“I am the Blood of the White Hawk,” I said, stepping forward. “Daughter of King Harald and Queen Revna.”
“Oh, is she?” Balvor commented.
Bac chuckled. “Stay quiet.”
“Of course.”
That power of his wasquitehandy.
From a hidden door in the side of the corridor, a skeletal creature of horrors emerged. I leaned back as I took in the walking corpse dressed in old, rusted armor.
This had to be a draugr, an uncommon creature and for a good reason. They used to be living fae, but they’d long died, been resurrected, and then instructed to protect treasures of their bloodline.
Despite the terror I should feel at the creature’s appearance, pity filled me. To die and then be denied a trip to the afterworld by your own family was a fate I’d not wish on anyone. What had this fae done to deserve it?
The draugr approached me, the empty sockets of his eyes seemingly burning through me as he reached for his sword spattered with rust. “Are you sure, lady? Others have claimed to be of the White Hawk line, but they were not. The odds are not in your favor, and I do not take kindly to trickery.”
“How do I prove who I am?”
“Take my hand.” He extended a skeletal limb. “If you are of my line, I’ll recognize our bond.”
I refrained from wrinkling my nose and extended my hand to meet his. The lack of flesh was disconcerting, almost as much as the strength of his boney grip, and the deep cold that radiated from the creature.
And though he had no eyes, the moment he felt the truth within me, his jaw went slack right before a horrible smile crossed his face.
“Family,” he whispered longingly. “It has been so long.”
All the bad things I’d been thinking came crashing down and guilt filled me. The draugr was pitiable, not someone I should fear. Though I’d take what his family had done to him as betrayal, all he wished was to serve our line.
“A pleasure,” I said.
“What is your name?” he asked, that rotted smile still on his face.
“I’ve been going by Neve, but my true name is Isolde.” When faced with a fae who had given up so much for his family,our family, the least I could do was own my name. In front of him, it felt good and right, much like when Thyra had first uttered it. “You may call me by the name my mother and father gave me. What’s your name?”
The creature looked stricken, and I had to wonder if anyone had asked him that since he’d been down here. Stars, how long had that been?
“Harvadril,” he spoke his name as though he were speaking through a mouth full of food, his hand coming to his chest.
“A name for a guardian,” I whispered.
“In life and so beyond.”
I had nothing to say to that. He seemed touched, not sad, but to me it was all terribly tragic.
“You may pass, lovely Isolde. Those with you too, if you wish for them to go. I follow your lead from here, my lady.” He bowed his head. “Your faithful servant.”
I exhaled, pleased but also disquieted. “Is that the only test I’ll face, Harvadril?”
The draugr shook his head. “Trueborn blood protects our family’s treasures. You will give some of your lifeblood to the leprechaun’s cauldron and enter.”
It must have maddened King Magnus to get this far, to have to touch the undead, only to fail because his father would not legitimize him.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Glad we didn’t have to fight him off,” Luccan murmured when we were out of earshot.
“He’s bones and a little flesh,” I said.
