Page 8 of Tree of Ash (The Runic Saga #2)
Fulfillment of Fate
Larissa
Lost.
Larissa was lost, consumed by past and memory.
Unblocking her mind had let forth an uncontrollable torrent of information that could not be organized or contained.
Guilt and shame rose up to accompany the memories of that night.
She remembered it all, her weakness as she did nothing but watch her father’s brutal murder and her mother’s bloody sacrifice.
Her people halved by Shiko’s anger at Lovisa’s disappearance.
No wonder she’d resisted remembering the trauma of that time.
Time passed in remembered dreams, and yet, time never moved. Larissa couldn’t guess how long she’d been stuck in the storm of what her life had been, or how much longer she’d have to tread the murky waters of who she had become.
Somewhere in that place between reality and dreams, Halla’s screams rent the air.
A dirt path formed under her feet, and Larissa ran toward the sound, pressing through the all-too-familiar fog around her.
Copper and burnt metal scents lingered in the air.
Larissa’s panting breaths were harsh in the vast emptiness of her mind.
Even knowing this was only another dream did nothing to deter Larissa’s adrenaline from rising.
The fog solidified into tall grass that tickled her sides as she ran toward the tree, whose size claimed the entire horizon.
Ignoring the roots and the branches, Larissa frantically scanned for the source of her sister’s screams. On one of the lower branches, a deer stared in mild disinterest before it bounded away.
On the same branch, a squirrel sat with its mouth open wide; only at Larissa’s approach did it shut its mouth, cutting off Halla’s screams.
Larissa’s feet stuttered beneath her.
Red, so brilliant that it looked like a living flame, caught her attention. Vereandi’s feet dangled off the branch upon which she sat. “Halla is waiting for you, Larissa, and so am I.”
The strange galdr of the child-goddess was alluring and repellent all at once. Already the scene was slipping through Larissa’s grasp as her mind shied away from the raw power. Scenes from a previous life poured through the fog, and Larissa was lost again.
Larissa crumpled the paper in her hand. The ink had long ago dried, and small rips around the note creeped farther into the page every time Larissa twisted the paper in her hands. The writing was nearly illegible at this point, but that didn’t matter. Larissa had memorized the short message.
Bathe, eat, drink, and get dressed. Do not leave your room; you will get lost in the tunnels. I will come for you soon. - Halvor
The note, a tray of food, and a beautiful floor-length gown awaited Larissa upon her waking.
She’d ignored the hot bath waiting for her, trying to make sense of the dreams that still danced across her vision.
A clearing with grass as tall as her knees, a tree with branches that blotted out the sky, and a small red-headed girl who beckoned and said, Come to me.
Vereandi .
Though Larissa had only seen the child-goddess once before, she would recognize her anywhere.
With the return of her memories, it was clear how Vereandi had intervened ever since her mother’s death: by hiding Larissa within time itself, placing her on Dal and Vern’s berry farm, sending her dreams that would remind her of her past, and finally empowering Larissa so she could to collapse the warehouse on Calder and his draugr .
For better or worse, the goddess of fate had taken an interest in Larissa’s life, and by the continued presence of the dreams, it seemed Vereandi was not done with her yet.
But even a goddess could not hold Larissa’s attention, not when she looked at the empty half of her bed where Halla should have slept.
Halla, whom Larissa had left in the hands of the thraell .
The thought, combined with her empty stomach, was enough to send the walls spinning.
Larissa pushed her head between her knees, determined to hold it together.
She had to. She had a plan. She had agreed to Torsten’s terms. She would be Princess Lovisa, and in return, they would mount an attack on Perle to reclaim the commonwealth and rescue Halla.
With her plan in mind, Larissa forced herself to stand on wobbling legs, to bathe, to eat, to drink, and to dress, but she had not anticipated being thwarted so easily in her endeavors.
Half-dressed before the mirror, she strained against the frustrating metal clasp that kept slipping from her fingers.
No matter how she bent or contorted her body, the zipper was stuck.
The material of the dress was as gentle as moonbeans and as smooth as a frozen lake.
The hem of the pale-pink fabric was lined with hundreds of tiny runed stitches that seemed to burn with every movement.
Though obviously meant to represent her royal lineage, the gown’s off-the-shoulder, slitted sleeves were a nod to modern influences.
The dress was a marvel, but Larissa seriously considered ripping the thing to shreds.
She had faced draugrs , for Odinn’s sake.
Yet here she was, brought down by a zipper and satin.
Releasing her arms, Larissa winced as blood rushed back down to her fingers.
But the tingle in her hands sparked an idea.
She hadn’t tried manipulating her galdr since she’d awoken, although the power gnawed inside her.
Turning so that her back faced the mirror, Larissa glared over her shoulder at the troublesome piece of metal and focused her energy onto it.
The ring on her hand grew warm, and her gut constricted as she pulled from the galdr that had sat dormant within her for so long.
Reflected in the mirror, the zipper wiggled as though pulled by some invisible force.
Then it stilled, stuck in the fabric.
“Kings and Queens!” Larissa ground her teeth; her hands reached to tear the gown from her body. The slight creak of her door sent Larissa spinning, holding the loose dress against her shoulders.
“Relax, it’s me.” Anara slid into the room with the grace of a cat, closing the door silently behind her.
A long red garment wrapped around her body, embedded with enough jewels that it moved and shimmered like an open flame.
It paled in comparison to the pendant throbbing against Anara’s tan chest like a second heart.
Etched into the stone was Hagalaz, the rune of Rubin symbolizing chaos and change.
Her hair had been gathered in three sections, lined with golden ribbons that matched the hoops hanging from her ears and the hoop in her nose.
Tiny diamonds ran along her hair line and dipped down her back.
For someone who had nearly died, she looked surprisingly well.
“Anara,” Larissa breathed out, releasing her tensed shoulders. “You look amazing.”
She flashed a grin, revealing the sharp points of her teeth. “I’m aware.”
“No, I mean, you are stunning—but your wound, is it healed?”
“Turns out Torsten found a way to replenish his supply of nectar.” A small jade vial flashed in Larissa’s mind. The nectar within was made from blossoms of the Smaragdian commonwealth and could advance healing and restoration. Larissa had experienced its effects firsthand.
“And it worked?” Larissa pushed.
“Clean bill of health.” Anara tilted her head, appraising Larissa’s predicament. “Turn around.”
Anara yanked the zipper and finished its journey to rest right beneath Larissa’s shoulder blades. The gown clung to her waist, then flared out around her legs, the runes shimmering all the while as a show of royalty, heritage, and prestige.
There was just one problem.
“Your hair,” Anara clicked her tongue.
Larissa ran her hand down the shimmering fabric. “I was thinking more about the fact that there’s nowhere to hide my gun.”
“Are you anticipating being shot?”
“Given what’s happened lately, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Anara rolled her eyes. “I’ll find you something tomorrow. For now, you can’t wear your hair in a braid when you greet your people. You’re a princess again, not a farm girl. Sit.”
It was impossible to resist the pressure of Anara’s hands on her shoulders.
Before Larissa had settled herself on the stool, Anara’s hands were already in her hair, unwinding the braid she’d put in earlier.
Her touch struck a memory of two young girls preparing for the Jóltide Festival.
Even then, Anara would usually dismiss their attendants so they could prepare themselves together.
As Anara’s fingers molded her hair, Larissa swore she smelled the jasmine she always associated with the Rubinian.
Larissa caught her gaze in the mirror. “I missed you.”
Anara’s face softened. “I missed you too. I started to wonder if Lovisa would ever return.”
Larissa dropped her eyes. “I still prefer Larissa.”
“I figured as much.” Anara pulled the brush through her hair. “It’s clear you remember your past; finally , might I add. Do you want to explain why you insist on being called Larissa?”
“I don’t know if you would understand.”
“Try me,” she muttered around the pins she held between her teeth.
“When I was Lovisa, I was never allowed to be Lovisa, not really. No one could know that I was Princess of Perle.” Larissa’s words faded.
Anara squeezed her shoulder. “They were just trying to protect you.”