Текст книги "Air Awakens"

Автор книги: Elise Kova

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

VHALLA CONTINUED TO struggle with her situation. She sat, pretending to read, mulling over the confounding and infuriating man next to her. A thousand questions ran through her head, but she found none worth breaking the silence.

She attempted to read between his words, to find any hidden meanings or motives. But the more she thought of the Bond, the less convinced she felt that he was toying with her. Why else would he have kept her in the palace? If he did not share a connection with her that he deemed important, wouldn’t she be gone? Especially after her outburst?

Vhalla glanced at him from the corners of her eyes. She noticed a small bump on the bridge of his nose, as though it had been broken and reset poorly. His pronounced cheekbones shaded the sides of his face in the sunlight.

He lifted his eyes from his work to catch hers. Vhalla looked away quickly, not wanting to be caught staring. Just act normal, she scolded herself. But what was normal for an apprentice and a prince?

Shifting slightly, she began to read with intent, pushing the oddity of their situation from her mind. There was something relaxing about this place, the smell and the muffled sounds of the outside world. Her reading was not very dense, and it was actually interesting to learn more about what her magic could do. Vhalla took her time with the pages, committing the points that interested her to memory.

The book was about the applications of air-based magic in a practical setting. Flipping the page, she wondered if she would be able to actually perform any of the seemingly impossible feats contained within. Perhaps, with the right teacher, she may be able to...

Vhalla flipped the page, putting the difficult decisions in the back of her mind.

They continued on like this for a while. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but eventually she became aware of the weight of his stare on her.

“What?” She peered at the prince’s strange expression.

The prince—Aldrik, she mentally corrected herself—opened his mouth to speak, and closed it again, thinking over his words another moment. “What are you reading?” He put his quill down in the open ledger, leaning slightly toward her to inspect the book.

“It’s something Fritz gave me, or rather, lent me. It’s called the Art of Air.” She turned back to the first page, showing him the written title.

“Fritz?” His eyes met hers briefly.

“Yes, from the Tower. The Southern boy in the library.” Vhalla wondered how much he knew of the Tower.

“Ah,” the prince leaned back. “That incompetent nitwit.” Now he was back to sounding more like himself.

“Be nice,” she chided gently, and he glanced over at her through the corners of his eyes.

“If he was going to break the rules and let a book outside the Tower, there are better ones.” Aldrik punctuated his self-serving comment with a scratch of his quill.

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know much, so anything is welcome,” Vhalla pointed out.

“Very true. You do not know much,” he agreed casually.

Vhalla laughed aloud. “You are a royal pain, you know that?” She shook her head, but she wasn’t even angry. Some part of her much preferred this cocky and arrogant side to him over the quieter more insecure glimpses she’d seen earlier. They didn’t seem to fit what little she knew of him. It was safer for the prince to remain a stuck-up royal than someone with a heart and soul.

“You are not the first to think such. You will not be the last.” He shrugged, relaxing back into his own work. She looked back down at her book and flipped the page again. He was back to staring at her.

“What?” Mild annoyance was apparent in her voice.

“Do it again,” he demanded.

“Do what again?” Vhalla sighed.

“What you just did,” Aldrik pointed to the book.

“I know I am a farmer’s daughter, but I can read.” Vhalla glared at him.

“Not read, turn the page.” He kept staring at the book.

She looked at him and flipped a page with emphasis. “Ta-da.” Sarcasm dripped from the noise.

He raised his chin and stared at her with those endlessly black eyes. “You do not even realize it.” He spoke softly at first, their faces close. Sitting back with a laugh, he repeated himself, “You do not even realize it!”

Vhalla was outwardly annoyed with him now. “Thank you, Aldrik the parrot,” she muttered.

He stopped laughing and stared at her. She paused, it was the first time she used his name without title. After a moment he grinned and stood.

“Put it down, I want to see something.” He held out his hand to her.

“You’re not going to push me off a roof again, are you?” Vhalla instantly wished her tone had been more jovial and less flat.

An unusual mix of emotions crossed his face, and his hand relaxed a little before falling to his side. “You said that you would accept me as your teacher,” he spoke softly. She inwardly cursed breaking the lighter moment. “I want that honor again.”

He extended his hand back to her and waited. Vhalla swallowed hard. Prince or not, he was asking too much of her in one day. She avoided his intense stare.

“You have to earn it.” Vhalla didn’t what else to say. She had trusted him, to lead her, to teach her, and he broke that trust. It wasn’t as though it was something she could simply start again on command.

“That is acceptable,” was his surprising remark. She looked back to him; he still stood there hopefully expectant.

Vhalla took his hand. His skin was soft and his palm warm, it almost tingled beneath the pads of her fingers. But she had little more than a moment to reflect on that as he pulled her to her feet and out of the gazebo, back into the autumn day.

“How do you feel?” he asked, leading her into the garden.

“Well enough. Larel stopped in this morning and checked up on me. She said I’m healing well,” she reported.

Aldrik glanced at her. “If something goes wrong, tell me. I could control your healing when you were in the Tower, but now that you are back in the castle proper it is harder for me to oversee directly.” He kept his long strides in pace with her.

“Control over...my healing?” Vhalla considered the implications of this.

He nodded, stopping. They arrived at a small pond.

“After what happened,” he paused, “I wanted to make sure you had the best care possible. It was the least I could do.”

She stared at him and part of her wanted to yell. Didn’t he claim he was not a puppeteer in her life? But she remembered the words of the minister; the prince had been the one who had taken her to the Tower in the first place, and she likely would’ve died without that.

He cleared his throat. “In any case, back there, you were flipping the pages without touching them,” Aldrik announced.

“Huh?” Vhalla said dumbly.

He nodded. “You kept flipping the pages only by moving your hand over the book, but you never actually touched them. You did not even notice.” His tone was a mix of excitement and severity. “Your powers are showing, Vhalla.”

“That’s impossible.” She shook her head.

“For other sorcerers, but not for you, clearly.” He crossed his arms on his chest.

“I’m sure you could do something even better without thinking about it,” she protested and grasped for the idea that what she was doing was not special.

“Yes, I very likely could.” He closed the gap between them, looking down at her. She looked up defiantly. “I am the most powerful sorcerer in this Empire. Therefore, I am not a good benchmark of what is possible or easy to do.” He gave a confident grin before strolling around and behind her.

Vhalla kept her gaze forward.

“Tell me, have you ever skipped stones?” He knelt, picking up one of the flatter, circular rocks.

“When I was a child.” Who hadn’t? “Though I can’t remember the last time.”

He tossed the stone from hand to hand a few times before sending it flying over the still water of the pond. It skipped across the surface three times before sinking. Vhalla intentionally did not look impressed.

“Your turn.” He bent down and picked up another stone, placing it in her palm.

The prince walked over to a decorative pile of mountain rocks around one side of the pond, perching himself on the largest. Resting his elbow on a bent knee he placed his chin in his hand and stared at her expectantly. Vhalla regarded him curiously before she brought her arm back for the throw.

“No, not like that,” he stopped her. “Without throwing it.”

“How do I...” she started.

“Move it, like you did the pages,” he instructed.

“I didn’t even know I was doing that,” Vhalla said, already annoyed.

“Somewhere in you, you did. I know this is going to be hard for you, but think less.” His words did not have a bite to them. “The execution of magic is not something that can be neatly summed up with words. I know you think, and wish, the whole world could be placed down on parchment in-between a strip of leather. But I regret it has fallen to me to inform you that such is simply not true.”

He gave her another one of his small smiles. It sparked warmth in her to see him being open toward her and not snarky. That spark quickly vanished when Vhalla looked doubtfully at the stone in her palm.

She held her hand out flat, the small stone in its center. Taking a breath, Vhalla tried to calm her mind and focus only on the afternoon air around her. Closing her eyes, the world materialized around her in the darkness. He was the first thing she saw with her magical sight.

Around the prince there was fire. It burned bright yellow—almost white—illuminating his features. In stark contrast was a dark spot in his abdomen, a black scar against the light. Vhalla opened her eyes and slowly turned to him.

“You’re not all right, are you?” she breathed. He frowned and she could almost feel him withdraw. “That magic, poison, whatever it is, it’s still in you.” She pointed at his side where she’d seen the spot. He considered her a long moment, unmoving.

“The stone, Vhalla,” Aldrik spoke softly and slowly.

He was shutting her out. Sighing, she closed her eyes. Some things wouldn’t change. It’d be foolish to expect them to. He was a prince, and she was an apprentice; some distances could never be crossed.

Her mind focused on the rock this time. Just like the bulb, she reminded herself.

The stone shuddered in her palm. Forward, Vhalla urged. Her brow furrowed, and she felt a drop of sweat roll down her neck, even though the temperature was nowhere near warm. Frustrated Vhalla opened her eyes to glare at the insubordinate pebble.

“That way!” she half pleaded, half snipped in annoyance.

The moment her opposite finger cut through the air in the desired direction, the stone shuddered to life. Vhalla jumped as it flew out of her palm, soared over the pond, through the shrubs on the other side, and buried itself into the stone wall behind.

Aldrik roared with laughter. She clenched her fists and scowled at him.

“That was amazing.” He slowly regained control of himself. “A little too much force, though.”

Frustrated, Vhalla picked up a second pebble and held it in her hand again. She connected with it faster this time, but it still refused to move despite her best mental commands. Lifting up her other hand, she flicked her wrist and it was sent soaring across the pond, though not as far.

Aldrik leaned forward, both elbows on his knees and his hands folded between. His raven eyes followed her every movement as Vhalla picked up the third stone. This time she did not even close her eyes to understand where the pebble was magically. Her fingers twitched, and it fell just to the other side of the water.

The fourth landed in the center of the pond with a dull plop and cry of victory from Vhalla.

Then there were the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh, each of which had a bad angle, moved too slowly, or landed wide again. Vhalla wiped her brow with the back of her hand, noticing her breathing had become labored.

The prince stood. “That is enough for today,” Aldrik said thoughtfully.

“But I’ve almost got it,” she protested.

“And are fully prepared to exhaust yourself in your attempt to get it.” He offered her his elbow. “Come.”

She clutched the eighth stone another second before giving in and replacing it with his arm. Vhalla took a deep breath, relaxing herself.

“We will need to work on your technique,” Aldrik explained as they walked. “You do not need to attach magical feats to physical movements.”

“It didn’t work the other way.” Vhalla shook her head.

“It will in time,” he encouraged her. “Do not become too reliant upon your magic requiring a physical motion.”

“Show me?” she asked timidly as they re-entered the greenhouse.

“What am I to show?” Aldrik asked, starting for the bench.

“Your magic, without motion,” Vhalla clarified.

“Very well.” The prince patted the bench next to him, and she assumed her prior position. Vhalla did not even realize that she had just made a demand of the prince.

Suddenly his outstretched palm was set ablaze. Tendrils of flame licked up from around his wrist. They circled his fingers and relished the air with their bright dance before fading. Vhalla stared, mesmerized. Aldrik did much the same.

With a timid hand she reached up. The moment her fingers crossed the point of heat the flame extinguished. His hand caught hers.

“Careful,” the prince said thoughtfully. “I would not want you to get burned.”

They hovered, the heat of his hand enveloping hers. Her throat felt gummy. Neither of them seemed to be able to fathom words over the ringing silence.

“Right,” Vhalla said, breaking the trance first, pulling her hand away and fussing with her cuticles as though they had become the most fascinating things in the world. It was hot enough in the greenhouse that her cheeks were flushed, and Vhalla quickly reached down to her bag underneath the bench, hiding her face.

Placing the leather satchel in her lap, Vhalla unwrapped the lemon cake after only a moment’s debate. She wasn’t even certain the prince liked sweets, but she still felt compelled to share her spoils with him. Ripping the hand-sized cake in two, Vhalla offered half—the smaller one—to him. Aldrik arched an eyebrow.

“It’s a lemon cake,” she explained.

“I know what it is.” He took it from her hand, sniffing it.

“It’s good, I promise.” She grinned. He took a bite. “They’re actually my favorite.”

“Not a bad batch,” he affirmed.

Vhalla’s chewing slowed. Of course the prince would have eaten the lemon cakes before.

“So, you simply carry a lemon cake with you each day?” he asked.

“No,” Vhalla shook her head. “I’m not supposed to have it as I’m an apprentice. It could get the kitchen staff in trouble if someone important knew they gave me one.” Aldrik smirked. Vhalla continued, hoping that did not come to pass, “But if I beg on my birthday to the right person, I normally get lucky.”

“Your birthday?” he asked. Vhalla nodded in affirmation. “Is today?” Vhalla nodded again, finishing off her first and proceeding to her second.

“It’s why Fritz gave me the book.” Vhalla nudged her bag with her toe. “Larel gave me this cuff.” Vhalla held out her wrist for him to see.

He inspected it thoughtfully a moment and Vhalla finished off the last of her lemon cake, using the opportunity to study his features again from the corners of her eyes. Vhalla was actually happy she could share something with the prince. But she wished that thing wasn’t a favorite food that she could only eat once every year.

Vhalla was halfway through her book when she noticed her pages had changed from a pale cream color to an orange glow. Sunset blazed above them and threatened to take her reading light away. Closing the book, she bent over and put it back in her bag.

“Finished?” he inquired. He’d been making notes in that black ledger all day.

“Not yet, about half,” she responded, standing.

“I was under the impression that you read faster than that,” he mumbled over a few quick notes of his own.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Vhalla teased. Smiling around the man who had previously been a source of fear and anger was surprisingly easy.

He looked up at her and closed his ledger, taking a long strip of leather and wrapping it around the outside to hold the papers within.

“Are you leaving also?” she asked.

“I may as well.” He tucked the folio beneath his arm.

They started for the door. She did not feel like she was leaving with the same person she had met upon her arrival. Then again, with how her emotions had shifted, Aldrik may be able to say the same.

“How did you get in here?” Vhalla asked, once outside the gazebo.

He looked at her quizzically. “I am the crown prince; I am actually allowed to be here. The better question is how did you get in here?” Aldrik wore a small smirk.

“Well, I-I found a way.” Vhalla gripped the strap of her bag. He let out a laugh. “I couldn’t find the proper entrance!”

“That much is obvious; you are not supposed to know how to get into an Imperial Garden.” Vhalla shifted her feet. “But do not let that stop you. It has not until now, clearly.” He turned with a laugh and started walking to the gate. Stopping in the middle of the path Aldrik turned back to her. “Do you need me to let you out?”

The wind picked up at her back, as if encouraging her forward. Vhalla stared down at the black-clad prince. How much did she trust this man? Her thumb ran over the pads of her fingers where he had held her hand in his.

“If it’s not trouble?” Vhalla asked, mustering her courage. She did not understand what the Bond was, not really. He had been right about that. But there was something about the way his eyes fell on her that was different than any other person’s gaze.

Walking slowly down the steps of the gazebo, she met those eyes again as he offered her his elbow. Vhalla could not ignore the sparks that shot through her like lightning when they touched.

Aldrik led her through the iron gate and down a passageway, which had her gasping within steps. The floor was not carpet, nor stone; it was white marble set in a diamond pattern with smaller golden diamonds meeting at corners. The arched ceiling was painted in brightly colored frescos and the candles flickered magically to life as they walked by.

The prince remained silent as his guest absorbed the wonder in awe. Alabaster statues looked down from high ceilings. Windows made of colored glass and black lead cast bright pictures on the canvas of the floors and walls. It was a world she had only heard of, like a fairytale that was passed from the lips of one servant to the next.

“This place, is...” Her mind was slowly churning back to being capable of words. “It’s...”

“My home,” he finished for her.

“I’m not supposed to be here.” Vhalla shook her head as they stopped before a small side hall.

“You may be wherever I permit,” Aldrik reminded her. Despite his princely tone the words were thoughtful, and he looked at her as though she was the only one he wanted to permit entry. “I would like to teach you more.”

“I may enjoy that.” Vhalla wasn’t sure why she was whispering.

“Come back tomorrow?” he asked.

“I can’t,” Vhalla bit her lip. “I had today off for my birthday, but tomorrow I will be working.”

“If you could, would you come?” Vhalla had a hard time deciphering his look. Uncertainty was clear enough, but was there also want?

“If I could,” Vhalla replied with a nod.

“Very well.” The corners of his lips twitched. “This hall will take you back to the servants’ passages. Just head down.”

Vhalla took a step backward, her hand falling from his elbow. She turned before his stare made her head feel any lighter and started down the dim hallways away from the world of wonder and magic. The castle morphed around her, and she was lost in her thoughts all the way back to her room. If she could, she would rather learn magic than be in the library. That was what she said, wasn’t it? Was it true?

Vhalla rubbed her eyes and pushed open the door to her room. She knew she hadn’t eaten much, but she didn’t feel that hungry and her hunger wasn’t enough to deal with the dining hall.

On her table were three small presents. There was a blank journal from the master and a new quill and inkpot from Roan; Vhalla had a suspicion they had coordinated their gifts. Lastly, a thin rectangular box that had a small note attached:

Vhalla ˜

A very happy birthday. While I am glad you got the day off, your presence in the library was missed.

Sincerely yours,

˜ Sareem

She gave the note a tired smile. Placing it to the side on her desk she picked up the box. Unwrapping the used parchment, she found a ruby box within. Vhalla vaguely recognized it. It was from Chater’s, a clothing shop in the nice area of town not far from the library’s public entrance. She had only seen noble ladies walking out of the store, carrying the red boxes with pride.

Vhalla felt strange just holding it.

Slowly, she pulled off the top. Vhalla gasped. Within were two lovely sapphire gloves. They were fingerless, which suited her writing habit, and extended almost to her elbow. She remembered all the times last winter she complained about her hands being too cold to write. Her other gloves were old cotton things and worn thin with holes from over-use. Her gift were dyed leather and had a beautiful golden thread that embellished the base and sides with an intricate leaf and vine design.

Vhalla couldn’t imagine how much they had cost Sareem. She was fairly sure they were close to the same amount of the savings she had scraped together. As though she would ruin them with her touch, Vhalla returned the gloves to the box. With a sigh she buried her face into her pillow. What was Sareem thinking?