Water's Wrath

The prince pointed toward a pennon, burning away the supports in such a way that the pole it was supported by fell in her path. Her body hit it too violently for her to have any hope of catching herself. A futile and unexpectedly ill-thought gesture.

Another gale swept up the mountain, and Vhalla watched as her body unnaturally—magically—began to slow. The wind kept her from dying in its embrace. Vhalla knew that she would live, but this Aldrik clearly feared otherwise. His heartbeat reverberated in her ears as he was on the run again.

The prince skidded around a tight corner, pushing open a window and jumping over the sill into the small interior courtyard where she’d landed. Vhalla saw her body, bruised, bloody, broken and unnaturally bent at sickening angles.

“N-no . . .” Aldrik couldn’t take another step as the sight of her tripped him. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Vhalla felt him mustering his strength, retreating emotionally into the sheltered safe-haven of his stony, battlefield shell. Training clicked in. Instinct clicked in. And the horrified, guilt-crippled man became the Fire Lord. Through his memory, Vhalla felt it happen.

“Breathe, breathe, you frustrating girl,” Aldrik knelt at the side of Vhalla’s body, putting a hand at her neck.

The noise of relief was almost a whimper, and the prince was on the move again. Vhalla watched as Aldrik scooped her up. She watched as he began running again, blood darkening his fine jacket.

“I miscalculated,” he admonished himself, cursing. “I miscalculated.”

This was an Aldrik no one had seen before, Vhalla suspected. How the man acted when no one was around, when he thought himself alone. She bore witness to the words he spoke when he thought no one would ever be there to listen.

“Hang in there. Let me save something, make it, instead of break it.” His hands tightened around her.

Aldrik burst through a door that clicked locked behind him. Vhalla saw the flame bulbs line the hall, and she knew they were now in the Tower. He ran upward, his long strides carrying them higher.

He finally stopped at a door with the broken moon engraved onto its surface. Aldrik kicked at the door with his boot.

“Victor,” he called. “Victor, now!”

The door opened to a disheveled and confused Minister of Sorcery still wearing his sleeping gown.

“My prince, do you have any idea—” Victor stopped himself the moment he saw the frantic prince and his burden.

“She needs help,” Aldrik panted. “Help her. I need you to help her.”

“Come.” Victor swept past him and began leading him down a familiar path. “Is that Vhalla Yarl? What happened?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Aldrik attempted.

Victor stopped short and stared Aldrik down. “You do not knock on my door at ungodly hours of the night with a bloody mess—literally—and tell me this ‘doesn’t matter’. I expect an explanation!”

Aldrik scowled, and the minister rolled his eyes as they began to nearly run down the hall again. The prince held his tongue until they were in the room Vhalla knew all too well. He gently set her body down onto the bed.

“She’s a Windwalker,” Aldrik whispered, finally.

“What?” Victor hissed, turning away from her corpse-like form. “Have you lost your mind?”

“No,” Aldrik said sharply. She heard the princely inflection slip into his tone. “I have not, she was Awoken tonight.”

“What in the Mother’s name do you think you’re doing?” Victor stepped closer to Aldrik.

“You cannot speak to me that way!”

“Don’t play the prince with me, Aldrik,” Victor snapped. To Vhalla’s surprise, it worked.

“It was under control.” Aldrik tried to smooth back his now-hopeless hair.

“This is not ‘under control!’” Victor shouted, pointing at the bed. Vhalla saw she had already bled through the sheets.

“So help me fix it!” Aldrik’s voice rose as well. The two men stared at each other for a long moment before the prince’s facade crumbled into the panic she’d seen earlier. Betraying the history that Vhalla knew the men had, he sighed heavily. “Victor, I need you—please.”

“I’ll need help.” The minister began rolling up his sleeves.

“What do I need to do?” Aldrik pulled off his heavy black coat, revealing a fine black silk shirt underneath, also sticky with blood.

“I will need someone around the clock. Your hands are fine for right now, I need them now, but I will need someone to stay with her.” Victor stormed into the other room, furiously selecting concoctions.

“Who do you have in mind?” Aldrik asked.

“You pick. I know you want to, but do it fast.” Victor went back into the room to begin working on Vhalla’s corpse-like body.

Vhalla followed Aldrik out as he ran down a few Tower levels, stopping at an equally familiar door. She felt his tension, his hesitancy. The prince knocked. Aldrik waited stiffly as shuffling was heard from within, the door creaked open a sliver.

“My prince?” Larel yawned.

Aldrik stepped in and shut the door behind him. “Larel,” he whispered, nearly collapsing against the wall. “I need your help.”

“Aldrik, what is it?” Just like that, Larel knew it wasn’t the crown prince addressing her, but her friend.