Chapter 20
I t was the first opportunity she’d had to be alone that day, though Darien would come at any moment. She stood in the middle of her modest but comfortable bedchamber, one of the only remaining in Castle Blackwood. The other unmarried men, including Darien, slept in quarters with other recruits.
After the meal, the men scattered for either meetings or lessons, and she had returned here to gather her thoughts. And more importantly, to read the runes.
Settling into a velvet-cushioned chair, Liana laid the pouch on the table in front of her. Waiting until her mind and body were both prepared, she had two questions. What did the future hold and how should she proceed with the reading?
As she reached into the small leather pouch, her fingers brushed over the smooth stones within, each one charged with the weight of ages. She closed her eyes, centering herself as her mind lingered on the questions at hand.
Slowly, she drew the first rune from the pouch. She felt her pulse quicken at the sight of the etching carved deeply into its surface—a twisted, jagged line. “Division,” she murmured to herself. It was a rune she’d seen many times in her mother’s readings, and it carried a harsh, unmistakable message. Conflict. The forces around her, whether within Darien or their fractured kingdom, were at odds. She closed her hand around the stone searching for the clarity she sought but had yet to find.
The rune felt heavier in her palm than it should have, as though it bore the weight of the struggle surrounding them. Of course. Of course, division. It did not reveal anything new—only echoed what she already feared. Her position as a seer, her closeness to Darien, their unspoken yearning that strained against propriety—it all simmered beneath the surface.
Liana continued to breathe deeply, keeping her focus. “Let it guide me,” she whispered. She placed it on the table and reached into the pouch again. The second stone felt warm against her fingertips as she drew it out. When she looked, it showed a sweeping curve, a rune for protection.
Protection could mean many things: safety, trust, shielding...or someone else stepping in to protect. It could mean that even amid division, there was still hope for Darien’s loyalty, his protection. Or perhaps it was a sign for her to be cautious, to guard her heart and her gifts from the scrutiny of those who would call her a witch.
She brushed her thumb across the etching and whispered aloud, as though saying the words could give them power, “Protection even within conflict.”
She couldn’t shake the thought that it spoke to her closeness with Darien—the subtle ways he’d already tried to shield her, to support her. Her eyes dropped to the rune again, her heart beating out a rhythm she couldn’t ignore. There was more here, but the meaning eluded her like a shadow just out of reach.
“Let the last stone give me the truth,” she whispered.
Liana slid her hand into the pouch once more, fingers brushing over the remaining stone. She let her mind still and her heart focus on the last question: What should I do? When she drew the final rune, a chill ran through her as she looked at it—a symbol of a single flame, sharp and unyielding.
“Transformation,” she whispered. The rune spoke of endings and beginnings, a call to let go of the old to make way for the new. Transformation could mean freedom from the secrets that weighed upon her, a life reshaped in a way she hadn’t dared to imagine. Or it could speak to Darien’s journey, his willingness to risk everything for what he believed in. It whispered of him—of them—of something shifting beneath the surface, ready to ignite.
She ran her thumb over the rune, trying to feel for more. If I let go of what I’ve known, who will I become? And what of Darien—what of us?
An unexpected warmth settled over her, an answer that wasn’t clear but felt true. The love she carried for him pulsed within her like an ember, steady and resilient. It wasn’t just a spark of desire. It was something alive, something that had already begun to reshape her.
But the rune didn’t just speak to love. It was a call to courage. She would have to make a choice soon—not just about Darien but about her own destiny. Her fingers closed around the rune as she lifted her gaze, steady and resolute. This was her answer. She had only to follow it.
As Liana’s fingers lingered over the rune, she felt an unexpected flicker—something strange yet familiar. The warmth in her chest faded, replaced by a chill that hinted at another layer to her question.
Her thoughts drifted to Matilda.
Liana could not explain the connection, but the rune’s single flame seemed to shift. She saw Matilda’s fierce resolve, her determination to hold fast despite the setbacks. Transformation, the rune seemed to insist, was not just a personal journey. Matilda, too, stood on the edge of a crossroads that could reshape the fate of those around her.
Matilda’s path wasn’t set in stone; her own choice could still alter everything.
Suddenly, the pieces aligned—the battlefield...the tree, its roots deep...a single green leaf...Darien was ready to risk himself...a final hope for peace between fractured loyalties. Matilda needed someone to show her that the end of her battle might hold the beginning of something greater.
For her son.
Her bloodline.
If she could accept a future that was different than expected, despite that it would leave her vulnerable...if Darien could find the courage to do the same and convinced Matilda to do so as well...perhaps they could reshape more than just their futures.
Liana’s path was lit by more than her own heart’s desires. It was tied to a kingdom, a destiny, and a woman in desperate need of clarity.
Jumping up from her chair, Liana left her runes, and her chamber, and ran from the room down the corridor. Her mind raced as she willed herself not to trip on the winding staircase that led to the ground floor. From there, she had no notion of where to go, not having thought through a plan, but needed to find Darien.
“The hall, if you please?” she asked a serving boy, who looked at her as strangely as Liana might expect, given the urgency in her voice. He pointed, and Liana ran, lifting her gown, more sure than she had ever been about a reading.
She thought of her mother’s last reading.
The Hagalaz tells us destruction that will shake the very core of what we expect. The road is littered with obstacles, ones that will not be easily overcome. Nauthiz represents constraint and sacrifice. The runes do not promise her victory. They warn of trials, of battles lost as well as won. The future is not set. The crown eludes her.
“Master Pembroke.” She found the steward coming from the hall, now completely cleared from the midday meal. “I must find Sir Darien. Immediately.”
With very little expression, he pointed in the opposite direction from where she came. “He will be in the solar chamber. I will escort you?—”
Without waiting for him to finish, Liana ran past more than one recruit and two servants and toward the direction the steward had pointed to. He called to her, but Liana did not stop until she realized there were two doors at the end of the corridor.
“If you had but waited for me,” Pembroke said, frowning. “He is with?—”
“I must speak with him,” she said, attempting to discern which of the doors was Castle Blackwood’s solar chamber. She was about to open both to find him.
Pembroke moved to the one closest to her. “Very well.”
He opened the door, but she did not wait to be announced. Without a thought to who might be inside, Liana rushed into the chamber and found him with Roland, Alden and Sir Eamon.
“Apologies,” she began as Darien stood, concerned.
“Is all well?” he asked as Pembroke closed the door behind her. “Liana, is something amiss?”
Knowing she could speak freely in front of these men, and glad to have found Darien with his inner circle, she nodded. “Aye. And nay.” She could not get the words out fast enough. “My mother was correct,” she began.
Darien blanched. “You’ve had a vision.”
“I read the runes,” she clarified. “And it has become clear to me.” Skipping the earlier part of her reading, the one concerning them, Liana said, “She was correct, that Empress Matilda will not take the crown.”
Darien reached for the back of the chair he’d stood from, as if needing it to stand. He appeared just as his father had the day Liana’s mother had made her own prediction. But the earl had been working with Liana’s mother for many, many years. He took her at her word. Believed in her. And though Darien had done the same with Liana in many ways, he’d also been clear that forging his own path was important to him as well. He’d not follow her blindly.
But Liana was certain. The runes did not lie. He had to believe her.
Glancing briefly at the other two men, she blurted out the rest.
“She will not take the crown. But her son will.”
Liana turned back to Darien, whose eyes, as wide as she’d even seen them, sought her own. Nodding, she willed him to believe her.