Her gold-ringed hazel eyes met Larel’s dark ones. Vhalla may be a bad liar but that wouldn’t stop her from looking for a lie in others.
When Larel spoke there was no sign of hesitation or fear. “We were apprentices in the Tower together,” Larel said simply, returning to rubbing salve on Vhalla’s skin.
“The prince was an apprentice?” Vhalla blinked. She expected apprenticeship to be something that was below royalty.
“How else would he have learned?” Larel had a small grin. “I know how he seems. But he’s not truly malicious, not normally, and almost never to people like us.”
“People like us?” Vhalla repeated doubtfully.
“Sorcerers.” Sweeping dark bangs across her forehead, the woman glanced up.
Of course, Vhalla thought. She was one of them now, and there really was no more denying it. The fall should’ve killed her, and if the prince hadn’t intervened, something did.
“Magical people are often feared by Commons. Even you feared us,” Larel said thoughtfully.
Vhalla could only nod. She was conflicted over the woman’s use of past tense with regards to her fear. Though, at this exact moment, Vhalla did not feel afraid. She felt sad. Something in her was different. Roan, Sareem, Master Mohned, they wouldn’t understand, even if she tried explaining.
“The prince knows this,” Larel continued. “He knows how hard it is, better than most. He’s had more than his fair share.”
“So now I’m supposed to feel sorry for him?” Vhalla spat, becoming far more venomous than she would’ve wanted.
Larel stopped and looked up at Vhalla strangely for a long while. “Yes.” She returned to her work, and Vhalla felt her jaw go slack. “And he should feel sorry for what he put you through,” Larel added faintly. “Awakenings can be scary, but they shouldn’t hurt, at least never this bad. I think, I think he was caught up in the promise of what you are.”
“What I am?” Vhalla mused, remembering the unexpected conversation she had overheard. “You mean a Windwalker?”
Larel nodded. “I don’t think you understand, Vhalla. You are the first Windwalker in generations. Many theorists have gone so far as to postulate that the East is magically dry. That the source of magic for the Windwalkers had been destroyed with no one connected to the Channel for so long.” Larel picked up a bottle of the salve and worked it across Vhalla’s still open wounds. “You fly—no pun intended—in the face of everything people have been saying for well over a century.”
Vhalla wanted to feel special. She wanted to feel important. She wanted to feel she was special and important to the crown prince, of all people. But she only felt like an object. She was jarred out of her destructive cycle of thought when Larel placed salve into a particularly angry gash.
“Sorry, I should’ve warned you.” The woman continued on with her work.
“I’m sorry you have to do this,” Vhalla replied. On the scale of sorcerers, Larel had wronged Vhalla the least, and she seemed to be cleaning up the mess of everyone else.
“I don’t mind.” She began padding a few wounds with cloth scraps before starting on the clean dressings. “Yes, you have been more work than most of my peers’ Awoken apprentices. But I think your story is already far more profound than most of us can ever hope for.”
She paused to smile, and Vhalla was taken aback by the woman’s features. She was stunning when she smiled. The straight black hair framed the warm visage perfectly as it curved around her face. She had dark brown eyes, almost black, and Vhalla had to look away before she was reminded of another set of slightly darker Western eyes.
“So what happens next?” It seemed a natural question. Vhalla needed to start approaching things logically. Her emotions had been running wild for far too long, and it had gotten her nowhere.
“Once you are Awoken, there are only two options. Your powers will continue to Manifest. You’ve already seen how they can be tied to your emotions when it’s this fresh.” Vhalla looked back to the window, realizing for the first time what had really transpired. “So you must learn to control your powers or Eradicate them. I likely shouldn’t say, but the minister is planning to offer you a black robe.”
“But I am a library apprentice,” Vhalla said weakly, feeling homesick.
“Things change.” The woman shrugged. “But it will be your choice. The minister will not force it on you.”
“I doubt that,” Vhalla mumbled. She wasn’t sure if the sorcerers of the tower knew how to do anything without force. “What if I chose to be Eradicated?”
She had read about the process of exhausting a sorcerers magic to block their Channels to power. While she didn’t understand it fully, it didn’t sound painful as described in the library book. It couldn’t be any more painful than the agony she was already in.
“I would urge you to reconsider.” When Vhalla glared at the woman, Larel added, “But I think it should be your choice.” Larel sat back, reorganizing her supplies.
Vhalla stared blankly out the window, wishing the stars could tell her what needed to be done.
“Prince Aldrik,” Larel started gently, seeing Vhalla visibly flinch at the mention of his name. “He told me that you were very bright. That you were surprisingly smart for an apprentice.”
“He would phrase it like that, a compliment in an insult,” Vhalla remarked dryly.
“He meant it,” Larel assured her. “I believe it to be true as well.” Vhalla looked uncertainly at the woman as she stood. “Don’t make this choice without putting that intellect to use. If you have questions, you can ask me or any other sorcerer.”
There was a seed of guilt in her stomach as Vhalla looked up at the woman. She had been kind to her. Vhalla picked at the seams on her blanket. “Thank you,” Vhalla mumbled. “I don’t think I would be as well as I am now without your help,” she added earnestly.
“You are welcome,” Larel accepted the gratitude. “Now rest. When you feel well enough, there is a library here in the Tower that you can use.”
The woman smiled at Vhalla’s expression when she mentioned the library. But the sorcerer said nothing more and departed. With a soft sigh Vhalla shifted the pillows and laid back.
As much as Vhalla wanted to, she couldn’t muster any anger toward Larel. The woman had been too kind to her for that. Plus, it was nice to have someone speak openly and honestly to her about these matters. Vhalla’s best guess was that the Westerner didn’t seem to be mindlessly following Victor’s or the prince’s orders.
As much as Vhalla wanted to ignore them, Larel’s words had struck something within her. Apply her intellect to the world before her. Vhalla worried about what would happen if she did. Sighing again, Vhalla allowed her wounded body to relax and her eyes to droop closed. There was always the morning to make life-changing decisions.
But the morning came and went, and Vhalla was no closer to deciding how she felt about anything. The pain had mostly subsided and with it her rage at the situation. She was still sore at a certain prince, but she no longer felt the need to hit things. Around lunch, Vhalla decided it was time to get out of the room she had occupied for days on end.
When she stood, the world stayed exactly where it should be. Other than a general dull ache, there was no pain. She tried a circle around the small space; when she didn’t retch, she considered it a success. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door that led out into the other room.
Vhalla was surprised to see that it was vacant. Larel, the minister, and—most thankfully—the prince were nowhere to be found. Remembering what Larel had told her about a library, Vhalla crept through the space toward the second door.
Vhalla observed the hall. To the left it sloped up; to the right, down. At frequent intervals hung the glass bulbs with flame inside, casting the path in a warm glow. She stared at the sculptures that lined the walls at random intervals.