“Things change.” The woman shrugged. “But it will be your choice. The minister will not force it on you.”
“I doubt that,” Vhalla mumbled. She wasn’t sure if the sorcerers of the tower knew how to do anything without force. “What if I chose to be Eradicated?”
She had read about the process of exhausting a sorcerers magic to block their Channels to power. While she didn’t understand it fully, it didn’t sound painful as described in the library book. It couldn’t be any more painful than the agony she was already in.
“I would urge you to reconsider.” When Vhalla glared at the woman, Larel added, “But I think it should be your choice.” Larel sat back, reorganizing her supplies.
Vhalla stared blankly out the window, wishing the stars could tell her what needed to be done.
“Prince Aldrik,” Larel started gently, seeing Vhalla visibly flinch at the mention of his name. “He told me that you were very bright. That you were surprisingly smart for an apprentice.”
“He would phrase it like that, a compliment in an insult,” Vhalla remarked dryly.
“He meant it,” Larel assured her. “I believe it to be true as well.” Vhalla looked uncertainly at the woman as she stood. “Don’t make this choice without putting that intellect to use. If you have questions, you can ask me or any other sorcerer.”
There was a seed of guilt in her stomach as Vhalla looked up at the woman. She had been kind to her. Vhalla picked at the seams on her blanket. “Thank you,” Vhalla mumbled. “I don’t think I would be as well as I am now without your help,” she added earnestly.
“You are welcome,” Larel accepted the gratitude. “Now rest. When you feel well enough, there is a library here in the Tower that you can use.”
The woman smiled at Vhalla’s expression when she mentioned the library. But the sorcerer said nothing more and departed. With a soft sigh Vhalla shifted the pillows and laid back.
As much as Vhalla wanted to, she couldn’t muster any anger toward Larel. The woman had been too kind to her for that. Plus, it was nice to have someone speak openly and honestly to her about these matters. Vhalla’s best guess was that the Westerner didn’t seem to be mindlessly following Victor’s or the prince’s orders.
As much as Vhalla wanted to ignore them, Larel’s words had struck something within her. Apply her intellect to the world before her. Vhalla worried about what would happen if she did. Sighing again, Vhalla allowed her wounded body to relax and her eyes to droop closed. There was always the morning to make life-changing decisions.
But the morning came and went, and Vhalla was no closer to deciding how she felt about anything. The pain had mostly subsided and with it her rage at the situation. She was still sore at a certain prince, but she no longer felt the need to hit things. Around lunch, Vhalla decided it was time to get out of the room she had occupied for days on end.
When she stood, the world stayed exactly where it should be. Other than a general dull ache, there was no pain. She tried a circle around the small space; when she didn’t retch, she considered it a success. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door that led out into the other room.
Vhalla was surprised to see that it was vacant. Larel, the minister, and—most thankfully—the prince were nowhere to be found. Remembering what Larel had told her about a library, Vhalla crept through the space toward the second door.
Vhalla observed the hall. To the left it sloped up; to the right, down. At frequent intervals hung the glass bulbs with flame inside, casting the path in a warm glow. She stared at the sculptures that lined the walls at random intervals.
It was artwork.
She closely inspected the carved stone. Apprentices and servants didn’t display artwork in their halls. Were there other noble members of the Court beyond the minister?
The reliefs told stories Vhalla had known since she was a child. Most of them were religious in reference, surrounding the Father. Vhalla saw a man grasping a dragon’s head, forcing it to eat its own tail, the creation of the moon. The Father protected his lover’s world from the chaos of the realms beyond.
Vhalla instinctively started upward, but when she remembered her last interaction with heights, she turned on point to head down instead. It was the same path she had walked with the minister weeks ago, but now she took the time to see this world. The doors were arched at the top with iron handles and upon each hung a silver plate. Some had names; others simply had symbols Vhalla did not recognize.