Текст книги "Fire Falling "

Автор книги: Elise Kova

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Daniel stared at her in awe. His gaze brought a heat onto her cheeks, and Vhalla quickly placed her glass on the table, digging into the plate before her. She felt the weight of a second stare on her shoulders, and Vhalla looked up, surprised to find Larel’s waiting eyes. The Western woman smiled gently at Vhalla.

When they were done with dinner and had returned to their hotel, Larel followed Vhalla to her room following bathing. Vhalla sat on the bed, the other woman behind her, combing through her wet hair with magic fingers. “Did you mean what you said at dinner?”

“To Daniel?” The question was pointless, Vhalla knew what Larel was talking about.

Larel hummed softly behind her in confirmation as she continued to dry Vhalla’s hair.

“I did.” Vhalla nodded.

“I’m glad.” Larel pulled Vhalla in for a tight hug. “I’ve been worried for you.”

“You have?” It was a dumb question and Vhalla knew it. This was the woman who had held her through shivers and shakes. Larel had been the one who pieced her back together after the Night of Fire and Wind. She knew every jagged piece that was still cutting into Vhalla’s heart.

“You’re not someone to live in darkness or sorrow.” Larel reclined on the bed, inviting Vhalla to do the same. “You’re a light that can shine brighter than even the sun.”

“That sounds treasonous,” Vhalla teased.

“I mean it all the same.” Larel leaned forward and pressed her forehead against Vhalla’s a brief moment. “You have something in you, Vhalla, something most never have or lose quickly. I cannot wait to see when you realize it yourself.”

“I’m nothing ... I’m not even myself, I’m property of the crown.” The more she said it, the deeper it sunk into her. She needed to accept this truth to make it through the war.

As if sensing that fact, Larel didn’t outright object. “You are, for now. But soon you’ll be back in the capital studying and doing great things.”

“But I can’t—”

“Oh, stop arguing.” Larel laughed lightly, running her fingers through Vhalla’s hair lovingly. “You’ll see it eventually.”

Vhalla closed her eyes. “What if I don’t?”

“You will.”

“Will you still be there to help me? Even if I don’t?” Vhalla asked softly, feeling like a child who still needed her security blanket to face the monsters that lurked in the night.

“You know I will be,” Larel promised.

“Thank you,” Vhalla whispered. “Good night, Larel.”

“Good night, Vhalla.” Her friend replied, holding tightly to Vhalla’s hand as she drifted into sleep.

The door eased open quietly and the soft sigh of the hinges lingered on Vhalla’s ears. Fritz had stayed out with Craig and Daniel after the restaurant. Vhalla wondered how drunk he was to come crawling into her room again. She rolled over, pressing her face into the pillow.

The footsteps barely made a sound. Her ears picked up the movement of air more than the noise upon the floor. There was something amiss, but her sleep-filled mind couldn’t quickly place what it was. Something about the footsteps ...

Footsteps. Two sets of footsteps.

Vhalla yawned, bringing a palm to her eyes. She expected to see Craig and Daniel, or some combination of them with Fritz. But when Vhalla blinked the sleep from her eyes, the figure standing at her bedside was a nightmare come to life.

She recognized the Northerner staring down at her. Vhalla remembered a night of fire, a night of running through burning streets with a prince on her heels. She remembered being attacked but cautioning the prince that despite there being four assailants, two were still missing.

Moonlight glinted wickedly off the wavy blade the Northerner raised. Vhalla stared in frozen shock.

Another sword cut through the air, and Vhalla turned instinctually toward the sound. The first blade sliced deeply on her back, narrowly missing impaling her due to her sudden and unpredicted movement. The pain of the weapon digging into her flesh didn’t even register as Vhalla’s mind tried to process what was occurring.

She stared at the blade of another swordsman, plunged straight through Larel’s stomach. Blood, inky black in the darkness, poured out from the wound. Larel’s dark eyes were jolted open in shock. A strangled gurgling noise accompanied the loll in her friend’s eyes as they drifted to Vhalla, blood bubbling through her gaping mouth.

Vhalla screamed.

THE NOSE VHALLA released sounded more animal than human. It was a high-pitched shriek, wordless but perfectly expressing the agony that rushed through her veins on the back of adrenaline. The sword was pulled from Larel’s stomach and the assassin twisted it through the air quickly, preparing for a second attack. The woman behind Vhalla was doing the same.

A singular instinct overtook Vhalla: the instinct to survive. She launched herself at the male assailant before her, scrambling across the bed and over the body of her friend. The swordswoman’s blade narrowly missed for a second time, slicing Vhalla deep across the calf as she was mid-lunge.

Vhalla tumbled with the swordsman, biting and scratching like a rabid beast. A heartbeat overwhelmed her senses, and Vhalla allowed Aldrik’s knowledge of combat to take over. She wanted to know every horrible way he could ever conceive to reap pain and torture upon these vile creatures.

She moved a hand, quickly disarming the man. He was well-trained and swung with his opposite hand, sending Vhalla off him with a jab to her face. She rolled, recovering quickly despite the searing pain in her calf.

The woman was upon her, and Vhalla barely had time to wave her hand through the air and deflect the blade mid-swing. That movement allowed the man to recover his weapon, and Vhalla was forced to duck to miss another attack. She was outmaneuvered and outnumbered in the small room.

Vhalla made a dash for the door, having to push it open from her knees to avoid the blade that sunk into the wood where her head had been moments before. Vhalla scrambled into the hall, other guests of the inn opening their doors in confusion as the Windwalker sprinted down the narrow stair. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping her upright.

The female assailant let out a cry of frustration, quick on Vhalla’s heels. “Die, Wind Demon!”

Vhalla half-turned to dodge a dagger thrown at her, tripping down the last of the stairs. The night owls roosting in the lobby were quickly pressed against the outer walls as the Northern assassin and Windwalker rolled head over heels. Some were soldiers who quickly reached for weapons that weren’t there. One lunged bare-handed only to be cut down by the Northern man.

She had no time to consider the demise of the nameless Southerner. Her calf burned with what Vhalla suspected was more than pain. Her movements were becoming sluggish and delayed, despite Aldrik’s instincts remaining sharp with every pulse of her heart. She bumped into a chair and lost her balance. The swordsman raised his sword as the woman recovered from a gust of air Vhalla had sent her way.

A woman plowed into his side, knocking the Northerner off-balance and sending his blade in a wide arc. Vhalla met the unfamiliar pair of eyes. “Run!” That was the last word the brave woman said as the Northerner plunged the curved blade through her throat.

Vhalla didn’t know what running would do, but she did so anyways, barreling through the doors of the inn and into the square. The army was unarmed and off-guard. The soldiers were fat and lazy from the days of peace and relaxation that the Crossroads had afforded. It was so far from the North that they’d all so wrongly assumed they were safe. Even if they had been armed, half of the Crossroads was drunk by this time of night anyways.

But there was one ally ready to greet her. Vhalla felt the wind and quickly turned it on the man racing out to her. It sent the Northerner tumbling head over heels, his head cracking hard against the wall of the inn.

She had expected that to kill him, knock him out, daze him at least, but the man seemed to be made of metal or stone as he just blinked and rose again to his feet. She took a step back, sending another gust of wind at him, but it was equally ineffective. She had killed these people before—why couldn’t she kill them now?

A bloodthirsty cry summoned Vhalla’s attention as the Northern woman was nearly upon her. Vhalla swung out her hand, preparing to deflect the attack. The numbness that had been seeping from her calf had spread into her fingers and the wind didn’t heed her call.

“The eyes!” a voice cried from behind her.

A dagger crafted of blue ice shattered on the assassin’s face, narrowly missing her cheek. The distraction gave Vhalla enough time to roll out of the way of her blade. Vhalla turned, breathless, toward the source of the voice.

Fritz pulled back his hand, another ice dagger appearing in his fingers. He threw and missed again, leaving Vhalla to roll helplessly between sword swings.

Daniel charged as the woman lunged a third time. He had a breathtaking command over his body as each tight step narrowly preempted the assassin’s motions. Vhalla recognized the dagger he wielded as one he’d purchased when they’d gone shopping. The soldier had been wearing it under his pants leg since.

The Easterner demonstrated how he earned a golden bracer by not even blinking as he sunk the dagger to its hilt into the Northerner’s eye. The woman shuddered but didn’t make a sound as her body limply fell to the ground, sliding off Daniel’s blade. Vhalla stared at the lifeless body but found no sympathy. Instead she turned her rage to the remaining target.

The other assassin, seeing himself outnumbered against the army that quickly gathered with weapons in hand, turned to run.

Vhalla tried to jump to her feet, throwing out a hand uselessly. Whatever poison that they had laced the blade with sent shivers up her spine that blocked her Channel. However, as if summoned from her fingers, an inferno sprang up, sending the Northerner tumbling backwards as he tried to avoid running into the flames.

She twisted on the ground, looking for the origin of the fire. The crowd scattered like rats, fearing the blinding light of the fire that burned from Aldrik’s fists to his elbows, searing off the rumpled shirt he wore. His dark eyes were alight with flame and pure malice. Vhalla did not recognize the man before her as the man she had held and kissed a day prior.

This was the Fire Lord.

Aldrik’s focus was past her, toying with the Northerner as he sent the assassin scurrying to avoid one blindingly powerful magic flame after the next. Baldair was quick to follow behind his brother, freezing in his step as he took in the carnage before him. Vhalla pushed against the ground, trying to keep herself even partly upright. She was safe now and the heartbeat was beginning to fade. Behind it lurked an agony that threatened to tear her apart.

Aldrik had finally made it to her, and she saw his shoulders quiver with rage as he looked down upon her mangled and bruised body. “Lord Taffl, Baldair,” Aldrik spoke to Daniel and his brother but his eyes never left her. “Apprehend that man and bring him here—alive.”

The prince knelt at her side. “Vhalla,” he whispered.

“Aldrik,” she choked out, emotions overwhelming her. Vhalla’s face twisted in agony. “Aldrik, she’s-she’s-I, it’s my fault, it’s my fault.”

“Vhal ...” Fritz had been the only one of the steadily growing onlookers to approach the two. He sunk to his knees as well.

Vhalla hung her head between her shoulders and wailed in mourning.

“Mother, no ...” Fritz gasped. Vhalla expected him to be staring in horror at her. But he looked beyond.

She followed the Southerner’s gaze over her shoulder, past where Baldair and Daniel were dragging the overpowered assassin toward Aldrik. Her eyes followed the bloody trail she’d left to the inn that was now in need of repair from where she’d slammed a stone-skinned Northerner into its side. Vhalla’s eyes fell on a small row of bodies that was being lined up before the doorway. There was the man who’d been cut almost in half through the abdomen, the woman with the wound to her neck, another two Vhalla didn’t even remember falling in the scuffle, and then a Western woman.

Vhalla scrambled to her feet, Aldrik and Fritz in too much of a daze to stop her. Limping the pain away, she broke into a clumsy run. Daniel tried to grab her as she passed but his hands were too busy keeping the Northerner under control.

She pushed away the man who was situating Larel’s body in the line of the fallen, collapsing at her friend’s side. “No no no no no Larel.” Vhalla pressed her palms against the woman’s mortal wound, as if she could somehow heal it now. “You can’t, you can’t do this to me!”

Her throat was raw from screaming, but Vhalla’s ears could barely make out any sound. She leaned forward, pressing her face into Larel’s still warm shoulder, gripping onto the shade of her friend. It was too much. She rocked back and forth with every sob. It was too much.

“Vhal,” Fritz placed his palms on her shoulders. Vhalla didn’t move. “You-you need to get tended to.”

“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked, twisting out of his grasp, pressing herself closer to Larel.

“Vhal.” He grabbed her.

“I said, don’t touch me!” Vhalla twisted, swinging at him. She didn’t have the strength for an even halfway decent attack, but Fritz still took it upon his tear stained cheek. Quiet sobs heaved his shoulders.

Vhalla stared up at him at an utter loss.

“Bring the Windwalker.” The Emperor’s voice cut through the rising commotion of the square. His icy blue eyes found hers.

Vhalla gripped Larel’s arm tighter. “No,” she whispered.

“Vhal, you need to go,” Fritz pleaded, kneeling quickly to block the Emperor’s view of her disobedience.

“No,” she pleaded with Fritz, shaking her head. “I can’t, I can’t leave Larel like this. She needs me.”

“She’s dead, Vhalla.” Fritz’s harsh words were a knife that cut through the last scraps of hope in Vhalla’s heart. “And you might be dead too if you don’t heed the Emperor’s call.”

Fritz pulled her upright and herded her toward their ruler.

“It’s my fault ... It’s my fault ...” Vhalla whispered, repeating the mantra over and over in her head.

“What happened here?” the Emperor demanded as she arrived.

All eyes were on her. Vhalla swallowed and turned to the Northerner. “He was a juggler, at the festival.”

“Speak clearly, girl!” the Emperor took a step forward.

Aldrik stepped forward as well, wedging himself protectively between his father and Vhalla.

“The people who attacked on the Night of Fire and Wind, they were the jugglers from the festivals, the ones who came to the capital. There were two missing in that attack.” Vhalla’s voice echoed emptily in her ears.

“And our attack was a success! We had no idea Emperor Solaris was growing Wind Demons,” the man spat. His accent was thick and heavy and it would have been difficult to understand if its inflection hadn’t already been seared on Vhalla’s ears from that fateful night long ago.

“You speak forcefully for a man who is about to die,” the Emperor said quietly.

“A warrior doesn’t fear death,” the man replied haughtily.

“How about dying with the shame of failing to kill the one who slayed your comrades?” The Emperor gave a tilt of his head toward Vhalla.

That set the man off, and he was suddenly raging against Craig, Daniel, and Baldair, who all struggled to keep him on his knees.

“Let him go,” the Emperor commanded.

“Father—” Baldair began in shock.

“I said, release him!” Emperor Solaris was not to be trifled with, and they released the Northerner.

The assassin sprang forward like a sprinter from the blocks. But he did not lunge for the most powerful man in all the realms, the man who had killed his people and invaded his homeland. The Northerner lunged for Vhalla.

She didn’t even flinch when the flames erupted right before her. They singed her tattered sleeping clothes and licked by her face. But they did not burn her.

The man seemed to resist the heat as well, but only for a brief moment until he was magically overpowered and set to writhing and rolling on the ground. His flesh bubbling and singed.

The Northerner began to rasp, pulling himself into a seated position. “Tiberum Solaris, the mighty Emperor, chosen of the sun, hiding behind his son and a child.”

“I am not a child,” Vhalla threatened. Her whisper was heard by all and even the Emperor stilled his tongue.

“You think you will lead them to victory?” the man sneered up at her, his face a mess of mutilated flesh. “We sent birds, we reported, we have friends here in the West who hold no more love for you. Every sentry; every soldier; every man, woman, and child will aim their arrows, their blades, their stones, their axes, their fists, their picks, and their poisons at you. You cannot comprehend our power, and you will die.”

“Daniel, give me your dagger,” Vhalla demanded softly.

“Vhalla—”

“Give it to me!” She pried her eyes away from the Northerner, the pain manifesting as hot rage.

Daniel looked hopelessly to Baldair, who turned to the Emperor. The royal considered it only briefly, before nodding at the Golden Guard. Daniel flipped the weapon, carefully grabbing the blade to hold out the hilt to her.

The metal of the hilt felt like her magic did the first time she’d opened her Channel. It was a rush of power. But this was darker, of a more twisted and primal nature. Vhalla limped forward toward the disabled man, her calf beginning to protest her weight. Her clothes were soaked in blood, her own and otherwise, and her shoulders were heavy with guilt.

The Northerner squinted up at her with hatred and rage. For the briefest of moments, Vhalla wondered if he had loved those she’d killed on the Night of Fire and Wind the same way she had loved Larel. If she simply stared into a mirror of herself, she just happened to be on the lucky side of the reflection.

The man snarled and lunged. Vhalla moved to meet him. She did not need the Joining; she would do this alone. Vhalla remembered what Daniel had said as she felt the resistance of the blade sink straight through the man’s eye, embedding itself into his skull.

There was no sound but the wind as Vhalla remained frozen in time, staring at the remaining wide-eye and lifeless face of the man she had killed. This was not a blind rage, it wasn’t a burst of power, and it was not a memory her mind would later block. It was the deliberate end to a life, and it had been horribly simple.

Vhalla suddenly felt sick, and she swayed as her whole body trembled. She felt empty and yet so full with agony that she was certain she was going to split apart at the seams and die.

Her calf gave out with the waning resolve, and Vhalla staggered, falling.

Daniel moved to catch her, but Aldrik was faster. The prince caught and twisted her. Vhalla found herself weightless as Aldrik hoisted her into the air, holding her to his chest. She grimaced as he shifted his arm around the severed flesh of her back, finding a way to hold her with the least amount of pain possible.

When the prince turned, Vhalla could see the face of the Emperor. It was deathly still and the malice in his eyes at the sight of her in Aldrik’s arms was palpable, but the prince said nothing. He looked past his father and started for the hotel in which he’d been staying. Vhalla felt every wide eye and saw each gaping mouth as the people parted to make way for the crown prince and Windwalker.

“Aldrik,” she breathed, trying to be quiet enough that only he would hear. “Aldrik, you-I-they ...”

“Let them say something,” Aldrik ground out through a clenched jaw. “Let one person say something and give me a reason to burn it all.”

Vhalla felt the heat in his palms, the raw strength he wielded that promised to make good on his threats, and she closed her eyes. Vhalla leaned against the shoulder of the crown prince as he carried her into the temporary home of the Imperial family. She pressed her face against him and allowed his strength to shield her weakness as her shoulders began to shake and tears fell once more.