Water's Wrath

Aldrik stood, as if to lead by example. Vhalla was relieved when the two Northerners followed him as well.

“Now, off with the shirt,” Elecia demanded the second the last of them had vanished through the curtain that served as a door into the unknown room beyond. Vhalla blinked at the other woman, startled by her directness. “I know you’re hardly modest, and it’s nothing I, or the older girls, haven’t already seen.”

“Older girls?” Vhalla paused, halfway done with unbuttoning the front of the oversized shirt, a shirt she had never seen before. Her movements were still painfully slow.

“Fritz’s sisters,” Elecia elaborated. “After Aldrik was a reckless idiot and nearly killed himself giving you the magic back—”

“Nearly killed himself?”

“Yes.” Elecia scowled. “I will never forgive you for making him the reckless fool that he’s been.”

Vhalla had no retort.

“When I saw the mountain wall sliding to close up the caverns, I thought you all were dead. But, no, you were alive and, despite dodging fate once more, Aldrik was determined to save you. After Aldrik gave you the Bond magic back, he collapsed, and I could do nothing. The princess was equally spent doing . . . whatever she does with her Northern magic. We couldn’t ride back to the capital in such a condition,” Elecia’s words spilled out. “Luckily, Fritz could navigate us here. You were a bloody mess, more than anything I had ever tried to heal, and Aldrik wouldn’t wake for a whole day, leaving me to guess if he would ever wake again—I thought he was dead because of you!”

“Elecia . . . I’m sorry.” The other woman’s pain was sudden and intense.

“First, it was Baldair, and I couldn’t, I wasn’t fast enough to get there.” Elecia balled a fist in the blankets. “Then I thought I lost the man who has been like my brother. I shouldn’t forgive you!”

“You shouldn’t,” Vhalla whispered, looking down at her hands. “For Aldrik, and for Baldair. I couldn’t save him either.”

“Shut up,” Elecia said sharply. “Just shut up, I won’t tolerate you feeling sorry for yourself and moping around. Aldrik, god knows what will happen to him when he gets back to the capital, if we get back. After how he left, I have no idea what the Emperor will do.”

Vhalla stared at where Aldrik and the princess had departed. What would the Emperor think?

Elecia started on her bandages in heavy silence. They fell away, and Vhalla followed the woman’s eyes to her chest. The moment softened as Elecia’s fingers fell on the hideous deformity that now marred Vhalla’s skin. “It’s going to stay.”

Vhalla swallowed hard.

“Healing you with magic alone wasn’t very graceful, and we do not have any proper potions or salves. It’s hard to make them when every plant is covered in snow.” Elecia actually sounded somewhat apologetic. “It is healing . . . I will do my best to leave you with as small a mark as possible.”

“It’s fine. Thank you for doing everything you have already.” Vhalla had learned to live with scars. “It will remind me what I work toward now. It will be my badge and my mission.”

Elecia stilled. “What do you think you can possibly do?”

“A wise man once told me that something very small can cast a large shadow when it’s close to the sun.” Vhalla cast her heart in stone, her mind already churning around her next move. She pushed the loss of her magic down into the depths of her heart. There was no solution for that pain and she would just have to smother it until it died. She had an Emperor and a madman to deal with. But first, she’d start with the princess in the other room.



THE CHAREM FAMILY home was a well-sized log construction. The tall pines dictated the dimensions of the structure more than any architectural plans the original builder may have created. One third was a loft, with a private room below that normally belonged to Fritz’s parents; that is, until the random assortment of nobility showed up on their doorstep. The family had lived there for over four generations, and each person to inherit the house seemed to add their own touch. The first person built the home, the second added the insulating mud and clay mix between the logs, the third added a wooden shingled roof, the fourth added the wooden floor inside, and so on.

That was how Fritz’s father explained it. Orelerienum Charem, Orel for short, was a large and muscled man. His bicep was wider than Vhalla’s thigh. He had broad shoulders and weathered skin with smile wrinkles around his Southern blue eyes. His hair was cropped short, but Vhalla did not have to wonder who Fritz inherited his wild locks from.

Tama Charem was a full figured woman with messy, light blonde hair. When it wasn’t in a thick braid down her back to her waist, it was a mane around her face and shoulders. She was a kind and generous hostess with a round face and melodic laughter that complemented her husband’s full-bellied guffaws.

“Gwen! Get up!” Cass, the eldest, called up to the loft. Her hair was short, cut like a man’s and she looked to be the female version of her father—sturdy and unmoving.

“She’s not getting up,” Reona, the third child, remarked from by the hearth. She was a pretty girl with a button nose and a faint dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks. “Not without food started.”