Fritz didn’t say anything about his love either, and they let the memory of their friend rest like so many others who were at the capital during Victor’s takeover.
“I think,” Fritz hummed, “that you should leave the castle.”
“What?” Vhalla sat as well, stuffing two lemon peels into her mouth at once.
“You and me, let’s go out.” Her friend was on his feet. “No one has to know; that way they won’t make a fuss.”
“Fritznangle . . .” Vhalla cautioned. It wasn’t as though she was trapped, but she was already publically shirking her duties for the day.
“I think it’ll do you good,” he encouraged. “When was the last time you were around real people? Not soldiers or nobles? Those are the people whose opinions really matter, Vhal. Sure, nobles are important and support the crown. But you know who supports the nobles? The common man. So stop hiding in your literary roost and come out onto the street.”
Vhalla allowed him to pull her to her feet.
“Plus, I really want to see the Port of Norin, and Elecia still hasn’t shown me.” He gave her a conspiratorial grin that was too infectious not to return, and they were off.
The main street stretched out from the castle, the street that they used to enter the city and reach the castle. It looked far different without the masses crowding it. With the normal ebb and flow of people, it reminded her of the Crossroads as merchants and patrons alike lingered under large sun shades.
They’d barely made it off the main street when she was finally noticed. Every peddler and shop owner wanted her to try something, wear something, or simply “bless their shop” with a breeze. Vhalla obliged with smiles and did her best to accommodate everyone. If Fritz was frustrated by the slow going, he didn’t let it show. He seemed equally enamored by the dried dates, strawberries, mangos, and all manner of exotic fruits. By the end of just one street, they both had new necklaces of braided leather and bellies full of sweets.
The castle loomed over them, barely visible between houses and towering high above the canopy of fabric that lined every stall. The farther she stepped from the place, the better she began to feel. Fritz had been right; this was what she’d needed. She needed to feel welcomed by the people, to see the blazing sun framed by two wings, and to forget about obligations and duties for just a little while.
The houses of Norin began to grow as they neared the harbor. Stores became richer and more elaborate, each competing for the attention of shoppers milling through the honeycombed streets and lavish squares. Live models posed in store windows, slowly changing pose to show off the fabric or cut in a new way. There were jewels as big as her fist, and Vhalla eyed the skilled craftsmanship of one shop, stopping long enough to be recognized by its owner—Erion Le’Dan.
With that, they gained a local guide for the rest of the day. Erion told them interesting notes of history and facts about the wealthiest nobles who lived around the harbor. He even gave his own take on the largest port in the world. But no amount of explanation or reading could have prepared Vhalla for what awaited at the Great Port of Norin.
Ships upon ships were docked as far as the eye could see. Some Vhalla recognized from reading, large hulls and wide sails with endless lengths of rope hanging and coiled about their decks. Others were strange and foreign. Some were long with flat oars sticking from the sides. Farther down the docks sat boats with sails that looked like the fins of a fish, pointed and folding like a fan.
Some vessels were in dry dock, supported and suspended mid-air. Workers scrubbed the hulls, repainting and repairing as necessary.
Others ships were leaving to make space.
Somehow, in the bustle of Norin’s mecca of trade and commerce, even the future Empress could go unnoticed. Burly men carried chests up and down gangplanks. Nets full of fish were hoisted from cargo holds and dragged to shops, where the fish were then butchered and sold. People of every shape and color went about their business as if the world was as it had always been.
War did not affect these people, Vhalla realized. Famine, religion, nobility, or turmoil, it did not change their lives. One thing reigned supreme, and everything else fell around it: gold.
She expressed such thoughts to Erion over an icy cocktail, a red dragon, while they rested their legs.
“That’s astute of you,” Erion praised her without any apparent ulterior motive. “Because these men and women have little care for who is in power. They’ll work for the highest bidder.”
“Is that how your family is?” Vhalla asked. The question struck a surprising cord, one she hadn’t expected.
“Do you think so?”
“I can’t say I know your lineage well enough to have an opinion.”
“Don’t dodge the question,” Erion scolded lightly.
“There must be a nugget of truth.” Vhalla could blame the alcohol for her loose tongue. It’d been months since Vhalla had really drank, mainly out of respect for Aldrik’s continuing struggle to avoid alcohol in times of stress. And while she wasn’t about to lose her head, the liquor had a welcome burn. But she didn’t use the likely excuse.
No, her loose tongue was entirely the fault of the sun, the warm sea breeze on her cheeks, and the freeing sensation of not feeling like the world was on her shoulders. “You seemed very quick to support me in the North.”
“Fair enough.” He raised his glass in acknowledgement of her point. “Any family who has thrived for as long as we have didn’t do it by strapping themselves to dogma. Even if you were chosen by a Ci’Dan, that Ci’Dan happened to be the Emperor’s crowned son, and supporting you could support us in the long run.”
She laughed at his candor and let the fact lie, picking something else that had been nagging at her to focus on. “Then why does dogma seem so important to the Western Court?”
“This has been bothering her,” Fritz outed.
Vhalla shot him a look that he just grinned away.
“They want to see what you do when rules are imposed upon you. They want to push you and see if you break,” Erion answered easily. “They’re testing you, Vhalla.”
“But how do I pass? Do I do as they ask? Do I thwart them at every turn?” She honestly was at a loss.
“You’re thinking too small.” Erion hummed, looking out over the port. “You see all these ships?”
She nodded.
“When do you think they come and go?”
“When they have somewhere to be?” She assumed the merchants had deadlines and the rest were chartered.
Erion shook his head. “When the wind is good,” he answered his own question. “All that rigging and lumber and men, it’s all at the whim of the wind. Now they try to tame it, they try to control it. They have created hulking sails and innovative drafts to cut through the water as quickly as possible. But they remain at the whim of the wind. A force that cannot be understood, nor explained, for it just happens.”
The lord looked back at her, but Vhalla had already processed his point.
“They are the ships, and you are the wind. You do not lower yourself to their rules or expectations. You blow in whatever direction you feel is needed and leave them with no choice but to oblige.”
Vhalla thought about Erion’s words as they finished slowly strolling through the port. The only thing that distracted her was when he pointed out a particularly colorful vessel. She noted that it was a trade ship from the Crescent Continent, an uncommon sight even for the grandest port in the world. Vhalla wanted to investigate further, but that was the one thing Erion advised against. He cautioned that the people of the Crescent Continent could be quite backwards and barbaric, and it was best to leave any dealings to their approved liaisons.
Vhalla held her tongue that “backwards and barbaric” were often times only used when one culture didn’t properly understand another. She had heard people describe the North that way before she’d come to properly understand a region of the Empire that she now held in deep respect.