Page 65 of Vow of the Undead
“Now shush,” she said, “and don’t talk to yourself. You won’t hear our enemies over the sound of your own voice, however much you might delight in it.”
After a few seconds of rustling, she released a long sigh and the shape of her torso melted into the earth.
I stared at her for a moment as she curled in on herself.
“What’s his name?” I asked her.
Only silence responded. An owl broke the quiet until Stasia finally spoke. “Finan.”
Once her breathing steadied, I stood, creeping quietly to a rock where I perched on the edge. Without our cheerful bickering filling the air, the silence tensed my every muscle. Escape had filled me with energy when we were still moving, still talking about our plans, but in the darkness of the Polar Nocturne, nearly alone, the grim possibilities spiraled through my mind.
I was a target, and I knew it wouldn’t be long until we’d need to conjure a new plan to keep us safe.
Waiting for wild animals, or my shadows, or King Drakkar to come hunt me down, I fixated on the darkness.
Creatures crawled along the forest floor and the flutter of bats occasionally startled me, but the time passed quietly. I sucked in a long breath that snagged at the sight of something large between the trees. I narrowed my eyes, my lungs frozen, as I scanned the treeline.
The shape of a man stood between two thick trunks, his entire body shadowed except the glint of his eyes, like an owl—like King Drakkar. My heart quickened as I recognized the shiny golden hue.
I shot to my feet, but didn’t run. The man stepped closer, carefully, methodically, his hand lifted out in front of him as if he was approaching a frightened deer. Or perhaps he wanted to grab me, slap his hand over my mouth and drag me through the forest by my hair. I couldn’t run and leave Stasia to fend for herself.
Blood rushed through my ears like a melted fjord crashing with deafening water. I’d run from my shadows as a young woman, and then I killed my shadows once they captured me.
But I’d faced the man who trapped me in betrothal. I’d compelled him.Loki, can I do itagain?
I peeled my dry lips apart and my hot breath coiled into a humid mist. “You must leave.”
He stepped closer.
Fuck.That was the opposite action of my demand.
The shape of his thick hair identified him as the wheat-haired man who’d pulled me into the shadows. His deep brown eyes drew my attention. In another realm, I would fall victim to those eyes, determined, sharp, handsome. Here and now, I refused to be any kind of victim. He would either kill me or drag me back to Mara’s Keep, and I could not let that happen. “Silver, you have a duty?—”
“To the king? To you?” I spat. No, I had to compose myself, to try again. But with the rush of blood vibrating in my veins, my heart thumping wildly, I couldn’t think of anything sensible to say.
Speech abandoned me altogether and nerves overwhelmed my senses. If my mother were here, she’d instruct me to slow my thoughts and then manifest a sense of calm by giving voice to those thoughts.
When he stepped forward and closed the distance between us, all mindful control dissipated and I descended into muscle memory.
I reacted as if he were Ragna approaching me for practice in the shield hall. Throwing up my elbow and stepping back, I spread my feet in a wide stance. If only I had a shield and weapon, this would be a lot easier, but the hard bones at the crook of my arm would have to do.
“I’m not yours and I’m not going back to the king.”
“No, but you are chosen.”
My stomach convulsed, rejecting this with a dry retch. “I don’t care what the king or his council wants, they’re monsters.”
Rustling leaves caught my attention and I glanced over my shoulder to where Stasia laid. The forest floor was empty, a soft dent in the shape of her body against the decaying leaves.She’d taken her chance and left me. I sucked in a breath and turned back to see my shadow was upon me.
“I’m not here for the king,” he said. “Listen to me, Silver. Your blood?—”
“Fuck no!” Nobody was going to threaten to taste my blood again. I wouldn’t give him the chance to flex that kind of power over me.
“Let me show you.”
He seized my wrist, and every ounce of blood rushing through me pulsed with energy. I flipped my arm to twist his hold on me, but his grip remained steady. I threw out the heel of my other palm against his jaw, shoving his face away from me.
When his other hand found my free wrist, panic struck me.
