Текст книги "Fire Falling "

Автор книги: Elise Kova

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Aldrik knew what she saw. “The poison crystalized, rooting itself enough that I could not remove it. It was the best I could do.”

“It’s not letting your Channel work properly, is it?” Vhalla frowned, suddenly realizing what that dark spot meant.

“Exactly ...” His voice began to grow heavy. “That is why I could not protect you as I should have that night.” Aldrik paused. “Vhalla, it’s my fault.”

“What is?” Apprehension trailed its icy fingers up her spine.

He took her still hovering hand in both of his. “You should not have had to kill them. If I had been more capable, you would not have been forced to.” Emotion burned behind his eyes and it struck her clear as day. Channeling was a side-project for him. The main goal was the Night of Fire and Wind. He was playing the puppet master again, and Larel was certainly helping.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Teach me Channeling or we’re done.” She wrenched her hand from his.

“I was fourteen,” he began, ignoring her. Her mouth was still twisted in annoyance. “The first time I killed a man.”

Her face relaxed.

“Looking back, I didn’t even have a good reason to kill him.”

Vhalla shifted closer to hear, his voice faint and his eyes glossy. He seemed to stare through the world around him.

“I was told that he was a bad man, that he was going to harm my family and his death would make us stronger.” Aldrik chuckled bitterly. “As if death makes anyone stronger ...”

The pressure of his gaze weighed on every inch of her body.

“I will never forget that in the end, he asked for mercy from his prince. He asked for forgiveness, and I gave him death.” Aldrik’s body was very still, and his eyes searched hers, yearning for something.

“Aldrik,” Vhalla whispered. She didn’t know what she could offer him. “I’m sorry.” She initiated contact, taking his hand in her own.

He didn’t pull away. “After that, the killing became easier. Soon, I forgot their faces, their cries, their stories. They merged into one communal grave in my mind, which became a gaping wound that everyone who perishes by my hand falls into. But I never forgot that first man’s face. I have tried to plunge him into that hollow void and push him away, but I have never forgotten.”

Vhalla stared at him in a mix of horror and pity. She squeezed his hand and was surprised when she felt a squeeze back.

“I see you taking steps down this path, and I don’t want you be lost to that darkness.” He laughed and bore the most unfiltered sorrow she had ever seen from him. “What is worse is, thanks to the extraordinary wisdom of the people’s Senate, I cannot protect you from that.”

“So, what do I do?” Vhalla finally sought guidance for her guilt.

“Never forget who you are, and do not let the dead define you.” He spoke as if he’d been reading her thoughts for weeks. “Talk to me or Fritz or Larel. I do not think any of us are prepared to lose you to your demons.”

She stared at him; she didn’t want to think about the Night of Fire and Wind. She wanted it to go away. He’d lured her into his den with his pretenses, and now she was the captive of his stares and touch. Vhalla closed her eyes and took a breath.

“Every night, I see them. I hear their screams and I feel their blood on my hands, on my face.” She shuddered as her voice broke and pulled her hand away from his to wrap her arms around herself. “At first I didn’t know what they were, but that night, in the forest, I remembered.” It seemed silly to her, to say she’d forgotten the first time she’d killed a person but her mind had been so efficient at pushing it away.

“I wish I could be better comfort to you,” he murmured softly. Aldrik leaned over and, with only his fingertips, he pushed aside some stray hair. They both seemed to catch their breath as his skin lightly brushed her face. He pulled away, his hand balling into a fist.

“You are,” she said quickly, earning herself a surprised stare.

“I am?” he repeated skeptically.

“I—” Vhalla stumbled over her words. “I am ... happier ... with you, near you.” Something about him softened, but there was a sadness to it that made Vhalla feel guilty for her confession.

“In any case.” He was back to avoiding her attentions. “My ear and my door are always open for you.”

“Thank you.” Vhalla wondered how many people he had offered that to. She couldn’t imagine it was many.

“For now though, we should make sure you know how to Channel.” Aldrik seemed as uncomfortable as she was and the moment—whatever it had been—vanished.

They set to work on what Vhalla discovered was the seemingly impossible task of Channeling. Vhalla saw shades of the phantom she had exchanged notes with months ago as he spoke volumes of knowledge worth of magical theory with deft ease. His silver tongue licked across her intellect, wetting her mental palate for new information.

But the willingness to learn and the practical execution were also much like he had told her months ago—it was harder to do than conceive. At her every attempt Aldrik instructed that she “only needed to find the magic within her” or “tap into her power.” But Vhalla felt like she was shooting for an unknown target in the dark.

By the time he fetched food, she found herself exhausted. Their conversation turned casual and Vhalla relaxed, absentmindedly consuming the meal before her. He made her sides split with laughter by telling her a story of when he taught his younger brother to ride a horse for the first time. Vhalla shared the first time she’d gone to help in the field but had ended up just playing in the mud for most of the day. He seemed to find it as shocking as he did amusing. For that brief hour the horrors she had seen, she had committed, didn’t matter.

Reality could not be escaped for long. The moment the food was finished, they returned to Channeling.

“I think it may be pointless,” Vhalla sighed, dropping her arms. She’d been waving them about like a fool trying to find the “essence of air.”

“There is one more thing that we could try, since you do not have the luxury of time,” Aldrik said thoughtfully after a long silence. “But it is not a conventional method. It is rather theoretical, actually.”

“Oh?” He knew what to say to make her insatiably curious.

“It is more on Bonding than Channeling.” He leaned forward. “Did you have a chance to read anything on Bonds before you left the Tower?”

“I couldn’t find much,” she replied.

“That is because there is not much,” Aldrik affirmed. “Bonding is a strange occurrence and difficult to understand because, to the best of every scholar’s assessments, it is the literal opening of a magic passage between two people. You opened your magic to me to save my life.”

Those words soaked into both of them for a moment.

“But, as they say, doors and gates open both ways,” Aldrik finished, easing that odd tension they flirted with every time they were together.

“Wait.” Vhalla blinked. “You’re saying I have some of your magic in me?”

“Not just some; it has the capacity to be a passage between us,” he affirmed.

“That’s amazing,” she whispered.

“That is why I do not think your magic is as effective against me as it is on others. It will not hit me as strong. Our own magic cannot hurt us.” He shook his head. “There are a number of interesting theories we could discuss and explore another time. For now, we are going to try Joining.”

“What is Joining?” she asked, braving a parrot comment.

“It is difficult to explain. Think of the Bond as a latent Channel. Joining will activate it, widen the Bond.” Aldrik leaned closer, and Vhalla’s heart beat hard. “This may not even work. But for it to have a chance—do not fight me.”

If Vhalla had wanted to, she couldn’t have. She was so stunned by his forward advances, by the fingers that lightly touched her temples, that she could barely speak. Aldrik’s eyes fluttered closed and he took a breath. She bit her lip, unsure if she was supposed to do the same. But if she didn’t, she would spend the time studying his sculpted features in the firelight—and she might die of embarrassment if caught.

So Vhalla closed her eyes as well.

At first, there was nothing. She heard her breathing and felt his hands on her. His fingertips warmed and then, faintly, she heard her heartbeat. No, she realized, it wasn’t her heartbeat, it was his. Her initial reaction was to panic at the sensation of another heart beating in her chest, but Vhalla forced herself to stay still and calm. Soon the chorus of sound extended to his breathing, overlaid on the noises of her own body. The din reached a crescendo that threatened to consume her awareness. But Vhalla remembered his words and she gave into it, into him, letting the wave crash upon her.

There was one inhale, one exhale, one heartbeat between them.

She melted into the strange warmth of the communal existence, relinquishing the last of her physical senses. It was unlike anything she had ever felt. Like life and death all bundled neatly into one moment of beauty. She tried to find where her own self ended, to find where he began, but there were no ends or beginnings anywhere. They were infinite.

She felt as he felt, and he thought as she thought.

Suddenly there was a warm breeze blowing over her metaphysical self. It was strong. Something she had known from birth, known her whole life, without ever really having words for it before. As Aldrik opened his Channel, hers opened alongside it in all its brilliance.

She felt him pulling away from her and, in her mind, she objected. There was a safety there, a reassurance, a compassion, and more she dared not give words to. It was a gentle departure, but a departure all the same. Vhalla sighed faintly as her eyes fluttered open. Aldrik stared back. His chest expanded slowly with every deep breath.

For a long time they sat unmoving. Her body felt the same, but everything had changed. His hands slowly fell away from her face, and the last connection was through their gaze.

“Vhalla, I ...” he uttered over a thick tongue.

Some madness overwhelmed her, and she grabbed for his hands. “Aldrik,” she breathed, clutching at him desperately. Vhalla searched for some validation of what she had found in their brief period of shared existence.

Aldrik stared back at her. Long before he pulled his hands from hers she saw a moment of panic, a moment of want—and he withdrew mentally. Vhalla realized he may be unable to hide anything from her again in the darkness of his eyes, she’d seen it all as though she was looking in a mirror. She wasn’t sure if this Joining was a blessing or a curse.

“I think we have accomplished enough for tonight.” Aldrik looked away, sitting straighter, more composed.

“Aldrik,” she whispered. Even his minor withdrawal hurt her more deeply than it should have. It felt like a piece of her had been carved out.

“All you need to do is repeat that process, what you felt. I think you can figure that out on your own.” He still didn’t look at her.

“Aldrik,” Vhalla pleaded.

“You can ask Larel for help also. Just pick a motion and repeat it as you Channel. Repeat the action every time you try, so when you succeed you will begin to associate the act with that trigger.” He turned back to the table, picking up the parchment he’d been reading earlier.

Vhalla wasn’t sure what she had done wrong, but he had completely shut himself off from her. He was the one who had suggested the Joining; what was he suddenly so afraid of ? She sighed and pulled herself to her feet.

Aldrik didn’t look at her as she slipped back into her armor. It was a short walk but the last thing she wanted was to leave a man’s tent—the crown prince’s tent—less dressed than when she came in. He said nothing and made no motion toward her.

“Well,” Vhalla said uncertainly, “thank you.” A splash of bitterness crept into her voice. He made no motion as she turned to leave.

“I will call on you,” he said abruptly, just as she was about to pull back the tent flap.

“What?” Vhalla turned, her heart racing on hope.

“Work on your Channeling, you will need it for what I’m going to ask of you,” Aldrik said, turning to her. “We shall begin when I am satisfied with your progression.”

Vhalla nodded and searched his guarded gaze for a long moment. She saw it there still, his turmoil. But turmoil over what? That was a question she had yet to answer.

“Very well. Goodnight, Aldrik.” Vhalla pulled back the tent flap, making her departure.

“Goodnight, Vhalla.”

THE DAY WAS overcast and hot. There was a dry breeze, but it offered little respite from the oppressive heat. It was the kind of day that one wanted nothing more than to find a cool, shady corner to curl up into. But the sun beat down on her shoulders.

She stood before a grave. It was in the center of a glass-covered garden. Many plants had been landscaped and most were hanging on despite the temperature. But the crimson flowers that surrounded the sculpted marker before her were wilted and shriveled. It was not the first time she had been in this garden of the dead.

The grave before her was shaped as an obelisk. Sitting at its top was the figure of a woman. She had long hair that hung perfectly straight, almost to her waist, and a soft, yet stern, visage cast in the flawless marble. Behind her was a golden and ruby sun that cast a red haze on the ground below.

Vhalla held out a hand and touched the familiar letters, as though it would connect her to her dead mother. There was nothing but stone beneath her fingers. She sighed, shifting her weight. She really hated being here.

“Stop fidgeting,” came a strong voice from next to her. She turned her face upward but the sun shrouded the man towering over her.

Vhalla turned and cracked open her eyes. The back of her hand rested against her forehead. She stared at the slowly illuminating canvas above her. It was a strange dream that played more like a long-forgotten memory. Vhalla ran through it again and, despite the overwhelming nostalgia, nothing seemed familiar on a second review. She was too tired to give the dream much attention and went about her morning duties.

Joining, that was what Aldrik had called it. Vhalla fidgeted over breakfast, trying to force herself to eat. She still didn’t understand the widening of the Bond, as Aldrik had put it, but it had certainly been significant. The ghost of him was still upon her. She could still feel the caress of his essence throughout her bones. Vhalla stared at her hands. Learning how to Channel seemed so unimportant in comparison.

“How did it go last night?” Fritz asked as he joined her and Larel.

“What?” Vhalla snapped herself out of her thoughts.

Larel’s interest had clearly been piqued. She hadn’t inquired last night when Vhalla returned, exhausted and bleary eyed, and had been silent all morning.

“With the prince,” Fritz dropped his voice. “Do you have a better idea of how to Channel?”

“I think so.” Vhalla nodded.

“Good, good!” Fritz beamed. “You’ll get the hang of it in a few weeks, I’m sure.”

Vhalla felt the magic crackling around her fingers. She didn’t need a few weeks, she could do it now. Her body knew it. But she didn’t have an opportunity to correct Fritz as the horns blew, summoning everyone back to their places in the host.

The soldiers moved more slowly now. A week of marching had begun to take its toll on the new recruits. Vhalla’s legs were stiff and sore-ridden from her own saddle. She had no idea how the men and women who walked were managing. How would they fight when they reached the North?

Aldrik was slow as well this morning, the host was practically moving when he rode up from the outside. Even in all his bulky armor he was still full of poise atop his War-strider. Her heartbeat began to race and, as if sensing it, Aldrik’s eyes found hers. Tension radiated between them, even across a dozen people.

He pulled hard on his reins and turned his mount, riding along the outside of the host to a few rows behind Vhalla. She watched the prince as he fell into line beside Elecia. Vhalla tore her eyes away before she saw more than a moment of their immediate and engaging conversation. There was an ugly emotion within her, one she wasn’t used to and didn’t know how to combat.

“I’m going to ride up at the front,” she announced.

“Why?” Fritz seemed startled by her suddenly declaration.

“I have friends up there,” Vhalla mumbled.

“You have friends here,” Fritz retorted, not understanding.

Vhalla wasn’t sure if she could, or should, explain it to him. From the corners of her eyes Vhalla saw Larel’s attention sweep back toward Aldrik and Elecia. The Western woman was too attentive for her own good.

“It’s nothing you did, Fritz.” Vhalla found the strength to smile, and grab his forearm supportively. “Just some people I want to see.”

There was no further protest from Fritz or Larel on the matter. As Vhalla cut through the ranks, she made sure to catch Aldrik’s eyes. It was nasty to admit, but she wanted him to watch her ride away and feel that same ugly emotion that he had evoked in her.

The Golden Guard wasn’t hard to find; a group of three surrounding the younger prince with golden plated bracers. They marched at the center of the host, and Vhalla faltered at the foul looks she received from the soldiers at the edge. She was about to ride back as the whispers started when Daniel turned in her direction.

“Vhalla!” he called, almost dislocating his arm to wave her over. Soldiers parted in shock, and Vhalla had no option but to heed him. “We weren’t expecting you.” Daniel smiled, and Vhalla instantly felt easier.

“Not in the slightest.” Prince Baldair’s words deflated her.

“I hope it’s no trouble.” Vhalla lowered her eyes.

Daniel held his tongue for the prince.

“Don’t worry yourself so much.” The prince waved away her insecurities with a full bellied laugh. “I said it was fine.”

“This may be the first time a sorcerer rode with the swords,” Craig remarked.

Vhalla believed it from the looks the other soldiers gave her.

“Vhalla, this is Raylynn.” Daniel motioned to a woman who rode at Baldair’s right. She had long blonde hair, the color of a Southerner’s. But it was straight, like a Westerner’s would be, and her skin held an olive tan.

“Nice to meet you,” Vhalla said politely.

The woman regarded her thoughtfully for a long moment. She had eyes like Aldrik, Vhalla noticed. Black and piercing, they confirmed Vhalla’s suspicion of Western blood in the woman’s veins—if her sun-kissed skin wasn’t proof enough—and cut through Vhalla easily.

“You’re the Windwalker.” It was the second time the phrase wasn’t posed as a question.

“I am,” Vhalla affirmed.

“Ray, be nice.” Daniel maneuvered his horse next to Vhalla’s. Raylynn gave Vhalla one last long assessment before unleashing a series of hushed whispers to the prince. Daniel kept Vhalla from listening in. “Ray had family on the Night of Fire and Wind,” he whispered.

Vhalla pulled taught the reins, ready to turn Lightning around and ride back to her place in line. A golden gauntlet quickly covered her hand. She looked up at Daniel in confusion and frustration.

“Don’t go. I think it’ll do her good.”

“What?” Vhalla inhaled in apprehension.

“You’re not the monster they think you are.” His declaration cut straight to her core, and Vhalla’s expression must have said it all. “I ...” He was at a loss for words—they both were as the wave of brutal honesty crashed upon them. That moment of openness had crippled her, and Vhalla was thankful for the strong legs of the steed beneath her. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I needed to hear it.” She was overcome with his truth; it was infectious, and Vhalla wanted to coat herself in it.

Daniel noticed his hand was still on hers and pulled away quickly. Judging from the sideways glances from Craig and Baldair, he was the last to notice.

Vhalla relaxed her grip on the reins. “So, I thought the Golden Guard was bigger than three.”

“There’s five of us in total,” Daniel affirmed. He seemed just as relieved to switch the conversation.

“The other two are at the front,” Craig filled in. “Head Major Jax Wendyl and Lord Erion Le’Dan.”

“Head Major Jax?” Vhalla had heard the name before. “Of the Black Legion?”

“The same.” Daniel nodded.

“But, he’s a sorcerer,” she pointed out dumbly.

“What?” Prince Baldair gasped. “He’s hid this from me this whole time?”

Daniel and Craig burst out laughing, and even Vhalla cracked an embarrassed smile.

“He’s a sorcerer.” The prince nodded, looking northward. “But he’s also a good man.” The golden prince turned back to her, looking over Craig and Daniel. “You’ll find I only surround myself with good men, Vhalla.”

Raylynn snorted.

“And women.” Prince Baldair chuckled and turned back to the swordswoman.

Vhalla spent the rest of the day learning about the history of the Golden Guard. Prince Baldair had instated it as a boy with Lord Erion Le’Dan and, at the time, it was mostly a joke between young men. But when the war on the North started, he turned to his friend to survive the front. Slowly, other men and a woman were added, those who were deemed the most skilled and valuable.

Daniel had been the most recent addition after he’d assumed command during a battle when no one else would, salvaging a brutal defeat in the North and saving the prince’s life in the process. Vhalla had no idea that the Easterner she’d been musing over growing potatoes and chatting about Paca’s festival with was a lord. Daniel seemed uncomfortable by the notion himself, assuring her that she should not treat him any differently.

She hadn’t realized how much time had passed until the horn blew, calling for the stop. Daniel laughed as well, saying that time had gotten away from him. He invited her to dinner, which Vhalla refused due to guilt over leaving Larel and Fritz for the whole day. Before she left he invited her out to ride with him again and, upon remembering Aldrik and Elecia together, Vhalla couldn’t outright refuse.

“So we found out something about Elecia today,” Fritz said as they were finishing setting up their tents.

“What?” Vhalla wasn’t sure if she wanted to know.

Larel had a cautionary glint to her eyes.

“We were talking with the foot soldiers,” Fritz continued, missing both ladies apprehension. “And apparently they’ve seen Elecia before.”

“They have?” Vhalla asked.

“She’s been in and out of the palace since the prince was a young man, one was saying,” Fritz explained.

Vhalla didn’t know why that fact would fill her with such dread.

“As if common soldiers would know anything,” Larel mumbled, finishing her bedroll.

“Yeah, but you have to admit that Elecia and the—”

“And who?” the woman herself finished, and all three turned in surprise.

“And, uh ...” Fritz was a mouse in the trap of a gleeful cat.

“And the prince,” Larel finished fearlessly.

To her credit, Elecia was only startled for a moment. Vhalla made a note that the outright mention of a connection between Elecia and Aldrik paused the woman. “Speaking of the prince, he said he shall train you tonight.” Her eyes fell on Vhalla, speaking volumes soundlessly. “So let’s get this catastrophe over with.”

During the walk to meet Aldrik in the woods, Vhalla mused over Elecia and him. People were already talking about the two of them. What if there was history between them? What if Larel was wrong and it wasn’t just camp gossip? Her mind wrapped and wandered around the ideas, only coming to a halt when Aldrik began to speak.

“Your nights will be half training your physical bodies, half training your magical prowess,” he declared while walking around Vhalla, Larel, and Fritz. “If you have any hope of making it into and out of the North alive, you will need every minute of training I can give you.”

Elecia hovered off to the side, exempt from Aldrik’s words.

“If you talk back or refuse, I may reconsider my kindness of being your teacher.”

His voice was that of a prince, not the Aldrik she knew. Vhalla glanced at Fritz, wondering if it was only for his benefit. Larel was friends with Aldrik; Elecia clearly had some connection; and Vhalla was ...

What was she?

That question echoed in her mind while they began their physical training. It ran through her head until Vhalla focused only on not getting sick from running and jumping. Aldrik refused to let them take off their armor; their physical training required it, he said. Fritz was the first to collapse, earning his ire.

“Charem, get up.” Aldrik sighed, leaning against a tree. “Or would you rather be torn limb from limb by the Northern clans? Or maybe a Noru Cat?”

Fritz struggled to his feet. Vhalla and Larel stood panting. Larel was in far better shape than Vhalla, who felt like she could collapse at any moment.

“Right, then.” Aldrik shared a long look with Elecia. “Elecia, Vhalla, pair up.”

“What?” both women exclaimed in unison.

“That is an order.” Aldrik pushed away from the tree, looking down at Elecia. “I trust you to impart your knowledge and skill.” The dark-skinned woman rolled her eyes, but didn’t object a second time. Aldrik didn’t even look at Vhalla, giving her no say. Vhalla decided that she had done something terrible to offend the prince, but whatever it was eluded her. The only thing she could think of was the Joining. But that had been his idea. And of all the words Vhalla could use to describe what happened between them the night prior, none would be negative.

“Larel, can you tell me how a Firebearer fights?” Aldrik asked.

“Hand-to-hand combat with the occasional long-ranged attack,” Larel responded.

“And Waterrunners?” The prince nodded and turned to Fritz.

“A mixture of offensive freezing attacks and defensive illusions,” Fritz sounded like he quoted from a textbook.

“And Groundbreakers?” Aldrik turned to Elecia.

“Highly defensive magic, stone skin impenetrable to bladed and most ice or fire attacks, combined with skills in weapons.” The woman rested her hands on her thighs, and Vhalla noticed the grooves in the other woman’s greaves were not decorative. She’d overlooked it before, but Elecia had two short swords strapped to her legs.

“As for Windwalkers ...” The prince’s voice faltered slightly when he turned to Vhalla. Her chest was tight, waiting for him to finish his thought. “We will find out.”

They spent the rest of the night going over basic punches and dodges. Elecia seemed just as displeased about having to help her as Vhalla was. The woman was curt and kept her comments short. But even through pursed lips and disapproving glares, Vhalla was learning.

The curly-haired woman was clearly experienced in combat. She moved lightly, easily, and never broke a sweat. She never made a single mistake and was never out of breath.

Everything about her seemed to get under Vhalla’s skin.

It was Vhalla’s turn to practice attacking and Elecia’s to dodge and deflect. Elecia found everything amusing. She had this annoying manner that made her seem like she was better than everyone else. She took Aldrik’s time and attention. Her motions were flawless. She had an elegant ease about everything, something that Vhalla had only ever seen royalty exude. Vhalla swung wide, and Elecia gave a small jab to her open shoulder. She took a step back and stared at Elecia.

Vhalla blinked in shock that she hadn’t put it together sooner. She had no proof, but something in her gut told her she was not wrong. The rumors of her being in the palace, the casual attitude toward royalty, it all made sense. Only people who came from wealth and affluence acted the way Elecia did. As if the world was a toy for her entertainment.

“What is it?” Elecia asked. “Giving up already?”

Vhalla returned to her assault. “Elecia.” She threw a punch, the other woman dodged. “Tell me—how old—were you—when you—first came—to the palace?” Her words were punctuated with her fists.

Elecia took a step back and paused. “What are you talking about?” The woman arched an eyebrow.

“Was it for a gala? Or was your father or mother on official business?”

Elecia’s eyes widened, and Vhalla resumed the attack. The woman recovered slowly and her blocks were suddenly sloppy. “Did you sleep in a guest suite?” She threw right. “Or did your family stay somewhere else in the upper part of town?”

An annoyed frown crossed Elecia’s lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“And you’re an awful liar,” Vhalla spat back.

Elecia looked at her in shock. “What about you, Vhalla Yarl? How exactly did you, less than a slip of a common girl, catch the eye of the crown prince? A nothing like you fraternizing with him!”

That got Aldrik’s attention. He quickly approached from where Larel and Fritz sparred.

“You have to know that you don’t deserve even—”

Vhalla lunged with a shout, not letting Elecia finish another wounding word. Elecia dodged easily and put a fist in Vhalla’s stomach. The woman’s arm felt like a rock sinking into her abdomen, and Vhalla wheezed for air instead of crying out.

“Elecia!” Aldrik shouted as Vhalla doubled over, holding her stomach and coughing. He quickly crossed the remaining gap, standing between the two women.

“You think that—” Elecia cast a finger in Vhalla’s direction, “—will ever be anything?” She threw her head back and laughed.

“Elecia, stop this,” Aldrik growled.

“Oh yes, defend your pet,” she sneered back.

Larel and Fritz stared in shock.

“Elecia,” he ground out through grit teeth, his hands balled into fists.

“Are you finally going to fight me? I’ve been waiting for a real challenge.” The dark-skinned woman said, putting her fists up. “It’s been far too long since we last went a round.”

Vhalla managed to tilt back onto her feet, still holding her stomach as it spasmed in pain.

Aldrik stomped over to Elecia and grabbed her by the collar of her plate. He jerked her to him and leaned in to place his face right in front of hers. “If you want me to spar with you like an adult, acting like a petulant child is not going to yield results, ‘Cia.”

Elecia pushed him away with a frown and a shake of her head. “Fine,” she said with a glint in her eye. “You continue to play your games with them, Aldrik,” she spat back.

Vhalla felt her mouth drop open in shock at the other woman’s use of Aldrik’s name.