Page 12 of The Holly King's Sacrifice

He stares hard at me, and I get the feeling he’s got some kind of punishment in mind if I don’t do as he says. I take a bite of my jerky, trying to ignore the gnawing ache in my chest—an ache that tells me this man still means me harm.

“Is it enough to say that I’m a person who asks too many questions?” I say.

“Appropriate that you would pose your answerasa question,” he mutters. “That is not who you are, human. What makes your heart race? What makes you clench your fists in rage? What warms your belly, and makes you feel alive?”

I chew on my lip, frowning into the fire. “I don’t think I’ve ever really gotten a chance to figure that out.”

“Then you are in luck, for there are many things I can teach you,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “Let me pose a different question, then—what is your name?”

The question feels like a bridge between us, over a space that was previously impassable. And there’s weight to it—because right now, I could leave the girl I was behind, and make myself someone new. But I cling to my past as I stare into the fire, then meet eyes with the Holly King.

“My name is Aspen,” I say. “What’s yours?”

6

Ulfric

Aspen.

Her name is the whisper of the wind through bare winter branches, the creaking of tree trunks in a still forest. I feel her name deep in my bones, resounding and echoing like the steady drip of water from the icicles hanging over the mouth of the cave. That name burrows into my heart and rests there, warming itself at the inferno burning in my chest.

For the first time since our occupation of this human world, I feel hope that perhaps she will be the one.

That frightens and thrills me all at once.

“I am Ulfric,” I tell her. “Lieutenant of the Kjarr-M’yr Clan, second to Warlord Odran.”

“So your name isn’t the Holly King,” she murmurs, her cheeks flushing pink.

She is beautiful, though I do not think she realizes it.

“Is that what your people call me?” I ask.

“Well…they think this is all some kind of ritual,” she says. “That you have barbaric practices where you sacrifice our young people, or eat them, or…I don’t know, something horrible.”

“Ironic that the same people who send their clan’s children to be slaughtered accuse us of it,” I mutter. “We do not sacrifice; we offer salvation.”

“So do the Angels,” she says.

Ah—there is the fire her people had such disdain for. Her eyes widen right after she says it, knowing her error. I do my best to suppress my temper, though my fist clenches where it rests on my knee.

“Borean salvation is no salvation at all,” I growl.

Her brow furrows. “Borean?”

“It is their true name,” I say. “Of course they are not Angels, as you should know. They played on human anxieties about celestial warfare, and made it easy to paint us as the villains and therefore subjugate your people.”

“But your demands, the altar, the bones…”

“Humans assembled that circle in the woods,” I say. “They are the ones who light the candle on the boulder, strip their youths of their protective clothing, and leave you to die.”

Aspen shudders, but I can see that she believes me. There’s no hesitation; she trusts that her people would do such a thing. It makes me wonder if they deserve our help.

“I have about a million questions,” she says.

I frown. “We do not have time for that.”

She laughs. “It’s an expression; I’ll try to keep it simple. I guess my first question is how I’m supposed to pass your trials and what the reward is?”

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