“We will rue the day if we let her out of here alive,” one senator said.
“Kill her now!” screamed another.
Vhalla looked out at the scene; most of the senators were on their feet. Some were fighting with each other, more were arguing with Victor on the dais below. Egmun stood silently, a mad smile creeping up on his features. He’d won. He showed she didn’t have control over a different and frightening power.
“Silence
!” the Emperor roared, and the whole room fell into a startled hush. Everyone realized, all at once, that they had forgotten themselves. He rose to his feet and descended from the royal platform. Mohned, Victor, and Egmun parted with a bow of their head as he walked through, but his attention was glued on her.
Vhalla twisted her head slightly; one eye was squinted shut against the floor, and the other was partly covered by her hair. He knelt down before her on the other side of the bars, and placed a hand on his raised knee. The Emperor regarded her curiously.
“Let her sit,” he ordered.
Vhalla felt Craig and Daniel remove their feet from her back. She eased up slowly, their sword points still at her neck. Vhalla risked a movement to pull her hair from her eyes.
“My lord, I don’t think—” Egmun started.
“Silence, Egmun.” The Emperor held up a hand. The most powerful man in the realm considered Vhalla for a long moment, his blue eyes searching her for something. Eventually she looked down at her hands folded in her lap, unsure what he wanted to see. “Could you strike me down where I am now?” he asked.
“My lord?” Vhalla couldn’t believe her ears. Was it a trick? Or a test?
“You are shackled, with swords at your throat, behind bars. Could you still strike me down?” Though his eyes looked nothing like Aldrik’s, she felt a familiar intensity in them and it gave her pause.
“I’ve never thought about doing something like that, and my magic seems strange right now... But I suppose I may be able to,” she answered honestly.
The Emperor nodded. “Did you try to kill my son?” he asked.
She met his eyes. “No,” Vhalla’s voice was small, but strong, like a finely forged rapier. “I would only ever want to save your son.”
She thought back to Aldrik on his knees, not unlike how she was now, with swords at his throat. It rattled her from the inside out; it fueled her resolve. Even under the Emperor’s searching gaze she did not look away. In this one moment, Vhalla had nothing to hide.
The Emperor nodded. “Take off her shackles.” The Emperor stood and Daniel quickly sheathed his sword to fumble with the locks on her wrists.
“My lord, we should consider—” Egmun began to protest.
“Egmun, if this girl wanted to kill any of us, she could have and would have by now.” This realization seemed to rattle some senators as much as it calmed others.
Her chains removed, Vhalla stood on doe-like legs and rubbed her wrists gently. Even if she was still in a prison, she felt marginally better without being cuffed and chained.
The Emperor continued to study at her. “Vhalla Yarl.”
She looked up; it was the first time he’d used her name.
“Have you ever conspired to harm my Empire?”
“No, of course not,” she answered directly.
“Did you conspire with the Northerners on the night of Fire and Wind?” he asked, his eyes continuing to rest heavy on her.
Vhalla’s mouth dropped open. “No!” she snapped, not caring to whom she spoke. “They killed my friend, they threatened my home, and they—” She stopped herself and his eyebrows raised. Vhalla’s eyes flicked over to Aldrik. “They...” she repeated again. How much would he want her to say? “They did something unforgivable.”
“What happened that night?” the Emperor asked.
“I was at the Gala,” Vhalla began. “I was...there when the explosion happened. I saw where it happened. My friends were near its center; I had to go help them. So I ran through the city. I found them, then the Northerners were upon me a-and...” She was struggling with leaving Aldrik out of her story. “I thought they would keep hurting people. They were going to kill me and I only wanted them to die.”
“And the crown prince?” the Emperor asked.
She cursed inwardly. Of course that wouldn’t be forgotten easily. Vhalla took a deep breath finally looking away. “He...” He, what? He had been a supporting and guiding figure since the summer? He inspired her? He was someone who made her smile as much as he had made her want to kick something? Vhalla shifted her gaze to the senators, who seemed to be hanging on her every word.
“He’s a much better a person than I’ve heard people give him credit for. He’s worth a lot more than many of the people in this room, and it’s not just because of the crown on his head.” She looked back at the Emperor. “He wanted to help. If I am guilty for anything, it was putting him in a position where he felt compelled to do so.”
A stunned silence filled the room. Even Egmun couldn’t seem to find anything to comment on. She wasn’t sure if she had damned herself, or if Aldrik would be enraged at her for it, but she didn’t regret her words. Eventually, she looked down and grabbed the sides of her sack.
Without a word, the Emperor relinquished his stare, turned and walked back to his throne. Vhalla felt the eyes of everyone in the room on her but her attention sought out the gaze of only one.
Aldrik made no motion. He concealed his emotions even from her. Vhalla sighed softly and looked down again; it was hopeless. Everything she thought she knew about her and the prince was wrong. Why else wouldn’t he speak for her?
“I think we have enough to reach our decision. Do you have any more to say on your behalf, Vhalla Yarl?” the Emperor asked.
She shook her head, not raising her eyes again.
“I propose a motion that we reach our verdict tomorrow. Our Empire is at war and has more pressing matters than this. If there are no objections?” Naturally, no one stepped forward to speak against the Emperor. “Guards, take the prisoner away.”
Vhalla turned and Craig pulled open the door. She followed Daniel out, not looking back for a moment. The walk back to her prison was in silence. But they made no motion to return her shackles.
Within her cell, the walls closed around her. Vhalla sat by the door, her back against the bars to avoid giving the impression she wanted to speak. She rested her head against a bar gently; the pressure on the back of her skull was a welcome pain.
She sighed and closed her eyes. It would be another day of waiting—and then, her fate. At least she would be out of here soon. The end of the trial seemed to have gone in her favor, but it had started so poorly. Their cries, calling for her death, echoed through her ears.
The next morning, Vhalla woke to the same dim light of her cell and wondered what time it was. She rubbed her eyes, blinking away sleep. They fed her last night, but it was only scraps of bread. Her stomach wasn’t in too much pain though, her sparse eating habits paying off.
The sack was beginning to itch, and she desperately desired to bathe and change. Even if they put her back into a burlap thing, she wanted to get out of this one. A heavy sigh relieved a small amount of stress and tried to keep the sanity-threatening memories at bay. She had to compartmentalize and lock the thoughts away to survive.
“Oh, you’re up.” Daniel had heard her. “Want breakfast?”
Vhalla nodded.
“I’ll see what I can find,” Craig said before running off.
“What time is it?” she asked, moving closer to the bars.
“I think an hour or two past dawn.” Daniel turned and knelt.
“Have they begun?” She didn’t need to clarify
they
. He nodded. “Yeah, not too long ago. I’ve no idea how it’s going,” he said apologetically.
“It’s all right.” She picked at the stray threads of her sack, suddenly feeling less hungry thinking about the men and women in the courtroom.
Craig returned with a small roll and a handful of grapes. “It’s all I could get; they weren’t really planning on feeding you, apparently.” He passed it through the bars and she began nibbling and picking at the food.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Egmun told them part of my powers was not needing to eat,” she said bitterly, certain he was spinning lies about her right now. Both men chuckled and she forced down the last of the bread.
“We’re going to take you to the Chapel of Dawn today,” Daniel said. She looked up curiously. “Baldair told us that normally a prisoner likes to pray before their verdict, asking for fairness and wisdom from the Mother. Or absolution from their crimes.”
Vhalla had never been a particularly spiritual person, but she would take any excuse to leave her cage. The Chapel of Dawn was the official place of worship for the Imperial Family and capital. It was one of the highest public places in the palace. To get to the chapel, the common folk used an outdoor stairway not far from the Sunlit Stage. It was where the Crones of the Mother were ordained and where coming of age, weddings, and other religious ceremonies were held for the Imperial Family.
The day passed. Vhalla inspected her wounds and found them red and puffy, but no worse. It was the not knowing that began to drive her mad. If she could walk outside of her body like Aldrik had once implied she could, then perhaps Vhalla could listen in on the courtroom. But the idea of being stuck out of her body again kept her rooted firmly in place, doing little more than rolling pebbles across the floor and back.
“Let’s go,” Craig said finally. Vhalla pulled herself to her feet and ran a hand through her hair, snagging on tangles almost immediately. “I’m not going to shackle you, so please don’t run.”
“I promise,” she agreed, not sure if these guards were exceptionally smart, or extraordinarily stupid for trusting her. Whatever the case, she was glad they did and that they allowed her to walk silently between them.
She’d done little all day, but Vhalla found the walk exhausting. The path was entirely underground, up dimly lit stairwells, and cobweb cluttered halls. They passed no one else, which led her to assume she was in some kind of temporary holding and not the labyrinth of dungeons that were rumored to exist beneath the palace.
Eventually they came to a rather plain door. There was a blazing sun upon it, crafted from bronze but tarnished with age. It protested Daniel’s attempts to open it, starting to budge only when he put his shoulder into it.
“Are you sure this is the right way?” He coughed up dust.
“It’s what the prince told me.” Craig shrugged. “Maybe it’s been a while since the last person?”
“It’s been a long while,” Daniel muttered.
She was thankful that Craig had thought to grab a torch a while back. For a brief moment, Vhalla’s heart raced as she realized that she was very far from anyone else, alone with two guards. But as the muted lights of the Chapel began to stream in through the door, she breathed easy.
They walked into a small sub-room of the Chapel that Vhalla had never seen before. There was a large altar. Over it was a sculpture of the Goddess holding out her arms. She was swathed in life-giving flame and had a firm, but kind, expression on her face. On the altar were a series of ritual artifacts, a golden mirror supported by white marble, a steel dagger, and black and white candles. There were only four kneeling pillows set out and they looked old and worn. Vhalla assumed the pillows were once white, but now they were threadbare and gray with dust.
There was another door that Vhalla surmised led into the main area of the chapel. It seemed to be in better care and was reinforced with iron and a golden lock. Daniel kicked off his boots before entering the sacred space to try the other door. This door did not budge either, but gave a tell-tale clank of a lock engaging.
“I guess we’ll wait outside here then.” He shrugged, yanking his shoes back on. “It’s the only access, so we know you can’t run.”
“Give you privacy in your prayers,” Craig offered.
Vhalla gave them both a small smile. They couldn’t give her much, but what they could they did. With a nod both departed, leaving her alone.
They hadn’t given her shoes, so she had nothing to strip before entering the hallowed ground—but she wished she had something to wash her feet and hands with. Walking over to one of the pillows, Vhalla sat listlessly, watching the dancing flames envelop the sculpture of the Mother. It was hypnotic and, while it did not resemble prayer, there was something peaceful to it. The Crones said the Mother looked after all her children; Vhalla wondered if she had been lost or forgotten. One mother had already left her, maybe that was simply her fate.
The sculptures turned into reliefs around the outer walls. Each held a story of Mother Sun and her eternal dance with Father Moon. The Mother crafting the earth; their false child, the dragon of chaos; their splitting of the world to keep the disorder from their true children, humanity; she knew all the stories. Every tale was a memory of a book she had read on that beloved window seat. Her eyes began to burn.
Quickly wiping her cheeks, Vhalla turned in place as the chapel door opened slowly and silently. A figure swathed in maroon glided across the threshold. The Crones of the Mother wore a deep red color to signify the departing light of the sun, a symbol that their vigil would last until the end of their days. The door closed silently and the Crone locked it again.
“Crone,” she said uncertainly. “I’ve come for my prayers before my fate,” Vhalla tried to explain, concerned she would be presumed to be somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be.
Two hands reached up and pulled the hood backward.
“I know,” it was a deep masculine voice.
“Aldrik?” Vhalla gasped in shock.
The brim of his collar on his white jacket extended beyond the top of the large hood, and he wore his golden crown.
“Do not speak too loudly.” He glanced around before walking over quickly. Aldrik knelt down on a pillow across from her. “Are you well?”
“Aside from the obvious?” She grinned weakly.
He frowned. “This is not a game, Vhalla,” he scolded her lightly.
“Oh? I’m sorry, I thought it was. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been having so much fun.” She wasn’t in the mood to be spoken to in that tone.