“What will he do? Send riders after me?” Vhalla smiled; madness and desperation were a calming concoction. “What is the fastest horse?”
Elecia hardly thought about it before answering, “Baston.” “Baston?” Vhalla didn’t recognize the mount.
“Aldrik’s ... but the beast won’t let anyone touch him. We couldn’t even lead him. He just walked obediently behind the horse Aldrik was thrown over.”
Vhalla pushed the thought of Aldrik—bloody, dying, and unceremoniously thrown over the back of a horse—out of her mind. It would all be a bad dream by the time he woke. He would be safe, and he would wake. “I will ride Baston then.”
“Have you lost your hearing along with your mind?” Elecia rolled her eyes. “Baston won’t—”
“He will let me ride him.” There was a calm certainty to Vhalla’s voice that gave Elecia pause. She’d ridden alongside the beast for the length of the continent and part of its master lived in her. “I’ll go after it’s dark. I’ll need some kind of map to find the way.”
“Easier still, I’ll get you a compass,” Elecia thought aloud. “Soricium is due north from here.”
“Wait, you’re agreeing with this?” Fritz blinked at Elecia before turning to Vhalla. “No, Vhal, you can’t.”
“What?” Vhalla glared at her suddenly traitorous friend. “No, I-I thought I lost you, too ... and now you’re okay ... you can’t leave ...” Her friend’s voice weakened to a whisper.
Vhalla realized that she may have exposed herself as the Windwalker in the Pass and cast off the guise of Serien Leral, but she still needed that other persona’s heart. Vhalla still needed the steel and blood-forged emotional armor that she’d crafted as Serien. If she couldn’t find that, she wouldn’t be able to leave. “Fritz,” Vhalla whispered, reaching out to him. She pulled Fritz into a tight embrace. Somewhere deep within, Vhalla was holding herself, holding within the girl who was still shivering, shaking, and crying with all her might. “It will be all right. I must do this.”
“Why?” Fritz sniffled.
“You know why.” Vhalla laughed softly. “I love him.”
“Love has made you stupid,” her friend muttered into her chest.
Vhalla met Elecia’s eyes as she answered, “I know.”
The half-Western, half-Northern, woman assessed Vhalla levelly, as if passing judgment on what Vhalla was about to say.
“But if I’m going to be stupid for anyone, it will be for him. I’ve fallen too far into him to give up now, to let him go.”
“You’ve changed, Vhal.” Fritz pulled away, rubbing his eyes. “I know.” Vhalla had no other option but to admit it.
She spent the rest of the day with Fritz and left him with the promise that she would be waiting for him in Soricium when he arrived. They had no option but to put faith in that promise. Fritz seemed calmer—resigned—when Elecia came for Vhalla that night.
“Where are we going?” Vhalla whispered to Elecia, noticing the tent they were walking toward.
“You think I wouldn’t let you see him before you left?” Elecia glanced at Vhalla from the corners of her eyes, cementing their unorthodox relationship into friendship.
“If the Emperor finds out ...” Vhalla glanced over her shoulder, remembering what Elecia had said earlier.
“He won’t.”
Vhalla saw the source of the other woman’s confidence standing on either side of the tent. The two soldiers were dressed entirely in black plate, identifying them as members of the Black Legion—sorcerers. They were unfamiliar to Vhalla, nameless, but Vhalla tried to remember their faces as they let her pass silently. These were the faces of good men.
A single flame, hovering over a metal disk in the far corner, barely gave enough light to see by. It was so small that the tent had looked completely dark underneath all the camouflaging brush. The atmosphere was oppressive. It stank of blood and body and death.
Vhalla fell to her knees at the sight of him, a hand covering her mouth to keep from crying out with joy, with anguish.
Aldrik’s eyes were swollen closed with the bruising on his face. Blankets were piled high atop him, but every now and then his body would shudder as if cold. That and the slow rise and fall of his chest were the only signs of life. Every part of him was covered in yellow gauze, stained with puss. But the most concerning thing of all was the large wound on the side of his head that relentlessly seeped blood.
Vhalla reached out and grabbed the prince’s bandaged hand, clinging to it. His right hand, the hand that had written her letters, the hand that had tangled itself into her hair as she slept, the hand that held her face when he kissed her; it was a wonderful hand of endless possibilities that now rested completely limp in her grasp.
“How could you do this to me?” Vhalla rasped, trying to keep sobs from escaping her chest and waking the camp.
“To show you,” Elecia said solemnly.
“To break me.” Vhalla brought her eyes up to Aldrik’s face once more, the sight of it slicing like an invisible sword from her throat down into her stomach. All the strength she had mustered was gone. The resolve had vanished with his nearness. She couldn’t leave his side now. She couldn’t.
“To show you that if you don’t do this, he will die,” Elecia whispered. “Your attempt is foolish and very likely to kill you and him. He would be upset with me for supporting it. But I value his life far more than yours.”
Vhalla gave a weak little chuckle. “We have more in common than we previously thought.” She smiled and received a small smile in return.
“I will hold up my end of the bargain; I will keep him alive for seven more days, at least. You have my word,” Elecia vowed. “It won’t be that long.” Vhalla stared at her prince, her chest filling with painful longing. She cupped his cheek gently, but he didn’t stir. “I will be the wind.”
“Here.” Elecia held out a few papers. “That’s what I need from the first riders and the main host behind them. Take that to Head Major Jax; no one else.”
Vhalla recognized the name of the Head Major of the Black Legion and accepted the parchment along with a compass.
“Jax will take care of Aldrik. I trust him.” Elecia’s confidence made Vhalla take note of this person. Clearly he had passed some tests with this woman, a woman with whom Vhalla was working to build a rapport.
The Windwalker turned once more to the comatose prince. She wasn’t going to say that fateful word of farewell. Instead, boldly, Vhalla leaned forward and placed a kiss on his chapped and broken lips. Elecia didn’t move or make comment, her silence speaking volumes of her acceptance of Vhalla’s relationship with the crown prince.
Baston was kept on the edge of camp, and Vhalla walked from Aldrik’s tent in dread-filled silence. There was a woman in Vhalla who was self-assured, confident, and capable. It was a woman who would save her prince—again—and conquer the North. She clashed starkly with the girl who wanted to hide her grief-filled face from the world, to curl under Aldrik’s blankets and leave their fate to the Gods. If they lived or died they would do it at each other’s side.
The War-strider didn’t neigh or stomp as Vhalla approached. She held out her hand and it waited expectantly. Her palm rested on Baston’s large nose, dwarfed by its size. The horse huffed impatiently. Vhalla’s mouth curled upward in sorrowful understanding. She was impatient as well.
“I’ve never seen him let another approach him,” a woman whispered in the night.
Vhalla and Elecia turned, panicking that they had been discovered. Major Reale stood a few steps away, her arms laden with chainmail and a small messenger bag. Neither said anything to the older woman.
“You think you can go like that?” The major assessed Vhalla with her one good eye. “The Northerners will strike you down in no time.”
“I’m lighter this way.” Vhalla remained by Baston’s side, ready to mount and run if the woman before her was some kind of trap.
“Wouldn’t you rather have the chainmail he craft
ed protecting you, at least?”
Vhalla’s hands froze.
Major Reale laughed deeply but kept her voice hushed. “You think we haven’t put two and two together? We’re all loyal to the prince, but I’m not sure if any of us would jump off a cliff for someone we weren’t in love with.” She crossed to Vhalla, handing over the chainmail Aldrik had made before Vhalla left the palace.
“Where did you get this?” Vhalla whispered.
“Our fake Windwalker has your armor,” Major Reale explained. Vhalla was shocked to hear one of her doppelgangers was still alive. “I’ve been in the Tower for some time—many of us older sorcerers have. I helped train Aldrik when he was a boy.”
Surprise stilled her. It was always strange to think of Aldrik as anything other than the stoic prince she’d come to know.
“I’ve seen our prince grow. I’ve seen him high and low, strong and not as strong as he wanted people to think.” There was a glimmer of truth in the major’s Southern blue eye. “I have never seen him act as he does around you, Vhalla Yarl. And I am smart enough to know that you also happen to be our best chance of saving his life.”
Vhalla put on her chainmail in numb humility. It still fit her perfectly.
The major handed her the bag next. “A small bit of food—don’t worry, not enough to laden you—and a message from me for Major Jax.” At Vhalla’s inquisitive stare, Major Reale explained, “I want to make it well known what you did—are doing—for our prince.”
Vhalla was putting Elecia’s note and compass in the bag as her eyes caught a glint of silver.
“And a weapon.”
Vhalla retrieved the small throwing dagger she had purchased with Daniel in the Crossroads. Elecia quickly helped her strap it to her arm.
“Why are you doing all this?” Vhalla whispered. This was more than a subject’s love for their prince. Major Reale knew she would face the Emperor’s displeasure for helping Vhalla run.
“Because no matter how far we go, the Tower takes care of its own.”
The major’s words stilled the tempest of emotion in Vhalla’s heart, just for one moment. The soldiers on both sides of the tent, Elecia, and now the major; Vhalla had no idea how many countless others were fighting their own battle as sorcerers in a world that held no love for them. She clenched her fists.
“Now, go.” Major Reale gave a quick glance over her shoulder. “Everyone will wake when that monster stomps out of here. But you don’t look back, Yarl, do you understand me?”
Vhalla nodded, swinging up into Baston’s saddle. It felt like she was on the back of a giant. The War-strider was taller than some men she had known, and the power beneath her was reassuring.
“Keep your word,” Elecia whispered as she stepped away. “You keep yours.” Vhalla met those emerald eyes for one last moment as she and Elecia sealed their pact for the prince’s life.
Major Reale and Elecia quickly disappeared under brush cover, leaving Vhalla alone. Vhalla took the reins in her hands, gathering her courage with them. She gave one last glance to the makeshift shelter where the crown prince rested. Her heart pumped the pain and guilt from her chest into her veins and Vhalla felt it bubble throughout her body with agonizing speed.
She kicked Baston’s sides and felt the horse sway as Vhalla put the wind under his hooves. But the War-strider was a smart beast, quick to trust the rider he had deemed worthy, and he carried Vhalla away from the camp that was quickly waking into chaos, past the black-plated solders on the perimeter, and into the dark unknown.
THE DENSE FOREST canopy barely allowed any moonlight to reach the floor below. Tree branches scratched Vhalla’s legs through her clothes as she rode, nearly blind, away from camp and into the dark wood. The noises of the Imperial soldiers waking were quickly left behind, their echoes fading into the whizzing of underbrush on either side.
Vhalla’s heart competed with Baston’s hooves for the loudest sound in the forest. This was either the smartest or the dumbest thing she had ever done. Vhalla pressed closer to Baston, trying to make herself as small as possible to avoid being de-horsed by a low tree limb. She was abandoning her post; she was ignoring the will of the Emperor—the man who owned her.
One act of defiance after the next, she had made her choice. From the moment she had rallied the troops at the Pass, she had drawn a line in the sand between her and the Emperor. He may own her physical being, but he did not own her heart or mind.
The terms of her sentence echoed in her ears. If she should run she would be put to death by Aldrik’s hand, a hand that couldn’t actually harm her due to the magical Bond that existed between them. Vhalla clenched her palms tightly, opening her Channel as much as possible. She would succeed and they would live, or she would fail and they would both die. There was no third option.
She wasn’t worried about the noise of the horse through the dense brush. Vhalla was certain it sounded like thunder and felt like an earthquake. But she was nothing more than a black streak in the night. Nothing would catch them with the wind beneath them.
Vhalla pulled the compass from her bag, waiting for a glint of moonlight to check her heading—due north, she confirmed. If a host of people could make it in seven days she’d make it in three. Vhalla shook her head, disagreeing with herself. She’d make it in two.
At the pit of her stomach a seed had begun to take root, a seed of doubt watered by fear. If she wasn’t fast enough, if Elecia couldn’t keep her vow, then Aldrik would die. The first man she ever truly loved would die while she was days away. He’d die without her ever saying goodbye.
She shook the treacherous thoughts from her mind. No! He would live. Every pulsing beat of her heart told her so. She felt his heartbeat through their Bond, a reassuring response to her desperation. The Joining still lived, the Bond still lived, and thus Vhalla knew he still lived.
Baston ran hard through the night. The horse seemed tireless, allowing Vhalla to succumb to twilight exhaustion in the saddle without stopping. She watched the branches of the giant trees above her blaze with the morning sun, the colors fading into oranges and daylight. Vhalla didn’t relent.
She kicked the horse’s sides again, snapping the reins. By daylight, they had to go even faster. Doubly noticeable with sight and sound, they were forced to outpace any potential foe.
The sun was beginning its journey downward when the trees began to thin and Vhalla was forced to slow Baston. Vhalla stared in shock at the water that stretched into the horizion, rocky finger jutting out into its mirror-still surface. Frantically, she checked the compass. But her eyes had been obsessive on the needle all day and she hadn’t gone off her heading.
Was it the coast? Vhalla had heard stories of the sea. A vast body of water so large it was incomprehensible. Sailors told stories of its dangers, waves big enough to swallow a ship when they broke, sea monsters, and the pirates that lurked on the outer isles between the mainland Empire and the savage Crescent Continent. Some sailors even said there was more than that to the world, but most regarded such ideas as an impossibility.
Horse and rider were mortal, and they both needed to rest. She could tell by Baston’s heaving sides that the horse was nearing his limits. Vhalla blinked her eyes, activating her magic sight.
The world rebuilt itself around her, the trees and plants appearing in hazy shades of gray. She didn’t see any movement, Commons or sorcerer, anywhere near her. Vhalla braved out onto the open rocky beach.
She led Baston to the base of a small bluff that curved away from the forest, retracting into a small cove at the water’s edge. It was enough for horse and rider to remain hidden from sight.
Vhalla’s legs almost gave out from exhaustion as she dismounted. Even if she had ridden halfway across the world, what she had just done was a very different type of riding. Her thighs were torn up and sore. Vhalla waded into the water and found it as cool and soothing as she’d hoped.
That was when she noticed that it was fresh. The sea she’d always read about was s
alty and not potable. But, as Vhalla discovered by dunking her head beneath the glassy surface, the water was indeed easy to drink.
It was a sweet taste that revealed to Vhalla how parched she was, and she struggled not to gulp down too much too quickly. She wouldn’t be able to heed the call of nature riding again and her stomach would be bloated and sick.
Vhalla tilted back her head so she wouldn’t guzzle any more and stared into the bright blue sky. It had been over a week since she’d seen the unbroken sky, and Vhalla hadn’t realized until that moment that her heart had been aching for it.
She dragged her waterlogged feet back toward the beach, collapsing near Baston. The stony emotional protection of Serien fractured and crumbled, leaving Vhalla feeling as though she’d just washed up from the lake. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes.
Vhalla pulled her knees to her chest, resting her forehead on the wet wool. Rather than thinking of the pain she’d been harboring for weeks—the pain of Larel’s death, of being so far from everyone she ever loved and everything she knew, and now of Aldrik’s situation, she thought of maps, of everything she’d ever read about the North.
Vhalla ignored the tingling of her lips when she remembered the kisses she and Aldrik had shared the night before they had entered the North. She thought, instead, about where she must be, deciding upon Lake Io. Vhalla banished the image of Fritz’s worried eyes and tried to recite all the information she had surrounding the largest freshwater lake in the world.
Vhalla didn’t remember falling asleep, but when her eyes blinked open again the sun hung low in the sky. It had been three hours, maybe. Vhalla uncurled her stiff legs with a grimace. It’d have to be enough.
“Aldrik,” she whispered, “I’ll get you help soon.”
The declaration restored her resolve, and Vhalla echoed it in her mind as she forced her muscles back to life. Aldrik, Aldrik, Aldrik. His name punctuated every agonizing movement as Vhalla worked to find her rhythm with Baston once more. All the aches she felt, from her muscles to her heart, she would relish. She didn’t rely on the icy and barbed heart of Serien. Vhalla had to do this on her own. Aldrik’s life would be won by her hand.