by Elise Kova
“The eyes!” a voice cried from behind her.
A dagger crafted of blue ice shattered on the assassin’s face, narrowly missing her cheek. The distraction gave Vhalla enough time to roll out of the way of her blade. Vhalla turned, breathless, toward the source of the voice.
Fritz pulled back his hand, another ice dagger appearing in his fingers. He threw and missed again, leaving Vhalla to roll helplessly between sword swings.
Daniel charged as the woman lunged a third time. He had a breathtaking command over his body as each tight step narrowly preempted the assassin’s motions. Vhalla recognized the dagger he wielded as one he’d purchased when they’d gone shopping. The soldier had been wearing it under his pants leg since.
The Easterner demonstrated how he earned a golden bracer by not even blinking as he sunk the dagger to its hilt into the Northerner’s eye. The woman shuddered but didn’t make a sound as her body limply fell to the ground, sliding off Daniel’s blade. Vhalla stared at the lifeless body but found no sympathy. Instead she turned her rage to the remaining target.
The other assassin, seeing himself outnumbered against the army that quickly gathered with weapons in hand, turned to run.
Vhalla tried to jump to her feet, throwing out a hand uselessly. Whatever poison that they had laced the blade with sent shivers up her spine that blocked her Channel. However, as if summoned from her fingers, an inferno sprang up, sending the Northerner tumbling backwards as he tried to avoid running into the flames.
She twisted on the ground, looking for the origin of the fire. The crowd scattered like rats, fearing the blinding light of the fire that burned from Aldrik’s fists to his elbows, searing off the rumpled shirt he wore. His dark eyes were alight with flame and pure malice. Vhalla did not recognize the man before her as the man she had held and kissed a day prior.
This was the Fire Lord.
Aldrik’s focus was past her, toying with the Northerner as he sent the assassin scurrying to avoid one blindingly powerful magic flame after the next. Baldair was quick to follow behind his brother, freezing in his step as he took in the carnage before him. Vhalla pushed against the ground, trying to keep herself even partly upright. She was safe now and the heartbeat was beginning to fade. Behind it lurked an agony that threatened to tear her apart.
Aldrik had finally made it to her, and she saw his shoulders quiver with rage as he looked down upon her mangled and bruised body. “Lord Taffl, Baldair,” Aldrik spoke to Daniel and his brother but his eyes never left her. “Apprehend that man and bring him here—alive.”
The prince knelt at her side. “Vhalla,” he whispered.
“Aldrik,” she choked out, emotions overwhelming her. Vhalla’s face twisted in agony. “Aldrik, she’s-she’s-I, it’s my fault, it’s my fault.”
“Vhal ...” Fritz had been the only one of the steadily growing onlookers to approach the two. He sunk to his knees as well.
Vhalla hung her head between her shoulders and wailed in mourning.
“Mother, no ...” Fritz gasped. Vhalla expected him to be staring in horror at her. But he looked beyond.
She followed the Southerner’s gaze over her shoulder, past where Baldair and Daniel were dragging the overpowered assassin toward Aldrik. Her eyes followed the bloody trail she’d left to the inn that was now in need of repair from where she’d slammed a stone-skinned Northerner into its side. Vhalla’s eyes fell on a small row of bodies that was being lined up before the doorway. There was the man who’d been cut almost in half through the abdomen, the woman with the wound to her neck, another two Vhalla didn’t even remember falling in the scuffle, and then a Western woman.
Vhalla scrambled to her feet, Aldrik and Fritz in too much of a daze to stop her. Limping the pain away, she broke into a clumsy run. Daniel tried to grab her as she passed but his hands were too busy keeping the Northerner under control.
She pushed away the man who was situating Larel’s body in the line of the fallen, collapsing at her friend’s side. “No no no no no Larel.” Vhalla pressed her palms against the woman’s mortal wound, as if she could somehow heal it now. “You can’t, you can’t do this to me!”
Her throat was raw from screaming, but Vhalla’s ears could barely make out any sound. She leaned forward, pressing her face into Larel’s still warm shoulder, gripping onto the shade of her friend. It was too much. She rocked back and forth with every sob. It was too much.
“Vhal,” Fritz placed his palms on her shoulders. Vhalla didn’t move. “You-you need to get tended to.”
“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked, twisting out of his grasp, pressing herself closer to Larel.
“Vhal.” He grabbed her.
“I said, don’t touch me!” Vhalla twisted, swinging at him. She didn’t have the strength for an even halfway decent attack, but Fritz still took it upon his tear stained cheek. Quiet sobs heaved his shoulders.
Vhalla stared up at him at an utter loss.
“Bring the Windwalker.” The Emperor’s voice cut through the rising commotion of the square. His icy blue eyes found hers.
Vhalla gripped Larel’s arm tighter. “No,” she whispered.
“Vhal, you need to go,” Fritz pleaded, kneeling quickly to block the Emperor’s view of her disobedience.
“No,” she pleaded with Fritz, shaking her head. “I can’t, I can’t leave Larel like this. She needs me.”
“She’s dead, Vhalla.” Fritz’s harsh words were a knife that cut through the last scraps of hope in Vhalla’s heart. “And you might be dead too if you don’t heed the Emperor’s call.”
Fritz pulled her upright and herded her toward their ruler.
“It’s my fault ... It’s my fault ...” Vhalla whispered, repeating the mantra over and over in her head.
“What happened here?” the Emperor demanded as she arrived.
All eyes were on her. Vhalla swallowed and turned to the Northerner. “He was a juggler, at the festival.”
“Speak clearly, girl!” the Emperor took a step forward.
Aldrik stepped forward as well, wedging himself protectively between his father and Vhalla.
“The people who attacked on the Night of Fire and Wind, they were the jugglers from the festivals, the ones who came to the capital. There were two missing in that attack.” Vhalla’s voice echoed emptily in her ears.
“And our attack was a success! We had no idea Emperor Solaris was growing Wind Demons,” the man spat. His accent was thick and heavy and it would have been difficult to understand if its inflection hadn’t already been seared on Vhalla’s ears from that fateful night long ago.
“You speak forcefully for a man who is about to die,” the Emperor said quietly.
“A warrior doesn’t fear death,” the man replied haughtily.
“How about dying with the shame of failing to kill the one who slayed your comrades?” The Emperor gave a tilt of his head toward Vhalla.
That set the man off, and he was suddenly raging against Craig, Daniel, and Baldair, who all struggled to keep him on his knees.
“Let him go,” the Emperor commanded.
“Father—” Baldair began in shock.
“I said, release him!” Emperor Solaris was not to be trifled with, and they released the Northerner.
The assassin sprang forward like a sprinter from the blocks. But he did not lunge for the most powerful man in all the realms, the man who had killed his people and invaded his homeland. The Northerner lunged for Vhalla.
She didn’t even flinch when the flames erupted right before her. They singed her tattered sleeping clothes and licked by her face. But they did not burn her.
The man seemed to resist the heat as well, but only for a brief moment until he was magically overpowered and set to writhing and rolling on the ground. His flesh bubbling and singed.
The Northerner began to rasp, pulling himself into a seated position. “Tiberum Solaris, the mighty Emperor, chosen of the sun, hiding behind his son and a child.”
“I am not a child,” Vhalla threatened. Her whisper was heard by all and even the Emperor stilled his tongue.
“You think you will lead them to victory?” the man sneered up at her, his face a mess of mutilated flesh. “We sent birds, we reported, we have friends here in the West who hold no more love for you. Every sentry; every soldier; every man, woman, and child will aim their arrows, their blades, their stones, their axes, their fists, their picks, and their poisons at you. You cannot comprehend our power, and you will die.”
“Daniel, give me your dagger,” Vhalla demanded softly.
“Vhalla—”
“Give it to me!” She pried her eyes away from the Northerner, the pain manifesting as hot rage.
Daniel looked hopelessly to Baldair, who turned to the Emperor. The royal considered it only briefly, before nodding at the Golden Guard. Daniel flipped the weapon, carefully grabbing the blade to hold out the hilt to her.
The metal of the hilt felt like her magic did the first time she’d opened her Channel. It was a rush of power. But this was darker, of a more twisted and primal nature. Vhalla limped forward toward the disabled man, her calf beginning to protest her weight. Her clothes were soaked in blood, her own and otherwise, and her shoulders were heavy with guilt.
The Northerner squinted up at her with hatred and rage. For the briefest of moments, Vhalla wondered if he had loved those she’d killed on the Night of Fire and Wind the same way she had loved Larel. If she simply stared into a mirror of herself, she just happened to be on the lucky side of the reflection.
The man snarled and lunged. Vhalla moved to meet him. She did not need the Joining; she would do this alone. Vhalla remembered what Daniel had said as she felt the resistance of the blade sink straight through the man’s eye, embedding itself into his skull.
There was no sound but the wind as Vhalla remained frozen in time, staring at the remaining wide-eye and lifeless face of the man she had killed. This was not a blind rage, it wasn’t a burst of power, and it was not a memory her mind would later block. It was the deliberate end to a life, and it had been horribly simple.
Vhalla suddenly felt sick, and she swayed as her whole body trembled. She felt empty and yet so full with agony that she was certain she was going to split apart at the seams and die.
Her calf gave out with the waning resolve, and Vhalla staggered, falling.
Daniel moved to catch her, but Aldrik was faster. The prince caught and twisted her. Vhalla found herself weightless as Aldrik hoisted her into the air, holding her to his chest. She grimaced as he shifted his arm around the severed flesh of her back, finding a way to hold her with the least amount of pain possible.
When the prince turned, Vhalla could see the face of the Emperor. It was deathly still and the malice in his eyes at the sight of her in Aldrik’s arms was palpable, but the prince said nothing. He looked past his father and started for the hotel in which he’d been staying. Vhalla felt every wide eye and saw each gaping mouth as the people parted to make way for the crown prince and Windwalker.
“Aldrik,” she breathed, trying to be quiet enough that only he would hear. “Aldrik, you-I-they ...”
“Let them say something,” Aldrik ground out through a clenched jaw. “Let one person say something and give me a reason to burn it all.”
Vhalla felt the heat in his palms, the raw strength he wielded that promised to make good on his threats, and she closed her eyes. Vhalla leaned against the shoulder of the crown prince as he carried her into the temporary home of the Imperial family. She pressed her face against him and allowed his strength to shield her weakness as her shoulders began to shake and tears fell once more.
ALDRIK LAID HER down gently on a chaise, a boneless shell of grief and tears. Vhalla curled on her side, almost choking as she sobbed. Aldrik sat next to her, his fingers lightly caressing her hair.
Whatever peace he could offer her was quickly ruined by the door slamming open.
“You have lost your mind!” Lord Ophain took giant steps toward his nephew.
“Leave us, Uncle.” Aldrik didn’t pull his eyes away from her, his fingers losing themselves in her hair.
“I thought you wanted to protect her—”
“And she is clearly nowhere safer than at my side.” There was a foreboding calm to Aldrik’s words.
“No, what you did just now was put an even bigger target on her back by showing everyone that she’s the chink in the crown prince’s armor!” Lord Ophain pleaded, “Aldrik, you need to move her to a clerical room and cover for your actions. That you acted as you did only because we need her for the war. You want her to think that—”
Fire erupted next to them as the opposite chaise burst into flame. The sudden brightness and flames at Aldrik’s back made Vhalla stir.
“Uncle, I swear to the Mother, if you or anyone else tries to take her from me—”
“That’s enough, Aldrik.” Vhalla rested her hand over one of his clenched fists. The flames instantly extinguished. She slumped against him, his arm quickly wrapping around her shoulders. Vhalla didn’t know which one of them was shaking. “He’s trying to help. Should I—”
Aldrik tightened his arm, half-pulling her onto his lap. He held her against him as if he was desperately trying to piece back the broken thing she was with his quivering caresses. One arm clutched at her waist, and he drew a shaky breath. “No, I will not.” He scowled at the Lord of the West as he spoke to her. “I will not let you go.”
“You’ll need to let her go if you don’t want her to die from infection.” Prince Baldair stood in the doorway. “I’ll see to her here.” He crossed over, placing one of the largest cleric’s boxes Vhalla had ever seen on the ground by the chaise.
The two brothers regarded each other, and Vhalla began to think Aldrik was going to make good on his promise. But his arms finally relaxed, and he eased her back into a reclining position. Aldrik quickly resituated himself so that her head could rest on his thigh.
The younger prince pulled at the hem of her shirt, slicing through the tatters in the back all the way to her collar. Vhalla didn’t have the energy to worry about her modesty. She didn’t have the energy to do anything other than cry and let Aldrik wipe away the tears.
“Father is assembling the majors,” Baldair said finally. “You need to go.”
“I’m not leaving her,” Aldrik repeated.
“She needs to rest,” Prince Baldair retorted.
“You should go, Aldrik.” Lord Ophain was much more collected. “If you want to protect her then you must go. You are the only one who can represent her interests at that table, both of your interests.”
Aldrik’s hands stopped moving. His pain palpably washed over her and numbed Baldair’s probing in the gash on her back. Vhalla clutched the crown prince’s thigh with white knuckles. Her fingers would leave bruises in their wake.
He was going to leave her. She knew he had to but that made it no easier. The world was taking him from her too. Vhalla couldn’t handle it.
“Baldair,” Aldrik choked on the a but quickly recovered.
Larel had been his friend too, his only friend in many ways. Vhalla had taken her from him as well. It was all her fault. Vhalla pressed her eyes closed, her whole body shaking.
“You don’t let her out of your sight. You protect her with everything you have. You see her healed and well. Do this for me and I will never ask a single thing of you again,” Aldrik’s voice was raw as it forced through tears he wasn’t letting fall.
Prince Baldair’s ministrations paused as the two princes shared a look of understanding that had not been there in some time. “You have my word, brother. On my honor.”
Aldrik began to pull away from her. Vhalla gripped his hands with both of hers, willing him to stay. “D-don’t, Aldrik. Please, don’t leave me yet. I know you have to but not, not yet.”
Her eyes nearly broke him.
“Aldrik, please,” she pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks.
He ease
d her back down onto the chaise, standing at its side. Aldrik leaned forward, smoothing her hair away from her face one more time and pressed his lips to her temple. Vhalla sobbed.
“I will return as soon as I can.”
“Promise me.” She gripped for his fingers again. “Promise, and I’ll believe it.”
“I promise, and I will never break a promise to you, my Vhalla.” He took his hand from hers and straightened. Vhalla watched as the stony façade of the crown prince slipped back into place. He wore the distance of nobility, the ferocity of the Fire Lord, and the armor of his title. He was a warrior ready to do battle.
Vhalla balled her hands into fists and buried her eyes in the pads of her palms, letting out a wail the moment the door closed behind Aldrik and his uncle. “It’s my fault, it’s my fault.”
“It is not.” She hadn’t been speaking to the younger prince, but he responded.
“What do you know?” Vhalla spat bitterly. “You know nothing about your brother, nothing about me. You’ve never even tried to know. You were too busy with your misplaced warnings. So just be quiet for once.”
The prince obliged her for a time as he placed gauze over the wound, coating it in a sticky substance that turned icy as it hardened. He pressed on her shoulder lightly and Vhalla understood that he needed her on her stomach to access the wound on her calf. The prince began stitching the deep wound without even warning her first.
“That one had poison in it,” she mumbled.
“What?” His fingers stopped. “Are you sure?”
“It was affecting my magic.” Vhalla nodded, her tears subsiding into numbness.
“I’ll need to get someone else to see to that.” The prince fumbled among the vials of elixirs, salves, and antidotes. “I have no idea which is which for poisons.”
“Aldrik will know.” Vhalla was certain. Prince Baldair returned to his stitching and packing the wound with a thick salve. When he was finished, he came around the chaise to kneel before her face. The prince dipped his first two fingers into the tin and began to massage the ointment over Vhalla’s black eye. “Thank you, my prince,” she begrudgingly offered.