Page 26 of Vow of the Undead
I refused to look at the witch. I would not see this woman at her worst. Hopefully, she was already being taken to Valhalla by the Valkyries. Or if Freya had chosen her for a more peaceful but less honorable afterlife, she’d be in Folkvangr.
Eagle shoved my head down where I was forced to look at the blood pooling in the dirt. I closed my eyes and listened for the rush of wind, the sound like melted fjords.
“Remain to witness a second execution?—”
“No.” A deep voice echoed from behind.
Footsteps approached and my eyes sliced to the right to see a shadow nearing. Black boots stepped up between several browns.
King Drakkar’s stride was unmistakable, each step deliberate and unhurried, but with more weight than the stomping feet of guards or the Grimward.
“My king,” Bear said. “She has drawn blood and will be made an example of.”
“No,” King Drakkar repeated. He dropped to a crouch before me. “Sit up.”
I did as he commanded.
Straightening to balance on my knees, the back of my head bumped into the executioner’s hand. I glanced behind me to see the blood on the axe drip down and land on my braid. My stomach revolted but I swallowed the bitterness back down and faced the king.
He’d fashioned thin strips of his shirt and tied it across his face to cover his injured eye. Now he only wore the cloak on his shoulders with his torso bare underneath. My gaze slipped to the ink decorating his broad chest.
A tattoo of a tree spread over his left breast. A serpent was coiled at the base of it.
This image couldn’t be Yggdrasil. That was the Gods’ tree, the tree Odin hung from for nine days, the tree that witches believed connected us to Asgard. Without it, we would not be able to hear Freya or see through Odin’s single eye.
A tree I’d hoped to see someday before I died.
That wasn’t possible now.
But this tattoo of it was a mercy. Even if this tree wasn’t really an image of Yggdrasil.
The king certainly didn’t believe in the Gods, but even if he refuted the sagas and our true history, perhaps whatever he believed about our ancestors was inspired by the truth.
This was just a tree. Just a snake. And he had dozens of other images painted into his skin that certainly did not match with the Gods.
Perhaps my mind wasn’t as clear as I’d thought, because the ink in the tattoo seemed to catch the light of the moon and brighten with a hollow hint of blue, like water between depths, shimmering near the surface with darkness beneath. Impossibly, the tree that was etched into his skin glowed.
“You don’t cry out,” he said. “Why?”
I blinked at him. He’d interrupted my execution to ask why I wasn’t screaming? I opened my mouth but couldn’t find the words to respond.
His eye narrowed, their intense blue another reminder of the crystal water in the summer fjords. “Do you think your Gods will save you?”
I said nothing. That wasn’t how Odin and Freya behaved. The Norns weaved our fates, Odin and Freya and the other Gods only offered what they could to affect the lives of the people in Midgard.
His gaze raked over me again and his mouth split into the same smile he’d held when he spotted me back in Skaldir. Right before I ran from him. Like this was all a game, I was a hare hunted by the wolf. “You’re too calm.”
“Do you want me to be afraid?” I asked. I’d lived my entire life on the edge of fear. Only in the most intense moments did my panic subside. This was the culmination of all of them, and it was about to end.
His eye flashed and his grin broadened. He dipped closer to me, bringing with him the scent of a smoky oak tree mixed with cold steel. “Are you not even angry at the injustice of it all?”
Injustice? This was the system of which he stood at the helm. Was he trying to bait my frustration? It was wrong that we couldn’t even defend ourselves, but there was a fine line between allowing weapons and the chaotic descent into war, so I didn’t think it was entirely unjust.
I knew all too well the dark tendencies within a person.
And was this execution an injustice when I’d killed two of his courtiers? I didn’t have to end their lives. I could have simply hurt them long enough to get away. My choices haunted me.
But he didn’t know. He couldn’t. If he did, I’d risk a long and painful death, torture, before my end.
