Chapter 29
Lux
Sleep claimed me quickly, but I had told Drak to wake me after four hours, and he’d kept his word. I jolted awake, drenched in sweat.
Kayn’s threats hammered through my mind with each one promising he would do whatever it took to reclaim his soul.
My chest burned with the implication, and I couldn’t stop asking myself what that would mean for us.
Nerves prickled along my neck as if he were here and watching me, even though I knew he left when he could no longer use me to sway the Gods.
Glimpses of my mother and Stasia were woven into the nightmares like gruesome images of death upon a tapestry. Despite my sweat soaking the furs, a violent chill shook me.
Drak urged me to sleep longer, but I threw the furs off my legs and pushed to my feet.
With Silver forced to backtrack, we held the lead, but I had already spent too much time resting.
We needed to continue climbing to hold our pace ahead of her, and if she caught up, we would have no choice but to start the fight early.
In silence, we packed up the tent and the furs, and Drak drank a carefully portioned swig of stored blood.
Unable to drink from me and with no vessel to carry, this leather pouch was all he had to survive until Yggdrasil.
He certainly wouldn’t have enough for the return trip if he failed to ascend to Godhood and remained a vampire.
I didn’t let myself think about it for too long.
It was all only a distraction from our meticulously laid plan.
Pick off the vampires, protect the tree, return to our old lives.
Drak on the throne and me living in Skaldir.
The thought that I might be Myrah, and that Drak and I belonged together, barely formed in my mind before Odin’s voice shredded it, grating through me like bone against bone.
We pushed on quietly and with determination, and thankfully, Drak said nothing about my misreading of Kayn. He refrained from boasting, enabling us to settle into a comfortable silence as we proceeded at a pace that kept my heart rate stable.
Time was hard to track through the fog. The sun seldom glimmered behind red clouds, and I had to count our stops to make camp. As night fell, the fog shifted from pulsing brown and red to drab gray shadows, marking the slow progress.
We forged ahead for another two days without incident. No collapse, but also no sign of Silver’s army. At least when we fought them at Yggdrasil, Silver wouldn’t be able to compel Drak. Nobody could compel a God.
And as one of them, he could make the Gods retreat from my mind, freeing me from the weight of their screams. I didn’t even care if he had other plans with his future Godhood, because at the very least, he was willing to try to help me.
Instead of facing this fate alone, he stood by me.
He took every step, pacing with mine when I slowed, watching in case collapse threatened me.
He was always here. The question remained: for how long? How long had he been following me? I peeled my lips apart, ready to ask him about Myrah and Rune, but the bolt of pain through my head stopped me.
Right. I could focus on nothing but my duties as a huntress. I’d endured pain before, so I pushed past the ache and forced out the question. “Is all of that about our past lives really true?”
As if he’d been waiting for this question, he stopped walking and faced me. “You should know, your eyes have changed.”
“What?” That had nothing to do with my question.
His gaze wavered between my eyes, intent and all-consuming. “The blackness over your eyes. I can almost see the center. They’re…” He squinted. “I think they’re golden brown.”
“That’s not possible.” They had always been purely black. No whites, no tiny red veins, just black. Silver and the other children used to call me an animal, teasing me for how bizarre my eyes looked.
He bore a sad smile. “Nevermind. You were asking about our past. So, will you believe it if I tell you about the first time you became my wife? With real vows?”
I skimmed my teeth along my bottom lip, considering this. How much was I ready to hear? How much could my mind endure before the Gods brought me agony?
“Were we actually married?” I asked. I’d start there, at least.
He curled his forefinger and tipped my chin up.
“In another lifetime. I was drawn to your ability to spin stories from our daily lives.” He winced and fell quiet for a moment before sucking in a breath.
“Stories were the only way I kept my father alive in my memory. He died when I was a young boy. The same day I met you, actually.”
My heart skipped a beat, and the world began to spin. I wanted nothing more than to believe this, but the implications of what that meant were too heavy. If I were Myrah, then I’d have created the monster I just sent away, and I’d have done it all for Drak.
For Rune.
A bolt of lightning seemed to flash behind my eyes, striking the soft spot at the back of my neck where the base of my skull balanced.
I squeezed my eyes shut as tears flooded them. “I want to remember, but I can’t.”
He dragged me closer to him, resting his chin against the top of my head.
“We met as children. You told me…” I felt the ripple of his swallow.
“You told me that a warrior protects others, just like you told Kayn.” I pulled back to look up at him, but he was a blur in my swimming vision.
“It’s true. The memory came back to me when we found the ruins.
I think it was because it was you who read the sagas to me that first sparked the memories, and then each time you said my true name, it brought more memories.
Coming to the place where we’d met, and the place where we married, also filled in the missing spots.
The ruins were of a village once called Skaldir.
Old Skaldir, I’ve taken to calling it. Your hometown in Vylheim is named after it.
I wished I could recall it all.
I wished I could think about anything besides this fate. But Kayn was probably right. Even if we followed the plan precisely, fate had already sealed my destiny, and imagining a life with Drak only made the pain worse.
Still, my mind drifted to it. Would we have found each other and resumed a love that stretched across time?
Would we have been farmers? Yes, but I had a strange inkling that he’d also build longships like he built my bookshelves, and we’d live near the sea.
That I’d bring up our children to train for battle and protect our land.
Perhaps they’d enjoy footraces and weaving and telling sagas aloud over the fire, like I once did.
My stupid heart stuttered, and the back of my eyes burned. Now was not the time to crumble into tears for a life I’d never have. We didn’t have the past or the future, only this moment, and in this moment, we had to move forward.
I pressed on without speaking, at last escaping the heavy fog and entering the light.