Page 28 of Rune

FIRST, I SELECTED my target. The one they called my fiancé would do nicely; the one too cowardly to face me last night.

He would be my ticket back to the safety of Danmark.

With a tender plan hatched, I slept soundly that night back in my temple on the softest bed my body had ever known. The sun was already up by the time I stirred.

Today I’d leave.

Once more, I passed over the beautiful arrangement of weapons in the closet in favor of more subtle knives that would match my strength better and keep suspicion down. I strapped them to my thigh, to my back, and on my arms. Then, I placed a more obvious one around a belt at my waist. With the ludicrous amount of weapons the gods insisted on wearing, I could get away with one.

For good measure, I slipped another inside my boot.

A gold framed oval mirror sat between the closets, and I caught my reflection in it when I passed. I paused.

Frigg had found time to fill the second closet with clothes, and I’d chosen the simplest outfit. The tunic wasn’t made of silk, but it was finer cloth than any I’d ever owned, and clean like it’d never known a day of training. It was deep blue like my eyes, almost dark enough to be black, tight on the arms but loose around the midsection, with silvery strings at the front. A thin, black belt hugged the curve of my waist, and I’d found tight white pants to wear beneath the tunic.

The clothes were far less extravagant than the golds and metals the gods wore last night, yet something about me appeared different.

Perhaps the circles beneath my eyes weren’t as dark today. A full night’s sleep would do that. Or perhaps my hair held a proper wave instead of its usual mayhem. I peered closer. Freckles stood out against my light skin but while I’d usually found those to tarnish my looks, today they didn’t seem so bad. It wasn’t enough to call myself pretty, but when not put beside Tova’s face, I had a few decent features to be admired. Perhaps with work, I could have fit in with the gods.

My one braid was still a clear sign I was Viking. I twisted it around my fingers as I remembered how it was meant to go to Trig someday, as he would braid it into his hair and I would braid his into mine. I thought we’d be bound together forever.

Without thinking, I reached for the blade at my waist. Every time I saw this braid, I’d think ofhim, and he was not allowed to go any further with me.

I cut the braid at chin length and let the rest fall with a thud to the ground.

My next breath felt almost free.

I became drunk on that feeling and cut off another lock of hair. Then another. Bit by bit, I sliced through my thick hair, cutting it all just above the shoulder, and watching my reflection change with each chunk that fell.

When I was done, my hair no longer reached down my back. It barely reached my shoulders.

The result was a bit messy, borderline chaotic, and completely liberating.

There was a tiny dagger with the other weapons, about the size of my finger, adorned with blue gems along the side, and I picked it up. Carefully, I wound it around a small section of hair at the side of my head, pinning it back so you could see the shaved parts, and stepped back to admire the look.

Not quite a Viking, not quite a god. Definitely not Astrid, but not fully Rune either. At least, not who Rune used to be.

Behold—Ruin.The name was growing on me.

I took the stairs down from my room, leading into the grand foyer where I’d first been brought in. I seized the doorknob and pulled to let the morning air in as I plotted how to find this apparent fiancé of mine.

To my surprise, a chariot was at my door, pulled by two black horses, and built from dark iron.

A man stood in the chariot. He stepped down, and our eyes collided across the courtyard.

Dark hair covered most of his face until he swept it away to reveal oval eyes dark as olives and thick brows. The dew of the morning rested on the shoulders of his cloak, and his hand went back to the rail of his chariot like he might flee now that I’d opened the door.

His face was familiar, and I gasped when I recognized it. “You’re Loki.”

He frowned, but withdrew his hand from the chariot. “Loki brings a cold air that sends a noticeable shiver up your spine and every hair on your arms on edge. I’m not Loki.” He took a timid step forward, licked his lips, and said, “I’m Ve, your fiancé.”

A surge of triumph ran through me. The very man I was looking for.

He looked different in the sunlight than he had when shrouded in shadows, his brown eyes kinder and less mischievous and his grin genuine instead of taunting. There was something in how he stepped from the chariot with swift and steady movements, like he could lead an army and write poetry both with equal attention.

He gave a little bow, showing the sword he’d left in the chariot behind him. Other than that, there were no weapons. All I had to do was get him further away from that sword then. “I hear I’m to call you Ruin now, and not Astrid.”

I plastered on the most hospitable smile I could find, one I’d seenMóðiruse many times as neighbors came by who I knew she’d rather not visit. I tilted my head to the side and attempted a playful tone. “It’s the name I know. Care to come in?”

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