by Elise Kova
“Baldair,” Vhalla breathed, a sigh of relief. The sight of him was warm familiarity. Vhalla never thought she’d say it, or even think it, but Prince Baldair was the most comforting thing she’d seen in weeks.
“I hardly expected to find you here,” he chuckled. “I imagine it’s quite the story.”
Vhalla frowned. He was carrying on as though there was some wild tale to her presence that they would share and laugh at over a hearty drink. Her eyes darted to where Jax hovered in the doorframe. “You didn’t tell him?”
“The second I told him you were here he asked to come see you,” Jax explained.
Vhalla looked back at the younger prince, dread filling her. Why was she to be the one to bear this news? “Baldair,” she started slowly.
“What?” The broad-shouldered man glanced between her and Jax.
“I tried to save him.” The words brought a bundle of emotion with them that Vhalla choked on momentarily. “I tried, and I failed.”
“Mother, woman, you’re scaring me.” Baldair sat heavily on the bed and scooped up her hands in his. Vhalla didn’t know who he was comforting, but it seemed to go both ways. “What are you talking about?”
“Aldrik’s dying.”
The words slapped Baldair across the face, and his head jerked toward Jax. “What is she—”
“She’s being dramatic.” Vhalla scowled at Jax’s words. The man raised his eyebrows. “You somehow have more insight than I even though we’ve been side-by-side for days?”
Vhalla opened her mouth and thought better of telling him exactly what and how she knew.
“But,” the Westerner relented with a sigh, “things aren’t good.” He produced some familiar blood-stained papers from the inner breast pocket of the tired military jacket he wore and handed them to Baldair.
Vhalla focused on a corner of the room, unable to bear Jax’s frustrating nature or Baldair’s expressions as he read through the accounts from Major Reale and Elecia. The prince sighed softly and relaxed his grip on the letters. “Vhalla?” Baldair asked. He had a lost and fearful look that matched her heart perfectly. “Did you really do all this?”
“Did what?” She shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Baldair’s stare.
“You jumped from the Pass and ran through the North, alone?”
“Someone had to.” The feat didn’t seem nearly worth all the amazement in Baldair’s eyes—of course she would do those things.
“Has there been any word from the host or riders?” Baldair asked Jax.
The head major shook his head. “None from the riders ... the host marches forward as planned.”
Baldair stood, handing the papers back to Jax. “Aldrik is strong, and I know that he will not let himself die now. Not when he finally has a reason to truly live again. That brother of mine is likely just trying to get out of marching the rest of the way here.” Baldair’s laugh was forced.
“But for the here and now, food and company will do us all some good.” The golden prince extended a calloused hand to her, and Vhalla took it. The prince’s strength was often touted as being physical. But Vhalla was beginning to learn that the man known for breaking hearts seemed to have a rather large one of his own.
Baldair paused at the door. “Ah, it’s Serien still, right?”
“For now. I thought it safer that way,” Jax confirmed. “Best not to let the camp rumors start until we have the Emperor’s input on them.”
“What happened to your Windwalker?” Vhalla asked as they left the room.
“She was killed.” Baldair glanced at her, and Vhalla was surprised to find a protective edge to his manner.
“The Emperor’s was also,” she reported.
“Aldrik’s?”
“Not as of when I left.” Vhalla shook her head.
“If he was putting on a show, he was likely protecting her as he would have you,” Baldair thought aloud. They rounded the corner for the main room. “Sorry to keep you waiting, friends!” There was laughter and japes at Baldair’s expense for being held up with a mystery woman as he started for a table with his Golden Guard. The room was filled with more majors and soldiers, all seeming to celebrate the return of the favored prince. Jax and Baldair were halfway to a table before they realized she was not walking with them.
Her eyes were affixed upon an Eastern face and a rainbow of emotion burst into color within the dark hollow of Vhalla’s chest. Daniel stood slowly, staring at her in shock. Vhalla remembered the last time she’d seen him, the weeks they’d spent together the last time she had been Serien. It brought the mask of the other woman back to her in a rush and all the conflicted feelings along with it.
The room instantly noticed the odd exchange, adding their glances and whisperers beneath the conversation that politely continued on. Daniel rounded the table in a daze, his focus only on her as if she was the last thing on the earth. Vhalla swallowed. She didn’t know what he saw—who he saw in her.
Daniel’s feet went from dragging to a near run as he crossed to her in desperately wide steps. His body crashed against hers and his arms swept her into an all-encompassing embrace. Her arms responded before she could think, ready to welcome the only person who had been there when the world had taken everyone else from her.
“You’re alive.” Daniel’s breath was hot on her neck.
“I’m Serien ...” she whispered dumbly, reminding herself and him to play the necessary part.
“I don’t care what name.” He squeezed her tighter, if it were possible. “You’re you, and that’s all I need.”
HOW ARE YOU here?” Daniel pulled away, blinking at her in awe. “They said we were the first group to arrive.”
Vhalla opened her mouth to speak but could only make a strangled, choking noise. The sight of him was wonderfully familiar, so much so that the relief it inspired nearly made her feel guilty. Vhalla stepped away and loosened her grip on him so that she could take his hands.
“Somewhere private,” she whispered, attempting some secrecy. Half the room was close enough to hear.
Daniel nodded. “Erion, Jax, I’ll have that drink with you later.” “The shacks are as you left them.” Erion sipped his drink. He, Raylynn, and Craig were all intently watching Daniel and
Vhalla’s intertwined fingers.
“Our little Danny grew up! Stealing women away!” Jax cheered, and Vhalla’s cheeks burned at the laughter that erupted in the room following such a proclamation.
Daniel quickly led her out, sparing them further embarrassment. The sun had almost completely set and, in the fading light, Vhalla could see his face competing with hers for the deeper shade of red.
“Jax, he’s-he’s a few pieces shy of a whole Carcivi board and he’s like that,” Daniel said quickly and apologetically.
Vhalla nodded, that much had been apparent from the moment she’d met the head major.
“But he’s a good man, truly, just a little ...” Daniel sighed, slowing and turning. As if suddenly remembering he held her hand, he quickly pulled his away, plunging his palms into his pockets.
Vhalla said nothing, staring up at the Eastern lord. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispered.
“I’d rather not be ...” Vhalla stared southward.
“Right.” He nodded, catching himself distracted again. “Let’s get somewhere we can talk.”
Daniel proceeded down and to the right of the camp palace. It was the first time Vhalla had walked among the soldiers and, while most were indifferent to her, they were certainly not to Daniel. He did his best to keep their pace, but it took nearly double the time it should’ve to transverse the short walk to a series of shacks with a communal fire pit that had a tarp suspended over it. It seemed every soldier wanted to welcome back the member of the Golden Guard.
Vhalla’s suspicions that these were the temporary homes of the most elite fighting force were validated when Daniel led her into one of the shacks. A curtain was the only barrier between his space and the rest of t
he world. But Vhalla instantly found herself relaxing.
“It’s not much.” Daniel rubbed the back of his neck.
It was nothing more than four walls and a roof. His supplies had already been dropped, armor on a simple stand, a few personal effects on a small table. His bedroll was open on a low platform, keeping it off the dusty ground.
“It’s perfect,” Vhalla countered.
The room was so far removed from anything she’d ever known that it held no meaning for Vhalla. The camp palace was filled with Aldrik, with why she was in the North. Here was a place where she could be Serien, someone else, or no one—it didn’t matter.
“Why are you here?” he rephrased his earlier question, taking a step toward her.
If Baldair hadn’t known about Aldrik, then it made sense that none of the recent arrivals would.
“There was an attack at the Pass.” She tried to harden herself in the way she’d learned as Serien, to speak as though the memories didn’t threaten to crush her with every word. “Aldrik fell—” Vhalla’s eyes widened realizing that she hadn’t used the crown prince’s title. She shouldn’t have been shocked to see that Daniel was completely unsurprised. He already knew. “I tried to save him, but I couldn’t. He was barely alive and dying. I came ahead for medical supplies.”
Daniel stared at her in shock. “When you say you came ahead ...”
“I ran.” Her words were firm, with a defensive edge in case he challenged her decision. “I rode Baston, put the wind to his hooves until they killed him—”
“They?”
“Northerners.” Vhalla thought it obvious.
“You faced Northerners?” Daniel took another step closer.
“I fought and I killed them to make it here.” She didn’t have to amplify the truth to feel its gravity. “I’ve been here, alone for days, and I don’t even know if I have anything to show for it. I don’t even know if he’s alive.”
His arms encircled her for a second time and, for a second time, her hands sought him out. “You did well.” His palm rubbed her back. “It was enough, you did enough.”
She pressed her eyes closed and relished in his words. Maybe they were empty praise. Maybe they were right and maybe wrong. But she still had wanted to hear them.
“Vhalla, I ...” Daniel began to pull away.
“Don’t,” she whispered. He stilled. “No names, no more words. Let me hide for a while, comfort me as you would anyone.”
Daniel straightened just enough to meet her eyes, their faces nearly touching. The sight slowed her heart enough to find peace, enough to ignore the conflicted mess of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. “You’re not just anyone. But, whatever you desire.”
“Thank you.”
“You have nothing to thank me for.” Daniel timidly rose a hand. Gently, the pad of his thumb stroked across her cheek.
He obliged her wishes and neither said anything for the rest of the night, everything was somehow understood and beautifully simple. Daniel held her and warded away the emptiness that she’d been struggling against for days. It was a selfish comfort, but one she’d so desperately needed.
Erion didn’t seem surprised the next morning when she crept out of Lord Daniel Taffl’s tent. “Breakfast,” he said softly, drawing Vhalla’s attention to the skillet that cooked over the central fire.
The food actually smelled good. It was barely dawn, and she had nowhere else to be yet, so she sat on one of the tree stumps opposite the Western lord. War was an interesting equalizer in the world. It made lords and ladies prepare food like common folk, and the only things that were had were earned or taken.
“How do you know Daniel?” Erion focused on the fire and the food cooking over it.
“We ...” She paused. “We met when I joined the Empire’s army in the West.”
“The West, hmm?”
Vhalla nodded, discovering the guise of Serien no longer fitting as it once had.
“Where in the West are you from?” A pair of cerulean eyes assessed her thoroughly.
“Qui.” She knew a test when she saw one.
“Qui?” Erion whistled low. “How did an Eastern woman end up in Qui?”
She realized he was appraising her amber-tan skin color and not-black hair. “Never asked. Mother didn’t talk much before she died. Father was too drunk to ever bother saying.” Before Erion could get in another word, Vhalla made note of his Southern blue eyes and continued, “And how did a Southerner end up ...”
“In the Crossroads?” Erion smirked and she realized how poorly her attempt at a counter at his parentage had failed. “Certainly you know where I am from.”
Vhalla frowned at herself. The past days’ work with the army had made her dredge up all the military history she’d read, which was mostly on the Western expansion. She’d almost let him catch her. “Of course I do, there’s not a Westerner alive who doesn’t know of the Le’Dan family.”
Erion gave her an approving glance, reaching over to the skillet. “Not a citizen of the Empire who doesn’t know, given the story of Leron Ci’Dan and Lanette Le’Dan.”
Vhalla nodded half-heartedly. The story of the star-crossed lovers was one she’d only consumed once, its romantic tragedy making for a long and exhausting read. Most never used the family names of the ill-fated souls. Ci’Dan, Aldrik’s family ... She focused on the fire. The thought of the crown prince sparked an uncomfortable sharpness on the edges of the memories of the night prior. Suddenly, a night of what had seemed like harmless comfort between close friends felt very wrong.
“Thank the Mother you still cook.” A drowsy Daniel stumbled over, as if summoned with her thoughts.
Vhalla watched the way his shirt moved as he ran a hand through his nearly shoulder-length brown hair. It had ties mostly open down the front, stopping somewhere before his navel. She knew it to be thin cotton, not wool, by the amount of heat that had radiated off his body the night before. She forced her focus on her fingers, folding and unfolding them between her knees.
They’d slept side by side on the march from the Crossroads. He hadn’t thought of her as Vhalla, she’d been no one the night prior. It was a thin excuse for something deeper and more troubling, and she knew it as certainly as daylight.
“Serien, do you want some?”
She blinked at the plate of food being handed before her. “Serien?” Daniel repeated.
“No, no I ...” Vhalla stood with a shake of her head. “I’m not hungry.”
“You must be famished; we didn’t eat anything last night.” Daniel frowned.
“I need to go see someone,” she lied, partly.
Vhalla moved quickly, leaving them behind without further word and heading toward the camp palace.
“Halt!” One of the soldiers on either side of the camp palace’s doors stopped her progress. He assessed her thoughtfully. “What business do you have?”
“I was staying here.”
“I received no mention. Camp palace isn’t the place for you, majors and royals only.” He waved her away.
“No, you don’t understand.” She shook her head, suddenly remembering that her chainmail—the chainmail Aldrik had made for her—remained forgotten in his room. “You must let me through.” She took another step forward, and the soldier stepped in front of her.
“Soldier, you’re out of line.”
“It’s too early to be causing trouble.” Jax startled her with his proximity. Both soldiers saluted the Head Major of the Black Legion.
“What are you doing here?” she questioned.
“I could ask the same of you.” Jax cocked his head to the side. “Well, let us through,” he ordered the guards.
The soldiers obliged the head major, letting them enter without problem. The long hall was empty, paper and ledgers spread upon tables. She had underestimated how early it really was.
“Well?” Jax folded his arms over his chest. “I need to see Baldair,” Vhalla explained.
“That much I’d fi
gured.” He grinned. “Moving from one man to the next very quickly, aren’t you?”
Vhalla lashed out as fast as the wind, so fast that even Jax stared wide-eyed as she gripped the collar of his shirt. “Don’t you dare,” she snarled.
Surprise retreated from his face. His black eyes grew even darker with an intensity she’d never seen before. It sent his jovial exterior running in terror. A grin spread across Jax’s cheeks slowly, barring his teeth like an animal. “Do you want to do this, here, now?” he asked softly. “I’ve been a very gracious host to you so far and am happy to continue to be.”
Her grip faltered. This man’s moods swung like a pendulum and, in this moment, she had a very clear picture as to how and why he had become Head Major of the Black Legion. Jax raised his hand slowly, placing it on her shoulder. Even with the telegraphed movement, she still jumped.
“Let’s not, shall we?” His other hand rested over her wrists, pushing them easily away.
“It’s not what you think,” she said, still defensive.
“I promise you, you have no idea what I think.” Jax wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Now, let’s go get you your prince.”
Vhalla withheld comment, deciding not to retort that the golden-haired prince was not her prince.
Every step began to add another doubt as to her chosen course of action. What did she plan to achieve? As Jax went to knock on the door, she nearly stopped him. But the opportunity was eliminated as his knocks faded into silence.
“Who?” A sleep-hazy voice called.
“Your blushing princess,” Jax called in a girlish falsetto. “Go away, Jax.”
She could hear shifting from within.
“Alas, darling, it’s not just me.” Jax glanced down at her. “You’ve a certain lady looking for you.”
There was some mumbling and distinctly feminine whispers before a set of heavy footsteps marched over to the door. The latch was lifted from within, and it opened a crack for the prince. “You?”