“Yes,” Vhalla said with more confidence than she felt. “I’ll manage. Send the riders.”
Jax nodded, clearly understanding her priorities, and left. Vhalla turned to the steaming tub of water. Jax must be a Firebearer, she mused. He heated the water just as Larel had heated the streams and ponds they bathed along the march. Peeling off her clothes was like shedding the shroud of the other woman. For weeks Vhalla had worn the memory like a shield, Larel’s last gift: her name in the form of Serien Leral.
The water was just shy of scalding hot but Vhalla still shivered. She was alone. Larel and Sareem gone, Fritz far away, and her library with its window seat ... Vhalla’s eyes fluttered closed with the pang of nostalgia. She allowed herself the sweet agony of dreaming, of thinking of returning to the palace in the south. Of sitting with Aldrik once more in his rose garden. Of finding something that was different from all she had known but was still something she could call normal.
Two quick raps on the door was the only warning before it pushed open again. “I brought you clothes.”
“I’m not!” Vhalla pressed her naked body to the side of the barrel, trying to hide it in the curve of the wood.
“You’re as red as Western crimson.” Jax laughed at the color of her face. “What? If you have something I haven’t seen, then that would be a real treat.”
“This isn’t ...” Vhalla was about to die from embarrassment. She’d bathed in group baths before, but with other women.
“I thought you weren’t a lady?” He grinned wildly. “Certainly acting like a noble flower with all this modesty.”
“I don’t know you!” she balked.
“Do you want to?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Out!” Vhalla demanded.
“If the lady commands.” Jax left, unapologetic.
Vhalla dunked her head under the water. This man was nothing like any noble she’d ever met. Any sane person she’d ever met!
But he was thoughtful as well, she discovered. The water steamed at a perfect temperature once more. There was a mostly clean drying cloth waiting for her atop two different options for shirt and pants. Both were oversized on her petite frame, which had been narrowed by a long march and lean food. The shirt wore like a tunic, and the pants needed to be rolled. But with a belt they would sit on her hips rather than slide off.
The major stood waiting for her across the hall when she exited. Vhalla’s face was instantly scarlet again, and she pursed her lips to keep in her frustration.
Jax pushed away from the wall, keenly picking up on her emotion. “What do you know, there was a woman under all that blood and grime.”
Vhalla shifted her chainmail tunic awkwardly in her hands. “Right, this way.” He turned away from the side of the hall that ended with a single door. There was a door on either side of them, and Vhalla quickly realized whose quarters these were.
“Is this Prince Baldair’s or Prince Aldrik’s room?” She paused in the doorway Jax was leading her through.
“Baldair’s. He won’t mind, and you look dead on your feet.” Vhalla stared across the hall, and Major Jax didn’t miss the obvious thoughts floating across her face. “Unless you’d rather stay in the crown prince’s room?”
“I would,” she whispered.
Jax let Vhalla wander across the hall alone. He hovered in Baldair’s doorway, watching the Windwalker as she slowly pushed up the simple wooden latch that held the crown prince’s door closed. His eyes followed her as she comfortably, almost reverently, entered the quarters of the most private man in the Empire.
There was nothing notable about it, a few chests against one wall, a bed opposite, and a desk positioned near a shuttered window. Vhalla stopped to engage in a staring contest with an empty armor stand waiting for its owner’s plate to return.
Aldrik’s mangled face flashed before her eyes, and Vhalla gripped her shirt over her stomach, willing the sickening feeling away.
“Here.” Jax placed a palm on her shoulder, causing Vhalla to nearly jump out of her skin.
She stared down at the vial in his hand. “Only one?” Every time she’d been wounded, half a cleric’s box was forced down her throat.
“Are your wounds severe enough to merit more?” Jax asked earnestly. Vhalla shook her head. “Not the physical ones at least, right?”
Vhalla pulled away from him, squaring her shoulders toward the Western man, defensive of her feelings. He was like wildfire, unpredictable, burning through one emotion and then the next. She squinted up at him and opened her mouth to speak.
A silent knowing gleamed in his eyes, a depth that both stilled and humbled her. His fingers wrapped around hers, closing them around the vial. “Drink, Vhalla Yarl, and get a good night’s sleep. From the looks of you, it’s been a while.”
Jax left her before she could respond. Vhalla stared at the vial in her hand and wondered just what the man could see in her, what the world saw in her now. Her thoughts spun like a top, faster and faster, out of control until she eagerly brought the potion to her lips, drinking it in a gluttonous gulp.
Vhalla collapsed upon the bed, his bed.
It smelled stale. The linens hadn’t been washed in a long time, if ever. They had a dry crunch and gave off a damp and earthy aroma. But somewhere under the musty scent was a musk that Vhalla knew well. She curled in on herself, clutching at the mattress, pillows, and blanket. Leather, steel, eucalyptus, fire and smoke, and a scent that was distinctly Aldrik—a combination that overwhelmed her.
When Vhalla woke next, she expected to have only slept for a few hours. The sun hung low in the sky and the room was dim with the orange light that penetrated the slats of the window shutters. She dragged her feet to the main room; it was mostly empty, save for two men having a drink at the end of one of the long tables.
“Sleeping beauty wakes.” Jax grinned, his hair was loose and it fell straight to his lower chest.
“It hasn’t been that long.” Vhalla sat a good space away from Lord Erion and across from the head major. “Only a day,” Erion mumbled over his drink. “What?”
“You were out a bit. Guess I was right about that whole sleeping thing,” Jax said proudly.
A day ... She had slept for a whole day. Vhalla quickly did the math in her head. “Any word from the riders sent?”
“It’s only been a day. They can’t even be halfway.” Erion set his flagon on the table.
“I made it in two days,” Vhalla felt the need to point out to him.
“Well, you must not be human.” He glanced at her sideways. “Maybe you’re half-wind, Serien.”
Vhalla ran a hand through her hair, checking it from the corners of her eyes to see if the black ink that masked her Eastern brown had washed out from the bath. It hadn’t completely, but it had faded enough to contribute to the Western man’s suspicions. She looked across to Jax, but he had already begun the swift process of changing the topic.
They were both Golden Guard, but Jax hadn’t shared her identity despite Erion’s clear suspicions. Vhalla could guess why it would make sense not to prematurely reveal her true name, but she didn’t have a reason to expect such loyalty from a man she hardly knew. They placed food in front of her, and Vhalla stared at it listlessly. Her mind was full, which meant it silenced the grumbling of her stomach. But Vhalla knew she must be hungry.
Slowly, diligently, she cleaned her plate. In the forests to the south, there was a dying prince depending on her strength. Elecia had said that one person couldn’t sustain two, and Vhalla meant to prove her wrong. At the least, she’d buy them all more time.
Vhalla returned promptly to Aldrik’s bed and buried herself under the blankets. She slept as long as her body demanded, which proved to be a fair deal, and ate everything she could in the following three days. Vhalla worked to restore her strength and conserve her energy, avoiding any undue exertion or risk. It meant most of her time was spent within the camp palace among the other majors, but Vhalla quickly found herself of use.