Текст книги "Fire Falling "

Автор книги: Elise Kova

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

THE NEXT MORNING Aldrik kept his promise and rode at her side. They talked the day away, almost exclusively with each other. He asked about her life in the East, her farm, her family. Vhalla probed him for magical knowledge that she had no other way of learning. The man was practically a walking library.

There were no remnants of tensions between her, Fritz, and Larel either. Fritz had caught on quickly that whatever oddities had been going on were resolved, and the Southerner had enough sense not to linger. Armed with her friends at her side and secure in the knowledge of the stability of her and Aldrik’s relationship, Vhalla ignored Elecia throughout training—much to the other woman’s frustration.

Vhalla used her Channeling liberally, to the surprise of everyone but Aldrik. Fritz and Larel were expectedly encouraging. Elecia was obviously perturbed and avoided her for the next three days.

Vhalla was amazed at how easily control came following those first few days of Channeling without hesitation or fear. Supported by her friends and Aldrik, Vhalla found herself finally relishing her magic. The wind slipped easily between her fingers, heeding her will, and Vhalla was quickly surpassing the basic introductions to magic Aldrik had given her months ago. Magic, she was discovering, was like poetry. Once you understood the logic, the meter, the rhyme behind it, you could embellish upon it and make it your own.

On the third night, she was setting up Larel’s and her tent with just her magic alone. That was the first time Vhalla felt eyes on her for her sorcery, eyes that weren’t daunting or scared. The Black Legion began to pay attention to their Windwalker once more, not for the Night of Fire and Wind, but for the daily feats she was beginning to be able to perform. It was a sanity-supporting confidence-booster for Vhalla.

She was in such a high place with it all that when Aldrik paired her with Elecia during training—at the other woman’s request—Vhalla didn’t even blink. She accepted the other woman’s presence opposite her. If it was an actual competition for Aldrik’s attention, it was one Vhalla was winning. The crown prince had rode at her side without stop, and tomorrow they would practice Projection again.

Aldrik had been intent on working toward more hand-to-hand combat, and Vhalla was happy to oblige. The Northern-looking woman needed to be knocked off her high horse and tonight was Vhalla’s night, Vhalla assured herself. She’d been feeling stronger with every passing week, less sore, more capable.

“You sure you want to do this, Yarl?” Elecia smirked, her eyes darting toward Aldrik.

“It’s just practice, right?” Vhalla sunk into her preferred fighting stance, one arm up and the other at chest-height.

“Oh, of course.” Elecia balled her right hand into a fist, clasping her left overtop.

Vhalla clenched her hands into fists and welcomed her magic as well. “Your mark, or mine?”

“Mine—don’t want you cheating.” Elecia laced her voice with sarcasm, but Vhalla knew it was a thin veil for sincerity, and her eye twitched.

Elecia moved, and Vhalla instantly went on the offensive.

The dark-skinned woman dodged and ducked ably. She narrowly avoided Vhalla’s hooks and jabs. But Vhalla’s punches were missing by a narrower margin than she would’ve expected.

Vhalla took a breath and focused. She began to feel the ripples in the currents of air as the other woman’s muscles tensed and pulsed before she threw a punch or kick. Vhalla’s body knew before her eyes could see. Vhalla’s heart began to race. She could do this: she could fight.

A pulse began to fill Vhalla’s ears, and she allowed herself to rely on instinct. Vhalla moved like the wind, fast and precise. Her hands swung in exact arcs, hitting their target almost every time. The constant offense had Elecia beginning to panic, and panic made the other woman sloppy. Vhalla heard nothing other than the heartbeat.

Elecia threw a fist at Vhalla’s face; knowing it was coming, Vhalla dodged at the last second. She clamped her hand around Elecia’s wrist and savored the look of pure shock as her foot kicked the other woman’s feet from beneath her. Elecia fell to her knees, and Vhalla reached for the woman’s face with her free hand, clamping it over Elecia’s mouth.

The dark-haired woman’s eyes went wide with terror.

“That’s enough,” Aldrik barked from their right. “Vhalla, let her go.”

The heartbeat in Vhalla’s ears began to fade: it was almost like coming out of a trance. As if seeing the other woman for the first time, Vhalla quickly pulled her hand away, staring at the appendage that had found a mind of its own.

“What in the Mother’s name was that?” Elecia sprang to her feet.

“Just a spar,” Vhalla said curtly. She wasn’t about to let shock give Elecia leeway to ignore the fact that she’d been outperformed. “A spar you were bested in.”

“Right,” Elecia mumbled, her eyes swung to Aldrik. “Bested by an awfully familiar fighting style.”

“I think that’s enough for the night.” Aldrik’s tone was clear: he didn’t want any further discussion on it.

“Why?” Elecia took a step forward. “So you can continue to train her in secret?” Was that hurt in the other woman’s voice? “What do you do those nights you call her to your tent?”

“That is not your concern.” Vhalla had never heard Aldrik so sharp with Elecia.

“It is, because you are my—”

“Just go, Elecia.” Aldrik pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

He was her what? Vhalla wanted to scream the question, but she was barely finding enough air to breathe through the whole exchange.

“Fine, Aldrik. If you want to train her in secret, go right ahead. But don’t think your favor heaped upon the undeserving lowborn will go unnoticed or unquestioned.” Elecia was at the insults again, and Vhalla wished they would dull just a little more instead of still feeling like daggers to her gut.

“All of you, go back,” Aldrik commanded as Elecia stormed away.

“Aldrik,” Vhalla said softly as Fritz and Larel got a few steps ahead.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” The prince stared down the bridge of his nose at her.

“Where else could I learn?” She didn’t understand why she was being given his displeasure. “You, Elecia, Larel, Fritz, Major Reale, you know everyone who’s ever taught me.”

“The way you moved. None of them could have taught you that.” He was somber.

“Well, I have a good teacher.” Vhalla attempted a smile that she quickly abandoned.

Aldrik’s eyes were dark with a tempest of emotion, none of which good. “It was more than that, Vhalla,” he pressed.

“I don’t know what else you think I’ve done.” She took a step away, crossing her arms. “If you remember, my life hasn’t been mine for the past few weeks. I’m owned by the crown, my prince.”

“Is that it? You’re just owned by the crown? There is nothing more?” Aldrik shortened the gap between them with two steps.

“What else more would there be?” Why else would she be headed to war?

His eyes widened by a fraction, and Vhalla realized that they weren’t talking about her presence in the military or combat. Aldrik stormed past her, his shoulder hitting hers lightly.

“Aldrik, you know that wasn’t what I meant,” she called after him.

He froze and looked back at her. Was that appreciation on his face? Was he impressed that she recognized the subtle shifts in their conversation?

The moment was fleeting, and he left her without another word.

Vhalla wanted to scream. The wind tickled under her palm, responding to her frustrations. For the first time Vhalla considered running and abandoning her duty.

Later, in their tent, Vhalla vented to Larel about it all. “I don’t even know what I did!” The other woman was silent. “I thought he would’ve been pleased I’m not utterly useless.”

“You were never useless,” Larel corrected unhelpfully.

“I bested Elecia!” Vhalla flopped back onto her bedroll. “I thought he’d be proud.”

Larel paused a long moment, lying on her side next to Vhalla. They set up their bedrolls against each other to give more room for their armor and things in the small tent. It seemed a much better use of space, and Vhalla had already shattered any contact barriers from the nights she’d spent shaking and sobbing in Larel’s arms.

“The way you fought, Vhalla,” Larel began delicately.

“Not you too,” she groaned.

“Well, you moved very differently than ever before,” Larel pointed out. “What happened?”

“We’ve been training for weeks,” Vhalla stressed. “I hope I’m getting better.”

“Neither Fritz nor I could best Elecia.”

“But you two weren’t really sparring.” Vhalla turned on her side to face Larel.

“We were.” Larel nodded. “How did you do it?”

Vhalla paused, trying to put her defensiveness aside and think. “I don’t know, I just moved.”

“You ‘just moved?’” Larel quickly dropped the skepticism when she saw Vhalla’s face.

“I didn’t even think,” Vhalla added softly, attempting to analyze what had happened. “It was as though my body knew what to do, and I just had to trust it.”

“You fought like Aldrik.” Larel continued before Vhalla could point out that the prince had been training her, “No, Vhalla, you fought exactly like Aldrik.”

“But—”

Larel shook her head. “You could have been his mirror. I’ve sparred enough times with the prince to know how he moves. Down to how you turned your feet, Vhalla. And then, when you grabbed Elecia’s face ... That’s how Aldrik executes his enemy.” Vhalla remembered the Northerner on the Night of Fire and Wind, the one Aldrik had killed before her. He’d grabbed the swordswoman’s face and burned her alive from the inside out. Vhalla shivered. “I don’t know how ...”

“The Joining would be my suspicion.” Larel arrived at the obvious conclusion.

“I have to go talk to him.” Vhalla was kept from scrambling to her feet by an arm around her shoulders.

“Tomorrow,” Larel said thoughtfully. “I think Aldrik was very surprised by this turn of events. Give him some space to cool and process this.”

Vhalla frowned but obliged her friend. Larel gave the best council and had the wisdom of years with Aldrik behind her. And the dawn wasn’t that far.

But when the dawn came, Aldrik was nowhere to be seen. Vhalla scanned the campfires; the tents that were being torn down but she couldn’t find his tall shadow anywhere. She didn’t see him until she was falling in line with Fritz and Larel.

He ignored the space Vhalla had left for him, the space that had been constantly filled for days, and went directly to Elecia. Vhalla said her goodbye to Fritz and Larel and made a quick trot to the front of the line. His moods and his uncomfortable distances were beginning to wear down Vhalla’s patience. She didn’t care that by day their closeness had to be a secret—whatever that closeness even meant. She was tired of everything being on his terms and what he needed.

“Well, look who it is.” Craig was the first to notice her, and Daniel beamed from ear to ear as she approached. “We thought you had forsaken us, Miss Windwalker.”

“My favorite boys in gold?” Vhalla laughed away the tension of the Black Legion, falling in between Craig and Daniel. “How could I ever forsake you?”

“Good morning, Vhalla.” Prince Baldair gave her a smile across Daniel.

“Good morning, my prince.” Vhalla lowered her eyes respectfully. When she raised them again, they caught Raylynn’s and the Southern woman gave her a small nod. Things had dramatically improved between them. “How are the swords this day?”

“Sharp as ever,” Craig announced proudly. “Especially this one over here.” He pointed toward Daniel, and the Easterner was overcome with sudden modestly. “He’s been undefeated in the ring for two weeks now.”

“The ring?” Vhalla asked. “Sparring?”

“We must keep the reflexes sharp.” Baldair gave her a sideways glance. “Surely you have some kind of practice in the Black Legion as well.”

“We do.” Vhalla passed her reins uncomfortably from hand to hand.

“It’s strange to imagine you fighting,” Daniel thought aloud. “Not that I want to say you couldn’t or shouldn’t. When you were on trial, you didn’t seem like a combatant,” he added hastily.

“I wasn’t.” Vhalla stared forward toward the barren horizon. She’d picked the right day to ride at the front of the host. The remaining shrub trees and grasses of the forest were dissolving into the sands of the Western Waste. The Great Imperial Way cut through the pale yellow dunes like an alabaster snake, and there was nothing else for as far as she could see ahead of them.

“Would you spar with me?” Daniel asked. “I’ve never had much of an opportunity to spar with sorcerers; Jax is usually busy with the Black Legion. I’d love to have the practice.” He smiled and pushed his sweat-slicked hair away from his face.

“Sure.” Vhalla nodded and adjusted the chainmail hood Aldrik had made for her, keeping the sun off her cheeks.

“When we stop, then.” Daniel seemed genuinely excited.

As a result of her decision to enter the fray, their talk settled on the history of the Black Legion and Tower of Sorcerers. Unsurprisingly, the rift between sorcerers and Commons ran deeply, and what Craig and Daniel said about it being worse in the military proved true. When the host broke for the day, the swordsmen and women regarded Vhalla cautiously as she lingered. She’d ridden with Craig and Daniel enough times to no longer receive looks or whispers, but staying with them after they stopped seemed to cross a new line.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Vhalla asked after they tied off their mounts.

“Yes, Danny, are you sure you want to do this?” Raylynn gave Vhalla a sideways glance. Things may have improved between them, but the improvement was marginal.

“I am,” Daniel laughed. “I know Vhalla won’t hurt me.”

Raylynn clearly didn’t share the same sentiment, but Vhalla found Daniel’s trust and confidence refreshing. He seemed to always give her the benefit of the doubt, to trust her without needing a reason. It had quickly devolved into a foreign feeling since becoming a sorcerer.

Vhalla and Daniel squaring off attracted the attention of more than one person, and the other soldiers began to gather, curiously gawking at the sorcerer in black plate opposite a Golden Guard.

“An easy round, then?” Daniel drew his sword. It was a beautiful blade with a golden pommel in the shape of wheat. Vhalla had admired it on many occasions as they had spoken of their homes in the East. “To forfeit?”

“To forfeit.” Vhalla nodded, clenching her fists. She was almost dizzy with power. The winds of the desert were swift, unblocked, and strong.

“Craig, if you’ll do the honors.” Daniel glanced at their friend.

“On my mark.” Craig stepped between them, raising his hand. “Mark!” He dropped his palm through the air, jumping back at the same time.

Vhalla acted on Craig’s breath and was a whole step ahead of Daniel by the time Craig was even moving. She drew an arm across her chest, sending a gust of sandy wind into Daniel’s face. Daniel, to his credit, did not falter over such a probing attack and twirled his sword in his palm for a backhanded swing.

Ducking under the blade, Vhalla spun around Daniel like a dancer. She placed a palm to the center of his back, sending him falling with a gust of wind. She was disappointed; Vhalla had expected more of a challenge from such an esteemed member of Prince Baldair’s guard.

But Daniel was prepared to show her how he had earned his golden bracer. As he fell he dug his sword into the sand, spinning around it to sweep her feet out from under her. In her surprise, Vhalla barely had time to catch herself and, when she did, the tip of a blade was at her throat.

“You’re not bad,” Daniel panted.

“Neither are you,” she replied with a sly smile.

Daniel’s face turned up into a grin as though they shared a wild secret now with each other. Vhalla would’ve never guessed it, but there was something about sparring with a person that was almost intimate.

The moment was quickly ruined as a man stepped forward from the observers. “By the Mother, what do you think you’re doing, Lord Taffl?”

Vhalla recognized the hulking form of a man. He was the one who had confronted her at the start of the march. The one Daniel and Craig had coaxed out of accosting her.

“Getting in some practice,” Daniel spoke to Grun, but he paid attention to Vhalla, helping her to her feet.

“With that?” Grun pointed at her.

“The lady graciously agreed to give me some experience against a sorcerer,” Daniel bristled.

No one spoke; it was eerily quiet as every onlooker seemed to hold their breath. All seemed equally fearful of what the pieces would look like if the tension broke between the two men, Vhalla included.

“I should go, I think.”

“Vhalla, no—” Daniel turned quickly.

“No, I should. Larel’s likely setting up the tent without me.” Vhalla smiled in an attempt to sell the poor excuse.

“I want to practice against a sorcerer,” Grun said before Vhalla could walk away from the makeshift ring. “Spar with me.”

Vhalla regarded him cautiously. She didn’t think for a minute he’d suddenly accepted her. But maybe she could show him she wasn’t dangerous, that she meant him no harm. “Very well,” she said before Daniel could object.

“Vhalla, you don’t have to.” The Eastern man took a step closer to her, dropping his voice. “Don’t feel pressured into this.”

“I don’t.” She shook her head, whispering, “Maybe it’ll be good to show him.”

“Well ...”

“Are you two done whispering your sweet nothings?” Grun asked dryly, drawing his sword opposite Vhalla.

Daniel stepped away quickly, his movements jerky and nervous. Was it the heat of the desert or was there a blush across his cheeks? Daniel lifted his palm; their mark to begin sparring would be when he lowered it.

She noticed how his dark brown hair moved as his hand cut through the air, his hazel eyes darting toward hers.

Distracted, Vhalla didn’t hear Grun move until he was upon her. She turned back at the last second, making a weak attempt to dodge. He smashed the pommel of his blade against her cheek in a back-handed swing, sending Vhalla flying into the sand.

“Grun!” Daniel and Craig both called.

“Just a spar.” The mountain of a man laughed. “If she wants to forfeit, she can.”

Vhalla coughed blood onto the sand. Her lip was split, and her face already felt swollen. She blinked away stars, trying to get her feet back under her.

Grun’s boot connected with her side, echoing against her plate as he kicked her. Vhalla rolled across the sand, the wind knocked from her. She curled in on herself, phantom blows attacking her body. Gasping, she tried to push the memories of Rat and Mole’s assault out of her mind.

“Really, this is it?” Grun laughed, goading some of the onlookers into cheers. “This is the fearsome Windwalker?”

“Vhalla, forfeit.” Daniel ran over to her side.

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed, holding out a palm. Something in her eyes froze Daniel in place as Vhalla pushed herself to her feet. Vhalla turned to Grun, feeling the wind at her back. Her heart began to race just by looking at him.

“Oh, still have some fight in you?” Grun chuckled as Vhalla stood. “Well, at least our Black Legion makes good punching bags. We should thank the Fire Lord for the only thing he’s ever given us.”

“Take it back.” Vhalla could barely hear herself over the racing heartbeat in her ears.

“Or wha—” Grun didn’t finish his sentence as Vhalla’s fist met the side of his face.

The man was built like a rock, and Vhalla could feel the bones in her arm compress through her shoulder as she punched his cheek. Her hand stung but she ignored it, quickly landing from her leaping punch and darting back.

Grun let out a cry of rage and swung his sword at her.

“Why do you hate me? Why do you hate us?” she cried, her body deftly dodging the swings of his blade.

“Because you’re abominations!” Grun shouted, attempting to grab her plate.

Vhalla was too fast and batted his hand out of the way, spinning around his side. “We are your comrades! We don’t want to fight you!”

“Says the woman who killed countless people on the Night of Fire and Wind!” Grun raised his blade over her head and brought it down on Vhalla’s shoulder. The clang of metal on metal was sharp and set her ear to ringing as she crumpled.

They thought she was a murderer.

“I didn’t kill them,” Vhalla whispered.

“Liar!” Grun raised his blade again. “They should’ve killed you that night!” The goliath swung, straight for her head.

Vhalla stared at the blade as the world devolved into chaos at Grun’s clearly murderous intentions. This was not a spar; the man intended it to be an execution.

Vhalla raised her hand and the wind ripped Grun’s blade from his fingers, sending it far off into the sand in the distance. She swept her palm in front of her body and a secondary gust knocked Grun on his side. As Vhalla stood, she pressed her hand downward, holding the man to the ground despite his struggles.

“I am not your enemy,” she whispered in a disturbingly calm voice. “So I cannot die this day. I will not die until you see the truth.”

“What’s going on here?” a voice bellowed. Prince Baldair stomped through the crowd that had gathered, Raylynn at his side.

Vhalla relaxed her hand, allowing Grun to spring to his feet.

“She attacked me!” The man made his accusation to the prince.

“Liar!” Daniel shouted. “My prince, Vhalla was gracious enough to spar, and Grun took advantage of the situation. He made an attempt on her life.”

Grun shot the Eastern lord daggers with his eyes. “It was just a spar,” Grun countered with an annoyingly loud laugh. “She was the one who threw the first punch; look at my face.”

Grun indeed had a bruise forming where Vhalla had hit him, but she could lick her lips and taste blood.

“She’s a monster, and if she could’ve she would’ve killed me—it was self-defense,” Grun continued.

Vhalla saw shades of the Senate as a few soldiers began to nod.

“That’s not true!” Daniel drew his blade, his voice coarse. “Continue to lie and I will cut out your tongue.”

“Defend your freak.” Grun reached for his own sword, forgetting Vhalla had disarmed him completely.

“Enough!” Prince Baldair yelled. The men fumed but were silenced. The prince turned to Vhalla. “Do you have anything to say on your behalf ?”

Vhalla met the prince’s endless blue eyes, considering his question. Her side throbbed where Grun had kicked it, where Rat and Mole had kicked it. She clenched her fists, letting go of her magical Channel—and with it her fight. “No.”

“No?” The prince was startled.

“I’ve learned the Empire,” Vhalla turned, staring down the soldiers, “the people, have no interest in the truth.” Vhalla met Prince Baldair’s eyes coldly. “I am property of the crown, and property doesn’t talk back.”

The spite surprised even her, and everyone stood in a stunned silence. It was the first time she’d said it in a public place, the first time she’d assumed her new identity. They would think what they would about her—words would not change her reality. So why fight that battle? She had enough to worry about just surviving.

“Come with me, sorcerer.” The prince had clearly taken offense with her directness. “Grun, Daniel, I’ll deal with you later.”

“Baldair—” Daniel took a half step between Vhalla and the prince.

“Silence, soldier!”

Vhalla had never seen Prince Baldair so harsh. Daniel looked at her hopelessly as she followed the prince into camp. She knew she should feel guilty, but she didn’t. And her mood soured up until the point that Prince Baldair ushered her into his tent.

His tent was completely unlike Aldrik’s on the inside. He had an actual table and three chairs positioned around it. A single brazier made of bronze hung from the center of the tent and lit the room. Prince Baldair’s bed was larger—for reasons Vhalla could guess, given his reputation with women—and it appeared to be an actual mattress. She wondered how difficult it was for the horses to carry it all.

The prince closed the tent flap behind him and did a short circle around her, assessing Vhalla from head to toe. “Sit.” He motioned to a chair. “Or perhaps you’d rather I threw some pillows on the floor?”

Vhalla’s eyes widened, hearing the meaning between his words.

“You look uncomfortable.” The prince paused, his eyes reading hers. “I would think you’d be more at ease in a prince’s tent. Or is it just my brother’s?”

“What do you want?” she demanded.

“Today, I saw him in you.” Baldair squinted his eyes, as if he was trying to imagine Aldrik imposed atop her. “The way you moved, the way you were rushed by the fight. Tell me, is that the only way he’s been in you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vhalla hissed.

“I can’t recall the last time I saw Aldrik with a woman, at least one who wasn’t bought or given to him by our father as an attempt at finding a future Empress.” Baldair took a step closer to her. She didn’t know this prince. There was something turning him sour. He grimaced as he spoke, as if instantly regretting his words.

“Not another word,” Vhalla cautioned.

“Oh? Did you think he was some paragon of purity? I’ve seen him kill girls younger than you. I’ve seen him wind women up to crawl to his bed.” Prince Baldair frowned.

The tension in her muscles became so great that Vhalla feared it would snap her bones. “Speak about him again and I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Prince Baldair’s expression clashed darkly with his usually handsome exterior. “Get yourself together, Vhalla. Have you forgotten the terms the Senate gave you? Have you considered that your actions may force his hand?”

Horror stilled her, and her hands relaxed. He wouldn’t. “What do you want from me?” she whispered.

The prince leaned toward her to whisper in her ear. “Whatever you have with him, end it now.” His voice was quiet and it sounded sincere and pained. “If not for your sake, then for his.”

Vhalla’s chest tightened, but she didn’t have an opportunity to ask him what he meant. The rumble of a single horse and the whinny of an abrupt halt could be heard from outside the tent.

Prince Baldair straightened as the tent flap was thrown open. Vhalla turned and a wave of relief crashed over her as she saw the dark figure step inside.

“Ah, brother.” Prince Baldair rested his palms on his hips. “We were just talking about you.”