“No one other than family,” she announced sharply.
“My Empress,” the cleric faltered. “The Lady Yarl was only brought here because of his direct request.”
She continued to block the doorway. “I did not hear such a request.”
“You had stepped out a moment,” the bushy-eyebrowed cleric explained.
“Isn’t it convenient that the request occurred then?” she murmured with a nasty look to the back of Aldrik’s head.
“I don’t want to make trouble.” Vhalla was sincere, which shone through enough that it made the woman pause. Vhalla could only imagine the pain the Empress was shouldering; now was not a time for Vhalla to insist on her pride. “I am more than happy to depart, if that is best.”
The woman opened her mouth to speak, only to be cut off by a tired wheezing. “Vhalla, don’t be crazy,” Baldair managed from the bed within. “My mother said only family. Clearly—” He coughed, and Vhalla heard the blood come up. “Clearly, the little sister I never had is included in that.”
The woman looked toward her son in shock, then back at Vhalla. A lot of eyes were on her at once, and Vhalla gripped her hands more tightly. Clearly Baldair’s condition had made him fearless, and Vhalla knew she had to also be so in order to give the prince what he was asking for.
Vhalla followed the Empress into the room, startled to see the Emperor on the opposite side of Baldair’s bed. The Empress assumed her seat next to her husband, and Vhalla awkwardly took the seat on the opposite side of the bed. She tried to ignore her sovereigns as much as possible, focusing on Baldair instead. His normally brilliant eyes were listless and dull.
“Come now, Vhalla.” He coughed. “Don’t give me those sad eyes.”
Her hands moved before a cleric could. Vhalla mindlessly picked up the cloth from his bedside table so she could blot the blood from the corner of his mouth gently without a thought, just as she had done for her mother.
“Forgive me, my prince.” She forced her voice to sound strong.
“Baldair,” he wheezed. “I don’t have time for pretense anymore.”
Vhalla finally glanced at the Emperor and Empress. She couldn’t make much from their expressions. The Emperor’s was hard and shut off. The Empress’s eyes glistened.
“Don’t say that, Baldair,” she whispered. Vhalla turned her eyes back to him, and the world went away. “Please don’t.”
“I know.” Baldair lifted his hand, and she took it gently. “I can feel it.” He coughed again, and a muffled whimper escaped her lips.
“No, no! You’re going to keep fighting. You’ve been eating right? I told you to keep eating and—” Vhalla blinked several times in quick succession, her eyes burning frustratingly.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you.” Baldair coughed again, and Vhalla’s hand quickly caught the blood. The other held his tightly.
She shook her head. “You-you’ve never disappointed me.”
“How foolish is it?” He leaned against his pillows. “The mighty golden prince, felled by a cold.”
“No.” All she could do was shake her head and refuse. It was a never-ending loop, refusal at the world, at fate. “No, Baldair, please. Don’t talk like this. You will get better, you will. My mother couldn’t because we didn’t have anything, because I couldn’t save her. But-but,” Vhalla took a shaky breath through her nose, her chest ached. “But they can save you.”
“Your mother?” Baldair asked softly.
Vhalla blinked. She wanted to laugh or cry, a strangled noise of pain was her body’s compromise. “I had the fever. So did my mother. I got better, she-she didn’t.” Vhalla hung her head. Before he could say anything else, she looked up suddenly, swinging between emotions. “But like I said, you are much stronger. You can keep fighting.”
“Oh, Vhalla . . .” Baldair looked at her sadly. “I am so sorry.”
She shook her head, knowing the cause of his guilt. He wouldn’t have a reason for it, she insisted to herself. He would get better.
He sighed softly. “I’m tired.”
“No.” Vhalla shook her head. She was completely oblivious to the clerics around her, the hovering healers who did not know how to react to her proximity and actions toward healing the dying man whom she clung to. She did not see the looks from the Emperor or Empress. All she saw was the golden haired prince, the heartbreaker, wasting away from an evil that could not be fought with swords or arrows or wind. “Please, please . . .”
“Do you remember . . . when we met?” Baldair breathed. “You were . . . so . . . jumpy.” He laughed, which only lead to more coughing.
“My prince, please,” a cleric finally pleaded.