Page 43 of Vow of the Undead
“You never lie, right?” I asked without waiting for a response. “So tell me, if the guard you practice with cuts you, is he held to the standard of the law of Vylheim?”
King Drakkar ran his teeth over his bottom lip. “I want to say they can never get past my sword, but I do value the truth.”
He left it at that, but I didn’t. This was enough proof that I had to watch one of those practice sessions, and witness the sight of his blood hitting the ground.
I wasn’t going to wait for another time. It had to be now.
So when the celebration ended and the king retired, I followed him, because he hadn’t eaten a damn thing all night.
After years of watching shadows trail me from a distance, I embodied their behavior. Or perhaps I already knew the skills of invisibility after a lifetime of hiding.
A shudder vibrated through me as I stepped into the chill of the drafty hall. All the warmth of the celebration faded away. Soon, my fingers would be as blue as Rolf’s balls again.
A smirk lifted my lips for a moment before my heart sank. I had no idea where Ragna was now, or if she was okay.
I spotted King Drakkar’s cape trailing behind him. Now that I saw it from a distance, the designs woven into it matched the shape of Vylheim. At least I think it was Vylheim. The fabric splayed out behind him as he marched around the corner.
I crept forward as he ducked beyond a nearby door. When the door clicked shut, I sidled up in front of it and pressed my ear to the wood. The clop of his boots stopped.
After several minutes, I dared to crack it open and peer around the room. Only silence greeted me.
I slipped inside to find a simple bedchamber, not the armory I expected. I suppose a room full ofweapons only existed in the past, but it likely had a place in Mara’s Keep. Where else did the Grimward, the appointed guards, and the king secure their swords and axes?
The room was a mirror of the one I’d been given though much smaller. The oversized bed at the center swallowed most of the space. A fireplace covered one wall and a cabinet crowded the opposite wall. The flicker of flames matched the sound I’d woken up to.
King Drakkar was nowhere to be seen, and there were no exits. That I could see.
Like the hidden hatch beneath my childhood bed, a crawlspace or hidden door might lead beyond the room. I checked the floor under the four poster first. Deeming it solid stone, I stood and marched to the cabinet. I swung the two doors open wide to find nothing more than a musty, empty space. After slamming them shut, I ran my hands along the walls to determine if they were as solid as the floor.
The stone rubbed rough against my palm. I circled the room and stopped at the large mantel. The fireplace was the only place I had not checked, but he would have to be a God to walk through the flames.
Unless I was missing something.
Crouching in front of the fire, I relished the heat, wanting to pause to warm my fingers over the flames. They’d turned blue again after King Drakkar let go of my hands.
From this angle, the back of the fireplace looked deeper. Rather than a shallow indent and then an upward tunnel for the smoke to travel, this fireplace stretched into chalky blackness. Like a tunnel.
Impossible.
Not even kings walked through fire without getting burned. Unless he lit it after passing through.
From the other side of the door, footsteps stomped. The rhythmic march grew closer and closer, and my heart matched the thumping.
I ducked from the fire and into a hiding place I knew too well. Slipping beneath the bed, I pressed close to the cold stone and watched the door swing open.
Heavy boots stormed past the bed. The gray leather marked him as one of the king’s guards. The tip of the sword’s sheath hung low at his leg.
This had to be the place I was looking for. Satisfaction curled at my lips. I’d been right about King Drakkar’s plans before dawn; sparring.
When the guard stooped, I inched closer toward the wall. Holding my breath proved impossible with my hammering heart. I sucked in air in small intervals to keep from gasping desperately.
After a moment, water splashed over the flames, dousing the fire to mere embers. He stepped into the fireplace and his boots quickly disappeared into the darkness. When his footsteps faded to a distant thud, I dragged a gulp of air into my tight chest, and crawled out from beneath the bed.
I hurried to the fireplace, and, stepping inside, left the small bedchambers behind. Darkness stretched out before me so I was forced to follow by sound.
I quietly tracked the echo of his steps, carefully listening for every hint of change in the sound of his footfall.
Deeper inside the yawning tunnel, a faint flicker of candlelight beckoned me along. Only occasionally did I pass a candle left on the floor in a bronze holder, but each time it was a relief from the abyss of black.
