“Is he at the palace?” Fritz tilted his head.
“He died on the Night of Fire and Wind.” Vhalla was momentarily assaulted by her nightly visions of her friend’s battered and broken body.It was her fault. She’d been too slow and he’d been waiting for her.
“I’m sorry, Vhal. Was he someone special?” Fritz asked, pulling Vhalla from her self-inflicted mental abuse.
“He was a good friend—special, like a brother.” Vhalla physically shook the images from her head, feeling another set of eyes fall on her from her left. Her sanity couldn’t handle another question on Sareem so she decided to take control of the conversation. “How long will we ride today?”
“Another two or three hours,” said a voice, dark as midnight.
Vhalla turned and looked up at the crown prince. “That’s all?”
Aldrik nodded. “It will take some time for a host this size to stop and set up camp. We don’t want to do it in the dark.”
Vhalla nodded and turned away before she became too entranced by him. Fritz and Larel began to talk between them, but Vhalla excluded herself from the conversation. She felt exhausted and passed the rest of the day in a daze.
When the sun was two-thirds of the way through the sky, the trumpet bellowed twice, calling for an all-stop.
“Make camp on the left side,” Major Reale barked, and the Black Legion followed her order.
Aldrik split off and dismounted between the Black Legion and the pole-arms. His father’s tent was erected in the center of the forward legion, and Aldrik’s went up at the edge.
The more experienced soldiers who knew what to do began to set up tents. The Imperial family members’ tents were significantly larger and rose up in a square with a pyramid roof. Groups of people ran over to assist each royal in setting up their temporary home.
It was a nice feeling to be out of the saddle. Vhalla stretched out her legs, ignoring the stiff ache, as she tied Lightning to a low-hanging tree branch. But she suspected the horse was smart enough not to run.
“Vhalla, we’re sharing,” Larel called, walking over to her with a bundle of canvas in her hands.
Relief settled over her as Vhalla pulled her bedroll off Lightning’s saddle.Larel was with her. She felt guilty that the woman had become her keeper, but Vhalla was too mentally and physically exhausted to waste much energy on such a small guilt.
Seasoned soldiers took personal effects from their saddlebags, like blankets or small pillows, and made themselves comfortable in their cramped spaces. Some regarded her with curiosity, some ambivalence, which was better than the one or two dirty glances she received even within the Black Legion.
Larel drove two posts, which suspended a length of canvas, into the ground. The product was a simple triangular tent. Privacy came in the form of two flaps in the front and back that could be tied closed. It was barely big enough for their two bedrolls.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” Larel announced after they’d finished settling.
“What’s for dinner?” Vhalla followed the Western woman as she walked toward one of the fire pits.
“Whatever the hunters can find with speed,” Larel answered.
Tonight that appeared to be a few deer, hare, and pheasant that already dripped fat into the fires from the turning spits. Vhalla received a shred of meat directly into her palm. She thought back to the lunch she’d shared with Prince Baldair at his formal table. Was he eating with his fingers now also?
“It’s not half bad,” Vhalla mused as she gnawed half-heartedly on a corner of the meat.
“I’ve always heard the Southern Forest was the easiest stretch of the march.” Larel tore off a strip with her teeth, eating ravenously. “The soldiers say that the Western Waste makes up for it in difficulty, and if we dip into our rations now we’ll never make it through the desert.”
Suddenly everyone was on their feet, giving the salute of the Black Legion. Vhalla was slower in bringing her fists to her chest. The crown prince walked up to the circle, his hands folded behind his back in a commanding stance. After a long moment of assessment, he gave a nod and the company relaxed. Aldrik walked over to the far corner and sat down next to a woman whom Vhalla had never seen.
Her skin was a deep tan color, not quite chocolatey, more like the color of a black tea that had been steeped for too long. Her hair was the same texture as the Northerners, and Vhalla instantly felt uncomfortable. Vhalla put her fingertips to her cheek, touching the faint red line of recently healed skin, remembering the Night of Fire and Wind. The woman’s hair curled like corkscrews in every direction, and she wore a red bandana around her forehead that pushed it back. She had angular features and striking green eyes. Vhalla’s uneasiness aside, the woman was rather beautiful.
She watched the odd exchange as the watercolor sky grew inky black. Aldrik sat with one knee up, an arm propped on it. He had removed his cape and sat leisurely in his armor. The woman was laughing, and Vhalla even saw a smile sneak across Aldrik’s cheeks from time to time. It was a smile that Vhalla had only ever seen given to her.
“Who is that?” Vhalla spoke so she couldn’t hear the whisper of his throaty laughter with the other woman on the wind.
“Who?” Larel tried to squint across the fire pit.
“The woman the prince is talking to. I’ve never seen her before.” If the woman had been in the Tower, it was amazing that Vhalla had missed it. The woman’s appearance alone made her uneasy.
“Ah, her.” Larel seemed to get a good look. “Fritz, you know her?”
