Текст книги "Fire Falling "

Автор книги: Elise Kova

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

ALDRIK LAID HER down gently on a chaise, a boneless shell of grief and tears. Vhalla curled on her side, almost choking as she sobbed. Aldrik sat next to her, his fingers lightly caressing her hair.

Whatever peace he could offer her was quickly ruined by the door slamming open.

“You have lost your mind!” Lord Ophain took giant steps toward his nephew.

“Leave us, Uncle.” Aldrik didn’t pull his eyes away from her, his fingers losing themselves in her hair.

“I thought you wanted to protect her—”

“And she is clearly nowhere safer than at my side.” There was a foreboding calm to Aldrik’s words.

“No, what you did just now was put an even bigger target on her back by showing everyone that she’s the chink in the crown prince’s armor!” Lord Ophain pleaded, “Aldrik, you need to move her to a clerical room and cover for your actions. That you acted as you did only because we need her for the war. You want her to think that—”

Fire erupted next to them as the opposite chaise burst into flame. The sudden brightness and flames at Aldrik’s back made Vhalla stir.

“Uncle, I swear to the Mother, if you or anyone else tries to take her from me—”

“That’s enough, Aldrik.” Vhalla rested her hand over one of his clenched fists. The flames instantly extinguished. She slumped against him, his arm quickly wrapping around her shoulders. Vhalla didn’t know which one of them was shaking. “He’s trying to help. Should I—”

Aldrik tightened his arm, half-pulling her onto his lap. He held her against him as if he was desperately trying to piece back the broken thing she was with his quivering caresses. One arm clutched at her waist, and he drew a shaky breath. “No, I will not.” He scowled at the Lord of the West as he spoke to her. “I will not let you go.”

“You’ll need to let her go if you don’t want her to die from infection.” Prince Baldair stood in the doorway. “I’ll see to her here.” He crossed over, placing one of the largest cleric’s boxes Vhalla had ever seen on the ground by the chaise.

The two brothers regarded each other, and Vhalla began to think Aldrik was going to make good on his promise. But his arms finally relaxed, and he eased her back into a reclining position. Aldrik quickly resituated himself so that her head could rest on his thigh.

The younger prince pulled at the hem of her shirt, slicing through the tatters in the back all the way to her collar. Vhalla didn’t have the energy to worry about her modesty. She didn’t have the energy to do anything other than cry and let Aldrik wipe away the tears.

“Father is assembling the majors,” Baldair said finally. “You need to go.”

“I’m not leaving her,” Aldrik repeated.

“She needs to rest,” Prince Baldair retorted.

“You should go, Aldrik.” Lord Ophain was much more collected. “If you want to protect her then you must go. You are the only one who can represent her interests at that table, both of your interests.”

Aldrik’s hands stopped moving. His pain palpably washed over her and numbed Baldair’s probing in the gash on her back. Vhalla clutched the crown prince’s thigh with white knuckles. Her fingers would leave bruises in their wake.

He was going to leave her. She knew he had to but that made it no easier. The world was taking him from her too. Vhalla couldn’t handle it.

“Baldair,” Aldrik choked on the a but quickly recovered.

Larel had been his friend too, his only friend in many ways. Vhalla had taken her from him as well. It was all her fault. Vhalla pressed her eyes closed, her whole body shaking.

“You don’t let her out of your sight. You protect her with everything you have. You see her healed and well. Do this for me and I will never ask a single thing of you again,” Aldrik’s voice was raw as it forced through tears he wasn’t letting fall.

Prince Baldair’s ministrations paused as the two princes shared a look of understanding that had not been there in some time. “You have my word, brother. On my honor.”

Aldrik began to pull away from her. Vhalla gripped his hands with both of hers, willing him to stay. “D-don’t, Aldrik. Please, don’t leave me yet. I know you have to but not, not yet.”

Her eyes nearly broke him.

“Aldrik, please,” she pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks.

He eased her back down onto the chaise, standing at its side. Aldrik leaned forward, smoothing her hair away from her face one more time and pressed his lips to her temple. Vhalla sobbed.

“I will return as soon as I can.”

“Promise me.” She gripped for his fingers again. “Promise, and I’ll believe it.”

“I promise, and I will never break a promise to you, my Vhalla.” He took his hand from hers and straightened. Vhalla watched as the stony façade of the crown prince slipped back into place. He wore the distance of nobility, the ferocity of the Fire Lord, and the armor of his title. He was a warrior ready to do battle.

Vhalla balled her hands into fists and buried her eyes in the pads of her palms, letting out a wail the moment the door closed behind Aldrik and his uncle. “It’s my fault, it’s my fault.”

“It is not.” She hadn’t been speaking to the younger prince, but he responded.

“What do you know?” Vhalla spat bitterly. “You know nothing about your brother, nothing about me. You’ve never even tried to know. You were too busy with your misplaced warnings. So just be quiet for once.”

The prince obliged her for a time as he placed gauze over the wound, coating it in a sticky substance that turned icy as it hardened. He pressed on her shoulder lightly and Vhalla understood that he needed her on her stomach to access the wound on her calf. The prince began stitching the deep wound without even warning her first.

“That one had poison in it,” she mumbled.

“What?” His fingers stopped. “Are you sure?”

“It was affecting my magic.” Vhalla nodded, her tears subsiding into numbness.

“I’ll need to get someone else to see to that.” The prince fumbled among the vials of elixirs, salves, and antidotes. “I have no idea which is which for poisons.”

“Aldrik will know.” Vhalla was certain. Prince Baldair returned to his stitching and packing the wound with a thick salve. When he was finished, he came around the chaise to kneel before her face. The prince dipped his first two fingers into the tin and began to massage the ointment over Vhalla’s black eye. “Thank you, my prince,” she begrudgingly offered.

“Baldair,” he corrected.

“Baldair?” The name sounded surprisingly easy on her tongue.

“You call Aldrik by his name; it’s weird to have you continue to call me by my title.” Baldair packed up his case and stood. “I’ll fetch Elecia; she’ll see about an antidote.”

“I said Aldrik would know.” Vhalla had no interest in seeing the Western woman.

“And Aldrik will not return for many hours,” Baldair replied firmly. His tone softened when he saw her deflate. “Elecia will help you.”

Vhalla nodded and began mentally withdrawing herself to endure the assault Elecia was likely to heap upon her. It had been days since they spoke, and in such time Vhalla had become the secret lover of the crown prince, Elecia’s cousin. Vhalla closed her eyes and attempted to think about nothing.

When the door opened again Vhalla didn’t even turn. She held herself tightly, trying to fight away the shivers. Her fault, her fault, it was all her fault.

“Vhalla.” Elecia touched her shoulder gently, and Vhalla spooked, nearly jumping out of her skin at the contact. “Let me see you.”

Elecia’s manner left no room for objection, and the Westerner’s hands were suddenly wrapped carefully around Vhalla’s neck. She moved her fingers up Vhalla’s cheek, the other hand ghosting over her shoulders, down the middle of her chest and on her thigh.

Vhalla pressed her eyes closed.

“It’s the same nonsense they used on Aldrik,” Elecia sighed. “But much weaker. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

It was weaker than what Aldrik had endured? He had more and could still use his magic, where hers had already faltered. Vhalla had a whole new appreciation of the crown prince’s strength.

“Where is Aldrik?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

Elecia sighed, rummaging through the small bag she’d brought.

“Figuring out how to keep you safe.” Elecia sat down next to her, inspecting Baldair’s work and making her own additions. “You and him ...”

“I love him.” Vhalla shook again, the words bringing a fresh batch of tears to her eyes. “I love him, but I am only death. I am death to everyone I love. Someday I will be the death of him.”

Elecia grabbed her face roughly, turning Vhalla to face her. The woman’s emerald eyes burned red at the edges from exhaustion or tears. “You will not be. I will not let you be.”

“But—” she whined.

“If you are going to be with him, then you will find the strength to wear that mantle. You don’t get it both ways, Vhalla Yarl,” Elecia said fiercely. “He’s risking everything for you tonight, so you better be ready to do the same. Because if you hurt him, I swear I will kill you.”

Vhalla made a choked noise when her lips failed to form words. Elecia put her hand on Vhalla’s back with a frustrated sigh, creating a tingle as her magic activated the salve she had applied. She repeated the process on Vhalla’s calf and forced two more vials down Vhalla’s throat before thrusting the third into her hands.

“Deep Sleep?” Vhalla instantly recognized the smell from what Baldair had given her months ago during her trial.

“You can’t heal if you don’t sleep. Get the rest while you can.” Elecia stood.

“Wait, don’t leave me.” Elecia was the last person Vhalla ever expected to cling to. But grief wasn’t logical.

“I can’t do anything more for you.” Elecia frowned down at the Eastern woman, but didn’t pull her hand away.

“Don’t leave me alone, please.” Vhalla bowed her head again. Larel, she wanted Larel. She wanted to feel safe and warm and unconditionally loved. She wanted Larel.

“Lie down,” Elecia sighed and sat. The woman didn’t offer her any further comfort. She didn’t whisper soothing words or wipe Vhalla’s tears away. But she stayed until the Deep Sleep took effect, and Vhalla’s mind was finally forced to shut down. And Elecia never untwined her fingers from the grieving Easterner.

Vhalla stirred some time later when she was lifted into someone’s arms. The momentary panic was quickly quelled the second she felt his warmth, heard his matching heartbeat slow and strong through his chest. Aldrik carried her off the chaise to the bed, settling her beneath the covers.

She whimpered pitifully. It hurt so much to be awake after sleep had been so blissfully void of everything. The bed sagged as he curled around her.

“Aldrik,” Vhalla murmured, pressing herself into him.

“My Vhalla,” he sighed heavily. “Sleep, it’s not yet dawn.”

Vhalla shook her head, earning another sigh. She needed to know what had happened. Cracking open her eyes, she was met with an exhausted shadow of the prince she knew. Dark circles perched upon his cheeks, taking up residence under his tired eyes. His hair was limp and tangled. She saw the makings of a bruise on his jaw that she wasn’t sure she wanted to know how he got.

“Aldrik.” One of the larger remaining pieces of her heart cracked and fractured at the sight of him. It was her fault, it was her fault he looked as he did; she had put him in this position.

“Sleep. You need your rest,” he insisted again. No matter the state of his appearance, his voice was calm and level.

Vhalla pried herself away. “Don’t you care?”

“What?”

“Larel, Larel is dead and I killed her!” Vhalla’s words were wet with tears. “Don’t you care?”

Aldrik pulled himself into a seated position, staring down at her. “Don’t I care?” he breathed sharply.

She could hear the quivering tension he barely controlled. Vhalla instantly regretted her words but he spoke too quickly for her to revoke them.

“Do you still think I am the heartless Fire Lord?”

The look on his face alone made Vhalla hiccup with tears. “Aldrik, no ...” She shook her head.

“Clearly you must if you somehow think I am blissfully unaffected by-by her death,” he snapped.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

“Do you even know how we met?” Aldrik stood and began to pace the room. “How I met Larel?”

“She told me once,” Vhalla whispered, feeling the anger radiating off of him.

“She told me I saved her, that I was the prince from all the stories who saves the helpless girl.” Aldrik chuckled; sorrow waged a war against self-loathing in the darkness of his eyes. “I always told her she was foolish, and I never told her how much I needed those words. I never even thanked her for them. How silly she was thinking that I saved her when she was the one saving me.”

“I know, you were close ...” Vhalla pulled herself into a seated position.

“You have no idea.” He rounded to face her. “You likely grew up surrounded by friends and people who enjoyed your company. Even in my best of years I was strange and distanced by nobility and magic. There was only one person among my peers who saw me as anything but their prince. I had Larel. And even-even after I pushed her away she came back. She was a far better friend than I ever deserved.”

“That’s not tr—”

“And when she came to me, paper in hand to march with you, I told her she wasn’t ready.”

It was her fault.

“I knew she wasn’t trained enough, wasn’t built for war. But I thought—” His hands gripped her shoulders suddenly. “I thought I could protect her. Just like I thought I could protect you.”

Vhalla couldn’t find words.

“But here you are, bruised and sliced open by an attempt on your life. There is no reason other than just ... luck that you were not also in a pool of blood next to her. Don’t you know I saw that?” He shook her and it made Vhalla wince from the pain in her back. Aldrik stopped and stared into her wide eyes, dropping his head. “Larel is dead and you may as well have died—I protected no one.”

He sat gripping her shoulders, his hair covering his face. At the first breath she thought he was going to speak more, but he let it out slowly, then another shaky breath, filled with more silence. The quivers were small at first, and started in his shoulders before finding their way to his hands despite his fighting.

She heard it, that breath, the one his tears were let loose upon. Vhalla heard the strange, choked noise rise from his throat as he finally gave into his own overwhelming grief. He was tired, he was over-worked, and he had lost the person whom he had considered his best friend. Aldrik—the crown prince, the future Emperor, Fire Lord, ruler of the Black Legion, sorcerer—was only a man. And men could be broken.

His grip loosened and his hands slid down to her arms, but he still held onto her. It was the first tear that fell onto the bed sheet that finally drew Vhalla out of her own shock and pain. She reached out her arms and pulled him to her without hesitation, pressing his face against her chest to hide him. She knew in all his stubbornness he was likely shamed for simply showing his grief.

As his tears began to heave his chest, she found her own pain refueled by his. She held him tightly, stroking his hair, wanting to offer him all the comfort he would never demand himself. His arms moved and wrapped themselves around her waist as he finally gave in. The wound on her back protested as he grabbed onto her but Vhalla said nothing. He may not allow himself a second chance to cry, she realized, so she would do nothing to stop his grief.

She never fulfilled his original order of sleep as the sunlight began to fill the room. Even after the tears subsided, he remained curled in her arms. Vhalla knew the way he was twisted couldn’t be comfortable, but she found as much comfort from him as she gave so Vhalla made no suggestion to move.

When Aldrik finally withdrew, he looked away before standing. He raised a hand to his face and Vhalla averted her gaze, allowing him his privacy. He turned back to her.

“We have a long day today.” His voice sounded hollow and detached.

“What will happen?” She wasn’t actually sure if she wanted to know.

“You heard it yourself; the attacks on you will be frequent and without mercy.” He leaned over her, tilting her chin to look at him.

His face had already recovered itself and, other than red in his eyes, he didn’t have the appearance of a man who had just cried for more than an hour. His jaw was set in determination, his brow furrowed with the weight of calculated planning. Vhalla wasn’t sure what she felt when this desperate mix of emotion was directed at her.

“Today we are making three doppelgangers for you.”

“Doppelgangers?” She blinked.

“Last night, the majors discussed who else among the host was the closest to your look, size, and build. Those women will come today, one by one, and we will turn them into you.” He spoke with such precision that Vhalla knew this was not the majors’ plan but his. “Each will ride with me, my brother, or my father, so from the beginning your exact location will be a mystery to everyone, including the soldiers.”

“If there are three women, where will I be?” she braved.

“You will be hidden in plain sight.” He caressed her cheek gently. “From today, your doubles own your name. It is no longer yours.”

“What?” Vhalla was overwhelmed and confused.

“By tomorrow, one of them will be the real Vhalla Yarl. But none of them will be the real Vhalla Yarl. You will be a swordswoman of no merit or worth. You will have come with the Western footmen so no one will question not knowing you. Make up any name and story you would like but you will need it soon.”

“I can’t ...” she whimpered softly, she didn’t even know how to hold a sword.

“You can, and you will,” he said firmly. Aldrik shook his head. “This is the best chance we have now, and I will not lose you.”

“What about the other women? They will be targeted,” she whispered.

“Exactly, and if one of them is slain the North may just believe they have killed the Windwalker,” he said coldly.

“Aldrik, that’s someone’s daughter, maybe someone’s mother, or someone—”

“I don’t care!” Vhalla jumped at his sudden intensity. Aldrik stormed to the opposite side of the room. “I have to make a choice, Vhalla. That choice is your life or theirs, and it is no question for me. If they die, then they will die honorably for their Emperor.” He turned back to her and she saw—to her horror—that his words were true, he really didn’t care about their lives. They had been written off as expendable.

She fidgeted with her fingers.

“You will ride with Baldair—”

“What?” Vhalla exclaimed, jumping to her feet. Her calf stung in pain and Aldrik was quickly supporting her. “Aldrik, no, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone!”

“Quiet. Hush.” It was a command but his soothing words had their desired effect. “You must ride there for the illusion of a swordswoman. But it is only until we reach the North.” Aldrik smoothed her hair away from her eyes. “When we reach the border, the host will split into smaller groups for movement through the jungle. You’ll be with me then.”

She sniffled loudly, tears returning anew.

“You’ll be with me then, my Vhalla, my lady, my love.” Aldrik pressed his lips firmly against hers, silencing any further objections.

“Do you ...” she sniffled.

“I promise.” Aldrik’s jaw quivered briefly, and he was kissing her again. His mouth tasted like resignation, and Vhalla knew that was the flavor he would leave her with. “Now, promise me you will be strong.”

“I promise.” Her face twisted in agony.

Aldrik pressed her against him, and Vhalla clung to him so tightly her hands shook. His long fingers snaked through her hair. “I will sacrifice anything that must be sacrificed to keep you safe.”

She believed him completely—evoking a new terror to swim through her veins.

He led her to a different room on the same floor and instructed her to wait. Vhalla had no idea what to expect when he reappeared later with the Emperor.

She clutched at the blanket Aldrik had placed over her tattered clothing. The Emperor regarded her with thinly veiled contempt. Aldrik was completely closed off.

“Well, let us begin.” Emperor Solaris walked over to a table, opening a folio he was carrying, sitting before a handful of papers.

One at a time, Aldrik brought in majors who escorted women under their command. And one at a time Vhalla told them what it meant to be Vhalla Yarl. She told them of her childhood, her home in Cyven. She told them of the library, Mohned, her apprenticeship, Roan, and Sareem. She told them of the Night of Fire and Wind and of her trial. She laid herself bare to them with the Emperor and majors watching.

It felt like a Projection. She spoke and moved but her mind was more detached with everything that was said. Every word gave away pieces of herself and she became less and less Vhalla Yarl.

The last was a woman almost identical to her short stature. She appeared to be a mixture of Southern and Eastern with long dark blond hair. Vhalla felt she was the closest to her looks, despite her lighter hair and blue eyes. That woman thanked her before she was ushered out of the room. Vhalla was certain the woman had not listened to a thing Vhalla had said about her life if the woman was thanking Vhalla for the opportunity to be her.

Between Vhalla retelling her story to each doppelganger and the secrecy required to sneak each woman in and out of the room, it took all morning and into the afternoon to accomplish the task. By the time the last woman was led to her holding room Vhalla was exhausted.

Aldrik and the Emperor favored the same woman as Vhalla, which meant that woman would be the double who would ride in Aldrik’s company. Vhalla was given the woman’s bag as her new clothes. Aldrik also thrust a dagger and a bottle of black ink into her hands, telling her to do whatever she could to change her appearance.

Trembling and alone in the washroom, Vhalla carefully sponged away the dirt and blood from the night before. She watched carefully as she applied the ink to her hair, changing the brown strands to black. After letting it sit for a moment she rinsed and repeated the process three times. She inspected her progress in the mirror; her hair had indeed changed color.

Vhalla bit her lip, remembering how straight and tame her hair had been when Larel had used her heat upon it. She choked down a sob and raked her fingers through her hair with pockets of wind trapped underneath. It was clumsy and took a few minutes to be met with any success. But it dried straighter, more Western looking, taking out her normal wavy texture. It was longer this way, and Vhalla made the conscious decision not to cut short it again. She had done so once and become no one. This time she would grow into her new skin.

But Vhalla still grabbed for the dagger. Pulling her bangs in the front Vhalla made a straight horizontal cut just below her brow. For the second time in a year, Vhalla was unable to recognize the person staring back at her in the mirror. She leaned over the washbasin, muffling her mouth with her hand as she struggled to suppress tears for the woman whose memory she had decided to honor.

Keep it together. Vhalla Yarl’s friend died, Vhalla Yarl would mourn. She was not Vhalla Yarl. She looked back to the mirror, steeling her resolve. Looking at the hard eyes and foreign face she repeated to herself, she was not Vhalla Yarl. She cleaned up the bathroom quickly, changing into the other woman’s clothes—she corrected herself—her clothes.

She left the washroom and returned to where the Emperor and Aldrik waited. Both men looked her up and down. The Emperor leaned back in his chair.

“It will do,” he said, rubbing a finger against his lips.

“What is your name?” Aldrik asked her.

“Serien,” she replied without hesitation.

“Serien, what is your family name?” he questioned.

“Serien Leral,” she said and realized the moment he recognized her name.

Aldrik struggled to keep his composure. “Where are you from?” His jaw set firmly.

“A town called Qui. It’s a mining town that I hope you never have to go to,” she recited. Her story had been built for her.

“Where is Qui?” The Emperor leaned forward, folding his hands between his knees.

“It’s about halfway to Norin, if you take the old roads.”

“Your parents?” Aldrik asked.

“My father was a miner, and a drunk. My mother was a broken woman who left her home in the East because she thought it was love. They died when I was young, and I worked in the mines.” Despite her small changes to account for her eyes she wondered if the Emperor would see the source of inspiration for her story. She smiled coldly; of course he wouldn’t. Larel had meant nothing to him, she doubted he even remembered the girl his son saved from the silver mines of Qui.

“Why are you here?” The Emperor questioned her confident gaze.

“For a better life, to serve the Emperor,” she said easily.

“Well done, Miss Yarl.” The Emperor sat back in his chair.

She stared at him curiously. “Miss Leral,” she corrected.

The man simply chuckled.

“Your armor is here.” Aldrik stood to the side and allowed her to approach the table that was behind them. Basic plate and silver chainmail was displayed upon it. Vhalla was stunned a moment, one of the women would be wearing the armor Aldrik had made for her. No, she reminded herself, Aldrik had made that armor for Vhalla Yarl, and she was not Vhalla Yarl.

She scooped up the chainmail. This was Serien’s armor, simple and unadorned. It was the kind of armor that would slip into a mass of soldiers and be undistinguishable from the next. Aldrik silently assisted in showing her how to strap on the plate. It was heavier than her scale, and the weight made her favor her uninjured leg as she pulled on the gauntlets.

He turned and presented her with a sword. Thankfully, it strapped over her left leg, her good leg, so she could draw it with her right hand. She shifted, adjusting to its weight on her hip.

“Any questions?”

There was a notable pause and their eyes met. She wondered what he saw in her then, who he saw then.

“Serien?”

The name was strange to hear coming from him, addressed to her. But if anyone could say it and make her believe that it was her new identity, it would be Aldrik. She shook her head no.

“Good, you’ll be reporting under the Golden Guard. You are dismissed.”

She nodded. Her eyes reflected the empty distance she saw in his. Grabbing her canvas bag off the floor, she turned and gave a brief salute. Her knuckles were white from attempting to walk down the stairs wearing armor with her injured leg. She was determined, but mindful not to rip her stitches.

It was almost sunset when Serien left the hotel though a backdoor.