“We’re keeping troops here for the wedding?” Vhalla thought aloud, her introspective considerations slowing her response.
“Certainly,” Aldrik responded. “It is a public affair. There should be little doubt that Victor knows of our pending nuptials, and he will use it as an opportunity to strike us down or remove all joy from the people’s symbol of the continuing Empire.”
You are a symbol. Baldair’s words from long ago returned to her, and Vhalla loathed them. She was tired of being a symbol. Symbols were stagnant, frozen, representative, and spurring of action but never the action itself.
Vhalla looked at the map with new eyes. They were playing the part that was expected of them by nobility, and while they did, they were a predictable target for their enemy. The wedding kept troops from moving.
“This could be the chance for us to strike first,” she said suddenly.
“What?” Aldrik spoke the surprise of the table.
“Victor expects us to be rendered immobile for the ceremony. It makes more sense for him to use the wedding as an opportunity to pick off half our forces spread across the Empire than strike us directly.” Vhalla moved some of the dark wooden sculptures and tokens along the East and pushed them into the West.
“However, if we attack in force now, when he least expects it . . .” She quickly shifted their tokens of war, pushing them down through the Southern border and into the weak point of Victor’s army at the bottom of the West. “We can move before he has time to react. We can punch a hole straight for the capital.”
“We cannot change the date of the wedding now.” Aldrik turned to her. “There are still arrangements to finalize, lords and ladies who have yet to arrive.”
“We can do something small, say our vows and be done.” The war was more important than a grand ceremony. “Or, we could even keep up the wedding for appearances, making our attack even more of a surprise.”
“Vhalla, there are certain expectations,” he replied with a careful glance at those assembled. “The ceremony is not an option.”
“I am sorry, but I did not realize my wedding was dictated by the nobility of the realm,” Vhalla snapped. Aldrik’s eyes widened slightly, and her face instantly relaxed, apologetic. She hadn’t meant to be so sharp, not to him.
“My lords and ladies, please excuse us a moment.” Aldrik’s eyes didn’t leave hers as the entire room shuffled out, leaving the Emperor and Empress alone. “Vhalla, what are you doing?”
“Aldrik, it makes perfect sense.” She motioned to her play with the tokens on the map. “This is an advantage; it’s a chance at deception. If we wait, Victor will only become stronger, and we’ll be playing into his expectations.”
“In theory.” Aldrik spoke before she had finished exhaling the last word. “But I can tell you what is not theory—the fact that those lords and ladies, whom you seem so ready to insult, give us their gold and supplies to pay for our army’s needs. We cannot shun them.”
“They should look at what we are doing and understand that we are trying to put their gold and loyalty to good use, rather than losing what could be a key advantage to formality,” she countered.
“We have already announced one thing; nobility and people will lose faith in our word if we do anything different.” Aldrik frowned.
“Not if we win.” Vhalla shook her head. “All will be forgiven when Victor is dead.”
“So you hope.” Aldrik leaned on the table with a sigh. “Vhalla, you don’t understand. Noble families hold grudges like no other. Nothing, no slight, no matter how small, is ever forgotten.”
“If we go on as planned, we may not even have subjects to be angry at us.”
“You do not know war,” Aldrik muttered.
“I know war better than most, Aldrik Solaris.” She rounded in front of him. The insult had lit a tiny flame in her that Vhalla struggled to keep under control. “I have spent the past three years of my life at war. I have been utilized as a weapon and coveted as a tool. I have killed countless men and women. And while I may not have made as many hard choices as you for as many years, do not tell me I do not know war.”
Aldrik stared at her in surprise before pulling his eyes away with a touch of shame. Vhalla hadn’t intended to make him feel guilty for his role in the events that had put her in a position to experience war. Reaching out, she took his hand gently in hers, trying to soothe the tension.
“I know you,” she whispered. “I know you well enough to know you think I’m right.”
“Were things not as they are, yes, yes, your theory holds merit.” Aldrik sighed heavily. His hands held her face, underscoring the tenderness. “But there are so many forces at play here. And, sometimes, the safer course is the best one. Let us do this one thing right.”
“One thing?” She didn’t understand.
“I-I took you to bed for the first time on sweat-stained sheets in a war camp. I took you because I promised myself that I would make you mine properly one day.”
“I had not thought poorly of our first time together.” Vhalla stepped away, pulling her face from his palms.
“Then I shamed my love for you by allowing myself to be engaged to another. By allowing that engagement to push you away.”
“You saved my life with that engagement.” Vhalla wondered if he had somehow forgotten the sword at her throat when his hand was forced to sign that fateful paper. “And I acted harshly towards you that night as well. It’s forgiven and forgotten.”
“I let my family and those beneath me witness my stealing you away when Bal—” his voice cracked. He cleared his throat to continue, “—when Baldair died. I let you become the other woman, the prince’s whore.”
“There was hardly enough time for anyone to know with all that happened after,” Vhalla contested. “Any who would remember are friends or will long forget when your throne is restored.”
“I asked you to remain mine when I had no future for you, and I vowed to do things right.” He reached for her hands, holding them tightly. “I have yet to live up to that vow.”
“Aldrik, you have not wronged me.” She tried to smile encouragingly.
“Then, the baby.”
She bristled at the words. A chill ran up Vhalla’s spine, triggering uneasiness in her mind. It was like magic across her flesh, reminding her of what happened, of the murky night that was being lost to time—that she wanted to lose to time.
“I know it was the Mother giving us a chance to do things right. To not harbor a child in secret or rush a marriage to make it a legitimate heir.”
“Our marriage was already rushed.” Ice water ran through her veins. “It was not the Mother who lost our child, it was—”
“Hush. Please, Vhalla, just listen to me.” He squeezed her fingers encouragingly. “I want to see you as my bride and do this one thing right. I want this wedding.”
“Aldrik, this wedding is nothing more than a formality of something that already lives between us.” Vhalla sighed in frustration. “It doesn’t matter when and how we marry; we know our bond.”
“It matters to everyone else.”
“I am not marrying everyone else!” Her patience cracked. “I am marrying you, and your thoughts and my thoughts are the only thoughts that matter on the subject. I am not going to put my own wedding before the lives of our people. How can I look at them when there are innocent people dying, and I am keeping soldiers from saving them so that I may say some vows?”
“I will not have them whisper rumors of you as they did of my mother.” Aldrik pulled away and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I will not have them speak more poorly of this than they already do.”
“Speak poorly of this?” she repeated.
“Enough.”
“No.” Vhalla rounded him as he tried to avoid her stare. “What do you mean, ‘Speak poorly of this’?”
“It does not matter.”
“It does,” her voice rose a small fraction with her insistence.
/> “Fine.” Aldrik scowled. “Fine, you infuriating woman. You want to know of every uncertainty presented by the Western lords and ladies to me or my uncle? How you are too thin, too wild, too risky, to be trusted with carrying an heir? How you have won yourself above your station by giving the lonely prince what is between your legs? How you are too young, too soft, too inexperienced to lead? How I should have taken a Western bride, or even kept the Northern one, to strengthen ties and support my armies? How I am a fool’s Emperor for taking a no-named commoner as my bride? How you are only with me for power and gold?”
Vhalla stared at him in shock. She’d been kept completely unaware. That burned more within her than the shame and embarrassment of the accusations.
“Were you going to tell me?” she whispered.
“Vhalla—”
“Were you going to tell me?” The dam broke within her. “Or were you just planning on keeping me in the dark? Were you going to prove them right, that I am too soft for the truth, that I am ignorant and unfit to be your Empress? Because not even you trust me with what is said!”
“Vhalla, you prove them wrong just by being you. I did not want you to worry and change.” Aldrik’s voice already sought her forgiveness. Forgiveness she didn’t want to give.
“Were you going to tell me?”
“I don’t know.” He withdrew.
“Fine.” Vhalla glared. “Since you clearly have such a handle on managing what I can and cannot hear or think, see or do, then you can just manage your wedding and your war as you want.”
“Vhalla! Vhalla!” he called when she was halfway for the door.
“But if we wait on this wedding, you can make my dress crimson. I will not wear gold if my Imperial nobility is bought with the blood of innocent civilians who died while I had a party.” Vhalla glared back at him once more. She never heard if he said anything else because she slammed the door on his attempt at further words.
Vhalla stormed up the castle alone.
HER CHAMBERS IN the Western castle were opulent. Low platform beds covered with expertly woven silks complemented endless polished floors that picked up the shine of gemstones and silver embedded into the ceiling. Warm, summer-like breezes flooded the room through open windows, blocked only by chiffon curtains and tall pillars.
It was an exercise in excess by the original architect and decorator. A decadence that Vhalla should have every right to appreciate, an experience that she could never otherwise have.
But now it felt cold.
She hadn’t been spending her days in these chambers; hiding there now only served as a reminder of the harsh words she’d spoken to Aldrik. She’d actually retreated here because she knew it was the one place that he would not come. The lord’s and lady’s quarters were across the hall from each other, and while Vhalla heard his door open and close, he made no effort to seek her out.
Not that she blamed him. Or perhaps she did. The man did an excellent job at making her feel so justified one minute, only to have her feel wildly conflicted the next.
After pacing ruts into the floor, Vhalla decided that lingering wasn’t going to solve anything. She undressed quickly, rummaging through the virtual mountains of clothes to find something simple. Riding leggings that were no doubt intended to be worn underneath a skirt were paired with an oversized shirt that Vhalla fashioned as a tunic. It was certain to horrify the staff and Western nobility. But apparently her existence was already offensive, so she might as well be comfortably offensive.
On the way down to the training grounds, Vhalla walked on air, fluttered pennons, and played with the wind. She delighted in everything that she had taken for granted in the years prior to losing her magic. Things that she would never let be taken from her again.
Fussing with the tail of her braid, Vhalla entered the training ground. Here was another relationship she had ruined with harsh words and pushiness. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to see Jax again—or if he was ready to see her.
“Where is Major Jax?” Vhalla asked the first woman to cross her path on the dusty field.
“Major Jax?” the woman repeated. “I think he’s training with sorcerers in the pit.”
“Can you show me?” Vhalla folded her hands at the small of her back, quickly releasing them when she remembered how imposing Aldrik looked while doing so.
The young woman bowed deeply and stiffly guided her future Empress. More than one soldier gave pause and looked at her. Vhalla wondered if it was because she was the future Empress, or as a result of her prior run-in with Jax. She knew how soldiers talked.
The pit was exactly as the name suggested. Recessed into the ground and hexagonal in shape, the large fighting arena had all kinds of people at its edge cheering or shouting suggestions to two Firebearers sparring within. Jax was situated on one side, shouting with the rest of them. But he was one of the last to quiet and turn as her presence was noted.
“Major Jax.” Vhalla swallowed the silence between them before it became far too obvious. “Could I perhaps join in a spar or two?”
He stared at her a long moment, looking her up and down. Where Vhalla expected the average Westerner to look disapproving at her relaxed and more masculine clothing, she found Jax’s stare appreciative.
“If the lady wants a spar, than a spar she will get!” Jax’s voice had not changed at all. It was back to how she’d always heard it: jovial, jesting, and entertained with the nature of existence. “Which one of you wants the honor of going against the first Windwalker in nearly a century and a half?”
No one moved. No one seemed able to look at her. And, most certainly, no one volunteered.
“Come now,” Jax encouraged. “Ren, you’re up!”
The man who Jax tasked with this duty appeared to be of Northern descent. Vhalla assessed him as she was helped into a leather jerkin, coated in something sweet smelling. She recognized the greenish sheen as something the Northerners used to protect against Firebearers.
“Ready?” Jax called. Vhalla gave a definitive nod, but Ren gave a hesitant glance. “Go!”
Vhalla wasted no time, and the man was on his back in an instant. Vhalla stared dumbly as Ren stood, gave a bow, and quickly retreated from the ring.
There hadn’t been a single spark of fire, chill of ice, or rumble of earth. Vhalla frowned. He’d not tried to attack her in any way.
The next soldier Jax threw at her acted much the same. A quick start and quick finish left her uncomfortable. As the dust settled atop the third, Vhalla couldn’t contain herself any longer.
“Why won’t you spar with me?” she demanded of the woman who pulled herself off the ground.
“What?”
“What was that?” Vhalla persisted. “You didn’t even fight back.”
“I-I-I . . . your prowess is such that none of us could hope to match.” The woman retreated awkwardly, eager to escape the ring.
Vhalla’s arms dropped limply to her sides. They were letting her win. Vhalla had been through war and had trained under a multitude of soldiers, but she no longer had the Bond to draw from, and these people had been soldiers the majority of their adult lives. Vhalla should at least have to struggle against them.
“Oh, this just won’t do,” Jax admonished. “You sorry lot have done the worst thing someone can manage: disappoint a pretty lady.” He pointed across the pit toward something Vhalla couldn’t see. “Fritz! You’re needed.”
Vhalla’s heart soared from just hearing her friend’s name. The second he actually stepped into the ring, Vhalla was nearly tackling him in an overpowering embrace. She wondered if Jax had figured out her mental state upon entering the training grounds.
“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 experienced he was at 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.”