Duskfire Glacier the gods call your name

blood coated her tongue like wine.

it was thick, rich, sacramental. the ichor of gods, who would not surrender a valkyrie to the grasp of death when someone came for her throat. her blood poured from her body in thick rivulets of crimson, but it did not stoke fear in her. not anymore.

only fury. the wrath of a valkyrie, rage fueled from the gods.

her gaze burned through the haze of blood-loss, locked upon blackfell as his cousin and friend restrained him. anchored him when he should be burning, tearing through the trees like a wildfire, chasing sun eater to the ends of the earth and dragging his carcass home for her feet.

her teeth clenched, hot agony lancing through her torn throat as she forced her head upward. her husband. her mate. she had chosen him once as the sharp edge to wield, and he would not fail her now.

through it all, words gurgled up from her throat, thick and raw. it is splintered through a snarl, but it is vicious. it is wrath. it is fate; "bring me his fucking head."

give him stormrift’s regards.

her breath rasped as her throat bled with the heave of her lungs, but her rage carried her. it was searing. white-hot, unrelenting, and far louder than the suffocating weakness of her body.

"you stay," she commanded. her voice was iron, unshakable despite the ruin of her throat. "until dawn. then you go."

"i want his hide for a fucking blanket." the words were monstrous, inhuman, but there was no space for mercy in her chest. not now. not when she had felt his teeth in her throat, seeking her soul.

her mind burned with the vision of it—sun eater’s skull cracked beneath blackfell’s teeth, his tongue torn out and delivered to her. she would make a throne from his bones, for her and her sister.

they would not stay the hand. they would not cower before this act like he’d fractured all they were. no. there would be war.

he would not be on the winning side.