by Elise Kova
“Any time now,” Baldair muttered, clearly uncomfortable by the lovers who had shared his bed.
“Unfortunately, no one will think twice about a woman leaving your tent,” Aldrik muttered, standing and dressing. “So I’ll go first.” He turned to Baldair. “Thank you, brother.”
There was a raw sincerity that Baldair was clearly not used to receiving from his brother. It brought a smile to Vhalla’s lips to be privy to it. The two of them weren’t so bad when they stopped fighting.
Aldrik gave her one last look, as if memorizing her form. Vhalla nodded. She only had to be strong for a short time more, she could do it. Then, that night, she’d find her way into his arms again. That knowledge alone kept her sane.
Baldair crossed over to the bed the second his brother left, assessing her. Vhalla regarded his gaze warily. “It’s real then.”
“What is?”
“You and Aldrik.” Baldair could barely say it, as if the words would bring the Mother’s wrath upon him.
“I love him.” She nodded. “And he loves me.”
“Vhalla ...” Baldair sighed and sat beside her on the bed. “Please, be careful.”
“More warnings?” She frowned.
“Not like before.” Baldair shook his head. “I’ve never seen Aldrik like this, I know his feelings are not mirrors and manipulation.”
“I tried to tell you that.” She was unable to hide her frustration. “He would never hurt me.”
“That’s not what I now fear for.” Baldair shook his head. “Vhalla, he is the crown prince.”
“I know that.” She gripped the blanket with white knuckles. “Why is it that you can be the playboy prince, chase whatever strikes your fancy, and he’s chastised for spending time with me? We haven’t even—” She stopped herself with a blush.
“Because I will not inherit the crown.” The prince regarded her with a heavy sincerity. “I’m the spare, Vhalla. No one cares what I do, they care what he does.”
“But they love you.” It was no secret who the common people’s favorite was.
“They love me because I never have to heap punishments upon them, or carry out executions, or levy taxes. I host parties and open casks of wine.” Baldair shook his head. “They don’t like him because Aldrik will be a fair ruler. He doesn’t care about being loved, he cares about doing what’s right.”
“And what’s wrong with—”
“Until you.” Baldair placed his palm on the top of her head. “You’re the first thing I’ve ever seen him want to take for himself.”
“What’s your point?” Vhalla knew already she wasn’t going to like it.
“That it also means that you are the first thing the world knows it can take from him.”
She froze in place and remembered Lord Ophain’s words: the chink in his armor. As deeply as their Bond ran, she was still learning about her prince and Vhalla saw the man known as the Fire Lord in a new way. His reputation, his titles, they elevated him and protected him better than forged steel or boiled leather.
“But I’ll try to make sure that doesn’t happen.” Baldair stood, helping her to her feet.
“Why?” She looked at him skeptically. “I have no interest in creating debts.”
He chuckled aloud. “That isn’t why I’m doing it. I have much to atone for when it comes to my brother. Maybe I didn’t realize how much until I saw him happy again. Either way, consider me your sword, Vhalla Yarl.”
She assessed him thoughtfully. He could be lying. But Baldair had never seemed to be intentionally malicious. Even the actions that had previously displeased her she couldn’t resent him for. If he was to be believed, it all came from a good place.
Vhalla raised her hand. “Then consider me your wind.”
Baldair smiled and clasped his palm against hers.
It was hard to be Serien when Vhalla was so happy, but she donned the guise of the other woman—mentally anyways. Serien was what she had to be, it was all she could be by daylight. To be anything else would make her worth noticing, and she was beginning to discover she enjoyed not being important.
“There you are!” Daniel waved her over for breakfast, and Serien sat between him and Craig. “I was worried.”
“Sorry about that. I went for a walk,” she lied easily and neither man questioned her. Serien wondered if Vhalla’s old friends would call her a bad liar now.
Daniel and Craig were easy going when other soldiers were beginning to fray at the seams. This was the two men’s third tour, and they knew what to expect. Serien thought about asking what she would see, but doing so was pointless. What awaited her would be there no matter what words they shared. But she knew who she would face it with.
So when the host was being divided, Serien walked with confidence to Aldrik’s group. None of the majors had instructed her to do so, but one catch of the prince’s eyes and she knew she was in the right place. They would face the North together. Serien balled her hands into fists, opening a Channel she shouldn’t possess.
The army began to settle, and the Emperor rode to the front. “Before we march, there have been a few changes to the groupings to better leverage the skills of our soldiers,” he announced. “The following people will move to Prince Baldair’s group ...”
The Emperor listed off a few names and a handful of soldiers from his and Aldrik’s groups found a new place.
He listed off a few more names, “... will move to Prince Aldrik’s group.” More shuffling followed. Serien shifted her weight from one foot to the next. She was ready to leave.
The Emperor continued with a few more names, suddenly drawing her attention, “... and Serien Leral. Will be under my command.”
The most powerful man in all the realms had somehow found her among the hundreds of soldiers, though it couldn’t have been hard as she had foolishly placed herself near Aldrik’s side. Serien looked up at the prince, panic originating from the other woman and rising up like bile in her throat.
The prince alternated between glaring at his father and looking hopelessly at her.
She couldn’t refuse, and her prince couldn’t speak for her, not in front of all these people. Serien dragged her feet to life. They were being separated. The Emperor had done this just to spite them. Serien wanted to scream, she wanted to blow the Emperor off his high horse with the strongest gale he would ever feel.
Vhalla’s emotions crept up on her: the fear of abandonment, fear of her friends dying while she was distant and helpless. Later Vhalla and all her emotions would escape. That shivering and shaking woman would break through Serien’s strength and claw her way to the surface. She would cry at the injustice of it all, at the unheeded warnings and blind hope.
But at this moment, she would keep herself together. She would be Serien, and she would keep her dignity. Serien held her head as high as possible, high enough that it tightened her throat and held in the tears and screams. She would not give the Emperor the satisfaction of seeing the last shred of her hope being crushed under his boot.
THE JUNGLES OF the North were unlike anything Serien had ever seen before. The Southern forests were tall timbers with a few low shrubs and trees but mostly a carpet of twigs and leaves covered the ground. The North was a dense and oppressive contrast. Bushes and trees closed in at every level, vines as thick as her arm spider webbed across the branches high above.
The ceiling the trees created was deep, and everything was cast in a hazy green shade. Despite the fact that it was the middle of winter, the humidity in the air instantly made it a little too warm for the amount of armor she wore.
The terrain slowed them, and everyone had been deathly silent from the moment they entered the forest. It was an abrupt line in the sand of the Western Waste. A clear marker created by burnt and cut down trees where the Empire ended. It was strange to think of herself as no longer being in the Solaris Empire.
With a step, the world she had always known ended.
But it hadn’t just been one step. It’
d been countless steps that had taken her here, and they’d all begun with a rainy night and an injured prince. Not all the steps had been made with confidence, and some had led her to pitfalls, but she was strangely glad she had made them.
Now, however, she didn’t know where her feet would take her. Serien stood a stone’s throw from the Emperor and fake Windwalker. She glanced at the man from the corners of her eyes. He rode confidently atop his War-strider, but his shoulders betrayed him. Despite his age he was attentive, alert, mindful of every place a threat could appear.
War was his arena, his art, and his legacy. He had laid siege to an entire continent and swept it under his banner in one lifetime. Serien turned forward again before he had a chance to see her attention. She wished an attack would come. She wanted to see this man at work with her own eyes.
But the day was uneventful, and by the time night fell there had been no attacks. They slept under fallen trees and huddled beneath brush. There were no fires or jovial discussions. There weren’t even tents set up. Serien made herself small underneath a sapling, pulling moss around her. The nights outside had prepared her for this. She hardened herself and stayed the tears for one more hour, then the next hour, and the hour after.
By the third day she had yet to cry. Her emotions toward the Emperor and his switch were beginning to cool and mimic those of her feelings toward the Head of Senate, Egmun. She had seen it as Vhalla, and now as Serien, the actions of men who wanted to break her.
Unfortunately for them, one couldn’t break what was already broken.
It was on the sixth day that Serien’s ears picked up movement in the brush above. She looked upward to see the currents of air moving throughout the boughs of the trees. There was something unnatural that lingered on the edge of the wind, and Serien recognized a moment too late that it was the sound of breathing.
Northerners descended upon them in freefall. They rained daggers that immediately found their way into the skulls of unfortunate soldiers. Serien reached for her hood of chainmail, forgetting with a curse that she was not in Vhalla Yarl’s armor.
“Firebearers!” the Emperor shouted.
The Black Legion soldiers ran out to the perimeter creating a wall of flame. The Northerners were assaulted by arrows and magical tongues of fire to burn away the brush that reached out unnaturally to catch them. One fell straight before her, the body nearly exploding upon impact with the ground after such a long fall.
Serien took a breath, trying to assess their situation. The wind whispered to her once more.
“Incoming left!” she cried. Serien drew her sword as everyone, including the Emperor, stared on in confusion.
But her warning was validated the second Northerners were carried through the flames atop the backs of giant beasts unlike anything Serien had ever seen. It was a cat-like creature with double-jointed back legs and claws larger than a man’s thigh. Its thick fur was slick and whatever was atop it was impervious to the flames it had leapt over.
Two more came, carrying even more riders, who quickly dismounted, entering the fray with their double-sworded stances. The first one was barreling toward the Emperor and Windwalker, their target clear. The Emperor drew his sword, positioning his mount fearlessly to face the Northerner head on.
It wasn’t even a competition. The horse moved at the Emperor’s command, and Emperor Solaris moved as if his enemy had told him all the attacks they would make. He sliced the man’s head clean off, dodging all blades.
The Northerners didn’t seem interested in engaging any of the soldiers, and the Imperial army was left to struggle to impede the enemies’ leaps and jumps toward the Windwalker. Yet somewhere amid the chaos, she managed to hear the sound of a bowstring. Serien turned, finding the archer immediately in their roost.
The arrow was headed straight for the Emperor, who was engaged in heated combat. She swallowed her pride and stuck out her hand. The arrow stopped just as the Emperor was about to turn his face into it. He wasn’t able to conceal his amazement as the arrow dropped to the ground harmlessly.
Two cerulean eyes found hers. There was no love there, not an iota of appreciation. Serien set her jaw and missed the sound of another arrow being set loose.
By the time any of them heard it, it was too late.
The false Windwalker was knocked off her mount, she fell backwards and out of her saddle, an arrow protruding from her face. The Imperial company stared in shock, and the Northerners hollered in victory, making a calculated retreat. One by one the Imperial soldiers turned to the Emperor with apprehension.
“Leave her.” The Emperor turned his horse forward.
Serien lingered, longer than she likely should have, to stare at the body of the dead woman. It could have been her. That woman had died for Vhalla Yarl, and Vhalla Yarl didn’t even know her name.
The land became rockier as it elevated. Serien knew there weren’t mountains in the North, not like the South, but some of the bluffs were beginning to grow to an impressive scale. That night they had the fortune of caves and caverns to hide within. It was the first time the soldiers could relax and most capitalized on the opportunity.
Serien huddled in a nook in the rock face, protected on all sides. She rested her elbows on her knees and stared listlessly into the sunset haze. They were already a week into the march. Another two weeks and they should make it to Soricium. She gripped her arms tightly. She’d see Aldrik then. Considering the alternative would be too much for even Serien to bear.
Given the fact that it was the first opportunity at privacy, she shouldn’t have been surprised when a messenger tracked her down not long after sunset, leading her around the corners of boulders and into a small cave. He left quickly after.
“You wanted to see me, my lord?” she said, giving a formal salute—the salute of a soldier and not of the Black Legion.
“Yes.” The Emperor stood, placing his hands behind his back. “I suppose you want thanks for your act of heroism.”
She pursed her lips, waiting for him to get to the point. Waiting for him to arrive at the reason why he waited for days after that battle, why he waited for privacy.
“It’s not every day a commoner has the opportunity to save the life of the Emperor.” He walked to the opposite side of his small campfire. With the way the light illuminated his face she could almost see Aldrik’s brow in his.
“It was my honor.” He was going to make her play the game.
“Indeed,” the Emperor agreed. “It was because you are mine. Your freedom, your life, your future rest in my hands, Vhalla Yarl.”
The use of her name shredded through Serien, and it sapped the strength of her alter ego.
The Emperor didn’t miss the wavering in her eyes. “I want you to be very clear on why you are here.”
“I know why.”
“Why?” he pressed.
“To win you your war.” She didn’t even bother with the nonsense of atoning for her crimes. Serien—Vhalla—wondered if he had decided her fate the moment he laid eyes on the whirlwind.
“Yes, very good.” He began walking once more. “They said you were smart.”
There was a predatory glint to his eyes that had Serien’s hands balling into fists.
“Do you know who ‘they’ are?” the Emperor asked.
“Who?” She tried to stand to her fullest height so that he had less of a distance from which to look down at her.
“My eldest son.” The gauntlet was thrown.
Serien’s blood boiled. That’s what this was about. “He is very smart, my lord.”
“Usually,” the Emperor murmured as he inspected her from head to toe. She already knew she wouldn’t measure up. “Speaking of him, our two groups will merge again after the pass, during the final leg of the trip.”
Serien struggled to keep her face neutral; she was sure she failed. The Emperor continued to stare her down. “Is that why you called me here, my lord? To tell me that?”
The Emperor chuckled in amusement
at her bold front. “No, I simply wanted to thank you for your attentiveness. It is good to know that when you focus on your duty that you are, indeed, not useless.”
“Thank you.” She took a step away, feigning the dismissal that wasn’t in his voice.
“Oh, and Miss Yarl.” She paused. “I recommend you keep that focus where it should be, on making it to the front and giving me my victory. I will not tolerate your entertaining girlish fantasies or misplaced notions.”
Serien clenched her hands into fists so tightly that the straps on her gauntlets threatened to break. She grit her teeth and set her jaw. She heard his threats loud and clear.
“Do you understand me?” The Emperor’s voice was deathly quiet.
“Perfectly.”
The conversation lingered with Serien as she stormed through camp back to her hideaway. It played on repeat through her mind as she struggled to find a position comfortable enough to sleep in. And, when she did fall asleep, the Emperor greeted her in her dreams...
The Emperor sat next to her. No, not her. Vhalla pulled herself away from Aldrik’s dream form. His face was hard, and fire lit his eyes. She followed the line of his attention and saw herself, part ethereal and part concrete, in an all too familiar cage. She was huddled and shaking, blood dripping from the back of her head along her jaw and onto the floor. The strength that sparked in her brown eyes was a shadow play, it lacked true substance behind it. That much was apparent, not only to her, but to the man whose memory she was occupying.
His hand balled so tightly into a fist that the skin had gone ghostly from lack of blood. It was impossible for Vhalla to have seen from across the courtroom during the original trial but his jaw was clenched to the extent that his face shook and trembled. The Emperor was speaking, but to Aldrik’s ears the words were blurred over the rush of hot anger in his head.
Aldrik’s emotions radiated clearly, unfiltered through the Joining-induced memory, as he left the courtroom. He couldn’t look at her. If he looked at her he would break. If he looked at her they would all know his worry on her behalf.