Valkyrie of Desire

21. Liver

Do you lie to yourself like you lie to the rest of us

You have no standing

You are a ghost in the mirror

You project hypocrisy upon hypocrisy

You are a fountain of air

What value do you offer

What sacrifice have you made

What have you ever done for someone other than yourself

You pitiful little thing

—Lord Belnoot Vas Trumurn

How to fight? Hildr stretches and breathes deep. Surviving is winning.

Torches are lit and stuck on poles around the shame-box platform. Lowman steps forward, wearing only a loincloth. Swirling tattoos decorate his shiny muscles like a jungle tapestry that's been dipped in a glaze.

Hildr moves away from the edge, making the weathered wood creak with each of her steps. "You're dripping. Did you oil yourself?"

Lowman leaps onto the platform and flexes. "Looking fae-fae good, don't I?"

The audience responds with a mixture of cheers, jeers, and side chatter. He slaps his chest and stomps, a rhythmic beat copied by the attending druids around their mistress, Agastache. Laughing, he slaps harder and stomps faster.

Hildr's heart speeds up, matching the tempo and thumping like she has just sprinted. Slow things down. Buy some time. She pulls out her copper hairpin, letting her long hair fall free.

"Slick as an eel." She flicks her pin at him. "You are cheating to win."

He stops slapping and smirks. "How's some body oil going to make a difference?"

Hildr catches Jax's glowing eyes among the audience. The former love of her life and now a brain-damaged monster, yet his gaunt face still holds enough expression to judge her anxiety.

Anger defeats fear. A principle so basic it was never made a berserker rule. She growls. This man on stage with her is a druidic lackey. The smoothness around his eyes and the lack of scars, he is not near to being a proper warrior. After being seasoned by actual battles and a ruthless childhood, how can she allow this simple thug to humiliate her?

Lowman towers over her and holds out his hand. "If you play nice, I'll drag our match out a few minutes. Bite me again though, and I'll knock your head—"

Hildr grabs his hand and shifts from a shake to a yank. Sometimes pride matters more than plans. Snarling, she clamps her teeth into the meat below his thumb.

Howling, he rips it out as she steps into him. Skin to skin, she hooks under his arms and binds him in a clinch. He presses on her head, and she slides down his body, catching his ankle as she inverts and entangles his legs with hers. A chaos of limbs always offers opportunities to a grappler. He tries to kick her free, but she spins on the floor to trap his knee.

The crowd cheers and chants, "Hag'A-stach-e! Hag'A-stach-e!"

"Get off, devil's bitch!" Lowman cries out and pounds on Hildr's ankles with his fists.

She squeezes her knees tight to his thigh. An egg splats across his chin.

Lowman wipes yoke from his stubble. "You foul, shitty duck! I'm going to—"

"I am Duckie, the Fowl Egger!" says the costumed man in the audience. "Quack, quack!"

Another egg splats against Lowman's chest, and the crowd erupts in cheers.