by Elise Kova
A pair of eyes caught her attention. The only person focused on her was the younger prince. She met Prince Baldair’s gaze and was surprised to see sympathy there. Vhalla averted her eyes. She didn’t want his pity.
“Very well, this is sufficient for today. You are dismissed, Miss Yarl.” The Emperor waved a hand in her direction.
“Thank you, my lords and ladies.” Vhalla stood, keeping her eyes downcast.
“Ah, one more thing,” Lord Ophain interjected.
Vhalla searched him with a questioning stare. What was he doing?
“This is the first Windwalker in the West in decades.”
The other nobility were confused; even Aldrik didn’t seem to understand why his uncle was approaching her.
“Vhalla Yarl,” Lord Ophain began, looking down at her. “I cannot correct the mistakes of my forefathers. I cannot expunge the blood of Windwalkers from the stones of my castle. What the Knights of Jadar did to your brethren can never be remedied.”
Vhalla shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Speaking of the genocide of her people after learning more about the reasons behind it put an uncomfortable feeling in her gut that tingled down to her toes. It wasn’t something she even wanted mentioned.
“But what I can do is be a catalyst for a future of hope, peace, and prosperity between sorcerers of all types and Commons. To show that the value I see in you is far greater than your magic.”
She wondered if he was sincere. But the second Lord Ophain’s eyes darted over to the Emperor’s, she had no doubt. This was a statement, one which Vhalla wasn’t sure she was prepared to be involved in or even fully understood the implications of.
“Therefore, it is my honor to bestow upon you a Crimson Proclamation.”
Murmurs clouded the air the moment the words left the Western Lord’s lips. Vhalla shifted uncertainly. Even Aldrik wore a look of dumb shock on his face. Some nobles were confused, but the other Westerners seemed quick to fill in the blanks.
Lord Ophain focused only on Vhalla as he produced a crimson ribbon from his inner coat pocket. It was just over half the length of her forearm and as wide as three fingers. He handed it to her, and Vhalla instantly ran her fingers over the silk. Upon it were Western symbols in silver thread, on the bottom was an ink seal bearing the flaming phoenix of the West.
Vhalla looked back up to him quizzically.
“In truth, this is a hollow title.” Lord Ophain did not make her ask outright. With a nod in the Emperor’s direction, he continued, “Only the Emperor may elevate lords and ladies to the court of nobility. But the West maintains its traditions and honors the old ways. Any who are able to read those words will know that the Lady Vhalla Yarl is considered a Duchess of the West by Order of Lord Ophain Ci’Dan.”
Vhalla stared in awe. Hollow title or no, it was more esteem than she had ever contemplated in her life. She made the mistake of looking to the Emperor and resisted the urge to push the fabric back in Lord Ophain’s palms. Emperor Solaris’s eyes were steely. She gripped the ribbon tighter. It meant nothing, it was a symbol of good faith, of righting wrongs of the past. It posed no threat of change to her current status. Surely the Emperor knew that?
“You honor me, my lord,” Vhalla mumbled, lowering her eyes.
“If you are quite finished, Lord Ophain,” the Emperor said coldly, “Miss Yarl has other places to be.”
Vhalla didn’t, but she was eager to be out of the suddenly oppressive room. She gave one last bow and noticed that suddenly the Western nobility gave her small nods of their heads. All, save for one; a mustached major, whom Vhalla had never so much had laid eyes on before the demonstration, regarded her with thinly veiled contempt.
It was impossible to leave the room fast enough, retreating back to her inn.
Larel and Fritz were waiting for her when she returned. They lounged in a sitting area to the left of the lobby’s entrance. Daniel and Craig occupied the Carcivi board to the right. All of them looked up in interest the moment she entered.
“How’d it go?” Fritz was the first to ask.
“Well,” Vhalla held up the ribbon in white-knuckled grip. “I got a Crimson Proclamation.”
“A what?” Larel asked.
Daniel and Craig seemed equally lost.
“A Crimson Proclamation?” Fritz was on his feet, rushing over to her. “I didn’t think the West gave these anymore.”
“What is it?” Larel asked, crossing over to Vhalla and Fritz.
“Crimson Proclamations were how the old kings of the West built their court. They raised people to noble status with them,” Fritz explained.
“So, are you a noble now?” Daniel went to get a look himself.
“Not really,” Vhalla remembered what Lord Ophain said.
“The Emperor abolished the Western Court,” Fritz continued. “When Mhashan was absorbed into the Empire and became just ‘the West,’ the Emperor didn’t want an uprising from the people who were old nobility. So he formed the Imperial Court as a way to appease them, giving the old nobility new Southern titles and elevating his own lords and ladies to sit among them.”
“He took control of their power then?” Craig rubbed his chin.
Fritz nodded. “And, in effect, absorbed the wealth of the oldest families in the West. But why did you get one?”
“Lord Ophain said it was a gesture of good faith, for the Burning Times,” Vhalla summarized.
Comprehension sunk into Fritz’s face.
“The Burning Times?” Daniel asked.
That launched Fritz into a whole new history lesson. One that, given Daniel’s interest in Windwalkers, took significantly longer. Vhalla listened quietly, still digesting the afternoon.
The Emperor seemed pleased with her demonstration ... but his eyes. She suppressed a shiver. His eyes were void of all emotion each time they fell upon her. The more interactions she had with Emperor Solaris, the less doubt Vhalla had that her place beneath him would never change.
“So, they just, killed them all?” Craig leaned back in his chair in shock.
“Yep.” Fritz nodded. “And Vhal’s the first one since.”
She met her friend’s proud smile with a tired curl of her lips.
“However ... horrible that is, we can’t change it now, and I think we should celebrate Vhalla’s proclamation.” Daniel leaned forward in his chair.
“I don’t know if I can handle another night of celebration,” Larel said uneasily.
“Something quieter. There’s a delicious Western restaurant not far from here.” Daniel stood. “I’d love to treat the Windwalker and her friends.”
Daniel extended a hand to her, and Vhalla stared at it. She wished she could feel his joy. She wanted the excitement that had been evoked in her the first night in the Crossroads, excitement in spite of the sea of power plays and manipulation that she found herself adrift in. Vhalla took Daniel’s hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Sitting and brooding wouldn’t help her find that joy again, and Daniel had been a catalyst for it before—maybe he would be able to summon it again.
The Crossroads did not disappoint. The night was warm, interrupted by a cool breeze drifting through the dusty streets and alleys. Colors were splashed upon every building in the forms of bright murals, tapestries, and awnings. Music and laughter could be heard all around, in harmony with gambling parlors and pleasure halls—it was a good place to forget who you were, Vhalla decided.
The restaurant was nicer than Vhalla expected, and she was instantly overwhelmed by the menu and table setting. Fritz seemed equally lost and Larel surprisingly comfortable. Vhalla could only suspect that growing up the friend of the Crown Prince gave the Western woman insights into etiquette she wouldn’t have otherwise.
Vhalla leaned back in her chair, nursing her drink between plates. She was on the edge of a haze that seemed very inviting and, while she did not want to induce morning-after headaches, she did want to take the edge off the day. Daniel leaned back as well, allowin
g the table conversation to continue before them.
“What do you think of Western food?” he asked soft enough to be heard only by her.
Vhalla was startled out of her thoughts. “What? Oh, it’s delicious.”
“I think so too,” he agreed. “I didn’t know what to expect the first time I tried it.”
“When was that?” she asked.
“My first campaign.” He sipped his glass thoughtfully. “It was my first time into the West. My family never travelled much.”
“How did you end up in the palace?”
“I enlisted.” Daniel shrugged and added, “I thought it’d be a chance at a better life.”
“Hasn’t it been?” She heard the edge of disappointment in his voice.
“On paper, I suppose. I am a lord now, after all.” He had the look of someone who was seeing shadows of the past rather than the glittering splendor that surrounded him in the present. “But at night I wonder, if I had never left the East if I would still have her.”
His tone made Vhalla’s chest ache. “Don’t think that way.” Vhalla shifted in her chair to get a better look at her fellow Easterner. Daniel regarded her thoughtfully, his complete attention a heavy load. Vhalla swallowed, hoping she could find the right thing to say to support her friend. “I-I almost Eradicated my magic.”
“Eradicated?”
“Got rid of.” Daniel gaped at her in shock, as though the notion was incomprehensible to him. “I was scared when I found out I was a sorcerer. And then, the Night of Fire and Wind, I thought—I thought everything was the fault of my magic.” Food was placed in front of them but neither made a motion toward it. “My friend died because of it.”
“Vhalla ...” he said with a sympathetic tone.
She shook her head, dismissing his sympathy. “I can’t go back, and neither can you. We both have to move forward and find what beauty we can in the world as it is.”
Daniel stared at her in awe. His gaze brought a heat onto her cheeks, and Vhalla quickly placed her glass on the table, digging into the plate before her. She felt the weight of a second stare on her shoulders, and Vhalla looked up, surprised to find Larel’s waiting eyes. The Western woman smiled gently at Vhalla.
When they were done with dinner and had returned to their hotel, Larel followed Vhalla to her room following bathing. Vhalla sat on the bed, the other woman behind her, combing through her wet hair with magic fingers. “Did you mean what you said at dinner?”
“To Daniel?” The question was pointless, Vhalla knew what Larel was talking about.
Larel hummed softly behind her in confirmation as she continued to dry Vhalla’s hair.
“I did.” Vhalla nodded.
“I’m glad.” Larel pulled Vhalla in for a tight hug. “I’ve been worried for you.”
“You have?” It was a dumb question and Vhalla knew it. This was the woman who had held her through shivers and shakes. Larel had been the one who pieced her back together after the Night of Fire and Wind. She knew every jagged piece that was still cutting into Vhalla’s heart.
“You’re not someone to live in darkness or sorrow.” Larel reclined on the bed, inviting Vhalla to do the same. “You’re a light that can shine brighter than even the sun.”
“That sounds treasonous,” Vhalla teased.
“I mean it all the same.” Larel leaned forward and pressed her forehead against Vhalla’s a brief moment. “You have something in you, Vhalla, something most never have or lose quickly. I cannot wait to see when you realize it yourself.”
“I’m nothing ... I’m not even myself, I’m property of the crown.” The more she said it, the deeper it sunk into her. She needed to accept this truth to make it through the war.
As if sensing that fact, Larel didn’t outright object. “You are, for now. But soon you’ll be back in the capital studying and doing great things.”
“But I can’t—”
“Oh, stop arguing.” Larel laughed lightly, running her fingers through Vhalla’s hair lovingly. “You’ll see it eventually.”
Vhalla closed her eyes. “What if I don’t?”
“You will.”
“Will you still be there to help me? Even if I don’t?” Vhalla asked softly, feeling like a child who still needed her security blanket to face the monsters that lurked in the night.
“You know I will be,” Larel promised.
“Thank you,” Vhalla whispered. “Good night, Larel.”
“Good night, Vhalla.” Her friend replied, holding tightly to Vhalla’s hand as she drifted into sleep.
The door eased open quietly and the soft sigh of the hinges lingered on Vhalla’s ears. Fritz had stayed out with Craig and Daniel after the restaurant. Vhalla wondered how drunk he was to come crawling into her room again. She rolled over, pressing her face into the pillow.
The footsteps barely made a sound. Her ears picked up the movement of air more than the noise upon the floor. There was something amiss, but her sleep-filled mind couldn’t quickly place what it was. Something about the footsteps ...
Footsteps. Two sets of footsteps.
Vhalla yawned, bringing a palm to her eyes. She expected to see Craig and Daniel, or some combination of them with Fritz. But when Vhalla blinked the sleep from her eyes, the figure standing at her bedside was a nightmare come to life.
She recognized the Northerner staring down at her. Vhalla remembered a night of fire, a night of running through burning streets with a prince on her heels. She remembered being attacked but cautioning the prince that despite there being four assailants, two were still missing.
Moonlight glinted wickedly off the wavy blade the Northerner raised. Vhalla stared in frozen shock.
Another sword cut through the air, and Vhalla turned instinctually toward the sound. The first blade sliced deeply on her back, narrowly missing impaling her due to her sudden and unpredicted movement. The pain of the weapon digging into her flesh didn’t even register as Vhalla’s mind tried to process what was occurring.
She stared at the blade of another swordsman, plunged straight through Larel’s stomach. Blood, inky black in the darkness, poured out from the wound. Larel’s dark eyes were jolted open in shock. A strangled gurgling noise accompanied the loll in her friend’s eyes as they drifted to Vhalla, blood bubbling through her gaping mouth.
Vhalla screamed.
THE NOSE VHALLA released sounded more animal than human. It was a high-pitched shriek, wordless but perfectly expressing the agony that rushed through her veins on the back of adrenaline. The sword was pulled from Larel’s stomach and the assassin twisted it through the air quickly, preparing for a second attack. The woman behind Vhalla was doing the same.
A singular instinct overtook Vhalla: the instinct to survive. She launched herself at the male assailant before her, scrambling across the bed and over the body of her friend. The swordswoman’s blade narrowly missed for a second time, slicing Vhalla deep across the calf as she was mid-lunge.
Vhalla tumbled with the swordsman, biting and scratching like a rabid beast. A heartbeat overwhelmed her senses, and Vhalla allowed Aldrik’s knowledge of combat to take over. She wanted to know every horrible way he could ever conceive to reap pain and torture upon these vile creatures.
She moved a hand, quickly disarming the man. He was well-trained and swung with his opposite hand, sending Vhalla off him with a jab to her face. She rolled, recovering quickly despite the searing pain in her calf.
The woman was upon her, and Vhalla barely had time to wave her hand through the air and deflect the blade mid-swing. That movement allowed the man to recover his weapon, and Vhalla was forced to duck to miss another attack. She was outmaneuvered and outnumbered in the small room.
Vhalla made a dash for the door, having to push it open from her knees to avoid the blade that sunk into the wood where her head had been moments before. Vhalla scrambled into the hall, other guests of the inn opening their doors in confusion as the Windwalker sprinted down the narrow stair. Adre
naline was the only thing keeping her upright.
The female assailant let out a cry of frustration, quick on Vhalla’s heels. “Die, Wind Demon!”
Vhalla half-turned to dodge a dagger thrown at her, tripping down the last of the stairs. The night owls roosting in the lobby were quickly pressed against the outer walls as the Northern assassin and Windwalker rolled head over heels. Some were soldiers who quickly reached for weapons that weren’t there. One lunged bare-handed only to be cut down by the Northern man.
She had no time to consider the demise of the nameless Southerner. Her calf burned with what Vhalla suspected was more than pain. Her movements were becoming sluggish and delayed, despite Aldrik’s instincts remaining sharp with every pulse of her heart. She bumped into a chair and lost her balance. The swordsman raised his sword as the woman recovered from a gust of air Vhalla had sent her way.
A woman plowed into his side, knocking the Northerner off-balance and sending his blade in a wide arc. Vhalla met the unfamiliar pair of eyes. “Run!” That was the last word the brave woman said as the Northerner plunged the curved blade through her throat.
Vhalla didn’t know what running would do, but she did so anyways, barreling through the doors of the inn and into the square. The army was unarmed and off-guard. The soldiers were fat and lazy from the days of peace and relaxation that the Crossroads had afforded. It was so far from the North that they’d all so wrongly assumed they were safe. Even if they had been armed, half of the Crossroads was drunk by this time of night anyways.
But there was one ally ready to greet her. Vhalla felt the wind and quickly turned it on the man racing out to her. It sent the Northerner tumbling head over heels, his head cracking hard against the wall of the inn.
She had expected that to kill him, knock him out, daze him at least, but the man seemed to be made of metal or stone as he just blinked and rose again to his feet. She took a step back, sending another gust of wind at him, but it was equally ineffective. She had killed these people before—why couldn’t she kill them now?
A bloodthirsty cry summoned Vhalla’s attention as the Northern woman was nearly upon her. Vhalla swung out her hand, preparing to deflect the attack. The numbness that had been seeping from her calf had spread into her fingers and the wind didn’t heed her call.