Page 20 of Vow of the Undead
Otherwise, Hel would claim my soul for the underworld.
The guard gripped my arm and my heart skipped. He squeezed my scabs and bruises, sending a bolt of pain skittering over my skin and sinking into my muscles. I bit down hard on my lip to redirect the focus of pain.
The ghost of Astrid’s hold on me sent a shiver through me.
He prodded me the couple of steps toward his horse while others climbed back on their mounts or into their wagons, slowly resuming the long haul to Mara. When we reached his horse, he released me and shoved past me. He held up the end of a thick rope that was coiled around a hook on the saddle.
No fucking way was he going to tether me to his horse.
“You try to run, I tie you up,” he said. With that, he climbed into the saddle. Flicking his hand, he indicated for me to walk alongside the horse’s canter. I swallowed the scoff in my throat. “We’ll move fast to catch up to King Drakkar’s party. Fall behind and I’ll drag you.”
“Drag me?” I challenged him, as frustration with this binding servitude slowly built. Freya would never allow herself to be tied up. “Can’t I ride on my horse?”
Without a word, he nodded at my mount. I twisted to look over my shoulder. The poor old mare was worn thin, her nostrils still flaring from the exertion even though we’d been at rest for several minutes.
The guard said aloud what I didn’t want to admit. “That pathetic excuse for a mount won’t keep up with me, and I’m not waiting around. You’ll be faster on foot.”
I gnawed at my lip, walking was the best choice. I’d never push my horse to go faster than the pace we’d already set. I turned and stepped up to my sweet horse’s face. Petting her neck gently, I gave Bjorn a knowing nod. He returned it, glancing quickly at my father, who ignored the entire interaction.
Knowing Bjorn would keep my horse safe, I faced the guard again. Defiance stiffened my muscles. “I’ll ride your horse.” He only laughed, and it steeled my resolve. “You can’t let me bleed. Doesn’t the king want me alive?”
He glared at me with deep brown eyes. Had he been one of the masked men? Did the guards and executionersever trade duties? Was he experienced with severing people’s heads from their bodies for causing a mere scuffle?
“For his service, I mean,” I said.
The guard snorted. “Your kind doesn’t bleed the same way we do.”
Your kind.It was the closest I’d ever heard an executioner or guard, or really anyone who wasn’t a witch or close with a witch, admit that we were something other than human.
And what the hell did that mean? I bled…
But my blood also burned Astrid and Sten. That wasn’t like other humans. The flesh on Astrid’s fingertips had bubbled and congealed as quickly as the skin touched by the silver Y Tree. Wasn’t that from the help of the Gods? Or was I really a threat?
Evil
Selfish.
Yes,I was, but not all witches.
He kicked the horse into a canter and I followed in a daze. My feet moved of their own accord. Evening stretched into night and stars slowly greeted us, each with a unique shine. Looking up too long, I lost pace with the guard’s horse.
The guard snapped demands at me until I forced my legs into a weak run to catch up with him. Walking eventually descended into me dragging my feet.
After passing hundreds of travelers, exhaustion tugged at my bones.
Men from Stormdal eyed us curiously. Why was a village woman trailing the king’s guard?
Women from Torsholt furrowed their brows. The jagged lightning strike embroidered into the left breast of their dresses carried the symbol of their village. A subtle but ancient reminder of Thor. It was a wonder the king didn’t banish anyone who dared stitch it into their clothing.
Freya would be proud.
Odin too.
One of the women reached out and brushed my arm. I felt the magic crackling at the tips of her fingers. I glanced back at her and nodded reassurance to ease the worry twisting her face. Some witches carried potent divination within, their silent chants and prayers enough to create a pathway to the Gods where they could share their divine guidance for the people of Midgard.
“I’m okay,” I whispered.
It was a lie. I could collapse at any moment, but my heart kept ticking. If I ignored the tingling in my legs as my feet and ankles swelled from the effort, I could focus on keeping my hands warm. The tips of my fingers had turned blue hours ago, but with enough squeezing my hands into fists and blowing my warm breath over them, I’d been able to keep it from spreading.
