by Elise Kova
Vhalla took a few deep breaths, reminding herself she had no reason to be angry. Aldrik was likely busy, and he was talking to Elecia last night. He mentioned it and asked her for a favor, Vhalla explained away in her head. She should be happy, excited even, to train with Aldrik. But the woman’s words echoed in her mind: See you later. Did that mean Elecia was going to be there, too? Or was it just a colloquial saying? Why was she even talking so casually to Aldrik in the first place?
Vhalla waited in line at the cart to return the tent poles. The sun had almost come up—scaring away the storm clouds in the process—and the host was likely to begin their march soon.
“Thanks,” she mumbled to the man loading the cart. Vhalla turned and bumped into a large man with light brown hair. “Sorry,” she muttered, keeping her face down. Vhalla stepped around him to head back to her section of camp when a large hand clasped down on her shoulder.
“Well, don’t you think you’re special, black armor?” he sneered, yanking her back.
Vhalla stumbled. “I said I was sorry.” She looked up at the man in annoyance; this was not the morning to test her patience.
“Really? I didn’t hear you.” He leaned down.
“I’m sorry,” she forced through grit teeth, not wanting to make a scene before the small crowd gathering.
“It’s bad enough we have to deal with the Black Legion at all,” the man grumbled. “Now I’ve to take sass from little girls?”
Vhalla frowned.
An armored arm slung itself around her shoulder, and Vhalla blinked in surprise. “Now, now, don’t take it personally, Vhalla. Grun here hasn’t eaten yet, and he’s really grumpy in the morning,” Daniel said with a grin.
“Come on, Grun,” Craig came up on the other side of the man. “Let’s get some food in that giant gut of yours.”
She hadn’t seen the two soldiers since her trial. They’d been her guards when she was in holding, the good ones. Daniel was an Easterner like her, yellow-tinted tan skin and full-bodied dark brown hair. Craig’s wavy blonde hair and paler complexion marked him as a Southerner. She’d immediately liked both of them, and this morning was one more reason to add to that growing list.
“Eat with us, Vhalla?” Daniel asked.
“I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea.” She glanced over at the large man Craig was escorting away.
“Nonsense!” Craig called, and soon she was being led toward the front of the host.
“What are you two doing here?” she asked Daniel as he removed his arm from her shoulders. Craig took the behemoth a far distance ahead before rejoining them.
“We’re soldiers.” Daniel chuckled, the movement tossing his nearly shoulder-length hair. “I’d say we belong here more than you, Miss Windwalker.”
“You’re not palace guards?” she asked with genuine surprise.
He shook his head and raised up his arm. One of his gauntlets was plated in gold, the metal on his forearm catching the glint of the morning’s light. “We’re Golden Guard,” he explained.
Vhalla had heard of Prince Baldair’s personal squadron before; they were rumored to be the best of the best with only the finest lords and ladies serving among them.
As she focused on his arm he focused on her. “I like your hair; you clean up rather nice.”
She raised a hand to the frayed ends of her hair that barely touched the chainmail hood of her armor. Her hair was awful. Vhalla scowled as a hunk of cold meat was shoved into her palm. It was a little charred on one side and the natural fats had coagulated into a jelly-like film that she scraped off onto the ground as they sat around the still-smoldering remains of a fire.
“I don’t think people like that I’m here.” Other soldiers gave her looks, but none were brave enough to approach with two members of Prince Baldair’s highest order at her sides.
“Don’t you think that’s half the fun?” Craig asked with a small grin.
She shook her head.
“Plus, we look so exotic with our Black Legion friend.” Daniel took a large bite of his meat.
“Where are you both from?” Vhalla asked, picking at her own food.
“The capital,” Craig said, unsurprisingly.
“Cyven,” Daniel announced.
“Where in Cyven?” She was sincerely interested in anyone from the East.
“Most people don’t know it. It’s a small town.” Daniel laughed when he saw the squint she was giving him and proceeded, “It’s called Paca.”
“Paca!” she gasped.
“You know it?” He raised his eyebrows.
“I’m from Leoul.”
“No.” He seemed as excited as she felt.
“Yes! Yes! I went to the Festival of the Sun in Paca every year with my mum and papa.” Vhalla felt the sweet pang of nostalgia.
“With the old lady who sells the candied nuts?” he asked in disbelief.
“And the man who never stopped singing?” Vhalla affirmed.
“Oh Paaaaaaaca, don’t you go astray!” Daniel put his hand to his chest and belted before they both collapsed into a fit of laughter. “You really do know!” He flashed her a dazzling smile that was too infectious not to return.
“Oh, how adorable. You finally have someone who understands your love of farm animals.” Craig’s tease was ignored.
Daniel’s focus was only on Vhalla.
“My family’s farm is about a half day’s ride to the Hot Pot Inn. We’d stay there for the festival,” she explained.
“I knew the family who owned the inn. I’d work there sometimes when Dad didn’t need a hand in the fields. I wonder if we ever met.” Daniel gave the matter serious thought.
“Who knows?” Vhalla shrugged and occupied her mouth with a strip of meat. She didn’t remember any young boys in particular, but she didn’t want to discourage Daniel. It was nice to have a connection to home.
“Get ready to move out,” Prince Baldair boomed as he strolled through the ranks.
“I should go.” She stood, passing her mostly untouched breakfast to an eager Craig.
“Ride with us today?” Daniel invited.
“I don’t think I can,” Vhalla said uncertainly.
“They’re only strict about the formation for show. They won’t care now.” Craig was already halfway through her portion.
Vhalla opened her mouth to answer as she felt footsteps thunder over the ground behind her.
“You’re far from home.”
“My prince.” Vhalla turned, giving Prince Baldair a bow. She found his presence uncomfortable. First he’d been nothing more to her than the Heartbreaker Prince, a man straight from the lore of servants. A man she’d only briefly met in the library by chance. Then, he’d been Aldrik’s brother, and her conspirator in sneaking her into the gala at the end of the last Festival of the Sun. That had also been the Night of Fire and Wind. The last time she’d seen Prince Baldair he’d been tending to her wounds at Aldrik’s command. What did he think of her now? “I was just about to return.”
“Baldair.” Daniel stood, wiping his palms on his pants, surprisingly relaxed in the presence of his prince and commander. “Would it be trouble if Vhalla rode with us today?”
“You well know it’ll be trouble from the other soldiers if she is around.” Baldair laughed as if the idea was more amusing than off-putting. “But I don’t mind, if her superiors don’t take issue.” The prince gave Vhalla a grin as he paused over the word superiors.
“We’ll see ...” Vhalla avoided his presumptuous gaze.
“One of you two walk her back? I don’t want trouble one day out,” the prince demanded, smartly aware of the tensions surrounding her presence.
“I will,” Daniel volunteered first.
“Excellent.” Prince Baldair gave a nod and left.
“Shall we?” Daniel took a step toward the Black Legion.
“See you later, Miss Windwalker,” Craig bid her farewell with a smile.
“Take care, Craig.” Vhalla waved and
fell in step with Daniel.
The camp was almost completely broken down as they walked back. Remnants of fires were doused, and people were beginning to mount their horses. The short walk was filled with talk of how his family grew potatoes and hers wheat, and the processes for each. Despite the circumstances under which they met, Vhalla felt an instant connection with her fellow Easterner.
When they came upon the Black Legion she noticed Aldrik’s tent had almost been completely loaded up into the cart with the rest of the Imperial items, but she didn’t see the man anywhere.
“Don’t let the other soldiers bother you,” Daniel said, coming to a stop. “They’re not bad people, they’re just—” he paused, looking to the heavens for inspiration, “—a little stupid.”
Vhalla grinned.
“Vhal!” Fritz ran over. “We were looking for you.” He practically skidded to a halt to give her escort a full assessment.
“Fritz, this is Daniel. Daniel, Fritz,” she introduced.
Daniel extended his palm in greeting.
“You best be nice to our Vhal!” Fritz said, ignoring Daniel’s hand and pointing in his face.
“My, you didn’t warn me you had bodyguards,” Daniel chuckled, taking Fritz’s hand from his face and shaking it. “You have my word, only kindness and care from me.” The low draw of a horn echoed through the forest and the last soldiers fell into place like a great migration. “Oops, must get back. Come up and ride with us if you can!” Daniel called, already hurrying to the front.
“He’s cute,” Fritz swooned.
“Fritz!” Vhalla scolded.
“What? Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.” Fritz rolled his eyes.
In truth, Vhalla hadn’t. She ran back over to Lightning to find Larel already on horseback, waiting along with Fritz’s mount. “Sorry,” she apologized.
“Yet again, Vhalla, you have nothing to be sorry for.” Larel’s smiled brightly. “You seem to be in better spirits.”
Vhalla mounted Lightning with a nod, concealing a guilty smile. She had enjoyed herself.
It turned out to be just as Craig and Daniel had said. The host was a slightly structured mass today compared to the neat rows and careful placement of the day before. But she, Fritz, and Larel gravitated to the same place in line. The two were instantly involved in some heated debate that carried over from breakfast and Vhalla drifted in and out of the conversation, thinking about Daniel’s and Craig’s offer.
It wasn’t until Aldrik shifted in his saddle that she even realized he was there.
Vhalla turned and her mouth dropped agape. “Your ... hair.” It was a thought that escaped as sound. His raven hair was limp, falling perfectly straight around his face. The prince had long bangs that tapered in front, falling below his eyebrows, and messy cut layers throughout. They were elements of an Aldrik that Vhalla had no idea even existed, so different from how he usually wore his hair in the palace.
He glanced at her, momentary annoyance furrowing his brow. “You did not really think I would take time to fix my hair while at war, did you?” Aldrik’s low tones betrayed his amusement, and it instantly placed her under a spell.
“Well, I may like it,” Vhalla mused. His coy smirk encouraged boldness.
Aldrik paused briefly, his lips parted. She caught his ebony eyes and Aldrik looked forward quickly, as if unable to handle being the sole recipient of her consideration. “I trust Elecia got my message to you?”
Vhalla sobered quickly at the other woman’s name. “She did. Training?”
“Major Reale said she had begun to work with you, but you still have a ways to go. I would rather oversee your progress personally.”
Had he said those words to anyone else they likely would have inspired dread. But for Vhalla, they had an odd comfort.
“Of course, my puppet master.” She had meant to reference her old fears lightly, so it surprised Vhalla to see Aldrik staring at her with a deep intensity.
“If you want me to remove myself from your life, all you have to do is say the word.” There was no levity to his declaration.
Vhalla quickly looked askance, saving them from impropriety and hiding the blush that had found its way to her cheeks at his apparent attentions.
“I think,” she started softly, “that I like playing with fire.”
He gave her a long stare from the corner of his eyes. She couldn’t make out his expression without turning her head, but what she could see was confusing and made her stomach bubble.
NOT LONG AFTER the host stopped that afternoon, Elecia made her way to Vhalla and Larel’s mostly-finished tent. Fritz stood from where he had just finished unfurling his bedroll.
The sight of the woman still sent prickles up Vhalla’s neck—a phantom warning.
“Vhalla, Larel, Fritz,” she said with a smile, oblivious to Vhalla’s unease. “The prince is waiting, and I would rather not lose first pick for dinner.”
“Where are we going?” Vhalla asked, the last to fall into step behind Elecia.
“Out far enough away that we won’t be disturbed.” They were already halfway to the edge of camp.
“So, where are you from?” Larel struck up conversation.
“Norin.” Elecia didn’t even look back to give her response.
“Fiarum Evantes,” Larel said, reverently.
Vhalla looked over at her friend in surprise. She had never heard anyone speak anything other than Southern Common. The old tongues were a fading memory across the land, cemented by the advancement of the Solaris Empire. She could only assume Larel’s words to be the language of Mhashan, the old Kingdom of the West.
“Kotun un Nox,” Elecia responded, her tone shifting to a deeper register, less haughty than the lofty accent she’d used before.
“Norin is a beautiful city,” Larel mused politely, referring to the Western capital.
“It is.” Elecia nodded.
Vhalla began to feel her unease thaw. She had no reason to distrust Elecia. In fact, she had every reason to trust her. Clearly Aldrik did, and that should be more than enough reason for Vhalla. Furthermore, if she was from Norin, that made her Western and not Northern as Vhalla had first suspected. She took a deep breath. “I’m from—”
“Cyven, Leoul,” the curly-haired woman cut off Vhalla with a glance.
“Yes.” Vhalla frowned slightly, her fluster returning. “How did you know?”
“It’s my business to know, Vhalla Yarl,” Elecia replied smugly.
Fritz linked his arm protectively with Vhalla’s, as if sensing the dread that overtook her. She realized that they were very alone with Elecia. And, even if the other woman said she was from the West and spoke with the old tongue, she was so Northern-looking that it made Vhalla more uncomfortable than she wanted to admit.
Were it not for Fritz and Larel being with her, she may have snapped.
“About time,” Aldrik’s voice echoed from across a small clearing. He leaned against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest. “Thank you for fetching them, Elecia. You can go now.”
Vhalla wondered briefly why Aldrik was not escorting them himself. Were their meetings secret?
“Nope,” Elecia practically sung. “I am not your errand girl. I want to stay.”
“Fine.” Aldrik rolled his eyes, resigned.
Vhalla brought her hands together, lacing and unlacing her fingers. Elecia had refused him openly, publicly, coyly—and he had let her. As Elecia stepped to Aldrik’s left, it dawned on Vhalla that the woman acted as the same way Vhalla did around the prince. Vhalla bit her lip; perhaps Aldrik was more familiar with Elecia than he was with her.
“Vhalla,” Aldrik’s voice summoned her attention. “I want you to see what you are working toward. Reale has informed me that you have yet to master the basics.”
Vhalla nodded and ignored Elecia’s smug snort.
“Larel, Fritz, I would like for you both to pair off as a demonstration,” Aldrik commanded.
“What about me?” Elecia
whined.
“You are not even supposed to be here.” Aldrik gave her a small glare, and the woman laughed. The sound made Vhalla’s skin crawl. “I would also like to see where you both are at, so do not maim or kill each other, but do not hold back.”
Larel and Fritz nodded, their faces sobering.
“Begin on my mark, then. And refrain from embarrassing yourselves.” Aldrik lifted a hand.
Fritz and Larel took a few steps away from each other, each sinking into a very different fighting stance. Fritz was more upright, his legs wide and his hands flat and lower, near his abdomen. Larel had her knees bent and her fists near her face, ready to pounce.
Aldrik dropped his hand, and Larel charged before Vhalla could blink. She drew back a fist as though she was going to throw a right hook but, at the last moment, dropped her shoulder for a left uppercut. Fritz raised his open palm, creating a shield of ice. It hissed and shattered as Larel’s fist, now swathed in flame, slammed into it.
Fritz pushed his other hand forward into her shoulder, freezing a portion of it. Larel gasped and stepped back, the ice quickly turning into a puddle around her feet. She had no time to catch her breath as he lunged. His wrist twitched, and he suddenly wielded a dagger of ice in his palm. Larel deflected by raising up her arm, and it shattered on her gauntlet.
She dropped and swept her foot on the ground, catching Fritz’s ankle and sending him tumbling backwards. Larel pulled back a flaming fist and threw her momentum into it. Fritz moved his hands as if to block, but he was too slow.
Vhalla’s hands rose to her mouth as she concealed a cry, fearful for her friend.
Larel’s fist smashed through Fritz’s face, and his body dissolved in a puff of smoke. The Western woman turned with a groan. Vhalla caught a shift in the light behind her. There was a flash of ice and Fritz faded back to sight, holding an ice dagger at Larel’s throat.
“Every time!” Larel threw up her hands, and Fritz backed away with a grin, tossing the wickedly sharp icicle aside. “Every time!” she said again, kicking the ground in frustration.
Vhalla stared in wonder.
“The minister told me about you,” Aldrik commented, taking a step over toward Fritz. “A gifted illusionist.”