Chapter 25
Revna
“Well,” Freja said, stepping back and dusting her hands as she surveyed her handiwork, “it’s better than I expected.”
We stood in the town square. The bright sun cascaded over the shops surrounding the open space, which was decorated for the festival tomorrow.
All of us—myself, Freja, Astrid, and the others who were helping us to set up beforehand—dutifully ignored the pile of rubble on one end, where the temple had once stood.
We were in high spirits, despite Arne. He had walked by earlier, raising his voice as he recounted the story of me losing control at the ball in Kryllian to the people he walked with.
I’d tensed, refusing to make eye contact, but Freja had pulled Arne aside and scolded him.
I wasn’t able to hear her, but from the few glances I had at the conversation, he seemed thoroughly chastised by the end.
I shielded my eyes from the sun as I looked up at the brilliantly intricate garland of woven flowers and paper lanterns that now extended from one corner shop to another, stretching over the road. “It’s beautiful.”
Astrid nodded in response to my spoken and signed sentiment. “It truly is.”
Freja beamed, clasping her hands together in front of her. “Thank you both for helping. I’m so excited for the celebration. Can you believe it’s been seven years since the last one, and we weren’t even invited because we were godforsaken?”
I scoffed. “I can believe it.”
I remembered the year vividly. My family had left me behind, Frode rather reluctantly, and in a petty attempt to irritate them all, I’d snuck Freja and Arne into the castle, where we had our own party. Now I looked at Freja to see fondness in her eyes.
“I remember,” she signed. Astrid saw but didn’t pry. It was clear the gesture was meant for only Freja and me. “We’ve come a long way since that night.”
We had. Those rebellious children had gone on to see tragedy and loss; to fight for their freedoms; and now, to rule a kingdom.
Freja turned to converse with Astrid, and I held my breath like it would freeze the moment forever. It didn’t, though. Halvar, or rather Jac, locked eyes with me from across the square where he was setting up his own decorations.
Tomorrow, we would celebrate. And then I would sit Freja down and tell her…everything.
Dread made my stomach roll, but Freja’s voice pulled me from my moroseness when Freja turned to Astrid. “I’m going to the Sharpened Axe for lunch,” she told Astrid. “Care to join me?” I smothered a smile. Freja’s words were tinged with nervousness.
“You go on ahead, and I’ll meet you there in a few minutes,” Astrid said. “I want to help Revna finish up this part first.”
Freja wandered off and I tensed, unsure whether Astrid wanted to give me a report or…
Maybe she’s figured out the truth. The thoughts slipped in, smooth as practiced thieves. She sees you for what you truly are.
My Lurae swirled in my veins, but instead of allowing the fear to grip me, I took a deep breath. The thoughts didn’t fade—because after all, they could be true. But it kept me from succumbing to them and making a rash decision before any words had been spoken.
Or maybe, I countered, I’m allowed to hope for the best. Including friends who see the good in me.
Astrid glanced around, keeping her hands low when she said, “I’ve spent time in the Sharpened Axe lately, looking for leads on the priests.”
My heart leapt in my throat. “And?”
She shook her head. “Signs point to them having met there before, but they stopped just before I started looking into it. I talked to Halvar.” She held up a hand before I could interrupt.
“I was subtle. He mentioned there was a small group of newcomers who became regulars shortly after your coronation, but he hasn’t seen them in about a week. ”
“Do they know we discovered them? Why else would they have moved on?”
Astrid shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’m going to keep looking for signs of them. I’ll let you know what I discover.”
“Thank you.” Part of me relaxed, a part I hadn’t realized was so tense to begin with. “It’s a relief knowing we have you on our side.”
Her gaze flickered past me, and her mouth curved into a tight frown. “Look who’s on his way.”
My head turned so quickly my neck popped. Sure enough, there was a figure clearly moving toward us from the other end of the street. The confident set of his shoulders made it obvious it was S?ren, despite the cloak pulled over his head.
I eyed Astrid as she took a deep breath and forced her scowl away. “I’m off to catch up with Freja.” She tucked her hands in her pockets and jogged across the square.
“When did that happen?”
I turned to S?ren. His face was flushed from the walk, and a single drop of sweat trickled down his face. It’s unfair, I thought, how full of life he is.
Realizing I was ogling him without shame, I panicked and blurted, “What?”
His smirk told me he was fully aware of what I’d been doing, but he didn’t mention it. “Freja and Astrid. How long have they been romantically involved?”
I glanced over my shoulder to where Freja had emerged from the Sharpened Axe and was excitedly tugging Astrid into a shop I knew served warm pastries.
“I don’t know.” It was the truth. “I probably should have asked, but…I’m going to tell Freja everything tomorrow, after the festival.
I’ve been preoccupied, thinking about it. ”
S?ren didn’t say anything. When I swallowed the lump in my throat and gathered the courage to meet his eyes again, they held no pity. Only understanding.
“Thank you,” he finally said, “for staying the night.”
I blinked, well aware of the heat flushing my face. “I think I’m the one who should be thanking you.”
He chuckled and took a step closer to me. We stood nearly toe-to-toe, and I was forced to tilt my chin up to maintain eye contact. My heart thundered. His arms wrapped around me, his hands pressed along my spine—it had been the best night of sleep I’d had in weeks, even with the dream I’d had.
I wanted him. Badly.
Despite everything, he was working to get out from under the queen’s thumb. He was helping me learn to use my Lurae. He was patient with me, endlessly waiting for my forgiveness; even with the knowledge I might never give it.
S?ren leaned forward, the tilt of his mouth belying his thoughts. He pressed a palm to the wall behind me, hair falling forward to frame his face. I stared, unable to look away from his lips.
But you shouldn’t want him, part of me insisted.
It didn’t stop me from imagining his mouth on mine or his hands gripping my hips.
“Revna?” he asked softly, breath warm against my temple. “Where’d you go?”
I shook my head slightly, pulling myself back to the man in front of me. “Sorry. Distracted.”
He pulled back, allowing a gust of cold air to flow between us. My stomach swooped with disappointment, and I swallowed. “I want you, Revna. I think you know that. But we do this on your terms.” His mouth lifted in one corner with the hint of a smile. “I think you know that, too.”
I knew my whole body was flushed, but S?ren appeared nonchalant as ever. He gestured to the ladder Freja had been standing on to hang the garland. “Let me help with the ribbons.”
I held the base of a ladder as he scaled it, ribbons in hand.
Slowly, my heartbeat decelerated and I found myself more calm.
Still though, the itch to reach for him, to brush my fingertips over his skin, was overwhelming.
I decided it was best to distract myself and change topics.
“I had another dream last night,” I called up.
His face furrowed with concentration as he began to tie the ribbons to a lamppost next to the building. “What about?”
I glanced around, confirming no one was within earshot, then explained.
“Aloisa was on a battlefield. She was older, an adult this time. She had soldiers with her. They were fighting Callum and his army—I saw a lot of priests in the crowd. When they fought each other, every blow they gave healed almost instantly.”
S?ren shook his head. “They really were immortal, then. It must be how Aloisa lived so long. But what happened to Callum?”
“Well,” I continued, “Aloisa begged Callum to fall back and put down his weapon. Said if he surrendered, they could be done fighting. He refused. And so she pulled out a second weapon—the golden sword you saw in your dream. The one the queen killed Aloisa with. Aloisa told him he would be ‘marked for eternity’ with evidence of the blood he spilled. Then she used the sword to kill him.”
S?ren stilled, alert now. “He was immortal. But the golden sword could kill him.”
I nodded. “I heard Aloisa call it the Soulcleaver. I had another dream about it a few weeks ago. I’d forgotten about it, with everything happening. She forged it with her blood.”
His lips moved silently as he mouthed the sword’s name. “A weapon that can end immortal beings. If the queen had tried to kill Aloisa any other way, she wouldn’t have died.”
“Exactly,” I said. “But why is she so possessive of it now? If Aloisa and Callum are the only other immortals and they’re dead…what could she possibly do with such a weapon?”
“Maybe she doesn’t want anyone else getting hold of it?
Or she likes having the reminder of killing a goddess?
” He paused in his work, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead.
“I wonder what happened in between the first vision you had and this most recent one. To make Callum lose the desire to be worthy of the responsibilities the Tapestry gave him.”
“That’s not all.” I gripped the ladder more tightly while S?ren adjusted, leaning out farther to reach a particularly distant tie point. “Once Aloisa killed him…all the priests in Callum’s army bowed down to her.”
“Are you serious?”
“They started saying ‘the strongest rules all’ and other strange things.” I shuddered at the memory, the dream still visceral.
“They said she was their true goddess now. Aloisa wasn’t having it—kept telling them there is no one true god to be worshiped.
But the priests didn’t seem to understand what she meant.
They asked her to stay and rule over them, but she refused.
” I blinked against the bright sunlight when I looked up at S?ren.
“She walked into the trees and didn’t come back. ”
“That’s…” He sighed. “Depressing, maybe? I’m not sure what to make of it.”
I was ready to respond when he reached just a bit too far and lost his balance.
S?ren hit the ground with a crack. He landed hard on his extended arm. The limb bent unnaturally, bone tearing through the skin. His head slammed into the cobblestone, opening a waterfall of blood over his face.
It all happened within a split second. My heart stopped in my chest as blood began to pool around S?ren, his eyes rolling back. A jolt of utterly indescribable fear took hold of me for a moment, the threads of my Lurae extending toward him.
An injury like this was life-ending.
I need him. The thought was as desperate as the rest of me, slamming into my fear like a battering ram. I cannot lose him.
I didn’t think when I reached out with my Lurae.
My left hand extended toward S?ren, gathering the thread between us—startling in its golden hue, still the easiest to distinguish from the dozens of lives gathered in the square—and moving to his head to slow the bleeding there.
And the other stretched toward the Sharpened Axe, where I’d seen Volkan enter earlier.
Come on. I shuffled through the threads until I found the prince’s—familiar and calm. Then I tugged it softly until I could feel him moving of his own accord in our direction. I applied gentle pressure so he knew where to go.
I turned my full attention back to S?ren. If I could stanch the blood long enough, Volkan would make it in time to heal him. The golden threads pulsed with S?ren’s heartbeat, and when I studied them closely, the light they were made of flowed. A true connection to his blood. To his life.
An eerie calm descended over me as I stared at him.
Keeping him at arm’s length suddenly didn’t seem to matter nearly as much.
I’d lost Frode so quickly—at S?ren’s hand, too.
And while my feelings surrounding that were still complex and tangled, I begged whatever gods might be that I’d have the time to sort them all out.
It was only a few moments later when Volkan arrived, panting. But it felt like it had been hours. “Revna? What—oh.”
He knelt before S?ren, and I released my Lurae from its hold on the prince. “Head first. I’m slowing the bleeding but can’t hold it any longer.”
Volkan nodded, then traced careful fingers over the gash on S?ren’s temple. I watched, fascinated, as flesh knit back together. S?ren groaned, gritting his teeth against the pain. When the skin was sealed, I allowed my Lurae to drop his thread, too.
A wave of tiredness overtook me, and I sat down in the street. Volkan spent a while repairing S?ren’s arm—“The bones have to be set just right; otherwise, I’ll make things worse,” the prince explained to me—and Freja and Astrid had joined us by the time it was done. Finally, S?ren sat up.
I reached for his hand, grabbing and squeezing it without thinking. “I’m so glad you’re okay. It’s lucky Volkan was nearby.”
“Yeah…” Volkan said slowly. “It’s very lucky. Especially lucky that I was dragged here against my will.” He frowned at me. “Was that you?”
“And did you say you were stanching the bleeding from my head wound?” S?ren added.
I blinked. I hadn’t even realized how monumental it was. It had been second nature, born of desperation. “Yes. I did both of those things.”
S?ren’s face broke into a smile and he laughed. Freja jumped up and down and signed, “You can use your Lurae! Just in time for the queen’s arrival tomorrow, too.”
I stared at my hands. For once, they had been helpful. Instead of bringing destruction and death, I’d helped an injured S?ren. “Huh.”
“Good job.” S?ren’s praise was quiet, but I heard the pride in it all the same. “I knew you could do it.”