I don’t know the last time I ever felt happy, but I know that isn’t going to be either of our futures because he is going to die soon.
I resist the urge to rub at my throbbing temple and show any weakness to my enemy. As much as I hate to, I may need to consult the Werma about my visions. And ask her why I keep seeing visions that are impossible.
Not that my death is an impossibility. But a future with this Imperial would be.
He’s testing his bonds but freezes when he sees me step up. His eyes are clouded with confusion, but I watch them clear as recognition sinks in. His eyes dart down “Look, I think you have the wrong impression of who I am.”
“No,” I say, tilting my head so that a single braid falls over my shoulder. “You had the wrong impression of who I was. I know exactly who you are, scout.”
He gives his head a sharp jerk. “I wasn’t scouting, I wasdeserting. I left my platoon; we don’t have to be enemies.”
“You’re mistaken,” I say in a low tone. “We willalwaysbe enemies, just as surely as a coward always dies a coward’s death.”
His eyes round and he inhales sharply, but I don’t give him time to react. Instead, I lift my ax, reminding myself that I, at least, am no coward. Then I let it fall.
A glint of light catches on my blade as it flies toward the imperial’s skull. His dark brown eyes are the last thing I see before a world of blackness envelops me. My body goes limp as if I had been the one delivered the killing blow, and my last conscious thought is to register pain as my body strikes the ground.
Chapter Four
The Valknut
Myheadthrobssobadly that I almost wish that I hadn’t regained consciousness. I groan and force my eyes open despite the fact that the light hitting my eyes only causes me more pain. My body screams for more time to rest, but until I have gotten a bearing of where I am and what has transpired; I cannot risk that.
Every moment I lay here leaves me helpless.
As my vision clears, I begin to make out many familiar faces gathered around me, Tira’s being the one closest. I relax as I take her and other members of my tribe in. At least it seems as if I am not in any immediate danger.
I’m not sure what I had been expecting, but I had been worried that whatever caused me to blackout had affected everyone. That this could have been some new form of attacking your enemies, by incapacitating them first with poison or other dark remedies.
Over the low murmur of concerned voices, I hear another one. “I didn’t do anything, I swear! You were all there, you saw that I was trussed up and couldn’t move,” this voice is higher pitched but still male. It sounds distressed and is lacking the Negaltan accent. My imperial prisoner.
I sit up, clutching my head. So, he’s still alive… and I had a fainting spell somehow. Neither fact is one that I can comprehend. I struck the killing blow on him, and my vision had already ended so there’s no way it could have caused me to black out.
No, this is something entirely new and unfamiliar.
“She’s awake!” Tira calls, her voice piercing my already ringing ears. I grimace and move my hand over to pinch the bridge of my nose. It is at that moment that I notice something, a marking on the inside of my wrist. Visible just above where my gauntlet covers. I frown and begin pulling at the strings of my gauntlet to undo it.
I’m sure it’s just a smudge of the makeup around my eyes, but it’s such a dark mark and seems to be disappearing below my clothes.
“Laduga,” Tira’s father Heimdir, our chief, says as he moves into view. He uses his broad shoulders to shove aside some of the curious onlookers as he looks me over. “You’re all right. What happened, lass?”
My eyes flick from him to the Imperial who is standing behind him, still bound, and held up between two of Heimdir’s sons. My eyes drop to my gauntlets as I undo the last string holding my gauntlet in place. It drops away and a collective gasp fills the air as the symbol comes into full view.
I pull back, my eyes widening as I take it in. There, clear as the morning, inked into my skin are the three interlocked triangles of theValknut.
A mark of death. Only the harsh lines of the triangles are made up of images of writhing snakes with vacant eyes and sharp fangs that sink into their own tails.
My other hand twitches with the desire to grab a dagger and somehow scrape this mark off my skin, to remove myself as far from it as possible.
I would chop off my whole hand if it would just remove this deathmark, and yet something put it here for a reason and something tells me that just removing the mark won’t change my fate. I would just be maiming myself for no reason. I force myself to draw in a shaky inhale and try to ration. Tothink. Past the panic buzzing through my veins.
I raise my gaze to meet Heimdir’s.
“Who did this to you, child?” he whispers, dropping to his knees.
“I don’t—” I begin, but then Tira is grasping my arm roughly.
She rubs at the skin as if trying to wipe it away. “This must be a sick joke. She didn’t have this when the ritual began.”
