Fire Falling (Air Awakens Series Book 2)

  “Vhalla, please listen. I want to tell you something,” Prince Baldair implored.

  She sighed. “If I listen, will you go?”

  He nodded, and Vhalla waited expectantly. “My brother and I are three years apart, which is a significant gap when you are five and eight, or twelve and fifteen, but at fifteen and eighteen and up it becomes less and less significant.” She wondered why he was exhausting her with trivia about their birthdays. “Not long after my ceremony of manhood there was a year where my brother and I decided to engage in some friendly competition.”

  “Friendly competition?” Vhalla braced herself for what that meant between these men.

  “I’ve always been ... charming.” Prince Baldair smiled at her, and she didn’t even refrain from rolling her eyes. At least he laughed. “My brother grew as a strange, sad child. At one point it seemed as though he hit a new low and just gave into the darkness and distance surrounding him. To be honest, I never saw him leave it.”

  Vhalla found it interesting how Prince Baldair’s and Larel’s descriptions could be both similar and different.

  “At some point we had a row, and doesn’t really matter about what, he was eighteen and I was at the ever hot-headed age of fifteen. I said he could not even get a woman to so much as glance at him because of how he was.” Vhalla stilled, beginning to listen intently. “For whatever reason, my brother took the challenge.”

  “Challenge?” she repeated softly.

  “For one year, it was a challenge for who could have the most women agree to share their bed.”

  Vhalla’s eyes widened. “That’s ... awful.”

  “It is certainly not the worst thing either of us have done to pass the time. Nor the worst thing young princes have ever, or will ever, do.” Vhalla saw the likely truth of his words with horror. “At first, I was an overnight favorite. But I underestimated my brother. One by one, like flies in a web, they began to offer themselves to him. I didn’t understand and it frustrated me daily. How my lanky, awkward, depressing shell of a brother managed to reclaim a solid lead.”

  “Enough, I get it.” She pressed her face into her pillow.

  “No, we haven’t gotten to the point yet.” He had a grim expression and Vhalla obliged silently. “I thought it was simply because he was the crown prince. But that wasn’t the case as the ladies seemed to call long after their turn was up, ever hopeful. Eventually I found he was not actually taking them to bed. They agreed to it, which given the wording of our bet placed him in the lead. But he never actually took one of them.”

  Vhalla’s brow furrowed. “Why not?” Of course, she felt happy hearing that he hadn’t slept with a host of women, though luring them in like cattle seemed bad enough.

  “I finally asked him once when I confronted him about the terms of the challenge. I’ll never forget what he told me.” Prince Baldair looked away. “He told me that it was the hunt that he relished. That none of them were good enough to merit his touch. That he did not have to kill the prey to have the satisfaction of the win. It was amusing; it was sport to watch them fall. For the next six months after, I watched him skillfully play every eligible woman he met. Somehow he knew what they wanted to hear, how they wanted to be led, and he did it with a complete mask of sincerity. He took things from them, but not their bodies. Their dignity, their time, their dreams ...”

  “Please, I understand,” Vhalla breathed and was too tired to be as strong as she wanted to be.

  Prince Baldair sighed and reached out, placing a large palm on the top of her head. Vhalla tensed at the momentary foreign touch.

  “I thought maybe he’d changed.” The prince’s voice was soft. “But then I overheard a conversation between him and Father. Aldrik swore that he would be the one to make you obligated to gain victory. That you would be mindlessly obedient to him above all else and that he had you under his command without question. That the sandstorm was an example of this—and I realized he’d never relinquish the control he has on people.”

  “Prince Baldair, I am very tired,” she whispered. The notes on the Emperor’s table returned to her, the mention of reports being given. Had she been a puppet for Aldrik and his father the whole time? Paying the greatest actor in the world with her emotions?

  “I do agree with them—Aldrik and my father. You are smart, Vhalla. Please, just see him for what he is?” Prince Baldair searched her.

  Vhalla closed her eyes, wanting nothing more than to cower. “I appreciate your concern, my prince.” It was all she could say in the end.

  He sighed heavily. “Rest well, Vhalla.” Prince Baldair stood.

  She relied only on the sounds of his departure.

  Vhalla shivered, despite the room being warm. Of course, the day she realized she was hopelessly in love with a man was also the day she would be given additional proof of his being a rather twisted ass. At least, if one considered Prince Baldair’s word as proof. Vhalla laughed, and coughed from the state of her lungs.

  Had Aldrik not warned her of all this? Hadn’t he said on multiple occasions that he was not a good man? Vhalla sighed again and wondered if it was even fair of her to hold it against him. All their meetings had been an excuse to test her abilities. She was foolish for thinking they—she—meant otherwise. Vhalla took a delicate breath and fought against tears until exhaustion claimed her.

  “VHAAAAAAAL ...” Fritz sung softly. “Vhaaaaaaallaaaaaaaaa.”

  A finger poked at her cheek. She groaned, rolling away from the source.

  “Let her sleep,” Larel scolded.

  “But she’s slept the whole day, and it’s our first real night in the Crossroads,” Fritz whined.

  “You two are so loud,” Vhalla cursed softly.

  “One of us is,” Larel corrected with an offended note.

  “Vhal, don’t you want to wake up?” Fritz crawled into bed with her.

  “No.” She didn’t feel like it in the slightest. After Aldrik and Prince Baldair that morning, and the Emperor’s proclamations and demands, she had half a mind to spend the rest of her life in bed.

  “What’s wrong, Vhal? The world is celebrating you right now, you need to celebrate with them.” Fritz grabbed her with both arms, sitting her up.

  Larel took the opportunity of Vhalla being upright to coax two elixirs down Vhalla’s throat.

  “So, we’re all going out.” Fritz crawled around the bed, situating himself in front of her.

  “Out?”

  “He got the idea from your friends in the Golden Guard.” Larel sat on the edge of the bed. It wasn’t a large piece of furniture, and they were all crowded around each other. “They’re going out to celebrate their first full night in the Crossroads. Apparently there’s to be some celebration in the Windwalker’s honor.”

  “In my honor?” Vhalla blinked.

  “Yes, in yours.” Larel beamed. “You saved hundreds of lives—understand that.”

  Vhalla nodded mutely.

  “We want you to come.” Fritz grabbed her hands.

  “We?” Vhalla looked to Larel. She couldn’t imagine Larel partying in the streets.

  “I’ve nothing else to do,” the woman laughed lightly. “And the Windwalker they are honoring happens to be my protégé. It’d be a shame if I didn’t at least have one drink in her honor.”

  “Will you come with us?” Fritz asked again.

  “I ...” Vhalla sighed, looking at the setting sun through her curtains. She thought of Aldrik and the Emperor once more, conspiring in that opulent palace of a building. A small spark of anger flared in her, and Vhalla gripped Fritz’s fingers. “I’d love to.”

  “Are you sure you feel well enough?” Larel sensed something was wrong, but the other woman seemed to be mistaking Vhalla’s wild emotions over the prince for physical pain caused by her injuries.

  “I’ve felt worse.” Vhalla put on a brave smile. “Who knows, perhaps the company could do me good?”

  It would have been more convincing if she didn’t dissolve i
nto a coughing fit. But Fritz was her champion for the evening, linking elbows with her and helping Vhalla into the hall and down the stairs. Larel must have agreed with the assessment because she didn’t object.

  Once her body was moving, Vhalla found she felt better, proving her physical wounds were superficial. They likely had refrained from forcing any potions down her throat when she was unconscious; but now that the clerics’ concoctions were working, her body was rebounding quickly. No one was waiting for her outside the inn this time, and for that she was thankful. Vhalla didn’t want any more attention.

  The Crossroads was a place unlike any Vhalla had ever seen. The capital was crowded, but not like this. It seemed like every person of every shape, shade, and size was crowded into the streets, and the streets were packed with tempting markets that didn’t seem to know what closing meant. The three went down a small side road, following the instruction Craig and Daniel had given Fritz.

  The bar was noisy, and the sounds of men and women singing, laughing, and talking drowned out any of Vhalla’s thoughts and doubts. She was in a foreign land as a celebrated hero. And, if Fritz and Larel were to be believed, the source of all these people’s joy was she. Even if that was only half true, Vhalla had vowed to live in spite of the Senate, and she now vowed to be happy in spite of whatever game the Imperial family was playing.

  “You guys made it!” Craig waved them over.

  Daniel was out of his chair the moment he saw them. He crossed to Vhalla in a step. “How do you feel?”

  “Better,” she answered sincerely.

  “I didn’t expect to see you out.” He somehow wedged himself between her and Fritz.

  “Well, Larel and Fritz tell me that this is my party,” she said with sarcastic haughtiness.

  “It is indeed!” Craig laughed loudly. He quickly downed the contents of his metal flagon, and slammed it against the table a few times for the bar’s attention. The Southerner jumped up onto his chair, swaying alarmingly for a moment. Raylynn was on her feet, ready to catch him. “Good people, fellow soldiers! It is our honor tonight to drink with the Windwalker herself !”

  Vhalla’s cheeks burned scarlet as the room recovered from its stunned silence and burst into cheers.

  “But, I regret to say, she does not yet have a drink!” Craig laughed.

  Like magic, there were three glasses of varying shapes and sizes before her.

  “Try this one.” Daniel placed a fourth glass in front of her; it was only the height of her fist and filled with a syrupy red liquid.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “A Crimson Dragon.” He tapped his nose. “The West is known for them.”

  Vhalla recognized the name and took a timid sip. It was icy cold and burned the back of her throat. She blinked away tears and held in a cough.

  “Not a drinker?” Craig laughed.

  “Nope!” Vhalla took another sip for good measure.

  The Crimson Dragon was gone and the alcohol in two other glasses went quickly after. She and Daniel had found themselves engaged in an intense argument over the weight of a prize pig at one of Paca’s infamous festivals. Vhalla leaned on the table for support as she turned to face him.

  “No, hundred,” she insisted. “I swear, I swear, that pig was a hundred stone.”

  “Vhalla, you crazy Leoulian,” Daniel laughed and took another long gulp from his flagon. She watched the bump on his neck move as he swallowed. “No pig weighs anything close to a hundred stones.” He pointed a finger at her.

  “Don’t you point at me.” She grabbed his index finger, a fit of the giggles overtaking her. “It is so rude.”

  “Unhand me, woman.” Daniel tried to make his face serious, and Vhalla laughed at the way he pursed his lips together. Somehow everything was awfully funny right now.

  “Fine. Fine. But you’re wrong, and you know it.” She leaned back into her chair.

  “Vhalla, Daniel, we’re going.” Craig shook her shoulder.

  Vhalla blinked, wondering when the rest of the table had stood. She’d only just started talking to Daniel.

  “Where?” Her fellow Easterner was as confused as she was.

  “Dancing!” Fritz twirled.

  Vhalla burst out with uncontrollable laughter, almost spilling drink number ... something, everywhere.

  “Do you want to go?” Larel laughed. The Western woman was looking out for Vhalla even when she had a flush to her cheeks. The big sister Vhalla never had.

  “Of course!” Vhalla chirped cheerfully.

  She attempted to jump to her feet and almost fell. A muscular arm quickly wrapped itself around her shoulder. Vhalla caught Daniel’s eyes in surprise. He was a lot sturdier than he looked.

  “This is a bad idea,” he laughed.

  “You—you will learn this the longer you’re around me: I am the queen of bad ideas.” Vhalla barely suppressed commenting about Prince Aldrik.

  Daniel led her out into the night behind Fritz, Larel, Craig, Raylynn, and others Vhalla couldn’t even name.

  The dance hall they ended up in was hot and hazy. Even though all the large doors on the ground floor were open to the cool night breezes, steam from sweat hovered in the room. It was a large, open, wooden space with a stage on one wall, a bar on the other, and benches lining the border—a place to rest exhausted feet.

  Vhalla collapsed with a fit of laughter onto one said bench. The mass of people continued to move to the music before her. Somewhere in there Fritz was making a fool of himself with his third or fourth boy, and Larel, Craig, and Raylynn were nowhere to be found. Western dancing had loud drums, brass horns, and favored a strong rhythm. As such the steps were faster compared to the Southern style, people twisted and turned, kicked and spun around each other.

  Daniel sat heavily next to her, his thigh touched hers, and he wiped sweat from his brow. He passed her a mug. Vhalla took a long drink and peered at him.

  “Water?” She frowned.

  “For your head, tomorrow. Start now,” he panted.

  “I don’t want water.” She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed.

  “Fine, but don’t cry to me in the morning.” He handed her his ale, and she took a sip before passing it back to him.

  “It’s hot.” Vhalla swayed back and forth.

  “Want to get some air?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  Instead of leading her out the main doors, he went up a side staircase. Vhalla slipped on one of the steps, and he caught her as they both burst into laughter. She leaned against the wall, trying to get her giggles under control.

  “Vhalla, you’re too smart to be this stupid when you’re drunk,” Daniel wheezed between laughs. Something about the giddiness was infectious, and Vhalla slid against the wall. He caught her arm, pulling her to him. “Come on, we’ve barely taken ten steps.”

  Daniel helped her upward, and the stairs led them onto the roof. They weren’t the only ones with this idea as a few others milled about enjoying the night air. Vhalla walked out to an empty corner of the roof and gasped faintly.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered in misty awe. The Crossroads was lit up across the horizon. The rectangular windows of the flat-roofed square buildings glittered across the black desert. In some windows, bright curtains of reds and maroons tinted the light; in others, stained glass projected colors onto the roads and nearby buildings.

  “It’s your first time, right?” Daniel sat onto the small ledge that bordered the edge of the roof. Vhalla sat also, swinging her legs over the side. “Vhalla, careful.” He grabbed her upper arm.

  “Silly,” she laughed, swaying and placing her hand on the stony clay to lean close to him. “I can’t be hurt falling—well I can’t die.” He tilted his head curiously. “Fire can’t hurt Firebearers, water can’t hurt Waterrunners, earth can’t hurt Groundbreakers, I guess?” Vhalla found herself giggling again, she had no idea. “But wind can’t kill me; I’ve fallen from higher places and lived.” She began to ramble, tur
ning away from him.

  “It’s how I had my Awakening, actually. An Awakening is when a sorcerer first has their powers really shown in full to them. Before then they just Manifest in some ways here or there without control. This is the second time a man took me to a roof. But, the last time Aldrik decided to push me off.” She made a pushing motion with her hands and started laughing. “By the Mother, I was cross with him. I was a mess too. He gave me a pretty good apology after though. Aldrik’s wonderfully complex, had a reason for most of it, even if it’s still pretty awful knowing the reason. I wish more people could’ve seen his face when he apologized—he looked like a little kid!” Vhalla roared with laughter. Hadn’t she been upset with him a few hours ago? Slowly, her giggles faded as she caught a glimpse of Daniel’s face. “What?”

  “Vhalla—” he murmured, bringing his heavy flagon to his lips, “—you’ve drunk too much.” He smiled tiredly and reached over. Daniel placed his palm on her head and stroked her hair once. “No more of that, before you say something you’ll really regret in the morning.”

  She found she was somehow still holding the mug of water, and she drank deeply. Vhalla found herself swaying slightly in the breeze, or perhaps it was the feeling of ale in her head. She leaned to the side and her temple found his shoulder. They sat silently, he looked back toward the roof, and she looked out over the city.

  “He’s lucky,” Daniel whispered.

  “He doesn’t want me,” she said for the first time aloud. Daniel’s silence was an invitation for her to continue. “I think I’m a burden, or a tool, or an amusement. Nothing more.”

  “I don’t think so,” Daniel murmured. “I’ve seen him around you—we all have.”

  Vhalla wondered if she imagined the swordsman leaning toward her a fraction.

  She took a deep breath and grabbed for his flagon, the water forgotten a moment. Daniel relinquished it. “He wants me for his father, for their war, that’s all.”