“Like the battle of Norin.” She boldly brought her eyes to the Emperor. These men and women would never respect her if she didn’t stop hesitating in showing them what she knew, what she’d learned and studied. She needed to turn book knowledge into something practical, something useable for action. “You charged with only a quarter of the host at the main gate. The rest flanked from behind.”
His eyes studied her coldly, and Vhalla swallowed, hoping she did not mix up her facts.
“No one expected you to come from the sea. You had the advantage and swept them from all sides.” She turned her eyes back to the map below.
“This could be the same, but a little reverse. We are weak on that side, unsuspecting. If we rush in with the main host through here, they run out this old entry, close it back up, split, flank us, and surround us. After that they can pin us in and massacre us at their leisure.” Vhalla took a breath and brought up her eyes. Everyone stared at her. Some wore expressions of shock, one or two appeared upset, Jax was wickedly amused. She turned to Aldrik; he stood with his hands folded across his chest, smirking proudly at his father.
“Would this be within the realm of a Groundbreaker’s abilities?” the Emperor finally asked.
“Oh, completely.” Jax laughed. “Don’t we look dumb for not thinking of it sooner?”
“Then if we move these here ...” someone started.
Vhalla’s head was reeling from the rush of her success that she faded out of the conversation for a few minutes as the majors debated how to reorganize their weaponry most effectively. She regained her focus when the argument became heated.
“Moving a single archer’s wall would take days,” Daniel objected.
“But it makes more sense to keep the trebuchets on the sides. If they retreat out the back it will likely be on foot, and the trebuchets would not be of use anyways,” an opposing major snapped.
“At least they have wheels.” Daniel scratched the back of his neck.
“I could move what you need,” Vhalla contributed suddenly, earning everyone’s attention. “Well, I could try.”
“You? You look like you’d fall over with a broad sword.” The grizzled major to her right gave her an unappreciative appraisal.
Vhalla pursed her lips together. “My magic is my muscle,” she said as confidently as possible.
“You weren’t there, Zerian,” Baldair finally joined in, giving the older man a name. “Vhalla stopped a winter sandstorm in the Western Waste by herself. The woman has power in that petite frame.”
Vhalla blinked. Zerian, the head major behind the Western Campaigns. The man was a legend in his own right.
“And what a frame it is,” Jax snickered under his breath, earning a roll of Aldrik’s eyes.
“Let me try tomorrow,” Vhalla insisted to Major Zerian, more politely. “If I cannot, then we can revisit the matter.” Her use of we seemed to be accepted by the group.
“Excellent. That seems to be resolved.” Aldrik slid the map back toward the opposite end of the table. Vhalla’s heart almost stopped when his eyes caught hers as he straightened. The corner of Aldrik’s mouth tugged upward in the most apparent smile that one could expect from the crown prince. She pressed her lips together and let out a hint of her satisfaction. He turned back to the table, his emotions falling from his face. But Vhalla knew that the people at this table had spent ample time with Aldrik; she doubted even the tiniest display of affection wouldn’t be missed. “What’s next?”
They discussed more about the castle, and each of the majors seemed to have something they wanted Vhalla to explicitly search for during her Projections. She was humble enough to admit to not knowing certain things, but she made sure that she understood before she allowed the conversation to move on. After the second major discussion, she realized that she needed to take her own notes, so Vhalla fished for a scrap of clean paper on the table. Aldrik moved his inkwell and quill toward her, and she nodded in thanks.
Vhalla worried he was being too forward as the prince’s golden-tipped quill scratched under her fingertips. She nodded at the major who was speaking to her, returning her attention to the parchment. These were men of war, but they were also nobles; they were born and bred to subtlety as much as they were to the sword—or any other weapon of choice.
They worked until lunch, when food began to fill an adjacent table; everyone heeded the silent call to break. Aldrik was the last to move, and Vhalla lingered by his side, watching him carefully from the corners of her eyes. He seemed to move well enough. Whatever potions the clerics had given him were clearly taking effect.
Elecia may have disagreed with Vhalla’s assessment, as she returned with her own bundle of potions that smelled tangy and freshly concocted. The woman sat on the other side of Aldrik, stealing his attention. The prince took the potions without question, Elecia activating each with her palms on his neck, chest, and stomach. Aldrik began to sit straighter after the last one.
“You’re a clever one, aren’t you?” Erion drew her attention as he rested his chin on the back of his hand, leaning forward with a grin.