Air Awakens Book One Read online

  A side door opened. When a lean figure clad entirely in black crossed the threshold of the room, all else was forgotten.

  “Prince Aldrik?” Vhalla blinked.

  “I do believe I told you Aldrik was fine in private,” he reminded her.

  “What are you doing here?” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other as he approached.

  “Well, it seems you had forgotten something.” Pulling a hand from behind his back he held out her winter robes. Vhalla felt a foreign bubbling in her stomach and, as if on cue, he continued, “Plus, you told me that if you could, you would come and let me teach you today.”

  She laughed. She teased him for pulling her from her work, and she scolded him for his use of authority to get what he wanted. But his abduction of her was far gentler than the minister’s, and Vhalla found she did not mind being surrounded by opulence. In good spirits, the prince was enjoyable company, and he had her moving a quill from one side of a desk to the other without touching it by the end of the day.

  Her phantom was haunting her anew, but no longer with notes. The prince spirited her away the next day, and two days after that. Each time there was some clever excuse, and when those ran out he simply materialized between the shelves in the library and they would slink off together like children.

  With his dutiful tutelage Vhalla began to master basic magic. His palm would rest on the back of her hand, lacing his fingers firmly between hers to keep her hand in place as she tried to attempt magic without physical movement. Vhalla met with little success at this tactic— and a great deal of distraction. He promised her that she would learn something called “Channeling” soon that would make magic easier. But, whatever the technique was, he was holding it over her head until she made a decision over joining the Tower.

  In time, Vhalla peeled back the layers to Prince Aldrik, even though he still avoided anything remotely personal. In fact, she knew more about him from what she read in books than what he told her. But what she did learn in person was not written anywhere. Vhalla learned he favored a strong Western-style tea that was almost as dark as ink. She learned that when his lips parted it meant he was surprised, and when his eyebrows raised it meant he was impressed. She gathered very quickly that he did not like speaking of his family under any circumstances.

  It took Vhalla a week to realize that, for the first time, she did not actually want to be in the library.

  As the master led her back through the shelves toward the heavily fortified door of the archives, Vhalla caught herself staring longingly at a tapestry upon the same wall—a tapestry she now knew led toward a world of wonder and magic that was hers alone.

  The hinges complained loudly as they granted the master and her access. Vhalla followed Mohned into the dim world that was the Imperial Archives. She barely suppressed a cough induced by dust.

  The Imperial Archives almost created a library unto themselves. When a book was an old original, rare, or the last copy of its kind, it was moved into the archives for safekeeping. There were five levels to the archives, filled with books and an iron spiral staircase through the middle. Some of the oldest manuscripts and the earliest records for humanity were kept there. Vhalla felt a sense of awe whenever she entered.

  Heavy curtains covered every window when no one was present, preventing the light from fading or damaging the manuscripts. Mohned pulled a few of the curtains back, quickly expelling the darkness. Dust caught the beams of light, dancing through the air like tiny fairies.

  “There are some Eastern works that are close to falling apart.” He led her around the staircase to the second floor down, opening a few more of the curtains as he went.

  “Eastern?” she asked.

  “Yes, we don’t have many older works from the East actually.” The master started.

  “Because of The Burning Times?” Vhalla asked offhandedly.

  Mohned stopped and stared at her, adjusting his spectacles. “That is quite right, Vhalla,” he replied softly. “Haven’t I told you to stop reading books when you should be working? You should be careful where you place your nose, Vhalla,” he added cryptically.

  “Master...?” Vhalla asked, confused.

  “Ah, here it is.” Mohned carefully pulled a large tome off the shelf with two hands.

  Vhalla instantly saw where the leather binding was flaking off and helped him gently ease it down onto the table.

  “If you finish this one, the other three in this series will also need attention.” He motioned to the shelf. “Is there anything else you need?”

  “No, I remember how to change bindings,” Vhalla said with a shake of her head.

  Mohned nodded, and she gave him a small bow as he shuffled back without further word.

  Vhalla settled in one of the chairs, carefully starting her work. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she heard a set of footsteps lightly treading down the iron stairs. They were too heavy for the ancient master, and it was well before closing.

  She ignored the heated flush brought on by the frantic beat of her heart. The prince had said he was likely to be busy today. Vhalla knew he couldn’t steal her away every day, but she was shamefully hopeful.

  Vhalla glanced up and saw a man’s boots appear. They were brown, worn, and nothing of quality. Her shoulders slumped.

  “Hello!” Sareem whispered.

  “Sareem,” she replied, hoping she disguised the disappointment in her voice. “What’re you doing here?”

  “I finished a little early and thought I’d come check in on you.” He smiled.

  “The master won’t be pleased if he finds you slacking off,” Vhalla argued.

  “The master is behind the desk with Roan, transcribing like always.” Sareem shrugged.

  Vhalla looked down at her book, tying off one of her stitches. “You should be working,” she muttered softly.

  “Come now, Vhalla,” he pulled up a chair and rested his chin in his palms. “It’s not like you’ve never skipped work.” She felt her cheeks flush lightly. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” He winked.

  Vhalla rolled her eyes and busied her hands with her work. The apprentice part of her brain reminded her that she had more reason to be with Sareem than Aldrik. She studied him from the corners of her eyes as he settled in a chair across from her. Roan had mentioned him being handsome due to his Western skin combined with Southern hair and eyes. Vhalla actually thought the reverse to be more attractive.

  “So,” he began. “I feel like I haven’t had a chance to speak to you all week. You’ve been busy. When I’ve tried to find you, it’s like you disappear.”

  Her shoulders made a fractional shrug. There was nothing she could say since Sareem already knew she was a bad liar.

  “Anyways, I tried to ask before, but we got interrupted. I suppose, I’ve been trying to get up the nerve again.” He laughed stiffly, running a hand through his hair. Vhalla felt her breathing shallow. “We’ll have time during the festival, time off. Well, I was hoping that—well, we could do something then. Just the two of us?”

  Roan had been right. Vhalla cursed the girl, her mother, and the Mother in the heavens above. She opened her mouth, about to outright refuse his advances.

  Then again, what prospects did she have? She was eighteen now and had hardly ever been courted. Roan was right again. Sareem came from a good family. Hadn’t everyone always told her that marriage came first and love after? Vhalla shifted in her seat, torn over appropriate and desired responses.

  His cerulean eyes looked at her hopefully, and Vhalla reassured herself over again. This was Sareem; she had always enjoyed his company. Nothing would change. Vhalla was about to accept his offer when she hesitated.

  “I want to show you something,” she blurted out. His eyebrows raised in surprise as she stood. Vhalla knew she was dodging the question, but she remembered sitting with him on her window seat a lifetime ago asking about sorcerers. She had to know.

  Looking for something, anything, Vhalla f
inally settled on a small thimble of thread she had been using.

  “I need you to promise you won’t tell anyone,” she breathed. “Vhalla, I—”

  “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.

  MOONLIGHT 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.