Page 32 of Vow of the Undead (The Bloodrune Saga #1)

Loki’s Trial

I had come too close to passing Freya’s trial to let the king slip away now. I pushed off the wall to run after him.

Stepping into the hall, my foot caught on something small.

I stumbled forward, catching myself with the heel of my palm on the opposite wall.

Pain radiated through my hand and snaked up my arm, at the same time that a screech echoed through the hall with a chilling pitch. My blood went cold as I whipped around.

A dark blur darted into the long hall I’d first come down. Whatever it was left behind an oversized cat with thick gray fur. It twined around my legs lazily rubbing against the smooth fabric of my skirt.

Freya’s cats.

“It’s over?” I breathed. The first trial was over. Freya had confirmed it with this vision of the cats gifted to her.

“Yes.” A voice descended upon my mind, curling with eagerness.

I didn’t know if it was safe to believe it yet. But it was real, Freya’s trial ended and I’d…passed.

The dark gray cat came sauntering back around the corner, having forgiven me for tripping over him.

This couldn’t be the end. I hadn’t learned where the runestones were kept. King Drakkar gave me nothing. Would the next trial give me more?

Where was the lost history? How could I expose a vampire king and his council of monsters without it? King Drakkar was supposed to be vulnerable when I tracked him down.

And perhaps he was.

Hunger had left his eyes a haze of red, the anger made him reckless, and it almost seemed like he was running from me now. Running from a willing victim, like he didn’t want to hurt me. If King Drakkar truly cared for me, maybe that was the real vulnerability.

Maybe that was my key to where the runestones were locked away.

It was that or trying to convince a council of undead creatures not to send the witches they hated to death at sea. Right.

I ducked back into the room he’d dragged me in. In a desperate hurry, I searched for anything hidden, any hatch, any false wall, but the room was a simple bedchamber, without a fireplace. I tried to the next door, then finally, the room the council members had disappeared into.

Disappointment fell heavy on my shoulders when I discovered it was nothing more than a meeting place. The runestones were probably hidden far more carefully than in a room near where the council might frequent.

I stood in the hall, my arms hanging limp and helplessly at my sides. Though I wasn’t alone, the cats still slunk around my legs, I was empty of any ideas.

What was my next step?

The voice slithered into my thoughts again. No vision came with it, instead, this voice spoke as if part of me, though it came with that masculine energy again .

“Freya warned you? Told you he’s a threat. A danger. A ruin wrapped in skin.

But tell me, since when did danger feel that good?

Curious little thing you are. And curiosity, well... it always follows, doesn't it?

Follow the cold.

Follow the screams.

Follow and find what I have to share, and there,

Fenrir, my son, the wolf, will appear.”

Screams? This voice, it had to be Loki, he was Fenrir's father, after all. According to the vision, his trial came next, and only the God of chaos would encourage me to seek after danger. To seek pleasure from a monstrous king.

To go toward the screaming.

I wasn’t flooded with the awe and admiration I felt whenever Freya’s visions reached me. Loki was unpredictable and troublesome. But for now, he was all I had.

“I need a trail,” I whispered. The larger cat’s ears pricked.

I squeezed my eyes shut and listened. Surely enough a cry echoed from somewhere in the distance. I didn’t breathe as I focused on the desperate plea. King Drakkar had been hungry, which must have meant this cry came from a victim he was feeding on.

The scream died away but not before I was able to pinpoint the direction; past the door where the council had met, further down the left side of the forked hallway. When I opened my eyes, both cats had vanished, leaving no trace of their bushy fur behind.

I set off, rubbing at my bruised palm and running when my breathing allowed.

Perhaps I was never supposed to be in this wing. Stasia warned me about screams even when my room was on the other side of the castle. Or so I suspected it was on the other side. The web of halls and matching stone always left me dazed and in awe of my handmaiden who so easily navigated this place.

A draft swept through the narrow space. Icy air curled around me, inviting me to come closer. Only a woman from Skaldir would run toward the cold.

I kept pushing forward as the temperature dropped lower and lower, because even if Loki scared me a little, he was a God, he was part of these trials, and he told me to follow the cold.

I tracked the chill because I refused to believe what I already knew was the whole of the information I’d learn from Mara’s Keep. Freya had gifted me the visions that’d led me here, now Loki spoke to me.

And even if it was Loki, a thrill pulsed through my veins at the realization that a God talked directly to me. I’d passed Freya’s trial which must have meant I was closer to the Gods, able to hear their influence more clearly.

Was this guidance his gift? It didn’t make sense coming from the God of chaos.

The air in the dark hall dropped with every step I took. By the time I reached two large oak doors, my entire body convulsed in its natural attempt to stave off the cold and build heat. With my hand shaking, I struggled to grip the door handle.

Twisting it, I shoved the heavy door inward and froze at the threshold.

King Drakkar sat at the end of a four-poster bed with blood dripping from his hands.

Red stained everything, the blankets, his clothes, pooling at his feet.

In his arms lay the limp body of the man who’d approached the throne with Darius.

Blood dripped from holes in his neck and his eyes were wide open, staring into an eternal void.

The king looked up at me with a single emotion coating his icy eyes. Confidence . Always cold hard confidence bordering on arrogance and pride .

An inexplicable gust of wind came from somewhere past him. My gaze flickered to a dark fireplace at the wall behind his bed before falling over the horrific scene in his arms again.

“He’s…” I swallowed to soothe the ache in my dry throat. “You killed him.”

King Drakkar stared at me in silence. After a moment, he lifted one hand to wipe at the corner of his mouth. A faint smile flickered over his lips. “He deserved it. Nobody calls my wife rude.”

The pungent scent of sour iron and faint rot filled my nose. My stomach curled in on itself.

King Drakkar didn’t just feed on vessels, letting them recover like Stasia suggested, he was a killer.

Now this poor soul’s blood soaked the rug and the furs on the bed I was to share with the king. And the blood, the sick smell of death, it all looked far too familiar. The stain of red like a criminal’s blood marking the earth after an executioner forced us all to watch the beheading.

I’d seen enough of death—too much.

I swallowed and whispered calming words my mother taught me when I needed to settle my panic.

All at once, I lost control of my body, but not to collapse. Instead, someone else seemed to be controlling me.

As if I were a child’s doll controlled by an unknown force, my jaw expanded and words spilled out.

These weren’t the words running through my mind.

They were foreign to me, thoughts that came onto me suddenly.

A phrase I’d only heard my mother say came from deep within me.

She always said the Norns weaved our fates.

“King Drakkar, bestow me the truth or suffer the Norn’s twisted cords.”

Did I just threaten him? An exhilarating thrill throbbed in my muscles followed by a swell of energy. Magic. This was the power of the Gods, Loki, Freya, and maybe even Odin flowing through me and igniting my tongue and mind with the courage to not only speak, but to demand.

But even though they gave me the power, what came out was my voice.

My own words speaking a phrase I hadn’t heard since I was a child, phrases from Loki’s saga.

And though I wanted to say it was Loki’s invisible hands prying my jaws open, I knew the truth.

The words came from me, perhaps simply laced with Loki’s power.

Shock tightened my throat as my mouth hung open.

A whimper of relief and excitement escaped me. Visions were one thing, but this , the feel of pure power to fight back against the control of King Drakkar, and the royalty in this Keep, emboldened me.

After a moment of huffing, he responded. A dazed look clouded his chilling eyes, almost softening them to become the servant beneath my power—power I knew I’d just channeled from the Gods.

Damn it felt good.

“The truth?” He said, his voice faraway yet direct.

I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, King Drakkar was compelled to confess exactly what I needed to know.

This power would allow nothing else. This trance owned him, even if for a few moments.

I already felt the vibration of exhaustion slithering through my muscles and veins.

The Gods’ power of this…this compulsion, would surely collapse me.

“This is who I am. You already knew, Silver.”

He stood, a shadowy silence over the stains, some fresh the color of cherry while other spots were the dark burgundy of dried blood. A twitch bolted across his face. He bared his teeth, his neck reddening.

He was fighting my compulsion and I felt every strain with pressure building in my head and throat and lungs, even pressing down on my tongue. I resisted, returning to what I was doing when I first felt this power.

Whispering calm phrases, I felt the strength within me rise again. “I see him fighting the cage of magic on his tongue. I hear the echo of wind through a tunnel. I smell blood…”