Aldrik. Her heart ached.
A man’s silhouette contrasted against the brightness of the garden. Lord Ophain wore a sleeveless jerkin atop linen pants that were not unlike hers in cut. However, his were crafted of far finer fabrics. Dyed and embroidered, laden with beads and gems in intricate and bright patterns that reminded Vhalla of the way sun could hit a pool of water lilies.
Lord Ophain turned, and the air became thick with the question his eyes asked. He had supplied the magic shackles that had been used on Vhalla in the North. It seemed irrelevant whether or not he knew that they had been placed upon her wrists. The Lord of the West was clearly unsure how to meet the Windwalker before him.
“Fiarum evantes,” Vhalla enunciated the Western greeting delicately. She held a firm gaze, but her words were soft enough to convey her intent.
“Kotun un nox.” The lord’s shoulders relaxed, and his lips turned upward into a small smile. “It is good to see you again, Lady Yarl.”
“I can honestly say the same, Lord Ci’Dan.” Her mouth eased into a smile of its own, remembering with bittersweet fondness the last time she had seen the man. “And Vhalla is fine.”
“Then I must insist upon the same, just Ophain.” As if sensing her instinct to object, the lord continued, rendering the matter no longer up for discussion, “What a sight you are. You wear the clothes of my people, speak our tongue with adept pronunciation.” He appraised her thoughtfully. “And you are adorned in the mark of my nephew, despite what I hear of his engagement to a Northern bride.”
“I’d like to speak with you.” Vhalla tried to remain focused despite her hand seeking out the watch instinctually at its mention. It must have ended up above her scarf while she was playing with it as she waited.
“I surmised as much.” The lord nodded.
The door opened, and a servant hurriedly delivered a tray of food and the black tea Westerners preferred, served over ice.
Vhalla took the time to compose herself, swearing she was not going to be lost in the intense familiarity of the lord’s endlessly black eyes. “I suppose I should apologize for not arranging time with you in advance.”
“You are one who is always welcome in my presence.” The lord gave her a tired smile that spoke volumes as he motioned at one of the chairs positioned around the table where the food and drink sat.
Taking the offered seat, Vhalla pulled the scarf off her head and became distracted once more with the roses.
“They weren’t always so popular.” Lord Ophain followed her attention out to the garden. “My sister loved them, and she became known for it. Their color, combined with the princess’s favor, made them synonymous with Mhashan.”
“Princess Fiera?” Vhalla asked, making the easy assumption that he wasn’t talking about his two living sisters.
He hummed in affirmation. “Her garden in Norin is one of the most beautiful in the world.”
“It’s why Aldrik has a rose garden, isn’t it?” Vhalla mused softly.
“It is.” She hadn’t been expecting an answer, but Lord Ophain gave her one, and then some. “The Emperor built it for his wife as a welcome present for when she moved to the South, though she never got to see it.”
Vhalla turned her attention inside, meeting the lord’s gaze. “I have some questions for you.”
“And I have questions for you, as well.” Lord Ophain helped himself to some of the tea sweating heavily in the midday heat.
She shifted in her seat. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might be curious also. The military host had yet to return from the warfront, and whatever information he possessed must be relegated to delayed letters and reports from soldiers returning home. None of them would know what she knew.
“I’d like to go first,” she said hastily. If the lord asked her a question she didn’t want to answer, Vhalla wanted to leave this visit with at least getting one inquiry answered.
“I have no intent to rush this meeting.” Ophain motioned for her to continue.
Vhalla chewed on her bottom lip, thinking about the most elegant approach to her question. She knew Aldrik had learned from Lord Ophain, which meant the man was well versed in avoiding giving answers he didn’t want to give. And, unlike Aldrik, she couldn’t just demand he tell her the full truth of everything she wanted to know.
“Is the Sword of Jadar real?” Vhalla finally decided on. It was the one thing she couldn’t find conclusive evidence of in any manuscript. And, if the legends were to be believed, there would be no way he could answer her without mention of the Knights.
Lord Ophain leaned back in his chair, an appreciative grin teasing at the corners of his mouth. “You want to know about the Knights.”
It wasn’t phrased as a question, and Vhalla did not hide her intentions, she gave a definitive nod. “And the sword.”
“What makes you think I know about them?”
“Aldrik told me you would.” Their words were like a dance of rapiers. Sharp, pointed, elegant, and prepared to cut to bone.
“What happened between you and my nephew?”
Vhalla knew the question would come, but she couldn’t keep in the heavy sigh. “Tell me first: is the sword real?”
“It is,” the lord finally relented.
Her world stilled. That was an answer she hadn’t been expecting. “Do the Knights have it?”
“Perhaps,” Lord Ophain answered vaguely and continued before she could persist. “You and Aldrik?”
Reaching forward, she grabbed for the dark Western tea that she had little taste for and let its bitterness wash away the harshness of the memories of Aldrik. She wished it had something a bit stronger mixed in.
“He traded his freedom for mine,” she whispered. “He was a reckless fool, and I was a girl pulled along by puppet strings. The fire burned too hot, and we didn’t notice until it consumed everything.” Vhalla passed the ice-cold glass between her hands.
“I have worried deeply for him,” Lord Ophain began. “The sparse letters I received gave me concern for his mental state. My granddaughter’s reports offered little hope, for a time.”
“For a time?” Vhalla wasn’t surprised to learn Elecia and Ophain had been in correspondence. She assumed it meant that Elecia was still well, and Vhalla was genuinely relieved to hear it.
“I hear he gave up the bottle. Or, rather, he is still working on such.” Lord Ophain took a sip from his own glass, allowing that information to sink in. “Once he got through the weeks of shakes, sweats, and general sickness, he has been more active in leading his men. He is handling things with a more tempered grace.”
Vhalla laughed bitterly. “So ending us was the best thing that could’ve happened to him.”
“Loving you is.” Lord Ophain stilled her with three words. He had used present tense. Is, not was.
“You said the Knights have the sword?” Vhalla navigated the conversation back to safer waters.
“I said ‘perhaps’,” the lord insisted.
She frowned. “How is something ‘perhaps’ owned?”
“It is not something you should worry about.” His expression mirrored hers.
“Ophain—”
“I concern myself with keeping madmen like the Knights in check so my subjects and honored guests of the West, like you, do not need to worry.”
“I do not know what misplaced protection you think keeping me in the dark will provide, but you are ill-advised, my lord.” Vhalla placed her drink on the table delicately, sitting straighter. She elongated her words carefully, as a noble would. “The Knights have concerned themselves with me, and I do not foresee any future in which they will leave me be. Trying to keep the truth from me is a disservice.”