Текст книги "Fire Falling "

Автор книги: Elise Kova

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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

SERIEN LAY AWAKE, listening to Daniel’s breathing. She watched as his chest rose and fell in the moonlight, punctuated by the soft sighs of dreamlands. She wondered what he saw behind his closed eyes. His dreams could in no way be as tortured as hers.

Being next to him was becoming painfully normal. She missed Fritz and Larel with an ache that could never be filled. But Daniel was kind and attentive. He was thoughtful and preempted her needs to a surprising degree.

Serien rolled onto her side. If things had been different, what would they be? She bit her lip.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Even as a hushed whisper, Prince Baldair’s voice carried.

“How many times must I tell you?” A voice, deep and dark as midnight, replied—its whispering tones echoing straight through Serien and into a woman who had been suppressed for weeks. “I will accept it no other way.”

“You and her ...” The voices grew near and Serien heard two sets of footsteps in the sand pass by Daniel’s tent.

“Again, how many times must I tell you?” She could see him pinching the bridge of his nose in her mind’s eye.

“I know,” Baldair muttered in disbelief. “You’ve thought this through, right?”

The question went ignored. “How is she?” The voices began to grow faint.

“Well cared for. I have my own looking out for her. They’re reporting into me and I’ve kept my promise, brother: she’s had everything she’s needed to be well.”

Serien glanced at Daniel.

“You mean the Easterner.”

“How did you know?” Baldair seemed as surprised as Serien.

“I must speak with ...” Their hushed whispers were almost out of earshot.

He was there. He was right there, a voice in the back of her mind echoed. If she moved now she would see him. Serien knew she couldn’t let herself. She’d been so careful to avoid the Black Legion at all costs. She knew what the sight of him would do to the other woman within her.

When his voice faded away entirely, her feet were under her, moving without thought. Serien made haste from the tent, praying she didn’t wake Daniel. She saw them in the distance, the two princes side by side, walking toward Baldair’s tent. A tiny mote of flame lit their path, and Serien staggered toward it, hypnotized.

His lean frame was swathed in black as if cut from the night itself. His elegant fingers curled around each other at the small of his back. His presence radiated the essence of poise to all who gazed upon him.

“Aldrik,” she breathed.

It should have been impossible for him to hear, but he turned anyway. He stilled as though he saw a specter. Baldair turned as well, curious to see what had so enthralled his sibling. The second he saw her, he knew.

She took another step forward, and Aldrik said nothing, his arms suddenly limp at his sides. Serien staggered across the gap between them. Her eyes were lost in Aldrik’s and the crown prince seemed to see nothing else either. They were both oblivious to Baldair’s nervous glances for any onlookers.

“Vhalla,” he whispered, holding out a hand to her.

Prince Baldair gripped his brother’s wrist. “In my tent.” He gave her a pointed glance, and she quickly followed behind them.

The moment they were both inside, Aldrik’s hands were in her hair. His long fingers wove themselves into the dark strands, as if trying to entangle himself with her very essence. She felt Serien melt away and, without the other woman’s armor, Vhalla was as naked as a babe, raw to the world and the emotions fighting within her.

She tilted her head upward, grabbing Aldrik’s face and pulling it toward her. The prince obliged, dipping his tall frame to crash his lips against hers. His chainmail dug into her chest and her fingers scratched against it, searching for a grip to cling to. She was desperate for him, for the life only he could instill in her.

Baldair cleared his throat for their attention. Aldrik pulled away only a fraction, his eyes searching her face. His hands ran over her cheeks, down her neck and shoulders. He stared at her, at the broken and scarred creature that she was, in amazement.

“I’ll go stay with Raylynn tonight, I think,” Baldair announced.

They both turned to see the tent flap falling back into place. Vhalla felt a blush sneak across her cheeks for her forwardness in front of Aldrik’s brother. But the hand that hooked her chin brought his lips to hers once more erased all thought of it.

Every slight turn of his head, shift of his wet lips over hers, was an ecstasy she had not known until the first time she had kissed him. It was the sweetest taste she had ever tried, one that only improved in flavor with each passing moment. It was the perfect thing to lose herself in and forget the pain. Aldrik pulled his body away, eliciting a whimper from her.

The arrogant royal grinned against her mouth. His hands fumbled with his chainmail, pulling it over his head between kisses. It fell heavily to the sand, and he pressed his body against hers once more.

It was a dance that only they knew the steps to, each movement purposeful. His hands, her hands, his mouth, her mouth, their bodies, all moved with perfect precision. The backs of her ankles hit Baldair’s bed and Vhalla was forced upon it. Carrying such a thing on the march now seemed much more pragmatic than she had first given the younger prince credit for.

Her hands fell on Aldrik’s hips, her thumbs finding their way under the hem of his shirt. Soft, Mother, his skin was soft. His palm ran lazily up and down her side, catching on her shirt now and then, pushing it up and exposing her own raw skin to the hot pads of his fingers.

Aldrik broke the kiss, breathless and flushed. Vhalla’s chest heaved as she stared up at him, their faces close. He said nothing, but his eyes told her the promise of a world of barely containable desire. Vhalla hooked his neck and pulled his lips back to hers. He couldn’t look at her like that without kissing her. Aldrik obliged her hungrily, and he discarded any previous timid notions of invading her mouth.

Her fingers walked around his neck, down his collarbone, and into the wide opening of his shirt. She indulged upon the exposed skin of his chest. He tilted his head, devouring her collarbone.

“I want to feel you,” she moaned softy. It was a noise that she should be embarrassed at herself for making. But her head was too clouded for that. Her head wasn’t in control.

Aldrik straightened, his knees on either side of her legs at the edge of the bed. He looked down at her uncertainly, insecurely, processing her words. Grabbing the back of his shirt he leaned forward, tugging it over his head and discarding it with the chainmail on the ground.

Vhalla stared at him. Her heart could drum or she could breathe, doing both was too much for her body right now. He was lithe, sinewy muscle cutting into and curving under the ghostly pale of his skin. The tiny flame cast deep shadows into his abdomen. There was an ugly scar on his right hip, another on his shoulder and a few minor ones here and there. He was almost too thin and the luster of his flesh could be borderline unhealthy. His nose was a little crooked and his face was angular and sharp.

“You’re perfect,” she whispered.

Aldrik seemed utterly taken aback. Other women clearly hadn’t thought so.

Vhalla reached for him and he conceded, scooping her up and situating her farther on the bed. His mouth was on her once more, his palms exploring her form.

“I want you,” he uttered huskily.

“Have me.” Vhalla had never been so brazen. But this man was fire. He was life. He was the only thing that had felt good or right in weeks, and she loved him so deeply it made her ache to think of parting with him ever again.

“No,” he said, as if the word was a curse.

“What?” Her eyes fluttered open to see him staring down at her.

He was heavy-lidded as well, he’d been indulging in the same cup of passion as she. “I won’t take you like this.” He caressed her cheek.

“Why?” she groaned.

“Because I care too deeply for you to have you in such a wanton way.” He kissed down her jaw, his actions completely contradicting his words.

“What if I want you to?” Vhalla couldn’t believe she was almost at the point of begging.

He couldn’t either and Aldrik chuckled darkly. “Will you want me less come the dawn?”

“Mother, no.” She pressed her eyes closed—the thought of dawn, of being Serien again, of being distant from him threatened to crush her spirit.

“Will you want me less come the next dawn?” He nipped lightly at her collarbone, pulling back her shirt with his greedy fingers. “Or the one after?”

“No, no, no,” Vhalla uttered, praying he never stopped his ministrations upon her.

“Then it shall be a fruit that will ripen with time and patience.” Aldrik pressed his cheek against hers, his lips moving against her ear as he spoke. “And it shall be all the sweeter when it is finally plucked.”

There were dark promises heaped between his words that were sealed with his actions. With nothing more than kissing and timid explorations he had a flush from her chest to her cheeks and her breathing heavy. Vhalla was driven crazy every time her fingers ran over the taut muscles in his shoulders. She was ready to scream his name when his fire glittered across her skin, crackling against her magic.

Eventually he rolled to his side, scooping her half onto him, his arms around her hips. Aldrik ran his hand along her back as she kissed him leisurely. Vhalla wasn’t sure when or why the heat faded, but when it did she found herself curled against his bare chest, her head tucked up by his neck and chin and his arm around her. The passion had settled into a warm honey, simmering at the pit of her stomach.

“Aldrik ...” Her whisper transformed into a yawn.

“Yes, my Vhalla?” he replied.

She felt his voice reverberate in both his neck and chest, and it made her shiver. “Nothing ... I just wanted to hear you say my name.”

“Vhalla, Vhalla, Vhalla,” he obliged, punctuating each with a kiss on her forehead.

“If morning never came, I think that would be all right ...” Her body was beginning to calm down, and the yawns becoming more frequent.

“I think it would be,” he agreed, pulling her closer.

“We will be together, from tomorrow?” She hadn’t dared ask, fearful of the answer. But if she had to brace herself for the worst, she wanted to know now. She would need the night to prepare herself.

“I wrote the list of soldiers myself.” Aldrik nodded. “We will not be apart ever again from tomorrow.”

“Isn’t that a nice dream?” She yawned again.

“My Vhalla, my lady, my love.” His words smoothed away the rough edges of her heart. “You make me do things far more dangerous than dream. You make me hope, you make me want.” He sighed a sound that was part bliss and part pain. “Mother, I have yet to discover if you will be my salvation or my demise.”

She twisted to look up at him, his dark eyes intense.

“I would never bring you harm.” She pressed her lips against his.

“Salvation, then.” He grinned against her mouth.

Morning threatened to burn through the canvas of the tent, and Vhalla felt as though the world began and ended with the man she was curled up against. His steady breathing and heartbeat were in perfect time with hers and created a melody that had a sweet timbre. Not quite awake, but no longer sleeping, Vhalla drifted through a blissful haze.

A haze that was abruptly interrupted by a broad-shouldered prince entering the tent. Vhalla sat quickly, as if doing so could hide the truth of spending the night in the crown prince’s arms. It was a contest to see whose face turned the reddest—hers or Baldair’s.

“Good Gods, you’re still here?” He cast a hand over his eyes as Aldrik sat as well, the covers pooling around his waist to reveal him only half clothed. “Brother, your debt to me is unfathomably great.”

Vhalla looked back at Aldrik in alarm, only to see that he had a lazy grin spreading from cheek to cheek. He turned to her, looking five years younger with a good night of sleep. Aldrik grabbed her for a brief kiss—startling in its passion, given their audience.

“My brother is right,” Aldrik whispered. “I must go or they’ll wonder where I am.”

She nodded.

“Wait for me until tonight?”

“Tonight?” She blinked at her prince.

“We will be together again with far fewer eyes upon us.” Aldrik grinned.

“In enemy territory!” She punched his shoulder, surprisingly playful given the subject.

“I’ll put the best men on watch.” He gripped her hand, bringing it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles.

“Any time now,” Baldair muttered, clearly uncomfortable by the lovers who had shared his bed.

“Unfortunately, no one will think twice about a woman leaving your tent,” Aldrik muttered, standing and dressing. “So I’ll go first.” He turned to Baldair. “Thank you, brother.”

There was a raw sincerity that Baldair was clearly not used to receiving from his brother. It brought a smile to Vhalla’s lips to be privy to it. The two of them weren’t so bad when they stopped fighting.

Aldrik gave her one last look, as if memorizing her form. Vhalla nodded. She only had to be strong for a short time more, she could do it. Then, that night, she’d find her way into his arms again. That knowledge alone kept her sane.

Baldair crossed over to the bed the second his brother left, assessing her. Vhalla regarded his gaze warily. “It’s real then.”

“What is?”

“You and Aldrik.” Baldair could barely say it, as if the words would bring the Mother’s wrath upon him.

“I love him.” She nodded. “And he loves me.”

“Vhalla ...” Baldair sighed and sat beside her on the bed. “Please, be careful.”

“More warnings?” She frowned.

“Not like before.” Baldair shook his head. “I’ve never seen Aldrik like this, I know his feelings are not mirrors and manipulation.”

“I tried to tell you that.” She was unable to hide her frustration. “He would never hurt me.”

“That’s not what I now fear for.” Baldair shook his head. “Vhalla, he is the crown prince.”

“I know that.” She gripped the blanket with white knuckles. “Why is it that you can be the playboy prince, chase whatever strikes your fancy, and he’s chastised for spending time with me? We haven’t even—” She stopped herself with a blush.

“Because I will not inherit the crown.” The prince regarded her with a heavy sincerity. “I’m the spare, Vhalla. No one cares what I do, they care what he does.”

“But they love you.” It was no secret who the common people’s favorite was.

“They love me because I never have to heap punishments upon them, or carry out executions, or levy taxes. I host parties and open casks of wine.” Baldair shook his head. “They don’t like him because Aldrik will be a fair ruler. He doesn’t care about being loved, he cares about doing what’s right.”

“And what’s wrong with—”

“Until you.” Baldair placed his palm on the top of her head. “You’re the first thing I’ve ever seen him want to take for himself.”

“What’s your point?” Vhalla knew already she wasn’t going to like it.

“That it also means that you are the first thing the world knows it can take from him.”

She froze in place and remembered Lord Ophain’s words: the chink in his armor. As deeply as their Bond ran, she was still learning about her prince and Vhalla saw the man known as the Fire Lord in a new way. His reputation, his titles, they elevated him and protected him better than forged steel or boiled leather.

“But I’ll try to make sure that doesn’t happen.” Baldair stood, helping her to her feet.

“Why?” She looked at him skeptically. “I have no interest in creating debts.”

He chuckled aloud. “That isn’t why I’m doing it. I have much to atone for when it comes to my brother. Maybe I didn’t realize how much until I saw him happy again. Either way, consider me your sword, Vhalla Yarl.”

She assessed him thoughtfully. He could be lying. But Baldair had never seemed to be intentionally malicious. Even the actions that had previously displeased her she couldn’t resent him for. If he was to be believed, it all came from a good place.

Vhalla raised her hand. “Then consider me your wind.”

Baldair smiled and clasped his palm against hers.

It was hard to be Serien when Vhalla was so happy, but she donned the guise of the other woman—mentally anyways. Serien was what she had to be, it was all she could be by daylight. To be anything else would make her worth noticing, and she was beginning to discover she enjoyed not being important.

“There you are!” Daniel waved her over for breakfast, and Serien sat between him and Craig. “I was worried.”

“Sorry about that. I went for a walk,” she lied easily and neither man questioned her. Serien wondered if Vhalla’s old friends would call her a bad liar now.

Daniel and Craig were easy going when other soldiers were beginning to fray at the seams. This was the two men’s third tour, and they knew what to expect. Serien thought about asking what she would see, but doing so was pointless. What awaited her would be there no matter what words they shared. But she knew who she would face it with.

So when the host was being divided, Serien walked with confidence to Aldrik’s group. None of the majors had instructed her to do so, but one catch of the prince’s eyes and she knew she was in the right place. They would face the North together. Serien balled her hands into fists, opening a Channel she shouldn’t possess.

The army began to settle, and the Emperor rode to the front. “Before we march, there have been a few changes to the groupings to better leverage the skills of our soldiers,” he announced. “The following people will move to Prince Baldair’s group ...”

The Emperor listed off a few names and a handful of soldiers from his and Aldrik’s groups found a new place.

He listed off a few more names, “... will move to Prince Aldrik’s group.” More shuffling followed. Serien shifted her weight from one foot to the next. She was ready to leave.

The Emperor continued with a few more names, suddenly drawing her attention, “... and Serien Leral. Will be under my command.”

The most powerful man in all the realms had somehow found her among the hundreds of soldiers, though it couldn’t have been hard as she had foolishly placed herself near Aldrik’s side. Serien looked up at the prince, panic originating from the other woman and rising up like bile in her throat.

The prince alternated between glaring at his father and looking hopelessly at her.

She couldn’t refuse, and her prince couldn’t speak for her, not in front of all these people. Serien dragged her feet to life. They were being separated. The Emperor had done this just to spite them. Serien wanted to scream, she wanted to blow the Emperor off his high horse with the strongest gale he would ever feel.

Vhalla’s emotions crept up on her: the fear of abandonment, fear of her friends dying while she was distant and helpless. Later Vhalla and all her emotions would escape. That shivering and shaking woman would break through Serien’s strength and claw her way to the surface. She would cry at the injustice of it all, at the unheeded warnings and blind hope.

But at this moment, she would keep herself together. She would be Serien, and she would keep her dignity. Serien held her head as high as possible, high enough that it tightened her throat and held in the tears and screams. She would not give the Emperor the satisfaction of seeing the last shred of her hope being crushed under his boot.

THE JUNGLES OF the North were unlike anything Serien had ever seen before. The Southern forests were tall timbers with a few low shrubs and trees but mostly a carpet of twigs and leaves covered the ground. The North was a dense and oppressive contrast. Bushes and trees closed in at every level, vines as thick as her arm spider webbed across the branches high above.

The ceiling the trees created was deep, and everything was cast in a hazy green shade. Despite the fact that it was the middle of winter, the humidity in the air instantly made it a little too warm for the amount of armor she wore.

The terrain slowed them, and everyone had been deathly silent from the moment they entered the forest. It was an abrupt line in the sand of the Western Waste. A clear marker created by burnt and cut down trees where the Empire ended. It was strange to think of herself as no longer being in the Solaris Empire.

With a step, the world she had always known ended.

But it hadn’t just been one step. It’d been countless steps that had taken her here, and they’d all begun with a rainy night and an injured prince. Not all the steps had been made with confidence, and some had led her to pitfalls, but she was strangely glad she had made them.

Now, however, she didn’t know where her feet would take her. Serien stood a stone’s throw from the Emperor and fake Windwalker. She glanced at the man from the corners of her eyes. He rode confidently atop his War-strider, but his shoulders betrayed him. Despite his age he was attentive, alert, mindful of every place a threat could appear.

War was his arena, his art, and his legacy. He had laid siege to an entire continent and swept it under his banner in one lifetime. Serien turned forward again before he had a chance to see her attention. She wished an attack would come. She wanted to see this man at work with her own eyes.

But the day was uneventful, and by the time night fell there had been no attacks. They slept under fallen trees and huddled beneath brush. There were no fires or jovial discussions. There weren’t even tents set up. Serien made herself small underneath a sapling, pulling moss around her. The nights outside had prepared her for this. She hardened herself and stayed the tears for one more hour, then the next hour, and the hour after.

By the third day she had yet to cry. Her emotions toward the Emperor and his switch were beginning to cool and mimic those of her feelings toward the Head of Senate, Egmun. She had seen it as Vhalla, and now as Serien, the actions of men who wanted to break her.

Unfortunately for them, one couldn’t break what was already broken.

It was on the sixth day that Serien’s ears picked up movement in the brush above. She looked upward to see the currents of air moving throughout the boughs of the trees. There was something unnatural that lingered on the edge of the wind, and Serien recognized a moment too late that it was the sound of breathing.

Northerners descended upon them in freefall. They rained daggers that immediately found their way into the skulls of unfortunate soldiers. Serien reached for her hood of chainmail, forgetting with a curse that she was not in Vhalla Yarl’s armor.

“Firebearers!” the Emperor shouted.

The Black Legion soldiers ran out to the perimeter creating a wall of flame. The Northerners were assaulted by arrows and magical tongues of fire to burn away the brush that reached out unnaturally to catch them. One fell straight before her, the body nearly exploding upon impact with the ground after such a long fall.

Serien took a breath, trying to assess their situation. The wind whispered to her once more.

“Incoming left!” she cried. Serien drew her sword as everyone, including the Emperor, stared on in confusion.

But her warning was validated the second Northerners were carried through the flames atop the backs of giant beasts unlike anything Serien had ever seen. It was a cat-like creature with double-jointed back legs and claws larger than a man’s thigh. Its thick fur was slick and whatever was atop it was impervious to the flames it had leapt over.

Two more came, carrying even more riders, who quickly dismounted, entering the fray with their double-sworded stances. The first one was barreling toward the Emperor and Windwalker, their target clear. The Emperor drew his sword, positioning his mount fearlessly to face the Northerner head on.

It wasn’t even a competition. The horse moved at the Emperor’s command, and Emperor Solaris moved as if his enemy had told him all the attacks they would make. He sliced the man’s head clean off, dodging all blades.

The Northerners didn’t seem interested in engaging any of the soldiers, and the Imperial army was left to struggle to impede the enemies’ leaps and jumps toward the Windwalker. Yet somewhere amid the chaos, she managed to hear the sound of a bowstring. Serien turned, finding the archer immediately in their roost.

The arrow was headed straight for the Emperor, who was engaged in heated combat. She swallowed her pride and stuck out her hand. The arrow stopped just as the Emperor was about to turn his face into it. He wasn’t able to conceal his amazement as the arrow dropped to the ground harmlessly.

Two cerulean eyes found hers. There was no love there, not an iota of appreciation. Serien set her jaw and missed the sound of another arrow being set loose.

By the time any of them heard it, it was too late.

The false Windwalker was knocked off her mount, she fell backwards and out of her saddle, an arrow protruding from her face. The Imperial company stared in shock, and the Northerners hollered in victory, making a calculated retreat. One by one the Imperial soldiers turned to the Emperor with apprehension.

“Leave her.” The Emperor turned his horse forward.

Serien lingered, longer than she likely should have, to stare at the body of the dead woman. It could have been her. That woman had died for Vhalla Yarl, and Vhalla Yarl didn’t even know her name.

The land became rockier as it elevated. Serien knew there weren’t mountains in the North, not like the South, but some of the bluffs were beginning to grow to an impressive scale. That night they had the fortune of caves and caverns to hide within. It was the first time the soldiers could relax and most capitalized on the opportunity.

Serien huddled in a nook in the rock face, protected on all sides. She rested her elbows on her knees and stared listlessly into the sunset haze. They were already a week into the march. Another two weeks and they should make it to Soricium. She gripped her arms tightly. She’d see Aldrik then. Considering the alternative would be too much for even Serien to bear.

Given the fact that it was the first opportunity at privacy, she shouldn’t have been surprised when a messenger tracked her down not long after sunset, leading her around the corners of boulders and into a small cave. He left quickly after.

“You wanted to see me, my lord?” she said, giving a formal salute—the salute of a soldier and not of the Black Legion.

“Yes.” The Emperor stood, placing his hands behind his back. “I suppose you want thanks for your act of heroism.”

She pursed her lips, waiting for him to get to the point. Waiting for him to arrive at the reason why he waited for days after that battle, why he waited for privacy.

“It’s not every day a commoner has the opportunity to save the life of the Emperor.” He walked to the opposite side of his small campfire. With the way the light illuminated his face she could almost see Aldrik’s brow in his.

“It was my honor.” He was going to make her play the game.

“Indeed,” the Emperor agreed. “It was because you are mine. Your freedom, your life, your future rest in my hands, Vhalla Yarl.”

The use of her name shredded through Serien, and it sapped the strength of her alter ego.

The Emperor didn’t miss the wavering in her eyes. “I want you to be very clear on why you are here.”

“I know why.”

“Why?” he pressed.

“To win you your war.” She didn’t even bother with the nonsense of atoning for her crimes. Serien—Vhalla—wondered if he had decided her fate the moment he laid eyes on the whirlwind.

“Yes, very good.” He began walking once more. “They said you were smart.”

There was a predatory glint to his eyes that had Serien’s hands balling into fists.

“Do you know who ‘they’ are?” the Emperor asked.

“Who?” She tried to stand to her fullest height so that he had less of a distance from which to look down at her.

“My eldest son.” The gauntlet was thrown.

Serien’s blood boiled. That’s what this was about. “He is very smart, my lord.”

“Usually,” the Emperor murmured as he inspected her from head to toe. She already knew she wouldn’t measure up. “Speaking of him, our two groups will merge again after the pass, during the final leg of the trip.”

Serien struggled to keep her face neutral; she was sure she failed. The Emperor continued to stare her down. “Is that why you called me here, my lord? To tell me that?”

The Emperor chuckled in amusement at her bold front. “No, I simply wanted to thank you for your attentiveness. It is good to know that when you focus on your duty that you are, indeed, not useless.”

“Thank you.” She took a step away, feigning the dismissal that wasn’t in his voice.

“Oh, and Miss Yarl.” She paused. “I recommend you keep that focus where it should be, on making it to the front and giving me my victory. I will not tolerate your entertaining girlish fantasies or misplaced notions.”

Serien clenched her hands into fists so tightly that the straps on her gauntlets threatened to break. She grit her teeth and set her jaw. She heard his threats loud and clear.

“Do you understand me?” The Emperor’s voice was deathly quiet.

“Perfectly.”

The conversation lingered with Serien as she stormed through camp back to her hideaway. It played on repeat through her mind as she struggled to find a position comfortable enough to sleep in. And, when she did fall asleep, the Emperor greeted her in her dreams...

The Emperor sat next to her. No, not her. Vhalla pulled herself away from Aldrik’s dream form. His face was hard, and fire lit his eyes. She followed the line of his attention and saw herself, part ethereal and part concrete, in an all too familiar cage. She was huddled and shaking, blood dripping from the back of her head along her jaw and onto the floor. The strength that sparked in her brown eyes was a shadow play, it lacked true substance behind it. That much was apparent, not only to her, but to the man whose memory she was occupying.

His hand balled so tightly into a fist that the skin had gone ghostly from lack of blood. It was impossible for Vhalla to have seen from across the courtroom during the original trial but his jaw was clenched to the extent that his face shook and trembled. The Emperor was speaking, but to Aldrik’s ears the words were blurred over the rush of hot anger in his head.