by Elise Kova
The Gods watch over what is theirs.
She turned her face upward. Vhalla squinted through the edge of the canopy where the trees couldn’t encroach upon the top of the structure. High above was the great eye that peered down upon the whole world: the Gods.
“Wait, what are you doing?” Daniel hissed as she planted her feet against the rock.
“We have to go in through the top,” Vhalla whispered in reply, her feet already by his head.
“Vhalla, if you fall—”
“Falls can’t hurt me, remember?” Anyone else would have likely been dissuaded from tackling such a tall climb. But Vhalla found herself breathing easier with each pull of her arms, with each footing she found that brought her upward. The air was freer up high than in the inky blackness of the jungle floor. Climbing toward the sky was freedom.
Daniel was a cacophony of noise the moment he tried to ascend as well.
“Daniel!” Vhalla tensed, stalling on a narrow ledge. He created enough clanking to alert anyone who was even remotely close to their presence. He was too encumbered by his armor to go further. Vhalla sighed softly, knowing what needed to be said. “You can’t follow me.”
“Vhalla!” he protested with genuine panic.
“You said it yourself: if you fall, it won’t be good.”
“I want to go with you.”
“Don’t make me watch another man I care about fall.” The words escaped before she gave them any thought, just unfiltered truth. Another man I care about, she watched as it sank in on his face. Vhalla’s expression likely mimicking the surprise his hazel eyes carried. Vhalla swallowed. “Go back to the camp side, wait for me there. If I’m not out by the time the sky begins to lighten, get Aldrik.”
“Do not keep me worrying for that long,” he demanded.
“I won’t.” Vhalla watched as Daniel started back for the Imperial side of the ruins.
She turned back to the rock. It was uncomfortable beneath her hands, as though it rejected her every touch. Finding places for her feet gave the sickening feeling that she was putting the soles of her boots on someone’s face. It wasn’t a hard climb, but the disgust the ruins seemed to radiate toward her made it take longer than it should.
When Vhalla crested the apex of the structure, the moon hung right above her. She panted softly from the exertion of the climb, but her eyes focused on the dark spot in the middle of the roof she now stood upon. Vhalla walked over, shuffling her feet toward the hole to peer over the edge.
She gasped sharply. The moonlight flowed through the oculus only to be dashed upon hundreds of points, fracturing it into starlight in a swirling microcosm of raw magic. This was the power that was being kept inside the thick stone wall of pure earth. Vhalla crouched at the ledge, gazing down. The bottom did not seem very far, if she could land easily with all the crystals below.
Inching to the edge, she took a breath and stepped off. The moonlight faded quickly and Vhalla welcomed the air beneath her, easing her fall onto a large crystal. Which she proceeded to slip off of and land awkwardly.
Vhalla rubbed the back of her head where it’d hit against a stone—a less than graceful descent. The domed ceiling above her seemed to glow with magic. But it could be her eyes playing tricks on her. Blinking the haze away, Vhalla pulled herself to her feet.
Every crystal she touched radiated power. The second her feet or hands brushed over the stone it shimmered and sparked to life with a color as ancient as the glacers in the tallest mountains of the South. She felt the magic reaching out to her, twirling around her fingers, inviting her to use it. For all the power the room held there was one thing that drew her attention.
Achel was unimpressive in its size. It was no longer than the length of Vhalla’s forearm. The flat hilt had been wrapped in thin leather strips that were now brittle with age. But the blade. It shone wickedly, and the whole thing seemed to be carved from a single shimmering stone. It radiated a power so deep that it grated against Vhalla’s bones.
Crystal weapons were real.
There was nothing else in the structure. Only the crystals growing from every wall, all reaching toward a center pedestal in which Achel rested. The blade of the axe was embedded in the crystal beneath it.
Vhalla approached slowly.
There was no sign of foul play; if anything, that made her more leery. It was so beautifully enticing to her magic that it gave her a nervous edge. It radiated power that felt like Aldrik’s, which gave Vhalla the sensation of his skin on hers. Her eyes fluttered closed a brief moment.
They opened again quickly at the returning feeling of someone’s stare. She peered over her shoulder nervously. There was no one there; it was just crystals. In fact, she had no idea how she would get out of the room.
Vhalla stared at the axe in a heated debate with herself. Reaching out a hand, she hesitated. What if it was far more protected here than it could be anywhere else? Her trembling hand caused the tip of her finger to brush against the hilt and magic flashed brightly.
Forced to cover her eyes as the whole room lit up, Vhalla blinked stars trying to get her sight back.
“Leave it.” The voice was ghost-like, faint, chilling, and oddly familiar. Scraps of magic floated through the air, drifting like shining feathers made of silvery moonlight.
She was no longer alone.
Across the room from her was a woman dressed in tight black leathers that hugged her generous curves. A long scarf was piled around her shoulders and head, dyed a deep crimson color that reminded Vhalla of the robes the crones wore. The only part of her face that was visible was two glowing ruby eyes.
Vhalla wanted to ask the woman who she was. She wanted to plant her feet and prepare to fight. But she couldn’t seem to move a muscle.
“Leave the blade; do not take Achel from its tomb,” the woman repeated, the scarf muffling her voice. She raised a hand, runes that Vhalla had never seen before glowing ghostly white above her arm. Vhalla was vaguely reminded of the strange magic that the Chieftain had used. But this woman didn’t look like a Northerner. From the tan skin around her eyes and stray hair falling from under her head wrap, she looked Western—perhaps.
The woman placed a palm on the crystals behind her, and the stone groaned and crackled, bending unnaturally to her will. They cut open a pathway to the jungle beyond, the same fractured moonlight drifting through the air. The runes that glowed above her arm faded.
“Heed my warning and leave. Do not touch the magic of the Gods, Vhalla Yarl.”
The air seemed to shudder and the light began to fall faster.
“Who are you?” Vhalla found her voice, control slowly returning to her.
“I’ve had many names,” the woman whispered.
She glowed faintly, turning into more light than substance. The woman seemed to break under her own weight and the darkness shattered her visage. By the time Vhalla could move again, her visitor was gone.
Vhalla’s knees gave out and she collapsed, gasping for stabilizing air. A chill coursed through her in the wake of the vision—magic? Vhalla didn’t know what she had just experienced, but there was an element to it that was far beyond anything she had ever known.
The only explanation that made sense was that it was some kind of defense crafted in the crystals. Vhalla nodded to herself, standing once more. An unreal specter meant to scare away any who tried to take the blade. But the tunnel was still there.
Vhalla engaged in an uncertain staring contest with Achel.
If she left it now, any Northerner could walk in and take the blade. Vhalla was more convinced than ever that should such a thing come to pass, they were all in grave danger. Through the oculus above, the moon was out of her field of vision. There was no time for hesitation.
She gripped the handle.
Power sent shockwaves through her. It was itching to be free. It was ready to be unleashed upon the world. With every shift of her fingers it was as though the blade whispered to her, “Yes, yes, yes.”
A noise like thin ice giving out under its own weight whispered throughout the cavern. It was an unnerving hiss that instantly pushed Vhalla’s feet to moving. Her every footfall shattered the crystals beneath her, as if they were no longer able to hold their own weight.
She sprinted into the passage, pulling up her hood to keep shards of stone from her eyes. It was like a rain of glass and the soft clicks and cracks were soon turning into loud shatters. Her heart raced and her feet picked up speed, fearful she would be trapped within the crumbling structure.
But she was free in half a breath.
Vhalla looked back at the tunnel she’d come from. More of the crystals were sliding from their places, now dim and dormant, almost like obsidian in the darkness.
She kept moving, knowing the sound would be certain to attract the attention of any Northerners who happened to be in the area. Vhalla sprinted around the side of the building and came to a skidding halt when she crossed into the burnt trek. The ruins had seemed so much longer before.
“Vhalla!” Daniel clamored to his feet from sitting at the base of a nearby tree, out of sight of any patrolmen.
She stared at the horizon, where the moon hung low.
“I was just about to go for help.” He raced over to her.
“What?” Vhalla continued to stare at the sky, the stars already dimming. She saw what she didn’t want to see. “I was only gone for a bit, an hour ... maybe.”
“You were gone for hours,” Daniel corrected. He walked around to stand before her, blocking her dull stare. His eyes quickly went to the weapon she held in a vice-like grip. “Mother, what is that?”
Vhalla gazed at the blade in shock; she’d somehow forgotten she was holding it. It glittered faintly in the start of dawn, giving off its own unnatural light. Her eyes darted to Daniel. She hadn’t thought through what she would do when she got the blade. She hadn’t planned on Daniel, of all people, knowing about it.
“I have to hide it,” Vhalla whispered urgently. “No one can know I have it.”
“What is it?” Daniel seemed honestly unsure.
“It doesn’t matter.” Vhalla shook her head, her insides twisting from withholding the information. As accepting as Daniel was about magic, she knew he would not be enthused about the idea of crystals. Not even sorcerers were enthused about the idea of crystals. It seemed the only people who had ever been excited by them were madmen and murderers. “It’s almost dawn. I have to go back.”
Her face tightened in panic. Vhalla shifted from foot to foot. She couldn’t bring it back to Aldrik. She couldn’t risk him seeing it, now knowing how even the idea of crystals put him on edge.
Should she bury it? What if someone saw the soft earth and dug? What if she couldn’t get it deep enough and rain or walking feet exposed it? The one place she knew it would be safe was with Minister Victor; he’d know what to do. But he was at the other end of the earth.
“Help me.” Daniel frantically worked on the clips of his armor.
Vhalla stared in dumb confusion.
“Vhalla, help me get out of this.”
She stared at the axe in her hand, at a loss for how she could help Daniel while holding it with her white-knuckled grip.
“Vhalla,” Daniel spoke more gently. “Put the axe down and help me.”
Obeying his order was easier than trying to sort through the overwhelming confusion that clouded her mind. Vhalla dropped the axe and returned to life. She was at Daniel’s side, deftly unclipping his plate and pauldrons. All the time that she’d spent with him as Serien had given her fingers a surprising ease around a swordsman’s armor. Daniel dropped the armor to the ground, pulling off his chainmail vest after. He didn’t bother unstrapping his arm leathers, instead Daniel plucked a dagger from underneath his greave and cut off his shirt around the arms.
Vhalla stared in red-faced uncertainty as he thrust the scrap of cloth at her. She’d never seen him bare-chested before, and his work with the sword was apparent. Aldrik was all lean ropey muscle from relying on his sorcery as his strength and days of focusing solely on books. Daniel was a study in what the male form looked like when it was trained hard. The two men were practically a thesis in contrasts.
“Vhalla.” Daniel shook the fabric, summoning her back to reality. “Wrap it in this.”
Realizing what his intentions had been, Vhalla snatched the cloth and knelt to carefully bind the axe with it. She’d expected a weapon that was legendary for cutting through anything to melt through the fabric like a hot knife in butter. But the blade allowed the fabric to be wrapped around it once, twice, three times.
By the time Vhalla stood, Daniel had almost finished putting his plate back on. She helped him tighten the few remaining clips he couldn’t reach easily on his own.
“You need to go back, don’t you?” Daniel asked as she stepped away.
Vhalla nodded mutely. Who she was going back to hovered so heavily in the air it was as though the prince himself was gracing them with his presence.
“I’ll take this.” Daniel picked up the axe. “And hide it. No one has any reason to suspect or search my things. You can get it later.”
“Don’t use it on anything,” Vhalla cautioned. She didn’t have any particular reason to warn him against doing so, but it felt right. There was a deeper power to that blade that Vhalla didn’t trust. She wasn’t sure if she even trusted herself to hold it again. “And try not to touch it too much,” Vhalla added, thinking of crystal corruption a moment too late.
“I won’t be sleeping with it or anything,” Daniel chuckled. Vhalla’s remained resolute. “Fine, I won’t; you have my word.”
“Thank you.”
“Now, run along, Lady Vhalla. Or else you’ll ruin the illusion that you’ve been asleep in bed this whole time.” He gave her a tired smile.
Vhalla took a step backward, not yet ready to stop looking at him. “Thank you,” she whispered, hoping he knew she meant it for so much more than the weapon he held in his hand.
“Always.” Daniel nodded.
Vhalla turned, pulled up her hood, and tried to draw as little attention to herself as possible all the way back to the camp palace. The further she got from the blade, the easier she began to feel. But there was a singular sensation that didn’t waver until Aldrik returned to her side later. The sensation lingered until the prince, oblivious to her adventures, made her focus only on her lover, forgetting all else but his touch.
It was the hair-raising feeling of being watched.
THEY HADN’T SAID a word since they both realized the other was awake. The crown prince and his intended rested on opposite ends of the pillow, their fingers intertwining and releasing as the dawn crept upon them. With her free hand Vhalla played with the watch at her neck.
“Vhalla,” Aldrik finally spoke. His tone told her that she wasn’t going to like what he was about to say. “If—”
“Don’t,” Vhalla beseeched softly, pressing her face into his bare chest. She inhaled deeply, imprinting on her memory the smell of smoke and fire and sweat overlaying the faint hint of eucalyptus—the scent of Aldrik.
He shook his head, his nose in her hair. “If,” Aldrik persisted, “if the battle does not go as planned ... If something happens to me.”
“Aldrik,” she pleaded. It was still hours from sunset, and her strength was already beginning to waver.
“Tell Baldair to go to my Tower room. He’s never been there, but he can order Victor to take him. Within, there’s a storeroom that has a large black chest. The key to it is hidden in the rose garden, under a loose stone near the bench,” Aldrik detailed carefully.
“Nothing will happen—”
“Vhalla, please.” His arms tightened around her. “Tell Baldair of this and tell him I want you to have everything within it and anything else he c
an give you to ensure your life will be taken care of and comfortable. He will believe you; he has given me his word to see you healthy and happy, and I’ve come to trust him to do that.”
Vhalla pressed her eyes closed as if she could ignore where his dutiful words stemmed from. Her mind drifted to the axe from the night before. If she could get it before the fight, could it help turn the tides of war? Vhalla thought briefly of telling Aldrik, of getting the axe and using it in whatever battle was to come. But after all his previous reactions to crystals, the last thing she wanted to do was ruin their moment. Beyond that, she didn’t quite trust the weapon, there was something she didn’t understand about it and that made her leery.
“But do not return to the South,” Aldrik continued.
“What?” Vhalla blinked in surprise, her previous debate forgotten.
“If I am—” Aldrik paused, unable to bring himself to say the words. “If I’m not there to protect you, go West. Get to my uncle. He will keep you as safe as I would. He knows it’s my will.”
“But the Knights of Jadar ...” Vhalla said uncertainly.
“The safest place will be with the man who knows them and already has a pulse on their movements,” Aldrik insisted. “My uncle has been fighting against the Knights since they rose up against my family in protest of my mother marrying my father. With my uncle, you will be taken care of, this is what I want. This is the one thing I want if I am not there to make you my wife, if I cannot protect you myself.”
She took a shaky breath.
“Will you do that?” he asked softly, interrupting her protest.
Vhalla nodded.
“Promise me,” he insisted.
“I promise.” She obliged him, and it was like a dagger to her gut. “Don’t, don’t let anything happen to you.” She gripped him around the ears, fearful. “This Empire needs you, it needs your hands to wash away the blood and to heal its wounds.”
Aldrik shook his head. “I am only good at breaking things, at reaping destruction.” His voice was tired.