Water's Wrath

It all only made them cling tighter to each other.



“ALDRIK.” THERE WAS more banging from the Emperor. “We will not make a scene of this. Open the door.”

Vhalla clutched the prince’s shoulders protectively. His face was pressed firmly against her upper chest and shoulder. She shifted, wrapping a leg around his.

“Grief can be maddening,” the Emperor attempted coolly. “I am certain your future wife would be happy to console you.”

Vhalla knew from the moment Aldrik had grabbed her that they were headed toward this moment. Vhalla took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar and comforting scent of eucalyptus. He had chosen her. And it had been a deliberate and public choice. Now, they would reap the consequences together.

Aldrik drew a slow breath.

“No.” She shook her head. “Don’t.” Vhalla whispered through her ragged breathing. “Just don’t say anything.”

Aldrik obliged.

They both jumped as the Emperor banged aggressively at the door behind them. Vhalla put her hands over his ears. Let him be, she thought to herself. Let him be, she prayed to the Mother above. If there was a Goddess or God, surely, they had to take pity on the grieving man she held in her arms.

Eventually, when shouting a few more times did not work, the Emperor stalked away. Silence did not greet them in his absence. Preparations were being made; she could hear the clerics calling to each other for cleaning, cleansing, and the handling of the body. Aldrik’s shoulders heaved; he let out a rough sob. Nothing else but the prince in her arms mattered right now.

“Baldair,” he panted softly. “My little brother, Vhalla, he’s dead. I wasn’t supposed to outlive him. I was supposed to be on my deathbed when he also was wrinkled and gray.”

Vhalla rubbed her eyes with her palm. His pain was worse than hers, which meant she had to be the strong one now. She had to be in control of herself.

“I was awful to him,” Aldrik sobbed. “I-I never, I never forgave him for so much. It didn’t matter, Vhalla. I don’t care about it all now.”

“I’m sure he knew,” she whispered softly, trying to find some stability in her voice.

“No,” Aldrik shook his head; she made a soft shhing noise. “He knew nothing. He knew nothing because I told him nothing. It wasn’t because he wouldn’t understand, or because it was safer for him not to know, or because he didn’t care, or any of the other reasons I told myself.

“It was because I simply did not tell him. I was too scared or too weak to let Baldair know that he was foremost my brother. That I loved him.” Aldrik pressed his face further into her. His forehead was uncomfortable against her collarbone, but she said nothing. “He never knew why I wore black. He never knew how badly I just wanted to be him, just for one moment. How jealous—by the Mother—I was jealous of my little brother for all the love and admiration he seemed to just have from birth. He never knew that I attempted . . . he never knew why . . .” Aldrik’s voice cut itself off with a pained groan.

Vhalla ran her fingers through his hair, not caring that she was messing up the appearance he had so carefully crafted for himself.

“Baldair loved you,” she tried to soothe her crown prince’s broken heart. “Despite all what may or may not be, he loved you.”

“He did not know me,” Aldrik spat.

“He knew you were his brother, and that was worth more than anything,” Vhalla replied firmly.

Aldrik’s weak retort was lost to tears. Vhalla kept one hand in his hair, the other stroking his back lightly. It hurt, the world hurt. It hurt to look, it hurt to breathe, it hurt to see. It hurt to be in the place where Baldair had been only an hour before. It hurt to admit that he was gone, forever. His golden hair and charming demeanor were gone from their lives—that hurt the most.

Eventually, Aldrik began to pull away. She heard him choke down waves of grief before they could slip through his lips, and he straightened away from where they had lain intertwined on the floor.

“He-he can’t be dead.” Suddenly, the prince was laughing. “This is a joke. This is all a joke.”

“Aldrik, I saw it . . . he’s gone.” Vhalla reached out to smooth hair away from his face, but he jerked away at her touch.

“Don’t lie to me!” the prince snarled. “Don’t you dare.”

“I’m not lying,” she pleaded, trying to grab for his hand.

Aldrik was on his feet, leaving Vhalla to try to scramble after him. “I’m going to see him.” Aldrik stilled, muttering to himself, “I’m going to see him, and he’ll laugh at me for believing his grand joke.”

“Aldrik, he’s gone.”

“I told you not to say that!” Aldrik yelled.

Vhalla flinched at his tone, and the involuntary movement brought the sharpness of sanity back to his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Aldrik.” Vhalla wiped her face, trying to keep her emotions under control. “If you need to see his body, I won’t stop you.” She stepped away from the door, gripping her tunic with trembling hands, the tunic that still had Baldair’s blood. “But I’m certain if you unlock that door, they will take me away—and who knows where, given the circumstances . . . They will make demands of you, and it’s too soon. It’s all right to grieve.”