Journal Entry 20
Zaskja Stormsson (I will never be anyone else, especially not Aheeva of House Thorn)
Age: no longer matters
My Wolf,
I live.
But so does Taeric Skarnir.
I imagine that, by now, you must’ve figured out that the head Tyron brought back wasn’t the Vampyr King’s. After all, why else would the Sons of Odin abduct me if their cursed king were in Jotunheimr with the rest of his fellow flesh-eating, blood-drinking monsters?
Did you hear how your parents (both of them) were not only aware of Taeric’s scheme but also involved in it? That your mother led my own into the woods, so that Tyron could neutralize her?
Is that what happened to you? Did someone lead you to Kjell, or did the vampyr ambush you?
The only thing Kjell relayed to me was that no blade touched your scalp. Please tell me this is true, for if you suffered once more because of me, and irreparably at that… I’d never forgive myself, Nordin.
I’d choose death this very night, even if it freed the monster who stole me from you.
How you’d tear into me if I had pen and paper to actually write this missive (it’s probably best that I don’t). You’d yell at me, wouldn’t you? You’d tell me that you wouldn’t change a thing to the story of us.
In truth, even though I regret all the grief, contention, and peril I brought into your life when I appeared out of nowhere so many moons ago, I wouldn’t change a thing to our story either.
Not even my burnt hands. Do you know why I wouldn’t change those? Because if they’d been covered in runes, the Sons of Odin would’ve descended upon us sooner…and separated us sooner.
I would’ve missed out on the chance to be loved by you.
I am so grateful that you defied the codex and your father. That you broke your own rules and fought fang and claw for us. If this were to be the last chapter in my life, then
No. I won’t go down the doom-and-gloom route. I’ll fight. Like I know you will.
How’s Saga? Did the fire catch on her scalp? Is she in any pain? Does she know what your parents did?
Gods, how I long to be there with the two of you.
How I long to hug her, then curl into your arms.
At least, I’m not alone in this foreign land. Mor came. I hope you find out so it eases your heart.
Although grateful for her presence, I’m so angry that she risked her life for me. I wish she’d stayed behind in Isam?r. (Though would she have been safer there? She might’ve gone after Ulf for what he did to me.)
How I loathe your parents, Nordin. More than I despise their puppet, Tyron.
Do you hate them too? Fenrir, I hope you do yet pray you don’t, because I’ve seen what you become when you seek vengeance on those who’ve wronged me.
I may want your father to pay for what he’s done, but I need you and Saga to remain unharmed, so please…neither of you challenge him! Not even once your hair grows back during the next full moon—thank Fenrir you’re an Alpha.
On my end, I’ve no delusion that the coming days will be easy, not surrounded as I am by fang and fire. On the upside, Mor seems to think that my valkyrie mind is impenetrable, even though Kjell affirmed he could see into it.
Given the flavor of my deliberations, impermeability would be a boon, for if Taeric, or one of his subjects, were able to decipher my thoughts, I’d be composing this phantom missive from another realm.
What isn’t a boon, though, are Odin’s wards. I’d been so hopeful that Mor would be able to tap into the Ravine link after her wound healed, but according to Kjell, the wards will block her ability to shift. Of course, there’s always the possibility that he’s lying…
If he isn’t, I’ll find a way to write to you and let you know that Mor and I are alive and together. Under the same roof or, rather, inside the same rocky hollow. Surprisingly, we weren’t imprisoned in separate cells.
We’ve been lent a proper lodging with proper walls and a proper cot and a proper bathing chamber. It’s not, by any means, luxurious, but it’s loads nicer than I expected.
Still, I harbor no illusion that comfortable amenities imply generous hosts. Taeric’s likely dressing our cage in silk to keep us pliant and docile instead of plotting and rebellious.
But Mor and I will plot and rebel. And we won’t stop until Skarnir is dead and we are on our way back home.
I adore you, my Wolf.
Stay safe.
Stay mine.
With all the love in my heart,
Zas
P.S. I forgive you.