“You know how a Bond is made,” Larel said delicately. “You are both a part of each other. There are records of people going mad because they lost their Bonded. Some theorize that, depending on the depth of the Bond, should one die the other will as well.”
Vhalla sat upright, resting her forehead in her palm. It was self-preservation for him. “He’s keeping me safe because if he doesn’t—”
“He’s keeping you safe because he wants to keep you safe,” Larel interrupted.
Vhalla looked over at the other woman, who was now also sitting. Larel wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulders, pulling Vhalla back, and engulfing Vhalla in her warm safety.
Larel’s voice was sad and sincere. “Aldrik’s been through a good deal, much of which he’s never even imparted to me. But I’ve seen the edges of the darkness he shoulders. I don’t think he worries for his sanity or his mortality. He doesn’t want you to die because he’s afraid that it would mean he’d have to live without you.” Larel stroked the top of Vhalla’s head.
“Listen close. I’ve known him for twelve years. And a good many of those were spent, dare I say it, as his best friend. I know Aldrik—the good and bad.” Larel sighed. “I don’t want to say anything he hasn’t said himself. But he cares for you, Vhalla. In a way that I’ve never seen him really care for anyone before.”
Vhalla pressed her eyes closed, imagining she was back in the palace. “Thank you for telling me all this, Larel.”
“Sweet Vhalla, you know I will always be here for you.” Larel squeezed her tightly, and Vhalla slept peacefully for the first time in what seemed like years.
THE NEXT MORNING Aldrik kept his promise and rode at her side. They talked the day away, almost exclusively with each other. He asked about her life in the East, her farm, her family. Vhalla probed him for magical knowledge that she had no other way of learning. The man was practically a walking library.
There were no remnants of tensions between her, Fritz, and Larel either. Fritz had caught on quickly that whatever oddities had been going on were resolved, and the Southerner had enough sense not to linger. Armed with her friends at her side and secure in the knowledge of the stability of her and Aldrik’s relationship, Vhalla ignored Elecia throughout training—much to the other woman’s frustration.
Vhalla used her Channeling liberally, to the surprise of everyone but Aldrik. Fritz and Larel were expectedly encouraging. Elecia was obviously perturbed and avoided her for the next three days.
Vhalla was amazed at how easily control came following those first few days of Channeling without hesitation or fear. Supported by her friends and Aldrik, Vhalla found herself finally relishing her magic. The wind slipped easily between her fingers, heeding her will, and Vhalla was quickly surpassing the basic introductions to magic Aldrik had given her months ago. Magic, she was discovering, was like poetry. Once you understood the logic, the meter, the rhyme behind it, you could embellish upon it and make it your own.
On the third night, she was setting up Larel’s and her tent with just her magic alone. That was the first time Vhalla felt eyes on her for her sorcery, eyes that weren’t daunting or scared. The Black Legion began to pay attention to their Windwalker once more, not for the Night of Fire and Wind, but for the daily feats she was beginning to be able to perform. It was a sanity-supporting confidence-booster for Vhalla.
She was in such a high place with it all that when Aldrik paired her with Elecia during training—at the other woman’s request—Vhalla didn’t even blink. She accepted the other woman’s presence opposite her. If it was an actual competition for Aldrik’s attention, it was one Vhalla was winning. The crown prince had rode at her side without stop, and tomorrow they would practice Projection again.
Aldrik had been intent on working toward more hand-to-hand combat, and Vhalla was happy to oblige. The Northern-looking woman needed to be knocked off her high horse and tonight was Vhalla’s night, Vhalla assured herself. She’d been feeling stronger with every passing week, less sore, more capable.
“You sure you want to do this, Yarl?” Elecia smirked, her eyes darting toward Aldrik.
“It’s just practice, right?” Vhalla sunk into her preferred fighting stance, one arm up and the other at chest-height.
“Oh, of course.” Elecia balled her right hand into a fist, clasping her left overtop.
Vhalla clenched her hands into fists and welcomed her magic as well. “Your mark, or mine?”
“Mine—don’t want you cheating.” Elecia laced her voice with sarcasm, but Vhalla knew it was a thin veil for sincerity, and her eye twitched.
Elecia moved, and Vhalla instantly went on the offensive.