Earth's End (Air Awakens Series Book 3) (24 page)

“Brother,” Aldrik called, not nearly soft enough. The last thing Vhalla wanted was for the Emperor to wake.

“What is it?” Baldair whispered.

There was a time when Baldair’s shirtless presence would’ve made Vhalla tongue-tied. Now, Vhalla couldn’t have felt more relieved at the sight. “I don’t want to be around him right now. He’s being stubborn, and I don’t know what to do, but I can’t lie with him when he’s like this.”

“Like what?” Baldair seemed almost afraid to ask.

“Drunk enough to try lying to me,” Vhalla snapped tiredly. Baldair’s eyes widened in surprise at her admission. He put his palms on her shoulders and positioned her away from the door, standing protectively in front of her before opening it.

“Quiet, or you will wake Father,” Baldair whispered firmly.

“Is Vhalla—”

“She’s staying in my room tonight,” Baldair announced. “What?” There was a nasty note to the word.

“And I’m staying with you,” the younger prince clarified. “No, I’ll be staying—”

“With me until your head clears enough that you see what a fool you’re being.” Baldair pushed his brother back into Aldrik’s room, leaving Vhalla alone.

Vhalla listened to their whispers through the door before dragging her feet toward Baldair’s bed. She pulled the covers over her ears and shivered slightly. Staring at the wall, she started on the long process of trying to sort through her conflicting emotions.

V
HALLA AWOKE TO
a palm gently rubbing her back. She blinked tiredly, confused as to why the chests were on the side of the bed, rather than in the corner of the room. Then the night came back to her in a rush.

Turning quickly, she locked eyes with Baldair, who was seated at the edge of the bed. The prince gave her a tired smile. It betrayed his exhaustion and disappointment that, Vhalla had no doubt, was directed at a certain older brother.

“Good morning,” he whispered.

Vhalla knew how he kept women crawling back to his bed if he spoke to them in such velvety tones first thing in the day. “Aldrik?”

“He’s still asleep.” Baldair shifted so Vhalla could sit. “It’s barely dawn.”

Judging from the dim light filtering through the slats, what Baldair said was true.

“What happened?” Baldair asked softly.

Vhalla focused on the gray morning. “I realized I hadn’t been seeing him with both eyes open. How long has he been like that?”

“How long has Aldrik liked the spirits?” Baldair asked for clarity, and Vhalla nodded. “Mother, not long after he became a man.”

Vhalla frowned.
Since about fifteen?

“It’s always been to varying degrees,” Baldair conceded. “Sometimes it’s no more than any other man or woman has. Other times ...”

“He must stop turning to it to manage his problems,” Vhalla decided. She had no issue with liquor, even the occasional indulgence that crossed the line of too much. But Aldrik didn’t see drink as casual entertainment now and again. He was trying to turn cups into solutions to problems, and that was dangerous. “He won’t just stop.” Baldair squeezed her arm. “He doesn’t know how to function without it when he’s up against a wall. It’s hard to make a case because he can function surprisingly well with it.”

“No, it’s not functioning if he thinks he needs it to get through a tough time.” Vhalla shook her head and swung her feet over the side of the bed.

“Where are you going?” Baldair asked. He made no movement.

“To my friends.” Vhalla paused at the door. “If Aldrik asks for me, you can tell him that he can come get me himself if he wants to see me again, with an apology, and a new promise.”

“You’re going to kill him if you force him to stop drinking altogether,” Baldair cautioned.

“He at least needs to stop thinking he needs it. He has me, he has you and Elecia.”

Baldair seemed surprised she included him. “He might beg to differ.”

Vhalla stared incredulously at the younger prince.
How could anyone justify Aldrik’s actions?
“He commits to fixing this, or we’re done.”

She was out the door before the prince worked through his surprise at the proclamation. The main hall was empty, and the camp was quiet. She headed toward Fritz’s tent without hesitation, crawling between him and Elecia upon arrival.

“What the—”

“You’re so jumpy.” Vhalla shook her head at Elecia.

“I don’t expect people crawling into my bed!”

“You let this one.” Vhalla pointed at Fritz, who continued to sleep. The man was seriously one of the heaviest sleepers Vhalla had ever met. “And he smells like sweaty boy.”

Elecia sighed and laid back down. “Speaking of sweaty boys and sharing beds, what are
you
doing here?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Vhalla pressed her eyes closed and was surprised when Elecia only spoke one more word on the matter.

“Fine.”

She managed a few more hours of sleep, better sleep than she’d gotten the whole night. Elecia was surprisingly snuggly when passed out, and Vhalla promptly used this knowledge, confirmed by Fritz, to tease the Westerner viciously. Vhalla had never seen Elecia so flushed with embarrassment and anger.

The morning progressed into the afternoon, and Vhalla braced herself for Jax to come looking for her at the crown prince’s request—but he never did. It made Vhalla wonder if Baldair had gotten word to Aldrik. Then Vhalla felt frustrated for thinking of the man and threw herself into some debate on magical theory with Fritz. It didn’t take long before the cycle repeated.

Elecia left eventually to do something with the clerics, but Fritz continued to lounge with her. He appeared eager to skip training for once.

“She’s been such a slave driver,” Fritz bemoaned the moment Elecia was gone. “All she wants me to do is train.” “Well, we are at war,” Vhalla teased.

“A war
you
will end.” Fritz smiled brightly at her. “You honestly believe that?” Vhalla rolled her eyes.

“Of course I do!” Fritz seemed shocked she’d think otherwise. “And I’m not the only one. You only got a small taste last night. The soldiers really think you’re something special.”

“I’m not, though.” Vhalla sighed, an odd pressure settling on her chest at that notion. She withheld any bitter comment about how any one of those soldiers could be a spy evading capture.

“You’re amazing.”

She snorted.

“
You are
!” Fritz insisted.

“You sound like my father.” Just mentioning her father made Vhalla ache for the East. But it was an odd sort of nostalgia. Vhalla didn’t think she could go back there for some time. She was too different; she wouldn’t have a place there any longer.

“Then your father is a genius,” Fritz insisted.

“He’d tell you my mother was the smart one.” Vhalla rested her forearm on her forehead.

Fritz rolled onto his stomach, propping him up by his elbows. “You never talk about her.”

“Nothing to say.”

“That can’t be true,” Fritz probed.

“She died when I was young, autumn fever.” Vhalla knew she’d told the Southerner that much before. “But,” Vhalla sighed sweetly. “She could coax a plant from the sandiest soil in the driest of years. She had strong legs that were never afraid to climb up to where I’d roosted in our tree, or on the roof. And she had the loveliest singing voice.”

“Do you sing?” Fritz interjected.

She shook her head. “I inherited my father’s voice, not hers.”

“Sing me a song.”

“No,” Vhalla laughed. “You don’t want to hear it.”

“Please,” Fritz begged.

He insisted until Vhalla finally agreed. The melody was slow and low, the lullaby her mother had sung every night. It told the story of a mother bird keeping her chicks in the nest, of plucking their feathers so they’d never fly. Vhalla didn’t even get to the part where the baby birds began to wear the other animal’s pelts when Fritz burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry,” Fritz wheezed. “You’re right, your voice is awful.” Vhalla rolled her eyes. “I told you so. My mother kept her singing voice, but she gave me her mind. She was the one who taught me how to read.”

“How did she learn?” Fritz asked. It wasn’t common for people of Vhalla’s status to be literate.

“Her parents worked at the post office of Hastan.” “Did you know them?”

Vhalla shook her head. “They didn’t approve of her marrying my father. They’d hoped her literacy would let her marry someone ‘better’ than a farmer.”

Vhalla wondered if her grandparents were even still alive. If they were, she mused over what they’d think of her being involved with the crown prince. The thought brought a pang to her stomach.

As if on cue, the tent flap was thrown open. Jax grinned at the two of them. “Told you she’d be here.”

Vhalla sat and Fritz followed as a bewildered-looking Baldair knelt at the entrance to the tent. His endless cerulean eyes absorbed hers, and Vhalla shifted uncomfortably. There were unspoken volumes within them.

“He’s lost his mind,” Baldair whispered.

“What’s happened?” Vhalla scrambled out of the tent. Even after all her frustrations, she was ready to run to Aldrik’s side.

“I went to his room to check on him and he was gone, bottles smashed.” Baldair placed a palm over his forehead in disbelief.

“Alcohol?” Vhalla whispered.

Baldair nodded.

“He’s helping run drills with the Black Legion now,” Jax contributed.

“Which he hasn’t done in
years
.” Baldair tilted his head to catch Vhalla’s bewildered eyes.

Her heart was racing in her chest. She had to see it—
to see him—
to believe it. “Where is he?”

Jax and Baldair led her toward one of the many training rings where the Black Legion worked. Firebearers sent tongues of flame racing toward each other, kicking and punching with blazing hands and feet. Aldrik walked among them, the fire glittering off of his armor.

Vhalla saw the bags under his tired eyes, but no one else seemed to. All the other soldiers cautiously admired their prince. Vhalla remembered what Major Reale had said about the Black Legion growing up with Aldrik.

He was trying, she realized, in more ways than one. Aldrik was trying to be their prince, to be a better man, and—if she dared believe it—to be better for her. He was serious about making an effort for her and for them.

“Remember, a Firebearer must always be on the offensive.” Aldrik’s hands were clasped at the small of his back. “Our skills are best for a relentless pursuit.”

The soldiers nodded in understanding, continuing their sparring.

“If you’re magically superior, you can burn through a Groundbreaker’s stone skin or take control of another Firebearer’s flames; if not, you’ll need to go for the eyes like a Commons. A Waterrunner’s ice is no trouble, either, unless they are particularly strong.”

“And what about a Windwalker?” Vhalla called out. Everyone stalled, noticing her presence alongside the Head Major of the Black Legion and the younger prince. Aldrik turned with desperate, searching eyes. Vhalla swallowed and allowed a knowing smile to grace her lips.

“That, Lady Yarl, is not often a problem,” Aldrik replied tentatively, probingly. “There aren’t too many Windwalkers about.”

“Sounds like a nice way to say that you don’t know, my prince,” Vhalla jested boldly.

The soldiers’ collective gaze swung back to Aldrik, looking with nervous concern. They seemed to hold their breath for the usually temperamental prince’s reaction. Aldrik missed their looks, his attention only on the Windwalker advancing toward him.

“Perhaps we should find out, then?” Aldrik smirked.

“For scholarly curiosity, I think we must,” Vhalla agreed coyly.

They had a ring of people in moments, and Jax was to be their mark. Vhalla squared off opposite Aldrik for the first time. She could feel his magic crackling off him in warm waves; the subtle pulse as he commanded it, shifted it, and honed it like a swordsman with a whetstone.

She clenched her fists, and Jax signaled for the spar to begin. Vhalla moved, Aldrik moved, and their magic lit up the small circle. His flames danced along her winds, and Vhalla moved and dodged fast, wearing only her chainmail, faster than he in all his plate.

The prince took a step backwards, raising a wall of flame. It was bold and potentially dangerous move,
if
his fire could hurt her,
if
she wasn’t as fast as the wind itself. Vhalla threw out a hand, trying to trip him as he moved backwards. Aldrik shifted from foot to foot, gracefully keeping his balance. She laughed, and he gave a small smile for the sight of her joy.

They were an equal match with his heartbeat in the back of her mind. His combat prowess flowed through her veins, coupled with the skill Vhalla had gained from months of her own training. They both missed the slack-jaw amazement from the other soldiers. That the Windwalker danced toe-to-toe with one of the greatest sorcerers in the world, that she could best Aldrik as often as he bested her, that the prince seemed to find amusement—even joy—and not frustration at that fact.

She was breathless and exhausted. Vhalla didn’t know how long they’d sparred, but she’d reached her limit several gusts prior and finally held up a hand in forfeit. Vhalla panted, gripping her knee with her other palm, trying to catch her breath and to slow the wild heartbeat in her ears.