Water's Wrath

She nodded.

“And you bring friends, I see.” Erion appraised the two Waterrunners at her sides.

“Hopefully the start of a trend,” Vhalla replied, making her intentions known.

“It’s a trend I’ll live with right now.” Erion sighed softly. “Can I have you two in the pit? And can I put you with the archers?” He motioned to Fritz and Grahm, then Vhalla, in turn.

“No problem!” Fritz gave a rallying cry and led an amused Grahm over. It was amazing the sway Grahm had on Fritz with such little effort. In the short walk from the Tower to the training grounds, he’d completely transformed Fritz’s mood.

“I’ll walk you to the archers, outline what needs to be done.”

“Is everything all right?” Vhalla asked, falling into step at the Westerner’s side.

“What?” Erion was jarred from his thoughts. “Oh, yes, everything is fine.”

The man quickly launched into an explanation of what he wanted Vhalla to do. It was a simple enough task, producing wind for the archers to train in. Vhalla listened absentmindedly, her mind churning over the fact that something was definitely wrong with her companion.

But Erion kept his secrets to himself, returning to the center table alone.

At first, the archers were skeptical about her presence, but Vhalla had an unexpected ace. Tim was among them, and the young woman was hasty to tell the grand tales of the Windwalker to her comrades who hadn’t been to war and hadn’t already heard. So they approached the range with a timid curiosity that quickly vanished into annoyance when most of their arrows shot wide of their targets due to Vhalla’s wind.

It ended up being a competition of the Windwalker versus the Empire’s best archers. They began taking her seriously, finding ways for their arrows hit their targets in spite of her winds. Those arrows were points for them, the ones on the ground were points for her.

She could make it so that not one arrow hit its target, but Vhalla kept the sport fair, enjoying the game. The score was almost even when three archers left the shooting line to make room for one more. Vhalla’s hands fell to her sides, and the winds quieted.

“Gwaeru,” the Northern woman called.

Vhalla stared at Za blankly. She wasn’t sure what emotion she should summon for the woman who was plotting treason.

“I prefer Lady Yarl, actually,” she corrected loudly. Vhalla hardly cared for the use of titles, but she didn’t want to give the woman the power of taking her name from her—of reducing Vhalla once more to nothing more than the Emperor’s Windwalker.

“Lady Yarl,” the woman smiled, which quickly turned into a sneer. “I want shoot.”

“We are practicing shooting in the wind tonight,” Vhalla announced.

“Fine.” The woman fixed her armguard to her left wrist, adjusting a large wooden bow in her hand.

Without another word Za reached for an arrow in the quiver at her side. Vhalla raised her hands. A strong wind blew across the range. All arrows were knocked off course—all except for one. Vhalla met the eyes of the Northern archer, a frown tugging at her lips.

The next arrow hit. The wind blew harder. The third almost missed. Vhalla shifted the direction of the breeze. The fourth was knocked off course. She fought a smirk and looked back to the woman. It had begun.

Four quivers in, Vhalla was almost breathless, as was the other woman. The ground looked like a porcupine made of arrows, illuminated by the high moon.

“That’s enough,” Za announced, throwing her bow over her shoulder.

Vhalla shrugged, wiping her brow. She looked for Fritz and Grahm, but it appeared that they had already departed without her. In fact, almost no one was around. Time seemed to have escaped her.

“Gwaeru.” Za’s voice was close, and Vhalla turned, unsurprised to find the woman a few short steps away. The bow was still in her hand, armguard still on, quiver mostly full. Vhalla eyed them uneasily, keeping the wind under her palms.

“I said my name was Lady Yarl.”

Za ignored Vhalla’s correction. “Sehra wish to give you chance.”

Vhalla scowled. “I don’t want to be involved with either of you.”

“And I don’t want you,” Za hissed. “But you keep with Achel. You and Fire Lord.”

Vhalla stilled, bringing her eyes to Za’s emerald ones.

“Sehra know, she know he now touch Achel, too.”

A quiet horror crept through her, whispering her worst fears. Vhalla’s lips were quiet, but her mind was loud. The taint creeping through her bond with Aldrik must have progressed farther if Sehra could pick it up. Or maybe it was just consistent, but no worse?

Vhalla knew she had to find him. She hadn’t sought him out once in the weeks since their meeting in his garden. But now she’d haunt the library for a certain sorcerer prince.

“Give us Achel.”

“No.” Vhalla frowned. She was so close to getting rid of it for good.

“Prince already half monster. If he become whole monster, I will shoot to kill.”

Vhalla’s arm snapped out, gripping Za’s bow before the woman had time to pull it away. Za tugged but Vhalla held fast. The Northerner’s gaze met hers, and Vhalla narrowed her eyes threateningly.

“If you as much as think of touching him, I will kill you myself,” Vhalla growled.