Fire Falling (28 page)

“I don’t know.” Vhalla didn’t want to play guessing games, and her theories on Elecia ran as long as the Great Imperial Way. Thankfully, Aldrik didn’t drag her along.

“Elecia is my cousin.”

“What?” Vhalla asked on a quick inhale of air.

A knowing grin curled up the corners of his mouth at her obvious shock. “My mother, as I’m sure you know, was a Western princess. When the West was overthrown, her father was removed from his throne as king. But in an effort for a peaceful transition, his eldest son—my Uncle Ophain—was appointed as the Lord of the West. My uncle had a son who later married a Northern woman and had a daughter.”

“Elecia?” Vhalla whispered, wide-eyed, mentally following along. It explained everything about the woman. Her appearance, her demeanor, her protectiveness of Aldrik, Vhalla understood it all.

Aldrik nodded. “She was born when I was seven. We made a trip back to the West not long after but she was only a toddler. I didn’t know her well until we were adults,” he continued.

There was a ringing in Vhalla’s ears and relief tingled across her skin.
Elecia wasn’t a lover
. She wasn’t his betrothed. She was his family.

“I thought you already knew.”

“How would I have known?” Vhalla asked, a touch exasperated. She read a lot of books but it wasn’t as though she specifically studied lineages and would just happen to recall that bit of information.

“We have the same name,” Aldrik said, matter-of-factly.

“What?” Vhalla regarded him as though he was crazy.

“Ci’Dan, my mother’s family name.”

The mysterious “C” finally had an explanation.

“Aldrik
Ci’Dan
Solaris,” Vhalla whispered. “Then, what was she doing in your room—at night?” Vhalla refrained from commenting on their extremely casual state of dress.

“Ah, that.” Aldrik glanced away. “I didn’t say anything before because I was worried it wouldn’t work.”

“What?” Vhalla asked, wondering what other obvious thing she could have missed.

“Elecia is a Groundbreaker. She’s talented in a great many things, but healing is something she has a natural gift for. She reads bodies like books.” Aldrik smiled and stood. “Vhalla, look at me.” She pursed her lips together, seeing nothing. “With magic sight.”

Vhalla shifted her vision and saw a sight unlike any she’d seen before. His body was swathed in a golden-white flame, so brilliant that his skin glowed faintly. She’d never seen him so bright. It was then she realized the reason. The dark spot at his side was gone.

Vhalla was on her feet, reaching out and placing her hand on his hip. She shifted back her vision and looked up at his face. Aldrik continued to smile through Vhalla’s surprise.

“Y-you’re cured?” she asked tentatively.

“I am,” he beamed. “It was a process, though; it took almost two days of her work and mine. She was here around the clock.”

Vhalla breathed slowly. She had never seen the prince smile so much. Laughter bubbled up from her stomach and escaped with a joyous melody. As long as she had known him he had been suffering from this wound. It was literally a dark spot on him for months. Now he was free.

“I wish I could’ve helped,” she said softly.

“I didn’t want to tax you,” he replied, timidly running his fingers over her cheek. They left a flush in their wake. “Especially not after the sandstorm.”

“Next time, at least tell me,” she said sternly.

“I promise,” Aldrik vowed.

“I thought ...” Vhalla shook her head with a small laugh. “I thought you were with her,” she confessed, looking away.

“I thought everything was obvious to you,” he said softly, astounded at her confusion. “Not just about Elecia, but—” Aldrik ran a hand across his hair, noticing the mess she’d made in the back earlier with a small smile, “—with everything. I was certain that, with how I acted toward only you, you knew.”

Vhalla blushed and stared at her toes. Larel had tried to tell her. It would be false if Vhalla said she hadn’t hoped. But of course she had never thought it was true. There was always a more likely, convenient explanation. Something else crossed her mind and her eyes snapped back to his.

“If you’re cured, then the Bond ... is it?” She felt a small panic rising in her.

Aldrik chuckled. “It is still there. My sincere apologies, Vhalla Yarl, but to the best knowledge of the academic community of sorcerers, we are Bound for life.”

“Forgive me for not being torn up over that.” She smiled from ear to ear.

He chuckled and squeezed her hand lightly.

Vhalla sat back onto the couch with a relieved sigh. The past half hour hit her all at once, and she suddenly felt exhausted. Aldrik returned to his place next to her, placing his arm behind her, his side flush against hers, and she leaned into him instinctively. Her head rested on his shoulder, and she was pleased to find he made no motion away.

“Vhalla,” he whispered softly.

“Aldrik?” she replied, her eyes dipping closed as she allowed herself to enjoy his warmth.

“Did you mean what you said? Or was it just a moment?”

Vhalla sat up straighter to study his face. “What?”

“Earlier.” Aldrik glanced away. “You told me that, your feelings ...”

Vhalla paused, hesitant.
Was he giving her the choice?
Was he asking her to decide? He seemed unable to meet her gaze and looked across the room at nothing in particular. Vhalla took a shaky breath. Reaching out, she put her fingertips under his chin and guided his eyes back to hers.

“Aldrik, it was
not
an impulse,” Vhalla spoke slowly and deliberately. “It was not even the first time I had said it aloud.” She smiled softly at his surprise.

“When?” His lips barely moved.

“When did I admit it? Only after the sandstorm. When did it happen? Long before that.” She shrugged slightly; it was hopeless to attempt denial. Vhalla returned her hand to his, looking at their intertwined fingers. The sight of that alone filled her with joy.

“I tried,” he sighed, the sorrow in his voice contrasting starkly the tone of their conversations prior. “I didn’t expect it, then I didn’t want it to happen. I tried to explain it to you the day of the verdict. Being involved with me at all is dangerous.”

“I don’t care.” It came out of her mouth before she had time to filter it. But as he shook his head at her she found she didn’t regret it.

Aldrik chuckled softly and stood. “You’re a rather impossible woman.”

“Pot meet kettle.” Vhalla gave him a snarky grin.

She was rewarded with the rich sound of his laughter as Aldrik helped her to her feet. “I must do some work,” he explained his apologetic look.

“On what?” Vhalla stalled him, not ready to be dismissed.

“Strategy, planning for the troop addition, acquiring any extra rations we may need,” Aldrik listed.

“Could I help?” Vhalla was glad that she hadn’t thought the words through first, otherwise she may not have said them. Offering to help the crown prince with matters of state was too bold, too far beyond her station.
Then again, so was kissing him
. Vhalla shifted her weight from one foot to the other, weighing his surprised stare.

“Actually,” Aldrik thought aloud, “you could.”

Aldrik led her over to the table eagerly. He scattered the papers and began to give her an overview. Vhalla was surprised to find how good it felt to use her mind again. For months she’d been out of her element, away from books and knowledge. It was like stretching a muscle that’d been languishing for far too long.

He twirled a gold-tipped raven’s feather quill between his fingers as he spoke, and Vhalla chewed thoughtfully on the end of a spare she’d made her own. One positive, she discovered, about her intellect was that she could focus on what he was saying and his dexterous fingers at the same time. Vhalla missed nothing, his knowledge or how nimble his long hands actually were.

“How many stone’s worth of smoked meat is being provided by the West?” Aldrik asked from the other end of the table.

“Two-thousand,” Vhalla replied, quickly marking the numbers on a new list as he’d showed her.

“That’s not enough,” he mumbled. “We’ll need to ask the Western lords for more.”

Vhalla stopped her quill, looking across at the dark-haired prince who was deep in thought. She could almost hear the words echoing through his mind. “I know how you could get more.”

“What?” Aldrik looked up, startled.

She took a deep breath, hoping she’d arranged her thoughts well enough. “The West survives off shrub game and fishing from the coast as well as imports from the East and South.” She recalled reading. “You can’t ask for any more from the lords and ladies this far into the Waste. They’re likely already worried about making it through the off-seasons of trading.”

“So then what do you propose?” Aldrik rested his fingertips on the table, assessing her as a prince.

Vhalla faltered, but only briefly. She knew what she’d read and lived. “Every year in Paca, Cyven, there’s a Festival of the Sun with prize hogs. They’re slaughtered shortly after and smoked in the winter to be sold at the Crossroads. It’s part of a sort of meat migration that supports the West.”

Aldrik’s eyes glittered, suddenly following along.

“The Empire buys eighty percent or so, of this influx in the market and you’d likely have your difference for the war. But, to make sure the Western lords and ladies don’t worry about their storehouses, you should send the farmers back to the East with orders to return with extra grain and subsidize the cost of the farmer’s travel,” Vhalla finished.

“Yes,” Aldrik breathed, a wide smile arcing across his lips. “The double round of trading should also help the economies of both East and West.”

He was furiously scribbling, folding three quick letters, and sealing them with some heated wax. Vhalla watched his golden seal move in shock.
Had she just done that?

“I should get these off immediately.” Aldrik started for the door, pausing briefly to stare at her in what Vhalla dared to say was awe. “When I return, I’d like to run a few more thoughts by you.”

“Of course, my prince.” Her own smile broke through her daze.

Aldrik returned in record time and their previously quiet work was suddenly very chatty. Vhalla learned quickly that the prince wanted her to challenge him. It went against everything she’d ever been taught to oppose the prince’s word, but Aldrik thrived off it. He held nothing back, and Vhalla had to draw from every book she’d ever read on the geography, history, economies, and people of the Empire to keep up.

It was exhilarating, and exhausting.

Vhalla put her hands on the small of her back and stretched. The sun had begun to hang low, turning the room into a kaleidoscope of rich colors cast by the stained glass window. “Do you ever stop working?”

He grinned at her. Aldrik couldn’t hide his enjoyment all afternoon and neither could Vhalla. “An Empire doesn’t run itself.” He tapped his quill on the table twice. “And, I’m three times as productive with you around, so I must take full advantage of that. I had no idea I was with such a natural stateswoman.”

Vhalla blushed.

“Are you hungry?” He stared at the stained glass a moment before pulling his watch from his pocket. Time had crept up on him as well.

“A little.”

“What would you like? I will get you anything you desire.” Aldrik grabbed the coat he’d discarded on the floor at some point in the afternoon and shrugged himself into it.

“Anything?” she asked.

“I
am
the crown prince,” he smirked.

“Such an abuse of power,” she scolded teasingly.

Aldrik straightened, finishing the buttons at his neck. “The things we do for love.” He shrugged, running his hands over his hair.

Vhalla’s eyes widened. She stared at him as he turned back to face her, struggling with the meaning of those words. “Aldrik,” she whispered.

He paused, his hands dropping to his sides. “Food?”

“Surprise me.” Food had become the farthest thing from her mind.

He nodded and strode briskly out of the room.

Vhalla stared at the door dumbly before turning to one of the candles on the table. She watched the flame, losing herself to her thoughts. It seemed to radiate his essence, echoing Aldrik’s words in every flicker. Vhalla reached out a hand, running it over the top of the fire absentmindedly.

Aldrik returned faster than expected. “It will be up—” His words faltered. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, something that children dare each other to do. Well, children who aren’t Firebearers.” Vhalla laughed, quickly stopping when Aldrik’s intent expression hadn’t changed. “It doesn’t hurt,” she explained, thinking he may have no idea what non-Firebearers could manage when it came to fire.

“Are you certain?” His eyes flicked to her hand.

Vhalla returned her attention to the appendage in question and stared in shock. Her fingers had been directly atop the flame the whole conversation, frozen from the moment he’d caught her. She stared dumbly, watching the fire flicker over her skin as nothing more than heat.

“What ...” she whispered in confusion, pulling her hand from the candle. Vhalla stared at her fingers; they weren’t even red. Aldrik crossed the room, inspecting as well. “Why am I not burned?”

“Likely the Bond,” he whispered, suddenly fishing for a blank piece of parchment to scribble across. “You have some of my magic in you, and I have some of yours in me, maybe more than
some
with the Joining. I cannot burn myself with my own flames so it stands to reason that such protection could extend to you.”

“My wind has never affected you like it does others.” He considered her thoughtfully and Vhalla used his paused expression as an invitation to continue. “The twister on the Night of Fire and Wind.”

It surprised her the ease to which the infamous event could roll off her tongue. It still left a lingering sour taste in Vhalla’s mouth, the reminder of something foul. But it no longer repulsed her.

“Let’s test it?” she suggested. “Your fire is easier than my wind.”

Aldrik held out a fist, opening it for a dim spark, mostly red with a hint of orange. She knew he could make the flame surround her hand just as easily but instead it remained in his palm. He looked to her uncertainly and Vhalla realized he was waiting for her.