Page 10 of Tree of Ash (The Runic Saga #2)

Lovisa

Larissa

Runes decorated the massive wooden doors.

The most frequently carved rune was the Thurisaz, the rune of the Jotnar themselves with its open-ended meanings.

Her Móeir and Faeir had taught Larissa all the stories of old, and, of course, Pappa’s stories had often centered around the Jotnar and their clashes with the AEsir , but never in her wildest dreams would Larissa think they were still alive.

Ragnarok had supposedly destroyed them all.

Yet giants and gods still roamed the lands.

Larissa suppressed a sigh. Halla would have loved it all. Halvor moved toward the doors, and Larissa squared her shoulders. Everything Larissa did now was for Halla. It had to be. She would bring her there; Halla would get to see it all herself.

The doors opened into an immense throne room.

Gold speckled the black-and-white tiled floors.

In one of the thrones sat King Torsten, dressed in his traditional navy and gold.

To the side and slightly behind him was a woman dressed just as finely and surrounded by a group of women who looked at Larissa with stark curiosity.

But they faded from Larissa’s thoughts as her gaze was consumed by the towering figure of the giantess who stood in front of them.

Speaker Skaei’s deep magenta dress was cut low in both the front and back with slits running up toward the knee on either side.

She saw Anara’s eyes glance at it in admiration.

“Why couldn’t they make me something like that?” Anara hissed in Larissa’s ears. “At least her dress allows for movement in a fight.”

“Are you expecting to be attacked?” Larissa muttered back, echoing Anara’s earlier sentiments.

“Always. How else do you think I’ve survived this long?”

Larissa’s snort died in the back of her throat at the sight of the young man sitting in the second throne.

Larissa had never seen Darien look like this, not even as Lovisa.

Darien’s finery was lined not with his usual silver but with the gold reserved for the Crown Prince.

The shadow of a beard clung to his jawline, reminding Larissa of how much time she’d lost to sleep.

Just as Larissa stared at him, Darien seemed to drink in her presence.

He’d looked at her that way before, so many years ago, but his expression could make Larissa believe that no time had passed at all, let alone fifty years.

As if they could still be what they’d once been.

Unlike his father, who rose in slow movement, Darien shot to his feet and bowed in her direction, his mouth curving up at both corners.

The temperature in the room rose. Significantly.

“Oh, Kings and Queens,” Anara muttered behind her. “Get a grip.”

King Torsten nodded in their direction. “Thank you for wearing the hoods, but there is no further need. No one will interrupt us here, and out there, we want the people to recognize you.”

He gestured to the side of the throne room where double glass doors led out onto a stone balcony. Beyond the doors, the noise of the crowd rumbled into one indistinguishable and unending buzz. The Vienám waited.

“That is, if you are truly ready.” Torsten’s doubtful tone continued. He glanced at the woman and her retinue. “You may go; we will join you shortly.”

Inclining her head only slightly, the woman turned. The gold thread on her gown shimmered in the light. Larissa’s alarmed gaze caught Darien’s look of discomfort. Had King Torsten had taken another queen? Darien’s clipped nod was answer enough.

Upon the queen’s absence, Torsten’s body stiffened. “I have heard the others refer to you as Larissa, but remember that publicly you are known as Lovisa. It is the name that holds the power to move the Vienám into battle. Do you understand that?”

Larissa pushed down her hood along with her irritation, knowing that Torsten held the power to retrieve Halla. “I understand.”

He straightened his collar and tie. “Your job here is to motivate the Vienám into mobilizing itself into action. You will be able to uphold your part of our bargain, won’t you, Princess Lovisa ?”

“As you are ready to do the same, King Torsten.”

From the corner of her eye, Larissa was pleased to see the smirk flitting across Anara’s face. Even Speaker Skaei looked content with Larissa’s answer. Only Darien and Halvor seemed uncomfortable with the exchange.

“Very well, Princess.” King Torsten offered an arm to the Speaker.

“We will address the crowd first, and you will join us shortly. They will expect you to speak, but keep it short. Only confirm who you are, and encourage them to follow my lead to victory. Speak nothing of your prophecy; we will discuss it later.”

She nodded, her tongue suddenly too dry to speak, grateful to postpone having to confess she knew little about the prophecy.

Torsten and Speaker Skaei made their way to the balcony doors.

It seemed that the floor was a giant chessboard.

The King was making his move, and soon, it would be hers.

As the doors closed behind them, Torsten’s voice boomed over the rumble of the crowd.

“My people, I have assembled you here today—”

Then the doors clicked shut, and Torsten’s words reached her as though spoken underwater, jumbled and muffled.

Halvor smiled at her encouragingly, but Larissa fought the sickness rising in her throat.

After a lifetime of hiding herself, of only speaking of the prophecy in whispers, the whole nation knew her name.

In mere moments, she would be expected to stand before these people who didn’t know the prophecy any better than she did.

They believed wholeheartedly in Lovisa’s ability to restore the peace Shiko had destroyed.

Yet Larissa’s feet were rooted into the stone itself.

Who was she to address these people? What did she have to offer them?

“I don’t know what to say to them,” she whispered to herself.

“Yes, you do.” Darien descended the steps.

At his approach, Larissa saw two Dariens standing side-by-side.

The farm boy who’d protected her in the walls of Perle and the Prince whom she’d fallen in love with.

Then the two merged into one, and that old sense of longing rose up again within her.

What she would’ve given to have their reunion not be such a public spectacle.

As though sensing the need for privacy, Anara turned to speak with Halvor in a low voice.

Freed from their scrutiny, Larissa moved toward Darien. She couldn’t help it. If Anara was right, and there were strings that connected people together, then the thread between them was taut and irresistible. “What if I say something wrong?”

He smiled, shaking his head. “You won’t.

You want to rescue Halla. Everyone down there has someone they want to rescue.

You need to reclaim Perle. Win their hearts now, and they’ll follow you into the fire.

” Darien paused, his fingers searching for something within his pockets.

He pulled out a small, smooth pebble and dropped it in Larissa’s hands.

She stared at the white stone in wonder, remembering how she and Halla had scoured the riverside for it as a replacement for the pebbles Halla had lost in the fire that destroyed their home. “Where did you find it?”

“Halla must have left it in Helga when we went into Perle.”

Larissa ran a finger over its smooth surface, thinking of the family truck she’d left with one of the Vienám spies. Just one more piece of her peeled away.

Darien cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault Halla isn’t here, but this way you can have part of her with you.”

“It isn’t your fault.” But the rest of her words stuck like honey in her mouth.

She didn’t blame Darien, but that didn’t change what happened.

Halla was gone, and no matter what feelings surfaced, Larissa’s full focus had to be on rescuing her.

She couldn’t allow herself any distractions.

And, with the way he looked, Darien was definitely a distraction.

The lining of his jacket caught her eye. “Gold, huh?”

Darien glanced down at his coat. “Faeir has great plans for me, apparently.”

“Did you tell him about Aeron?”

Darien nodded, but the pain in his face broke Larissa’s resolve. Her fingers brushed over his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Alright, lovebirds”—Anara rejoined them—“time to make our debut.”

A smile played on Darien’s lips, chasing the sorrow from his eyes. “They’re going to love you.”

“Indeed.” Halvor adjusted his half-moon spectacles. “Prince Darien was correct. They will follow wherever you lead.”

Something about his tone caused Larissa to examine the man more carefully. “Is that true for yourself, Halvor? Will you follow me into the fire?”

“For you, Princess, I would venture into Hel’s domain if I must cross the goddess herself.”

Stunned by his loyalty, Larissa glanced at Darien, who shrugged. He shoved his hands in his pocket and mused, “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to meet the goddess of death.”

Anara snorted. “We might meet her sooner than we’d like if we miss Torsten’s cue.”

“All too right, Princess.” Halvor chuckled. “Let me go and see if they’re ready for you.”

He slipped through the double glass doors, and Torsten’s words floated into the room. “. . . our trials have not passed without reward . . .”

Larissa stared at Anara and Darien, doing her best to ignore the painful absence of Aeron.

Their bonds forged in childhood, tested in separation, and strengthened by declarations gave Larissa’s feet the capability to move forward.

Her mind spun as she tried to formulate what she would say to the people of the Vienám.

Her own people had been halved by Shiko’s anger at Lovisa’s disappearance.

What if her people blamed her for her absence? Hated her?