard moment. “But the real truth is this.”
She plucked a quill from an inkwell and began to cross out and scribble over the lines on the map between the East, West, South, and North. Vhalla triumphantly returned the writing instrument to its place. She smiled briefly at the map that the majority of the room now considered ruined.
“These are your kin.” She motioned to the whole continent. Vhalla looked at the assembled lords and ladies, most of which were twice her age and possibly had three times her experience on the field. Almost all had olive-hued skin and darker Northern tones. She had to speak to her audience and make them understand. “Each of you are part of this Empire. I witnessed every person in this room kneel before our Emperor and swear your lives and your futures to his hand. He is not your Western King, but our Emperor. Your brothers and sisters are here in the West as much as they are in the South, East, and North. If you truly believe that the West looks after its own, then that should extend to all those under the light of Solaris.”
Vhalla glanced at Aldrik from the corners of her eyes. He’d let her lead through the majority of the exchange, as he had done when it came to anything involving the East. But his expression was difficult to read.
“I want to assure you that I understand the sacrifices war can, and will, demand of those engaged in the bloody business. I know that not everyone can be saved.” Vhalla tapped on the map. “But I will not stand by and allow lives to be written off carelessly—no matter where those lives are—because it is more convenient when it is not a place that you were born into.”
“Bleeding heart Easterner,” someone mumbled.
“Out,” Aldrik snapped suddenly. Given the fiery stare
he was giving one particular major, Vhalla suspected he knew the source of the insult.
“My Emperor, I—”
“Out.” Aldrik’s voice took on a dangerous quiet that Vhalla knew well. “I will not have you speaking to my intended that way.”
“Aldrik,” Vhalla interjected. “It’s all right.”
“Vhalla, he should not be permitted to say such to you.” His eyes darted between her and the major.
“If he is to say such things, then let him say it where my ears can hear, rather than as a coward behind my back.” Vhalla spoke loudly enough for the table to hear, only pretending to be speaking to Aldrik. “But I want him to stay so that he knows I ask nothing of him that I am not prepared to give myself. I will protect the East, South, West, and North as though they are all my family. I only ask the same of those I fight with.”
Vhalla appreciated the few nods of approval she received. The man in question had the sense to look at least moderately ashamed by his outburst. Under the table, Vhalla felt long fingers curl around hers in support.
“Shall we continue?” she prompted the group.
“The question remains, how to manage our troops?” Another major pointed back to the map.
“We can send some additional aid to the East; granted, it will weaken our own borders.”
“If we spread these out here,” Aldrik moved some red soldiers along the West’s southern line, “it should give enough to spare.”
Vhalla stared at the black figures indicating Victor’s forces. They were fewer, but they were spread wide, and growing. Every time a soldier fell, Victor leveraged the corpse by turning it into a crystal-walking abomination. Vhalla tried to put herself in the mind of the madman: what would he do next?
“If we move those troops, we can expect at least these two towns to fall.” Another set of hands moved the pieces.
“We could send some from Norin,” another suggested.
“No, he will likely make an attempt on the Imperial wedding.” The idea was shot down. “What’s the word on the North?”
“The North is just now marching. Princess Sehra has moved ahead to show her support for our union, but the main forces will not reach the Crossroads until just before we are set to arrive,” Aldrik answered.
