“Vhalla, this is—”
“This is for the best? Is that what you will tell me?” Vhalla stared intently at Aldrik’s aunt and, for once, the woman held her tongue. “Forgive me, but you know nothing about our history—not really. So I am uninclined to entertain your opinions. Separating me from Aldrik has only ever led to heartbreak and misfortune.”
Vhalla paused, choosing to speak another truth, a deeper truth. “I may be a woman and I may be his lady, but I am capable of doing something that even he cannot. It is something beyond crowns and titles, and it cannot be given or passed along.” Vhalla stood tall with the portrait of Aldrik’s mother at her back.
“Aldrik can produce an heir with any woman who is healthy and of age. He can share the seed of the Empire so long as that one functional requirement is met. He cannot bring down the tyrant which spills the blood of our people. He cannot touch crystals as I can. He does not know them as I do. He has not been taken to the Father’s halls and brought back for the purpose of saving this world, of breaking the vortex that spins outward from the Crystal Caverns. He cannot destroy the monster that has been wrought from greed and put an end to it once and for all.
“But I can.” Wind swirled around her fingertips. “I can do those things. So if you are truly so worried for the stability of the Empire, then keep Aldrik here. Let me fight alone, and should I die, then let him bear the heir you so desire.”
The three women she’d just met stared at her in dumb shock.
“However . . .” Vhalla couldn’t help a knowing smirk from playing on her lips. “Do tell me if you plan on suggesting such a course to him. For, from what I know of my Aldrik, he will not handle the notion of sitting by while I fight as gracefully as I have endured the reverse suggestion. His reaction to such a thought is a sight I would much enjoy being privy to.”
Vhalla looked between the four women, as if daring one of them to speak an objection. The wind slowly fell from her hands, and Vhalla questioned herself briefly. But only as briefly as a breath. She was the Empress-to-be, and Empresses did not doubt. They were confident and graceful creatures full of knowing smiles and organized secrets. Vhalla would soon be of the same rank as the portrait of the woman at her back.
“But please.” She forced her face to relax and was proud when it fell into a sincere smile. “Do not think I will avoid future counsel.”
“Right,” Tina remarked cautiously as Vhalla proceeded to the next statue.
There were no future suggestions or recommendations on how Vhalla should act as Empress. They were quieter when she spoke and more attentive to her words from then on. Vhalla watched, without fully realizing, as the women from one of the oldest and noble families in the West submitted before her. They never did so physically, but they bent knee long before the others who would come to her throne in the days to follow.
CHAPTER 18
Vhalla shifted in her seat. It was the first time she had sat on a throne—though that was a loose term for where she was now located—and all she could think was how uncomfortable it was. She was positioned at Aldrik’s right hand on a raised platform at the end of a long audience chamber. They sat upon legless chairs with their seats flat on the ground, simple compared to the thrones of the South. But what the furniture lacked in its simplicity, the room made up for in its opulence.
The wall behind them was decorated almost entirely in silver and ruby. It had script covering it that told the story of the very first King of Mhashan, written in the native tongue. The silver crept into the wall to their right, running the length of the room and glinting on the highly polished floors. Columns framed wide openings to their left, overlooking all of Norin—the world that they ruled on display before them.
It was certainly a space that had been designed to evoke humility at the might of the two who sat in the most revered spot. Rather than clashing with it, Vhalla blended in. They had dressed her in the traditional clothing of the West. Shining silks and intricate embroidery turned reds and golds into textile artworks.
On her bottom half was a large and flowing split skirt with a band of red trim. A crimson vest was worn atop a flowing shirt of golden silk, fitted that morning to her measurements. Pearl buttons made a line up the middle of her breastbone to the high collar that extended up towards her ears. Her hair had been coiffed and held in place by a delicate golden band, although it was determined to escape.