Текст книги "Air Awakens"

Автор книги: Elise Kova

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

He spun her in a circle beneath his arm. Vhalla tripped and stumbled. With a laugh, the prince caught her in both hands and she found herself pressed close to him for the second time in one day.

“We can work on the dancing.” Prince Baldair grinned down at her.

“I can’t go to the Gala.” She shook her head, trying to find bones in her legs once more.

“Why not?” The prince seemed undeterred.

Vhalla pried herself away from him in frustration. “Because I don’t belong there.” She grabbed her elbows, hugging her torso. “Apprentices don’t belong with nobility.”

“You don’t belong in my brother’s garden either,” the prince retorted with a shrug.

Vhalla wished she could have kept the frown off her lips.

“He’s dangerous and silver-tongued. Don’t give him an opportunity to weave you into some scheme, Vhalla.”

“I would like to return to the servants’ halls now,” she said with a quiet firmness that she didn’t know her voice capable of.

The prince stared at her for a long moment. He implied that Aldrik would weave her into a scheme, but Vhalla only felt skeptical about the man standing before her. She resisted fidgeting—barely—but didn’t like the knowing glint in his eyes.

“I’ll give you a fake name,” he said finally. She couldn’t believe he was still persisting with this insane plot. “No one will know who you are under the powder, gown, and hairdo.”

Vhalla shifted her feet and braced herself to object a second time.

“It will likely be the last night before my brother and I return to the front,” Prince Baldair revealed, shattering her resolve.

The last night before Aldrik would leave was the Gala, tomorrow. She looked toward a far corner of the room, churning this over in her head. That was it, all the time they would have together. No matter how much she wanted to refuse the prince before her, a question remained: What if she had no other chance to see Aldrik?

“You’re sure it won’t be a problem?” she finally asked the waiting prince.

“No one will be wise to who you are.” Baldair nodded. “Unless you think my brother will tell.”

Vhalla looked askance at the prince and swore she heard a soft chuckle.

“And if people found out?” She shifted her weight uneasily from foot to foot.

“No one will.” It wasn’t the answer she had been looking for, but it was the best she was going to get.

“All right. If you wish to bestow this upon me as a secret thanks, my prince, then I shall accept it.” Vhalla gave him a resolute nod.

The prince smiled, and she noticed that where Aldrik’s smiles were small and normally just a turn of the corners, the Heartbreaker Prince’s moved in a beautiful symmetry.

“First then,” the prince extended a hand to her. “We dance.”

SHE DID NOT have time to object before the prince had half-pulled, half-picked her up and led Vhalla into the center of the room. It was immediately obvious by the first turn that she had no clue what she was doing—her foot landed on top of his toes. The prince laughed, assuring her that her dainty feet could not harm him.

Vhalla did not enjoy dancing at first. It was awkward and it made her feel ignorant, an emotion that she generally resented and avoided at all costs. But the prince was a surprisingly gentle and encouraging instructor.

“You need to relax,” he soothed.

Vhalla was very aware of his palm on her hip. “Why are we doing this again?” she mumbled.

“What do you think people do at a Gala?” With a toss of his head, he cast aside a chin-length blonde lock.

“I wouldn’t know.” Vhalla was stubbornly focused on her footwork, conversation was secondary.

“We dance.” The prince laughed. He took a step back and twirled her again. This time Vhalla understood that an extension of the arm meant she was to turn and, while she was not graceful, she did not trip. “You’re getting it.”

“Barely,” she muttered, her eyes still on her feet.

Once she had grasped one infuriating step where they were supposed to glide across the floor in each other’s arms, they moved onto a group-style dance that Vhalla’s feet had a significantly easier time with. She had grown up going to harvest festivals in a neighboring town, and all the common folk knew the simple four-step that was a variation of this dance.

The prince praised her quick learning, and Vhalla kept the source of her abilities behind a small smile. After that, the Heartbreaker Prince began to have an easier time earning smiles from her.

If she did well, he would squeeze her hand. When her eyes finally lifted away from her haphazard movements, she was rewarded with a wink. Slowly, under the prince’s hand and earnest encouragement, Vhalla began to enjoy herself.

It was a different kind of enjoyment than what she felt when she was around Aldrik. This feeling lacked the tension or twitching to break through the skin that felt with Aldrik. This was simpler. It was as though the golden prince wore everything on his sleeves, and his cerulean eyes promised nothing but the truth. Vhalla stumbled when his lips barely brushed against her cheek.

“You’re beautiful, you know,” the prince whispered thoughtfully.

“I am not.” Vhalla looked away, but their proximity did nothing to hide her hot flush.

“You are, and I wish to ensure everyone will see it at the Gala.” Sliding his palms down her forearms, the prince stepped away from her with a squeeze of his fingers.

Vhalla’s heart was beating a bit harder than normal from the dancing.

The prince pulled a bell cord by the door, and a servant arrived a moment later. The prince engaged in a series of low-voiced orders that meant nothing to Vhalla. Sensing she was not intended to hear the conversation, she wandered to the massive windows that consumed the opposite wall.

The panorama was magnificent. The afternoon sun had the world ablaze, and she could almost feel the palpable joy of every fluttering festival pennon dancing on the breeze in the city far below. Streamers that hung from windows and were posted upon rooftops made the Capital glitter.

Vhalla gave a wistful sigh.

“What’s wrong?”

She hadn’t heard the prince return to her side. “Nothing.” Vhalla took a quarter step away, overwhelmed by his abrupt appearance at the end of her thoughts.

“Ah, Vhalla,” he hummed thoughtfully. “I know when a woman says nothing it is always something.”

“I don’t want the festival to end,” she confessed softly.

“And why is that?” There was a knowing glint to his eye.

“No reason.” Vhalla shook her head, and the brief image of Aldrik vanished.

“The festival is a magical time,” Prince Baldair agreed, following her gaze over the city. “Do you know anything of magic, Vhalla?”

She looked up in surprise, his eyes catching hers again. The prince’s mouth swept up into a smile that made Vhalla uneasy. He knew something; he’d put things together too easily for her liking. Vhalla’s words began to fail her and she was saved only by the door opening.

Prince Baldair asked nothing more about magic for the rest of the afternoon. Vhalla quickly forgot he’d asked in the first place as bolts of silk, velvet, cashmere, chiffon, fur, and fabrics she couldn’t name were carried into the room by a small entourage of servants. Once more Vhalla attempted to keep her face down, but it did little good as her curiosity got the better of her.

At the end of the entourage a portly, balding man strolled in as though he owned the entire palace. The prince introduced him as Chater. Vhalla shook his hand in a daze, the hand of the man who was the founder of the most prestigious clothing shop in all of the South. He looked her up and down.

Before she could ask a question, the fabrics she had lusted over moments prior were being held up against her skin to assess her complexion. Vhalla stood dumbly, a living model for the men surrounding her, prattling on about the Gala. It was the lilac silk on her cheek that finally pulled her out of her daze.

“Black,” Vhalla said suddenly, unaware she just interrupted the famous couture designer standing before her.

“Pardon?” The rotund man was startled into silence at her sudden interjection.

“I want something black.” Vhalla followed the thought that had possessed her to its logical conclusion.

“My lady, black is not a customary color for a gala.” Chater frowned.

Vhalla brought her fingers together, picking at her nails. She wasn’t a lady. Even though she had discarded her apprentice robes for the festival, she was certain Chater knew it also.

“Well, I suppose that, if it’s improper...” she mumbled. Vhalla glanced away wondering if Aldrik would be wearing black. She couldn’t imagine him dressed up like a peacock, even if it was a gala.

“Now, about the purples. They’re very Eastern, your complexion...you are from the East, right?” Chater was back to rummaging through bolts of cloth.

“Let her wear what she pleases,” Prince Baldair said suddenly.

“My prince—”

“It’ll be a special night, and the lady here has someone she wants to impress, I’m sure.” Cerulean eyes caught hers, and Vhalla could do nothing more than swallow.

“Well, I will need to get additional fabric,” Chater said uneasily, keen on the fact that his companions had some unspoken communication.

Vhalla’s eyes followed the round man out of the room, until the muscled form of the prince broke her vision.

“Vhalla,” Prince Baldair spoke softly.

“My prince?” she whispered. Just like the last time, his palm was on her cheek before she was even aware of the movement of his arm.

“Chater is right, it is unconventional for a gala,” he noted thoughtfully.

“How unconventional is black?” Vhalla made no motion away from the prince’s touch.

“Very.” She was vaguely aware of his thumb moving over her cheek as he spoke. “Vhalla, you’re a pretty girl, you know. You don’t need to go down the unconventional road to be noticed. Good men will notice you without all that, the men you want to be noticed by. I’m sure good men have already noticed you.”

“I-it’s not that,” her voice wavered. Vhalla struggled to find an explanation.

“I will show you.” The golden-haired prince smiled encouragingly. “You can have your black, but I will be the one who shows you how dazzling you are.”

The designer returned, and Vhalla’s face flushed red hot as the prince made no haste in removing his hands from her person. She took a chaste step away. Chater was unbothered by what he had seen and continued to talk on about silhouettes and skirts. Vhalla found herself focusing more on the prince’s easy smiles and his input during the process than the designing. What men did he think would be noticing her?

When Chater left, the sky was ablaze and she was uncertain what dress had been designed for her.

“Now remember, Vhalla,” Prince Baldair offered her his elbow. She took it and they started for the door. “Come back to the servants’ entrance around noon tomorrow. I’ll have someone there ready to help you prepare.”

“My prince, that isn’t necessary,” she denied with a shake of her head.

“It most certainly is!” Prince Baldair chuckled. “You don’t think I’d put you in a Chater dress and have your hair and makeup be left undone, do you?”

“No, of course not...” Vhalla’s free hand went up to her head, feeling the frizzy mass that was her hair.

“Don’t fret, you’ll be beautiful.” The prince smiled, his hand on the door latch. “Just remember to save a dance for me when every man of the Court is begging to be your partner.”

“I doubt that will happen.” Vhalla laughed, looking up at her companion with a light smile.

“Then I have a dance?” Prince Baldair asked again, as they stepped into the hallway.

“You’ve already had one.” Vhalla’s lips pressed together in a little grin.

“Another?” He leaned closer to her.

“How could I refuse?” She laughed lightly, beginning to grow more accustomed to his proximity and casual nature.

The prince’s footsteps paused, and Vhalla’s gaze swung forward. Standing little more than five steps across the hall was a tall silhouette that made her jaw slack. She felt Prince Baldair’s bicep tighten under her palm, trapping it. Aldrik’s eyes flicked from her to the golden-haired man at her side.

“Hello, brother,” Prince Baldair hummed sweetly.

Ebony eyes bore deep holes into Vhalla. If Aldrik had heard his brother, there was no response other than a twitch under his eye. Vhalla suddenly felt very small, small enough to fall off the earth. It was uncomfortable. It hurt.

“How did the war council go?” The golden prince seemed to be pleasantly unaware of the tension that resonated between his company and his brother.

“Fine.” Aldrik’s voice brought her cowardly eyes back to him. The word was as cold as it was curt.

Vhalla opened her mouth to speak but there was nothing she could say, not in front of Prince Baldair.

“I look forward to marching on the North again as soon as this nonsense of a festival has ended.” The elder prince’s words were punctuated with the slamming of his door and the laughter of the younger.

Vhalla must have missed the joke because she didn’t feel like laughing. If she tried, she may end up being sick.

With a kiss on a numb cheek, Prince Baldair left her at an entrance to the servants’ quarters.

Agony, her blood had been poured out and replaced with something cold and painful. Vhalla raced through the halls and when she reached her door, she shut it as loudly as possible, which made her feel no better. She threw herself onto her bed for her pillow to muffle a cry.

She didn’t want any more princes. She was finished with nobility, and the last thing she was inclined to do was go to that pointless Gala. Vhalla rolled onto her back, her eyes stinging with something resembling anger. Everyone was right, Prince Baldair was the better of the two princes. He was kind, thoughtful, lighthearted, and simple to understand.

But he didn’t have the same wit of his brother. He didn’t possess the same flair with his words nor grace in his step. He couldn’t command a room in the same way. He certainly didn’t have shoulder-length raven hair nor wonderfully pronounced cheekbones.

Vhalla groaned. She was a foolish girl. Mixing with princes only led to pain. She was done.

A knock on her door pulled her to her feet.

“Just a minute,” Vhalla called, running her palms over her face. She was pleased that no tears had escaped, whatever the tears would have meant. But she was certain her eyes were red. The person knocked again and each rap sent a small tickle of pain between Vhalla’s temples. She yanked open the door. “What?”

“We need to talk.” Roan pushed her way through the doorframe.

“Roan, now is not—” Vhalla began to sigh as the blonde rounded on her.

“Not a good time? Too busy fraternizing with the golden prince?” Roan’s finger was in her face.

“What?” Dread seeped into each beat of Vhalla’s heart.

“The servants were all abuzz. Library girl with the Heartbreaker Prince, in his room, eating his food.” Roan crossed her arms. “Did you think you wouldn’t be noticed?”

“I didn’t,” Vhalla shook her head.“I can explain.”

“You don’t have to explain to me.” Roan shook her head, sending her curls bouncing in every direction. “It’s Sareem you’ll need to explain to.” Vhalla shut her gaping mouth for a moment. Did Roan’s eyes look red? “Vhalla, did you even think about how this will make him feel? You running off with a prince? He’s a man, and he’s head over heels for you. He went out of his way, he planned a whole day just for you. He arranged food and entertainment, and now you’re breaking bread with another man? With a prince known for his bedroom conquests? How will that make Sareem feel?”

Vhalla’s arms were limp at her sides as her shoulders sagged. Went out of his way? Planned a whole day? She brought a palm to her forehead, remembering a dark pair of accusatory eyes. Was that what Aldrik thought? She groaned for even wondering. If that had been what Aldrik thought, did that mean the crown prince was jealous about her and his brother?

“I see you have enough sense to feel bad now.” Roan threw her hands up in the air. Vhalla had never seen her friend so annoyed. “Really, he’s a good man. I wasn’t going to say anything but now, after today...” Roan shook her head.

“What? What is it?” Vhalla wasn’t sure if she was prepared for more.

“I don’t know what you’re into right now or why, but I caught Sareem in the section of mysteries today, on a festival day, of his own accord,” Roan hissed. “Do you know what he was doing there?”

“What?” Vhalla asked cautiously.

“He was reading books on magic!” Roan snapped. “Something about eradication. I don’t know, he seemed really eager—too eager. Sareem has always stayed on the right side of things. I’ve always known you to be curious. The first to go out of her way for knowledge. I tolerated it just like I tolerated you and him. But this, I can’t tolerate this. I won’t let you wrap him up in magic for your curiosities.”

Vhalla stared at her friend blankly, wondering if she had ever really seen the woman opposite her. Roan, her friend, the girl she had grown into a woman alongside. The person who she had shared her secrets with. When had they become so different?

“What’s wrong with magic?” The defensive words escaped as fast Vhalla even though them.

“What’s wrong with magic?” Roan took a step back as though threatened.

“Really, what’s wrong with it?” Vhalla persisted, taking a step forward. “Have you ever read about it? Have you ever taken the time to learn about it? Have you ever spoken to a sorcerer without closed-minded fear?”

“Why would I?” Roan squared her shoulders and planted her feet. “It’s not something good people should bother with; I thought you knew that. Your father served in the War of the Crystal Caverns.”

“That wasn’t the fault of magic, if you’d actually read—” Vhalla began.

“I can’t believe it,” Roan interrupted sharply. “What happened to you? I thought we were the same. I let you have Sareem because that’s what friends do. I thought you would treat him well. I let it slide that you lied to me about you and him, but I was fine because I wanted him to be happy.”

“What?” Vhalla breathed. “You let me have Sareem?” Roan’s sudden anger, her looks over the past weeks, the sense of betrayal, it all came into focus. “You like him.”

“What?” It was Roan’s turn to be taken aback.

“You, you’re in love with Sareem.” It wasn’t a question. Roan shot her a seething glare. How hadn’t she seen it sooner? Vhalla laughed at herself.

“What’s so funny?” Roan asked defensively, no denial of the accusation in sight.

“It’s funny, because you should have taken him.” Vhalla shook her head. “I don’t want him, not as a lover.”

“What? How could you not? Then why?” Roan was flabbergasted. “What do you want then?” The blonde’s prior anger and frustration melted into confusion. “Your books? The Heartbreaker Prince?”

“No,” Vhalla said softly. “I want a place you hardly dare to even whisper. I want the bravery to not only read, but to do. I want a man, not a library boy. A man who is tall and witty and knows more about the world than you would ever dare dream.

“So listen, I am going to go into this world, and I don’t care if you and your narrow mind cannot be a part of it. Go to the Golden Bun tomorrow when the moon is a third in the sky. Meet Sareem there in my place. Tell him you love him, tell him I don’t, and go live your lives.” Something in Vhalla’s gut ached. She wasn’t sure what from. Be it her harsh words or the harsher truth they stemmed from. She had loved these people, and they attacked her without asking her what the changes in her life meant, what the truth was. Vhalla had never known the pain of rejection like this and all it made her want to do was reject them just as coldly in return.

“What are you wrapped up in?” Roan whispered. Her anger and frustration had shifted to a sympathy that grated Vhalla.

“I’m simply learning where I’m meant to be.” It was the only response because it was the truth.

“Vhalla, listen, I—”

“I think you should go, Roan.” Vhalla motioned out the door she held open before the other girl could finish her sentence.

“If you’re in trouble, we can help.” Roan stopped in the doorframe.

“I don’t need your help,” Vhalla responded coolly.

Roan met her gaze, and they stood a long moment. In all their past tiffs this would be the time when one of them would smile, crack a joke, and they would laugh. This would be the second that they hugged and flopped onto the bed to talk about how stupid they were and then share gossip before running off to dinner.

The sun sunk lower into the sky. Vhalla wasn’t about to be that girl. Apparently, neither was Roan.

The second the door closed, Vhalla rushed to the small portal that was her window, gulping in the evening breeze. Tomorrow, she would speak to the master before heading to the Gala. Vhalla stared off at the horizon and wondered if she could have a window as big as Larel’s in the Tower.