“Jax, enough.” Aldrik pinched the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh.
Jax roared with laughter, and Vhalla buried her face in her food to hide her slowly burning face. She would lie if she said his depiction did not wet her appetite for the West. Vhalla noticed the amused—yet approving—looks from the other Westerners at the table. She raised a hand, running her fingers over the small watch.
Vhalla failed to notice that more than one lord and lady at the table took note of the new token around her neck.
“Shades of Jax’s madness,” Aldrik muttered.
“Ah, friend, you know you enjoy it!” Jax raised his flagon in a mock toast.
“You tell me that every time, but I am still uncertain if it is true,” Aldrik said dryly. His tone was just flat enough to be void of bite, and Vhalla knew Aldrik truly did enjoy the man’s company.
The talk quickly turned serious; there was only so much time to spare on levity. From the direct questions and the flow in conversation, Vhalla learned what she had missed throughout the day. It seemed no one was enthused about the idea of waiting for an unknown attack when Soricium was ripe for the taking. But the Emperor had spoken, and they had no choice but to bend to his will. He’d made that fact brutally apparent when he put the chains on Vhalla despite their objections.
The moment the food was finished, they returned to their spots around the standing table. Aldrik needed to be filled in as well, as he’d spent most of the day at her bedside. He had a completely different face when discussing strategy and war than the face he wore when it was just he and Vhalla. But his eyes shared a similar intensity when he was focused on her form as it was under his hands and weight. It made Vhalla shift in place, suddenly hot.
Erion would lead the attack on the western side of camp. He’d split swordsmen with Daniel, who’d be on the east. Baldair would take the swordsmen on the north, with Raylynn leading the archers at his side. The Emperor and Major Zerian would take the south.
Jax announced that he would be fighting with Erion in the west. Which left Aldrik to volunteer himself on the east side to lead the other half of the Black Legion. Vhalla forced herself not to show any emotion as she watched Aldrik’s name be penned into the map for the east side.
This was his duty as their prince, the ultimate leader of the Black Legion and their future Emperor. He would fight and lead on the battlefield. She clutched the watch at her throat tightly. Even knowing he’d been training for moments like this since he was a child didn’t make the knowledge easier.
The other majors explained their positions, dividing their expertise among the different sections of the armies. Vhalla focused on the appointments of this person or that person to this position or that position. Halfway through, the Emperor joined them all once more, settling at the head of the table and casting a heavy cloud over the group.
Aldrik showed the nearly final list to his father.
“Where will the Windwalker go?” the Emperor’s eyes drifted to her, nothing but utter distain held within them.
“Do we want her in the palace?” Baldair asked, ignoring the tension. “To relay information from within?”
“That is certainly one useful place,” Raylynn thought aloud.
“Where do you want to be?” Major Zerian turned to Vhalla, with everyone else’s eyes following.
“I will be wherever I am most useful.” Vhalla glanced at the Emperor, wondering if there was a right and wrong answer to the question.
“Of course you will be.” Major Zerian had the makings of a weathered smile. “I am asking because the place you will be most useful is the place you want to be.”
“I don’t want to Project. I want to fight.” There was no question in Vhalla’s mind.
“What?” Daniel was surprised, and he wasn’t alone.
“Really?” Baldair asked.
“I was brought here to give insight, or entry, into the palace. I have done the former, and with these current circumstances, the latter does not seem necessary,” Vhalla addressed the confused and curious looks. “I think I will be of more use on the field.”
“I have been itching to see a legendary Windwalker twister,” Jax commented with a smirk.
“We do not know how this battle will end, what will need to happen after. We may still need entry into the palace; it seems foolish to risk the life of the only person who can grant it,” Craig pointed out.
Vhalla frowned. It made sense, but she wasn’t exactly fond of Craig for suggesting it in that moment.
“I think we should let her fight,” the Emperor announced. Everyone was surprised, other than Vhalla and the princes.
He would want her to fight, Vhalla mused darkly. She wouldn’t be surprised if he had some “accident” planned to occur in the chaos of battle.
“If she fights, she fights with me,” Aldrik proclaimed, clearly having a similar thought. There was a small threat in his tone, daring anyone to question him.
Even the Emperor remained silent.
“Then she fights with you,” Major Zerian voiced the final decision.
Vhalla heard Aldrik take a breath and hold it as he leaned over the paper they had been working on. She watched as his hand moved, squeezing the name of his future bride in a small space next to his. The ink dried and, just like that, it was done.
The following days passed easier than expected. Vhalla had never expected to find peace, nevertheless happiness, at the end of the world. But that was the only way she could describe the feelings that had taken root in her chest.
Preparing for war was exhausting work. She spent nearly every day Projecting, and when she wasn’t, she was at Aldrik’s side lending her insights to planning the army. The majors seemed to have accepted her as one of them and listened to her thoughts even when Aldrik wasn’t part of the conversation, even when he was off tending to something else. It was bold, but they displayed few issues in accepting her as the prince’s voice in his absence. Aldrik encouraged it by deferring to whatever she’d decided.
The Emperor did not bother her or Aldrik either. Vhalla was not delusional enough to think that he too had accepted her. It was far more likely that he had been so scorned by Aldrik and the majors’ fondness of her that he was licking his wounds quietly. Or, scheming. Likely both.
Vhalla noticed the majors’ eyes on her watch more than once. But no one asked. The same was not true for Fritz. He babbled and gawked over it every time Vhalla went to visit him.
She decided not to tell the Southerner about Aldrik’s proposal, merely writing off the token as a gift. Fritz didn’t question, and Vhalla felt guilty for taking advantage of his blind trust. Something about it all remained impossibly unreal. It was still a dream, a pretense, a make believe that she would one day marry Aldrik.
At night, the prince would assure her otherwise in every way he knew how, in ways Vhalla hadn’t even conceived were possible.
The closer the final day came, one more thing began to creep up between her every thought. On the eve of the battle, it was all she could think of: the axe. She knew it existed, she could feel it in her bones, and Minister Victor had asked her to retrieve it. If it was as powerful as he claimed, then the last thing Vhalla wanted was for it to fall into the wrong hands.
She hadn’t noticed she’d been staring into space until a palm rested on her lower back. Vhalla jumped in surprise. Aldrik stood at her side.
“Go to bed,” he commanded softly. Aldrik misunderstood her distraction for exhaustion. “This is the last night, and you need all the rest you can get.”
“What about you?” Vhalla asked, glancing to make sure no one was close enough to hear.