Chapter 34 Svenn
The war is over.
I keep telling myself that as I walk through the streets of Volundr. I repeat it while I watch the city rebuild, while people gather the shattered pieces of their lives and try to make them whole again.
It’s been a month since the battle with the fae ended. But the scars remain.
I walk through the main square. It’s bustling with activity.
Elven workers clear rubble from the streets and haul stone toward the damaged buildings. Masons rebuild the walls while smiths repair gates rusted from the seawater. The steady rhythm of hammers rings across the square.
I recognize Hrolf’s distinctive style in the new metalwork. Golden vines curl around the repaired hinges, and tiny runes have been etched into every bracket for strength. He stayed, the old dwarf.
Hrolf’s pardon was one of Finnbheara’s conditions for peace. He demanded that the dwarf be released and allowed to return to his people. But when Rhianelle told Hrolf he was free to go, he looked at her like she’d said something absurd, then went back to work.
“I cannot repay the elven lives I took,” he told her. “But I can help rebuild what was destroyed.”
So he remains in Volundr, helping create a future from the ashes of the past. One stone at a time.
As I continue across the square, Lady Deirdre passes through with Siofra and Darstan’s son sleeping in her arms. The baby is wrapped in a pale blue blanket, one tiny fist tucked beneath his chin.
She has cared for him since his parents died, loving him as fiercely as if he were her own.
Hrolf usually accompanies them on their evening walks. He walks beside her with his hands behind his back, not talking much, just there.
The rebuilding is slow, painful, and exhausting, but it is happening. Every day brings a little more progress. A little more hope and a little less despair.
A bakery catches my eye. The sign is new, painted by an inexperienced hand.
There is fresh bread in the window. The smell carries on the breeze and I know Rhianelle would love this place.
She’d probably spend hours talking to the baker about one of her strange recipes.
But for now she is busy being the queen her people need.
At night, she collapses into our bed and sleeps like the dead. When she doesn’t have nightmares.
Rhianelle visits the wounded every week. I accompany her sometimes. She kneels in the mud beside the children and listens to every story they want to tell her. Some show her their healing wounds. Others ask when their parents are coming home.
I walk past a group of children playing in the rubble. The kids are using broken stones as building blocks, creating castles and towers from the debris of war. They’re laughing and playing, being children despite everything.
Hope.
That’s what I see everywhere in Volundr and all of Aelfheim. In the people who refuse to give up. Hope that tomorrow might be better than today.
I find Bas at the edge of the palace grounds, preparing to leave.
He has packed lightly, carrying only a single bag over one shoulder with enough provisions and personal belongings for the road.
“You’re really going,” I say.
He turns to me and smiles. That familiar, easy smile that I’ve known for centuries.
“I am,” he says, adjusting the strap across his shoulder. “Time to move on. You don’t need me here anymore.”
“That’s not true,” I say immediately.
“You have Rhianelle now,” Bas says gently. “You have a life. A purpose. A future. It is time I found out what comes next for me.”
The smile remains on his face, but I know him too well to believe that is the only reason he is leaving. His departure settles heavily in my chest.
“There’s something I need to find out,” he admits, his expression fading a little. “I want to know whether Ruthven’s lineage survived his destruction. No one knows what happens to the bloodline when a Strigon who created it is killed, and I need to know what became of his descendants.”
Of course. Ruthven’s descendants have been at war with Vlad’s bloodline for centuries, tearing through territories and dragging countless others into their feud. Even in death, my brother continues to wreak havoc and ruin lives.
“I’ll see you soon, brother,” Bas says, reaching out to clasp my shoulder. “I’m glad, Andras. I’m so glad you found her. After everything and all the years, you found your person.”
“I did,” I say.
“That is how it happens, isn’t it?” Bas smiles faintly. “Love finds you when you least expect it. Usually when you have convinced yourself that part of your life is already over.”
His smile fades at the edges.
There’s something wistful in his voice. I see it. The grief that lives in him. The loss that never quite healed.
He’s thinking about Gwyn.
Bas loved Gwyn, and her death devastated him. After all these years, he still carries that loss with him.
“You still miss her,” I say quietly.
He swallows and looks away.
“Bas—”
“It’s fine,” he says quickly. “I’ve made peace with it. Gwyn was my person and I got to love her, even if it was only for a little while. That’s more than most people get.”
The grief in his voice is old, worn smooth by time. He loved her enough that even centuries could not erase the shape she left behind. It is the kind of love that doesn’t fade easily and leaves a scar on the soul.
“Where will you go?” I ask.
Bas glances toward the road beyond the palace gates. “I’m going to try to find Han first. We lost contact for a while. I may need a witch to find him, but I need to know if he’s all right.”
“If you find him, tell him I send my regards and that he still owes me a drink,” I say.
“I will.” Bas adjusts his pack. “After that... I’m going to visit Vlad’s tomb.”
I go still.
Vladimir Mircea Dr?culea. The ancient vampire who became a monster. Who hated humanity so much he tried to destroy it. He is now sealed away in a tomb, trapped for centuries.
“Why? You think something is wrong?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Bas admits. “But someone needs to check.”
I remember something then.
“I saw him,” I say slowly. “In the realm of the dead.”
Bas’s eyes widen. “You saw Vlad? In Death’s realm?”
I nod. “Death himself was dressed up as Vlad.”
“What does that mean?” Bas asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit, pausing to consider. “Maybe it’s an omen. Maybe you’re meant to go to him. Maybe he needs help or—”
“Release,” Bas finishes. “Maybe he’s finally ready to let go.”
We stand in silence for a moment. Two old friends. Two vampires who’ve survived centuries. Who’ve lost people. Loved people.
He steps forward and pulls me into a hug. I return it without hesitation and smile.
“Thank you,” I say into his shoulder.
“You’d do the same for me,” Bas says, tightening his arms around me once before letting go.
We pull apart and look at each other. Brothers in all but blood.
“Take care of her,” Bas says. “Take care of Rhianelle. She’s strong but she needs you, Andras.”
“I will,” I promise.
“Good.” Bas steps back, his familiar smile returning. “I’ll visit when I can.”
He turns and follows the path toward the city gates, his lone pack resting against his back. I remain where I am and watch him grow smaller with every step until the rebuilding city swallows him from sight.
Goodbye, old friend.
May you find what you’re looking for. May Vlad find his peace. May we all find our way home.
Rainer is dying.
We all know it.
The fae’s most poisonous spell, the Nevrin, was supposed to kill within twenty-four hours. That’s what every healer said and what every text confirmed.
But it’s day thirty-three now, and Rainer is still alive. I accompany Rhianelle to his room. He’s been moved to a private chamber in the palace. It’s much more comfortable than the healing house.
He’s propped up in bed, pale and gaunt. His eyes are sunken and his breathing is labored. But he smiles when he sees Rhianelle.
“Niece,” he says, and his voice is weak but warm. “You look well.”
Rhianelle’s face tightens as she takes his hand. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better,” he lies.
Rhianelle’s eyes fill with tears. She blinks them back. “What am I going to do without you?” Her fingers tighten around his. “Please don’t leave me, Uncle. I’m scared.”
They talk for a while as they always do, their conversation quiet. Rainer listens, asks questions, and gives advice when prompted.
A healer appears in the doorway.
“Your Highness,” she says to Rhianelle. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Tallula is having another episode. She’s asking for you specifically.”
Rhianelle’s face falls. “Another nightmare?”
“Every night since Lenna died,” the healer confirms. “She wakes screaming. We’ve tried everything, but she needs you.”
Rhianelle looks torn as she glances back at Rainer.
“Go,” Rainer says before she can speak. “Tend to your friend. She needs you more than I do right now.”
“But—”
“I’ll be here when you get back,” Rainer says. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Rhianelle hesitates, then leans down and kisses his forehead. “I’ll return soon.”
“Take your time,” Rainer says.
“I won’t take long.” She brushes a strand of silver hair away from his forehead, reluctant to release him.
Rhianelle stands and squeezes my hand once before following the healer out of the room. She leaves me alone with Rainer.
I’ve never spent time alone with Rhianelle’s uncle. He was always just there in the background, important to her but distant from me. Now we’re sitting in silence.
I stare at the wall, then at the window. Rainer watches me from the bed while the silence stretches between us, heavy with everything neither of us has said.
I say what I’ve been thinking for a long time.
“I know you were one of the seven,” I say quietly. “Back at Tavan. When Rhianelle crawled to me with broken ribs.”
Rainer goes completely still. The faint warmth in his expression disappears, but he does not look away.
“Yes,” Rainer admits freely.
“I know you weren’t yourself,” I say, and my voice is harder now. Much colder. “I know the Asterdust controlled you and made you do things you’d never normally do. But I’ll never forgive you for it.”