Then again, even if she found her friend, she wasn’t sure what she would say to him. She wasn’t ready to return South yet. She still had more to learn about the Knights, and she had to ensure they knew she wasn’t easy prey to hunt—to dissuade them from their foolish mission of furthering the cause of the long dead King Jadar. Truthfully, she didn’t want to say anything to him, she just wanted to listen to Fritz talk. She wanted to hear her friend’s voice.
Vhalla adjusted the hood on her newly acquired cape. The plain garment was the second most important thing she’d purchased recently. Strapped tightly around her waist and buckled around her thigh, just above her knee, was a specially made axe holster. Vhalla hadn’t brought the actual crystal weapon to a craftsman to measure, of course; she’d purchased an axe of similar size and shape. As such, the fit wasn’t perfect, but it kept the weapon concealed and on her person at all times.
There wasn’t any other safe place for it, she reasoned. The longer it stayed with her, the more Vhalla wondered how she could’ve ever been foolish enough to think of leaving it unattended for weeks, hidden beneath her bed.
Finally giving up her hunt, Vhalla wandered back in the direction of Gianna’s bookstore. The sun was low in the sky by the time she arrived, and the shop-keeper was already closing up. Vhalla said nothing and started for the stairs.
“You haven’t been the same since the day you went off for ink.”
“A lot on my mind.” Vhalla paused, halfway up the stair.
“That much is apparent.” Gianna appraised her helper thoughtfully. Something in the Western woman’s gaze reminded Vhalla of another set of eyes; a dark pair that also missed nothing, a pair she would never be able to look into again for as long as she lived. “You haven’t been working as much on learning the Western language. It’s going to go stale if you don’t practice.”
“It’s only been three days,” Vhalla pointed out.
“For you, three days away from books means something is terribly wrong.” The woman gave Vhalla a sweet smile. “Come, we’ll go somewhere you’ll be forced to practice.”
Vhalla fell into step alongside Gianna as they walked away from the now locked and dim store. She hadn’t put up much of a fight and didn’t bother questioning where they were going. Gianna hadn’t ever done anything to slight or harm her. In fact, when Vhalla had arrived in Gianna’s shop on a whim weeks ago, the Westerner hadn’t kicked the younger woman out after Vhalla had huddled up in the corner for hours, reading as much as she could.
Vhalla had slept on the street that night, then returned to Gianna’s the next morning. Gianna had shared her lunch and let the odd patron stay the day again, despite Vhalla not actually buying anything. By the fourth morning, Gianna had figured out her latest ‘customer’ had nowhere else to be and put Vhalla up in the small attic in exchange for an extra pair of hands in the shop.
It’d taken three weeks for Vhalla to realize that Gianna had no need of a shop assistant. Now, it’d taken over six weeks for her to say anything about it.
“Thank you,” Vhalla blurted suddenly.
“For what?” Gianna’s question reminded Vhalla that her companion could not actually read her mind.
“For taking me in.”
“Hon, you know that is nothing to thank me for.” Gianna laughed. “My girl is gone and grown and married and raising kids of her own in Norin. It’s good to have company in the house again.”
The statement made Vhalla think of her own father, which only brought a fresh wave of shame over having yet to return to the East. No matter how much gold she sent, it wouldn’t make up for her absence. But that absence had crept on so long that now Vhalla had no idea how to break it.
Gianna led them to a restaurant that specialized in Western foods. Proud of its authenticity, the entire staff and most of the patrons spoke exclusively the language of old Mhashan. Vhalla’s tongue curled and rolled off the words, doing her best to pronounce them as carefully as Gianna had taught her.
Their conversation fluctuated between Southern Common and the old tongue. Vhalla was relieved by the time food arrived, using the excuse to busy her mouth as an opportunity to listen to Gianna’s description of the great castle of Norin rather than speak.
“. . . though, I suppose it’s nothing like what you’re accustomed to.”
“Me?” Vhalla had explained her humble beginnings to Gianna; that, despite her current status and wealth, she wasn’t accustomed to luxury.
“With having grown up in the Southern Palace.”
“Ah,” Vhalla uttered a noise of comprehension.
“When will you be returning?”
Food paused on Vhalla’s spoon halfway between her mouth and the bowl. That was the one thing Gianna could ask that Vhalla wanted to avoid discussing at all costs. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t you miss it?”
“I . . .” Vhalla wanted to object. She wanted to say she didn’t miss the palace and its winding passages. She didn’t long for the chill and crisp mountain air, more refreshing than the coldest water she’d ever drank, even if it did set into her bones too quickly and made her shiver. She wanted to claim she didn’t want to run through the Imperial library again like a rebel child, running her fingers gleefully along the spines of the books.
But it would all be a lie.
“I do,” Vhalla confessed.
“But there’s something keeping you from returning.” Gianna’s dark eyes regarded Vhalla thoughtfully.
“There is.” Vhalla sighed, frustrated. It’d been so long since she’d talked with anyone openly about the heaviness in her heart; Vhalla wasn’t sure if she could remember how. But everyone else in Vhalla’s life had a reason to be kept at arm’s length. Gianna, however, was a neutral third party. “There is a man.”
Gianna burst out laughing, and she only laughed harder at Vhalla’s scowl. She quickly reduced her voice to a wheeze. “Vhalla Yarl, the Windwalker, the champion of the North, terrified about seeing a man?”
Vhalla’s eyes darted around for any who may have heard the name said aloud. Spying no one, she rolled her eyes. Just saying the name of the man would’ve explained the cause of her concern.
“We were involved,” Vhalla started delicately. “Things became complicated. His family wanted him to be with someone else, and now he’s betrothed.”
“I take it he’s a noble?” Gianna questioned.
Vhalla gave a gesture of affirmation. It was an easy assumption to make since only nobles considered arranged marriages. It was a trend that was going out of style across the continent.
“And he still loves you?”
The question stilled her. As much as Vhalla didn’t want to think about it, she had to ask: Was that the truth? Her eyes didn’t want to see it, her mind wanted to ignore it, but her heart knew it with every certain thrum.
“I think so,” Vhalla sighed softly.
“And you clearly still have feelings for him.” Gianna leaned against the tall back of the booth they sat in. “I don’t think you should be so worried.”
“But—”
“Listen,” Gianna demanded, and Vhalla obliged. “Whatever bride his family strapped him with cannot be better than the woman sitting before me. If I were you, I would gamble on going back. You may discover that they are more amenable to changing their minds when the Hero of the North stands before them.”
“I doubt it.” Vhalla thought of the Emperor, which immediately soured her appetite. She couldn’t settle with just normal people loathing her existence. She had to have some of the most powerful leaders in the world craving her demise.