by Elise Kova
“I’m nothing better than you, Sareem,” she whispered as he took another step forward.
“To me you always will be. I was frightened,” he whispered as he placed his hand beside her face, palm against the door. “I was frightened that your... development would take you away from me.” He looked away for only a brief moment before staring her down with his gray-blue eyes. “And then, today, I thought I really had lost you. As I sat here waiting, I realized I can’t keep waiting, or else I really will lose you.”
Frantically trying to think of a way to divert the conversation, Vhalla didn’t even have time to close her eyes before his lips were pressed against hers.
SAREEM WAS KISSING her.
It seemed the most improbable, impossible, farfetched thought, but as Vhalla stood pressed against her door—his right hand beside her face, his left having found her hip—it was an undeniable truth. His lips were soft, and his breath hot against her cheek. As time stretched, something seemed odd.
Vhalla tried to close her eyes; she tried to enjoy the kiss. But her mouth refused to move, and in the end, as he pulled away she leaned against the door feeling rather stupid. It had been some time since she had last kissed. Perhaps that was it, her awkwardness came from being out of practice. It wasn’t as though she ever considered herself an adept kisser in the first place.
She stared at him. He had a nice build; while not overly muscular, he was not portly either. He was tall and handsome with long hair. Logic forced Vhalla to admit that he really was one of the best matches someone like her could hope for.
It was frustrating that logic couldn’t force her to feel any chemistry with him. Perhaps it would grow in time. His devotion had been heart-warming and charming, in spite of his blatant issues with her magic. Vhalla knew plenty of people in long-term, happy relationships without fiery passion.
“Sareem...” she finally managed, breaking the silence.
“Vhalla, I-I hope I wasn’t too forward.” He straightened and looked away.
She felt like she could breathe again. “I-your-I am moved by your compassion.” Vhalla hoped she was off to a good start. He looked at her hopefully. She tried to swallow the odd guilt that sprung up at his hopeful stare. She wanted to refuse him, but she had no logical reason to. It wasn’t as though she was spoken for, and time was ticking for her if she were to assume the natural roles of womanhood.
“If you can accept me, even as a sorcerer, then I’m sure we could find some time to do something, just the two of us.” She forced her tongue to form words.
“I would very much like that,” Sareem beamed. “How about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” she repeated. He was certainly eager.
“It’s the start of the festival. Everyone will be in the streets for the events. I would love to be there with you.” Be it from nerves or excitement, he spoke faster than she had ever heard.
Vhalla’s head spun. “Tomorrow.” She tried to shake away the dizzying feeling. “Sure, tomorrow.”
“If you’re up to it,” he said suddenly. “I know of your complications right now.”
“It’s fine.” Vhalla was eager to show him the door.
“Excellent. I’ll stop by in the morning.” He paused in the doorframe. “Are you sure you’re well? I could stay tonight.”
“I will be fine,” Vhalla said firmly, allowing the comment to pass as genuine concern.
“All right.” He placed a hand at the top of her neck and kissed her forehead. Vhalla tried to smile nicely. “Take care, dear Vhalla,” he said gently. “I will dream of you.” With that he departed.
Vhalla stood in a daze for a long time, trying to take in everything that happened. Sareem had kissed her. It had to go up on her not-so-short list of the most impossible things to have happened to her lately. She had also agreed to a date of some variety. Vhalla rubbed her eyes. This will all work out, she told herself.
As she lay in bed, Vhalla gave herself to the darkness. I will dream of you, Sareem had said. Vhalla wasn’t sure what she would dream about. But were it to be anyone in the whole world, something told her that person would not be Sareem.
Vhalla woke the next day and again felt exhausted first thing in the morning. She had a suspicion that it was not entirely from the previous day’s magical exertion. Rolling into a ball, Vhalla did not even try to bite back a groan. She had actually agreed to a date of sorts with Sareem. Sareem! But what else was she to do when he kissed her?
Staring at the ceiling was no more interesting than staring at the wall. Stone and more stone, she existed in her small, insignificant little box. Vhalla took a slow breath—it was suffocating. Her world was nothing, and she was nothing in it.
A strange feeling surged in the tips of her fingers, like a beat of her heart. There was one place she wasn’t insignificant, one place were the rooms were not tiny for even someone of her rank.
The Tower.
The thought was a breath of fresh air. Suddenly, the shutter over her window slit threw back and let in the crisp autumn breeze.
Startled by the sound, she was up and gripping the window sill in a heartbeat, staring out into the vast expanse that was the Empire’s capital. Timidly, she extended a hand into the sunlight. With a pulse of magic from core to fingertip she felt the wind respond to her command, slipping around her open palm.
Vhalla stared in awe. The wind bent to her will. She spun in place, starting for the door. She had to find Aldrik and tell him. This was not little pockets of air she created to push or levitate things. This was the very wind. There had to be something new they could try, something he would teach her. Vhalla grinned like a fool, the expression on his face when she told him would be worth an artist’s rendering.
Her fingers slipped from the door handle with a deflating sigh. No, there would be no princes today. Vhalla turned back into the room and began stripping off her sleeping gown and readying herself for what did await her—Sareem.
Vhalla decided to see how much she could do with magic—by herself. Raising her hand she flicked her wrist a few times and a pair of tan leather leggings and her best dress flew across the room onto the bed.
She uncertainly studied the unassuming garments in her hands. Her father had sent it to her when she had her coming of age birthday. It was a date, after all. Vhalla discovered using magic to dress herself would take practice, and succeeded only in working up a small sweat and pulling on her leggings by hand.
A challenge for another day.
Next was washing. Vhalla attempted to raise the water out of its bowl, but it resisted her. She even tried closing her eyes and reaching out to it like she had to do when she was first being taught. But it kept slipping through her fingers and sloshed around in the bowl. Vhalla frowned. Water was another challenge for later. Maybe Fritz would have some advice, she mused. He was a Waterrunner, after all.
Vhalla looked at her hair in the tarnished scrap of metal that served as her mirror. As usual, her hair was a frizzy, knotted mess. If she could use magic on her hair, her life would be complete. Vhalla took a breath and prepared herself for a fight. She stared at the mirror and thought of a simple style she’d seen some of the Southerners wear before. It was a bun with a braid around its base.
Letting the breath out slowly she focused on her hair and thought of what she wanted it to do. She squinted at it, tilted her head, closed her eyes, blinked seven times, and waved her hands like a fool.
Nothing.
Vhalla took a breath and sat back. Sareem would likely be here soon, and she needed to have something. Resolved, she insisted her hair would move. Vhalla was rewarded with a small piece lifting near her face before falling back limply. Apparently, her hair was so stubborn it even refused magic. Resigned, Vhalla held out her hand and watched a leather hair-tie float into it from her desk. She did her hair by hand with some mild success—and a handful or two of pins—before deciding it was good enough.
She passed the rest of the time levitating random objects in he
r room. Aldrik had been an adept teacher, and Vhalla found herself inventing things that she could accomplish with ease. She was working on levitating two things in the air at the same time, her quill and journal, when there was a knock.
“Come in, Sareem.” She didn’t even look to ensure it was him, wrapped up in the bobbing items.
He slammed the door shut behind him. “Vhalla,” he hissed, “What are you doing?”
She looked at him dumbly. “Trying something out. Look, look! I just got it, two at once!” She grinned, oblivious to his displeasure, pointing at the quill and journal.
“Stop that.” He plucked them from the air as though they were anti-Empire propaganda.
Vhalla’s expression quickly fell to a frown. “No one taught me how to do that. I was making it up all on—” She didn’t even try to hide her annoyance.
“And what if it hadn’t been me at the door?” he snapped. “What if someone who doesn’t know saw?” Her features relaxed a little thinking of that.
“Vhalla,” he cooed, walking over to her, “you look absolutely stunning. Let’s go have a perfectly normal day, just you and I?”
She almost refused, her stomach felt suddenly unsettled. But his hand was at the small of her back leading her out into the hall beyond. Taking advantage of Aldrik being nowhere nearby, Vhalla wrung her hands with purpose.
They walked out of the staff gate nearest Vhalla’s room. It was called a gate but it was little more than a back door with a guard stationed outside. It led into the middle class area of the city. The houses were clean and well kept, but the roofs were simply thatched, rather than possessing clay or wooden tiles that could be found higher up the mountain. Some had peeling paint, if painted at all, and only about half possessed any glass in their windows. It was the home of the common folk.
Everyone seemed to be in a spirited mood for the Festival of the Sun. Women walked around in frocks and simple dresses. Children begged to attend this or that event. Men laughed and played music in the streets. Every fountain was flowing with water from the city’s aqueducts, no matter the time of day. Judging from the swagger of some, not only water was flowing.
Vhalla smiled at the white and gold pennons proudly displayed, the golden sun, symbol of the Mother and the Empire.
She saw one group of men hunched around some form of dice game. Shirts hung loosely about their shoulders with open ties in the front. No one wore no coats or jackets, and none seemed to be bothered that a portion of their chest was easily visible. Vhalla’s cheeks felt hot, and she could hardly stifle a nervous laugh as she tried to imagine Aldrik dressed so plainly, his chest on display.
“What is it?” Sareem had taken her hand while she was lost in thoughts.
“Oh nothing,” she murmured, still smiling at the image in her mind. “It’s just a lovely day.”
“It is. But you, my dear, are far lovelier than even the Mother Sun.”
Vhalla smiled nicely at Sareem; he was trying. “So, what will we be doing?” she inquired, trying to avoid the silence from stretching on for too long.
“Well, there is a wonderful bakery not far from here; I’ve frequented it often since I was a boy,” Sareem began. “Then I was thinking we could go watch the jugglers in the square.”
“There are jugglers?” Vhalla hadn’t been keeping track of the events very closely.
Sareem nodded. “A troupe of refugees from the North, I hear. They came South under the declarations of peace to find a better life and escape the war. I’ve heard the entertainment is their thanks for their liberation.”
Vhalla pondered this a moment, wondering if she too would willingly perform for people who took her home from her.
Sareem continued, “Then I was thinking that we could watch the procession of the senators. It’s a bit out of the way, but they’re dressed up like roosters and it is always good fun to laugh at them.”
“Haven’t we done that before?” Vhalla wondered aloud. She was struggling to remember if they had terrorized the Senators, or if it had been the Court escaping from its grand meeting hall in the palace.
“We have,” Sareem affirmed. “If I recall correctly I was able to make you laugh so hard you snorted like a pig.” Vhalla blushed, and pursed her lips in embarrassment. Sareem chuckled. “You’ve a lovely laugh, Vhalla, and I’d enjoy hearing it.”
She watched as he moved her hand up to his mouth, kissing its back. His fingers were intertwined with hers. Vhalla wanted to find a way that she thought they looked good together, but every time she did she kept remembering his prior reaction to her magic. But, if he was to be believed, his actions were purely shock.
“Well, if I enjoyed it so much last time,” she agreed weakly.
“I will make sure you enjoy yourself again, my dear,” he promised.
Vhalla forced a smile. She wasn’t about to let the unsettling feeling at the very pit of her core ruin everything. It was a nice day, and Sareem was a good friend. Seeing as how she had several hours with him ahead of her, Vhalla was inclined to give Sareem the benefit of the doubt.
They settled at a bakery called The Golden Bun. It was not far from the main square, and Sareem sat her down at an outside table at her request. He pulled out her chair, placed a small kiss on her temple, and then went to fetch the food. She wished he wouldn’t be so forward in public.
Sareem returned with a plate of hot lemon cakes. Vhalla blinked. Even though lemons were in season in the West, they were still expensive after the cost to cart them South.
“If I recall, your favorites are lemon things.” He settled across from her.
“They are.” The corners of her mouth tugged in a determined smile. He had been paying attention to her for longer than she realized. Pinching one of the dense cakes with her fingers, Vhalla popped it into her mouth.
“These are good,” she said with a hint of surprise.
“Are they?” He rested his chin in his palm, reaching for her free hand. “I’m very glad; I had them made especially for you.”
Vhalla blinked and blushed faintly. “Thank you, Sareem.” To make a point she quickly grabbed for another and took a more girlish bite.
“You know, I’ve wanted to do this since we were fourteen.” She made a small questioning sound and he continued, allowing her to chew. “You’re that girl, Vhalla. The one that you just know is special. So much so that it’s almost something you feel like you can’t touch or you’ll break it.” He let out an embarrassed laugh. “It must sound silly.”
Vhalla shook her head. “No, no it doesn’t. I know that feeling exactly,” she said softly.
He beamed. “I always hoped you felt the same.” He squeezed her hand, and she realized he had misunderstood her. She had not been referring to him. “All of this is like a dream, and I want to give you everything you could ever want.” He picked up a lemon cake and took a bite himself.
Vhalla attempted to say something in return but she fumbled over her words. They all sounded cheap or false. In the end she changed the subject. “Why do you live in the palace?” she asked. He made a noise of confusion and tilted his head. “Your father came here from Norin in the late Empress’s gift party to the Empire. Why don’t you live in your family’s home?”
“Ah, well, my family lives down in Oparium,” he answered. Vhalla only knew town at the base of the Southern Mountains because it was home to the old port of the Empire, before they conquered the West and took Norin’s port. “My father lived in the palace initially, but he met a girl down in the shipyard and, well, his business trips became more frequent until he moved to be with her. Funny how that happens, you wed those you work with.”
“Funny, right...” Vhalla mumbled and desperately wanted to change the topic from marriage. “Do you enjoy living in the Capital?”
“I do,” Sareem answered with a nod. “Oparium gets some exotic things through the port, but nothing is quite like living in the Capital. I hope to someday raise my children here.”
“Your parents, a
re they still alive?” Vhalla was growing tired of changing the subject and busied her mouth with the last of the lemon cakes.
“They are,” he replied. “And yours?” Vhalla shook her head. Sareem’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“My father is, but my mother died when I was ten, while my father was doing his duty to the Empire during the War of the Crystal Caverns.” She paused. “I was sick with Autumn Fever. My mother fell ill after me; she never recovered.”
Sareem frowned. “I remember you telling me you had the illness before, but I never realized...I am so sorry.” His voice was low and his expression serious.
“I’ve had a long time to come to terms with it.” If Vhalla said it was easy now, it would be a lie. There were times when she wanted her mother more than anything in the world. But she had reached a point where it no longer hurt to the point of tears to think on it.
“Let’s find a good spot for the jugglers. I don’t want any sad thoughts today.”
He stood. She followed, and Sareem took her hand again.
The central square of the capital was a large area that could hold hundreds people. It had a mosaic of the sun and moon in their eternal dance sprawled beneath the feet of those gathering around a central stage. The crowd was beginning to thicken, and it was soon shoulder-to-shoulder.
Six people, men and women, took the stage. Vhalla was entranced. She had never seen Northerners before, she realized. Vhalla was certain she would have remembered a green person. Their skin was a deep forest viridian, with swirling dots and embellishments in silver. Combined with their masks carved from tree bark, they were like mystical creatures and completely mesmerized her.
A woman walked across the edge of the stage, then faced the crowd who had gathered on all sides. “Good people of the South.” Her accent was thick and muffled through the faceless mask she wore. “We have come under flags of peace to break bread with you. For your fine hospitality, we would like to provide some light entertainment in honor of your Mother Sun.”