18. Rejection #2
How could they not see that they were wrong? She was no Princess. They were only causing unnecessary pain with their false hopes. She did not watch them walk away but heard the shutting of truck doors and felt the vibrations as Helga roared to life, pulling back onto the road.
“Lara, are you mad at me?” Halla asked.
Larissa glanced at her sister, remembering the day she had been born. Remembering that small, warm bundle of a new baby sister. How Halla had grasped her finger. Darien and Anara were wrong, they had to be. “Of course not. Here, sit in front of me, your hair is a mess.”
Halla obliged. Larissa pulled out the hair bands that had long ago failed at their jobs.
Quick searching revealed a hairbrush in a nearby bag.
There were flowers painted on the back of the wood, and Larissa knew it was Mamma’s.
She blinked away the tears in her eyes as she worked through Halla’s tangled strands, using water from bottles to loosen the dirt and dried blood.
Rinse, brush, repeat. The rhythmic process allowed Larissa’s mind to wander.
What if they were right?
It was a preposterous idea, but still. What if this was not her Mamma’s brush at all?
It just belonged to some woman who had taken her in?
She remembered baking in the kitchen with Mamma when Halla had accidentally upset the bag of flour, which had covered them all in white powder.
How could that not be real when she could still feel the way the flour tickled her nose and made her sneeze?
And what about Halla? If Larissa was not truly the first-born of Dal and Vern, had she displaced Halla?
Forced her into hiding as a second-born, when all along she should have had the freedoms that Larissa had stolen?
Had the draugr been searching for her and not for Halla?
Had it smelled Larissa on her? Were Halla’s parents dead simply because of Larissa’s existence?
“Lara,” Halla asked, “are you sure you’re not mad at me?”
“I already told you no.”
“Then could you stop taking it out on my head?”
Halla’s hands clasped around her head to protect the roots of her hair from Larissa’s furious yanking.
Larissa dropped the weaponized brush. “Sorry, Halla, let me just finish braiding this back.” Fighting the wind breezing through the slated walls, Larissa wove a passable braid and tied it off. “There, much better.”
Halla shifted to face Larissa and pulled the braid over her shoulder, twirling the ends of it. She chewed the inside of her cheek, a habit Larissa had noticed only recently.
“What is it?” Larissa prompted.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re biting your cheek, Halla. Out with it.”
“Lara, what if you are the Princess?”
Larissa sighed. She supposed it was her fault for asking in the first place. “Halla, I’m not the Princess.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do, Halla.”
“But what about the ring and what Mamma told me?”
“You didn’t even remember that until a couple of minutes ago.”
“That doesn’t make it any less true,” she protested.
“Enough, Halla, please.”
Only the loud growl of Helga’s engine broke the silence.
Larissa felt Halla’s eyes on her but stared into her lap; she could not stand to look into Halla’s green eyes that so frequently reminded her of her visions.
What would Halla say if she knew Larissa had been having dreams?
Most likely, it would just reinforce the whole “Princess” notion.
Larissa rubbed her temples. What was she going to do?
“I’ll still love you, you know.”
Larissa yanked her head up, meeting Halla’s eyes. Her sister had been watching her the whole time. “What?”
Halla scooted closer, leaning into Larissa’s side and laying her head on Larissa’s shoulder. Still fiddling with the braid, she spoke. “Even if you are the Princess, even if someone planted false memories in my mind, even if you’ve only been my sister for a year, I’ll still love you.”
Larissa blinked, trying to quell the tears. She pulled Halla closer, burying her face in her sister’s hair, not minding the smell of dirt and smoke. “I’ll always love you too, little one.”
For the first time, Halla did not object to the phrase, and Larissa knew they were both thinking about Pappa.
“Mamma wanted you to have the ring, Lara. I know you don’t believe in Pappa’s stories, but he would want you to have it too.”
Larissa swallowed hard before pulling the ring from her pocket. She’d told Darien that she believed in the Norn, but she also meant what she said. Larissa wasn’t waiting on the goddesses of fate for help. She could only help herself.
Princess or not, Halla was right. Mamma had died with this ring in her hand.
If Halla said she kept it for her, then Larissa would be dishonoring her memory by ignoring it.
She held out the ring so that they both could examine it.
Larissa turned it in her fingers, running them over the thin gold band and the large pearl.
She brought it closer to her face, turning it to catch sunlight on the edges of the rune.
What had Anara called it? The Dagaz rune?
A high peal of laughter tickled in Larissa’s ears.
“Did you hear that?” she asked.
“Hear what?” Halla was still looking at the ring.
“Laughter, I think.”
Halla turned her gaze away from the ring and back to Larissa. “I didn’t hear anything. Maybe you’re remembering something?”
Larissa groaned. “Halla, not this again.”
“Would it be so bad being a Princess? Plus, didn’t Darien say he was a Prince?” Halla asked knowingly. “He’s pretty handsome, don’t you think? Don’t the Prince and the Princess always end up happily married?”
“Halla!” Larissa exclaimed, suddenly embarrassed.
Halla tilted her head back and smirked. It was the same smirk that Larissa had known all their lives, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Halla’s somber eyes seemed to hold the weight of the world. “Lara, I think it would be wonderful to learn you were the lost Princess.”
Larissa chose her next words carefully. “If I really am her—and I’m not saying that I am—but if I am, then the draugr was coming after me. Our parents are dead because of me.”
Halla leaned her head back on her sister’s shoulder. “Maybe you are the Princess, and maybe the draugr did come for you, but that wouldn’t make it your fault. It wouldn’t change a thing. Pappa and Mamma loved you.”
“Don’t you see, Halla? If I really am the Princess, then they didn’t choose to love me. They could have been forced into loving me because of the memories that someone or some thing planted in their mind!“ She broke off, choking on the words.
“Someone may have planted memories in my mind too, but I still love you, and so would they.”
It isn’t that simple , Larissa thought. She turned her face away from Halla, looking again at the ring in her lap. Halla wouldn’t have said anything if Larissa had left it back at the farm. So much pain over such a tiny thing.
“You should wear it,” Halla said.
“Why?”
“It might help you remember. Come on, Lara. If I’m wrong, you have nothing to lose.”
Larissa looked down into Halla’s wide and hopeful eyes. If you’re right, I have everything to lose. It’s all just a story to you, isn’t it? Another one of Pappa’s grand stories .
But if this was one way to keep Pappa’s memory alive, who was Larissa to not even try? She would put on the ring, and nothing would happen. Halla would be satisfied that they had tried, and then they could move on.
Put it on.
Larissa stiffened at the return of the voice in her mind. Holding her breath, she slid the ring onto her right hand’s ring finger. She and Halla stared at it, then at each other. Larissa released her breath, resisting the urge to laugh. Was she actually disappointed?
“See, Halla? It’s just a ring.”
She raised her hand to show it to Halla, but Halla was gone.
T he branches of the tree touched the sky, blocking out half of the sun. No matter how far back she tilted her head, Larissa could not see the top of the tree. She knew without needing to be told that this was Yggdrasil , the tree of life from Pappa’s stories.
Peals of giggles drew Larissa’s attention back to the base of the tree, where a small child walked along the edges of a wide stone well, teetering every few feet.
Her brilliant red hair floated and twirled around her face in the still air.
Her skin was nearly translucent; it glowed.
Power, like heat, radiated from the child.
Kings and Queens! Larissa’s mouth went dry, and sweat gathered on her palms. She’s a goddess.
At the base of the well, two figures lay with hands clasped together. She recognized her own white hair splayed across the grass. She was stepping closer, her eyes on the boy with black hair, when she realized the laughter had stopped.
The child-goddess stood still on the edge of the well, but she stared straight at Larissa. Her head cocked to the side like a bird’s as a smile grew across her face.
Her voice was like the tinkling of rain. “Do you believe in us now?”
Larissa’s hands shook as she grasped the ring, but no matter how she pulled, it remained on her finger. Likewise, her feet were cemented to the ground, refusing to budge at her command.
The child-goddess leapt from the well, her feet floating over the grass. “It’s time to wake up, Princess.”
She reached out, her small hands cupping Larissa’s cheeks just as Anara’s had. A shock, more painful than before, coursed through her. The child-goddess breathed into her face. “Remember.”
Behind the girl, the waters of the well rose to the brim and whirled in a dizzying performance of light and images.
Larissa caught Halla’s face reflected on the waters before it was replaced with her own, but a net of pearls pulled her hair away from her face.
Then the waters trembled and Larissa saw a woman in black towering over a man kneeling before her.
She drove the sword toward his chest, and dyed the waters red.
More images replaced the others, swirling faster and faster, but held in the goddess’ grasp, Larissa could not look away.
“Release her, Vereandi,” a deep voice ordered.
The girl pouted but let her hands fall to her sides.
Larissa’s lungs hurt; she couldn’t breathe.
She stumbled forward. Her waist hit the stones of the well and her body tumbled forward, pitching her face first into the waters.
Panic had only a moment to set in before the waters swallowed her whole, blinding her in their swirls of light and drowning her in dreams.