Page 91 of Sword & Sacrifice

Castle Arn.

Penn was leading two villains right to his own front door. He could stop his horse right now, refuse to move another inch.

Or he could play along, pretend to still be under Alistair’s spell. Lead them straight to the heart of his kingdom.

Because at the center of the beating heart was Penn’s only hope to save Valerian.

Penn smiled at Alistair. Turned his head to brush his lips against the calloused palm. Slowly began weaving the threads for his own trap.

Val’s grand scheme to set fire to his own mind wasn’t going as smoothly as he’d hoped. He wasn’t sure if it was subconscious self-preservation, lack of skill, or Alistair working in the shadows, but the next time Valerian tried to set fire to a tree, it simply moved.

One moment, he was six inches from his target—the first clear memory of taking a beating for Maksim playing out in the mirror-sheen bark—the next, Valerian stood in a small, void-like clearing as the whole world pulled away from him.

Standing on nothing was an odd sensation. He wasn’t floating, exactly, but he couldn’t feel any ground under his feet. He stepped forward cautiously and his boot landed firmly on the nothing.

He allowed the fireball to dissipate, and the forest snapped back into place around him. Leaves and dirt appeared under his boots again, and the tree towered above him, cheerfully playing out his old miseries.

What had he done differently the first time? Allowed the memory to progress naturally? Valerian certainly did not plan to relive every nightmare from his past before burning them to ash. Experiencing them once was enough.

Perhaps he could sneak up on the memories, take them by surprise. Though he didn’t know how. Did the trees have eyes? Did they see his movements through their bark?

He carefully circled around the tree, searching for weak points. The scene moved with him, traveling slowly across the bark, never offering a new perspective.

If fire wouldn’t work, there were plenty of other methods to destroy a tree.

Valerian pictured an axe. How the polished handle would feel against his palms. The iron head weighing down one end. The freshly sharpened blade glistening in the low light. Without looking down, he trusted the axe to be there, hefted it, and swung.

The blade connected with a solid thump, burying itself deep into the memory.

The tree shuddered and squirmed under the assault, branches waving wildly overhead. The only sound it made was the creak of limbs and the rustling of leaves.

Damn, I wanted to hear it scream.

Valerian’s muscles strained as he worked the axe out of the trunk. For a moment, it remained stuck, and he wondered if it wouldn’t be easier to conjure a new one. Then it suddenly released, and in his surprise, he stumbled a few steps backwards.

Hefting the axe again, he brought it down a second time. Halfway through the arc, he paused. The wedge where the axe had landed was gone, leaving a wholly intact trunk. Did it already repair itself? If the trees repaired themselves faster than he could cut them down, this method would be useless.

Something shifted in the mirror-bark, drawing his attention to the scene inside. Penn grinned back at Valerian, arm held out, sleeve rolled up. He sat in the familiar dining room of the Rose and Thorn, Silas and Griselda sitting half-in-view.

Valerian lowered the axe, eyes narrowed. So, if I’m not fast enough, the trees will swap places. Switch the bad memories for the good. He searched the nearby trees for the one he truly wanted, but the images all blurred together, hard to distinguish from any distance.

He rested the axe across his shoulders and surveyed the forest. The spiders had moved on from this area, leaving him to his self-destruction, but traces of their webs were wound throughout the tree canopy. Had there been webs on the one he’d burned down? He couldn’t remember anything except the heat of the flames and the scratch in his throat from too much smoke and laughter.

Valerian strolled through the forest, his eyes locked on the canopy. Before, he’d always had to remain vigilant—ensure that no stray roots tripped him or trees appeared in his path. Now, every part of the forest gave him a wide berth, refusing to come within reach.

Except one tree. As Valerian walked toward it, he noticed it standing perfectly still, allowing his approach. Thick spiderwebs smothered the upper branches and stretched taut to the other trees. The little pests must have spent some time here, he thought as he sauntered closer, peering at the bark.

Olivia grinned impishly over her shoulder at Valerian as she dragged him through a crowd. If he squinted, he could barely catch the colorful banners on stalls, the decorations with half of their words cut off. A Summer Solstice Celebration, their first afternoon—and night—together.

No matter how badly their relationship ended, Valerian wouldn’t willingly sacrifice their beginning. But he still hefted the axe, still swung it toward his target, still took satisfaction as it sliced cleanly through—

Severing a section of spiderweb from the branches. The web shuddered, alerting any nearby spiders to its destruction.

A smile spread over Valerian’s lips. Let them come. He’d gladly meet them with his axe.

A few more careful cuts freed the tree from the web. It shivered and shook out its branches, dropping leaves and bits of shredded cobweb.

The memory continued to play out as Valerian cut. At some point, Olivia had pulled him into a secluded corner. If he’d been living that memory right now, he could have heard the band playing nearby, the excited chatter of festival goers, children screaming in glee. Yet at that moment, it had been just the two of them.