Valkyrie of Desire

45. Baggage Claimed

When worries have worn out welcomes

And stress has made rainbows gray

Blow dust off faded memories

And return in a fresh way

—Zenath Kree

Hildr rubs her freed ankle and knocks on the prison cell door. "Don't fight me, Jax. I'm here to set you free."

Of course, he cannot answer without a tongue. She slips a steel key into the iron lock. One twist, a push, and nothing will separate her from the monster she once loved. She readies her looted shortsword.

The door is stout and has the same shuttered slot at the bottom for food and drink. She leaves the key teasing the lock's hole and drops to the floor, letting her sword hilt clink against stone. Sliding a latch, she opens the mini-door and peaks through.

Dust swirls with her breath and the hallway lanterns filter past her head and shoulders to outline a standing man draped in a thick spiderweb of chains.

Hildr gawks. They cannot all be cursed. Even one touching his skin should put him to the ground. How can he remain on his feet? The weight of the metal alone should be beyond him, unless he draws upon his berserker rage power.

"Jax," says Hildr. "Are you a statue?"

Could this be a trick? Hildr stands and narrows her eyes at the neighboring cell door where she trapped Lowman and Guardsman Growt. She shrugs. What could be worse than the murder charge she faces?

Only this second floor is a prison. The ground floor is half jail and half barracks. Of course, there will be more soldiers; some armed, some sober, and a few more on official guard duty. They all will know her face, either from her arrest or from her wanted posters. She needs a disguise and a massive distraction.

Lowman's clothes could replace her prison tunic and supply a simple mask. Jax could emote fear and flame and save her as he did in Lotus Hollow.

Hildr rests her forehead against the cell door. Cool as a coffin lid, it calms her racing mind. If the only way out is to abuse him again, she will accept the additional stain of sin and owe him a grander debt in this life or in whatever comes after.

With a jerk, she twists the key and pulls the door open. "Oh, shit logs."

She was wrong. Now, with more hallway light, it is clear he was not standing firm but hanging limp. The chain web holds him like soul snared in Hell.

"Jax?" She eases into the room. "Move, if you're alive."

He wears the same heavy tunic she does. Despite his height, his emaciated frame does little to fill it. Nearing a full season with his head injury has taken its toll. He must have only survived due to his loyal squadmates' care. Did any of them survive Lotus Hollow?

A chain under Jax's chin keeps his head up, but his eyes stay shut and his ragged breath does not quicken as Hildr steps close. His tangled hair flows over his shoulders, so unlike the young meticulous man he was, the man she loved. Only six years, but while her deal with Lady Darla kept her body from aging, Jax's haggard features can be mistaken for middle-age.

Scabs cover his stretched earlobes as if something had been torn out of them, and a black opal hangs from his neck on a thin gold chain. She reaches for his face and hovers as her skin crawls. It must be the opal; a cursed item caging his power. Her own mystic gem, hidden in her tunic, is too depleted to counter this.

Break the gold, the opal will drop, and the dread walker will recover. Dangerous, given his mental injury on top of his obsession with her. At least with his frail physique, his rage may fail to snap his metal bindings.