Page 63 of Vow of the Undead
Before my mother was sent away, she taught me about all plants. Plants to heal, plants to feed us, plants to protect us. She’d claimed blood red roses, thorned and often rare, were a gift from Freya, planted by Valkyries, to shield us from the monsters who slipped into our world from fractures across the Nine Realms.
Sliding along the narrow space between the stone castle and the crowded bushes, I allowed Stasia to guide me. So far, my shadow was nowhere to be seen and King Drakkar hadn’t found us. Even if I didn’t know Stasia well, I trusted she was capable. I’d seen her determination the moment she first came into my chambers. Truly, she was my only option and she knew Mara’s Keep and this castle far better than I.
As I squeezed through the wild bushes, a thorny branch caught the soft flesh of my cheek. I swallowed a yelp and twisted away from it as the spike dragged across my face where it’d leave a mark to match my other scar. Frustrated, I shoved through the suffocating bushes with a curse at my lips.
We broke free at the back of the castle where Stasia grabbed my hand and pulled me beyond a grassy hill spotted with scattered headstones. Royals had been buried here for centuries, the hundreds of graves kept record of their high status even in death.
Descending the hill proved harder than I expected in theheavy dress, but we made it to the bottom and ducked into a line of trees. Following a ragged path through the forest, I ached for Skaldir.
For a simpler time with the other gatherers.
For life before the winters grew dangerous.
For distant memories of foraging for berries with my mother. I trailed her into the forest with the other women and she taught me how to identify which plants were palatable and which were poisonous.
My heart ached. Would I ever see her again? She’d know how to translate Loki’s clever way of speaking.
I’d escaped Mara’s Keep as he said, so where was my vision of Fenrir? I shouldn’t have trusted him, but I’d had no other options. And, of course, Loki was a trickster, he never gave straight answers. One could never see the end of his cunning plans.
What did his trial entail beyond escape?
My mother would know. She’d lift my hand as we prayed to Odin with the sacrifice of burning our most prosperous crop to strike down the men who harm us. Though we never spoke of it again, the shadow that stood outside her door at night was torn to pieces by a direwolf. His liver, his head, and his entrails were left scattered across her doorstep, as if the shadow’s body was a gift, an answer from Odin and Freya. A reminder that they existed and heeded our calls even if it was outlawed to utter their names beyond the frame of stories.
I peered through the trees to catch sight of the gray stone spires reaching into the sky. I’d cast off the colorless cage, but Loki did not grant me victory yet.
His voice materialized across my mind like a wisp of smoke.
“He’s coming, L.”
L? A shiver trickled through me.
Forget it.
Forget it.
Forget it.
I didn’t think it possible for the stretched night to get darker. The forest coated us with a strange silence. Here, the only sounds were the crunching of leaves beneath our feet and an owl’s call. Moonlight no longer cracked through the dense branches as we stumbled along.
Finally, Stasia’s footsteps stopped tromping and I paused behind her. Standing still now, I made out the shapes in the shadows and adjusted enough to find a soft patch of earth. We sank to the forest floor where Stasia produced provisions from a pack buried beneath her shift. Dried lamb and a small pouch of water that she shared plentifully.
“Do you always carry this?” I asked, pointing to the pack.
She patted the pack and winked. “Since the day I planned to leave Mara’s Keep.”
“Will you come with me to Skaldir?” I asked.
She stopped mid-chew and looked up at me, eyebrows raised as if I should already know the answer to this. “You don’t expect me to keep playing at being your handmaiden do you?”
“No!”
With a laugh, she shrugged. “I was awful at it. I never braided as well as Embla.”
“So, where will you go?”
Stasia hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t know if I should say. You’re going to think all that talk of my sanity was to cover up my lack of it.” Swallowing, she smirked. “I mean, I’m not as wild as you—how long did it take you to want to escape an undead husband? Sometimes I think you’re a little off, and it has nothing to do with your painted eyes.”
“Painted?” I echoed. My hand shot to my eyelid. How long had it been since my last enchantment? How far had the black spread from the center?
