Page 38 of Tree of Ash (The Runic Saga #2)

Perle

Larissa

Everything was in disarray.

With Anara and Darien in tow, Larissa shoved her way through the crowd toward the Second Wall.

The sentries formed lines in front of the gates, forcing the Vienám’s organized march to dissolve into tumult.

Near the front, King Torsten fought, more often now with his sword than with his gun.

The close quarters of the fighting had all but eliminated gunplay, aside from the most reckless combatants who didn’t care whom they hit.

Larissa pushed through the rebels, drawing nearer to where the sentries and Vienám collided.

Anara disarmed those who came too close, but Larissa could see how she restrained herself, disabling instead of killing.

“Watch yourself!” Darien called out, lifting his sword to shield against the knife of a sentry that had emerged from the lines.

Larissa raised her hands, releasing a bit of the galdr that was demanding satisfaction. It sent the sentry flying through the air until his body was lost in the fray.

Both Anara and Darien stared at Larissa with wide eyes.

“What?” she asked.

Darien chuckled. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

Larissa’s smile was brief as her eyes roamed over the pandemonium. The spit in Larissa’s mouth turned sour at the sight of gallows standing fifty feet tall beside the gates.

“Push forward!” came Torsten’s cry.

The wave of bodies around Larissa surged toward the gate, breaking through the lines of the sentries who were outnumbered three to one.

Random shots popped off, and more bodies fell to the ground.

Larissa stumbled over one, forcing herself to not look, but she felt the warm spray of blood that coated her face.

To her right, General Soren led a flank of men firing their own guns in response.

The sentries fell back, their bodies pressed up against the gallows and the gate.

One by one, those that remained raised their hands in surrender.

Larissa shoved her way to the front of the crowd, followed by Darien and Anara, where Torsten wiped his bloody sword on the shirt of a nearby fallen man and slid it back into his scabbard.

“Lay down your weapons, and you do not need to die,” he ordered the sentries.

“Who dares defy the Regent of Perle?” The question came from the man atop the gallows’ stage. Larissa hadn’t even seen him arrive. He wore a military suit, yet his guns remained in their holsters. He sneered down at the Vienám, glaring particularly at Torsten.

Torsten stepped toward him. “Hammon, your men are defeated. Accept your defeat and save what lives are left.”

Unexpected resentment stirred inside Larissa at the sight of the man who abused her people from his position of stolen authority.

“Who dares defy the Empress of Evrópa?” Hammon demanded.

“I am King Torsten of the Safír Kingdom, and on behalf of the Perlian people, I reclaim this commonwealth from the False Empress.”

At his words, the Vienám cheered.

A sneer stretched across Regent Hammon’s face. “I see no king, and there is no longer any Safír Kingdom. I see a vámr begging for scraps from the table of its master.”

The Vienám rustled at the word, gripping their weapons more tightly; the crowd surged forward, revealing how it had grown in size. Many of the Perlians had joined the Vienám . They stood weaponless apart from the determination in their eyes. King Torsten raised his hand to still his men.

“Can we not discuss this matter like gentlemen? You are outnumbered; there is no hope of you defeating our forces today. Surrender, for the sake of the rest of your men and of the aristocratic families beyond this wall. Otherwise, we will have no choice but to kill and burn as necessary.”

Larissa’s stomach clenched. That was not the deal. Perle did not deserve to burn any further.

“You are not Perlian,” Regent Hammon spoke, his words brimming with contempt. “The people will never rally to you. You have no right to rule here.” Beyond the gate came the sound of marching boots. “Did you really think this was the only army that I had?”

Sentries poured through the gate of the Second Wall, their weapons trained on the Vienám rebels who gripped their own weapons more tightly in response.

Larissa paled as the reinforcements supported Hammon’s forces, adding to the men standing around the base of the gallows.

The Vienám could still win, but it would be a bloodbath.

King Torsten’s face settled into resolved determination. His hand reached for his sword, but just as suddenly, it froze. Disbelief and anger passed over his face.

“My Lord?” Halvor asked.

Torsten’s response came out haltingly through his strained jaw. “He will—not release—my hand.”

Veins on the King’s hand popped against the pressure as he strained to remove his sword from its scabbard. Understanding dawned on Halvor’s face at the same moment that Larissa realized the truth.

Regent Hammon was manipulating energy. Not only did he possess galdr , he possessed Perlian galdr .

“Release—me,” Torsten commanded.

Regent Hammon laughed. “I am the rightful Regent of this commonwealth. Only those of Perlian blood could challenge me. Bow before me, and I’ll let your pathetic army live.”

Darien adjusted the grip on his sword. The sound of Hammon’s laugh grated against Larissa’s ears.

Her blood boiled at the thought of someone with Perlian ancestral power willingly serving under the Empress.

She scanned his face, but there was no familiarity there.

He must have been born after her disappearance.

Anara shifted in her stance, readying herself for the kill. Even if she took out Hammon, it would only set off more fighting, more death. There’d been too much bloodshed on her streets already; Larissa had to do something before the city was bathed in the gore of her people.

Larissa stepped out from among the Vienám’s rebels, who grinned with wild abandon as they recognized their Princess.

The Perlians who had joined the battle pointed and stared, fierce whispers breaking out.

Darien and Anara flanked her as they emerged from the crowd, poised for the attack but waiting, as if understanding Larissa’s desire to stop the conflict before it could begin again.

The sentries aimed their weapons at Larissa as she placed herself directly in between the Regent and King Torsten. Hammon’s brows narrowed, in distaste instead of anger.

“I am Princess Lovisa, the rightful ruler of Perle, and I challenge you.”

The hush of the crowd fell like thunder in her ears.

On the stage of the gallows, the Regent’s eyes widened a fraction before narrowing in distaste at Larissa. The nooses hung behind him, ever ready for their next victims, swaying in the soft breeze.

“Princess Lovisa is a legend,” Hammon sneered. “A myth perpetuated by the weak and traitorous.”

Larissa raised her hand, upon which shone the pearl ring, the emblem of her royalty.

She could only pray to the gods that her hand would not shake before this man as she felt the weight of her nation’s eyes upon her.

Golden sparks singed her fingers as power emanated from her.

The sentries nearest her stepped back as it washed over them.

“I am Princess Lovisa,” she repeated, her voice steadier than her heart. “I’m not here to bargain with you, Hammon. I am here to take back what is mine.”

“That is—”

“I speak instead to those of you who stand guard,” Larissa continued, cutting off Hammon’s protest. Her eyes were no longer on the Regent, but rather on the rows of sentries that stood around him, protecting him. She thought back to what Jari had told her.

My brother and I were both enlisted to serve the Empress, to be hated by those around us for the actions we were forced to commit. We were never given a choice to be anything else.

Many of the sentries stared in hatred or passivity, but for some, there was a glimmer of curiosity in their eyes.

“Some of you chose this path. Maybe it was the only choice available to you, maybe your family owed the Empress a debt. Maybe you had no choice at all. I know that some of you may even blame me for who you are and what you have done in order to survive. The people of Perle support me because they are tired of feeling powerless. You think you have power now, but I want to offer you something you’ve never had. A real choice .”

Several sentries shifted on their feet, readjusting their weapons, but they made no move to attack. Hammon, his galdr still holding Torsten at bay, glared down at Larissa with hatred in his eyes.

“She’s no princess,” he spat. “Kill her!”

Torsten’s sword slid several inches from its scabbard, and Hammon returned his glare to the King, keeping the energy around him condensed and pressed in against Torsten’s form.

The sentries shifted, and Vienám rebels alike shifted, but none attacked.

As though compelled, they waited like a bated breath to hear what Larissa would say next.

“Hammon will tell you there is no choice. He will order you to guard him with your very lives even though you have no chance of defeating us all. He will tell you it is your duty to the Empress to die for him, but it is your life on the line, not his. This is your choice. You can fight us, or join us, or walk away. I will not enslave you as the False Empress has, but I cannot allow you to enslave my people, our people, any longer. What choice will you make?”

The wind whispered amongst the vast crowds.

“Attack her or hang!” Hammon’s harsh voice broke the silence.

The sentries’ eyes were on one another, waiting and watching to see what choice their fellows would make.

Near the front of the line, a young man—a boy, really—with a shock of fiery red hair met her eyes.

They were only feet away from one another.

He holstered the gun that seemed too large for his hand.

“I will serve my Princess.”