Earth's End (Air Awakens Series Book 3) (21 page)

“Your father decides what he will think of me and ignores all else.” Vhalla pushed around some meat and gravy on her plate, hoping it would soften the stale hunk of bread.

“You know, I’ve decided I like this side of you.” Baldair regarded her thoughtfully, and Vhalla gave him a look that encouraged him to continue. “The bold confidence,” he clarified. “I see shades of Aldrik to the point that I know your boldness will give me a headache sooner or later—when it’s directed at me. But, at the same time, it’s opposite him. It’s far more vivacious. You’ve become quite headstrong.”

“Have I?” she asked, unconvinced.

“You have,” Baldair declared with conviction. “And I see it putting life back into my brother, which I haven’t seen in years.”

Vhalla didn’t want to miss an opportunity. “Tell me more about you and your brother.”

“What do you want to know?” Baldair mustered all the tact he possessed to ask so delicately.

“What happened between you both?” He sighed.

“You both seem to be fighting for the same things, even for each other’s happiness, or so I’ve seen and heard you claim,” Vhalla observed. “So why do you treat each other as though you’re enemies?”

“There’s some ugliness underneath that question that I’m not sure you want to see.”

“What? Do you think it’s going to shatter the beautiful picture I have of my sovereign family?” Vhalla asked incredulously.

Baldair was laughing again. “Why not ask Aldrik?”

“I will, later.” She wanted to hear what both princes had to say. “But I’m asking you now.”

“You’re insufferable.” There wasn’t even a hint of malice. “So I’ve been called before.” Vhalla grinned wildly.

“
Oh Mother
, I don’t want to even think what my brother has called you.” Baldair shook his head and hung it a moment, taking a breath. “We were closer when we were boys.” The golden prince tilted his head back. “I looked up to him. He was everything I thought was admirable in the world. He was magical, powerful, kind, and composed, even when he was a boy. He was going to be the Emperor, and he was
my
brother.”

Vhalla chewed quietly, not wanting to distract Baldair from his memories.

“All the servants would remind us that someday Aldrik would become a man, and he wouldn’t be able engage in child’s play with me. So I always knew such a time would come.” Baldair took a deep breath. “But it wasn’t as they said.”

“What wasn’t?” Vhalla asked quietly, not wanting to break the younger prince out of his memory-induced trance. It was the most she’d learned, outside of off-handed stories from both princes, and Vhalla knew there was something important to be said here. In the back of her mind something lingered hazily, something that wanted her to remember an important piece about what Baldair would say next.

“I expected it to be when he became a man, after his coming of age at fifteen.” Baldair shook his head. “There was a rainy night, he was still fourteen. I don’t even know what happened, but everything changed. He shut himself in his room and refused to leave for weeks. Clerics came and went with somber faces, but I never found out what he was sick with.

“He ignored me the whole time. No matter how many times I went to his door calling for him.” Baldair’s tone turned bitter. “When he finally left that room, he was no longer my brother.”

The words made Vhalla’s heart ache for both of them. Something had gone wrong, horribly, unnaturally wrong.

“He spent more time in the Tower. He did nothing but haunt the library, even after our lessons were over. He was an automaton, an empty shell.” Baldair clenched his hand into a fist and slammed it down on the table. Vhalla jumped, but the prince didn’t even seem to realize his action as he continued. “That’s when I knew, I knew it was because he was the crown prince, and I was just the spare. I wasn’t good enough. I’d never be good enough.

“I began fighting, I took to women the second I was old enough to even know what they were. And that felt good—still does.” Baldair chuckled, but it was a sad, hollow sound, void of its usual melodies. “Why did it matter? No one cared, they still don’t.

“I called him the black sheep.” Baldair paused, as if thinking about it for the first time. “I told him the black sheep was an unwanted person. Someone who wasn’t right and didn’t belong. That he was the black sheep for his dark hair and sorcery. None of the rest of our family looked as he did, after all. I think it was after that, that he started wearing more black.”

The golden prince’s eyes were suddenly filled with a child-like panic. “You don’t think that he, that now he wears black because I ... do you?”

Vhalla opened her mouth, instantly censoring the truth. She knew enough of her prince to have no doubt that Aldrik’s choice in clothing had been directly influenced by his brother, even if it wasn’t the only catalyst. “You should ask him.”

“Haven’t you been listening? Haven’t you seen it?” Baldair shook his head. “We don’t talk. There isn’t a happy end to this, Vhalla. This isn’t the story where the two estranged family members come back together, apologize, and build a new bond.”

“Why not?” Vhalla asked.

Baldair seemed at a loss for words.

“Why don’t you start writing a new chapter?” She smiled. The instant flash of emotion, of hope, on the younger prince’s face gave him away. “Aldrik’s more trusting than you think.”

“Of you,” Baldair pointed out.

“Then I will help.” It wasn’t her business to do what she was doing. The lives of the princes had been set a decade before Vhalla had even met either of them. But she was too committed to stop. There was an odd sense of absolution in helping them, as if it could shelter a small part of her soul. “If you sincerely want to build a new bridge with him, I’ll help.”

“Why?” The younger prince seemed at a loss for all other words.

“Because I love him.” To Baldair’s credit, he didn’t startle at her words. “Because he’s not as smart as he thinks, not when it comes to this, and you’re too emotional to say it the way you really mean.”

“You wound me,” he scoffed with a laugh.

“Right, right.” Vhalla waved her fork through the air, scooping another bite into her mouth.

The doors on the far end of the hall opened for Aldrik, the Emperor, and a host of majors behind them. Vhalla’s eyes fell instantly on Major Schnurr, and she rose to her feet with muscles taut. The man clearly didn’t like her, given the look he wore upon seeing her. Vhalla regarded him with equal skepticism, remembering that anyone among them could be a spy. If she were a betting woman, her money would be on him.

“I am glad to see you awake, my lady.” Aldrik was a half-step faster than his father and a breath quicker.

“Good morning, my prince.” Vhalla lowered her face respectfully but kept her eyes up, to see what information she could glean from his expression. Aldrik beamed down at Vhalla, genuinely happy to see her.

“The majors have some questions regarding your Projections that I could not answer over breakfast.” Aldrik led them toward the standing table. Vhalla recognized her sloppy sketches of the interior.

“You have informed them of my findings?” Vhalla asked delicately, glancing up at Aldrik from the corners of her eyes.

“The relevant information about the interior of the palace,” he affirmed.

Vhalla translated his words to mean that the majors at large didn’t know that there were traitors among them. It was likely for the better. Sending the majors into a frenzy would only make the person—or people—harder to find if the majors tipped off the spies that they’d been discovered

“From here to here.” Erion pointed from the exterior to interior wall. “How wide is it?”

“About four men, toe to head,” Vhalla replied, ignoring the Emperor settling in at the end of the table. She was thankful for Aldrik positioning himself between her and his father.

“And here to here?” Craig’s golden bracer shone as he pointed to one of the shacks she’d marked as food storage.

“Another ten men, maybe?” Vhalla guessed.

“The trebuchets will reach, then,” Craig assessed.

“They should,” Erion agreed, and both men turned to the Emperor.

“Miss Yarl,” the Emperor ground her name like glass between his teeth. “Are you certain of the locations of the food stores?”

“I am,” she firmly replied. “Their construction?”

“Similar to what we have here. Canvas, hide, leather, wood.” Vhalla gripped the table, knowing what orders were about to be called. She stared at the maps she drew. The ink that had sealed the fate of the Northerners she’d walked among.

“It has been proposed that we launch flaming debris or dead livestock to destroy and or poison their food stores. Prolong the siege and starve them out, instead of risking an all-out attack,” the Emperor stated, affirming her suspicions. “What do you think?”

Vhalla studied the Emperor’s face. What answer would he want her to give?
This was a game, it was all a game
. Vhalla planted her feet and held her head high.

“It will not work,” Vhalla proclaimed boldly, much to the shock of the table. “We must attack them outright.”

“Excuse me?” The Emperor was too startled by her tenacity to formulate a sufficient counter.

Vhalla reminded herself of what she was. She was death; she was the executioner of the North. Well, if she held their fate in her hands, she would swing the axe as fast and as cleanly as possible.

“What is this treason?” Major Schnurr sneered. “Do you speak against the will of the Emperor?”

“I speak for what will lead us to victory,” Vhalla shot back.

“Victory?” the major scoffed. “What does a little girl know of battle and victory?”

The Western major knew just what to say to make Vhalla’s blood boil. “I know plenty.”

The rest of the table remained silent, not daring to enter the foolhardy volley of words the Windwalker had decided to engage in.

“You? A lowborn library apprentice? Taught your letters when you were fifteen, no doubt.” The major had no interest in conceding.

“I was taught my letters when I was six,” Vhalla interjected. A number of eyebrows raised.

“Impossible, you—”

“Major, with all due respect, you know
nothing
about me. I credit you, I credit you all.” Vhalla regarded the table, her neck long and chin strong. She was sure to elongate her words and avoid conjunctions like the upper classes did, like Aldrik and the Emperor. “You were raised in nobility. You know a world I do not. You know what forks to use at a formal settings, and you do not hesitate in battle. But I was raised in a world none of you can fathom.”

Vhalla turned back to Major Schnurr, refocusing her frustrations on him alone. “I was raised in a world where I had thousands of friends, each one waiting for me on a shelf every day. While you practiced with the bow or sword, I read. The Imperial Library houses my confidants, and I spent nearly a decade hanging onto their every word. I know them well, and if you will
stop questioning me,
I will be so kind to impart their secrets to you.”

Slack-jaws stayed silent, and wide eyes watched her intently. Vhalla swallowed hard. She still hadn’t slept enough. She was tired from lack of sleep and from being seen as the girl she was no longer.

“Continue, Vhalla Yarl. We all want to hear what you have to say,” Major Zerian finally spoke for the table.

Vhalla nodded in relief at him. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. No one would take her seriously if they considered her overemotional.

“We are not going to starve them out. We are not going push them to forfeit by making their lives difficult. The army has been doing that for eight months with no real results.” Vhalla motioned to all the papers of the table. “To the clans of Shaldan, Soricium is life.” She was not about to discredit their proud history by blanketing them as
the North
.

“In Shaldan’s lore, Soricium is the birthplace of the world. They consider that forest to be the primordial trees the old gods made first.” Vhalla racked her brain for every dusty book in the archives that she’d ever read. She pulled facts from the night Aldrik returned, the night she’d read more about the North in one sitting than ever before. The night that Vhalla had saved the prince, she prayed she’d also gained the knowledge to save countless more by ending this war quickly.

“The head clan is said to have descended from these original peoples, a pure line dating back to the beginning of time. They are a people who see their leaders as descending from gods. Expecting them to abandon their land, their home, their lineage is setting you up for failure.
Soricium is Shaldan
, and the Head Clan is Soricium. If you don’t understand that, you cannot comprehend why the clans continue to fight when the Empire has taken so much of their land.”

“So, what do you propose we do?” Baldair asked.

Vhalla gave him a small nod of appreciation for backing her. “To win this war, we must crush them. We must level Soricium and kill the head clan. Otherwise, they will have cause to rise again.”

“It seems an easy enough victory,” a woman mused.

“Do not expect it to be,” Vhalla cautioned.
Hadn’t they been listening?
“The Northerners will defend Soricium and the head clan until every last dying breath. If we were to gain a surrender, it would not be in awe of our power, or tactical prowess, or advantage in training.”

Vhalla turned to the Emperor, loathing simmering hotly in her veins. She saw what his mission was so clearly. He didn’t desire peace,
he lusted for subjugation
. He craved power and the ownership it gave him. His eyes shone dangerously at her, and Vhalla decided not to heed the warning in them.

“They will lay their swords at your feet and bend knee to salvage the last of their history, to protect the last tree standing from the savagery that we will show.”

Vhalla should have stopped herself, but she commanded the moment. This genocide had created an unlikely connection with her own history. She was of a people who had been used as slaves and burned for their existence. It made her disgusted with the ugly business she had sunk neck deep in.

“Doing this—hitting them when they are weak, damning the people who pose no threat—will send a message about the monster that has been unleashed upon their land. They will know true hopelessness as their symbols and culture are crushed into a bloody smear upon their sacred ground. So, the North will
feed
that monster to quell its appetite for conquest, and you will have your fat-bellied victory.”