Crystal Crowned [ARC] (38 page)

She gasped for air, a violent shudder coursing through her. It was as though someone had removed her lungs and replaced them with ice.

“Vhalla, what’s wrong? What is it?” Aldrik was hopelessly frantic.

“Al—”

Don’t say his name
, Victor’s voice purred.
Do it and you’ll only make this worse.

“Aldrik!” Vhalla choked out defiantly. “He-he—”

She couldn’t utter another word. All the air was gone. Vhalla balled in on herself, trying to become so small the world would forget she existed. The agony was as great as some of the worst pains that had been inflicted upon her in the past two years.

“Major Jax!” Aldrik shouted.

Movement barely registered in her blurring vision. Her breath was quick and shallow, and she fought for every gasp. The firelight was reduced to glowing orbs in her quickly tunneling vision. More shouting, arguing, running footsteps, it was all happening to someone else very far away.

How badly does it hurt?
Victor raked against her mind.

She couldn’t even choke out a response.

All because you said his name. I did warn you. Do you know what this is, Vhalla? Do you know what’s happening to you?

She was dying.

“Vhal, Vhalla!” a different voice cried for her.

Her eyes fluttered closed.

There is no pain here.

No pain
, she agreed weakly. Darkness welcomed her.

If he truly loved you, he would take you away. But do you see what he does to you?

Victor smashed his way into her consciousness with the grace of a sledgehammer. He was pilfering from her awareness, encroaching upon all that she was. His essence was like a snare, the more she fought it, the tighter it wound.

“Vhalla! Don’t - - - - -ave to fig- -t!” The voices were fading; she was reaching the bottom of that abyss she was sinking into.

The truth is
, Victor continued. It was as though he stood right next to her.
He loves his crown, his Empire, his legacy. He fights for his own glory, just like his father.

You’re wrong.

Why do you still fight me, wretch? Do you not think the late Solaris started with pure intentions? You knew the man he was. Aldrik will be the same; he’s tasting war, and he will hunger it forever.
The sensation of Victor pressed upon her, and Vhalla struggled to maintain her sense of self.
But what’s Vhalla’s role in his world? Why doesn’t she fight for the winning side? Fight with me . . . What’ll be your destiny?

To kill you.
Vhalla fought for—and meant—each of those words. He was like ice, invading her, freezing her in a prison of her mind where there was only him.

You know you can’t. Look at you now, prone before my might. Your tenacity to resist is charming, but I am much stronger than you give me credit for. It will only result in the deaths of those you
—

Vhalla didn’t know if hers or Victor’s scream was louder. A blinding white light penetrated through the darkness. It immolated the shade of Victor that had been moving into her mind. It scorched her and exposed her like a babe raw to the world.

She opened her eyes weakly, not expecting the face that stared back at her. Princess Sehra dominated Vhalla’s field of vision. Her hands slowly pulled away from Vhalla’s temples before she sagged into Za’s waiting arms.

“Vhalla, my Vhalla,” Aldrik coaxed from her side.

She shuddered violently, but squeezed his hand as tight as she could.

“She’s too cold.” Elecia pulled her hand away from Vhalla’s face. “We must warm her up.”

“What’s happening?” Fritz asked the question on everyone’s mind.

“He’s using the crystals to entwine his magic with hers,” Sehra answered, instantly gaining the floor. “I wondered, when she lowered the gate, but I did not expect this . . .”

“Y-you saved me.” Vhalla couldn’t believe it.

“I did,” the princess didn’t mince words. “But he will be back. He’s stinging, but that was not a fatal blow.”

“Thank you,” Vhalla whispered.

Sehra regarded her for a long moment before giving a small nod.

“What did you do?” There was genuine gratitude in Aldrik’s voice.

“I used the power of Yargen to put a stop to the crystals,” Sehra spoke as though the fact should’ve been obvious.

“What
is
the power of Yargen?” Jax asked the question Vhalla had been meaning to.

Sehra and Za shared a look. After a quiet exchange in the Northern tongue, Sehra spoke again, although the rest of the room was keenly aware that they would be hearing an edited version.

“That which you call the Mother has a name, Yargen. She cultivated the earth and gave those tools to the initial peoples of this land.”

Vhalla had heard this story before, she realized. Victor had mentioned it.

“One tool was an axe, Achel, capable of splitting the earth and creating life. It was given to the first Child of Yargen, and the place they did so was Soricium. When their job was done, they committed Achel to rest. I am a descendent of the first child, and Yargen has chosen me to hold her magic.” Sehra went from addressing the group, to only addressing Jax. “So the magic of Yargen is her strength, the force of life and light and order.”

“So, crystals are of the Gods?” Vhalla asked slowly as she warmed, thanks to Aldrik’s fire burning near her.

“They are,” Sehra affirmed. “It is their power in physical form. Something that we mortals can barely dip into without severe consequences.”

“The taint,” Fritz put “severe consequences” in more common words.

“And why I cannot do what I just did very often.” Sehra looked over Vhalla solemnly. “I could not break the connection you have with him, only stall it for a time. He will come back for you. If you can harness his magic, the crystal magic, you are the thing which stands in his way.”

“How often can you do it?” Aldrik asked.

“I’m far from Soricium.” Sehra shook her head. “Even surrounded by life here, there is much wickedness and impure magic upon these lands. My link to Yargen is not strong enough to do it more than every few days.”

“Every few days? She could die!” The Emperor wasn’t pleased with the news.

“You kill Sehra if she does more.” Za scowled. “Southern King be thankful.”

Aldrik opened his mouth to speak, and Vhalla stopped him with a touch. “Za is right. And I wouldn’t want Sehra to die for me.” Vhalla turned to the princess. “How much longer until he can be back in my mind?”

“I cannot say.” She shook her head solemnly. “It all depends on how badly he seeks it.”

“How much longer until we reach the capital?”

“Fifteen days,” Aldrik said finally.

He’d said a number. But all Vhalla heard was a death sentence.

Vhalla had the best sleep in what felt like years. There was no grating on the underside of her flesh, nor were there any nightmares. She could enjoy the loving support of her husband without fear, and Aldrik indulged her every want for comfort.

The next morning, Vhalla sought out Fritz first thing and apologized. Her friend was understanding, even apologetic himself for not being more understanding of the situation. They both said their peace and continued on as normal—as much as possible. She did the same with Jax, though the Westerner seemed to have already forgotten their tension.

Her heightened awareness did not serve her on the march, however. Vhalla forced herself to ignore the stares and whispers as the army mounted and began marching. She kept her head high and kept her face impassive. But her ears heard.

“Did you see how she fought?”

“The Empress of blood.”

“Crimson twister.”

“Death bringer.”

Aldrik kept glaring from the corners of his eyes, a silent challenge for anyone to raise their voice to something more than a whisper. None rose to his challenge, and the gossip eventually faded. But it weighed heavy in her mind in the days that followed.

Vhalla woke from sleep with a searing pain through her mind.

All those things said of you.

She gripped her head, panting. Aldrik stirred.

They will never respect you. They will always fear you. You put your powers on display, your might, and that was their response? To call you a monster? Look at the ignorance of Commons
. Victor’s voice echoed through her mind right behind her temples.

“Go away,” Vhalla hissed.

“Vhalla?” Aldrik sat, clearly hesitant to touch her. “Is he awake?”

Is that the man you claim to love? Tell Aldrik hello for me. I so look forward to killing him again. Do tell me, how did you survive the Crystal Caverns? The same way you forced me out of your mind yesterday? What power was that?

“I said go away.” Vhalla closed her eyes and imagined her mind like the wide plains of the East. Vast and overwhelmed with wind. Someplace that she knew, but any other man could be lost within.

Why don’t you come to me? Come to me, Vhalla
. Victor’s voice was already weaker. Sehra had been right, he was certainly recovering from whatever the princess had done.

“Go away!” she screamed.

Victor released his hold on her mind.

Their tent flap opened without permission, a pair of concerned Western eyes looking between them. Vhalla stared back at Jax and realized her responses to Victor had been said aloud. Aldrik shook his head, and the guard retreated.

Vhalla did not want to acknowledge the looks the next morning. She ignored the faces of the people who she was supposed to lead. She tried to hold herself together as the world felt like it was slowly falling apart beneath her. She didn’t want to reveal the increasingly fragile sanity of their Empress.

No one would share her fire pit at night. No one would look at her for longer than a few seconds at a time. The majors spoke primarily to Aldrik. Everything she had worked for felt like it was falling between her fingertips.

The third night, the dreams returned.

Vhalla stood in a throne room, a place she once knew. On one end sat a large golden chair. On the other stood too massive ceremonial doors, so large they required chains and two men each to open and close. Large vaulted ceilings displayed stonework reminiscent of the Imperial library. Where golden pennons once hung, black velvet strips featuring a silver dragon ran the lengths of the long columns.

A man sat in a chair, a crystal crown upon his brow. It glinted off the light from the windows overhead, but glowed mostly with its own unnatural aura. The glow was mirrored in the faintly shining crystals that were overtaking the room from the floor beneath the throne. Victor’s hair had been cut, and he now wore it in a style similar to Aldrik—combed back. It was a slightly looser hairdo, but it was similar enough that Vhalla wondered if it had been a conscious change.

He looked every inch a king upon the throne, save for the stones marring his skin. The crystals were embedded into his flesh, jutting from his body, growing from his bones. His veins pulsated black around them, the taint struggling to take hold. On occasion he’d shift his attention from the scene before him to one of the stones. It’d flash faintly, as if whispering to him, communicating with some distant point.

She wanted to feel hatred at the sight of him, she wanted to be ready to launch herself—even in a dream state—into an attack. But all Vhalla felt was empty. He didn’t look like a man any longer, he looked like a God. A God who had worn her down past the point of exhaustion.

However, following his line of sight, the object that he looked at with such malicious delight, brought feeling back to her—and the feeling was horror. It compelled her to movement. She held out a translucent hand, as though she was more than just a spectator in the nightmarish memory to which she bore witness.

Laughter rang out from all sides of the hall. Men and women swathed in black robes sat on one side of long tables, feasting and enjoying in the night’s revelries. In the center of the room were ten people, naked with sacks tied over their heads. They were of varying ages, from varying backgrounds, but the one commonality they shared was trembling fear.

“Who would like to go first?” Victor called from behind her.

“I found and put to death four Commons for besmirching your name!” a black robed man cried as he stood.

“I orchestrated the Eastern advance!” another shouted.

A third stood. “Two of the fare are women I supplied—Easterners!”

“To the man who is our benefactor goes the honor of the first spoils.” Victor’s voice grated through the cavernous space like rocks scratching over glass.

Stop
, Vhalla pleaded futilely with the memory. She knew the time she was witnessing had long passed, but the fragile sanity she’d managed to scrape back together was threatening to break if she was forced to endure another moment of what was coming.

The man stood, walking around the table with a small applause from his peers. Arms folded over his chest, he strolled down the line of shivering people. Each one flinched as his boots clicked past them. Victor shifted in his seat, grabbing both arms of the throne in anticipation.

“They are Commons.” The man walked back to one of the dinner tables, grabbing a long meat knife from a plate. “They are not worth our magic, not even to die.”

With a swift kick to the shoulder, the Common man on the end of the line was sent onto his back. Arms and feet bound, he could do little more than whimper on the floor. Kneeling beside his victim, the hooded soldier gripped his blade firmly.

Placing the silver flat against the man’s flesh at the elbow, he slowly worked the blade under the skin. With careful precision, he picked at the skin, pulling up a tiny flap. He pinched the stretching flesh, proceeding to flay the man’s arm.

Vhalla wanted to scream. She wanted to shout. She wanted to be free of this nightmare. But she couldn’t be. No matter how hard she struggled, she couldn’t escape. So she gave in. She gave the people the only honor she could give them. She bore witness to the horrors Victor’s men reaped upon the Commons. She saw with her own eyes the horrors that could thrive in men’s hearts when their victims begged for freedom, mercy, and the end.