37. The Viðnám
The Vienám
Darien
S urrounded on all sides by towering cliffs, the valley ran on for miles past what Darien’s eyes could see.
The city below was just that: a city. It was no settlement roughly thrown together in disorganized chaos as he’d expected.
From above, he could see the planning of each street, the placement of houses, and even the open market squares.
The Vienám had created its own nation in the heart of the mountains.
Anara took in the view with a long whistle. “It’s grown.”
Darian shook his head. “Bit of an understatement, don’t you think?”
“The people are ready for rebellion.” Halvor’s wrinkled mouth turned up at the sight. “We just needed the return of our royalty. Of our Princess.”
Darien tensed, again waiting for Larissa’s rebuttal.
None came. She was looking out at the valley, and although there was a pale hue to her face, her eyes were set in determination.
A wind picked up along the crest of the ridge, throwing back the hoods of their cloaks, but Larissa never turned from the city.
Darien fixed his own hood and then pulled up Larissa’s as well.
“Lara, you okay?”
Her skin had taken on a gray tinge, but she nodded anyway and tore her eyes from the sight of the city.
“We’ll travel along the upper trail,” Halvor said, leading the group along the ledge that ran close to the cliff wall. “Our guards patrol the tunnels. The entrances and exits are watched at all times. This path will take us around the city.”
The narrow path was made smooth with concrete, winding its way along the surrounding cliff walls and giving Darien the perfect vantage point into the valley. The Vienám was thriving. As the sun sank lower, street lights flickered on, lighting the paved roads.
He turned to Halvor in wonder. “How did you build all of this in so little time?”
“We didn’t. Although we’ve expanded the city, the Jotnar were thriving long before our arrival. Unlike the commonwealths under Shiko’s control, this valley is developing at a steady pace instead of regressing.”
“Do you live here or in Perle?”
“Primarily in Perle, smuggling out whoever and whatever I can. Jari and Haki handle the runaways once I get them past the Wall. It’s dangerous to be gone for so long without my absence being noted in town.”
“Yet you’re here with us now,” Anara said, the question evident in her statement.
Halvor’s gaze fell on Larissa. “Things have changed.”
Larissa stiffened. “Do you make it a habit of buying slaves?”
His graying eyebrows pinched together. “They were foolish. I tried to help them, but they thought they could make it out on their own. If they were to disappear now, people would talk. I’ve told them about the Vienám and, once they fade from public memory as slaves do, I will transfer them here.
Until then, they’ll be safe minding my shop. Ah! Turn here.”
Halvor stopped, flicking his flashlight toward another tunnel.
Unlike the last, this tunnel was lit by the steady pattern of electric wall lights decorated in the glowing runes of the gods.
Two guards stood at the mouth of the tunnel, alert at the sound of footsteps.
They relaxed upon recognizing Halvor, although their eyes drifted back to the three hooded figures.
Darien tugged at his cloak, concealing his face from their curious eyes.
Halvor stepped forward. “King Torsten is expecting us.”
The guards parted, allowing the group to pass by.
Before long, a large, ornately carved wooden door appeared at the end of the hall.
Runes decorated the door frame, runes that Darien could not remember from either of his lifetimes.
He would have asked about them if not for the unease gnawing at his stomach.
His hands clenched at his sides. His father stood on the other side of that door.
A changed man , Halvor called him. The man who stopped searching for his son.
The man who believed he was the only living survivor of the Safirian royal line.
Again, Darien thought of the last words they’d spoken to each other.
Would his father even receive him? What would Darien say about Aeron?
No, not Aeron, Darien reminded himself. Calder. Aeron is dead.
Before Darien could sort his thoughts, they stood before the door. Anara’s light touch on his arm drew him from the storm in his mind. Though her smile was reassuring, it could not touch the pit that deepened in his stomach.
The doors opened. Darien followed the others into a grand room that seemed old enough to have been carved into the mountain before Ragnarok .
Electric lights drilled into stone walls evidenced a modern attempt to remodel the chamber.
A large chandelier hung from the high ceiling, illuminating the empty throne set against the far back wall.
Thick carpets were spread across the tiled floor, welcoming Darien’s aching feet.
Wide and spacious, the room housed various tables, some bearing books piled in leaning towers while others sat bare.
On one table, giant maps were strewn on top of one another.
A man pored through these, occasionally making notes to himself.
He appeared oblivious to the intrusion, but Darien’s eyes fixated on his father.
Beneath the gold and sapphire studded crown, the man’s black curly hair was gray at his temples. Streaks of white ran through his beard. Though his eyes were decorated with wrinkles, they were just as blue and sharp as they’d been the day he’d caught Darien and Aeron listening at the library door.
King Torsten glanced up, his eyes brightening when they landed on Halvor.
He scanned over Darien but, unable to see past the large hood, quickly returned his attention to Halvor.
Torsten replaced the map, striding forward.
“It’s been too long since your last visit, my friend.
I could use your advice.” He nodded to Haki. “Ah, hello again Haki.”
The giant bowed low. Beside Haki, Darien’s foot tapped against the cushioned floor with barely concealed impatience.
He nearly ripped the hood from his face, desperate to see his father’s reaction.
Would he be overjoyed by Darien’s reappearance or disappointed that the Norn had returned the wrong son?
Kings and Queens, Darien would have to tell his father about Calder.
“I see you’ve rescued more recruits from the commonwealths,” Torsten continued, “but why all the secrecy in bringing them before me? I dismissed all of my advisors as you requested. We were working on a solution to the crop problem, and—”
Unable to wait any longer, Darien threw back his hood and stepped forward. Remembering his childhood training, he bowed low and presented himself to the King. After the appropriate amount of time, he risked raising his head to meet his father’s gaze. Darien’s stomach turned at the look on his face.
There was no delight; rather, King Torsten had turned a sickly color. “ Draugr. ”
The words struck Darien like a blow. “No , Faeir, it’s me. It’s Darien.”
“That’s not possible.” Storm clouds gathered on Torsten’s face as he turned to Halvor and demanded, “Explain yourself.”
“It’s him, sire, I swear it on Forseti.”
The King held himself back, but his eyes devoured Darien, scanning every inch of his son’s face.
Almost against his will, he stepped forward, his hand outstretched.
When his palm landed on Darien’s shoulder, the King exhaled in wonder.
He fell forward, wrapping Darien in his arms in an embrace tight enough to be painful. “It’s really you.”
Unable to speak, Darien returned the embrace, fighting the burning behind his eyes. Perhaps his father had forgiven him after all.
King Torsten pulled back, though his hands remained firmly on Darien’s shoulders, as if afraid that Darien might disappear should he let go. “Are you really alive?”
“Yes, Faeir.” Darien’s tongue finally loosened. “I’ve come back.”
Torsten laughed in amazement. “Your mother, Great Wanderer guide her soul, would be happy to know that one of her sons found his way home.”
The smile on Darien’s face cracked. I have to tell him about Aeron .
“Where have you been?” Torsten asked.
“Safír. Working on an orchard outside the Wall.”
Torsten shook his head, confusion bleeding into his joy. “How is that possible? It’s been fifty years.”
Darien ran a hand through his hair. “It’s a long story, and I’ll need help explaining it.”
“Help from who?” King Torsten then seemed to notice Larissa and Anara who, still hidden by their hoods, stood behind Darien. “I apologize. I’ve forgotten myself. Darien, introduce me to your companions. Or have they returned from the dead like you?”
“Not precisely, Torsten.” Anara pulled back her hood. “They’d have to kill me first.”
“Anara?” Shock, confusion, and understanding chased one another across Torsten’s stricken face. “ You found him. You never stopped looking then, but who—”
The words died in his throat. Unnoticed in the commotion, Larissa had removed her hood. Even with the scar that marred her cheek, Larissa had never looked more like the Lovisa Darien had known. There was a righteous anger in her eyes that Darien knew stemmed from her loss of Halla.
Standing in blunt bewilderment, Torsten’s hands fell from Darien. The King and the Princess stood locked in a silent battle that neither were able to break. Darien moved beside her, ignoring the way his father’s eyes narrowed at the movement, ignoring the unease that crept back into his stomach.
“Faeir, let me reintroduce you to Lovisa, Crown Princess of Perle.”