Текст книги "Fire Falling "

Автор книги: Elise Kova

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

She walked to the front of the horse and considered the beast. “Lightning,” she decided. It wasn’t very original, but it needed a name, and Lightning was as good as any. Lightning was fire in the sky, lightning was brilliant, lightning was fast, and lightning cut the heavens.

Putting her left foot in the stirrup, she swung her right over easily, taking the reins. Vhalla had never been taught how to properly ride, but a horse or two was something her family always kept for the farm. From a young age she’d rode astride, so sitting in a saddle seemed a natural stance. Vhalla glanced around at the other recruits; it wasn’t so natural for many.

Taking the reins in one hand, she put her heels to the beast’s sides and steered him out of the stable stall. Her armor clanked as she found the rhythm of the horse. Vhalla rode over to where the major was beginning to form the line.

“Major,” she said.

“Good to see you know your way around a horse.” The major assessed Vhalla from her feet in the stirrups to her grip on the reins. “You’ll be close to center, Yarl, at my right.” Referring to Fritz and Larel by their last names, she added, “Charem next to you, then Neiress. Then everyone else whom I can trust to not die promptly in a scuffle will be on the outside and rear.”

Vhalla placed her horse in line with enough space on both sides. There was a small commotion behind her, and Vhalla turned in her saddle. The palace’s giant ceremonial doors opened with the clanking and grinding of a large chain, and the Imperial family marched into the sun.

Prince Baldair wore his golden armor, and it shone brilliantly against the light. The Emperor wore a similar suit with large plate but all in white. Aldrik stood in stark contrast. He wore black scale that covered his entire body, similar to what Vhalla wore. Strapped atop the scale mail were large black plates rimmed in gold, which went from his hands to his elbows, his feet to his knees, on his shoulders, and upper chest. All three held helmets tucked under their arms and wore long white cloaks that flapped around their upper calves.

He looked nothing like the prince she’d seen barely hours before. But he was still utterly familiar to her.

The other members of the Imperial family had their horses brought out to them, but no one seemed interested in bringing Aldrik his. He approached the stomping beast and calmed it with a hand, leading it from its stall.

Vhalla’s stare was broken as Larel and Fritz rode over.

“Charem, Yarl’s right. Neiress, after,” the major barked, and Fritz and Larel fell in line around Vhalla.

“You’re holding the reins too tightly,” Vhalla advised quietly over Fritz to Larel, who seemed to be having trouble controlling her horse. Larel gave her an appreciative glance. Even though Vhalla would have rather them be safe in the Tower, she was glad to have her friends near her.

She began to notice strange glances from the other soldiers as more fell into line. There was a definite break between those dressed in silver and white and those dressed in silver and black. Friends were going to be in short supply on the march.

A quiet swept up from behind her, and the major turned. Aldrik sat atop his large War-strider, riding through the gap to Major Reale.

“My prince.” The major bowed her head.

“Major Reale.” Aldrik’s voice was sharp. “How many do we have?” His eyes scanned through the recruits.

“Just shy of fifty,” the major reported, confirming Vhalla’s suspicions that they were the smallest group.

“Then I want just shy of fifty coming home.” The prince took the reins in his hands as the major nodded. He directed his horse through the ranks, heading toward the front, but spared the second for a glance at Vhalla. Their eyes met, and his face relaxed a fraction, a conflicting mess of emotions building behind his stare.

Vhalla hardened her gaze as much as she could and gave him a small nod. He put his heels to his horse and posted a trot to the front of the line.

The time for sadness and pity was over. The girl who had come to the palace at eleven and lived her life in the library was dead; she’d been killed by the Senators whom she’d always been taught were sworn to protect her. The woman sitting in the saddle now had to find a heart crafted of black steel. She had to survive if for no other reason than to spite the world.

The host was in place, and the men and women shifted in their saddles. Vhalla clutched her reins tightly. She could do this, she told herself over the mental lies that her knees weren’t shaking in the stirrups.

“Open the gates!” the Emperor boomed.

The lower gates groaned to life, opening for the hoard of warriors behind them. The Emperor led the march as the host spilled out into the mountaintop city with a thunderous rumble. Somewhere at the front soldiers began to cry, a wordless shout of bloodlust, fear, victory, and hope.

Vhalla did not make a sound.

THE DIN OF the horses’ hooves on the cobblestone streets filled her ears. They set a brisk pace down the city and through the assembled crowds. More than one person stared with morbid curiosity or fear as the Black Legion passed, and Vhalla struggled not to give the masses any heed.

But, despite her best efforts, her eyes wandered; Vhalla was faced with a mix of horror, fear, and anger. Sorcerers, they were outcasts and unwanted creatures and—as far as many of the crowd were concerned—they had overstepped their boundaries the moment they left the Tower. More than once, someone was bold enough to throw something at them, though it normally missed and hit a pole-armed soldier at their front or an archer at their backs. The Black Legion was much smaller than the other groups.

By the increasing damage to the city, Vhalla realized they were close to the square of Sun and Moon. It had only been a few days since the already infamous Night of Fire and Wind, and most things were still in disrepair. Guilt swelled within her to near dizzying levels.

As they reached the lower wall of the city the houses became shorter, less opulent. It made the wall all the more impressive. The capital’s first line of defense was a massive structure that utilized natural features and stone of the mountain. The drawbridge of the main gate was already being lowered for the host to march through.

“Ride close!” Major Reale called from her left.

Vhalla steered her horse close to the center of the column, and they passed through the gate. The city continued to stretch on beyond the wall on the other side of the moat, a moat that would remain dry throughout the winter months. Even poorer homes lined the mountainside to the valley below.

The road they marched upon eventually came to a T against the Great Imperial Way, a road that ran from the border of the Empire in the North to the sea in the South. The host turned left and began to head in a northwestern direction. Laid stones made their path wide enough that the entire host could ride and march abreast, eleven to fifteen men side-by-side.

It wasn’t until they hit the forest that a horn blew long and low. The whole of the host slowed their pace, and the leaders called for a change in formation.

Major Reale waved out her arm to the right. “Make a space,” she called, and they obliged.

Vhalla focused ahead; the whole army kept on while cleaving a hole down the middle. Aldrik, to his father’s left, slowed his horse and the soldiers marched forward around him. Then the Emperor stopped his mount, and finally the golden prince. The Imperial family fell into place among the ranks.

Prince Baldair stayed in the middle front with all the sword-bearing soldiers. The Emperor rode behind him among the pole-arms. A few rows after was Vhalla and the crown prince, who now occupied the space between her and the major. His War-strider was a large creature, and her waist was on the same level as Aldrik’s knee.

She glanced up at him, and caught his eyes on her at the same time. Vhalla gave a small bow of her head.

“My prince,” she said respectfully. He barely nodded and turned back to the major. Vhalla looked forward. She wanted to believe that it was simply chance how the formation had lined up, but she was too smart for that. The man to her left gave nothing to chance.

In truth, she was fairly certain it was the safest place to be in the host—near the center, next to one of the most powerful sorcerers alive. Vhalla told herself that relief was the reason for the warmth that relaxed her shoulders at the thought that he’d be near her.

The legions had slowed to little more than a walk and the banners were struck. The time for pomp had ended, and everyone seemed to settle in for the long trip north. The war had been raging for four long years, and victory was one winter away. At least, the Emperor had said such.

Vhalla glanced behind her; in between the two back legions moved supply carts. It seemed a large amount of supplies for a victory that was only supposed to take a few months. She mused if the Emperor hadn’t been entirely true in his time estimates.

The forest became denser, and soon they rarely passed any houses. Occasionally game and hunting trails stretched out from the road, but there was little else. The trees fractured the light from the Mother Sun, splotching the road ahead. Chatter began to fill the air, and it was a fairly peaceful ride.

But Vhalla didn’t know if she could feel peaceful, she didn’t know if she could sit easily in her saddle and prattle on about this or that. Every shift in her armor reminded her why she was there. She was a soldier now, property of the crown.

“How long has it been since you’ve been out of the city?” Fritz asked. The Southerner had other plans than to let her sit silently and wallow in her misfortune.

“It’s been a while,” Vhalla finally replied.

“Really?” he seemed genuinely surprised. “How often do you go home?”

“The last time I went home ...” Vhalla’s words trailed off, thinking of a farmhouse amid a field of golden wheat. She’d sent a letter to her father just a few days ago, trying to get word to him faster than rumors could fly. The thought put a lump in her throat, as though she’d somehow tarnished the happy memories her family had made in their home with her sorcery and crimes. “For my coming of age, I think?”

“What?” Fritz was aghast. “Fifteen? It’s been three years since you went home? My mother and sisters would have my skin if I didn’t come home for three years.” Fritz laughed his infectious laugh.

Vhalla cracked a smile. “You have sisters?” As an only child she sometimes wondered what it’d be like to have a sibling.

“Four of them,” Larel chimed in from Fritz’s right. She seemed to be much more comfortable on the horse now that it was barely moving. “And you should see them all together. Thank the Mother they’re not all sorcerers or it would be the Charem family against the world.”

“You’ve met them?” Vhalla’s curiosity compelled her to ask.

“Once.” Larel nodded.

“How long have you known each other?”

The two exchanged a look before turning back to Vhalla.

“Seven years,” Larel said.

“Eight years,” Fritz proclaimed.

They both glared at each other.

“No, it’s seven. You came the year after my coming of age.” Larel counted on her fingers.

“No, eight, I just turned thirteen,” Fritz argued.

“Yes, you turned thirteen, but after we met.”

“You two remind me of an old friend and me,” Vhalla mused softly.

“Who?” Fritz asked, oblivious to the sorrow that laced her words.

“His name was Sareem.” She fussed with Lightning’s mane.

“Is he at the palace?” Fritz tilted his head.

“He died on the Night of Fire and Wind.” Vhalla was momentarily assaulted by her nightly visions of her friend’s battered and broken body. It was her fault. She’d been too slow and he’d been waiting for her.

“I’m sorry, Vhal. Was he someone special?” Fritz asked, pulling Vhalla from her self-inflicted mental abuse.

“He was a good friend—special, like a brother.” Vhalla physically shook the images from her head, feeling another set of eyes fall on her from her left. Her sanity couldn’t handle another question on Sareem so she decided to take control of the conversation. “How long will we ride today?”

“Another two or three hours,” said a voice, dark as midnight.

Vhalla turned and looked up at the crown prince. “That’s all?”

Aldrik nodded. “It will take some time for a host this size to stop and set up camp. We don’t want to do it in the dark.”

Vhalla nodded and turned away before she became too entranced by him. Fritz and Larel began to talk between them, but Vhalla excluded herself from the conversation. She felt exhausted and passed the rest of the day in a daze.

When the sun was two-thirds of the way through the sky, the trumpet bellowed twice, calling for an all-stop.

“Make camp on the left side,” Major Reale barked, and the Black Legion followed her order.

Aldrik split off and dismounted between the Black Legion and the pole-arms. His father’s tent was erected in the center of the forward legion, and Aldrik’s went up at the edge.

The more experienced soldiers who knew what to do began to set up tents. The Imperial family members’ tents were significantly larger and rose up in a square with a pyramid roof. Groups of people ran over to assist each royal in setting up their temporary home.

It was a nice feeling to be out of the saddle. Vhalla stretched out her legs, ignoring the stiff ache, as she tied Lightning to a low-hanging tree branch. But she suspected the horse was smart enough not to run.

“Vhalla, we’re sharing,” Larel called, walking over to her with a bundle of canvas in her hands.

Relief settled over her as Vhalla pulled her bedroll off Lightning’s saddle. Larel was with her. She felt guilty that the woman had become her keeper, but Vhalla was too mentally and physically exhausted to waste much energy on such a small guilt.

Seasoned soldiers took personal effects from their saddlebags, like blankets or small pillows, and made themselves comfortable in their cramped spaces. Some regarded her with curiosity, some ambivalence, which was better than the one or two dirty glances she received even within the Black Legion.

Larel drove two posts, which suspended a length of canvas, into the ground. The product was a simple triangular tent. Privacy came in the form of two flaps in the front and back that could be tied closed. It was barely big enough for their two bedrolls.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Larel announced after they’d finished settling.

“What’s for dinner?” Vhalla followed the Western woman as she walked toward one of the fire pits.

“Whatever the hunters can find with speed,” Larel answered.

Tonight that appeared to be a few deer, hare, and pheasant that already dripped fat into the fires from the turning spits. Vhalla received a shred of meat directly into her palm. She thought back to the lunch she’d shared with Prince Baldair at his formal table. Was he eating with his fingers now also?

“It’s not half bad,” Vhalla mused as she gnawed half-heartedly on a corner of the meat.

“I’ve always heard the Southern Forest was the easiest stretch of the march.” Larel tore off a strip with her teeth, eating ravenously. “The soldiers say that the Western Waste makes up for it in difficulty, and if we dip into our rations now we’ll never make it through the desert.”

Suddenly everyone was on their feet, giving the salute of the Black Legion. Vhalla was slower in bringing her fists to her chest. The crown prince walked up to the circle, his hands folded behind his back in a commanding stance. After a long moment of assessment, he gave a nod and the company relaxed. Aldrik walked over to the far corner and sat down next to a woman whom Vhalla had never seen.

Her skin was a deep tan color, not quite chocolatey, more like the color of a black tea that had been steeped for too long. Her hair was the same texture as the Northerners, and Vhalla instantly felt uncomfortable. Vhalla put her fingertips to her cheek, touching the faint red line of recently healed skin, remembering the Night of Fire and Wind. The woman’s hair curled like corkscrews in every direction, and she wore a red bandana around her forehead that pushed it back. She had angular features and striking green eyes. Vhalla’s uneasiness aside, the woman was rather beautiful.

She watched the odd exchange as the watercolor sky grew inky black. Aldrik sat with one knee up, an arm propped on it. He had removed his cape and sat leisurely in his armor. The woman was laughing, and Vhalla even saw a smile sneak across Aldrik’s cheeks from time to time. It was a smile that Vhalla had only ever seen given to her.

“Who is that?” Vhalla spoke so she couldn’t hear the whisper of his throaty laughter with the other woman on the wind.

“Who?” Larel tried to squint across the fire pit.

“The woman the prince is talking to. I’ve never seen her before.” If the woman had been in the Tower, it was amazing that Vhalla had missed it. The woman’s appearance alone made her uneasy.

“Ah, her.” Larel seemed to get a good look. “Fritz, you know her?”

“Her?” Fritz glanced now too and shook his head. “I’m not sure. I think I heard they were bringing people who knew about the North.”

“Do you think we can trust her?” Vhalla asked, unable to shake the unsettling feeling.

“The prince apparently does,” Larel replied with a shrug.

Vhalla returned her focus to the two in question. Their discussion seemed to have changed to something more heated, and they were arguing back and forth. Aldrik shifted and, as though he sensed her stare, two dark eyes caught her. Vhalla quickly averted her gaze.

For the remainder of the meal, she made it a point to avoid looking at him. Vhalla picked at her meat. Surely it was a discussion about the North, if that was why this woman travelled with them. Though the casual smiles and relaxed stances made it seem like war wasn’t the subject of conversation.

“Eat, Vhalla,” Larel instructed. “You’ll need your energy.”

Vhalla forced half of the meal down like it was medicine. Her desire for social interaction vanished, and she stood.

“I’m going to tuck in,” she announced to her friends.

“We have a long ride tomorrow,” Larel agreed.

“See you in the morning,” Fritz said with a smile.

Vhalla turned and walked away, not tired in the slightest.

SHE WAS TRAPPED in the labyrinth of her nightmares. Every shadowed figure cracked and turned into fog, dissipating at her touch. She ran past them all, feeling the wind roar on the edge of her consciousness. Vhalla ran screaming through the darkness and fire.

Two arms heaved her upright, shaking her awake.

Vhalla immediately wrestled with the other body, trying to tear herself away from the person’s grip. Her forehead was slick with sweat, and her clothes were nearly soaked. Wind howled through the mountains, heralding one of the last storms of summer.

“Vhalla, stop.” Larel pulled Vhalla into her arms, pressing Vhalla’s face into her chest and shielding her from the world. “You’re okay, you’re all right. I’m here.”

Vhalla shivered, clinging to Larel as she had every other night she’d woken like this. Her blanket seemed less tangled around her legs; the other woman could wake her from her night terrors faster when she was only an arm’s length away. Vhalla pressed her face into the Westerner, reminding herself that the person she was holding was not the mangled body of her lost friend.

“Sorry,” Vhalla muttered when she was finally ready to face the world again.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for.” Larel said it in such a way that Vhalla believed it.

As it was near dawn, they decided not to go back to sleep. They assisted each other in clipping on their armor before breaking down the tent. Vhalla’s skin felt hot and cold all over. It was as though she could still feel the heat of the fire from the nightmare, the chill of the screams in the darkness. If she couldn’t make it through one night, how could she make it through war?

“Do you want to talk about it?” Larel asked. It wasn’t the first time the woman had posed the question.

“No,” Vhalla replied, having no interest in sharing the darkness that brewed in her as ominously as the storm clouds on the dawn’s horizon.

“Good morning,” an unfamiliar voice chimed, halting any further inquiry from Larel.

Vhalla could’ve thanked the person were it not for the face that belonged to the voice. She paused, mid-fold on the tent canvas, staring at the emerald eyes that shone brightly in the early morning light.

“Good morning,” Vhalla greeted quietly. Seeing this woman and her Northern features so close after her nightmares instantly unsettled Vhalla.

“Good morning,” Larel responded politely. “Can we help you?”

“Vhalla Yarl, the Windwalker.” It wasn’t a question, and it made Vhalla feel anxious. “I don’t know what I expected from the stories, but it was not you,” she said with a laugh.

Vhalla stood slowly.

“And you are?” Larel asked.

“Oh, where are my manners? Elecia.” She stuck out her hand for Larel, then Vhalla. Vhalla took it after only a brief moment’s hesitation. “Say, you sure you really made that windstorm everyone tells me about? You look like you’d be blown over by a good breeze.” Elecia laughed and, despite being a sweet sound, it made Vhalla’s teeth grind together.

“I did; just ask any of the Senators. I know one or two who would be happy to give you a colorful account of the night.” Vhalla turned her back on the woman, strapping her bedroll to Lightning’s saddle. She didn’t care if she was being rude. This woman was the last person with whom she’d discuss the Night of Fire and Wind.

“Well, I guess we will see,” she said cheerfully. “The crown prince asked me to deliver a message.”

Vhalla paused. Aldrik was sending messages through this woman? She barely looked any older than Vhalla.

“He is going to assist you with your training starting this evening.”

Vhalla managed to hold her tongue and give the woman a nod.

“Excellent.” The woman clapped her hands together. “Right then, see you ladies later.” She was gone before either had an opportunity to respond.

Vhalla pressed her eyes closed and swallowed down the nausea the sight the woman evoked. She was disgusted with herself. “I’m going to take these to the cart,” Vhalla announced, grabbing up the tent poles. “I could use a walk.”

Larel nodded mutely and picked up the canvas, taking it to her saddlebag before repeating the process with her bedroll.

Vhalla took a few deep breaths, reminding herself she had no reason to be angry. Aldrik was likely busy, and he was talking to Elecia last night. He mentioned it and asked her for a favor, Vhalla explained away in her head. She should be happy, excited even, to train with Aldrik. But the woman’s words echoed in her mind: See you later. Did that mean Elecia was going to be there, too? Or was it just a colloquial saying? Why was she even talking so casually to Aldrik in the first place?

Vhalla waited in line at the cart to return the tent poles. The sun had almost come up—scaring away the storm clouds in the process—and the host was likely to begin their march soon.

“Thanks,” she mumbled to the man loading the cart. Vhalla turned and bumped into a large man with light brown hair. “Sorry,” she muttered, keeping her face down. Vhalla stepped around him to head back to her section of camp when a large hand clasped down on her shoulder.

“Well, don’t you think you’re special, black armor?” he sneered, yanking her back.

Vhalla stumbled. “I said I was sorry.” She looked up at the man in annoyance; this was not the morning to test her patience.

“Really? I didn’t hear you.” He leaned down.

“I’m sorry,” she forced through grit teeth, not wanting to make a scene before the small crowd gathering.

“It’s bad enough we have to deal with the Black Legion at all,” the man grumbled. “Now I’ve to take sass from little girls?”

Vhalla frowned.

An armored arm slung itself around her shoulder, and Vhalla blinked in surprise. “Now, now, don’t take it personally, Vhalla. Grun here hasn’t eaten yet, and he’s really grumpy in the morning,” Daniel said with a grin.

“Come on, Grun,” Craig came up on the other side of the man. “Let’s get some food in that giant gut of yours.”

She hadn’t seen the two soldiers since her trial. They’d been her guards when she was in holding, the good ones. Daniel was an Easterner like her, yellow-tinted tan skin and full-bodied dark brown hair. Craig’s wavy blonde hair and paler complexion marked him as a Southerner. She’d immediately liked both of them, and this morning was one more reason to add to that growing list.

“Eat with us, Vhalla?” Daniel asked.

“I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea.” She glanced over at the large man Craig was escorting away.

“Nonsense!” Craig called, and soon she was being led toward the front of the host.

“What are you two doing here?” she asked Daniel as he removed his arm from her shoulders. Craig took the behemoth a far distance ahead before rejoining them.

“We’re soldiers.” Daniel chuckled, the movement tossing his nearly shoulder-length hair. “I’d say we belong here more than you, Miss Windwalker.”

“You’re not palace guards?” she asked with genuine surprise.

He shook his head and raised up his arm. One of his gauntlets was plated in gold, the metal on his forearm catching the glint of the morning’s light. “We’re Golden Guard,” he explained.

Vhalla had heard of Prince Baldair’s personal squadron before; they were rumored to be the best of the best with only the finest lords and ladies serving among them.

As she focused on his arm he focused on her. “I like your hair; you clean up rather nice.”

She raised a hand to the frayed ends of her hair that barely touched the chainmail hood of her armor. Her hair was awful. Vhalla scowled as a hunk of cold meat was shoved into her palm. It was a little charred on one side and the natural fats had coagulated into a jelly-like film that she scraped off onto the ground as they sat around the still-smoldering remains of a fire.

“I don’t think people like that I’m here.” Other soldiers gave her looks, but none were brave enough to approach with two members of Prince Baldair’s highest order at her sides.

“Don’t you think that’s half the fun?” Craig asked with a small grin.

She shook her head.

“Plus, we look so exotic with our Black Legion friend.” Daniel took a large bite of his meat.

“Where are you both from?” Vhalla asked, picking at her own food.

“The capital,” Craig said, unsurprisingly.

“Cyven,” Daniel announced.

“Where in Cyven?” She was sincerely interested in anyone from the East.

“Most people don’t know it. It’s a small town.” Daniel laughed when he saw the squint she was giving him and proceeded, “It’s called Paca.”

“Paca!” she gasped.

“You know it?” He raised his eyebrows.

“I’m from Leoul.”

“No.” He seemed as excited as she felt.

“Yes! Yes! I went to the Festival of the Sun in Paca every year with my mum and papa.” Vhalla felt the sweet pang of nostalgia.

“With the old lady who sells the candied nuts?” he asked in disbelief.

“And the man who never stopped singing?” Vhalla affirmed.

“Oh Paaaaaaaca, don’t you go astray!” Daniel put his hand to his chest and belted before they both collapsed into a fit of laughter. “You really do know!” He flashed her a dazzling smile that was too infectious not to return.

“Oh, how adorable. You finally have someone who understands your love of farm animals.” Craig’s tease was ignored.

Daniel’s focus was only on Vhalla.

“My family’s farm is about a half day’s ride to the Hot Pot Inn. We’d stay there for the festival,” she explained.

“I knew the family who owned the inn. I’d work there sometimes when Dad didn’t need a hand in the fields. I wonder if we ever met.” Daniel gave the matter serious thought.

“Who knows?” Vhalla shrugged and occupied her mouth with a strip of meat. She didn’t remember any young boys in particular, but she didn’t want to discourage Daniel. It was nice to have a connection to home.

“Get ready to move out,” Prince Baldair boomed as he strolled through the ranks.

“I should go.” She stood, passing her mostly untouched breakfast to an eager Craig.

“Ride with us today?” Daniel invited.

“I don’t think I can,” Vhalla said uncertainly.

“They’re only strict about the formation for show. They won’t care now.” Craig was already halfway through her portion.

Vhalla opened her mouth to answer as she felt footsteps thunder over the ground behind her.

“You’re far from home.”

“My prince.” Vhalla turned, giving Prince Baldair a bow. She found his presence uncomfortable. First he’d been nothing more to her than the Heartbreaker Prince, a man straight from the lore of servants. A man she’d only briefly met in the library by chance. Then, he’d been Aldrik’s brother, and her conspirator in sneaking her into the gala at the end of the last Festival of the Sun. That had also been the Night of Fire and Wind. The last time she’d seen Prince Baldair he’d been tending to her wounds at Aldrik’s command. What did he think of her now? “I was just about to return.”

“Baldair.” Daniel stood, wiping his palms on his pants, surprisingly relaxed in the presence of his prince and commander. “Would it be trouble if Vhalla rode with us today?”

“You well know it’ll be trouble from the other soldiers if she is around.” Baldair laughed as if the idea was more amusing than off-putting. “But I don’t mind, if her superiors don’t take issue.” The prince gave Vhalla a grin as he paused over the word superiors.

“We’ll see ...” Vhalla avoided his presumptuous gaze.

“One of you two walk her back? I don’t want trouble one day out,” the prince demanded, smartly aware of the tensions surrounding her presence.

“I will,” Daniel volunteered first.

“Excellent.” Prince Baldair gave a nod and left.

“Shall we?” Daniel took a step toward the Black Legion.

“See you later, Miss Windwalker,” Craig bid her farewell with a smile.

“Take care, Craig.” Vhalla waved and fell in step with Daniel.

The camp was almost completely broken down as they walked back. Remnants of fires were doused, and people were beginning to mount their horses. The short walk was filled with talk of how his family grew potatoes and hers wheat, and the processes for each. Despite the circumstances under which they met, Vhalla felt an instant connection with her fellow Easterner.