by Elise Kova
If the prince noticed her modesty, he was good enough not to comment. Aldrik sat on one of the pillows near the low table. A paper caught his eye, eliciting a small sigh.
“What is it?” she asked, still hovering.
“Oh, nothing. Just some things I need to go over with Father.” He glanced back at her. “If you would like to get more comfortable,” he offered with a gesture toward a seat. His gaze shifted back to the paper, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in thought.
Vhalla fidgeted with her fingers. It was armor; she’d normally worn less around him. But something about undressing anything, here in his tent, made her heart race. With a deep breath Vhalla reminded herself to be an adult and stop acting like an excitable girl. In the end she compromised by pulling off her boots and gloves as well as her scale, but left on her chainmail.
She sat on the pillow opposite him and crossed her legs. The pillows were comfortable, as equally fine as the rug, with tightly woven threads that seemed to be some kind of silk.
“Oh sorry.” Vhalla put down the spare cushion with a nervous laugh when she felt his stare.
“What is it?” Aldrik asked, returning the paper to the stack.
“They’re very nice,” she said truthfully.
“You think so?” He seemed surprised, as if he was considering them for the first time.
“Well, for me they are.” She smiled faintly. He forgot so easily they came from different worlds.
“In any case,” he ceased his own inspection. “Channeling. It is much like Larel explained: you will tap into the source of your power, which should be easy for you, given your Affinity.”
“How do I go about it?”
“Well, in a way that depends on you. I will help you understand the fundamentals of it, but ultimately it is your connection with yourself and the world.” It was a cryptic explanation, and Vhalla felt her chance of success diminishing to hopelessness. “Most sorcerers have a trigger that opens and closes their Channel. This is normally physical. Many find it easier to tie it to a tangible act.”
“What’s yours?” she asked.
“The major told me you are capable of magical sight?” Vhalla nodded, that much she could hang her hat on. “Very well—watch.” Aldrik held out his hands before her, palms open. Vhalla adjusted her vision and saw him bathed in the familiar golden flame. He clenched his hands into fists and suddenly the glow was extinguished across his body.
“Are you all right?” she gasped, looking at his now-dim form.
He chuckled and nodded. “I closed my Channel. Keep watching.” He relaxed and unfurled his fingers. Aldrik snapped them closed into fists again and the white and gold flames returned.
“It’s magnificent,” she breathed. The complement earned her a faint smile. Vhalla looked down from his face and paused. “Aldrik ...” She murmured as her eyes focused on a dark spot. She’d seen it before in the garden, before she even knew about magical sight. Vhalla reached out a hand to touch him, stopping herself short. She shouldn’t be so forward; he was still the crown prince.
Aldrik knew what she saw. “The poison crystalized, rooting itself enough that I could not remove it. It was the best I could do.”
“It’s not letting your Channel work properly, is it?” Vhalla frowned, suddenly realizing what that dark spot meant.
“Exactly ...” His voice began to grow heavy. “That is why I could not protect you as I should have that night.” Aldrik paused. “Vhalla, it’s my fault.”
“What is?” Apprehension trailed its icy fingers up her spine.
He took her still hovering hand in both of his. “You should not have had to kill them. If I had been more capable, you would not have been forced to.” Emotion burned behind his eyes and it struck her clear as day. Channeling was a side-project for him. The main goal was the Night of Fire and Wind. He was playing the puppet master again, and Larel was certainly helping.
“I don’t want to talk about it. Teach me Channeling or we’re done.” She wrenched her hand from his.
“I was fourteen,” he began, ignoring her. Her mouth was still twisted in annoyance. “The first time I killed a man.”
Her face relaxed.
“Looking back, I didn’t even have a good reason to kill him.”
Vhalla shifted closer to hear, his voice faint and his eyes glossy. He seemed to stare through the world around him.
“I was told that he was a bad man, that he was going to harm my family and his death would make us stronger.” Aldrik chuckled bitterly. “As if death makes anyone stronger ...”
The pressure of his gaze weighed on every inch of her body.
“I will never forget that in the end, he asked for mercy from his prince. He asked for forgiveness, and I gave him death.” Aldrik’s body was very still, and his eyes searched hers, yearning for something.
“Aldrik,” Vhalla whispered. She didn’t know what she could offer him. “I’m sorry.” She initiated contact, taking his hand in her own.
He didn’t pull away. “After that, the killing became easier. Soon, I forgot their faces, their cries, their stories. They merged into one communal grave in my mind, which became a gaping wound that everyone who perishes by my hand falls into. But I never forgot that first man’s face. I have tried to plunge him into that hollow void and push him away, but I have never forgotten.”
Vhalla stared at him in a mix of horror and pity. She squeezed his hand and was surprised when she felt a squeeze back.
“I see you taking steps down this path, and I don’t want you be lost to that darkness.” He laughed and bore the most unfiltered sorrow she had ever seen from him. “What is worse is, thanks to the extraordinary wisdom of the people’s Senate, I cannot protect you from that.”
“So, what do I do?” Vhalla finally sought guidance for her guilt.
“Never forget who you are, and do not let the dead define you.” He spoke as if he’d been reading her thoughts for weeks. “Talk to me or Fritz or Larel. I do not think any of us are prepared to lose you to your demons.”
She stared at him; she didn’t want to think about the Night of Fire and Wind. She wanted it to go away. He’d lured her into his den with his pretenses, and now she was the captive of his stares and touch. Vhalla closed her eyes and took a breath.
“Every night, I see them. I hear their screams and I feel their blood on my hands, on my face.” She shuddered as her voice broke and pulled her hand away from his to wrap her arms around herself. “At first I didn’t know what they were, but that night, in the forest, I remembered.” It seemed silly to her, to say she’d forgotten the first time she’d killed a person but her mind had been so efficient at pushing it away.
“I wish I could be better comfort to you,” he murmured softly. Aldrik leaned over and, with only his fingertips, he pushed aside some stray hair. They both seemed to catch their breath as his skin lightly brushed her face. He pulled away, his hand balling into a fist.
“You are,” she said quickly, earning herself a surprised stare.
“I am?” he repeated skeptically.
“I—” Vhalla stumbled over her words. “I am ... happier ... with you, near you.” Something about him softened, but there was a sadness to it that made Vhalla feel guilty for her confession.
“In any case.” He was back to avoiding her attentions. “My ear and my door are always open for you.”
“Thank you.” Vhalla wondered how many people he had offered that to. She couldn’t imagine it was many.
“For now though, we should make sure you know how to Channel.” Aldrik seemed as uncomfortable as she was and the moment—whatever it had been—vanished.
They set to work on what Vhalla discovered was the seemingly impossible task of Channeling. Vhalla saw shades of the phantom she had exchanged notes with months ago as he spoke volumes of knowledge worth of magical theory with deft ease. His silver tongue licked across her intellect, wetting her mental palate for new information.
But the willing
ness to learn and the practical execution were also much like he had told her months ago—it was harder to do than conceive. At her every attempt Aldrik instructed that she “only needed to find the magic within her” or “tap into her power.” But Vhalla felt like she was shooting for an unknown target in the dark.
By the time he fetched food, she found herself exhausted. Their conversation turned casual and Vhalla relaxed, absentmindedly consuming the meal before her. He made her sides split with laughter by telling her a story of when he taught his younger brother to ride a horse for the first time. Vhalla shared the first time she’d gone to help in the field but had ended up just playing in the mud for most of the day. He seemed to find it as shocking as he did amusing. For that brief hour the horrors she had seen, she had committed, didn’t matter.
Reality could not be escaped for long. The moment the food was finished, they returned to Channeling.
“I think it may be pointless,” Vhalla sighed, dropping her arms. She’d been waving them about like a fool trying to find the “essence of air.”
“There is one more thing that we could try, since you do not have the luxury of time,” Aldrik said thoughtfully after a long silence. “But it is not a conventional method. It is rather theoretical, actually.”
“Oh?” He knew what to say to make her insatiably curious.
“It is more on Bonding than Channeling.” He leaned forward. “Did you have a chance to read anything on Bonds before you left the Tower?”
“I couldn’t find much,” she replied.
“That is because there is not much,” Aldrik affirmed. “Bonding is a strange occurrence and difficult to understand because, to the best of every scholar’s assessments, it is the literal opening of a magic passage between two people. You opened your magic to me to save my life.”
Those words soaked into both of them for a moment.
“But, as they say, doors and gates open both ways,” Aldrik finished, easing that odd tension they flirted with every time they were together.
“Wait.” Vhalla blinked. “You’re saying I have some of your magic in me?”
“Not just some; it has the capacity to be a passage between us,” he affirmed.
“That’s amazing,” she whispered.
“That is why I do not think your magic is as effective against me as it is on others. It will not hit me as strong. Our own magic cannot hurt us.” He shook his head. “There are a number of interesting theories we could discuss and explore another time. For now, we are going to try Joining.”
“What is Joining?” she asked, braving a parrot comment.
“It is difficult to explain. Think of the Bond as a latent Channel. Joining will activate it, widen the Bond.” Aldrik leaned closer, and Vhalla’s heart beat hard. “This may not even work. But for it to have a chance—do not fight me.”
If Vhalla had wanted to, she couldn’t have. She was so stunned by his forward advances, by the fingers that lightly touched her temples, that she could barely speak. Aldrik’s eyes fluttered closed and he took a breath. She bit her lip, unsure if she was supposed to do the same. But if she didn’t, she would spend the time studying his sculpted features in the firelight—and she might die of embarrassment if caught.
So Vhalla closed her eyes as well.
At first, there was nothing. She heard her breathing and felt his hands on her. His fingertips warmed and then, faintly, she heard her heartbeat. No, she realized, it wasn’t her heartbeat, it was his. Her initial reaction was to panic at the sensation of another heart beating in her chest, but Vhalla forced herself to stay still and calm. Soon the chorus of sound extended to his breathing, overlaid on the noises of her own body. The din reached a crescendo that threatened to consume her awareness. But Vhalla remembered his words and she gave into it, into him, letting the wave crash upon her.
There was one inhale, one exhale, one heartbeat between them.
She melted into the strange warmth of the communal existence, relinquishing the last of her physical senses. It was unlike anything she had ever felt. Like life and death all bundled neatly into one moment of beauty. She tried to find where her own self ended, to find where he began, but there were no ends or beginnings anywhere. They were infinite.
She felt as he felt, and he thought as she thought.
Suddenly there was a warm breeze blowing over her metaphysical self. It was strong. Something she had known from birth, known her whole life, without ever really having words for it before. As Aldrik opened his Channel, hers opened alongside it in all its brilliance.
She felt him pulling away from her and, in her mind, she objected. There was a safety there, a reassurance, a compassion, and more she dared not give words to. It was a gentle departure, but a departure all the same. Vhalla sighed faintly as her eyes fluttered open. Aldrik stared back. His chest expanded slowly with every deep breath.
For a long time they sat unmoving. Her body felt the same, but everything had changed. His hands slowly fell away from her face, and the last connection was through their gaze.
“Vhalla, I ...” he uttered over a thick tongue.
Some madness overwhelmed her, and she grabbed for his hands. “Aldrik,” she breathed, clutching at him desperately. Vhalla searched for some validation of what she had found in their brief period of shared existence.
Aldrik stared back at her. Long before he pulled his hands from hers she saw a moment of panic, a moment of want—and he withdrew mentally. Vhalla realized he may be unable to hide anything from her again in the darkness of his eyes, she’d seen it all as though she was looking in a mirror. She wasn’t sure if this Joining was a blessing or a curse.
“I think we have accomplished enough for tonight.” Aldrik looked away, sitting straighter, more composed.
“Aldrik,” she whispered. Even his minor withdrawal hurt her more deeply than it should have. It felt like a piece of her had been carved out.
“All you need to do is repeat that process, what you felt. I think you can figure that out on your own.” He still didn’t look at her.
“Aldrik,” Vhalla pleaded.
“You can ask Larel for help also. Just pick a motion and repeat it as you Channel. Repeat the action every time you try, so when you succeed you will begin to associate the act with that trigger.” He turned back to the table, picking up the parchment he’d been reading earlier.
Vhalla wasn’t sure what she had done wrong, but he had completely shut himself off from her. He was the one who had suggested the Joining; what was he suddenly so afraid of ? She sighed and pulled herself to her feet.
Aldrik didn’t look at her as she slipped back into her armor. It was a short walk but the last thing she wanted was to leave a man’s tent—the crown prince’s tent—less dressed than when she came in. He said nothing and made no motion toward her.
“Well,” Vhalla said uncertainly, “thank you.” A splash of bitterness crept into her voice. He made no motion as she turned to leave.
“I will call on you,” he said abruptly, just as she was about to pull back the tent flap.
“What?” Vhalla turned, her heart racing on hope.
“Work on your Channeling, you will need it for what I’m going to ask of you,” Aldrik said, turning to her. “We shall begin when I am satisfied with your progression.”
Vhalla nodded and searched his guarded gaze for a long moment. She saw it there still, his turmoil. But turmoil over what? That was a question she had yet to answer.
“Very well. Goodnight, Aldrik.” Vhalla pulled back the tent flap, making her departure.
“Goodnight, Vhalla.”
THE DAY WAS overcast and hot. There was a dry breeze, but it offered little respite from the oppressive heat. It was the kind of day that one wanted nothing more than to find a cool, shady corner to curl up into. But the sun beat down on her shoulders.
She stood before a grave. It was in the center of a glass-covered garden. Many plants had been landscaped and most were hanging on despite the temper
ature. But the crimson flowers that surrounded the sculpted marker before her were wilted and shriveled. It was not the first time she had been in this garden of the dead.
The grave before her was shaped as an obelisk. Sitting at its top was the figure of a woman. She had long hair that hung perfectly straight, almost to her waist, and a soft, yet stern, visage cast in the flawless marble. Behind her was a golden and ruby sun that cast a red haze on the ground below.
Vhalla held out a hand and touched the familiar letters, as though it would connect her to her dead mother. There was nothing but stone beneath her fingers. She sighed, shifting her weight. She really hated being here.
“Stop fidgeting,” came a strong voice from next to her. She turned her face upward but the sun shrouded the man towering over her.
Vhalla turned and cracked open her eyes. The back of her hand rested against her forehead. She stared at the slowly illuminating canvas above her. It was a strange dream that played more like a long-forgotten memory. Vhalla ran through it again and, despite the overwhelming nostalgia, nothing seemed familiar on a second review. She was too tired to give the dream much attention and went about her morning duties.
Joining, that was what Aldrik had called it. Vhalla fidgeted over breakfast, trying to force herself to eat. She still didn’t understand the widening of the Bond, as Aldrik had put it, but it had certainly been significant. The ghost of him was still upon her. She could still feel the caress of his essence throughout her bones. Vhalla stared at her hands. Learning how to Channel seemed so unimportant in comparison.
“How did it go last night?” Fritz asked as he joined her and Larel.
“What?” Vhalla snapped herself out of her thoughts.
Larel’s interest had clearly been piqued. She hadn’t inquired last night when Vhalla returned, exhausted and bleary eyed, and had been silent all morning.