“Come now, Vhalla,” he pulled up a chair and rested his chin in his palms. “It’s not like you’ve never skipped work.” She felt her cheeks flush lightly. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” He winked.
Vhalla rolled her eyes and busied her hands with her work. The apprentice part of her brain reminded her that she had more reason to be with Sareem than Aldrik. She studied him from the corners of her eyes as he settled in a chair across from her. Roan had mentioned him being handsome due to his Western skin combined with Southern hair and eyes. Vhalla actually thought the reverse to be more attractive.
“So,” he began. “I feel like I haven’t had a chance to speak to you all week. You’ve been busy. When I’ve tried to find you, it’s like you disappear.”
Her shoulders made a fractional shrug. There was nothing she could say since Sareem already knew she was a bad liar.
“Anyways, I tried to ask before, but we got interrupted. I suppose, I’ve been trying to get up the nerve again.” He laughed stiffly, running a hand through his hair. Vhalla felt her breathing shallow. “We’ll have time during the festival, time off. Well, I was hoping that—well, we could do something then. Just the two of us?”
Roan had been right. Vhalla cursed the girl, her mother, and the Mother in the heavens above. She opened her mouth, about to outright refuse his advances.
Then again, what prospects did she have? She was eighteen now and had hardly ever been courted. Roan was right again. Sareem came from a good family. Hadn’t everyone always told her that marriage came first and love after? Vhalla shifted in her seat, torn over appropriate and desired responses.
His cerulean eyes looked at her hopefully, and Vhalla reassured herself over again. This was Sareem; she had always enjoyed his company. Nothing would change. Vhalla was about to accept his offer when she hesitated.
“I want to show you something,” she blurted out. His eyebrows raised in surprise as she stood. Vhalla knew she was dodging the question, but she remembered sitting with him on her window seat a lifetime ago asking about sorcerers. She had to know.
Looking for something, anything, Vhalla finally settled on a small thimble of thread she had been using.
“I need you to promise you won’t tell anyone,” she breathed. “Vhalla, I—”
“No one, Sareem. Not the master, none of the other apprentices, not Roan, no one.” Vhalla held her breath.
“Fine, Vhalla, I promise.” He smiled lightly, and she felt a twinge of frustration at how relaxed he was.
“I didn’t have Autumn Fever,” she started.
“I know that,” he pointed out.
“I know you know,” Vhalla sighed, already questioning herself. But she was in too deep. “I was in the Tower.”
“The Tower?” He eased both palms onto the table. Her resolve wavered. “As in, the Tower? The Tower of the Sorcerers?” She dared a nod. Confusion swept across his features. “Why? Did they take you? Did they do something to you?” He was on his feet. “I swear if they touched you—”
“Sit down,” she ordered, and he obeyed. “No, they didn’t hurt me, they were...helping me.” Vhalla made it a point to leave out the minister’s abduction, the prince, and the fall. That would hardly help her case, and she wasn’t about to explain what she had barely come to terms with herself.
“Helping you? Why?” Sareem furrowed his brow.
Closing her eyes she instantly felt her magical senses stretch out, building the room in a sight that was beyond sight. She could feel Sareem there, but he was a gray area. Vhalla couldn’t help but remember the blazing, brilliant, clarity that always surrounded Aldrik, and she suddenly held a whole new appreciation for him as a sorcerer. Vhalla raised her palm, the thimble sitting in the middle of it.
Opening her eyes she saw it, she felt it, and she understood it. Sareem was about to speak when the thimble shuddered and raised itself above her open hand. She held it there for a long moment, before bringing it slightly higher to eye level. Vhalla was actually rather proud of herself for this. Aldrik would have been too, she was certain. Her attention drifted to Sareem; the shocked and horrified look on his face made her lose all concentration and the thimble fell back into her palm.
Vhalla placed it on the table and slowly turned to him. He was staring at her as if she was some monster preparing to eat him.
“That’s why...” Vhalla said weakly, unable to meet his gaze.
“V-Vhalla... Wh-what was that?” he stuttered.
“Exactly what you think it was,” she retorted, defensive and annoyed. She didn’t know what she had been hoping for from him, but it wasn’t this.
He was on his feet in front of her, his arms spread out. “Oh Vhalla, you’re funny, tell me how you did it. It’s a great trick. Was it a string connected to your other hand? Some kind of magnetism? A trick of the light?” He couldn’t seem to let alternate explanations fall from his mouth fast enough.
“You know what it was.” She glared at him.
“No, no, that would make you—” He shook his head.