Fire Falling (6 page)

“Shall we?” Daniel took a step toward the Black Legion.

“See you later, Miss Windwalker,” Craig bid her farewell with a smile.

“Take care, Craig.” Vhalla waved and fell in step with Daniel.

The camp was almost completely broken down as they walked back. Remnants of fires were doused, and people were beginning to mount their horses. The short walk was filled with talk of how his family grew potatoes and hers wheat, and the processes for each. Despite the circumstances under which they met, Vhalla felt an instant connection with her fellow Easterner.

When they came upon the Black Legion she noticed Aldrik’s tent had almost been completely loaded up into the cart with the rest of the Imperial items, but she didn’t see the man anywhere.

“Don’t let the other soldiers bother you,” Daniel said, coming to a stop. “They’re not bad people, they’re just—” he paused, looking to the heavens for inspiration, “—a little stupid.”

Vhalla grinned.

“Vhal!” Fritz ran over. “We were looking for you.” He practically skidded to a halt to give her escort a full assessment.

“Fritz, this is Daniel. Daniel, Fritz,” she introduced.

Daniel extended his palm in greeting.

“You best be nice to our Vhal!” Fritz said, ignoring Daniel’s hand and pointing in his face.

“My, you didn’t warn me you had bodyguards,” Daniel chuckled, taking Fritz’s hand from his face and shaking it. “You have my word, only kindness and care from me.” The low draw of a horn echoed through the forest and the last soldiers fell into place like a great migration. “Oops, must get back. Come up and ride with us if you can!” Daniel called, already hurrying to the front.

“He’s
cute
,” Fritz swooned.

“Fritz!” Vhalla scolded.

“What? Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.” Fritz rolled his eyes.

In truth, Vhalla hadn’t. She ran back over to Lightning to find Larel already on horseback, waiting along with Fritz’s mount. “Sorry,” she apologized.

“Yet again, Vhalla, you have nothing to be sorry for.” Larel’s smiled brightly. “You seem to be in better spirits.”

Vhalla mounted Lightning with a nod, concealing a guilty smile. She
had
enjoyed herself.

It turned out to be just as Craig and Daniel had said. The host was a slightly structured mass today compared to the neat rows and careful placement of the day before. But she, Fritz, and Larel gravitated to the same place in line. The two were instantly involved in some heated debate that carried over from breakfast and Vhalla drifted in and out of the conversation, thinking about Daniel’s and Craig’s offer.

It wasn’t until Aldrik shifted in his saddle that she even realized he was there.

Vhalla turned and her mouth dropped agape. “Your ...
hair
.” It was a thought that escaped as sound. His raven hair was limp, falling perfectly straight around his face. The prince had long bangs that tapered in front, falling below his eyebrows, and messy cut layers throughout. They were elements of an Aldrik that Vhalla had no idea even existed, so different from how he usually wore his hair in the palace.

He glanced at her, momentary annoyance furrowing his brow. “You did not really think I would take time to fix my hair while at war, did you?” Aldrik’s low tones betrayed his amusement, and it instantly placed her under a spell.

“Well, I may like it,” Vhalla mused. His coy smirk encouraged boldness.

Aldrik paused briefly, his lips parted. She caught his ebony eyes and Aldrik looked forward quickly, as if unable to handle being the sole recipient of her consideration. “I trust Elecia got my message to you?”

Vhalla sobered quickly at the other woman’s name. “She did. Training?”

“Major Reale said she had begun to work with you, but you still have a ways to go. I would rather oversee your progress personally.”

Had he said those words to anyone else they likely would have inspired dread. But for Vhalla, they had an odd comfort.

“Of course, my puppet master.” She had meant to reference her old fears lightly, so it surprised Vhalla to see Aldrik staring at her with a deep intensity.

“If you want me to remove myself from your life, all you have to do is say the word.” There was no levity to his declaration.

Vhalla quickly looked askance, saving them from impropriety and hiding the blush that had found its way to her cheeks at his apparent attentions.

“I think,” she started softly, “that I like playing with fire.”

He gave her a long stare from the corner of his eyes. She couldn’t make out his expression without turning her head, but what she could see was confusing and made her stomach bubble.

N
OT LONG AFTER
the host stopped that afternoon, Elecia made her way to Vhalla and Larel’s mostly-finished tent. Fritz stood from where he had just finished unfurling his bedroll.

The sight of the woman still sent prickles up Vhalla’s neck—a phantom warning.

“Vhalla, Larel, Fritz,” she said with a smile, oblivious to Vhalla’s unease. “The prince is waiting, and I would rather not lose first pick for dinner.”

“Where are we going?” Vhalla asked, the last to fall into step behind Elecia.

“Out far enough away that we won’t be disturbed.” They were already halfway to the edge of camp.

“So, where are you from?” Larel struck up conversation.

“Norin.” Elecia didn’t even look back to give her response.

“
Fiarum Evantes
,” Larel said, reverently.

Vhalla looked over at her friend in surprise. She had never heard anyone speak anything other than Southern Common. The old tongues were a fading memory across the land, cemented by the advancement of the Solaris Empire. She could only assume Larel’s words to be the language of Mhashan, the old Kingdom of the West.

“
Kotun un Nox
,” Elecia responded, her tone shifting to a deeper register, less haughty than the lofty accent she’d used before.

“Norin is a beautiful city,” Larel mused politely, referring to the Western capital.

“It is.” Elecia nodded.

Vhalla began to feel her unease thaw. She had no reason to distrust Elecia. In fact, she had every reason to trust her. Clearly Aldrik did, and that should be more than enough reason for Vhalla. Furthermore, if she was from Norin, that made her Western and not Northern as Vhalla had first suspected. She took a deep breath. “I’m from—”

“Cyven, Leoul,” the curly-haired woman cut off Vhalla with a glance.

“Yes.” Vhalla frowned slightly, her fluster returning. “How did you know?”

“It’s my business to know, Vhalla Yarl,” Elecia replied smugly.

Fritz linked his arm protectively with Vhalla’s, as if sensing the dread that overtook her. She realized that they were very alone with Elecia. And, even if the other woman said she was from the West and spoke with the old tongue, she was so Northern-looking that it made Vhalla more uncomfortable than she wanted to admit.

Were it not for Fritz and Larel being with her, she may have snapped.

“About time,” Aldrik’s voice echoed from across a small clearing. He leaned against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest. “Thank you for fetching them, Elecia. You can go now.”

Vhalla wondered briefly why Aldrik was not escorting them himself. Were their meetings secret?

“Nope,” Elecia practically sung. “I am not your errand girl. I want to stay.”

“Fine.” Aldrik rolled his eyes, resigned.

Vhalla brought her hands together, lacing and unlacing her fingers. Elecia had refused him openly, publicly, coyly—and he had let her. As Elecia stepped to Aldrik’s left, it dawned on Vhalla that the woman acted as the same way Vhalla did around the prince. Vhalla bit her lip; perhaps Aldrik was more familiar with Elecia than he was with her.

“Vhalla,” Aldrik’s voice summoned her attention. “I want you to see what you are working toward. Reale has informed me that you have yet to master the basics.”

Vhalla nodded and ignored Elecia’s smug snort.

“Larel, Fritz, I would like for you both to pair off as a demonstration,” Aldrik commanded.

“What about me?” Elecia whined.

“You are not even supposed to be here.” Aldrik gave her a small glare, and the woman laughed. The sound made Vhalla’s skin crawl. “I would also like to see where you both are at, so do not maim or kill each other, but do not hold back.”

Larel and Fritz nodded, their faces sobering.

“Begin on my mark, then. And refrain from embarrassing yourselves.” Aldrik lifted a hand.

Fritz and Larel took a few steps away from each other, each sinking into a very different fighting stance. Fritz was more upright, his legs wide and his hands flat and lower, near his abdomen. Larel had her knees bent and her fists near her face, ready to pounce.

Aldrik dropped his hand, and Larel charged before Vhalla could blink. She drew back a fist as though she was going to throw a right hook but, at the last moment, dropped her shoulder for a left uppercut. Fritz raised his open palm, creating a shield of ice. It hissed and shattered as Larel’s fist, now swathed in flame, slammed into it.

Fritz pushed his other hand forward into her shoulder, freezing a portion of it. Larel gasped and stepped back, the ice quickly turning into a puddle around her feet. She had no time to catch her breath as he lunged. His wrist twitched, and he suddenly wielded a dagger of ice in his palm. Larel deflected by raising up her arm, and it shattered on her gauntlet.

She dropped and swept her foot on the ground, catching Fritz’s ankle and sending him tumbling backwards. Larel pulled back a flaming fist and threw her momentum into it. Fritz moved his hands as if to block, but he was too slow.

Vhalla’s hands rose to her mouth as she concealed a cry, fearful for her friend.

Larel’s fist smashed through Fritz’s face, and his body dissolved in a puff of smoke. The Western woman turned with a groan. Vhalla caught a shift in the light behind her. There was a flash of ice and Fritz faded back to sight, holding an ice dagger at Larel’s throat.

“Every time!” Larel threw up her hands, and Fritz backed away with a grin, tossing the wickedly sharp icicle aside. “Every time!” she said again, kicking the ground in frustration.

Vhalla stared in wonder.

“The minister told me about you,” Aldrik commented, taking a step over toward Fritz. “A gifted illusionist.”

“I don’t know if I’m gifted,” he said bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What, what was that?” Vhalla forced out in shock when her tongue was working again.

“She’s like a newborn bunny!” Elecia giggled to Aldrik, as though Vhalla wasn’t even there. “She has never seen illusions before.”

Aldrik shot the woman a pointed look before turning back to Vhalla, his features relaxing. “Fritz, would you like to explain it to Vhalla?” the prince ordered the Southern man, but never took his eyes off her.

“Water affinities can use the water in the air to distort the light, to create smoke screens, fogs,” Fritz started, clearly uncomfortable by the praise and attention.

“And illusions, if the sorcerer is skilled enough.” Aldrik motioned to Fritz, directing Vhalla’s attention back to her friend.

Fritz waved his hand in demonstration and an identical image formed next to him.

Vhalla gasped softly, taking a step toward the apparition. It looked like Fritz in every way, and Vhalla raised a hand—no one stopped her. The illusion dissipated under her fingertips, nothing more than a puff of vapor.

Vhalla’s eyes widened.

She was no longer standing in that forest clearing; she was living a waking nightmare. Her twisted dreams merged with the reality before her and the horrible memories that she had pushed from her consciousness. There was wind, there was fire, there was death, and there was blood splattered across her arms and face as she watched bodies torn to shreds by howling gusts. It had been her desire. She had wanted them dead. She had wanted them more than dead, she wanted the Northerners to
suffer
.

Vhalla took a step back, shaking her head.
That wasn’t who she was
.

“No,” she whispered. Someone took a step toward her; all she saw were shadows from her dreams. Shadows she ripped apart by touching. “Don’t come any closer,” she gave a quivering warning. Vhalla brought up her hands to her ears, the screams of the people whom she had murdered filling her consciousness. She realized in horrible clarity what had been haunting her, the blood on her hands that she’d been ignoring.

She felt dizzy. Her legs buckled beneath her, and her body doubled over.

“Vhalla, what’s wrong?” Fritz asked, his voice faint.

“Go,” she panted. They shouldn’t be near her. At the edge of her guilt-shattered conscious she could hear a wind roaring. Vhalla gripped her head tighter. She had meant to kill those Northerners on the Night of Fire and Wind, but she had not known what killing meant.

Two strong hands gripped her wrists and she lashed out, shaking her head and twisting her body. Vhalla attempted to knock the person away with a strong gust, but they didn’t even seem to feel it.

“Vhalla.” Aldrik’s voice was strong and level, cutting through the din of the chaos in her head. “Stop. Breathe,” he instructed, and she forced herself to oblige. His voice rang over the storm raging within her. “Open your eyes.”