Page 19 of Tree of Ash (The Runic Saga #2)

Shocks and Summons

Darien

It’d been days since the war council, yet Darien had been unable to speak with Larissa in private since then.

They’d only met in councils, straightening out the details, going over the plan minute by minute, allowing for every possibility.

They’d discussed how long it would take for the Vienám to mobilize.

Every able-bodied person reported for their position, waiting on orders from their generals.

Others—their families, the wounded, and the weak—packed their belongings.

If all went according to plan, the majority of the Vienám would be moving into Perle by the end of the week.

It was a momentous task, and perhaps that was why Torsten took every opportunity to speak or train with Darien.

Darien bowed his head beneath the weight of his father’s mental attack.

“Focus, Darien,” Torsten ordered.

They faced off in a private room devoid of all furniture apart from some mats piled neatly in the corner.

They’d gone back and forth for hours. Sometimes Darien would attempt to control Torsten with his galdr , and sometimes he would try to defend himself.

When their brains tired, their hands fell to their swords.

Perhaps his father was doing his best to prepare him, but Darien’s lack of freedom made him wonder if their prolonged training sessions had something to do with keeping him away from a certain Princess as well.

“You can’t let anyone slip through your mental wall.

Without it, you’re as good as dead.” Torsten had dispensed with his formal jacket and crown but retained his air of regality nonetheless.

His gaze burrowed into Darien, and the pressure in Darien’s mind increased.

Yet even as the stabbing pains grew worse, Darien knew his father was holding back.

Mentally, he focused on building his wall, brick by brick, cementing the layers against Torsten’s intrusion.

It was training he had received in his youth, and Darien pulled from those memories to defend himself.

His ring finger grew warm as he used the sapphire on his hand to channel the galdr from within.

In his mind’s eye, he pictured the rune etched into that sapphire—Laguz, Njord’s own rune, curved like a shepherd’s hook.

So focused on channeling his galdr , Darien hardly noticed his father drawing his sword until the blade rested at his collarbone.

“Dead,” Torsten said.

Darien raised his hands in surrender, but the distraction had decimated his walls, allowing his father entry into his mind. His body stiffened under his father’s will. It was over.

Torsten lowered his sword and released his hold on Darien’s mind. “You have to be present mentally and physically, Darien. I don’t understand why this is so hard. Aeron always—”

Torsten stopped, and Darien swallowed against the painful lump that had solidified in his throat. What was there to say? He wasn’t Aeron? His father already knew that.

“Go to the range. We’ll speak again before your departure.”

“Faeir,” Darien called to his retreating back. “At the last meeting, you said we would meet with the farmers to see if we could win them to our side and smuggle us through the walls.”

“Yes?”

“You didn’t say what we would do if they disagreed.”

Torsten turned, a raised eyebrow the sign of his confusion. “Then you commandeer their trucks and hold them as war prisoners until we can determine their loyalty.”

His father departed the room, the conversation apparently closed.

Strategically, Darien knew the plan was logical, but it caused a sharp contrast between the father of his memories, who’d often chosen to see the best in people, and the man that now led the Vienám.

Even worse, he couldn’t stop thinking of Aagen and Jon and of the other farmers who might not be willing to risk their families for strangers, no matter who they claimed to be.

Then, of course, there was the persistent voice in his mind that would not leave.

It nagged at him at the most inopportune moments, calling him a fraud in his gold-lined jacket that should have been Aeron’s.

It was enough to make him want to put a fist through the wall.

Instead, he threw open the door, following his feet as they took him to where he was ordered to go.

Although Torsten demanded that Darien train with his ancestral weapon, even he could acknowledge the advantages of a gun in a war.

Darien paid special attention to the markers on the tunnel walls.

Speaker Skaei constantly reminded him how easy it would be to get lost within the mountain.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he found the mouth of the tunnel that overlooked the Vienám.

As always, the sight filled him with hope.

Though the Jotnar preferred to reside within the mountain itself, the people of the Vienám had built their homes within the valley, cradled between the mountains.

From his vantage point, Darien could see and hear the bustle of the city as families prepared for what was coming.

Their plan seemed impossible, but so had the presence of giants only weeks ago.

Finding the steps that lined the canyon walls, Darien descended, invigorated by the sun on his skin.

The shooting range was near the cliffside, both as a safety precaution and as a courtesy to those who lived in the valley.

Following the loud pops to the range, Darien was more than pleasantly surprised by the familiar white braid hanging down Larissa’s back as she faced away from him, pulling the trigger again and again.

She’d ditched the fancy evening gown and looked more like the farm girl he’d met on Produce Day only weeks ago, with a leather jacket zipped up tight against the cool valley breeze.

She was more beautiful each time Darien saw her.

He stood back, waiting until she lowered the hand gun and removed the earmuffs, letting them hang around her neck. She switched the mechanism that brought her target to her, showing the scattered shots within the abdomen of the practice silhouette.

“Nice,” he called out.

She turned, a smile tugging at her lips. “Darien.”

The sound of her voice was all it took for Darien to appreciate how utterly alone they were.

He wasn’t sure where the instructor of the course had gone off to; Darien was only glad that he was gone.

In the past, being with Lovisa had been as easy as breathing, but after fifty years apart, Larissa looked at him with hesitancy that caused him to pause.

Larissa clicked the switch again, sending her target back out on the range. “Come to practice?”

His tongue unstuck from his mouth. “Faeir’s orders.”

Larissa’s shoulders tightened, but she nodded and offered him her gun. “Not sure Torsten would want you here if he knew I was here.”

Ah. That explained her caution. He held the gun loosely in his hand, making no move toward the target. “Has he said something to you?”

“Not in so many words, but he’s made his feelings about us spending time together clear.”

He shrugged. “He accepted it before; he’ll get used to it again.”

“You weren’t the Crown Prince before,” she muttered.

“That doesn’t have to change anything—”

“It could mean trouble with Torsten.”

Darien reached for her arm. “You’re worth the trouble. I missed you.”

Her gaze softened. “I missed you too, Dar.”

It was the way she said his name that drew him toward her with undeniable force. He reached for her, but Larissa’s eyes flashed around.

“Not here,” she said, but she didn’t move away. “I need Torsten’s support, especially until I get Halla back.”

“He won’t go back on his word,” Darien promised. “We’ll get Halla. We’ll reclaim Perle.”

“You make it sound so easy.” Larissa’s hands fidgeted at her sides, a faint glow surrounding her fingertips. “I’m . . . struggling with my galdr . It didn’t used to be like this; I used to be stronger.”

“It’s the same for me when I’m training as well. I think our minds remember, but our bodies need time.”

“We don’t have time.” Larissa shoved her hands in her pockets. “I shouldn’t be here. I should have left for Halla days ago. Every day that I’m here is a day that she waits for me. I’m tired of playing Princess. I’m ready to go get my sister.”

As if fed by the agitation in her voice, the glow increased from Larissa’s hands. She caught his gaze and raised her hands in front of her face. To Darien’s surprise, they shook.

She groaned. “And I can’t stop them from doing that .

When I reach for my galdr , it feels like there’s a flood waiting to be unleashed, but I can’t use it for more than parlor tricks.

I know the Vienám needs me. I know what I’m doing here is important, but Halla is important too. What are they doing to her ?”

Small crackles of energy snapped between her fingers.

Without thought, Darien set the gun on the bench and reached out to take her hands in his.

An electric current shocked his fingers, but he held on tight despite the discomfort.

Besides, the physical sensation was nothing compared to what was running through his heart.

“It’s okay, Lov, look at me.” Darien waited until Larissa’s golden eyes met his own. He stared into them, breathing slow and steady until Larissa’s breathing matched his rhythm. “We’re going to get Halla back. I swear it on the AEsir . We will get her back.”

Though her hands clasped his with enough strength to hurt, she nodded. As the glow subsided from her fingers, the shadows beneath Larissa’s eyes became more pronounced.

“When was the last time you slept?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Last night, I think.”

“You think?”

“The mara keep me awake.”

Darien didn’t need to ask. Mara —those creatures responsible for nightmares—had plagued Darien’s sleep nearly every night after his fight with his brother, sending him visions of Aeron accusing Darien of taking his place while Calder smirked from the shadows.

He tucked her hair behind her ears, letting his fingers linger on her cheek. “You can tell me about them, if you want to.”

Larissa’s breath shook as she inhaled. “It’s Vereandi.”

Darien’s fingers froze on her face. After Larissa had unlocked the block in her mind, she’d shared with Darien and Anara what she remembered of her father’s murder at Shiko’s hands and her mother’s own sacrifice.

Queen Stjarna had poured out all of her galdr into Vereandi—the youngest of the Norn—who in turn had used it to hide Larissa and Darien in time itself.

It was a debt Darien could never repay. “What does she want?”

“She wants me to come to her.”

“Do you think she could tell you the rest of the prophecy?”

“Probably.” Larissa looked away; Darien’s hand fell from her face. “But I have to get Halla back first. Everything else can wait. It has to.”

Everything? Did she mean him too? The end of Larissa’s braid fluttered in the wind, tickling the bare skin of Darien’s arm.

Gunpowder lingered in the air, but Darien smelled cherry blossoms from his memories of the Jóltide Festival.

As though suddenly aware of their closeness, Larissa’s eyes widened, but she didn’t move away.

It was the encouragement Darien needed. Maybe, just maybe, they could go back to who they were before.

“Larissa, I—”

“Darien, I—”

They laughed, perhaps more nervously than they would have in the past.

“Am I interrupting something?” Anara’s bored voice came from behind him.

Larissa stepped back, tugging at her jacket sleeves. Darien half turned his head toward the other girl. “You have the absolute worst timing, do you know that?”

Anara swaggered over, her ruby pendant winking from behind her tan leather jacket.

The old one had been irreparably damaged by the draugr and Anara’s own blood, but this new one looked similar enough.

“Oh, don’t let me stop you. I just came to let Larissa know we’re being summoned by Speaker Skaei. ”

“The Speaker?” Larissa asked. “What does she want with me?”

“All three of us, actually. I was supposed to find Darien next, but his inability to stay away from you saved me the effort.”

Darien could’ve strangled Anara, but to be honest, he wasn’t confident he could take her in a fair fight. Instead, he let his sigh contain the full breadth of his irritation. Anara only smiled in his direction.

He passed the gun back to Larissa, who stowed it in her holster, revealing Halla’s pebble peeking out from her pocket.

A pang of guilt followed by a shot of fear worked its way through Darien’s gut.

He sent up a silent prayer. Halla had been his responsibility, and he would make it right.

Then he would continue this conversation with Larissa; she would know that the last fifty years had done nothing to change his love for her.

Darien cracked his neck. “Let’s go see what the giants want.”