SHE FLOATED IN the air. No, not floated, she was being carried. Her right ear rested against a man’s chest, a frantic heartbeat underneath. Why were they going so fast? Vhalla wanted to tell him that it was all right, that he could slow down, but nothing seemed to be connected to her mind. It was as though she was trapped in her own body.
But wherever she was, it was warm and the pain had gone. That was good enough for her. Deciding she was tired again, she went to sleep.
She jolted back to awareness when she felt her body being put down. She heard talking again, but she couldn’t quite seem to get her ears to work. The man was asking her something. What could he possibly want? Didn’t he see she was in no position to give anything? Then he was gone. She could feel that he was gone, something in her just knew.
More darkness and silence. Vhalla sat in the confines of her own mind wondering how she got here. Her body still refused to obey her.
“I’ll be back with help.” That’s what he had said, her mind put together. More people were coming. He was going to bring more people. She had to wake up. But it was too late, they were already here. More familiar voices, rushed speech, who were they this time?
There were hands, more hands, different from before but not completely new. A woman’s hands this time. She was carrying her to another location. Vhalla wanted to feel terrified at the prospect, but she found herself unable to feel much of anything.
The world shifted around her, the air changed. It was once more different, yet strangely familiar. She’d been here before, even if she didn’t know where here was.
She was placed on another bed. Trapped within her mental prison, Vhalla rallied against the silence. She slowly stretched outward, and the world built itself before her.
The room was unfamiliar, but Vhalla instantly recognized the dragon molding near the ceiling; she was in the Tower. There was a wardrobe, Vhalla had expected it to be black but it was a gray, ashen-colored wood. A small desk, chair; her eyes fell on the bed, and Vhalla panicked.
She was there. Motionless, hardly breathing, Vhalla did not know if she was alive. The foreign room aside, Fritz’s and Larel’s presences ignored, Vhalla stared at her corpse-like form. Dead, she was dead, and this was the start of the afterlife.
“We need to get the minister.” Fritz pulled at his hair, pacing.
“She’s breathing. She doesn’t look pained. Check her Channels.” Larel remained calm, situating Vhalla’s legs. The rise and fall of her chest was so minimal it was almost invisible, but Vhalla was relieved to hear it was there. Whatever was happening she wasn’t dead, yet.
Larel? Vhalla whispered. Fritz? Neither seemed to hear her wispy words.
“No, I can’t. I’m not a magical healer, Larel. My lessons have only—” Fritz was leaving himself breathless in his panic.
“Check her!” Larel demanded sharply.
Fritz finally obliged. His hands rested on Vhalla’s throat, fingertips behind her ears, delicate and gentle as though she was made of glass. With closed eyes he ran his palms over her shoulders down her arms, flat against her stomach.
“I can’t find anything wrong.” Fritz shook his head.
The slamming of a door, echoing from the hall beyond, momentarily paused all response from Larel.
“Check her again,” the dark-haired woman demanded before dashing out the door.
Fritz returned to his duty. His palms slid down the outside of her thighs and down to her feet. Suddenly Larel’s door was thrown open so hard it almost bounced against the wall.
Aldrik stood in the doorframe, both commanding and disheveled. His white coat was unbuttoned and hung loosely around him, a plain shirt underneath. His cheeks were flushed, and his breathing hard. Even his hair looked less than perfect, long strands hanging over his eyes.
He stepped in quickly, Larel shutting the door behind him. Fritz looked as dazed as Vhalla felt. The crown prince did not stand in an apprentice’s rooms, but Aldrik did not seem to care. The only thing that bothered him was the sight of her lifeless body.
“My prince,” Fritz squeaked.
Vhalla took a step away, a window to her back.
“Out.” Aldrik hardly seemed to notice the presence of the Southerner. With one word Fritz had diminished to less than a fly on the wall.
“Larel?” Fritz glanced over at the woman, but Larel only shook her head. “Right, well, I can’t find anything wrong with her.” He inched toward the door, removing the barrier of his body between Vhalla’s form on the bed and the prince. “Should I get the minister?”
“No,” Aldrik replied with a glare. His hand shot out faster than a viper, Fritz’s collar balled in his fingers. “If I hear you breathing a word of this to anyone, consider your time in the Tower finished.”
A threat lived in Aldrik’s last word. It made Vhalla uncomfortable just to hear. The library boy gaped, frozen to the spot.
“Now, out,” the older man hissed. Fritz bolted from the room as though his life depended on it. Vhalla didn’t want to even entertain the idea that it did.
Neither Larel nor the prince said anything. Fading sunlight filtered through the window behind her, and Vhalla noticed she cast no shadow.
“What’s wrong with her?” Larel asked. Her voice had a surprising amount of emotion.
“I don’t know,” the prince sighed, shaking his head. As though deflated, he leaned against the desk for support.
“How did you know?” Larel folded her arms, her back against the door.
“I will not speak about it,” Aldrik said with a pointed stare. His eyes only left Vhalla’s corpse-like body for half a moment. Larel followed his gaze with a soft sigh. Clearly, she knew better than to push the prince.
“She’s progressing quickly,” Larel observed quietly.
“I know.” Aldrik took a step forward, his hand outstretched. His fingers hovered in the air above Vhalla’s body before falling back to his side.
“You’ve been teaching her.” It wasn’t a question.
“Larel,” the prince sighed. Vhalla felt a twinge of something she would not dare call jealousy. The prince acted different around the Western woman as well.
“It isn’t my business,” she said with a shrug.
“I will tell you.” Aldrik’s eyes broke away from Vhalla’s body when he added, “Eventually.”
“You know that’s always been good enough for me.” The corner of Larel’s mouth curled in an almost Aldrik-like smile. It was strange, and it made Vhalla begin to wonder what their relationship really was.
“Make sure Victor does not find out,” Aldrik ordered the woman.
Her hand hovered on the door handle. “He will eventually,” she murmured.
“I want him away from her.” Aldrik nodded toward Vhalla’s comatose form on the last word.
“You know I’ll protect her.” Larel smiled.
“I know I can trust you.” Aldrik nodded.
Without needing to be asked, the woman slipped out of the room, leaving Vhalla alone with the crown prince.
He stood, looking nowhere but on her physical body. As though each movement was exhausting, he dragged the chair from the desk and sat heavily in it. Putting his elbows in his knees Aldrik buried his face in his hands. It was a strange motion that she had never seen from him before. His hair was a mess, his clothing unbuttoned, and his figure slumped.
Aldrik, she whispered softly.
His head snapped up and looked over directly at her. The prince squinted briefly against the light of the sun streaming through the window at her back. Raising a hand slowly, he guarded his eyes against the brightness. She saw the moment realization dawned across his features.
“Impossible,” he breathed.
You can see me? She tilted her head. He nodded, attempting to smooth back the stray pieces of his hair. You can hear me? He nodded again. So I’m not a ghost?
“No, you are not. But you have gotten yourself into quite the mess.” He sounded tired, annoyed, but somewhere she could have sworn that she heard relief.
How did you know to come? she asked.
“I knew something was wrong. After you pulled the stunt you did at the festival’s ceremony.” He frowned and stood, walking over to her.
Vhalla recognized that when she asked, he answered—unlike Larel.
I don’t know what I did, Vhalla whispered. Her fear was almost a palpable quiver between them.
“I will explain when you are back where you belong,” he said reassuringly. “I asked you to trust me, Vhalla. Do you?”
She stared up at his obsidian eyes. These were the eyes of the man who pushed her from the roof. Who spoke of mysterious purposes for her powers with the Minister of Sorcery and who was now keeping her from that same Minister for unknown reasons.
I do. It was an impossible truth.
“I believe this will work, but it will seem terrifying. I promise you that you will not be hurt,” he reassured her.
What are you going to do? she asked hesitantly, not sure if she wanted the answer.
“I will explain it to you when you are awake proper.” He reached a hand straight into her. Vhalla looked down, the sight was terrifying enough. His hand was directly in her abdomen, her body faded and hollow. In that moment she thought she really must be a ghost.
“Do not be afraid,” he whispered soothingly right before he closed his fingers into a fist. A roaring fire soared out from his hand, and she felt it consume her body before her very eyes. Everything was aflame.
Vhalla sat up in bed with a scream. She began to attempt to pat out the imaginary fire all over her limbs. Aldrik was at her bedside with a fluid movement, sitting directly onto the mattress. He grabbed for her shoulders and held her tightly in his hands. His face was white and tense. She struck at his arms, still in a frantic daze.
“Vhalla!” he nearly shouted over her panic. “Vhalla, breathe!” He shook her forcefully.
She grabbed onto his arms and felt the uncomfortable sensation slowly fade away. Her eyes locked with his, and she stared shamelessly into those ebony depths, seeking his stability. She dug her fingertips tightly into the sleeves of his coat, feeling lean muscle beneath.
“Breathe with me,” he whispered, and she obeyed.
They sat for over fifty breaths, simply staring at each other. His hands clutched her shoulders, her hands clutching his arms. Both of their features relaxed, and she wanted to collapse into him, but common sense and who she was meant that such contact would be extraordinarily unwelcome on his part. She slowly relaxed her grip and let her hands fall.
“Vhalla...” he breathed, gently taking his hands off her shoulders. “How do you feel?”
She took a breath and assessed herself. Now that the terror and the frantic beating of her heart had subsided, she felt the best she’d felt all day. “Better.” Her voice came out as normal; even her eyes were obeying her and not seeing double.
He smiled weakly. “I am glad.” Aldrik wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He placed his forehead in his palm and rested his elbow on his bent knee. “I did not know. I did not realize you had already progressed that far. I would have...” he trailed off into his thoughts.
“Progressed how far?” She put her hands behind her, leaning back to give him some space out of politeness.
“Do you remember how we met?” Aldrik glanced at her.
“The library?” she asked.
He nodded. “You were doing it then too, but you thought they were dreams.”
“Doing what?” she asked, a small trepidation growing in her.
“I have only read about it and, even then, the literature is sparse,” he started, running a hand across his hair, trying to tame escaped tendrils back into place. “It said that Windwalkers were invisible sentries for their causes. Of course, there are a number of ways that could be read. I only briefly entertained that it would be literal.” He sighed.
“Where to begin?” He paused a moment. “Every Affinity has a literal, elemental Affinity. But some scholars have theorized that this is only the tip of what sorcerers can really do. That underlying every elemental, worldly Affinity is an Affinity of the self.”
“I remember you explaining it some, about Groundbreakers.” Vhalla tried to keep up.
“Indeed, you have a good memory.” He gave her a tired smile. Vhalla’s stomach did a little flip at his praise. “Windwalkers were said to have an Affinity for the mind. That the real power of the Windwalker was based within their mental abilities.”
“I am not that smart,” she said lightly.
He rolled his eyes. “You are, but it is not in that way. Intellect and this skill are different. Either way, I would say what you have done is more in line with the mental side of your powers, complemented by the physical,” he finished.
Vhalla made a note to find a book on this topic from somewhere.
“And what have I done?”
She was missing the point.
“You are separating your consciousness from your physical body; it is called projection.” He looked at her. “You were doing it in your dreams. But that is only a quarter as impressive as doing it when you are awake.”
She stared back at him, accepting it all with a nod.
“Today you did it at the ceremony. But you startled me.” He shifted and looked away uncomfortably. “I lashed out at you. I tried to draw back quickly. I just felt someone there. I think it was that which knocked the link with your body out of line and ended up locking you out of your physical body.”
“I think it was a little messed up before that.” She sat up straighter, looking at his profile thoughtfully. He turned back to examine at her curiously.
“All day I was having trouble focusing my eyes; it was as if I was seeing two things,” Vhalla mused. Realization dawned on his features. “I also had a throbbing headache.”
He looked away again and stood. She heard him mutter something under his breath. Vhalla shifted her feet onto the floor and sat at the edge of the bed. She took in his tall lean shape against the light of the late sun in the window.
“Vhalla.” Her name sound strained against his lips. “It would likely be best if we do not see each other for some time, at least not until you decide if you wish to be in the Tower or not.”
His words hit her directly in the gut and knocked the wind from her. Suddenly she was on her feet. “No,” Vhalla said firmly, unwavering as he turned.
“The Bond... Being near me is not good for you now.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your magic is progressing faster than I can teach you and—”
“Do you want me to go away?” she asked directly.
Aldrik looked at her with parted lips. “No, I do not,” he confessed with a small shake of his head.
“Good. You are my teacher,” she said firmly. “You can’t leave me now.”
He turned and crossed the room, standing inches from her, bearing down upon her with his commanding form. But she stood defiantly against him, trying to meet him inch for inch.
“And,” Vhalla started slowly, turning her head away. She hardly had the courage to say what she wanted; looking at him while doing so was far too much. “You are my friend, whatever this commoner’s friendship is worth.”
His hand reached up, and he placed his fingertips under her chin. Moving nothing but his hand, he guided her face back toward him and up to meet his eyes. He stared at her for a long time. Vhalla felt her heart beat in her throat, and she tried to swallow it back into her chest. He removed his hand, letting it hover in the air uncertainly for just a moment before it fell, feather light, upon her cheek.
When he spoke it was slow and deliberate, little more than a whisper. His voice had a richness to it that she had never heard before. “It is worth very much.” His eyes consumed hers.
Whatever spell they were under broke the moment Larel slipped back into the room. Aldrik’s hand dropped away from her face with such precision and poise that even Vhalla questioned if it had been there at all. If Larel had seen anything she was completely unfazed by the prince standing in close proximity to the common girl.
“The halls are fairly clear. Fritz is making a scene in the dining hall.” She gave a small nod to Aldrik, which he returned.
“Thank you, Larel.” He vanished through the door, pulling Vhalla with him with barely enough time for Vhalla to offer her own quick thanks. Larel gave her a small smile that promised secrecy.
They were down the winding hallway of the Tower and into another side door before Vhalla could assess what level of the palace she was on. The prince’s strides were long, and Vhalla struggled to keep up with them. She almost fell into him as he stopped suddenly before another door.
“Vhalla, listen.” Aldrik’s hand paused on the wood. His profile was lit by a single flame bulb and the lighting outlined his angular features. “Victor will catch wind of this; when he does, I am certain he will try to force you into joining the Tower.”
“What will he do? What exactly does he want from me?” She didn’t know why she was whispering, but it felt right.
“I...” Aldrik froze, debating his next words. “Do you know the history of the Windwalkers, yet?”
“I know about the West...” Suddenly Vhalla was trying to recall everything she read with Fritz.
“Then you know that there are people in this world who are greatly interested in your powers.” Aldrik’s eyes darted down the hall toward the Tower.
“That was over a hundred years ago.” Vhalla didn’t want to believe what he was implying. “It’s not—”
“Not so long ago,” he warned.
“Why are you telling me all this?” Vhalla asked. It finally dawned on her the cause of all their secrecy. Was the crown prince protecting her? If so, from what? Or, from who?
“Because I was led to believe that Victor gave you a month to choose magic,” Aldrik answered.
“Only because I threatened to Eradicate myself.” Vhalla leaned against the far wall.
“Still, you have a choice,” he reinforced. “I would like to see you choose this life.”
“And if I don’t?” Vhalla was unable to say the words with any strength. She couldn’t even meet his eyes. The silence felt like it was crushing her skull.
His voice was gentle but there was a quivering restraint, as though his words were forced. “Then,” Aldrik began, “I think that would be the saddest thing to happen to the magical community in a long time.”
Vhalla sighed softly. Of course, it was the magical community. She was the Windwalker, first of her kind in almost a century and a half. The one with powers people wanted for reasons still unknown to her. She turned to the door without a word.
“I would miss teaching you.” Everything stopped as the sentence crossed his lips. Vhalla turned back to look at him, suddenly aware of how small the connecting passage really was. As if realizing the same thing the prince quickly broke eye contact to smooth his coat with his palm before slowly buttoning it. “So, when will I see you again?”
“What?” Vhalla blinked at the sudden and strange question. He had been doing well at seeing her by stealing her away. “You’re the crown prince. You can see me whenever you want. Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?”
“Yes, well,” he muttered, running a hand over his hair. “Lunch, then, tomorrow? No, wait; I have business with Egmun.” He cursed at the foreign name. “The day after tomorrow, I will have time. But this is not an order from your prince.”
Something crept on the edge of Vhalla’s mind. He wasn’t stealing her away or leaving her with little choice—not that she had minded. He wasn’t ordering her as her prince. He hadn’t mentioned training or discussing sorcery or her future. If it wasn’t business or obligation, then what exactly was the reason behind this meeting?
“I’d love to.” She smiled, and the mask that the prince normally wore slipped long enough for her to see a flash of joy in his eyes. “I’ll meet you in the garden?”
He nodded, a little smile playing on his lips, causing a warm honey feeling in her stomach. Vhalla pushed on the door before the feeling spread into her blood and overpowered her senses. She emerged into the cool night air, the mysterious portal closing behind her to disappear as if nothing more than a stone wall.
She couldn’t stop a giggle from escaping as she all but skipped back to her room. There was no reason to be so happy, she reminded herself, and yet she was. She was going to have lunch with the prince.
Vhalla noticed nothing amiss as she pushed open her door. All her lightness vanished with one shift of her gaze.
Sareem sat on her bed holding the wrinkled gloves in his hands. He looked up at her with a mix of emotions flashing across his features. Dropping the gloves to the floor, he walked over and pulled her into a tight embrace, resting a hand on the back of her head.
Vhalla stood there pressed against him, his one arm tight around her arms, the other hand holding her face to his chest. After the initial shock wore off, a strange sensation spread through her, and Vhalla didn’t know if she wanted to hold him or push him off. Her arms stayed limp at her sides as a middle ground.
“I was so worried,” he whispered hoarsely. “You just, you screamed, and then you were on the ground.” He stroked her head as if to offer her comfort, but he was clearly more distraught than she was. “I didn’t know what to do. I told them I’d get a cleric, but after—after what you showed me, I knew it wasn’t a cleric you needed.” He rested his cheek on the top of her forehead a moment with a soft sigh. Vhalla remained still, allowing him to piece together his story.
“I went to the Tower entrance, a Tower entrance? I don’t even know the names of the people who answered. I simply said your name and they knew, they came without question, and I gave you to them. I didn’t even know their names.” His voice cracked. “And then they were frantic, and they took you. Vhalla, you didn’t move, you were hardly breathing. And they took you and I-I didn’t know if you were alive, so I waited.” He sounded so hopeless and pathetic that Vhalla couldn’t help but put her arms lightly around her friend’s waist and pat his back in a friendly manner.
They stood together as he slowly regained his composure. Eventually he released her and wiped his face with his palms.
“Sorry about that,” Sareem tried to laugh.
Vhalla shook her head. “I appreciate it, Sareem. Obviously, they did help. You did the right thing,” she tried to reassure him, and it looked like it worked. “Did any of the others ask?”
“Yeah, but I told them I found a cleric, and that it was the heat getting to your head. I stayed also to kick anyone out, saying you were here but needed rest,” Sareem added with a small nod.
Vhalla felt guilty for putting her friend through all this, no matter how unkind he had been to her about her magic.
“I’m sorry that you have to keep lying for someone like me.” She took a step away from him.
“Someone like you?” He looked honestly confused, which annoyed her slightly.
“A sorcerer,” she said directly, watching him hold back a wince at the word.
“I tried to tell you earlier. Even if you are a-a, someone with magic, you are still Vhalla.” He took a step closer to her. “You’re still the girl I met when I first came here. The girl who is always so lost in her books that she can never spare a boy like me a glance.” Vhalla took another small step to avoid his encroaching presence. Her back found the door. “The girl who I never had the courage to ask anywhere because I always thought I was too daft, too boring, too plain for her.”
“I’m nothing better than you, Sareem,” she whispered as he took another step forward.
“To me you always will be. I was frightened,” he whispered as he placed his hand beside her face, palm against the door. “I was frightened that your... development would take you away from me.” He looked away for only a brief moment before staring her down with his gray-blue eyes. “And then, today, I thought I really had lost you. As I sat here waiting, I realized I can’t keep waiting, or else I really will lose you.”
Frantically trying to think of a way to divert the conversation, Vhalla didn’t even have time to close her eyes before his lips were pressed against hers.