Fire Falling

Page 17

Aldrik stood on the opposite side of the room removing his greaves and gauntlets.

“Come and help me with the plate?” he asked casually, catching her off-guard.

“M-my prince?” Vhalla stumbled over her words. It was as though the second they were out of sight she was in a different world with a different man.

“Since when are you formal in private?” Aldrik arched a dark eyebrow. “Some help?”

He turned and raised his arms. Vhalla noticed a small seam on the back left of his plate. She crossed the room hastily and began fussing with the latches underneath.

“How, um, how do you get it on?” she inquired, desperate to talk over the blood rushing in her ears.

“I have help—a squire,” he explained logically. Vhalla’s clumsy fingers finally undid the last clasp and he unhinged it, slipping out through the side. Aldrik placed the plate on the ground and began to unfasten his scale.

“Aldrik, is this really ...” Vhalla swallowed, taking a step back and looking away.

“Do you think me naked under my armor?” A small grin curled up the corners of his mouth as he slid off his scale, leaving just chainmail beneath.

“Your armor is the same as mine,” she observed, inspecting the thin links curiously.

“Of course it is.” He ran a hand through his hair, and Vhalla watched it cascade back into place around his fingers.

“Why?” She felt like she was missing something obvious.

“I made it.” His eyes caught hers, and Vhalla couldn’t find words between her surprise and the look he was giving her.

“Why?” Vhalla repeated again, remembering Larel telling her once about how Firebearers were jewelers or smiths due to their ability to manage flames.

“Why? Why do I make my own armor, my parrot?” Aldrik had to know that her inquiry was more than him making his armor. “Because I do not trust other craftsmen with something as important as my life.”

There was a hidden meaning between his words, and Vhalla felt overwhelmed trying to understand its layers. Aldrik spared her from the task when he shrugged off the last of his armor—and her mind went blank. He was in a loose-fitting, long-sleeved white shirt that hung mostly open at his neck. On his lower half were a pair of well-tailored black pants that clung close to his legs. It was more casual and undressed than she’d ever seen him before, and just the sight brought a bright blush to her cheeks.

If the prince noticed her modesty, he was good enough not to comment. Aldrik sat on one of the pillows near the low table. A paper caught his eye, eliciting a small sigh.

“What is it?” she asked, still hovering.

“Oh, nothing. Just some things I need to go over with Father.” He glanced back at her. “If you would like to get more comfortable,” he offered with a gesture toward a seat. His gaze shifted back to the paper, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in thought.

Vhalla fidgeted with her fingers. It was armor; she’d normally worn less around him. But something about undressing anything, here in his tent, made her heart race. With a deep breath Vhalla reminded herself to be an adult and stop acting like an excitable girl. In the end she compromised by pulling off her boots and gloves as well as her scale, but left on her chainmail.

She sat on the pillow opposite him and crossed her legs. The pillows were comfortable, as equally fine as the rug, with tightly woven threads that seemed to be some kind of silk.

“Oh sorry.” Vhalla put down the spare cushion with a nervous laugh when she felt his stare.

“What is it?” Aldrik asked, returning the paper to the stack.

“They’re very nice,” she said truthfully.

“You think so?” He seemed surprised, as if he was considering them for the first time.

“Well, for me they are.” She smiled faintly. He forgot so easily they came from different worlds.

“In any case,” he ceased his own inspection. “Channeling. It is much like Larel explained: you will tap into the source of your power, which should be easy for you, given your Affinity.”

“How do I go about it?”

“Well, in a way that depends on you. I will help you understand the fundamentals of it, but ultimately it is your connection with yourself and the world.” It was a cryptic explanation, and Vhalla felt her chance of success diminishing to hopelessness. “Most sorcerers have a trigger that opens and closes their Channel. This is normally physical. Many find it easier to tie it to a tangible act.”

“What’s yours?” she asked.

“The major told me you are capable of magical sight?” Vhalla nodded, that much she could hang her hat on. “Very well—watch.” Aldrik held out his hands before her, palms open. Vhalla adjusted her vision and saw him bathed in the familiar golden flame. He clenched his hands into fists and suddenly the glow was extinguished across his body.

“Are you all right?” she gasped, looking at his now-dim form.

He chuckled and nodded. “I closed my Channel. Keep watching.” He relaxed and unfurled his fingers. Aldrik snapped them closed into fists again and the white and gold flames returned.

“It’s magnificent,” she breathed. The complement earned her a faint smile. Vhalla looked down from his face and paused. “Aldrik ...” She murmured as her eyes focused on a dark spot. She’d seen it before in the garden, before she even knew about magical sight. Vhalla reached out a hand to touch him, stopping herself short. She shouldn’t be so forward; he was still the crown prince.

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