Page 45 of Tree of Ash (The Runic Saga #2)
Pride swelled in Anara’s heart, pushing out the anxiety and frustrations that had lived there for so long.
As children, Lovisa and Anara had played many pretend games in which Lovisa was finally able to claim her title, but they had never imagined it would be like this.
It felt wrong somehow, to continue forward without the Tapestry of Peace.
Generations of monarchs had woven their lineage into the enormous tapestry before Shiko had destroyed it on the night of her betrayal, and no mortal could duplicate what the Norn had fashioned.
With the facial design finished and the ancient oaths recited, General Soren stepped back, allowing King Torsten to take his place.
“Princess Lovisa of Perle, do you swear to protect the people of this land?”
Anara watched Larissa’s throat constrict as she gulped before answering. “I do.”
“Do you swear to put the needs of your people before your own?”
Her eyes darted to Darien. “I do.”
“Do you swear to maintain and uphold order and prosperity within Perle?”
“I do.”
Torsten beckoned Halvor forward, removing the crown from where it sat on its cushion. “And do you, Princess Lovisa, swear to fight against the False Empress for the sake of your people until she is removed from power?”
Anara stiffened. The very blood in her veins rebelled against the rotten smell that leaked into the air.
Before Larissa could respond, a cackle broke the tension, so violent that it shattered the reverent silence as if it were glass.
The sound echoed off the cathedral walls, bouncing off the high ceilings, but Anara had no difficulty locating its source.
A woman stood in the middle of the crowd, a blue gown cascading around her legs.
Although her head was bowed, her shoulders trembled with every laugh that hissed through her lips.
Stinging tingles raced over Anara’s skin in preparation for the change that it knew was coming.
Darien descended the stage, his sword drawn, his body shielding Halla’s. Larissa rose to her feet.
The woman raised her head, locking her manic gaze on Larissa. There was no color in her pupilless eyes.
“The Empress knows what you have done.” At the sound of her raspy voice, the crowd cowered in fear. The woman screeched in a painful imitation of a laugh. Someone whimpered.
A hawk dove toward the woman’s neck, its sharp beak only an inch from her soft skin before the woman’s hand shot up. But it was not a hand at all; rather a black, scaled claw dug its nails into Ishaan’s wing. “I have no quarrel with you, brother; be gone.”
With an effortless fling of her hand, the body of the hawk thumped against the castle wall.
Screams rose from the crowd as hundreds of spectators fled, pushing at one another, trampling each other in their desperation to flee. In the middle of the room, the woman’s body broke, bending over backward as scales covered her skin and horns sprouted from her head.
“Loki’s knot,” Anara cursed.
She leapt from the stage, her body transforming mid-jump, and landed on all four paws.
The draugr straightened its body, towering over those who stood too close.
Wings sprouted from its back, clipping those who had been unable to escape in time, splattering the ground with blood.
Before it could attack further, Anara threw herself at the draugr , her large claws catching on its scales, rolling with it to the floor, pinning it beneath her enormous body.
The monster screeched, and Anara’s ears flattened against her head in her best attempt to block out its debilitating effects. It took one look at Anara, its eyes narrowing in distaste.
“Your Highness.” The draugr ’s words were distorted by the shape of its lolling tongue. “ You I have a quarrel with. You’re supposed to be dead!”
The force of its push was enough to fling Anara into one of the side pews.
The draugr rose, swiping a claw toward Anara’s underbelly where her scar was still noticeably visible.
A hair’s breadth from contact, the draugr froze, its claws suspended in the air.
The creature’s eyes widened in disbelief as they locked onto Larissa, who stood at the end of the aisle, her hands held out toward the draugr as golden light sparked between her fingers.
Already sweat beaded on Larissa’s brow; she would not be able to hold the creature forever. Anara regained her footing, backing out of reach; her stomach clenched remembering the last time sharp claws had torn it open.
“You never should have returned, little Princess,” the monster taunted Larissa, a shudder running through its massive wings. “You can’t hold me forever.”
“She doesn’t have to.” Darien edged toward the monster, his sword drawn.
Anara padded on large, silent paws, paralleling Darien’s steps so that he advanced the front of the draugr while she approached from behind.
Although the draugr ’s body remained fixed in place by Larissa’s galdr , its eyes followed Anara as long as possible, snarls rising from its lips.
Anara’s gaze locked on Darien, who nodded in her direction.
They would attack together while Larissa kept the monster immobilized.
“Wait,” came the command.
King Torsten stood at the base of the coronation stage. Although the hall had nearly emptied apart from the soldiers who stood at the exits to ensure that the creature could not escape, General Soren and Halvor had remained at the King’s side. Torsten strode down the aisle, his own weapon drawn.
“Why did she send you?” King Torsten demanded. “Shiko would have known you couldn’t succeed on your own. What is her message?”
“Succeed?” The monster cackled. “I have succeeded; look at what has become of your precious coronation. As for her message, she has none. My Empress does not lower herself to deal with the scum. I was not sent by her. I was sent by him .”
King Torsten paled.
A beat passed before Darien spoke up. “ Calder sent you?”
The draugr bared its teeth in a poor resemblance of a smile at the sound of Larissa’s gasp. “Your brother says hello.”
Anara sensed the moment the draugr broke from Larissa’s hold.
It pounced from where it stood, its sharp claws making quick work of throwing Halvor and Soren from its path.
Their bodies crumpled to heaps in the aisles.
The soldiers nearest rushed to their sides, checking the slight rise and fall of their chests—the only sign of life.
Several more surrounded Torsten, who only raised his sword to block the draugr ’s attack.
Darien and Anara leapt into the fray, each attacking the sinews that connected a wing to the draugr ’s body.
Anara snapped her powerful jaws on the joint.
The King parried each swipe of the creature’s claws with his own sword, and the sound of its nails scratching the blade sent shudders down Anara’s fur.
As she choked on bitter blood, Anara gave one last tug and ripped the wing from the monster’s back.
At the same time, Darien sliced through the other wing.
The screech that fled the draugr ’s throat sent Anara to the floor.
She pressed her massive paws against her ears, whimpering against the sound that ricocheted in her brain.
King Torsten and Darien cradled their heads in their hands, kneeling on the ground.
Just to the side of the stage, Kai leaned over Halla, his hands covering her ears. Soldiers writhed from the pain of it.
Where was Larissa?
A gunshot rang out, silencing the screech as the draugr clawed at the hole in its neck.
Larissa stood on the stage, one of the guard’s guns held firmly in her hands. Sensing his chance, King Torsten rose, swinging his sword in a sharp arc as the draugr fell to its knees. The blade swept cleanly through muscle and bone, decapitating the creature before the light in its eyes had died.
Shuddering, Anara released her hold on her galdr , willing her form to return to normal.
She tried not to look at the creature at her feet, tried not to think of the person, the woman, the Rubinian it had once been.
Or the fact that her own people wanted her dead.
Or how her stomach ached with pain that would not go away.
She stepped over the broken and bloody wing, scanning the destruction and catching her reflection in the crown that lay at Larissa’s feet.
As if feeling Anara’s gaze, Larissa scooped up the crown.
Her lips twisted as she descended from the stage.
Grasping Halla, she pulled her sister tightly against her chest before approaching Torsten and Darien.
Soldiers worked on reviving Halvor and General Soren.
Even Ishaan, having returned to his human form, limped toward them and ignored the blood dripping down from the wound in his head.
His face twisted in disgust when he saw the dead creature.
Torsten covered his nose. “How did it mask its smell?”
Ishaan knelt, pulling something from the creature’s neck that Anara had missed during the fight.
It was a thin black chain. A pendant hung on it, engraved with sharp lines unlike any Anara had seen in her studies.
The faint smell of incense clung to it. Ishaan handed it to Anara.
“I’m assuming this had something to do with it. ”
“If Shiko has a new way of masking her assassins, we’ll need to counter it.” Anara scratched at the metal, but it revealed no secrets. “Though this may have more to do with Calder than the Empress.”
Larissa handed the crown back to Torsten, never letting go of Halla or the gun in her other hand. “Either way, if Calder is back, the coronation will have to wait.”