Page 10 of Vow of the Undead (The Bloodrune Saga #1)

“What law did she break then?” I pointed the brush at him like it was a weapon. “Tell me. What law? If she shed blood, they would have executed her in front of the entire village. So why take her and exile her?”

“There are other crimes. Theft. Denying food or shelter to executioners or royal travelers. Adultery.”

“Adultery?” I laughed without joy. “You’re seriously suggesting that Ragna fucked another man when her entire world is Rolf? Besides, nobody has considered adultery a crime in years. People fuck who they want. ”

“Keep that filthy word out of your mouth, daughter.”

“I am a woman, Father, not just your daughter.” He opened his mouth to cut me off again but I spoke louder, unafraid.

I was marching myself to the king anyway.

“And I am a witch.” My stomach fluttered as I heard the words out loud.

This was me, my identity, and it felt damn good to say it.

So good that I didn’t care about the string of curses he released, or when he screamed at me as I spun around.

“Silver!”

I ducked away from him and ran out the back of the stables. I’d face him later, when we finally left for Mara. For now, I would find Rolf and get the real story. Had King Drakkar placed Ragna before a candle’s flame? Or did they test her another way?

I didn’t want to think about it for too long.

Executioners were brutal, ruthless. Even something as simple as a dispute between two young men where their wrestling led to cut lips and a bloody nose had damned them both for execution.

They’d been beheaded only days after news of their fight had spread to the nearest executioners.

I never understood how the news always spread so quickly and easily.

Who was stupid enough to turn their own neighbors over to death or exile or a lifetime of service in the royal court?

Running wasn’t the right word for my hurried limping toward the opposite end of Skaldir. Exhaustion still wracked my bones, and my heart was too weak to pump enough blood to keep me moving.

Cold air nipped at my ears, but I kept going.

I averted my eyes from the communal hearth, the small stone building that was built for the purpose of baking bread and large meals together.

I caught the echo of chatter from within. No doubt the women were discussing Ragna’s disappearance. Because I’d run into the forest, I was likely the last to hear of it.

Their muttered conversation sent a pang through my chest. The last time I stepped foot in the shelter of the hearth was ten years ago with my mother at my side.

Not an hour later she’d been dragged outside by the executioners.

The bread we’d kneaded together hadn’t even finished baking when the masked men and women claimed my mother had hidden a young girl from them.

A girl who stabbed a boy in the eye with a sharp stick.

They failed to mention that this boy they named was a bully, a cruel young man who delighted in leaving bruises on those smaller than him.

Though I didn’t doubt my mother would harbor this supposed criminal, I’d been with her constantly and had never seen the girl anywhere near her.

It was all a lie.

What they’d actually seen was her burning sage and whispering incantations for the enchantment that concealed my eyes. But they conjured a lie that skirted around the existence of witches.

I winced. Lies were the worst kind of offense, and I’d been as guilty as the executioners. I shoved the thought away, always trying to forget that I wasn’t really who I said I was. Parts of me would always be kept hidden.

And I may have become a killer, but I didn’t have time to let my darkness overcome me.

My mother was waiting.

And I knew she wasn’t dead. I just knew I’d have a vision if she’d died. I’d feel it. She was still alive, but that meant she was also suffering. This long in the wasteland would have stripped everything from her—just as the king hoped.

I assumed he wanted a rough life in the scarred earth to strip the magic from the witches he banished there. Otherwise, why not just kill us?

The warm scent of baking bread filled my nose. My eyes stung with tears as I hurried past the hearth.

“Anna!” a small voice shouted.

I blinked the tears from my eyes. Through the blur, I spotted Ragna’s youngest, a girl of only six years old. At three, Alva could not pronounce Silver, and since Ragna had once told her I was the spitting image of my mother who went by Anya, Alva had called me ‘Anna’ ever since.

I went by many names; Silver, Little Spider, but Anna was my favorite.

Alva stood in the doorway of her family’s longhouse. Only days before, I was in the dirt beneath their feet, sparring with Ragna to train our bodies for self defense, and now she was gone.

Rolf appeared behind Alva with an infant boy in his arms, the child Ragna swore would be her last.

She’d been right.

Alva hopped up and down at the threshold. It was as if she was waiting for me, though she was likely looking outside in wait for her mother’s return.

Tears sprang up again. My throat tightened as Alva ran out to me, her short legs kicking up dirt. “Mama is gone, Anna! Mama is gone!”

I could not stop the tears from spilling. Even with the scabbed skin, the wound still stung from the salty tears slipping down my cheeks.

Weak . Tears are the salt of the spineless. People cry when they cannot do. My father’s voice echoed in my head, but I focused on my breathing, slow and steady, until his harsh words faded.

The tears that trailed down Alva’s plump cheeks looked large and heavy, not at all weak.

They were tears for her mother. And in this case, my father was right.

Alva could not do anything about her mother’s disappearance and the pain of it needed to go somewhere, so it spilled out of her body with every tear that dropped.

She mirrored me all those years ago, but instead of running away and hiding, she was out in the open. Of course, she wasn’t the cause of her mother’s disappearance.

She hadn’t damned an innocent person to certain death .

Don’t think about it.

I finally allowed myself a full breath with the smell of bread in the air. I trailed my fingers over my braid, noting the feel of my smooth hair. I focused on the small child barreling toward me, the shine on her cheeks, the sadness and confusion swimming in her eyes.

When we reached one another, I crouched and wrapped my arms around Alva’s little body. I enveloped her and let my own tears fall until a thought struck me.

Alva could not do anything about Ragna’s exile, but I could.

I could find that damn piece of missing history and prove to King Drakkar that witches were not a threat to his authority.

“Alva,” I said as I pulled back. I held her tiny shoulders in my hands and felt her body shudder with a long and desperate breath.

Tears dried in tight lines across her pink cheeks.

The chilled wind tossed her dark hair around her face.

I brushed a thumb beneath her eye to catch another tear.

“I’m going to find your mama, and I’m going to bring her home. ”

You can’t promise that. Doubts thrashed in my mind. You’re weak, you’ve always been selfish. Think of what you did when you were Alva’s age. Think of what happened to your mother only a few years later.

Silver, Little Spider, Anna, Witch, Selfish, Killer.

Evil.

Evil.

Evil.

I gritted my teeth until my jaw ached and the feeling pulled me out of the dwelling spiral.

“You will?” Alva asked, eyes round and widening more and more as she stared at me.

“I have to.”

She only cocked her head. My promise was enough to stop the flow of tears for now. Both of ours .

I wanted nothing more than to look away from her. To forget the person I’d become since I gave in to my darkness at the same age Alva was now. I was even more desperate to leave Skaldir and every scarred memory behind.

My heart squeezed as Alva leaned into me again. I hugged her close, protecting her from the cutting wind as Rolf marched up behind her, the baby now wrapped in several layers of fur.

As he spoke, he confirmed every fear I’d had. Ragna was tested, taken, and told she was sentenced to a lifetime in the wasteland.

“If she dares leave the wasteland,” he said, wetness shining in his eyes, “they’ll kill all of us.”

Another message worth the shedding of an entire family’s blood, because if anyone got any ideas of fighting or breaking any law, we’d descend into chaos, we’d damn Vylheim to become a wasteland again.

That blood of war would scar the earth until nothing could grow and our children starved.

“I’m going to find the lost history,” I said.

Absent-mindedly, I’d pulled the Y Tree out of my dress and fingered the sharp edge that I’d washed off in the stream at the border of Skaldir, rinsing away Astrid and Sten’s blood.

The story went that the king of the ancients, Harald, had used this symbol, this very necklace, with its cross shape and unique tilt where the cross met, to mark the original runestones with his seal.

Once his council of witches smoothed the stone with elemental enchantments, it could only be broken with this seal.

Showing the king the true history would prove the existence of witches and their history of living with kings in harmony.

Without this runestone, our king and the council denied witches and all manner of magic, monsters, and Gods.

Rolf said nothing as he looked down at his infant son.

“I can use it to help,” I said .

That was a lie. I only hurt people.

No! I could at least try, I could fight this darkness within me. I could forget the bodies I’d left in the forest. I could forget everything I’d done and take on a new name.

Servant. For the king.

I’d gladly live out the remainder of my days within the walls of Mara’s Keep if it meant access to our history. If I lived at all. How long would it take for King Drakkar to realize two people in his royal court never returned from Skaldir?

Rolf’s tired eyes and sagging mouth didn’t exude belief in me, but Alva’s hope was enough for now. She didn’t know, yet, that I was a killer, that I’d always been wicked, wrong .

A flash of the hatch beneath my bed crossed my mind. Echoes of screaming followed until I buried the memory and conjured a smile for Alva’s sake.

She smiled back and I knew I’d carry the sight of her little grin with me as I forced myself to face the king.