What had not faded, however, was Vhalla’s elation at regaining her magic. At every opportunity, Vhalla called upon her winds. Things were lifted and pushed, opened and shut. She demanded to sleep with the windows open just to feel the night breathe across her skin.
There was so much to do that the days slipped away from them, and they were late to leave the Crossroads. The last letter they received from Ophain began to question if they had any intention of coming to Norin or if they intended to make the Crossroads their headquarters. Vhalla broached the idea with the Emperor that night.
“Wouldn’t it make more sense to stay?” She pointed to Ophain’s letter.
“Why?” Aldrik glanced up from the other end of the table where he had been working on finalizing troop numbers.
“Because Sehra will bring her army here, to the Crossroads.” Vhalla rummaged, looking over one of the maps that had been marked and crossed one too many times. “If she’s going to start her journey shortly, then we could tell your uncle and the troops from Norin to do the same. They should arrive within days of each other. It would save at least . . . at least two weeks of travel compared to us going to Norin and back.”
“We must wed.” Aldrik paused his quill, giving her his undivided attention.
Vhalla stared at the map for another long moment. She knew he saw it as such, that it was something they must do as a symbol. Even if she was growing more concerned about the timing by the day, Vhalla continued to concede.
“Then we will do it here,” she suggested.
“Impossible.”
“Are there no Crones who could perform the ceremony in the Crossroads?” She laughed at the ridiculousness of the notion.
“It must be done in the Western Sun Temple in Norin,” Aldrik insisted. “That is where my father wed.”
“Now hardly seems like the time for sentimentality,” she gently pointed out.
“Far from it,” he agreed. “But now is the time for putting on the right display for the lords and ladies, for the world. We are strong, and we do not allow a false king to force us to wed in hiding. Or hint that there is something illegitimate about our union that we should do it in a small chapel on the run.”
“I’m sure we could explain . . . It’s just so much time to lose.”
Aldrik considered it for several slow breaths. Making up his mind on something, he reached forward and grabbed a slip of parchment, beginning to scribble as he spoke, “We shall write to my uncle and tell him a date. We’ll invite the lords and ladies in advance so that the amount of time we must spend before the ceremony is limited to necessary preparations and appearances.”
Vhalla glanced back at the map, thinking of the waste it seemed. “Thank you,” she said finally. It was something.
They replied to Lord Ophain that night with the request of the date along with their promises to depart the Crossroads before he received their reply.
Shortly after, Aldrik started the task of making them new armor. It was a good distraction from the worry that blossomed in her chest by the fact that Lord Ophain had yet to make any mention of her father. Vhalla kept her fears in check and her hands busy with helping Aldrik in the smithy. Just like she couldn’t allow Jax’s presence to distract her, she couldn’t allow fears over her kin to distort her priorities. Her father would be all right, she assured herself. He’d been a soldier once and knew how to handle himself. There was nothing else for her to believe.
Vhalla’s first experience with the craftsman habits of her Emperor was enlightening. Aldrik tested and felt each piece of steel before he began working with it—he was nothing if not particular. Not one smelter denied him, naturally, and he was finally satisfied with his base materials.
They worked together to make flames hotter than he could alone. Aldrik worked in simple clothes, and Vhalla appreciated the look of the man with his hair pulled back from his face and soot rubbed into his nose. It was an elegant orchestration of their magic, but it was one that held melancholy notes. Had they still been Bonded, his flames wouldn’t hurt her and they could’ve been far less careful. His magic was no longer in her, but there was still something different about it. Vhalla knew it like an old friend. She recognized every spike, every subtle flux in his power and could account for it.
They were not Bound, but they were not separate either. They had become something new yet again.
Aldrik finished the armor the day before they were set to leave. He put on the final touches alone while Vhalla spent the day bidding farewell and reaffirming the loyalty of the lords and ladies in and around the Crossroads. When she returned to the room that night, the matching sets waited on stands. Aldrik smoothed over portions with his thumbs, unable to stop working the metal.
“Well, what do you think?” he asked, finally.
Vhalla tilted her head. Sitting cross-legged on one of the chaises, she studied the pieces on the stands. Something was off, and it took her too long to put her finger on what it was. “The color.”
“You don’t like it?” Aldrik sat down at her side.