Page 11 of Tree of Ash (The Runic Saga #2)
The sound of the crowd roared again on the other side of the door in response to something Torsten had said. Larissa gripped the pebble tighter. “Is that the entire Vienám?”
“Not quite,” Anara answered, her tone almost bored. “The valley is bursting at the seams. They’ve called for one member from each household to be present, and even then, it’ll be standing room only.”
Halvor’s face peeked through the opening doors. “It’s time.”
Forcing her shoulders to release their tension, Larissa strode forward.
Darien and Anara flanked each of her sides.
She would not descend into the fire alone.
Stepping through the doors, Larissa’s eyes snatched glimpses of the grand courtyard that sat below the balcony only a single story down.
Rays of the sun were disappearing over the cliff sides.
Dozens of large, industrial lights glared down upon a courtyard overflowing with hundreds upon hundreds of citizens.
At their approach, an unnatural silence settled on the crowd.
King Torsten faced his people, his voice magnified by the device perched on the stone edge.
“Tonight I am joined by three individuals of utmost importance to our future victories over the Empress’ reign.
May I first reintroduce you to someone who is one of us, a founding member of the Vienám and its strongest ally, Princess Anara of the Rubin realm. ”
Anara stepped forward, dipping her head in Torsten’s direction before stepping back into the shadows.
Her brief appearance was enough to break the dam of the crowd as shouts and exhalations overwhelmed the whispers and murmurs.
From her perch, Larissa could see the reactions of many in the crowd.
Although hundreds of faces had lit with joy and excitement, Larissa’s blood turned cold at the faces of others who turned away in disgust or whose teeth bared in anger and suspicion.
“Princess Anara left us many decades ago on a mission so important, its very purpose was hidden from all.”
Larissa peeked at Anara to see a barely concealed eye roll. That was one way to describe Anara’s decision to leave the Vienám after Torsten gave up searching for the Princess and his own son.
“She has returned to us, triumphant in accomplishing much more than we had ever hoped. In her long travels, Anara recovered one that we feared long dead. Years ago, the false Empress took my firstborn son from me. Although we mourn the loss of Prince Aeron, we rejoice in the return of my second.” Torsten’s voice boomed with triumph.
“Citizens of the Safír Kingdom, may I present to you the newly appointed Crown Prince of Safír, the hope of the Safírian bloodline!”
Like waves, shock rippled through the crowd before it was overcome by astonishment and, finally, uncontainable joy.
It was easy to tell who belonged to the Safír realm, for their joy was unlike any of the others.
Their leader was not childless as they had feared.
If they regained their kingdom, they also now had an heir connected intimately to the flow of Ancestral galdr .
Their kingdom would be secure once more.
Yet even as Darien stepped forward with that crooked smile that caught Larissa’s breath, another wave of emotion surged through the crowd.
The cheers died out and the whispers grew until the entire valley buzzed.
Their eyes turned toward her. Larissa could imagine how she appeared to them: a pale girl whose dress shimmered in the lamplight.
No doubt they’d noticed the strands of pearls dripping down and over her gown.
King Torsten raised his hand, and at once, all noise ceased.
Larissa fought the urge to wipe her damp hands against the dress, the pebble slippery against her palm. The pearl ring on her finger glowed as though the galdr inside of her yearned for release.
“Those of my kingdom, those of the other fallen kingdoms, and those of the Jotnar who so generously welcomed us into your valley: for years, we have waited in the shadows. We have fought impossible battles, and we have lost much. For so long, it appeared the Norn had truly set their faces against us, that even the old gods who survived Ragnarok could not be counted on to grant us mercy. It would be a lie to ignore the hopelessness we have battled against.”
Solemn expectancy stole through the crowd, leaving them with nothing but silence.
“But today, we are victorious. The Norn have revealed a new twist in the fabric of our lives. People of the Vienám, may I introduce you to the one destined to dethrone the false Empress, our lost Princess Lovisa of Perle!”
Noise exploded in Larissa’s ears, making it impossible to identify every sound that filled the air, encompassing every part of Larissa’s being.
There were shouts and hurrahs, sobs and screams, stomping feet and clapping hands all mixed into a thunder of applause.
Torsten stepped back from the amplifying device and gestured at Larissa to step forward.
She didn’t miss the warning in his eyes, reminding Larissa that her words now would correspond directly to Halla’s rescue or her demise.
Surprised by the even beating of her heart and the emptiness in her mind, her hands rested against the cold stone of the balcony as she looked out into the still-cheering crowd beneath her.
Her pearl ring caught the glare of the lights, emphasizing the Dagaz rune carved into its surface—the symbol of a new day, an end and a beginning.
It seemed only weeks, not decades, ago that she had looked over her balcony during the Jóltide Festival, watching her people enter into the palace, wishing they knew that she was their princess.
She had dreamed of this recognition. She had craved it with everything inside of her. Looking out over the crowd, though she felt the absence of her parents more than ever before, she was also emboldened by stirrings of vindication.This was where she had always belonged.
As if realizing that she intended to speak, the crowd hushed so quickly they seemed to be holding their breath. A familiar tinge of panic raced up Larissa’s throat, lengthening the silence.
No longer was she looking out at the crowd, but rather she was seeing the faces of Dal and Vern, her adoptive parents, as they had tucked her and Halla into bed at night.
Her own Móeir and Faeir as they told her that she would be making her debut to their people.
Her heart ached at the memories, and she knew just what to say.
“People of the Vienám, I am Princess Lovisa, daughter of King Mikkel and Queen Stjarna, granddaughter of Rúna, who first read the runes and taught our ancestors how to access their galdr when the world had all but forgotten the gods of our past. King Torsten spoke of your sorrow and your losses. I know that you have suffered for many years. I come to you also scarred by the Empress’ hands. ”
It was impossible to actually see their eyes, but Larissa could have sworn she felt their stares transfer to the scar along her cheek. She was grateful that Anara had pulled her hair back to reveal the wound.
Larissa continued, “I have witnessed the deaths of my parents, the destruction of my people, the theft of my birthright, the loss of those dearest to me.”
Halla .
Larissa paused, her throat constricting painfully.
A supportive hand pressed against her lower back, and Larissa knew it was Darien.
She wanted to lean into him, to let him take this from her.
Instead she forced herself to tilt her chin up and continue.
The crowd surged forward, desperate to get closer to her.
Larissa’s heart did not think only of Halla, but also of those whose hearts clung to her every word.
“I am done letting Shiko win.” Larissa ignored the way the crowd gasped at the Empress’ name.
“I am done letting her threaten our lives. Our family and friends, your children, have been enslaved under Shiko’s reign, forced to work and suffer under the sentries’ abuse.
I plan to march on Perle to reclaim what is mine, and I hope that you will join me. ”
Her declaration was met with utter silence.
Somewhere in the crowd, a baby cried. Heat crept into Larissa’s cheeks. Perhaps, the Vienám were not ready for war. But what would happen to Halla?
She stepped away from the railing.
“Long live the Princess!”
The cry, which had originated somewhere near the front of the crowd, was echoed by a shrill voice far back in the crowd, then immediately picked up by someone near the front and then another and another until the entire crowd chanted in unison. Chanting a name. Her name.
Lovisa. Lovisa. LOVISA.
Dazzled by the turn of events, Larissa turned from the crowd to find King Torsten watching her. She expected ecstatic elation. She had done it. The Vienám was going to war.
But as the cheers of the crowd swelled to even greater volumes, Torsten’s look was not one of joy, but of calculating concentration.