by Elise Kova
“Too true!” Baldair gave a full bellied laugh. “And he is rather wild with it.”
“You are not one to talk when it comes to being wild.” Erion smirked. “Tell me, when will you put the others aside and just take Raylynn for a bride.”
“She does not want it, and neither do I.”
“So you claim, but you spend an awful lot of time together.”
“Time does not mean marriage.” Baldair slung an arm around Erion’s shoulders. It was a heavy but familiar weight. Erion was far closer to the prince than he was his elder brother by blood. “Affection for affection’s sake is also possible.”
“And now you sound Eastern.” Erion shook his head in amusement. The prince was close, relaxed. It was time to strike. “Speaking of Eastern… The one who left with Daniel, she has Eastern eyes.”
Baldair stiffened, and it told Erion everything. “What of it?”
“Just an odd mix in the West.” Erion made a show of sipping his mug. “Much about her is odd. Much about your reaction to her has also been odd.”
“My reacting to a woman is not odd.”
“But she’s not your type.” Erion knew Baldair’s type: curvy, full-lipped, strong, tall, and generally breathtaking. The young woman who went by the name Serien Leral was none of these things. “She’s the type you make sport of to get a rise out of when you’re bored.”
“Truer than you know.” Baldair laughed more to himself than anyone else, looking beyond the Camp Palace in which they sat. Erion wondered what memory of the woman he’d triggered in the prince. “She’s more like family, I suppose.”
“Family?” Erion considered this for a long moment. “A new potential recruit for the Golden Guard?”
“She’s shaping up with skill enough,” Baldair agreed. “But, no, my brother would char me should I do something that he could perceive in the slightest as laying claim to the girl.”
Now, that was an interesting bit of information. In all the time Erion had known Aldirk he’d been an incredibly reserved noble. Really, it was impressive how close he managed to keep things to his chest. Erion would never give a Ci’Dan the pleasure, but he considered Aldrik to be a role-model prince for both Empire and Mhashan.
“Your brother…” Erion shifted the conversation as gently as possible. The golden haired prince stared into his mug as though it held every secret of the universe. He sighed heavily and shook his head.
“There’s been no further word. I’m sure Jax told you what Elecia sent?”
Erion nodded.
“I know no more than that.”
The royal family was, indeed, in turmoil. Baldair’s brow was not prepared to ever wear the crown and Erion knew well that the younger prince didn’t even want it. Erion sighed heavily. He’d been stubborn about hunting down the truth of Serien Leral, but the secrecy began to make sense. If Aldrik would no longer ascend the throne there would be mass uncertainty. The West would be none too pleased by the notion, even if they’d lost their connection to the throne due to the elder prince falling in battle. There would be questioning of Baldair’s capability to lead. And the North would see the Empire as fragile as it likely would be if such a truth came to pass.
Erion would need to move carefully for the next few weeks. Things were changing and his family was depending on him to keep the Le’Dans relevant in whatever the next world order would hold. Just as important, he needed to look out for his blonde headed brother through it all.
Erion genuinely sipped his mug, letting the ale wash over his tongue. “He’ll be all right,” he said, finally. “Aldrik will rise from the pass. The winds are howling here in Soricium for him. There is no other way.”
Baldair considered Erion for a long moment. The prince knew clearly now of Erion’s suspicions about the woman. With one statement Erion had conveyed his understanding of the situation, his knowledge of the woman and her need for secrecy, as well as his assumptions surrounding the relationship between the crown prince and the Windwalker.
The golden prince finally nodded, resting his shoulder lightly against Erion’s in support, just barely touching. “Yes, there is no other way.”
A woman awoken in air, a soldier forged by fire, a weapon risen from blood.
Vhalla Yarl has made it to the warfront in the North. Forged by blood and fire, she has steeled her heart for the final battle of the Solaris Empire’s conquest. The choices before Vhalla are no longer servitude or freedom, they are servitude or death. The stakes have never been higher as the Emperor maintains his iron grip on her fate, holding everything Vhalla still has left to lose in the balance.