by Elise Kova
“Vhal, it’s only been two days since I last saw you,” Fritz laughed.
“It feels like forever,” Vhalla insisted.
“Well, now I’m going to beat you up!” Her friend grinned.
“You can try!” she retorted playfully. “Jax, thank you; this is exactly what I needed.”
“Oh, Lady Yarl, I always give the beautiful ones what they want.” Jax winked.
Vhalla rolled her eyes playfully and returned her attention to Fritz. “I don’t want you to go easy on me.”
“I’ve seen you fight,” Fritz snorted with amusement. “The last thing I’m going to do is go easy on you.”
She was unsurprised when Fritz bested her right away. Vhalla was rusty, and she’d forgotten all the tricks this Waterrunner kept up his sleeve, from ice daggers to illusions. They went two out of three, and Vhalla could only get the upper hand once. It was satisfying. She was certain her losses weren’t just a result of her own lack of training but because Fritz had improved.
Jax scolded everyone watching by pointing out how Fritz hadn’t held back, despite going against their Emperor’s betrothed. Vhalla gave a supportive nod when Jax explained that the best soldiers fought with everything they had, every time. He shot her one wary look from the corners of his eyes. Things had not quite gone back to normal between them, despite how good he was faking it.
Vhalla pulled her friend from the training grounds. They wove up through the palace and made their roost around a table in the library. Along the way, a servant noticed them, and Vhalla sent for tea and candied lemon peels.
“Aren’t you supposed to be doing audiences or some such?” Fritz finally asked.
Vhalla sighed heavily.
“So the afternoon war meeting gossip was true?”
“News travels that fast?” Vhalla gave in without struggle.
“Some majors came to the grounds while you and Aldrik were talking,” Fritz explained.
“I made a real mess of things, I think.” Vhalla collapsed back onto the pillows and stared up at the library that stretched above her. She longed for the days where her biggest decision was what book to read first.
“Even if you did, Aldrik is still over the sun for you and you know it,” Fritz spoke while chewing through a lemon peel. He was on his fourth one. “That means everyone has to love you.”
“I don’t want forced love.” She couldn’t help but think of Jax, still strapped to his obligations with the crown. What if his display on the grounds was because he had to tolerate her? What if he hated her but was still obligated to protect her? The notion made Vhalla sick.
“You’re going to have it—and don’t give me that look.” Fritz flopped next to her. “You won’t ever have everyone love you, just as you won’t have everyone hate you. Find the right people to love you and return the hatred of others with ambivalence or hatred of your own.”
“Since when did you become so philosophical?” Vhalla twisted to consider her friend.
“I’ve always been brilliant, and you know it.” Fritz kissed her nose lightly.
“You have been.” Vhalla’s eyes fluttered closed, and she enjoyed Fritz’ simple closeness. “Thank you for staying with me.”
“If you ever had doubts, I’ll scold you.” She could feel him considering her thoughtfully without needing to see his eyes running over her face. “What is bothering you, really?”
“I’m going to be married so soon,” she whispered. “What if I am not meant to be Empress?”
“Who is meant to be anything?” Fritz sat. “Are you worried because of the mutterings of a few crusty nobles?”
“You sound like Jax.” She opened one eye to grin up at her friend.
“There are worse things. Jax is cute.” Fritz gave a little smile at the idea.
Vhalla kept her mouth shut, wondering where his heart would lead him after Grahm. Surely, the man he had known and loved had died with the fall of the Tower. There wasn’t any other likely scenario. Vhalla couldn’t imagine Grahm kneeling to Victor.
Fritz didn’t say anything about his love either, and they let the memory of their friend rest like so many others who were at the capital during Victor’s takeover.
“I think,” Fritz hummed, “that you should leave the castle.”
“What?” Vhalla sat as well, stuffing two lemon peels into her mouth at once.
“You and me, let’s go out.” Her friend was on his feet. “No one has to know; that way they won’t make a fuss.”
“Fritznangle . . .” Vhalla cautioned. It wasn’t as though she was trapped, but she was already publically shirking her duties for the day.
“I think it’ll do you good,” he encouraged. “When was the last time you were around real people? Not soldiers or nobles? Those are the people whose opinions really matter, Vhal. Sure, nobles are important and support the crown. But you know who supports the nobles? The common man. So stop hiding in your literary roost and come out onto the street.”
Vhalla allowed him to pull her to her feet.
“Plus, I really want to see the Port of Norin, and Elecia still hasn’t shown me.” He gave her a conspiratorial grin that was too infectious not to return, and they were off.
The main street stretched out from the castle, the street that they used to enter the city and reach the castle. It looked far different without the masses crowding it. With the normal ebb and flow of people, it reminded her of the Crossroads as merchants and patrons alike lingered under large sun shades.
They’d barely made it off the main street when she was finally noticed. Every peddler and shop owner wanted her to try something, wear something, or simply “bless their shop” with a breeze. Vhalla obliged with smiles and did her best to accommodate everyone. If Fritz was frustrated by the slow going, he didn’t let it show. He seemed equally enamored by the dried dates, strawberries, mangos, and all manner of exotic fruits. By the end of just one street, they both had new necklaces of braided leather and bellies full of sweets.
The castle loomed over them, barely visible between houses and towering high above the canopy of fabric that lined every stall. The farther she stepped from the place, the better she began to feel. Fritz had been right; this was what she’d needed. She needed to feel welcomed by the people, to see the blazing sun framed by two wings, and to forget about obligations and duties for just a little while.
The houses of Norin began to grow as they neared the harbor. Stores became richer and more elaborate, each competing for the attention of shoppers milling through the honeycombed streets and lavish squares. Live models posed in store windows, slowly changing pose to show off the fabric or cut in a new way. There were jewels as big as her fist, and Vhalla eyed the skilled craftsmanship of one shop, stopping long enough to be recognized by its owner—Erion Le’Dan.
With that, they gained a local guide for the rest of the day. Erion told them interesting notes of history and facts about the wealthiest nobles who lived around the harbor. He even gave his own take on the largest port in the world. But no amount of explanation or reading could have prepared Vhalla for what awaited at the Great Port of Norin.
Ships upon ships were docked as far as the eye could see. Some Vhalla recognized from reading, large hulls and wide sails with endless lengths of rope hanging and coiled about their decks. Others were strange and foreign. Some were long with flat oars sticking from the sides. Farther down the docks sat boats with sails that looked like the fins of a fish, pointed and folding like a fan.
Some vessels were in dry dock, supported and suspended mid-air. Workers scrubbed the hulls, repainting and repairing as necessary.
Others ships were leaving to make space.
Somehow, in the bustle of Norin’s mecca of trade and commerce, even the future Empress could go unnoticed. Burly men carried chests up and down gangplanks. Nets full of fish were hoisted from cargo holds and dragged to shops, where the fish were then butchered and sold. People of every sha
pe and color went about their business as if the world was as it had always been.
War did not affect these people, Vhalla realized. Famine, religion, nobility, or turmoil, it did not change their lives. One thing reigned supreme, and everything else fell around it: gold.
She expressed such thoughts to Erion over an icy cocktail, a red dragon, while they rested their legs.
“That’s astute of you,” Erion praised her without any apparent ulterior motive. “Because these men and women have little care for who is in power. They’ll work for the highest bidder.”
“Is that how your family is?” Vhalla asked. The question struck a surprising cord, one she hadn’t expected.
“Do you think so?”
“I can’t say I know your lineage well enough to have an opinion.”
“Don’t dodge the question,” Erion scolded lightly.
“There must be a nugget of truth.” Vhalla could blame the alcohol for her loose tongue. It’d been months since Vhalla had really drank, mainly out of respect for Aldrik’s continuing struggle to avoid alcohol in times of stress. And while she wasn’t about to lose her head, the liquor had a welcome burn. But she didn’t use the likely excuse.
No, her loose tongue was entirely the fault of the sun, the warm sea breeze on her cheeks, and the freeing sensation of not feeling like the world was on her shoulders. “You seemed very quick to support me in the North.”
“Fair enough.” He raised his glass in acknowledgement of her point. “Any family who has thrived for as long as we have didn’t do it by strapping themselves to dogma. Even if you were chosen by a Ci’Dan, that Ci’Dan happened to be the Emperor’s crowned son, and supporting you could support us in the long run.”
She laughed at his candor and let the fact lie, picking something else that had been nagging at her to focus on. “Then why does dogma seem so important to the Western Court?”
“This has been bothering her,” Fritz outed.
Vhalla shot him a look that he just grinned away.
“They want to see what you do when rules are imposed upon you. They want to push you and see if you break,” Erion answered easily. “They’re testing you, Vhalla.”
“But how do I pass? Do I do as they ask? Do I thwart them at every turn?” She honestly was at a loss.
“You’re thinking too small.” Erion hummed, looking out over the port. “You see all these ships?”
She nodded.
“When do you think they come and go?”
“When they have somewhere to be?” She assumed the merchants had deadlines and the rest were chartered.
Erion shook his head. “When the wind is good,” he answered his own question. “All that rigging and lumber and men, it’s all at the whim of the wind. Now they try to tame it, they try to control it. They have created hulking sails and innovative drafts to cut through the water as quickly as possible. But they remain at the whim of the wind. A force that cannot be understood, nor explained, for it just happens.”
The lord looked back at her, but Vhalla had already processed his point.
“They are the ships, and you are the wind. You do not lower yourself to their rules or expectations. You blow in whatever direction you feel is needed and leave them with no choice but to oblige.”
Vhalla thought about Erion’s words as they finished slowly strolling through the port. The only thing that distracted her was when he pointed out a particularly colorful vessel. She noted that it was a trade ship from the Crescent Continent, an uncommon sight even for the grandest port in the world. Vhalla wanted to investigate further, but that was the one thing Erion advised against. He cautioned that the people of the Crescent Continent could be quite backwards and barbaric, and it was best to leave any dealings to their approved liaisons.
Vhalla held her tongue that “backwards and barbaric” were often times only used when one culture didn’t properly understand another. She had heard people describe the North that way before she’d come to properly understand a region of the Empire that she now held in deep respect.
By the time Fritz and Vhalla returned to the castle, the sun hung low in the sky. The stable hand who had helped them tack the horses earlier in the day reported that the Lord Ophain and the Emperor had inquired about where they had gone. Whatever the lad had said must have been sufficient because neither had launched any kind of search.
Vhalla bid farewell to Fritz and ended her walk in silence. She eased the door open to Aldrik’s room, uncaring if there was a servant walking by who saw her entering the Emperor’s chambers. She was done with their propriety. She wanted to see the man she loved.
Taking her shoes off at the door, Vhalla walked on small pockets of wind, avoiding making a sound. She stopped the second Aldrik came into view. His hair was still styled for the obligations of the day, and he sat facing the hearth. He had an empty cup by him, but no sign of a bottle anywhere that could betray what its contents may have been.
Gathering her resolve, she walked as silently as possible around the couch upon which he sat. He had one leg bent, his lower calf resting on the thigh of his left leg. A book was open, but Vhalla could see no sign of ink or quill. He was researching lightly or reading purely for pleasure, judging from his lack of note-taking supplies.
Dark eyes rose slowly and froze upon seeing her. Those eyes that glittered and were wonderfully illuminated by the fire. Across the world and all the time that had passed between them, those eyes could still hold her in place.
“Aldrik—”
“Vhalla—”
“Go ahead,” she encouraged softly.
“Did you have fun in the city?” he finally asked.
“I did.” Vhalla nodded and watched the flames flicker and dance upon the marble hearth. No fuel for their blaze crackled, and the fire felt warmer knowing it was his.
“I’m glad.” Aldrik returned to his book.
Was that all there was? No, she took a step forward. That could not be it. They could not pretend away this impasse. She could not let the day fade away in a manner that widened the gap forming between them since their arrival in Norin.
Vhalla crossed the distance between them and knelt at his feet.
“Vhalla—” he sighed tiredly.
“Listen.” He leaned back in the chair, clearly unamused at being interrupted by her yet again. “Listen, please. If you listen, I will listen to what you need to say, I promise.”
Aldrik motioned for her to continue.
“I need you to know that I trust you.” Vhalla looked at the book in his lap as she spoke, as though the mere sight of it could bring her support. “I know I am not well versed in interacting with the society that our marriage will require I interact with. And I know full well how that can make a mess. The truth is, Aldrik, I don’t care about the ways of nobility.”
He was about to interject but she continued too quickly.
“But I care about you.” For once, Vhalla pierced him with a stare. She felt that exhilarating sensation of looking right into him and seeing his inner mechanisms. “I am the wind, Aldrik, but you are the compass point to which my passions gust. And I will learn to be perfect for you.”
Vhalla shifted, her legs falling asleep beneath her. Aldrik placed both feet on the floor, moving the book. The unspoken invitation was accepted, and Vhalla rested her cheek on his thigh. His long fingers wove through her hair, and Vhalla could not stop the contented sigh that escaped her lips.
“I don’t want perfect,” Aldrik uttered. “I will never be perfect, and I will never deserve perfect.”
“But I can try.”
“Why?” He chuckled deeply. “Vhalla, we will always have our tiffs; even the best couples do. What matters to me is that you come to me and I go to you. That we embrace love more than hate.”
“Everyone around me is so philosophical today.” She shook her head in amusement.
“My Vhalla.” The long pause drew her eyes open. Aldrik wa
ged a mental war with the fire, the flames flashing and dimming a few times. “I moved some troops. The borders will receive further support.”
“How?” Vhalla straightened.
“I forfeited the defense that was remaining here in Norin for our wedding.”
“But—”
“The city will remain defended,” he inserted the answer before the question could be asked. “But there will be no extra. The more I thought it through, the more I felt you were right. Victor will attack from the south and continue to push his line of influence before trying to jump straight to Norin. He’ll chip away at our strength while we wed. So perhaps we can give him a small surprise with the new placement of force.”
“Aldrik . . .” She struggled to find words.
“We will march shortly after the wedding.” A glint of desperation appeared in his eyes, one she had never noticed before. “I have already sent word to the princess’s mother, beseeching her to have their warriors waiting for us in the Crossroads. We will end this war soon enough.”
“But first.” He took his hands in hers, leaning forward. “My Vhalla, my lady, my love, please marry me properly. Not for the appearance for the nobles or the war. Marry me because—” Aldrik looked away, and Vhalla swore it was only the red of the fire on his cheeks. “Because I want a proper wedding for us.”
It was then she realized what a fool she’d been. Certainly politics was a factor, but Aldrik truly wanted it. More than anything, he wanted a ceremony, and he was clearly doing all he could to appease her enough to earn her consent.
“I’m sorry, Aldrik.”
“Tell me, what else can be done to reassure you? If you want a red dress, then it shall be so, but can we not make it for a better reason than—”
“This isn’t about colors of dresses.” She laughed weakly. “I’m sorry I never realized how much it meant to you.”
Aldrik’s lips parted in surprise, and his brow relaxed. Aldrik looked away, suddenly bashful. With just her fingertips, she guided his attention back to her.