“Actually,” Aldrik thought aloud, “you could.”
Aldrik led her over to the table eagerly. He scattered the papers and began to give her an overview. Vhalla was surprised to find how good it felt to use her mind again. For months she’d been out of her element, away from books and knowledge. It was like stretching a muscle that’d been languishing for far too long.
He twirled a gold-tipped raven’s feather quill between his fingers as he spoke, and Vhalla chewed thoughtfully on the end of a spare she’d made her own. One positive, she discovered, about her intellect was that she could focus on what he was saying and his dexterous fingers at the same time. Vhalla missed nothing, his knowledge or how nimble his long hands actually were.
“How many stone’s worth of smoked meat is being provided by the West?” Aldrik asked from the other end of the table.
“Two-thousand,” Vhalla replied, quickly marking the numbers on a new list as he’d showed her.
“That’s not enough,” he mumbled. “We’ll need to ask the Western lords for more.”
Vhalla stopped her quill, looking across at the dark-haired prince who was deep in thought. She could almost hear the words echoing through his mind. “I know how you could get more.”
“What?” Aldrik looked up, startled.
She took a deep breath, hoping she’d arranged her thoughts well enough. “The West survives off shrub game and fishing from the coast as well as imports from the East and South.” She recalled reading. “You can’t ask for any more from the lords and ladies this far into the Waste. They’re likely already worried about making it through the off-seasons of trading.”
“So then what do you propose?” Aldrik rested his fingertips on the table, assessing her as a prince.
Vhalla faltered, but only briefly. She knew what she’d read and lived. “Every year in Paca, Cyven, there’s a Festival of the Sun with prize hogs. They’re slaughtered shortly after and smoked in the winter to be sold at the Crossroads. It’s part of a sort of meat migration that supports the West.”
Aldrik’s eyes glittered, suddenly following along.
“The Empire buys eighty percent or so, of this influx in the market and you’d likely have your difference for the war. But, to make sure the Western lords and ladies don’t worry about their storehouses, you should send the farmers back to the East with orders to return with extra grain and subsidize the cost of the farmer’s travel,” Vhalla finished.
“Yes,” Aldrik breathed, a wide smile arcing across his lips. “The double round of trading should also help the economies of both East and West.”
He was furiously scribbling, folding three quick letters, and sealing them with some heated wax. Vhalla watched his golden seal move in shock. Had she just done that?
“I should get these off immediately.” Aldrik started for the door, pausing briefly to stare at her in what Vhalla dared to say was awe. “When I return, I’d like to run a few more thoughts by you.”
“Of course, my prince.” Her own smile broke through her daze.
Aldrik returned in record time and their previously quiet work was suddenly very chatty. Vhalla learned quickly that the prince wanted her to challenge him. It went against everything she’d ever been taught to oppose the prince’s word, but Aldrik thrived off it. He held nothing back, and Vhalla had to draw from every book she’d ever read on the geography, history, economies, and people of the Empire to keep up.
It was exhilarating, and exhausting.
Vhalla put her hands on the small of her back and stretched. The sun had begun to hang low, turning the room into a kaleidoscope of rich colors cast by the stained glass window. “Do you ever stop working?”
He grinned at her. Aldrik couldn’t hide his enjoyment all afternoon and neither could Vhalla. “An Empire doesn’t run itself.” He tapped his quill on the table twice. “And, I’m three times as productive with you around, so I must take full advantage of that. I had no idea I was with such a natural stateswoman.”
Vhalla blushed.
“Are you hungry?” He stared at the stained glass a moment before pulling his watch from his pocket. Time had crept up on him as well.
“A little.”
“What would you like? I will get you anything you desire.” Aldrik grabbed the coat he’d discarded on the floor at some point in the afternoon and shrugged himself into it.
“Anything?” she asked.
“I am the crown prince,” he smirked.
“Such an abuse of power,” she scolded teasingly.
Aldrik straightened, finishing the buttons at his neck. “The things we do for love.” He shrugged, running his hands over his hair.
Vhalla’s eyes widened. She stared at him as he turned back to face her, struggling with the meaning of those words. “Aldrik,” she whispered.
He paused, his hands dropping to his sides. “Food?”
“Surprise me.” Food had become the farthest thing from her mind.
He nodded and strode briskly out of the room.
Vhalla stared at the door dumbly before turning to one of the candles on the table. She watched the flame, losing herself to her thoughts. It seemed to radiate his essence, echoing Aldrik’s words in every flicker. Vhalla reached out a hand, running it over the top of the fire absentmindedly.
Aldrik returned faster than expected. “It will be up—” His words faltered. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, something that children dare each other to do. Well, children who aren’t Firebearers.” Vhalla laughed, quickly stopping when Aldrik’s intent expression hadn’t changed. “It doesn’t hurt,” she explained, thinking he may have no idea what non-Firebearers could manage when it came to fire.
“Are you certain?” His eyes flicked to her hand.
Vhalla returned her attention to the appendage in question and stared in shock. Her fingers had been directly atop the flame the whole conversation, frozen from the moment he’d caught her. She stared dumbly, watching the fire flicker over her skin as nothing more than heat.
“What ...” she whispered in confusion, pulling her hand from the candle. Vhalla stared at her fingers; they weren’t even red. Aldrik crossed the room, inspecting as well. “Why am I not burned?”
“Likely the Bond,” he whispered, suddenly fishing for a blank piece of parchment to scribble across. “You have some of my magic in you, and I have some of yours in me, maybe more than some with the Joining. I cannot burn myself with my own flames so it stands to reason that such protection could extend to you.”
“My wind has never affected you like it does others.” He considered her thoughtfully and Vhalla used his paused expression as an invitation to continue. “The twister on the Night of Fire and Wind.”
It surprised her the ease to which the infamous event could roll off her tongue. It still left a lingering sour taste in Vhalla’s mouth, the reminder of something foul. But it no longer repulsed her.
“Let’s test it?” she suggested. “Your fire is easier than my wind.”
Aldrik held out a fist, opening it for a dim spark, mostly red with a hint of orange. She knew he could make the flame surround her hand just as easily but instead it remained in his palm. He looked to her uncertainly and Vhalla realized he was waiting for her.
She wanted to laugh. Wasn’t that how it always was between them? He held out knowledge, power, desire, in his palm just before her. But he never took the step forward, he never forced it upon her. Their whole relationship he stood waiting. Every time, she met him.
Vhalla sunk her fingers bravely into the inviting warmth. It wasn’t quite like the wind, but something tingled on the edge of her senses that she could only describe as the essence of fire. She smiled in awe.
Aldrik’s hand closed suddenly around hers. Tongues of flame slithered between their fingers, eagerly tickling up her arm and singing her tunic. At such close proximity they cast a breathtaking array of reds, oranges, and yellows over the angular visage of the crown prince. He raised his other palm to her cheek, fire glittering under his thumb as he ran it over her flesh.