Vhalla nodded, nerves stilling her tongue.
“Are you ready?” He continued at her small nod, “Here it goes . . .”
He closed his eyes, and Vhalla did the same. Just like the very first time she had ever tried to use her magic, Vhalla imagined something just beyond herself, and tried to touch it. The world didn’t rebuild magic on a whim, nor did she feel a whisper of sorcery on the wind. There was only a subtle tingling in her fingertips.
Vhalla guarded her every hope. She felt as though she was on the edge and only needed one more good push to hold everything in her grasp. Her breathing echoed in her ears as she mentally reached for the truth the watch held.
She was the Windwalker. She would fill up the hollow that had been carved from her, fill it up with a new future.
“Vhalla, enough.” Fritz released her fist. “Don’t push too hard now.”
“But you said get it all.” Her eyes fluttered open.
“I think you did.” He inspected the watch. “You don’t want to expend magic, looking for magic.”
“So did it work?” Vhalla stared at her hands.
“We’ll know soon.” Fritz blinked his eyes a few times, shifting his vision to study her. “Your Channel will need more time to restore, if it’s going to. By the Mother, Vhal, if you think you even feel the hint of magic, do not be too eager to use it, or you’ll drain it all and be back in the same position as before.”
For the rest of the day, Vhalla remained on bedrest. She was getting bored of it, especially now that the bleeding had slowed to occasional spotting. But between Aldrik, Elecia, Fritz, and Jax, she had no option but to take it easy.
“How do you feel?” Aldrik asked as they settled for sleep.
“Tired.” Despite resting all day, it was true.
“I’ve always loved watching you sleep. Seeing you at peace.” He brushed hair lovingly away from her face. “I plan to do it forever.”
“Even now?” she whispered, wanting to hear the words between his words.
“Even now,” he affirmed.
There was pain still, but it was beginning to fade even for Aldrik. No matter how much they lost, they still had each other. And, so long as that was true, they could continue to meet the dawn.
Dawn, however, came too early for either of their tastes. Vhalla rolled over tiredly, a light sneaking through a crack in the curtains to hit her face. She felt so exhausted. Aldrik’s arms tightened around her, and he nuzzled the back of her neck.
“It’s bright,” Vhalla complained. “Make it go away.” She motioned to the curtains. The room darkened, and they both woke with a start.
Vhalla stared at the now drawn window dressings, as they swayed in the remnants of an unseen breeze.
CHAPTER 16
Vhalla stared at her fingertips in dumb shock, her eyes darting between the unassuming digits and the settling curtain. Raising her hand, she took a shaky breath, determined to re-witness the truth that had just revealed itself to her.
Long, warm fingers curled gently around her wrist. “Don’t.” Aldrik shook his head at her. “Don’t push yourself.”
“But what if . . .” Vhalla stared at the window.
“The curtain closed by a draft?” His smile was small, but there was genuine joy in his eyes. Cupping her face in both palms, Aldrik graced her lips with a brief kiss. It felt like the first kiss in forever, and a butterfly emerged from its cocoon in her stomach. “Do not be silly, my sorcerer.”
“Am I?”
Aldrik held out his hand, palm up, and a tiny flame appeared in its center. “Blow it out. But only this small test, and then more rest.”
Slowly, hesitantly, Vhalla rose her hand. Aldrik shifted closer, the orange glow of the tiny mote illuminating his bare chest. Her fingers tensed, straightening and relaxing in an instant. The fire was snuffed, the light extinguished to nothing more than the ghost of a blue glow when Vhalla blinked.
“My magic,” she breathed.
The covers flew through the air as Vhalla tossed them aside. Swinging her feet off the side of the bed, she was stopped, mid-lunge, by an arm snatching her around the waist. Aldrik pulled her back to him, racing heart and all.
“I want to see.”
“You just saw.” He held her to him.
“No, no, it’s not enough.”
Aldrik nuzzled her neck, the tenderness stilling her. “You still must rest. You have been through a lot.”
“I know.” Ice surged through her veins at the memories. “I gave up everything for this, so let me go.”
“You did not.” Aldrik’s hair tickled her shoulder as he shook his head. “You gave up a child that you should have never even carried. And one of my many pathetic attempts at silver working.”
Her insides clenched, but not like it had over the past few days. She had witnessed a memory in which he’d presented a gift to the woman who should’ve loved him as her own child, and it was rejected. Vhalla twisted, seeing beyond him back to that young, nervous child.
“It was not pathetic.” She spoke firmly enough that it commanded his attention. “It was the best gift anyone had ever given me, and I would have loved it had it been misshapen and half-finished—because you were the one to give it to me. That’s what was truly important, that’s why I could give it up. Because our love is more than something I can wear. Our time is far greater than what can be counted by two hands and some numbers. Because, even without it, I still have you.”
The edge of a question slipped into her last statement, and Aldrik sighed, an exhausted smile curling his lips.
“You shall always have me.” He pulled her back onto the bed with him holding her as close as possible. “Our love is more than physical trappings. Be it tokens of affections or the bodies our eternal souls inhabit while we are chained to this mortal coil. I would have made a hundred watches if it would have returned your magic to you.”
There was pain in his words, even still. But there was also truth. He shared in the joy of her magic returning. Vhalla sighed softly and pressed closer against him. If she was going to continue to be restricted to bed, then she would make the most of it by filling her hours with him.
When Elecia and Fritz finally deemed Vhalla strong enough, physically and magically, to leave the bedroom, she paid the price of vanishing from the world for a short week. Letters had piled up from both Norin and Hastan. A new timeline also needed to be addressed for the rest of their journey to Norin.
Their break in the crystal gate at the border of East and West had held long enough for Western reinforcements to get through and march to Hastan. Elecia’s father reported that they couldn’t have come a moment too soon, as Hastan had sustained another attack by Victor shortly thereafter. This time, Victor had sent a larger force on foot, marching from the South and laying waste to cities and towns along the way, Leoul included.
That was when Vhalla realized that she was never going home. She had to continue to believe that her father had, indeed, moved ahead of the gate’s construction and she would meet him in Norin. In truth, home had always been where the people she loved were. For years, that had been the farm in Leoul. But now it was where her father, Aldrik, and friends were.
The news cast a somber cloud over her for a different reason as well. Leoul was farther north than Paca, which meant Daniel’s town had been right in the line of Victor’s marching forces. His fragile state lingered in the back of her mind; the sight of Victor’s sorcerers would have caused agony in the man who cast a shadow across her heart. Vhalla wondered if her friend had escaped safely, or if he had met the fate of nearly a third of the East.
If Vhalla had lacked any purpose before hearing this news, she certainly didn’t after. Rather than hardening, her heart became hotter. It burned and pushed hot blood through her veins faster than sandstorm winds. Vhalla racked her brain, considering all the information that had come through the reports sent from Hastan. She stayed up until her eyes crossed an
d blurred, trying to find the best way to distribute the East’s limited fighting forces.
The largest sites of food production had to be protected first, alongside Hastan as the head of the East. But there was no choice when it came to sacrificing some smaller towns as a result. It was among the hardest decisions Vhalla had ever made, and she allowed herself to feel pain at it. If she became numb, it would be a disservice to the people whose lives she was deciding.
To save the most lives, more messengers and more reminders were sent to those interested in joining the fight, reminders that they could retreat to Hastan. Vhalla made her will known through letters, sharing with the men and women of the East exactly how and why she was moving them. That it was, indeed, a choice made by the person claiming to be their leader. Vhalla knew she could never accept their loyalty if such facts were ever hidden.
Aldrik fussed over her incessantly. He worried constantly. Vhalla tolerated it, the guilt of Vi’s trade making her oblige Aldrik as recompense for her transgressions against him. But Elecia finally snapped.
The woman began dictating how Aldrik could—and could not—take care of his wife-to-be. She was having none of his doubts over her methods of healing. He finally relented and began running the Empire at Vhalla’s side in earnest.
Jax remained ever present as well, especially when Aldrik disappeared to grant some face time with a prominent lord or lady who ventured to the Crossroads to meet them. Jax’s revelations about his past lingered with Vhalla, but she didn’t give it much thought. There were far bigger concerns facing her than the crimes Jax had committed years ago. She’d sort through it eventually.
Only once had Aldrik pressed for Vhalla to show him where Vi’s curiosity shop had been located. They circled the market several times, but Vhalla couldn’t find the small curtained entrance or anything even remotely resembling it. Her Emperor did his best to hide his frustration, but Vhalla was unbothered. She hadn’t expected to ever encounter Vi again. The woman would only reveal herself on her own terms, not Vhalla’s. And as badly as Vhalla wanted to understand Vi’s actions, she’d felt Vi’s unnatural darkness and the weight of the woman’s eyes seeing more than Vhalla’s physical form too many times to question too deeply. Some things may not be meant to be understood.
The more time that passed, the fuzzier that night became. Vhalla finally stopped fighting it and let the memory hide away into the hazy shadows of the back of her mind. It happened more slowly for Aldrik, but they soon stopped talking about it. By the time a letter from Sehra arrived with the status of the North’s preparations, it had faded away into little more than a dark spot on their journey to Norin.
What had not faded, however, was Vhalla’s elation at regaining her magic. At every opportunity, Vhalla called upon her winds. Things were lifted and pushed, opened and shut. She demanded to sleep with the windows open just to feel the night breathe across her skin.
There was so much to do that the days slipped away from them, and they were late to leave the Crossroads. The last letter they received from Ophain began to question if they had any intention of coming to Norin or if they intended to make the Crossroads their headquarters. Vhalla broached the idea with the Emperor that night.
“Wouldn’t it make more sense to stay?” She pointed to Ophain’s letter.
“Why?” Aldrik glanced up from the other end of the table where he had been working on finalizing troop numbers.
“Because Sehra will bring her army here, to the Crossroads.” Vhalla rummaged, looking over one of the maps that had been marked and crossed one too many times. “If she’s going to start her journey shortly, then we could tell your uncle and the troops from Norin to do the same. They should arrive within days of each other. It would save at least . . . at least two weeks of travel compared to us going to Norin and back.”
“We must wed.” Aldrik paused his quill, giving her his undivided attention.
Vhalla stared at the map for another long moment. She knew he saw it as such, that it was something they must do as a symbol. Even if she was growing more concerned about the timing by the day, Vhalla continued to concede.
“Then we will do it here,” she suggested.
“Impossible.”
“Are there no Crones who could perform the ceremony in the Crossroads?” She laughed at the ridiculousness of the notion.
“It must be done in the Western Sun Temple in Norin,” Aldrik insisted. “That is where my father wed.”
“Now hardly seems like the time for sentimentality,” she gently pointed out.
“Far from it,” he agreed. “But now is the time for putting on the right display for the lords and ladies, for the world. We are strong, and we do not allow a false king to force us to wed in hiding. Or hint that there is something illegitimate about our union that we should do it in a small chapel on the run.”
“I’m sure we could explain . . . It’s just so much time to lose.”
Aldrik considered it for several slow breaths. Making up his mind on something, he reached forward and grabbed a slip of parchment, beginning to scribble as he spoke, “We shall write to my uncle and tell him a date. We’ll invite the lords and ladies in advance so that the amount of time we must spend before the ceremony is limited to necessary preparations and appearances.”
Vhalla glanced back at the map, thinking of the waste it seemed. “Thank you,” she said finally. It was something.
They replied to Lord Ophain that night with the request of the date along with their promises to depart the Crossroads before he received their reply.
Shortly after, Aldrik started the task of making them new armor. It was a good distraction from the worry that blossomed in her chest by the fact that Lord Ophain had yet to make any mention of her father. Vhalla kept her fears in check and her hands busy with helping Aldrik in the smithy. Just like she couldn’t allow Jax’s presence to distract her, she couldn’t allow fears over her kin to distort her priorities. Her father would be all right, she assured herself. He’d been a soldier once and knew how to handle himself. There was nothing else for her to believe.
Vhalla’s first experience with the craftsman habits of her Emperor was enlightening. Aldrik tested and felt each piece of steel before he began working with it—he was nothing if not particular. Not one smelter denied him, naturally, and he was finally satisfied with his base materials.
They worked together to make flames hotter than he could alone. Aldrik worked in simple clothes, and Vhalla appreciated the look of the man with his hair pulled back from his face and soot rubbed into his nose. It was an elegant orchestration of their magic, but it was one that held melancholy notes. Had they still been Bonded, his flames wouldn’t hurt her and they could’ve been far less careful. His magic was no longer in her, but there was still something different about it. Vhalla knew it like an old friend. She recognized every spike, every subtle flux in his power and could account for it.
They were not Bound, but they were not separate either. They had become something new yet again.
Aldrik finished the armor the day before they were set to leave. He put on the final touches alone while Vhalla spent the day bidding farewell and reaffirming the loyalty of the lords and ladies in and around the Crossroads. When she returned to the room that night, the matching sets waited on stands. Aldrik smoothed over portions with his thumbs, unable to stop working the metal.
“Well, what do you think?” he asked, finally.
Vhalla tilted her head. Sitting cross-legged on one of the chaises, she studied the pieces on the stands. Something was off, and it took her too long to put her finger on what it was. “The color.”
“You don’t like it?” Aldrik sat down at her side.
“It’s not that I don’t like it.” Vhalla struggled with how to encapsulate her feelings.
The armor was indeed lovely, very identical in craftsmanship and style to her prior suit with some additional embellishments. Smaller shoulder pauldrons matche
d his, gold detailing lining their edges. The scales were more angled, giving it a sharper and stronger look. The outer steel had been layered with an alloy that shone white, setting off the gold detailing—like the pair of wings that sat with a sun in their center at the armor’s collar.
“It’s white.”
He laughed, but it sounded forced. “White is the Imperial color.” The man was nervous by her reaction.
Vhalla knew he understood her statement, but she played along. “You’ve never worn white, on anything.”
“That’s not true,” he objected.
“I’m not counting in private,” she hastily clarified. “Why not black?”
“Because—” He paused, abandoning the quick remark he’d been readying. Aldrik turned back to the two suits of armor and took a deep and slow breath. “Because that time is over.
“I need to lead my people—our people. I must be someone they look to, and I must look like that person.” Aldrik waged an internal battle with the armor. “I have no more family, so I am no longer a black sheep. I no longer have my life overshadowed by my father’s missions and visions for his Empire. I cannot afford to let a personal tantrum, or bitterness, distance me from the subjects whose trust I so need. I need their loyalty, and I would rather earn that through admiration than fear.”
He peeled his eyes away from the simple thing that had caused him so much introspection. He looked to her, and the man still managed to look uncertain at the exact moment that Vhalla thought he had attained clarity. He was no longer a wildfire burning with rage. He was now the fires of the forges he’d stoked. He burned for a purpose and remained focused on that singular goal.
Vhalla rested her hand on his, initiating touch for the first time since the night she had traded with Vi. Aldrik’s eyes darted over her face. It had been so long since she was nervous around him that the butterflies in her stomach were awkward, though not unwelcome. She reached up to touch the face of the man she adored, to pull it toward her. To hook his chin and guide his lips to where they belonged—against hers.