Air Awakens Book One (18 page)

“No one, Sareem. Not the master, none of the other apprentices, not Roan,
no one
.” Vhalla held her breath.

“Fine, Vhalla, I promise.” He smiled lightly, and she felt a twinge of frustration at how relaxed he was.

“I didn’t have Autumn Fever,” she started.

“I know that,” he pointed out.

“I know you know,” Vhalla sighed, already questioning herself. But she was in too deep. “I was in the Tower.”

“The Tower?” He eased both palms onto the table. Her resolve wavered. “As in,
the
Tower? The Tower of the Sorcerers?” She dared a nod. Confusion swept across his features. “Why? Did they take you? Did they do something to you?” He was on his feet. “I swear if they touched you—”

“Sit down,” she ordered, and he obeyed. “No, they didn’t hurt me, they were...helping me.” Vhalla made it a point to leave out the minister’s abduction, the prince, and the fall. That would hardly help her case, and she wasn’t about to explain what she had barely come to terms with herself.

“Helping you? Why?” Sareem furrowed his brow.

Closing her eyes she instantly felt her magical senses stretch out, building the room in a sight that was beyond sight. She could feel Sareem there, but he was a gray area. Vhalla couldn’t help but remember the blazing, brilliant, clarity that always surrounded Aldrik, and she suddenly held a whole new appreciation for him as a sorcerer. Vhalla raised her palm, the thimble sitting in the middle of it.

Opening her eyes she saw it, she felt it, and she understood it. Sareem was about to speak when the thimble shuddered and raised itself above her open hand. She held it there for a long moment, before bringing it slightly higher to eye level. Vhalla was actually rather proud of herself for this. Aldrik would have been too, she was certain. Her attention drifted to Sareem; the shocked and horrified look on his face made her lose all concentration and the thimble fell back into her palm.

Vhalla placed it on the table and slowly turned to him. He was staring at her as if she was some monster preparing to eat him.

“That’s why...” Vhalla said weakly, unable to meet his gaze.

“V-Vhalla... Wh-what was that?” he stuttered.

“Exactly what you think it was,” she retorted, defensive and annoyed. She didn’t know what she had been hoping for from him, but it wasn’t this.

He was on his feet in front of her, his arms spread out. “Oh Vhalla, you’re funny, tell me how you did it. It’s a great trick. Was it a string connected to your other hand? Some kind of magnetism? A trick of the light?” He couldn’t seem to let alternate explanations fall from his mouth fast enough.

“You know what it was.” She glared at him.

“No, no, that would make you—” He shook his head.

“A sorcerer,” she finished for him, crossing her arms on her chest.

He took a step back from her, “You, you can’t be.” He shook his head. “You’re not one of
them
.”

“I am,” she said sourly. “That’s what you want to involve yourself with.” She glared at him with all the icy bitterness that she could muster. That’s right, she was
one of them
, and
they
were different and scary.

Sareem shook his head and took another step back. He opened his mouth to speak, his jaw quivered, and then he turned and ran.

Vhalla sat back down at the desk and stared at the book. She listened to his hasty footsteps up the stairs and out of the archives.

The soundless scream of hurt and frustration caught on a sob, and Vhalla lost herself to tears. After crying for an undiscernible amount of time, Vhalla peeled herself from the table and sat straighter. Numbly, her hands returned to their work. She should have known better with Sareem. After his reaction to the simple mention of sorcerers, showing him magic had been foolish. There was no way he was ever going to accept her for who she was, and she wasn’t about to shed tears over someone with such a narrow mind, over a false friend.

Vhalla stopped mid-step, the door to the archives closing behind her. She stared at the tapestry that Aldrik had led her through during one of their lessons.

What was she? Was she library apprentice or sorcerer? She vowed to get serious about figuring out her powers and making a decision soon.

“Vhalla.” She had almost made it to the front desk when her name was hastily whispered from between bookshelves. She kept her gaze forward. “Vhalla!” She pretended not to hear and walked with purpose.

“Master, I finished the first manuscript. I don’t feel well. May I be excused a little early today please?”

The master and Roan both looked up at her with matching puzzled stares.

“Very well, Vhalla. Go ahead,” the master nodded.

“Thank you,” she said politely, bowed, and left. Vhalla pointedly ignored Sareem standing at the edge of the shelves, watching silently as she strode out of the library.

Her feet battered against the stone floor as she marched back to her room. Balling and uncurling her hands, Vhalla struggled to keep a fresh wave of anger at bay. He was supposed to be her friend; how could he react like she was suddenly less than human?

Vhalla stopped and a nearby candle flickered out, then the next—all at once she was standing in the darkness. She swallowed a cry of surprise, all but running to her room.

Slamming the door behind her, Vhalla dug her nails into the grain of the wood and caught her breath. She was already treading lightly. Any rogue and wild emotions could force her decision, and she felt so close to making it on her own. A scent tickled her nose, and Vhalla opened her eyes, her heart slowing.

Laid upon her pillow was a long stemmed red rose. Tied around it was a length of black ribbon by which a note was held to it. Everything melted away, and her hands were soon devouring the token.

Vhalla,

I am sorry I could not steal you away this day. You have my word that tomorrow I shall make every effort.

Sincerely,

A.C.S.

P.S.

When will I see you in black?

Laughing softly, Vhalla curled up in bed holding the flower’s head to her face, inhaling its rich scent. Perhaps she could request he steal her back to that rose garden? Vhalla laughed lightly, imagining her ordering a prince. Somehow, it didn’t seem so far-fetched.

A.C.S.
she pondered as her lids grew heavy. Aldrik was the
A
, and Solaris—the Imperial Family’s name— was the
S
. But, what was the
C
? Vhalla shook her head, closing her eyes and giving herself to the relaxing scent, a mystery for a later time perhaps. It was barely dark but all she wanted to do was lie there, and stretch her mind as far as she could to find that place that smelled of roses.

M
OONLIGHT STREAMED THROUGH
the glass overhead, and Vhalla tilted her chin to the sky, watching the moon float by. The rose garden was no different at night then it had been during the day. The darkness didn’t bother her; she saw everything brilliantly clear around her. There was a mysterious fuzziness to it if she moved her head too quickly, which was easily explained away as the moonlight playing tricks on her.

She stood and walked to the gazebo door, attempting to open it. It wouldn’t budge. She tried the handle again but found it unwilling to move. Vhalla wanted to be outside.

With only that thought she was standing on the steps and looked behind her. She didn’t recall opening or closing the door. Vhalla walked lightly down and over to the iron gate. He was there, but she didn’t know her way through that hallway; she only knew enough to return to the servants’ quarters. It surely was locked.

Vhalla leaned against the gate and slid down until she was sitting on the ground, looking up at the stars again. On a night so cool and clear it seemed a shame to be shut up in the palace. She wondered if he knew that. It was better outside. Her eyelids felt heavy. She would simply have to wait for him, she reminded herself again. He would come out eventually. For now though, she would sleep while she waited.

Vhalla opened her eyes as though someone had pinched her awake. A headache pounded in her skull. She rolled over into a ball, not even noticing she crushed the beautiful flower that she had slept with all night. Clutching her temples, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if she could will her mind to stop hurting. Vhalla squeezed her eyes back closed; the daylight was making her sick.

Slowly, her body began to relax and the sharp stabbing subsided to a dull throb. The light no longer caused a rebellion of her senses, and she attempted to sit. She dressed slowly. Everything had a delay and a sickening blur to it.

She hid the note in her closet—with the rest. Vhalla put the half-smashed rose with them. It was pointless to try to save it. Flowers began dying the moment they were cut, and she had only helped the process along. Petals hung at odd angles, and its leaves were broken. But her fingers lingered on the soft velvety red, she couldn’t bring herself to throw it away yet.

She paused. Didn’t she dream about roses? Vhalla shook her head; it still hurt and, trying to recall her dreams seemed to aggravate the ache further.

Sapphire stole her attention, and another shot of lightning pain shot between her temples. She grabbed Sareem’s stupid gloves. With a cry they were on the floor, her feet jumping upon them.

The tears only made her head hurt more. Sareem wasn’t worth the pain, she reminded herself. The gloves remained rumpled on the floor as she started for the library.

She stood at the doors of the library, a war waging in her stomach. Sareem was either in there waiting, and she would be stuck alone with him again. Or he hadn’t made it to the library yet, and she would be stuck with him when he walked in. Bringing her palm to her forehead she grimaced, it felt like it was about to split open. The day couldn’t get worse.

Making a decision, she pushed through the doors and was happy to find she was the first. She considered hiding somewhere, but couldn’t think of any excuse for when she finally emerged. So Vhalla simply hoped that he was going to be the last one and she would already be working in the archives by the time he arrived.

She sat behind the desk and amused herself by rolling a corked bottle of ink across. The doors opened again.

It was Roan. Vhalla sighed and pressed her forehead to the cool wood of the desk. The blonde took a seat next to her.

“Good morning, Roan,” Vhalla forced herself to say. Her voice sounded strange to her ears.

“Good morning, Vhalla,” she said with a smile.

“Have you seen Sareem yet?” Vhalla mumbled.

“Sareem?” Roan asked delicately. “No, why?”

“Nothing,” Vhalla sighed, not wanting to go through the effort of explaining anything.

“Are you all right?” Roan placed a hand on her friend’s back, and before Vhalla had a chance to respond the doors to the library opened again.

It was the master and Sareem, and they were talking. Vhalla was on her feet, pain ignored by her panicked heart. Why was he with the master? Her hands shook with paranoia, despite her tying to still them.

“Good morning, Vhalla, Roan,” the master started. “Today the jobs are much the same as yesterday. Cadance and Lidia are off receiving some final decorations for the Festival of the Sun from the Ministry of Culture. So Roan, you’ll continue transcribing, and Vhalla you’re back in the archives.”

Vhalla nodded and quickly stepped around the desk. She could feel Sareem’s stare but ignored it like she did Roan’s baffled look and the master’s quizzical gaze. If the master wasn’t kicking her out, then maybe Sareem hadn’t told him. All Vhalla knew was she wanted away from them all.

“What is wrong, Vhalla?” the master asked as he opened the Archive’s padlocked door.

“I’m fine, my head just hurts today.” She rubbed her temples again.

“I’m worried for you,” Mohned added thoughtfully, a palm on her back.

“Thank you, but there’s nothing to worry about.” Vhalla gave the master a tired smile. She looked away before emotion could get the better of her. She wished she could talk to him, but the master wouldn’t understand either.
The name in the Tower book likely was a different Mohned Topperen
, Vhalla told herself.

The master led her down to the same location as yesterday, pulling open a few curtains along the way. When she was settled, he instructed her to return to the main library should she feel worse. Vhalla nodded wearily and set to her work, trying to convey—with as much politeness as possible—that she had no interest in speaking. Mohned seemed to take no offense and departed with the quiet shuffle of his feet.

Vhalla tried to focus on the task at hand, but she found it hard to focus on anything. Every time she opened her eyes, the world was blurry—like two things were overtop of one another. Eventually she simply put her head on the table and tried to let the silence cure her brain.

The soft clanks of footsteps down the staircase were like knives to her ailing consciousness. Vhalla opened her eyes, but she didn’t even lift her head to see who it was. Aldrik’s walk was different, and it would’ve hurt less, somehow.