“Do you still think I am the heartless Fire Lord?”
The look on his face alone made Vhalla hiccup with tears. “Aldrik, no ...” She shook her head.
“Clearly you must if you somehow think I am blissfully unaffected by-by her death,” he snapped.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”
“Do you even know how we met?” Aldrik stood and began to pace the room. “How I met Larel?”
“She told me once,” Vhalla whispered, feeling the anger radiating off of him.
“She told me I saved her, that I was the prince from all the stories who saves the helpless girl.” Aldrik chuckled; sorrow waged a war against self-loathing in the darkness of his eyes. “I always told her she was foolish, and I never told her how much I needed those words. I never even thanked her for them. How silly she was thinking that I saved her when she was the one saving me.”
“I know, you were close ...” Vhalla pulled herself into a seated position.
“You have no idea.” He rounded to face her. “You likely grew up surrounded by friends and people who enjoyed your company. Even in my best of years I was strange and distanced by nobility and magic. There was only one person among my peers who saw me as anything but their prince. I had Larel. And even-even after I pushed her away she came back. She was a far better friend than I ever deserved.”
“That’s not tr—”
“And when she came to me, paper in hand to march with you, I told her she wasn’t ready.”
It was her fault.
“I knew she wasn’t trained enough, wasn’t built for war. But I thought—” His hands gripped her shoulders suddenly. “I thought I could protect her. Just like I thought I could protect you.”
Vhalla couldn’t find words.
“But here you are, bruised and sliced open by an attempt on your life. There is no reason other than just ... luck that you were not also in a pool of blood next to her. Don’t you know I saw that?” He shook her and it made Vhalla wince from the pain in her back. Aldrik stopped and stared into her wide eyes, dropping his head. “Larel is dead and you may as well have died—I protected no one.”
He sat gripping her shoulders, his hair covering his face. At the first breath she thought he was going to speak more, but he let it out slowly, then another shaky breath, filled with more silence. The quivers were small at first, and started in his shoulders before finding their way to his hands despite his fighting.
She heard it, that breath, the one his tears were let loose upon. Vhalla heard the strange, choked noise rise from his throat as he finally gave into his own overwhelming grief. He was tired, he was over-worked, and he had lost the person whom he had considered his best friend. Aldrik—the crown prince, the future Emperor, Fire Lord, ruler of the Black Legion, sorcerer—was only a man. And men could be broken.
His grip loosened and his hands slid down to her arms, but he still held onto her. It was the first tear that fell onto the bed sheet that finally drew Vhalla out of her own shock and pain. She reached out her arms and pulled him to her without hesitation, pressing his face against her chest to hide him. She knew in all his stubbornness he was likely shamed for simply showing his grief.
As his tears began to heave his chest, she found her own pain refueled by his. She held him tightly, stroking his hair, wanting to offer him all the comfort he would never demand himself. His arms moved and wrapped themselves around her waist as he finally gave in. The wound on her back protested as he grabbed onto her but Vhalla said nothing. He may not allow himself a second chance to cry, she realized, so she would do nothing to stop his grief.
She never fulfilled his original order of sleep as the sunlight began to fill the room. Even after the tears subsided, he remained curled in her arms. Vhalla knew the way he was twisted couldn’t be comfortable, but she found as much comfort from him as she gave so Vhalla made no suggestion to move.
When Aldrik finally withdrew, he looked away before standing. He raised a hand to his face and Vhalla averted her gaze, allowing him his privacy. He turned back to her.
“We have a long day today.” His voice sounded hollow and detached.
“What will happen?” She wasn’t actually sure if she wanted to know.
“You heard it yourself; the attacks on you will be frequent and without mercy.” He leaned over her, tilting her chin to look at him.
His face had already recovered itself and, other than red in his eyes, he didn’t have the appearance of a man who had just cried for more than an hour. His jaw was set in determination, his brow furrowed with the weight of calculated planning. Vhalla wasn’t sure what she felt when this desperate mix of emotion was directed at her.
“Today we are making three doppelgangers for you.”
“Doppelgangers?” She blinked.
“Last night, the majors discussed who else among the host was the closest to your look, size, and build. Those women will come today, one by one, and we will turn them into you.” He spoke with such precision that Vhalla knew this was not the majors’ plan but his. “Each will ride with me, my brother, or my father, so from the beginning your exact location will be a mystery to everyone, including the soldiers.”
“If there are three women, where will I be?” she braved.
“You will be hidden in plain sight.” He caressed her cheek gently. “From today, your doubles own your name. It is no longer yours.”
“What?” Vhalla was overwhelmed and confused.
“By tomorrow, one of them will be the real Vhalla Yarl. But none of them will be the real Vhalla Yarl. You will be a swordswoman of no merit or worth. You will have come with the Western footmen so no one will question not knowing you. Make up any name and story you would like but you will need it soon.”
“I can’t ...” she whimpered softly, she didn’t even know how to hold a sword.
“You can, and you will,” he said firmly. Aldrik shook his head. “This is the best chance we have now, and I will not lose you.”
“What about the other women? They will be targeted,” she whispered.
“Exactly, and if one of them is slain the North may just believe they have killed the Windwalker,” he said coldly.
“Aldrik, that’s someone’s daughter, maybe someone’s mother, or someone—”
“I don’t care!” Vhalla jumped at his sudden intensity. Aldrik stormed to the opposite side of the room. “I have to make a choice, Vhalla. That choice is your life or theirs, and it is no question for me. If they die, then they will die honorably for their Emperor.” He turned back to her and she saw—to her horror—that his words were true, he really didn’t care about their lives. They had been written off as expendable.
She fidgeted with her fingers.
“You will ride with Baldair—”
“What?” Vhalla exclaimed, jumping to her feet. Her calf stung in pain and Aldrik was quickly supporting her. “Aldrik, no, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone!”
“Quiet. Hush.” It was a command but his soothing words had their desired effect. “You must ride there for the illusion of a swordswoman. But it is only until we reach the North.” Aldrik smoothed her hair away from her eyes. “When we reach the border, the host will split into smaller groups for movement through the jungle. You’ll be with me then.”
She sniffled loudly, tears returning anew.
“You’ll be with me then, my Vhalla, my lady, my love.” Aldrik pressed his lips firmly against hers, silencing any further objections.
“Do you ...” she sniffled.
“I promise.” Aldrik’s jaw quivered briefly, and he was kissing her again. His mouth tasted like resignation, and Vhalla knew that was the flavor he would leave her with. “Now, promise me you will be strong.”
“I promise.” Her face twisted in agony.
Aldrik pressed her against him, and Vhalla clung to him so tightly her hands shook. His long fingers snaked through her hair. “I will sacrifice anything that must be sacrificed to keep you safe.”