Page 18 of The Holly King's Sacrifice

“You are brave, fair one,” I whisper. “You will guide us back to the light.”

And that’s the last thing I manage to say before I pass out.

9

Aspen

Ithinkthisis my trial.

Somehow, against all logic, I manage to get Ulfric up onto his ram. The next few minutes are a mad rush of me packing up the birds he’s killed—because, for some reason, I’m convinced I won’t pass this test if I don’t bring them with me—then I put on my coat and put out the fire. Moments later, I’m climbing up onto Laka behind Ulfric’s prone form, reaching down to check his pulse.

It’s slow, but steady—and he’s still warm. Unfortunately, that makes it hard to tell if he’s okay, or if he’s running a fever. And I don’t know what his people’s average pulse is, so I have no way of knowing if he’s dying or if he’s just asleep.

It’s snowing hard when we leave the cave behind, all the belongings Ulfric brought with us bundled into Laka’s saddlebags. Snowflakes coat the forest in a blanket of sparkling white, the sun having sunk below the horizon long ago. We shouldn’t be traveling at night, but we have no choice; that’s when the bear attacked, and Ulfric needs helpnow. My teeth chatter without Ulfric’s protective arm around my waist, and I huddle over him to protect him from getting too cold himself.

If he dies…I don’t know what I’ll do. When he first took me from the forest, I was convinced that I would rather end my own life than be taken his prisoner, but he’s answered so many of my questions, and shown me all the things I could learn.

I have more things to ask him.

More experiences to have with him.

The night seems to last for an eternity, our proximity to the solstice making the dark hours drag on and on. My heart pounds when the sun finally rises to our left, telling me that the long night is overandthat we’re headed in the right direction: back toward Christmas. I urge Laka onward when we crest a hill and catch sight of the little town, Lake Superior on the other side.

Ulfric hasn’t said a word the whole time, and I rub his back in an attempt to wake him. He’s cold, though—toocold, and I resist the urge to cry. “Come on, Laka!” I say, holding Ulfric with one hand and thecjora’s fur with the other. It falls into a gallop, snowflakes biting at my bare cheeks as we race toward the village.

Shouts go up from the gate as we draw closer, and I see the red-bronze Skoll protecting the village come out to meet us. My time in the forest has changed the way I see the world; whereas they were all demons before, now they’re just people, worried about their friend. They surround me with questions of what happened, if he’s alive, where exactly we saw the creature…but I’m too exhausted to speak, clutching at the arms of the nearest Skoll.

“Please,” I say. “Just help him. Please help him.”

It’s all I care about right now. I can answer their questions later.

I try to insist on staying with Ulfric as he’s treated for his wounds, but they take him away to another building and bar the door. Instead, I’m brought to a big building at the center of town, which I’m pretty sure used to be a giant Christmas superstore. The Skoll have cleared it out and set out long log tables, many of them working on weapons or building furniture. I’m led to the back of the store, where I can vaguely remember once sitting in Santa’s lap.

It’s…really,reallyweird.

Because now, a crimson-skinned, grey-haired,hulkingshirtless man sits in Santa’s chair like it’s a throne.

Other than the bushy white beard, he doesn’t look much like Santa. Twin golden antlers rise from his head, even bigger than Ulfric’s. He leans back in his chair like a king, stroking his beard.

“So,” he says, “you must be Manistique’s annual offering.”

I don’t know how to respond. I’m filthy from our journey through the forest, not having had a bath in four days. My coat is smeared with Ulfric’s red blood and with black ichor from the bear. I swallow hard and nod.

Am I supposed to bow? Kneel? What are you supposed to do in the presence of warlord Santa?

“I’ve just returned from a journey east, to speak with our lycan allies,” he says. “I left Ulfric to grapple with Manistique’s offering in my stead, and now he has returned wounded. Did you do this?”

My eyes widen, and I shake my head quickly. “No! It was a creature in the forest. I think it was a bear, but…wrong.”

He narrows his eyes and strokes his grey-white beard. “Wrong how?”

“It had blue venom,” I say. I shudder as I continue. “And it didn’t bleed; it just had…thick, black fluid in its veins? I don’t know how else to describe it.”

He hums in understanding, his brow furrowing. “The Boreans create new nightmares to throw at us every year,” he murmurs. “What is your name, human?”

I gulp. “Aspen…sir.”

He chuckles. “No need for such formalities,” he says. “I am Warlord Odran—and I have nothing but respect for the woman who saved my second. That is what happened, isn’t it?”

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