Page 17 of Vow of the Undead (The Bloodrune Saga #1)

S hame tormented me for three days. The sickness twisting my gut grew worse with my monthly bleeding. Whenever the stomach cramps and flow of blood cropped up, my obsessive dwelling and nervous energy became all-consuming. I didn’t have the energy to keep the thoughts at bay.

This slow journey to a lifetime of servitude didn’t help.

What would my days look like as I worked in the castle at Mara?

My skills with cooking, baking, and cleaning were basic and attuned to village life in Skaldir.

I was best skilled at reciting the sagas and solving riddles buried in the history of the Gods.

My favorite duty had always been as a gatherer.

My mother taught me how every plant served humans either as a salve, an oral medicine, food, to burn for scent, or to sacrifice to Odin and Freya.

Of course I could identify any poisonous leaf as well.

But none of that would serve me well in Mara where much of the flora was different, if I even worked as a gatherer at all.

Dull pain clawed through my lower stomach. Each month I dreaded the bleeding because it never failed to leave my nerves more frayed than ever. The flow was as heavy as the weight of each painful reminder.

I almost missed having the king at my back, which meant I was a traitor.

I almost lost my chance to free my mother because I was short-sighted and selfish.

I almost died, and I should have.

The Stormdal witch’s life was not less valuable than mine, despite whatever King Drakkar was attempting to suggest. I hated his interest in me as much as I craved more of it, and this sent me into another spiral that only a careful focus on the senses helped me crawl out of.

I felt the rhythmic canter of the horse’s stride and the ache in my thighs.

I smelled the remnants of rain as we left the storm in our wake.

Taste was trickier, since I hadn’t eaten for hours.

Bleeding either stripped me of my appetite, or sent me into an insatiable hunger.

This month’s wave turned my stomach inside out, leaving no room for a desire for food, which was just as well since we’d nearly run out of provisions after the storm slowed our expected travel by two days.

Closing my eyes, I narrowed in on the next sense. An owl hooted from nearby. The horses' hooves struck the earth with steady purpose. I heard tentative cheering…

My eyes peeled open to the sight of a valley stretched out before us in the bright light of the full moon. We’d finally reached the top of the hill we’d been climbing for the past few hours. Below lay our first glimpse of the vast kingdom of Mara.

Tiny structures dotted the landscape, homes and stables. Snow had not yet blanketed the terrain here. Winter reached all of Vylheim, but I’d heard it was slow to arrive in the southern kingdom and quick to leave, the majority of the snow and ice would come only with the Polar Nocturne.

In the denser areas, the buildings were organized in rows like the main part of our village back home in Skaldir.

Except here, there would be no council home to house the Vyl and his family.

Mara’s Keep, the king’s home and the castle where all the courtiers lived, was the only place for council, if King Drakkar counseled with the people at all.

My father seemed to believe he did, or else he wouldn’t have traveled this far for a single meeting.

The people of Stormdal crowded in behind the remaining guards and Grimward members, everyone scrambling for a glimpse of their new southern home.

Hope lifted my chin. At the top of an opposite hill sat the largest structure visible in Mara, a stone castle with spires and towers lifting into the starry sky. I finally had Mara’s Keep within my sights.

Within a day, we’d be inside that castle where I could follow the blood he left behind. I would track the king just as Freya instructed, and I’d pass this trial. This was a thought I hadn’t allowed myself to consider until I knew I’d make it to Mara, because I couldn’t bear more failure.

I will track him. I had to trail his blood to find the lost history, but King Drakkar reigned in a time of peace, and drawing blood was outlawed.

Nobody even carried a weapon besides the Grimward, a select few of his guards, and the king.

The only time fighting was sanctioned was by the king himself, and that was merely a rumor.

But King Drakkar was said to be skilled with a sword, which meant he must practice with his guards.

People had claimed he clashed with members of the Grimward who tried to defect, publicly.

He stayed as sharp as his sword so that nobody could overthrow him the way he stole the previous king’s throne, and to hold his power over the executioners.

Did he duel in practice with the guards near wherever he kept the runestones hidden? Or perhaps he’d be attacked and in his most painful and vulnerable moment I could pry the answer from him. Where was our history stored?

What if I didn’t need the history at all, and when he bled, he sought help from a healing witch who, with my partnership, could force him to acknowledge that we weren’t a threat in front of Mara?

That all witches in exile did not have reason to be kept there, nor reason to fear existence in Vylheim because he’d no longer hunt us—if she healed him.

If only I had the gift of healing. But this vision was enough.

There were countless possible outcomes. I’d just have to wait and see what opportunity presented itself.

Freya would lead me to the answers to free my mother and send Ragna back home.

I’d be victorious when I saw two cats representing her beloved companions, Bygul and Trjegul, like my mother saw Odin’s ravens when a crop she’d planted would be successful.

They were visual, breathing representations of the Gods’ promises.

For this, I was grateful.

The rest of the journey passed with ease, and my monthly bleeding subsided by the time we entered the settlements closest to the castle.

Mara was a single village on the continent of Vylheim, but since it stretched over so much land, the gatherings of houses created what were almost their own separate villages. This was why the people of Vylheim called Mara a kingdom—as if it was separate from the rest of Vylheim.

Now that I was seeing it with my own eyes, I understood.

I also understood why the kings of old had chosen Mara to build a Keep. Though Mara bordered the wasteland, this land was prosperous, close to the fish at sea, away from the unforgiving winter in the north, and simply stunning.

Stone houses dotted the countryside. Mara was beautiful, full of lush green farms along the perimeter.

Soon they’d be covered in snow, stripping the last of our chance to grow food for the season, but for now, the southern village was a relief from the relentless winter weather that was slowly looming in our wake .

Candles flickered warm orange hues from behind windows.

People filled the centers of the settlements, gathering with excited energy as if for a competition or celebration.

As we traveled through the heart of the settlements, I caught pieces of conversation, talk of a wedding in the kingdom of Mara rippled through the villagers.

Somehow, anticipation for this wedding spread across multiple settlements, as if those who were to be wed were royals. And perhaps they were.

As we rode up to the castle, our party had dwindled to only those planning to meet with King Drakkar. The guard who’d kept his eye on me approached from the left side of the towering stone building.

Once we were dismounted and guards guided our horses to the stable, he spoke.

“The king wants you to rest,” he said, grabbing my arm. “The rest of you,” he addressed my father and his men. “May wash up at the servants’ bathhouse.”

He pulled me away from them and I yanked back. “I want to stay with the people of Skaldir,” I said.

“The king says you will rest.”

“I can rest knowing they’re close.” It wasn’t that my father’s presence offered me any solace, but Bjorn was a friend, and at least their faces were familiar.

“As long as you rest, I don’t give a shit what happens,” he said.

“King Drakkar was clear in his command that I ensure you get the opportunity to sleep and restore yourself after the journey. He said you need it.” Though the guard’s voice dripped with irritation, my heart lifted.

Nobody had cared to allow me rest before—certainly not enough to command it.

And I definitely needed it. After washing up, I fell into an open bed, sleep enveloping me. Dreams of King Drakkar’s body molding to the shape of mine welcomed me.

When I woke hours later, the same guard dragged me from my bed and led us back out to the front of the castle.

My throat tightened at the sight of animal masks. Executioners joined the guards as they pulled my father and I through the crowd.

People parted for the Grimward, like the clouds separating after a rainstorm.

Mara’s villagers spread apart just enough to let us pass.

They pushed forward in our wake and I was pleasantly surprised that the king allowed for commoners to trample the halls of his castle.

Of course, it was far vaster than a Vyl’s home, with plenty of room for visitors, but it seemed the entire crowd had their sights set on a single destination, leaving the other halls empty.

Bodies pressed in around me as I finally crossed the castle’s threshold and the people of Mara’s Keep scrambled for a glimpse of the king. Inside was a maze of stone. We followed the narrow halls to the throne room.

This castle wasn’t built to invite the kingdom’s subjects inside all at once, but with the arrival of the northernmost village in Vylheim, the king had opened his doors for all to come. I could only hope it wasn’t to come witness my beheading.