Nothing was hers anymore. Her name had been taken and given, time and again. Her appearance had been borrowed. Even her magic wasn’t hers to use at will.
She rubbed her eyes with her palm, suddenly feeling exhausted. Vhalla wondered what would happen if she ran. She had already proven she could be faster than anyone else with the wind underneath a horse. If she left, would the Emperor catch her?
Vhalla gazed at the camp palace in the fading light. Her feet had been carrying her toward it on instinct. Even when she was fantasizing over the idea of fleeing, she moved toward to the man who held the chains that ensnared her—just to be near his son.
The Bond she held with Aldrik was stronger than any threats the Emperor could make. Yet despite that resounding truth, the chainmail felt heavy on her shoulders. Aldrik had promised her it would never be easy, but she wasn’t sure how much longer they could keep fighting before something broke. What would the cost be, when all was tallied?
“Can you at least tell me where she is?” A small commotion at the entrance to the camp palace distracted Vhalla.
“We don’t know the whereabouts of the Windwalker.” The guards couldn’t have been less interested in helping the dirty-blonde Southerner seeking entry.
Vhalla paused, standing at the fork that would carry her around to the back of the camp palace and Aldrik’s window.
“I’m trying to return her things,” the woman explained. “Can I at least bring them here?”
“Do we look like help to you?” The other guard yawned. “You know none of us want this job ...”
“Listen.” The woman took a deep breath and puffed out her chest. “You two are going to help me find the Windwalker. She’s gone long enough without her armor, and I know she’ll want it back.”
“And we told you—”
“You have my armor?” Vhalla called, halfway across the distance.
The woman turned, and a vague recognition crossed Vhalla’s mind at the sight of the woman’s face. She had been one of Vhalla’s doppelgangers. The woman stared at Vhalla like a frightened doe, suddenly stumbling over her words. “It-it’s you.”
“Do you have my armor?” Vhalla repeated.
“I do.” The woman nodded.
“I do! At my tent.”
“Great, you two run along now.” The guards shooed them.
Vhalla shot the offending guard a pointed glare at the wave of his hand. She was surprised when it actually gave the man pause, and he quickly snapped to attention under the weight of her stare.
“You’re really her.” The woman peered at Vhalla from the corners of her eyes as they headed in a direction of camp Vhalla had yet to wander.
Vhalla was less shy about sizing up her companion. “
Her
?” “Vhalla Yarl,” she spoke as if the fact should’ve been obvious. “We’ve met before,” Vhalla reminded her.
“That didn’t really count though,” the woman mumbled. “You were ...”
“A mess.” Vhalla laughed bitterly at the other woman’s shock toward her self-depreciation. “I lost a dear friend that night.”
Mentioning Larel flashed pain across the scar on Vhalla’s memory. But it felt like the right pain. It felt like a pain that was turning into a bitter ache that would make her stronger, not the crippling sort she’d been wallowing in before.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You know?” Vhalla asked skeptically.
“You, her, the Southerner, the lady ...” It took Vhalla a moment to realize her companion was speaking of Larel, Fritz, and Elecia. “You were the Black Knights.”
“The Black Knights?” Vhalla laughed.
“That’s what the other soldiers called you.” The woman was laughing, too, realizing how silly it sounded as well. “The Black Knights, the start of the dark prince’s personal guard.”
“That’s an interesting thought ...” Vhalla smiled tiredly. She couldn’t imagine Aldrik creating a rival to Prince Baldair’s infamous Golden Guard. “What’s your name, by the way?”
The other woman paused, as if surprised Vhalla didn’t know it. The woman didn’t know Vhalla had made it a point not to learn the names of her doppelgangers. They became people when she did, they became deaths that could hurt and inspire guilt.
Then again
, Vhalla inwardly cringed at the memory of the Emperor’s Windwalker look-alike. Dead, shot down, and left to rot in the jungles of the North. She hadn’t known that woman’s name, but the guilt remained. For better or worse, Vhalla realized, she had too much of a soul left to ignore sacrifice. The least she could do was learn the names of those who were making that sacrifice.
“Timanthia,” she said with a small cringe. “But I hate that name; Tim is fine.”
“Tim, then,” Vhalla affirmed with a nod. They’d come to a stop before a small tent.
“I’m glad I could get your armor back to you.” Tim began rummaging through the inside of the tent, passing out the scale mail.
Vhalla ghosted her fingers over the steel. It felt almost warm, as if Aldrik’s forging fire still lived within it. Tim allowed Vhalla a moment, stacking the gauntlets and greaves between where Vhalla knelt and the tent.
“I know it’s important,” Tim’s voice had dropped to a whisper. Vhalla’s eyes flicked up, clearly hearing the underlying current that there was more to be said. Tim paused, caught in conflict at Vhalla’s expectant stare. “He told me he’d made it for you.”
Vhalla’s nails scraped against the armor as she instantly tensed.
“Don’t worry,” Tim reassured her.
Vhalla wondered how much the other woman knew in order to be reassuring her.
“No matter what the rumors are, he only called me to his tent for show.”
The words stung, and Vhalla averted her eyes to hide the warring emotions. Aldrik had been doing what he had to. She’d been doing the same. They were both so guilty they were innocent.
“I want you to know ...” Tim clearly forced herself to continue, she looked as awkward as Vhalla suddenly felt. “If he remembers anything he said when he was halfway into the bottles ...” Tim’s eyes were suddenly shifty. “Like his strange dreams ... Anyways, I won’t tell anyone.”
Vhalla assessed the other woman with a probing stare. She wanted to ask what Tim was talking about specifically, but at the same time she wanted to foremost ensure the woman’s sincerity. Vhalla knew what little love people held for their crown prince. “Why would you protect his secrets?”
Tim surprised her. “Because he’s not like people think, is he?” Vhalla’s mouth dropped open, stunned.
“Sorry, I won’t say anything more; it’s not my place.” Tim stood, dusting off her legs. “I’m glad I could return your things.” “I appreciate it.” Vhalla nodded dumbly. Someone else had seen Aldrik like she had. Another person had burrowed underneath his fiery, arrogant exterior into the man she knew. Part of Vhalla wanted to embrace the woman for it, for being an unlikely companion in a knowledge that was dear to her heart. A very different part wanted to claw Tim’s eyes out and rip the thoughts from her mind.
She wanted to know what Tim was hiding. Vhalla wanted to know if she already knew that secret. But if she didn’t, it could be worse, so Vhalla held her tongue.
The armor Aldrik had made for her was like a safety blanket. Vhalla swaddled herself in it, clipping every clasp with silent reverence. It fit perfectly as it always had, as if to say,
you are still the woman you were
.
“If you ever need anything, or find yourself in Mosant after the war is over,” Tim was speaking, “don’t hesitate to seek me out.”
“I won’t.” Vhalla took the other woman’s hand, slinging her pack over one shoulder. She wasn’t sure if she’d actually take the woman up on her offer, but it couldn’t hurt to file the information away in the corner of her mind.
As Vhalla turned, a shadow blocked her path, and she instantly recognized the bushy-mustached Western man. He had a smirk pushing up the corner of his most recognizable feature.
“Major Schnurr.” Tim saluted.
Vhalla begrudgingly mirrored Tim’s movements, distinctly remembering the man’s harsh words hours before.
“
Lady
Yarl.” The title sounded like a slur when it slithered across his lips. “What do you think you’re doing in my ranks?” “I was returning her armor,” Tim spoke easily. It made Vhalla question if the other woman felt the oppressive presence from the man or if it was only Vhalla.
“So I see.” The man raked his eyes from Vhalla’s toes to her forehead.
Vhalla clenched her fists.
“Since you don’t seem to be doing anything at present, you can assist Tim here this evening with her patrol,” Major Schnurr ordered.
“What?” Vhalla blinked.
“Oh-ho, does the Windwalker think herself above some basic labor?” He leaned forward. “Want to enjoy the protection of the army without contributing your share?”
Vhalla smothered a smart remark of how she had contributed quite a bit. She doubted
Major Schnurr
could tout saving the lives of the Imperial family on his list of accomplishments. As much as she wanted to argue, she saw the sun continuing its downward journey.
Aldrik was waiting for her.
“Yarl,” the major folded his arms over his chest. “You misunderstand me. I’m not asking, I’m telling you.”
“Of course,” Vhalla was forced to begrudgingly agree.
“Two rounds for your hesitation,” the major said off-handedly as he walked by.
“Major, she won’t sleep if she does two rounds—” Tim made a weak defense.
“Then the Windwalker will learn not to question her duty to the militia and
learn her place
.”
Tim asked Vhalla later, during their patrol out along the scorched earth that served as the barrier to the Imperial camp, if Vhalla had done something to offend the major. Seething, Vhalla struggled to find a reason, but couldn’t.
The first time she’d even seen Major Schnurr was during her demonstration for the Emperor at the Crossroads. He had been one of the assembled majors, but he hadn’t said anything then, and she certainly hadn’t paid him any mind. Tim was an archer, so Vhalla had no idea who the major reported to. Likely through Baldair, if she was forced to guess. But Vhalla couldn’t come up with a reason why Baldair would slight her, especially not after how close they’d become.
No, there was only one person Vhalla could think of who would to go to any lengths to make her life as difficult as possible. And that man was above them all. It put Vhalla into a sour silence that Tim futilely tried to battle against with small talk.
Eventually the large, burned track around the outmost upper ridge of the camp curved and Vhalla could see the pale outline of stone ruins illuminated in the moonlight. An overgrown skeleton, half destroyed and reclaimed by time, it was like something from a storybook. The stone felt out of place compared to the wooden structures Vhalla had seen Northerners use for building. As if in agreement, those same trees were determined to take root within it and branch through the ancient construction, returning it to the earth in pieces.
As they drew near, Vhalla asked Tim what she knew about the ruins. In its shadow, there was something uncomfortable that hung in the air, making Vhalla shift her pack on her shoulders. All Tim knew was that the soldiers called it the ruins of “Old Soricium.” But how old was “old” and why it was left to crumble seemed to be a mystery.
As they passed, Vhalla turned her gaze upward at the structure that must have once stood as tall as the giant trees, like the base of a massive pyramid. She wracked her brain for any information she may have gathered while working in the library. But everything Vhalla had ever read on the North spoke of the “sky cities” built within trees. She remembered nothing that would resemble the building before her. It was beyond Southern construction; the stones fitted together so tightly that it was as though it’d been carved from a single piece.
She resisted the urge to halt her step and study it further. It held that dangerous kind of beauty that promised problems in exchange for the wonders it whispered. Much like a certain prince she knew.
Aldrik
, Vhalla tried to push him from her mind. The thought of her prince waiting up for her made her want to scream and tear at her hair in frustration.
Would he worry?
Tim appeared relieved when she left later. Vhalla’s company had turned even more somber and silent the longer her thoughts spiraled around the crown prince. As the archer dragged her feet to bed, Vhalla entertained the idea of asking the other woman to get a message to Aldrik. But Tim had been having such a hard time of convincing the guards at the camp palace to take Vhalla’s things that there would be no way they’d carry a message to the crown prince in the dead of night—not without solid reason. Vhalla wondered if Aldrik somehow thought she’d left him.
Vhalla dragged her feet through the night hours. Her second round companion seemed as thrilled as she was about having the late patrol, and Vhalla didn’t even learn the man’s name. Once he’d gotten over his jumpiness at being around the Windwalker, they both marched in wordless misery.
She could maintain her Channel easily, monitoring the wind for any sounds. For an hour or two, Vhalla tried to identify the patch of forest she had run through, but it was hopeless as all the trees appeared identical—a giant black wall separating them from every remaining Northerner who would cut them down.
Her thoughts jumped from one bitter, exhausted emotion into the next. By the time the sun crested the horizon, Vhalla’s limbs were numb and she was in a foul mood. She dragged her feet toward Fritz’s tent, not even bothering with the camp palace.
Fritz and Elecia were both fast asleep when Vhalla pushed her way into the tent. Throwing her pack into a far corner, she collapsed, armor and all, half on top of the tent’s actual occupants. Fritz didn’t do anything more than groan and roll away. Elecia woke with a start and was ready to choke Vhalla in surprise.
“By the Gods, what’s wrong with you?” Elecia groaned, flopping down indignantly when she realized who had half fallen on her.
“Silence.”
“You smell like a dog, and you’re covered in mud.” Elecia sniffed.
It had begun drizzling on and off for the second half of the night. Vhalla had hardly paid it any mind as the air was so thick in the jungle that it always felt damp. But now that she wasn’t moving, she could feel her clothes were soaked and clinging underneath her armor.