Water's Wrath (Air Awakens #4)(59)

“You’ll hear more cases of it soon, I am certain.” Aldrik looked back to her. “The clerics say the years it appears late are the worst.”

“Has he had it before?” She remembered clerics telling her once that because she had contracted the disease as a child, it would not be as severe if she were to catch it again. Aldrik shook his head, and her heart sank. “How long has he been ill?”

“They’ve had him on bed rest for over a week,” Aldrik answered.

“The coughing?” she asked tentatively.

“It is only now beginning to worsen,” he answered. “You had it as a girl, didn’t you?”

Vhalla stared at her toes, remembering her mother’s coughing, so much coughing and then the blood . . . “I did.”

“Come see him?”

“What?” Her head snapped up, startled at the idea.

“I want you to see him.” Aldrik stepped forward and boldly took both her hands. His touch had the same familiar warmth as it always had, but it held no lightning given the subject of conversation. “I don’t know how much the clerics may not be saying. I’ve never been sick with the fever, so my knowledge is limited to second-hand study only. You’re at less of a risk of contracting the fever again, having had it before.”

“I know . . .” she sighed. It wasn’t about getting sick. She didn’t want to go into a room and confront that illness. “I’m sure the clerics are doing their best, Aldrik.”

“I trust you. I trust you, not them.”

Vhalla met his eyes with trepidation. That was the truth of it. When the cards fell, when all else was taken away, there remained the assumption that the other would be there—that somehow their existence as unit, as a force, remained.

“I’ll go see him,” she agreed.

Aldrik scooped up the small stack of books he’d pilfered and started out the library without a word.

“Wait, now?” Vhalla fell into hasty step with the long-legged prince.

“Clerics will be in his room without stop when the day comes,” Aldrik explained. “Night will be the only time that you can give me an honest assessment without having to dance around the egos of the bumbling idiots that my father seems to think pass for competent.”

Vhalla allowed herself a small smile and held her tongue. There was something reassuring about Aldrik being well enough to insult something. He led her down to one of the many doors lining the Tower staircase. Aldrik paused, fumbling to adjust the stack of books into a single arm.

“Give me them.”

“They’re heavy.” Aldrik looked at her uncertainly.

“Oh, yes, you’re too right, my prince. I am a delicate flower.” She batted her eyelashes for emphasis. “Allow me to do nothing more than stand and look pretty while you struggle.”

Aldrik shook his head with a huff of amusement and passed her the stack of books. It was hardly the largest she’d ever carried, and Vhalla adjusted her grip, managing it with ease. With his hands free, Aldrik unlocked the door and led her into a hallway that was completely dark, save for the mote of flame at his side.

Vhalla smiled tiredly at his back. How many times would she follow the prince into darkness, trusting his light to guide her?

Upon reaching a dead end, Aldrik pushed on the wall, and it swung open under his palms. Vhalla followed him into a large room. Moonlight streamed in through diamond-checkered glass doors that overlooked a massive balcony. A four-poster bed with large, black, square posts dominated the space. Around it was a stone hearth, a number of armoires, and doors leading in other directions. Vhalla stopped in her tracks as he closed the secret door, which was concealed as a large mirror. She looked at the gilded ceiling, the white marble flooring, the decorative tapestries and rich textiles that adorned the floor, walls, ceiling, windows, and doors.

“This-this is your room,” she stuttered.

Aldrik stopped. “It is indeed.”

“Where is the princess?” Vhalla asked delicately.

“Do you think she stays with me?” he asked incredulously. “Scandal aside, I would never let the girl into my haven.”

Vhalla swallowed as he crossed back over to her. Aldrik always said more between his words, and she heard him as clearly as ever. His hands rested on hers.

“Let me take those.”

“It’s fine. You have to open more doors, right?” His soft words coaxed her into whispering.

“I was going to do it alone before.”

“But you’re not alone, are you?” It was her turn to speak between words, and Aldrik’s expression let her know he’d heard her.

The prince’s hands fell from hers, and he started for the door to the left. She focused only on him, ignoring the opulent sitting area he’d led her into. Even if they were never anything more than they were now, would she be happy?

Aldrik poked his head out of the main door, glancing up and down the hall. He motioned for her to follow, and Vhalla walked on air over the plush white runner that went the length of the hall. They crossed to a door opposite.

As he opened the second door, Vhalla realized that she had been in this hall before. The day Baldair had invited her to the gala, he had taken her to the same room she now faced. But it didn’t have the same brightness as then. Now it was cast in darkness, with vials—empty and full alike—littering nearly every surface. The room smelled strongly of herbs and salves.