“I can’t,” she whispered.
Pain flashed across the prince’s face, riding on the wave of realization of what her words meant. “You can.” Aldrik turned slowly, as though she was a wild animal, easily spooked. One warm hand encompassed hers; it was a delicate touch that seemed to carry the weight of the world in it.
“I-I’m awful at everything, and I—”
“Do you remember what I told you?” he asked as though he could sense her emotions were about to overrun her. “On the last day of your trial?”
“I do.” She remembered her palm pressed firmly against his side, on a spot that had been a lethal wound not more than a year before when he’d come riding into her life during a summer’s thunderstorm. He would have died from that wound if she had not saved him with her sorcery, inadvertently forming the magical Bond that now lived between them.
“Vhalla, I—” A door slammed in the hallway and the sound of footsteps heavy with armor faded down the hall. Aldrik engaged in a staring contest with the door. “I must go.”
She nodded.
“I will see you soon, for the march.”
Which of them was he reassuring?
Vhalla nodded again.
“We have a long time before reaching the North. I will personally make sure you are ready,” the prince swore, accepting responsibility for her.
“Thank you.” The words didn’t seem enough, but they were all she had to give and Aldrik accepted them before silently escaping.
She stood for several long breaths, trying to calm the tempest that blew within her chest. As close to ready as she’d ever be, Vhalla grabbed the small bag she’d been told to pack her personal effects in. Tucked away in her wardrobe were Aldrik’s notes, Larel’s bracelet, and three letters addressed to her old master in the library, her friend Roan, and her father. She’d told Fritz, the Tower’s de facto librarian, and his friend Grahm about their existence. If the worst befell her, those letters would be sent.
Her eyes caught the mirror once more, and Vhalla spared another minute. She didn’t recognize the woman who stared back at her. Hollow eyes and wild hair were framed by black armor. It was the visage of a warrior and a sorcerer.
Taking a deep breath, Vhalla plunged into the hall and didn’t look back. She didn’t even bother to lock her door. The sloping spiral was full of people, but none seemed interested in speaking and only the chorus of armor filled the air. Their plate was of a similar make to hers, but it didn’t look half as fine. Vhalla made note of the small gold embellishment along the front of her steel. One or two other people seemed to notice the same, but said nothing.
The hall ended in a large foyer at the base of the Tower, the only public entrance. Vhalla leaned against the outer wall, speaking to no one. The Tower had been kind to her, overall. But she only had two true friends among them, and they were still asleep in their beds.
Vhalla felt a pang of loneliness. The room was full of the stereotypical black hair and olive skin of the West, the yellow tan and plain brown features of the East, and the pale skin and golden haired people of the South. They were all mixes of eyes and hair she knew, and yet none of them were familiar.
Some of the other soldiers chatted away nervously. Others were too calm for this to be their first tour. Even though Aldrik had said otherwise, she was alone. Vhalla stared at her toes—she brought death and destruction; it was better this way.
Over her self-pity Vhalla heard the makings of a familiar voice.
“See, I told you we wouldn’t be late,” a man was saying.
“We would have been if I hadn’t dragged you from bed,” a woman responded.
“You can stop with the dragging now.”
Vhalla’s head snapped up to see Larel leading Fritz into the room, a firm grip on his arm. Vhalla’s eyes widened. They were dressed much the same as everyone else, completely done up in armor.
“Fritz, Larel?” she called out to them timidly.
“Vhal!” The Southern man with the wild blonde hair waved in excitement as he passed Larel in a rush, leaving the other woman to leisurely follow behind.
“What are you doing here?” Vhalla asked, dumbfounded as they put their own packs on the floor.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he responded, smoothing down his unruly curls. “We’re coming with you.”
“But neither of you are in the military,” she objected.
“We’re brand new recruits.” He grinned.