by Elise Kova
Just as Aldrik had said, the brush needed to be burnt away in some places. It was riddled with vines almost as thick as Vhalla’s wrist, blocking the most direct route back to camp. Larel used intense firebursts to incinerate a clear path.
“Groundbreakers can alter trees and plants?” Vhalla asked.
“Some can.” Larel nodded.
They didn’t speak again during the rest of the walk back to their tent. Larel offered to help Vhalla change into her sleeping clothes, but Vhalla insisted she could do it on her own. Elecia’s words ran through her head. The conversation had yielded too much information to dissect now. A sickeningly purple bruise had already formed on her stomach.
Vhalla only barely finished pulling on a long-sleeved nightshirt when there was a tap on their tent pole.
“Vhal? Larel?” Fritz asked uncertainly.
“It’s fine, Fritz,” Vhalla called, and he poked his head in. Larel shifted to make enough room for him to sit. It was crowded with three.
“Here, the prince told me to give it to you.” He handed her a small wooden vial.
“Thank you,” she said softly, taking it from him and downing it quickly. She recognized the fiery feeling of this particular potion and winced slightly. Vhalla was beginning to suspect the clerics healed everything with this one magic liquid. “Sorry to be trouble.”
“It’s fine,” Larel consoled. “This was hardly your fault.”
“What exactly happened?” Fritz asked.
Larel elbowed him in the side. “Not our business,” she scolded.
Vhalla fidgeted with her fingers.
“Fine, fine. I hope you feel better soon.” He reached out, ruffled Vhalla’s hair, and turned on his knees to crawl out of the tent.
“Wait,” Vhalla stopped him. There was a sick feeling in her stomach, but Vhalla thought it had more to do with nerves. “Wait,” she repeated again as he sat down. Vhalla passed the vial from hand to hand, unsure of her next words. But Fritz and Larel had already proven to be kind and loyal. She took a breath.
“Vhalla, you don’t have to—” Larel seemed to sense her trepidation.
“We’re Bonded,” Vhalla said directly, getting it out before she lost her resolve.
Both stared at her in shock and confusion.
“Wait, what?” Fritz had a dumb look on his face.
“You and ...” Larel whispered, her voice leaving her before she could finish the sentence.
“Aldrik.” Vhalla cursed aloud. “The prince.” She shook her head; it was too late and she was in too deep. “Aldrik and I are Bonded.” Vhalla looked away from them. She barely understood what being Bonded meant so how they would react was up in the air. They both stared at her with their mouths open, shocked into silence. “Well, say something,” she sighed.
“You’re sure?” Larel asked.
“Very,” she affirmed, recalling her Channeling lesson.
“Does he know?” Fritz asked.
Larel cuffed him on the back of the head. “Of course he does,” she chided.
“How?” Fritz asked. The Western woman shot him a sharp glance. “I know how, as in I know how Bonding works in theory. But how did you become Bonded with the prince, of all people?”
“I don’t really understand it all myself.” Vhalla thought back to a night in the library, a night that seemed forever ago. “It was when he came back.”
“From the front? In the summer?” Larel seemed to be already piecing it together.
Vhalla nodded. “I was working in the library and I—” Vhalla paused, leaving out the truth that she had thought she was saving a different prince. “I wanted to save him, I wanted to give anything to save him. He said I wrote magic, or made vessels—I’m not sure. Something about it opened a link and that was a Bonding.” She shifted, trying not to allow the conversation she’d started make her uncomfortable.
“That’s amazing,” Fritz breathed.
“So, that’s—that’s why things are different with us.” She wasn’t sure anymore why she had confided this to her friends.
“What is it like being Bonded?” Fritz asked.
“It’s hard to tell,” Vhalla confessed. “I’ve never known magic and not been Bonded. So it’s normal for me.”
“You Manifested quickly,” Larel pointed out. “Even the minister was shocked, but it would make sense if you had a Bond with someone like Prince Aldrik.”
“It was also how ...” Vhalla hesitated about sharing the previous night with them, but she was in too deep to stop herself now. “During our Channeling lesson, he showed me how to Channel.”
“Well, of course.” Fritz clearly didn’t understand.
“No.” Vhalla shook her head. “He showed me. While we were Joined.”
If Vhalla had not understood the gravity of a Joining before, she understood it then. Fritz and Larel looked at her with a combination of shock, amazement, and—what was most unnerving—a touch of fear. Vhalla brought her hands together, wringing them roughly.
“It’s ... possible?” Fritz asked, finally.
“I suppose so? I only have what Aldrik said to go off of.” Vhalla’s eyes darted between them, desperate to spark some more conversation so they’d stop looking at her like she had sprouted a second head. “What does it mean?”
“I’ve only read about it.” Asking Fritz to recite things from books had the same effect as it did on Vhalla. His mind began churning once more. “Literature on Bonding is very few and far between because most people who try to create a Bond fail, and one person dies in the process. But Joining is supposedly a state of merged consciousness or awareness.”
“That sounds right.” Vhalla nodded in affirmation.
“I can’t believe he did that.” Fritz stroked the stubble on his jaw. “It’s supposed to be a risky process.”
“Risky?” Vhalla asked.
“Again, I’ve only read ... But if the Bond isn’t solid, complete, if the two people are Bonded but not compatible, or if—” He paused, censoring himself. “Well there are other things that can help or hurt it. But I’ve heard it could result in one person losing himself in the other. You end up with one being mindless, while the other goes mad with the noise in his head.”
Vhalla stared in shock and then started laughing. “Risks are something the prince has no qualms taking,” she assured them—it seemed to adequately sum up their entire relationship.
“Why did you tell us this?” Larel asked. “I can’t imagine the prince would be pleased.”
Vhalla honestly hadn’t considered that. “Because you both are my friends. I trust you, and I want you to know I do. What are friends if you cannot share your secrets with them?”
“I won’t tell a soul.” Fritz grabbed her hand, and she smiled at his kind eyes.
“You know you have my silence,” Larel affirmed with a nod.
“But you know I’m going to be asking you about it, right?” Fritz grinned his goofy toothy grin.
Vhalla couldn’t help but smile back. “I’ll answer as best I can,” Vhalla promised. “Talking about it may even be nice.”
Fritz left shortly after. He squeezed Vhalla and Larel both tightly, and Vhalla wished he could stay with them. She selfishly wanted to spend the night tucked between him and Larel. But Vhalla didn’t make any demands. At best she’d just wake him with thrashing from nightmares.
FRITZ RETURNED VHALLA’S armor the next morning, leaving Vhalla conflicted and uncertain once more. The prince was a strange creature. At times, he seemed like he worried for her above all else, like when Elecia made her cheap shot. Other times, like the entire day’s ride, it seemed as though he didn’t even want her around.
If he was trying to avoid her, then he was destined for failure. Aldrik saw her each night when they trained together and maybe that fact frustrated him, because the prince pushed his three pupils beyond tired and into levels of exhaustion that Vhalla had never known before. The second day of training was harder than the first, and the third was harde
r than the second. The fourth morning Vhalla was certain that she couldn’t get out of bed; it took almost being late for her to be coaxed into the saddle.
Aldrik had the sense to not pair Vhalla and Elecia together again; they were kept at other ends of the makeshift rings they worked in. Vhalla was thankful that she had the opportunity to work with Fritz, but felt sorry for Larel for having to endure the other Western woman’s jabs and sneers. If Aldrik was upset with Elecia, he didn’t show it. He still rode with her during the day and never sent her away from the training.
In all, it made Vhalla feel worse. She still remembered what Elecia had said about her birth, her questions of why Aldrik was spending any time with Vhalla. It made Vhalla doubt everything, and then she felt guilty for second-guessing Aldrik after all he had done for her. But she didn’t know how to feel, and Aldrik wasn’t helping her sort it out.
So during the day she’d taken to riding with the Golden Guard. Daniel and Craig were always welcoming, and even Prince Baldair seemed to be more amused than put off by Vhalla’s persistence around them. Raylynn was even beginning to thaw. It was an odd routine that Vhalla fell into; she wouldn’t call it peaceful, but with time everything became easier. Even her dreams had begun to lose their edge.
Or so she had thought.
A month into the march, Vhalla woke up one night shivering and shaking, despite the warming temperatures as the host grew closer to the Western Waste. Fear clawed and bit its way through her, but she had somehow not woken Larel. Vhalla quickly gulped in breaths of air. She stared down at her wrists.
The dream was just as vivid as her memories of the Night of Fire and Wind. Her mind told her she had felt these feelings before. The noises, smells, and touch were all familiar. And yet, Vhalla had never seen or done anything like it.
She’d stood in an opulent room, dark with oppressive gloom. A thunderstorm raged against the glass windows, and she’d been soaking wet. Vhalla shivered, grabbing her arms to ward against the phantom chill. And then she’d taken a knife to her own flesh.
Vhalla was looking at her forearms again.
The crimson blood that had stained pale skin and white carpeting was not what was most prominent in her memory. It was the fear, the overwhelming guilt she had felt and—most notably—when she had caught her eyes in the reflection of the blade—they had not been her eyes.
Vhalla covered her face with her palms. It was just a dream, she repeated over and over again. But she could still feel the blade cutting into the pale skin. She could see the palace handmaiden rushing in, horrified and desperate.
Vhalla was up and out of the tent.
It was still a good hour before dawn and the world was yet dark. Vhalla ran through the silent camp, barefoot and in sweat-damp clothes. Her heart raced, and her mind didn’t allow her to calm, not until she knew he was all right. She didn’t care if Aldrik was still cross with her. She had to see him.
Knocking on the crown prince’s tent pole before dawn had to be foolish, but that didn’t stop her. Vhalla brought her hands together, fidgeting in the eternity that seemed to follow as she waited. “My prince?” Her voice was strained with tension. Vhalla fought down a whimper. “Aldrik?”
To her relief, she heard a faint stirring come from inside the tent. The canvas shifted as ties on the inside were undone. Aldrik opened the flap in annoyance. With his other hand he pulled on the hem of a shirt, situating it over his chest.
“Vhalla?” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as if he wasn’t seeing properly, his temper quickly vanishing.
She felt something in her break with relief and she covered her mouth with her hands to muffle a small cry. Aldrik took one look at her panic-stricken face and, with a quick glance to ensure there were no observers, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the tent.
The moment he released the heavy canvas flap, they were plunged into near-darkness. She blinked in the dim light. His bed was a mess of blankets; papers and empty bottles cluttered his table.
Aldrik quickly rounded her and placed his palms on her shoulders. He inspected her from toe to head. “What is it?” His voice was tense. “Are you hurt?” Aldrik moved a hand to her forehead and ran it down her face to tilt Vhalla’s chin up to look at him.
The feeling of relief was still too strong for her to feel embarrassed. “I’m okay,” she finally managed weakly. Vhalla reached up and grabbed both his wrists. She let out a noise between a laugh and a sigh when she saw the sleeves of his shirt showed no signs of blood. “I’m okay.” Vhalla breathed. “I thought, you ...”
“I what?” he asked. Aldrik was clearly confused, but the prince made no motion away from her.
“It doesn’t matter.” She laughed uneasily. “It was a dream. Something bad ... I thought you were hurt. But it was just a dream.”
Aldrik paused before moving his hands to cup her face. He ran his thumbs over her tearstained cheeks, and she relished his eyes on her for the first time in what felt like forever. “I’m fine,” he whispered. “See, I am fine.”
His tenderness set free a small hiccup in her throat, and she squeezed his forearms. “I was afraid,” she admitted. His eyes widened. “I thought ...” She choked on her words.
“What? Thought what?”
Vhalla searched his questioning gaze. “Nothing,” she said with a shake of her head. “It doesn’t matter; you’re well.”
“Vhalla,” he insisted, his hands on her face preventing her from looking away.
“I was afraid I’d lost you.” The words were an arrow into the heart of the silence that had been flourishing between them. And words, like arrows, once let go, could not be taken back. Vhalla had confessed as much to him as she did to herself. The truth of her admission slowly dawned on them both. She felt her jaw quiver. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you.”
She released his arms and stepped away to leave. Vhalla’s ears burned with embarrassment, and she dipped her head. What had overcome her? Why had she come? He’d made it clear for days that she’d done something to offend him. That he didn’t want her presence.
Aldrik closed the gap between them. Bending over slightly, he curled an arm around her upper waist and wrapped the other around her shoulders. Vhalla gasped and got a breath of his shirt as her face pressed against his chest.
He held her there and took a few deep breaths. Vhalla felt his chest move under her cheek, and she heard his heartbeat run fast. Uncertainly, she raised her hands and grabbed the back of Aldrik’s shirt. He didn’t pull away.
“I told you, you foolish woman,” he whispered, his breath washing away the scalding embarrassment. “You have to tell me if you want to lose me.”
Vhalla tightened her arms around him and closed her eyes. His contact calmed her, and she felt her heartbeat slow with his. Aldrik’s hand shifted, and she felt his fingers lose themselves in her tangled morning hair.
“I thought you were hurt.” He laughed dryly. “I’d just been ...” Aldrik seemed at a loss for words. “I had my own dream, I suppose.”
Vhalla inhaled deeply. He smelled like smoke, sweat, metal, leather, and something distinctly Aldrik. She felt him shake his head, and they continued to stand in silence. He was warm through the thin fabric of his shirt, and she pressed herself closer.
She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, but eventually she felt his arms loosen around her. Vhalla wanted to protest, but her grip relaxed. Aldrik straightened, but an arm remained around her waist. His other hand curled around the back of her neck.
“Tonight, come to me.”
Vhalla felt the pads of his fingers indenting the nape of her neck. “Tonight?” she squeaked, her throat suddenly dry.
Aldrik was suddenly as startled as she was. His eyes lost some of their intensity to surprise and confusion, as if his mouth had spoken before his brain could process his previous demand of her. “I told you there were things I wanted to work on with you.”
“Right.” Vhalla nodded. He’d been so distant she’d alm
ost forgotten.
“You should go,” he murmured as his hands relaxed their hold on her. Aldrik stepped away. “Before too many wake up.”
Vhalla nodded. “Again, I’m sorry for disturbing you,” she said softly, shock at their actions beginning to settle in.
“It is fine,” he said gently. “We can speak properly later.” Vhalla nodded. Aldrik walked over to the flap of his tent and looked about. “It seems clear.” He stepped aside and she stepped out.
Vhalla heard the canvas close abruptly behind her, and she walked away, only looking forward. There were a few more people up and moving about, but none paid her any mind. The sky was painted with oranges and blues; dawn drew close.
She dressed in her armor outside of her tent, so as not to wake Larel. Her skin tingled as she slipped the chainmail over her woolen clothes, and Vhalla reminded herself to breathe. A dream had sent her into a blind panic, running to the crown prince.
Why?
Vhalla’s fingers faltered on the latches of her armor. The memory of their dance at the gala rushed back to her with stunning clarity. He’d held her then also and, like this morning, she’d never wanted it to end. She pressed a hand over her eyes, blocking out the dawn with a groan.
She came from nothing, and she was no one. She had no business spending any time with the crown prince, the man who would be her future Emperor. He didn’t have time to waste on people like her. Elecia’s words cemented themselves further in her consciousness.
“Vhalla?”
She hadn’t even heard Larel stir.
“Morning.” Vhalla finished dressing quickly.
“Are you all right?”
It was annoying how Larel missed nothing. “I’m fine.” Vhalla began breaking down the tent.
“Was it another dream?” Larel asked.
“Enough, Larel,” Vhalla sighed and straightened. The Western woman was silent. Vhalla should’ve been too, but there was an aching feeling in Vhalla’s stomach that put nastiness in her blood. “Why are you always pestering me? It’s none of your concern what I dream or don’t dream, what I eat or what I don’t eat.”