Water's Wrath (Air Awakens Series Book 4) (24 page)

“It shows.” The Empress gave her child a hug.

Aldrik was left standing alone, staring at his feet, a few steps away.

A rapid set of knocks jolted her from sleep.

Vhalla sat with a start, clutching her watch, the memory of the child Aldrik fresh. Her heart ached for the elder prince.
Aldrik being called the black sheep and him taking it to heart suddenly made a lot more sense
.

More knocks on the door jarred her from her thoughts. Vhalla flopped back on the bed, rolling over and burying herself under the covers. The mornings were frigid now, nearly cold enough to form frost on the glass of her window. The chill combined with her latest dream made her utterly uninterested in company.

The knocking persisted, the person clearly not getting the point.

“What?” she said with a groan.

The door opened a crack, and a pair of Western eyes looked in at her. Vhalla peered at Jax through thin slits. The man chuckled and let himself into her room.

“Lucky you, sleeping past dawn.” He wiggled onto the small bed next to her.

Vhalla rolled her eyes and pressed against the wall. The tall man was comically large atop the small mattress, his side flush against hers. But Vhalla had come to an understanding with the strange man known as Jax Wendyll. After their short time in the Crossroads, there was something base, gritty, yet simple about their relationship; it was ugly beautiful.

“I’d like to
keep
sleeping, you know,” she mumbled and buried her face into her pillow. It was cramped with two, but having someone next to her again was relaxing. Larel and Aldrik had both been Firebearers, and Jax was equally warm.

“But I need you.”

Vhalla cracked open one eye. “How?”

“Oh, in all the worst ways.” Jax waggled his eyebrows.

“Mother, you’re awful.” Vhalla’s dry remark earned a laugh. “Jax, really, why are you crawling into my bed?”

“Really, we could use your help on the grounds today.” Serious notes had finally worked their way into his words.

“I’ve been helping you for weeks. Why are you suddenly bothering with asking?” He had her attention now.

“We’re short-handed.”

“Have Baldair and Raylynn finally run off together?” Vhalla couldn’t stop herself. The more she’d come to know the guard, the more she’d learned who and what the easy targets were for jokes.

“One of those said parties is missing, though not who you’d expect. Ray is actually pulling her weight.” Even Jax sounded impressed. “But Baldair is still gone, and Craig woke feeling unwell.”

“
Still
gone?” The word had Vhalla wondering when was the last time she’d actually seen the golden-haired royal.

“Oh, you know him. Last I saw he was chasing Lady Imaj around the court. I’m sure they just ran off.” Jax’s laugh didn’t have the strength it usually did. He quickly rolled off the bed and pushed the topic along before Vhalla could linger further. “So, help?”

“Yes, yes.” Vhalla sat, realizing she was done with sleeping.

She knew she should go to the minister. They were
so close
to finishing the axe, and then it would be over. But it was one day, and Vhalla didn’t want to ignore her friends when they were in need. So, after quickly dressing, her feet carried her to the grounds with Jax.

Erion was relieved the second Jax arrived with her, and Vhalla was quickly put to work. The difference two sets of hands made in managing the palace guard and their training was noticeable. Her practice with Daniel actually qualified Vhalla to help train young swordsmen and women in training, so Vhalla haunted the grounds until dusk.

She ate with the guard following, and lingered until the moon had crested the horizion. Sweaty and exhausted, she finally dragged her feet up the Tower. Her crystal work was taking a lot out of her, and she was on a mission for a hot bath and her bed.

The heavy thud of a book dropping drew Vhalla’s attention into the dimly lit library. Footsteps moved across the floor, and Vhalla watched the flickering light of a single flame dance through over the tops of the books on the bookshelves. For once, she was thankful for his insomnia.

She needed to talk to Aldrik
. She needed to speak with the prince about the crystal taint, about the princess, about making sure his father and the fragile peace that he’d bought with so much blood would last into spring, and about Aldrik’s succession as the Emperor of Peace.
It had nothing to do with her admission the night prior,
she assured herself.

She rounded a bookcase, looking at the dark form scanning a high shelf for a manuscript. Vhalla leaned against the shelves watching him. His hair was limp and messed, his shoulders had an uncharacteristic sway. For a brief moment, she feared everything she’d heard about his old habits was really a lie, that he’d never stopped—or had returned to—his less than healthy ways of coping with a problem.

Aldrik sighed heavily, pulling a book and scanning it. Something was wrong, but Vhalla couldn’t place her fingers on it.

“My prince,” she whispered, not wanting to startle him too badly. It didn’t work, and Aldrik nearly dropped the book he was holding. Vhalla realized too late that she had used their former term of endearment; she wondered if her presence or her words startled him more.

“What—when did you get here?” Dark circles blemished the area under his eyes.

“Aldrik.” Vhalla took a step closer, noticing his rumpled, extremely casual attire for the man who was usually perfection incarnate. “What’s wrong?”

His defensive instinct took over, but only for a brief moment. The tension in his shoulders vanished, and the man swayed, nearly collapsing in on himself. “Baldair. He’s sick, Vhalla.”

“It’s serious, isn’t it?” The day was still fresh in her mind, Baldair missing training yet again.

“It started as a cold, aches, chills,” Aldrik spoke softly to the bookshelf, unable to meet her gaze. “It’s Autumn Fever.”

“This late?” The fever normally set in at the first transition between summer and fall. Not into the winter.

“You’ll hear more cases of it soon, I am certain.” Aldrik looked back to her. “The clerics say the years it appears late are the worst.”

“Has he had it before?” She remembered clerics telling her once that because she had contracted the disease as a child, it would not be as severe if she were to catch it again. Aldrik shook his head, and her heart sank. “How long has he been ill?”

“They’ve had him on bed rest for over a week,” Aldrik answered.

“The coughing?” she asked tentatively.

“It is only now beginning to worsen,” he answered. “You had it as a girl, didn’t you?”

Vhalla stared at her toes, remembering her mother’s coughing,
so much coughing and then the blood
. . . “I did.”

“Come see him?”

“What?” Her head snapped up, startled at the idea.

“I want you to see him.” Aldrik stepped forward and boldly took both her hands. His touch had the same familiar warmth as it always had, but it held no lightning given the subject of conversation. “I don’t know how much the clerics may not be saying. I’ve never been sick with the fever, so my knowledge is limited to second-hand study only. You’re at less of a risk of contracting the fever again, having had it before.”

“I know . . .” she sighed. It wasn’t about getting sick. She didn’t want to go into a room and confront that illness. “I’m sure the clerics are doing their best, Aldrik.”

“I trust you. I trust you, not them.”

Vhalla met his eyes with trepidation.
That was the truth of it
. When the cards fell, when all else was taken away, there remained the assumption that the other would be there—that somehow their existence as unit, as a force, remained.

“I’ll go see him,” she agreed.

Aldrik scooped up the small stack of books he’d pilfered and started out the library without a word.

“Wait,
now
?” Vhalla fell into hasty step with the long-legged prince.

“Clerics will be in his room without stop when the day comes,” Aldrik explained. “Night will be the only time that you can give me an honest assessment without having to dance around the egos of the bumbling idiots that my father seems to think pass for competent.”

Vhalla allowed herself a small smile and held her tongue. There was something reassuring about Aldrik being well enough to insult something. He led her down to one of the many doors lining the Tower staircase. Aldrik paused, fumbling to adjust the stack of books into a single arm.

“Give me them.”

“They’re heavy.” Aldrik looked at her uncertainly.

“Oh, yes, you’re too right, my prince. I am a delicate flower.” She batted her eyelashes for emphasis. “Allow me to do nothing more than stand and look pretty while you struggle.”

Aldrik shook his head with a huff of amusement and passed her the stack of books. It was hardly the largest she’d ever carried, and Vhalla adjusted her grip, managing it with ease. With his hands free, Aldrik unlocked the door and led her into a hallway that was completely dark, save for the mote of flame at his side.

Vhalla smiled tiredly at his back.
How many times would she follow the prince into darkness, trusting his light to guide her?

Upon reaching a dead end, Aldrik pushed on the wall, and it swung open under his palms. Vhalla followed him into a large room. Moonlight streamed in through diamond-checkered glass doors that overlooked a massive balcony. A four-poster bed with large, black, square posts dominated the space. Around it was a stone hearth, a number of armoires, and doors leading in other directions. Vhalla stopped in her tracks as he closed the secret door, which was concealed as a large mirror. She looked at the gilded ceiling, the white marble flooring, the decorative tapestries and rich textiles that adorned the floor, walls, ceiling, windows, and doors.

“This-this is your room,” she stuttered.

Aldrik stopped. “It is indeed.”

“Where is the princess?” Vhalla asked delicately.

“Do you think she stays with me?” he asked incredulously. “Scandal aside, I would never let the girl into my haven.”

Vhalla swallowed as he crossed back over to her. Aldrik always said more between his words, and she heard him as clearly as ever. His hands rested on hers.

“Let me take those.”

“It’s fine. You have to open more doors, right?” His soft words coaxed her into whispering.

“I was going to do it alone before.”

“But you’re not alone, are you?” It was her turn to speak between words, and Aldrik’s expression let her know he’d heard her.

The prince’s hands fell from hers, and he started for the door to the left. She focused only on him, ignoring the opulent sitting area he’d led her into.
Even if they were never anything more than they were now, would she be happy?

Aldrik poked his head out of the main door, glancing up and down the hall. He motioned for her to follow, and Vhalla walked on air over the plush white runner that went the length of the hall. They crossed to a door opposite.

As he opened the second door, Vhalla realized that she had been in this hall before. The day Baldair had invited her to the gala, he had taken her to the same room she now faced. But it didn’t have the same brightness as then. Now it was cast in darkness, with vials—empty and full alike—littering nearly every surface. The room smelled strongly of herbs and salves.

A blanket was thrown over one of the couches in the sitting area, a pillow keeping it company. A semi-circle of books stood in defense of the cleric’s equipment that encroached in on a set of parchments with familiar handwriting on them. As she put the books down with the others, Vhalla wondered how long the elder prince had been living with his brother.

Aldrik held out a length of cloth to her. She noticed he’d already covered his own nose and mouth with one. Vhalla brought it to her nose and covered the lower half of her face with it.

They walked over to a secondary door that was almost entirely gilded. Aldrik knocked twice lightly, then paused. There was rough coughing barely muffled by the door. Vhalla braced herself, as if she was headed into battle once more.

“Enter,” came a tired voice from within. Baldair faded into another fit of coughing as Aldrik pushed open the door.

“Brother.” The older prince took a few steps in, holding the door open. “I brought a guest.”

“A guest?” Baldair wheezed. There was a rough and raspy chuckle after a short pause. “Vhalla, come in.”

“How did you?” she mumbled as she inched into the room.

“Who else would my brother bring at this hour of the night? Without prior word? Directly into my room?” Baldair reclined in a large bed with a golden canopy.

Vhalla noticed a chair set by his bedside and glanced back knowingly at Aldrik.
These brothers were impossible
, and it was almost hilarious how the world thought they hated each other. How they tried to insist sometimes that they did.

“How do you feel?” she asked gently, crossing over to the edge of the younger prince’s bed, leaving the chair for Aldrik.

The crown prince lit the candles at the bedside tables with a thought, then sat.

“Almost like the time I had a sword through my shoulder.” Baldair coughed. “But closer to my chest.”

“Here, cough into this for me?” She took a small piece of cloth off his bedside table and handed it to the prince.

“Coughing is not a problem.” Baldair chuckled, and it sent him into another fit.

Vhalla sat directly on his bed and held out her hand for the cloth when his coughing subsided. She looked at the mucus; it had a distinctively red tinge. Her heart sank.

“What is it?” Aldrik read her face without difficulty.

Vhalla wanted to scream at the cloth and burn it, as if that would make its truth disappear. Blood,
the blood was starting
. It would get worse from here. She took a deep breath and forced herself to remain calm, to not panic. Aldrik had brought her for her experience, but her experience was only death once the blood set in.

“You need to eat.” She looked back at Baldair. His usually glowing face was hollow and pale. “When was the last time you ate?”