“Aldrik.” He was at her side in an instant. His long fingers scooped up hers, blood smearing across his gauntlets. “I’m so glad I saved you, back then.”
“Don’t say goodbye, please.” He was close to breaking. He was fighting the obvious.
“I don’t regret it. I don’t.” She could only hope he understood, that something she said would be enough for him to continue on without her.
She was crying, Vhalla realized. The shining points of light of her memories illuminated the dark and tumultuous road that had taken her to this moment. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to give up everything she’d fought for.
The door opened again, and both of their eyes looked at the lone figure. The princess floated over to the two Imperials, looking much more rested than the last time Vhalla had seen her. Two emerald eyes looked between Aldrik and Vhalla.
“Sehra,” Aldrik pleaded. “Save her please, your magic, can it—”
“I understand,” she whispered. The princess kneeled next to Vhalla. Her focus was only on the Empress. “You did well.”
Vhalla was struggling to see. The princess faded, vacillating between her normal visage and something different. Hazy blurs and lines that didn’t quite connect. Long fingers, almost like Aldrik’s, cupped her cheek thoughtfully. The gesture was more forward than the princess had ever been.
“The crystals’ magic is diminishing. They were never meant to be used as they were, manipulated for man’s greed. They weren’t left with that intent.”
“What?” Aldrik asked Vhalla’s question.
“You saw them.” Sehra spoke to both of them, to no one. “They turn brittle and shatter under their own weight. They will be gone by dawn.”
“Princess, we need to act quickly,” Aldrik urged. “She’s dying.”
“I know,” Sehra said without hesitation. “Vhalla Yarl, after all that you have been through, do you still want to be upon this earth?”
“How can you ask that?” Vhalla opened her eyes. “Of course, I do.”
“Of course,” Sehra repeated softly. “Very well. I will grant you the power of Yargen one more time. I will change this fate set before you.”
The princess had a gently, almost motherly—familial—smile. She placed both hands on Vhalla’s face. Her whole palm tingled, and Vhalla felt the same light she’d experienced every time before.
No, it wasn’t the same. Sehra’s power before had been like a battering ram, forcing its way into her. This was familiar, like it complemented her. It flowed through Vhalla’s veins with palpable force. Her heart beat in time to it. Her flesh mended with it. Vhalla blinked, the red dawn flashing a moment in the woman’s eyes.
Whatever Sehra did, it worked. And when she pulled her hands away, Vhalla’s whole body felt warm, as though she’d been laying in the sun for hours. Her eyes fell back into focus, her breathing strengthened, her heartbeat regulated once more.
The princess stood tiredly, swaying slightly.
“Are you all right?” Aldrik took a step toward the young woman.
“I am, but time is short,” she answered cryptically. “I’m no longer meant for this world.”
Sehra started for the door. Aldrik looked between Vhalla and the Northern princess.
“Sehra, we can seek out another cleric.”
“No need.” Her hand paused on the door knob. Vhalla sat slowly, trying to make out the familiar glint in the woman’s eyes. “You did well, but things are only beginning now. The vortex still spins.”
“Sehra!” Vhalla was on her feet, not realizing how quickly she could suddenly move, how strong she felt.
“If that is the name you choose.” With those words, the woman vanished through the fogged glass of the door.
Vhalla looked to Aldrik. He was confused. Which meant it hadn’t been a dream or hallucination. He’d heard those words. That had been real.
“Sehra!” Vhalla cried. She threw open the door. “Sehra!”
A cleric looked over from the gate leading into the Imperial hall, confused at the Empress’s cries.
“Tell me,” Vhalla called. “Have you seen the Northern Princess Sehra?”
“I haven’t seen the lady for hours,” he answered uncertainly.
“Did you miss her?” Vhalla walked over quickly, Aldrik on her heels. “Could you not have seen her?”
“I have been here since the Emperor took you-you . . . Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“Just now, someone left.” Aldrik looked through the garden.
“My lord, lady, I-I . . .” The man was clearly at a loss for words, incapable of giving them the answers they wanted. “I suppose, it’s possible, that I missed someone.”
“Vhalla?” Elecia’s voice called. Sehra, Za, Jax, and Fritz were in tow. The group that was to be Vhalla’s mourning party. “You should lie down!”
The Western noble crossed to her in a few hasty steps. Her hands were on Vhalla, but she barely felt them. Vhalla stared at Aldrik, and he met her eyes with equal confuson. There was no explanation that she could give him. Trying to explain the full details of her last, tragic encounter with Vi would be impossible now.
Magic glowing around crystals that had looked like feathers.
Fire that had saved her life by burning wheat.
And a final encounter in a garden of roses.
If that is the name you choose.
It was a series of dreams connected by an impossibility. Something beyond her world. A force greater than everything Vhalla had ever known. Something that would fade with time into a vague dream-like memory.
“Vhalla.” Elecia forcefully grabbed Vhalla’s face, pulling it back toward her. “What did you do? What did you take?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Then how do you explain this?” Elecia grabbed the front of Vhalla’s shirt and pulled it up without concern for propriety. There, on Vhalla’s stomach, was soft pink flesh where a mortal wound had been moments before. Elecia turned to Aldrik. “You were with her.”
“It-it must be something you did,” Aldrik inserted, grasping at any explanation.
“I didn’t do anything.”
Vhalla’s eyes met the princess’s. It was as though the Northern woman somehow knew. Her mouth curved in a telling smile, all the information the Empress would ever be able to worm from her.
“Maybe there was a cleric. We may have been misinformed,” Aldrik mumbled. He turned back to Elecia with conviction. “Elecia, is Vhalla—”
“She’s amazing!” Elecia had eyes as wide as a child in a pastry shop. “I must find who did this. They may be the best cleric in the world. She should be dead; there’s no reason for her to be alive and healthier than ever. I must find out what they did!”
Elecia dashed off, asking the same cleric Vhalla had just spoken to. She moved down the hall, one person to the next. But she wasn’t going to find anyone, Vhalla simply knew it to be fact. There was never anyone to find after.
“So, you’re not actually dying?” Jax leaned against the iron gate with a dramatic sigh. “And here I had the best farewell speech planned.”
“I guess it has to wait.” Vhalla gave him a small smile.
“Good, I couldn’t handle any more death.” Fritz threw his arms around her shoulders, and Vhalla clutched him tightly. “Thank the Mother.”
Perhaps they had more reason than they all knew to thank the Mother, Vhalla thought to herself, briefly. One impossible and unlikely explanation of what had happened was just as good as any other.
“Grahm?” she whispered into her friend’s ear.
He just shook his head. Vhalla couldn’t translate his shining tears. Were they joy? Were they telling her not to worry now? Or were they world-crushing sorrow?
Whatever it was, Vhalla would be at his side to shoulder those emotions as well.