She sat between Larel and Fritz, and they did a good job of steering the conversation around her so that she only participated as much as she felt like. Larel spoke with other Firebearers, who wore capped sleeves and collared jackets. Fritz seemed engrossed in his own world talking to the man, Grahm, at his side. From the corners of her eyes Vhalla saw the men’s thighs touch briefly as Fritz leaned in. Was she simply imagining the warm glow radiating between them?
After the meal was over, Larel escorted her up to her temporary room and Vhalla appreciated the artwork in the halls all over again. She tried snuffing a bulb again, but only succeeded in shattering it.
“Really, Vhalla,” Larel sighed, though she didn’t sound genuinely upset. The other woman held out a hand, and the glass shards briefly burnt white-hot and disappeared.
They entered the workroom, and soon Vhalla was settling beneath the covers. Larel had five more potions for her patient to take and three bandages to replace.
“You’ll speak with the minister tomorrow.” The Western woman looked at Vhalla’s bruising. Even Vhalla was surprised at how fast her skin was healing now.
“What will happen then?” she braved to ask.
“I don’t know.” Larel shook her head. “But I’ll be here to help with whatever it is, as long as you don’t mind me as your mentor.”
Vhalla stared at the dark-haired woman for a long moment. She remembered her harsh words nights ago. Perhaps they had been deserved, perhaps not. Things had changed, and as much as Vhalla had been trying for years to grow into a woman, right now she needed her inner child who embraced the world shifting around her.
“I don’t mind,” Vhalla whispered. “If you still don’t mind being my mentor.”
Larel only smiled.
VHALLA MET THE dawn the next morning. It hadn’t been pain or discomfort that woke her early but apprehension for what the day would hold. Vhalla had spent almost a week in the Tower. Granted, half of it she had been unconscious. The minister had stopped to see her twice more when she was awake, overseeing her healing personally.
Her opinion of the Minister of Sorcery had improved with his efforts to heal her, but Vhalla still remembered his conversation with the prince. The minister kept assuring her that she could trust him, that he meant her no harm. Vhalla hoped that he was sincere.
She met the minster in the room adjacent to her temporary chambers. Vhalla sat in the same chair she had occupied weeks ago. This time a mug of steaming tea was placed before her, which Vhalla timidly—bravely— sipped. Unsurprisingly, it was high-quality. Superior food was something she could grow accustomed to, Vhalla mused as she absorbed the tea’s aromatics.
“I am glad you are feeling better,” the minister started after acquiring his own tea. “Better enough that I’ve already heard rumors of my apprentices and mentors taking dinner with the first Windwalker.” Vhalla avoided his stare, guilty as charged. “Which means, we need to speak on your future.”
She wasn’t sure what to say.
“I am sure Larel has already explained most of it to you. But, you are a sorcerer now, your place is here in the Tower. We have worked hard to create a situation that is a haven for sorcerers of all ranks and skills. You will be allowed to practice freely and will be taught how to control and apply your new skills.” He folded his hands, placing them on the table.
“Now, to accept the black robes, you will have to resign your current position in the library. That is not to say you could not patronize the library in your spare time. But you would move here, into the Tower, to live and work among your new peers.” He produced a piece of paper from within his robes that was a formal decree of change in apprenticeship. It had four blank spaces for signatures.
There it was, laid out so neatly.
“And if I refuse?” Vhalla found herself asking. The minister paused, and Vhalla tried to decipher what flashed across his eyes. “Can I be Eradicated?”
“Vhalla,” Minister Victor began slowly. “You are the first Windwalker in nearly one-hundred fifty years.” Her heart began to race. “I would think that—”
“Is it not my choice?” she asked quickly.
“It is.” The minister knew already he would get nowhere by forcing her.
Vhalla settled into her chair with a soft sigh. “Minister,” Vhalla began, “the Festival of the Sun is coming.” If the changing colors of the trees below her window were any indication, the Empire’s largest celebration would start within the month. “I realize I am in a place to ask little but...may I have until the end of the festival to make my decision?”
“Vhalla.” The minister pressed his fingertips together. “I am sure you can now appreciate the dangers of having an Awoken and untrained sorcerer around the palace.”
“But wasn’t the majority of the danger from not knowing how I would wake?” Vhalla asked timidly. “Now that I have Awoken, there’s less of a risk.”
“No, you have seen how your emotions can influence your magic without training to suppress that natural response.” The minister shook his head, and her heart sank. “I will need you to make your decision today.”
Vhalla frowned. She stared at the icy blue eyes of the minister, remembering his conversation with the prince. Whatever they wanted from her she was not about to give it easily.
“Then I choose to be Eradicated,” Vhalla announced boldly.
“Vhalla—” Victor began slowly.
“Was it not my choice?” she cut him off. “If I am forced to choose now, then I will make the safest decision and choose to be Eradicated.”
“You are the first Windwalker,” the minister repeated in dumb shock.
“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” Vhalla swallowed her fear to maintain her bold front.
He stared at her for a long moment. Vhalla gripped the hem of the cotton slip they had put her in. She had to stand her ground. If they truly needed her, the minister would not allow her to be Eradicated. Pushing him was dangerous, but Vhalla needed to know the truth.
“Very well,” the minister gave in with a sigh. Her heart thumped in her chest. “You may have until the end of the Festival of the Sun to make your decision.”
She was right. Whatever they wanted, it involved her magic. Vhalla had one month to find out why, and then decide if she would keep her magic.
“Thank you, minister,” Vhalla said politely.
Within the hour Larel returned her clothes. Placing the clothes upon the bed, Vhalla looked at them in surprise. Her robes looked the cleanest they had ever been, the drab cotton almost looking white. She picked up her maroon tunic to find that her finger no longer fit through any holes in the seam.
“We mended them also,” Larel noted obviously.
“Thank you.” Vhalla had not seen any servants in the Tower, which meant that the apprentices were sharing the work in all areas, just like they were the cooking. She wondered if whenever Larel said we what she really meant was I.
Larel excused herself, and Vhalla changed slowly. Lifting her arms caused sharp pains to her ribs, making her wince. Despite her battered, purpled, and scratched body her clothes still fit. She was still the same person, or close enough.
She walked at Larel’s side in silence, unable to find words. The other woman had a comfortable way about her, and Vhalla did not feel pressured to speak. Her head was full weighing her choices, and it hurt to think she only had one month to arrive at a decision.
It should be easy, Vhalla scolded herself. She should be Eradicated and put it all behind her. But, as Vhalla slipped through a foreign door behind Larel, she stole one last glance down the Tower. There was something about this place that Vhalla could no longer deny.