“Vhalla—” he murmured, bringing his heavy flagon to his lips, “—you’ve drunk too much.” He smiled tiredly and reached over. Daniel placed his palm on her head and stroked her hair once. “No more of that, before you say something you’ll really regret in the morning.”
She found she was somehow still holding the mug of water, and she drank deeply. Vhalla found herself swaying slightly in the breeze, or perhaps it was the feeling of ale in her head. She leaned to the side and her temple found his shoulder. They sat silently, he looked back toward the roof, and she looked out over the city.
“He’s lucky,” Daniel whispered.
“He doesn’t want me,” she said for the first time aloud. Daniel’s silence was an invitation for her to continue. “I think I’m a burden, or a tool, or an amusement. Nothing more.”
“I don’t think so,” Daniel murmured. “I’ve seen him around you—we all have.”
Vhalla wondered if she imagined the swordsman leaning toward her a fraction.
She took a deep breath and grabbed for his flagon, the water forgotten a moment. Daniel relinquished it. “He wants me for his father, for their war, that’s all.”
“Then he’s more of a fool and an ass than people give him credit for.” Daniel’s fingers brushed hers as she passed the flagon back to him.
“Do you have someone?” Vhalla already was certain she knew the answer was not going to be affirmative. If she was honest, she’d already begun to see the way her fellow Easterner looked at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention.
“I did.” He took a long drink. “I returned from my last tour and found she’d decided that ‘when the war is over’ was too long to wait.”
“I’m sorry,” Vhalla sighed, accepting his flagon back.
“I’m getting over it.” He shrugged. He wasn’t convincing in the slightest.
“You know what will help?” She swung her legs back around and stood with a stumble and a laugh. “More alcohol, more dancing.” She held out her hands for him and he chuckled, resigning himself to her.
They both had something to run from, Vhalla realized, or rather someone. He ran from the shroud of this other woman, and she ran from the painful possibilities that surrounded her and Aldrik. Vhalla took the stairs with resolve, his hand wrapped in hers as she led him back below. Tonight they would run together.
The first stop was the bar. Just because she realized she was running didn’t make her judgment any more sound. Her hand was in the air and she ordered two shot glasses of a liquid that burnt all the way down.
Daniel coughed. “How are you drinking this?” He slammed the glass back down on the bar.
“You’re drinking it too,” she coughed. Vhalla felt the alcohol hit her system and she swayed, laughing again. “Come on.”
Daniel paid the bartender and they were on the dance floor anew. He took her hands and spun her three times. Vhalla’s insides bubbled, and she was laughing again. Her hips swayed and her hands clapped to the music as they stepped and twisted their hips. She kicked to his left and he to her right, before changing directions.
They came back together and one hand was wrapped in his, the other on his shoulder and his on hers. Vhalla found herself beaming from ear to ear. They were both awful dancers. But she was completely intoxicated on the alcohol, on the crowd, on the heat, on Daniel’s sweet smiles, on his gentle admiration, and on his hands.
Finally her feet felt as though they were on the verge of falling off, and her joints screamed in protest of further movement. Vhalla fell out of step by placing her hands on his shoulders, leaning on him for support. She felt Daniel’s palms fall on her hips.
“I’m so tired,” she shouted in his ear over the music and noise of the people.
“Thank the Mother, me too.” He laughed and led her off the dance floor. They walked over to the main entrance and hovered by the door.
“Where is everyone else?” The band never stopped playing so the floor never stopped moving. They both tried to locate just one of the people they came with.
“Who knows? They know their way back.” Daniel yawned, he turned and stumbled into the street. It was his turn to almost collapse, and Vhalla ran up beside him, throwing her arms around his waist. He grabbed her for support and they almost fell together.
“You-you’re drunk.” She punched his gut.
“Ungh,” he grunted. “Don’t do that or I’ll be sick on your shoes.”
“You wou-oudnt,” she laughed and slurred her words, her arm situating around his waist and his around her shoulders.
“Now who’s drunk?” He put his thumb on one side of her mouth and index finger on the other, pinching her lips together to make a talking motion.
Vhalla laughed and slapped his hand away. “Don’t make fun of me,” she pouted.