49. Ransom
Ransom
Larissa
Built on top of the cliff, the palace of Safír’s white domes glinted in the sun as if unaware of the blood covering her city streets.
Larissa’s galdr easily broke apart the palace doors, flinging them across the courtyard.
The mob of the Vienám crashed against the sentries who waited within, but Larissa, Darien, and Anara pressed through.
If they could find Regent Omiros, if they could remove him, then the fighting would stop.
Larissa didn’t dare look at the anguish on Darien’s face as they fought their way through the crowd.
Larissa understood that war pumped through Anara’s veins; she did what she could to protect others, and that gave her strength.
But for Darien, the devastation threatened to devour him whole.
Larissa knew well the guilt that came with killing someone.
It would damage Darien’s soul irreparably to do so, which was why she was determined to kill Omiros herself.
Anara sniffed the air, ignoring the fighting around her, and pointed toward the grand staircase. “Fourth floor.”
Straggling sentries impeded their way, but they fell or fled before Larissa and the others.
Panting from exhaustion, they found themselves on the top floor, looking down a long hallway.
Anara breathed in deep. “Last room on the right, but he’s not alone.
At least three other guards. Don’t bother trying to persuade him, Darien.
That charm on his neck will make that nearly impossible. ”
“Is that why my father’s galdr didn’t work?” Darien asked, adjusting the grip on his pistol.
“As far as I can tell. Masai will have to explain later.” Anara’s body trembled, but Larissa recognized it as her withholding a coming transformation. “Ready?”
Larissa nodded. Just one more fight, and then she would go see Halla, and Darien could see Aagen again.
His adoptive father would heal the wound left by this battle as Torsten never could.
Larissa followed Anara as Darien brought up the rear.
Anara kicked in the door with enough force that it cracked off its hinges, then dove to the side.
Bullets flew through the doorway, missing her by mere inches.
Larissa and Darien huddled in the hallway, their backs against the wall as rounds buried themselves within the opposing wall.
Anara held up three fingers and slowly lowered each one.
Larissa’s hand grew hot as galdr gathered in her palms. Her body ached in exhaustion, but she ignored it. There would be time to rest after Omiros was dealt with.
As Anara’s last finger went down, Larissa launched herself into the opening of the door, raising her hands to stop the bullets in their tracks.
Anara flew over her as a raven, then landed as a wolf on two of the shooters, incapacitating them quickly.
Darien entered last, his gun raised at Omiros and the third guard.
But it wasn’t a guard at all. The stump at the end of Omiros’s arm was tied off and bandaged, no doubt by the same physician Omiros now held in front of his body as a human shield with a knife pressed firmly against his neck.
Anara shifted back, joining Darien and Larissa, who each had their weapons trained on Omiros.
Sweat ran down Larissa’s neck. She was burning up, using too much of her galdr .
“Let him go.” Darien’s voice was like silk draping across Larissa’s skin. She felt his galdr even though it was not directed at her.
Omiros sneered. “If your father can’t order me around, what makes you think that you can, little Prince?”
“I already took your hand,” Darien snapped. “I’ll take your life, too, if you make me.”
“If you want to shoot me, you’ll have to shoot him.” Omiros pulled the physician closer with his good arm, his knife nicking the man’s neck.
“Please, my lord,” the physician stuttered. “I have served you faithfully. Spare me.”
“And you’ll continue to serve me however I deem fit.” Omiros dragged the man with him, backing toward the balcony that overlooked the city. He sneered at Darien. “Would you really kill him to get to me? Haven’t enough of your people died today?”
Darien’s throat contracted as he tensed his jaw. Larissa reached for whatever galdr she had left. If she could just freeze Omiros, even for a moment, Darien could remove the physician, and Anara could kill Omiros.
“Come any closer and I’ll throw him over the side,” he threatened.
Larissa’s hands tingled. How could she signal to the others what she planned to do? What if Omiros slit the physician’s throat the moment Larissa made her move?
“There’s no way out for you, Omiros,” Darien threatened. “Surrender or face death.”
“I’ll never bow to an usurper,” Omiros hissed. “Just know that his blood is also on your hands.”
Then he pushed the physician over the stone balcony.
Larissa’s galdr rushed to her fingertips as she tugged at the energy surrounding the physician’s body, making it thick as syrup to slow the man’s descent.
The flash of the knife in Omiros’ hands caught her attention as he drew his arm back.
She transferred her galdr to him, freezing his arm in the air.
Already, she could feel him breaking through her grasp. Darien fired his gun. Once. Then twice.
Determination and revulsion intermixed on Darien’s face as Omiros staggered back, hitting the balcony ledge with enough force that his body tumbled over the side.
There was no scream but a resounding thump.
Larissa rushed to look over the ledge, scanning the ground below.
The bent angles of Omiros’ body were proof enough.
The Regent was as dead as the physician who lay beside him.
Larissa looked away.
Darien sagged back against the wall, his gun still held tightly in his hands. Larissa caught Anara’s eyes. She nodded in understanding. “I’ll tell the generals the Regent is dead.”
Feathers burst from her skin, and she was gone.
Larissa swallowed the adrenaline that coursed through her body, forcing herself to take slow, measured steps toward Darien.
She reached out, her fingers trailing down his wrist and relieving his gun from his grasp.
“It’s okay, Dar. You did the right thing. ”
“The physician?” he asked.
She shook her head.
He turned, slamming his fist against the stone wall. Larissa lay her palm on his back, feeling the strain of his muscles. “You did everything you could.”
“I killed him.” He turned back to face her. “You had him under your control there at the end. I didn’t need to shoot him.”
“My control was slipping, Dar. I wouldn’t have lasted long.” She raised her hand, letting her fingers wind into the curly hair at the nape of his neck. She tilted her head beneath his, forcing him to meet her gaze, and repeated, “He deserved it.”
“Like the sentries? Those are my people bleeding out there. How many have to die before this war is over? How many will I have to kill?”
What could she say when she’d had the same doubts? She bit her lip. “We did what we had to do. That’s all we can do in war.”
A shadow crossed over Darien’s face. “But what will that do to us ?”
A loud horn resounded with enough force to shake Larissa and Darien from their isolation.
They looked out over the balcony to see King Torsten, supported by Masai, walking toward the palace.
Halvor and the rest of the Vienám walked behind them.
What little resistance remained outside the palace laid down their weapons, raising their hands and falling to their knees in surrender.
“Your people are free.” Larissa squeezed his hand. “Just like mine.”
But Darien was staring at the approaching crowd. “Someone has to tell Halvor about Marinos.”
Larissa glanced behind, finding Halvor in the crowd several feet below. His head hung heavy even as those around him celebrated their victory. He already knew. She tugged at Darien’s arm. “Come on. They’ll be waiting for us.”
The trek out of the palace was made in eerie silence.
Though the stairs were slick with blood, the fighting itself had stopped.
As they descended the final steps, King Torsten and the Vienám waited within the palace’s expansive foyer.
At the sight of their Prince, the Safírians cheered.
Darien raised his chin higher, the picture of princely propriety.
Sighing, Larissa pulled her hand from Darien’s grasp before Torsten could see.
Surprised settled in her chest as Darien’s fingers held onto her more tightly than before. He wound his fingers between hers; his message was clear. He would greet his people with her at his side. The smile grew on her face even as tears stung the back of her eyes.
The crowd around them quieted as King Torsten shuffled toward Darien and Larissa with Masai’s help. Once he was close enough to lay a hand on his son’s shoulder, Masai withdrew to the side. Though Torsten’s eyes briefly skimmed over Darien’s and Larissa’s hands, his face still held a genuine grin.
“My son!” Torsten’s voice boomed. “Prince Darien has rightfully reclaimed our home, our kingdom, our people!”
Darien’s lips parted in shock as Torsten clapped his shoulder again, moving to the side to push Darien toward the crowd.
Larissa let his fingers slide out of her grasp as the Vienám surged forward, crowding around their prince.
The Safírians wept and shouted for joy; every citizen tried to reach Darien, to shake his hand, to look him in the eye.
At one point, he turned back to look at Larissa with joy etched on his face.
She could only smile back, as if he could read the words in her heart.
He had earned his people’s love, something that not even Aeron had ever truly done, not to this degree. He’d earned his title as Crown Prince.
Beside her, Torsten spoke with Anara. “The fighting is dying out everywhere, but it will end faster if the news of Regent Omiros’ death spreads. Could you—”
Anara cut him off. “I’m on it. I’m not one for sappy moments anyhow.”
“I’ll come with you,” Masai offered. “I can be more useful out there than here.”
General Ishaan slid between them, “I’ll accompany you as well, your Majesty. There are still pockets of fighting, and you can’t rely on a soft-hand to defend you.”
Masai barked out a laugh. “If you think she needs anyone’s protection, you don’t know your Queen well enough.”
Anara gave Masai an appraising look before turning to Larissa. “You’re staying?”
Larissa nodded, waving her off. Masai and Ishaan followed, shooting each other disgruntled looks as they went.
Larissa had had enough fighting. Besides, Darien’s happiness was the only thing keeping her from collapsing on the stairs from her fatigue.
Though her hands still burned, the rest of her felt cold.
As Torsten went to stand by his son’s side, laying his arm across Darien’s shoulder, Larissa allowed herself to lean against the marble column behind her and close her eyes.
“Princess Lovisa?”
Larissa jerked off the column, her hand flying to her gun as her eyes snapped open.
Her hand froze on her holster as she took in the small boy standing in front of her.
He couldn’t be more than eight or nine. Though he stared at her gun in fear, he held out a piece of paper in his shaking hand. “I was told to give this to you.”
Larissa reached out, gently taking the note from the boy. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to frighten you. Who gave this to you?”
The boy’s eyes rounded. “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me his name.”
Larissa frowned, opening the note. Fear and despair ripped through her chest in equal measure. Her heart faltered, then beat in double time. She read the scrawled words once, then twice. The cheers of the Vienám became muted like the waves crashing on the nearby shores.
Larissa shoved her way through the crowd still clambering for Darien’s attention and down the front steps of the palace. The note fluttered from Larissa’s hands, but it didn’t matter. She’d already memorized the whole message.
I have Halla. Come alone to the gardens if you want her back alive.
-Calder