“Do you hear how they call for you?” The Emperor sighed. “Do not let their praise go to your head, girl. They only do so because I had to claim that I was the mastermind behind your little quest.”
The Emperor turned, and Vhalla felt as small as a field mouse under his stare.
“You.” His eyes raked over her. “You, a nothing, forced the
Emperor to lie to his people. Are you proud of that fact?”
“No.” Vhalla averted her eyes for the illusion of respect. The last thing she wanted to do was aggravate the man further. She knew her actions were going to earn his ire as a soldier that had refused orders. But she hadn’t considered how they could be viewed as a challenge.
“I do not like being forced to do anything, especially by a no one.” The Emperor slowly approached her. “Have I not been merciful? I asked you only to remain focused, to give me the North, and in return I would give you back your freedom.”
His palm rested on the crown of her head in an almost fatherly manner. Vhalla wanted to swat the offending contact away.
“And how do you repay my benevolence?” The Emperor’s voice had taken a dangerous turn. His fingers clenched into a fist and with it a handful of hair. Vhalla yelped as she was pulled to her toes to keep half her scalp from ripping off her head. “Look at me when I speak to you,” he snarled.
Vhalla pried her eyes open, blinking away tears from the pain. She wouldn’t cry in front of this man.
“You repay me with disobedience. Theft and death of the crown prince’s horse—a horse worth more than your miserable life—ignoring orders, conspiracy. You revealed yourself as the Windwalker. You needlessly put your life in danger, a life that belongs to me.”
Vhalla scowled. Trying to save his son was “needless”?
The Emperor frowned, as if he could sense her rebellious thoughts, and tossed her backward. Vhalla stumbled, dropping to a knee. “All for what?” Emperor Solaris raised his boot, placing it over her face. “To save life of a man whom you should have nothing to do with. Whose name your lips are barely worthy to speak, even should your small mind actually remember the proper title.”
He extended his foot, and Vhalla was forced backward to avoid breaking her nose on his heel. The Emperor regained a two-footed stance when she was sprawled before him. His presence was overwhelming, as though she was truly nothing more than the dirt beneath his boots.
“I am going to give you one order, an order so simple that it should get through even your thick skull.” Emperor Solaris spoke slowly, as though she were daft. “Spring will be upon us in a handful of weeks, and I promised my people that Soricium would fall before the winter was out. You have until then to deliver me that city or I will see you hung and quartered, magic be damned. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly.” Venom laced the word. How was it possible to love the son and hate the father with equal passion?
“As far as my men are concerned, you are my hero. I strongly suggest you play that part.” The Emperor was almost nonchalant as he returned to the table. “But understand it is only an illusion. You will never experience freedom again.”
He was revoking his word, she realized. It no longer mattered if she gave him the North or not. Her choices were no longer freedom or servitude. Her choices were servitude or death.
“Now get out of my sight.”
Vhalla didn’t need to be told twice.
VHALLA HEEDED THE Emperor’s advice and tried to smile bravely and accept the soldiers’ compliments and praise as she left the camp palace. Her exterior seemed to project the desired message, but inside, bitterness churned roughly against anger and betrayal to create a sour poison. The return of the Emperor and the soldiers who knew her true identity had lifted the guise of Serien once more, and with it her lies of freedom and hopes for the future had been torn away as well.
“Vhal?”
Through her internal chaos and the commotion of the soldiers around her, a soft voice echoed straight to her ears. Vhalla turned frantically, trying to find the source.
“Vhal!” Fritz thrust his arm into the air, drawing her attention to him.
“Fritz!” She rudely pushed past people to get to her friend. Vhalla practically tackled the messy-haired Southerner, who appeared tired but in one beautiful piece. “Thank the Mother, you’re all right.”
“I should be saying that to you.” He laughed lightly, but his arms told a different story as they clung to her. “You’re the one who ran through the North.”
“It was nothing,” Vhalla mumbled.
“Hah, ‘nothing’ she says.” He pressed his forehead against hers briefly. “I was worried.”
“I know.” She straightened.
“You had us both worried.” Vhalla wondered if Elecia had been standing at Fritz’s side the whole time.
“You, worried about me?” Vhalla laughed. “I doubt it.”
“Not about you.” Elecia shook her head haughtily. “About your failing and what it’d mean for our prince.”
Vhalla smiled faintly. First Baldair and now a fondness for Elecia; what was happening to her?
“Excuse me, everyone, I am stealing away my friend,” Fritz announced as he linked his arm with hers.
Arm in arm, Vhalla entered the camp of the Black Legion for the first time. She’d avoided it while under the guise of Serien. People Vhalla didn’t know—and was fairly certain she’d never met before—recognized her. She could only guess it was due to her proximity to Fritz or Elecia or both, and that the soldiers had spread the word like wildfire. Most seemed shocked, and mildly offended, that she’d been in the camp for weeks and had yet to seek out the Black Legion. The few majors she had worked with alongside Jax had a deeper level of shock. But it was a welcome sort of offense, one that stemmed from caring about her wellbeing and not from formalities or falsehood.