Page 93 of Vow of the Undead
This Calling went against everything I’d known. Even my mother taught that the wars between us caused the wasteland. Though that shouldn’t have cut us off from the Gods, because if the Gods wanted to grant us tenable soil and prosperity, they’d find our sacrifices worthy.
But they did not always spare us.
I sucked in a painful breath, my throat raw from breathing so heavily. I paused at the bottom of the hill by the graves of kings. Like the villagers, the royals did not creep out into the darkest part of the Polar Nocturne.
Torches were alight across the castle’s outer walls, their flames flickering in the wind that swept over the hill. Before approaching, I plucked the pendant off of its silver chain and wrapped the chain around my leg. The pendant fell heavy in my pocket again. With the chain against my thigh, I pushed the stake between my leg and the silver. I seethed as the rough wood scratched red marks into my skin, but the stake held in place.
As I walked I got more comfortable with it again after having practiced concealing it this way during Kayn’s training sessions. The stake matched the length of my thigh and moved with me as if it was meant to be a part of me.
I skirted to the right where the king claimed the entire section of the castle. The light of the moon cast a gray glow over the side of the castle. Here, no torches warmed the cool hue across the stones. I quickly returned to the front and snagged a torch from its holder before hurrying back into the cover of branches.
The bushes lining the side wall still bloomed bright with roses. The petals furled outward, full and deep wine or blood-hued in color. Without the light of Sunna’s shield, I didn’t know how they survived, or how the petals had found their way to the graves outside the Hall of the Gods.
Carefully squeezing past them, I followed the roses just as the vision promised.
Halfway to the back of the castle, the stone was cut away in the shape of a small cave, buried by overgrown bushes. It was nearly hidden, and without careful inspection, appeared to be nothing more than a natural indent in the shapes of the large stones that made up the castle walls.
Each stone was unique, with curving, smooth shapes, and fit into the structure, and with the cover of plants, every stretch of the castle walls was a new sight. But this indent was deeper and the roses themselves caught my interest.
Full of deep blackness, I hesitated to step closer but the rose bushes stretched into the tunnel, the flowers themselves fuller and fuller the closer they grew to the cutout.
“Freya?” I whispered. Only the child of a woman like Anastasia, a witch, a seller of herbs and plants with runes scratched in the surface of their leaves, would care to notice the subtle differences in the roses here compared to the front of the castle.
I forced one foot in front of the other and thrust the torch forward, trying to brighten the cave of stone and roses. It was just wide enough for me to fit through without catching the bushes on fire. I lifted the torch high enough to keep away from the branches that stretched across the base of the bushes. Orange light glimmered over the low-hanging ceiling. Shapes were carved into the stone, smooth and intricate. At first glance, I expected runes, but every carving took the form of the flowers blooming beneath it, and instead of lines cut into the stone, the shallow indents were gentle dips as if the artist carefully scooped out the stone piece by piece.
I lifted the torch higher, examining the artistry with breathless awe. Not even the Valkyrie draped over the gravewas as detailed and stunning as these roses. I’d never heard of a God leaving art for the people of this realm, but I couldn’t deny that the level of craft looked divine. Was there truth here about the Gods?
“What is this?” I whispered. The wind caught my voice and carried it down through the tunnel. A shiver trickled over the base of my neck. Tendrils escaped the tight braids that followed the curve of my ear and were fastened at the top and back of my head along with the rest of my hair. The loose hair whipped in front of my face as I stared into the darkness.
I pushed deeper and deeper into the tunnel, finally reaching the pale light at the end. An opening by my feet glowed with dim light from the room beyond. It was large enough to crawl through, not unlike the tunnel that led from the fireplace to the room of weapons where I’d witnessed the king practice sword fighting.
I ducked and crawled through the opening, emerging through another fireplace.
My pulse thudded but not in painful skips. This was King Drakkar’s room.
Dark, nearly black, marks stained the fur-skinned rug at the base of his four poster bed. Bile burned the back of my tongue but I swallowed and stepped into the room. The chill left my arms prickling with bumps.
If I thought about King Drakkar covered in blood, about Embla’s death, about his cruelty for too long, overwhelm would strip me of all logic and I’d be lost in my mind and a slave to my nerves. The delicate balance came with grounding.
I can see gray, nothing but gray stone.I dared to close my eyes.
I smell the honey on my breath.
I hear…nothing.I didn’t know what I expected.
I exhaled and experienced each sensation as focused as if my vision had just gone black and I was about to collapse.
I taste the lingering honey.
I feel…The goosebumps on my arms had melted away. If I stood absolutely still, I wasn’t as cold. Was it just that the door had closed and I couldn’t feel the draft from the tunnel?
I feel warmth?That was nothing new. It was colder nearest King Drakkar’s bedchambers, but it was neverwarmin this wing without the fire that’d blazed in my room. But I’d just come through the fireplace and no flame burned in the tunnel.
Another fireplace was being used, and it was nearby. How odd and yet, an invisible tug drew me to seek out answers.
My eyes flew open and I scanned the room.
The draft from outside swept over my skin, dancing with the icy chill of the Polar Nocturne’s last days.
