Vhalla’s face shattered his reflection and self-loathing. Her worried eyes brought him back to reality and pushed the darkness that had been his only friend for years aside. He put that hopeful want for life in him.
“Vhalla,” he uttered, evoking all she was. If he was to die, then he would die with the taste of her name on his lips.
Aldrik reached for her outstretched hand. Salvation be damned, he just wanted to touch her once more. He wanted to soothe the fear that roared through him at the moment that would be his ultimate demise. He wanted to indulge one last thought of being together, one final dream of her and him. He wanted to pretend that the future he sought had not just been another one of his lies.
The wind rushed up around him, pushing at his back as it went to meet her. Her fingers slid through his. Aldrik didn’t even have a chance to cry out in frustration, nor at the explosion in his chest as the wind pushed against him, or speak one last word to her before it all went dark.
FRITZ
Fritz dragged his feet heavily along the ground. His eyes were red from smoke and tears and his heart had turned to lead in his chest. It had gone wrong; it had gone wrong so fast. Out of nowhere, the enemy had been upon them. They’d been warned the route was likely to still have hostile Northerners upon it. They’d been told to be on guard. But he thought the North was supposed to be weakened. There had been more bloodshed than Fritz had ever seen in his life and it painted his memories of the attack crimson.
He’d had this foolish notion that the North was like a tree after woodpeckers, picked full of holes and empty spaces by the Empire. Fritz somehow imagined that there would be giant gaps that had been long cleared by the Imperial army. Maybe it was true. But, if it was, the North was a much bigger tree than Fritz had ever conceived.
The army had been attacked shortly after dawn and they’d fought until the late light of the day. But, the continuing assault hadn’t stopped Elecia from running the moment the ledge under her cousin had crumbled. She hadn’t even jumped on her own mount. She’d stolen the one closest to her and ridden the horse hard down along the Pass and into the ravine below. By the time the army had won and made it to where Vhalla and the prince had fallen, the Western woman already been frantically at work for hours.
Elecia now rode within arm’s reach of the two mounts on which Fritz’s eyes remained focused. Each horse had a body thrown over it, lifelessly bouncing with the slow steps of the horse. Blood, the metallic scent assaulted his nose. The crimson life-giving liquid dripped and oozed over the haunches of the horses.
Fritz’s friend was comatose, but her wounds seemed superficial. He was actually surprised she wasn’t up and moving. But, the prince... Fritz’s eyes drifted over to the second limp body. Elecia hadn’t said anything and Fritz hadn’t been brave enough to ask.
Vhal would be fine. She’d recover just as she had in the Tower. But Fritz wondered, alongside every other soldier, if they were carrying the prince’s body for a grand Rite of Sunset, befitting of a fallen sovereign, at Soricium. Or, if the prince could possibly survive the state he now found himself in.
Fritz turned his attention back to Vhalla. He knew his friend had saved the prince’s life once before. Somehow, even unconscious, even bleeding, even war-torn, he’d put his coin on her over anyone else to be able to do it again.
Reale
Reale Quarn had done some horrible things in her life. She’d killed families in their beds. She’d left friends to die.
Above all else, she was a solder and she followed orders. She obliged her commanders and played the role she was meant to play. She understood her position as a sorcerer and how she factored into the plans of those above her, the role of a convenient scapegoat for the world’s horrors. A useful set of hands that were – in their eyes – soiled from birth with magic. What difference did a little bit of blood make?
But, the conversation she bore witness to was one of the most horrifying things she’d ever heard. It conflicted against everything she believed, everything she was ever taught. It flew in the face of her most trusted ideals.
There were a few things that would make Reale go against her orders, but making every attempt to save the life of one of the two most important people in the Tower was one of those things. This was worth treason. And, if the way the young Ci’Dan had left the Emperor’s tent was any indication, she wasn’t alone in her thinking.
“Ric.” Reale leaned into one of the hidden tents on the perimeter of the small clearing that they had made their temporary home. The young Western man perked up at his name. “Get Brion. I need a favor.”
“What type of favor?” The man knew her too well. He read her expression with ease and it gave him reasonable pause.
“If the Tower won’t look after its own, no one will. Meet me in an hour in my tent, there’s preparations to be made.”