Valkyrie of Desire

48. Loyalty Test

Golems need the dark as saints need the light

Food, drink, even air, doesn't matter

The reanimated bodies house their original souls

They can walk and talk without anyone to know

Unless the threads of the stitches show

Those that come back from death

Of red, green, blue, white, and black

Are mystic creatures bound to their color

Forever

—Nameless "Jerry" Faceless

Steaming soup; floating hunks of pork belly with carrots, cabbage, and white radishes. Hildr lifts the bowl and sniffs. No hint of bile berries or any other excuse to abstain.

Across the breakfast table, Agro sits with legs crossed on a pillow. His daughters sit to his left, his wife to the right, and his son, Roskunn, kneels next to Hildr. Only Roskunn and Agro look-alike with their blue eyes, light skin, and dirty blond hair.

Angelle, the mother, is fox-faced with close-set eyes, thin eyebrows, and high cheekbones. Her skin is smooth and pale as snow. Her hair is straight black and salted with white, the only outward sign of her middle-age.

Hildr slumps. Even with the advantages of youth and a divine blessing, she cannot compete with this woman's natural beauty.

Her daughters have darker skin and browner hair. The older has a rounder face and a smaller nose, while the younger has a taller neck and a thinner waist. Both attractive, but lacking the other-worldliness of their mother. Hildr straightens. They can be competed with.

Angelle lifts her bowl, and the rest of her family follow suit. "We thank the overgods for the bounty of this realm. May we prove worthy this day and everyday."

A prayer to all five overgods, even Merridian of Black? Very progressive of them to include the overlord of theft and murder. Hildr sips the soup. Salty. She sighs. And, satisfying.

The mother and her family say together, "Patron of Orphans, Matron of Knowledge, Shepard of Belief, Master of Living, and Mistress of Relief; we welcome their divinity into our hospitium."

Hildr squints. Orphans must be for Merridian, which makes sense given the sisters' origin.

The family slurp in unison, sigh as Hildr had done, and set their bowls down. They pick up wooden spoons and consume. The sisters giggle at each other while making finishing the soup a competition.

Hildr stuffs pork in her mouth. Fat pops, becoming a satiating ichor. She hums. Better than bacon.

Agro taps the table with his knuckles. "Now that there's hospitium, reveal how you escaped your cell?"

Hildr winces. Pleading ignorance will sound like a lie. Dare she speculate about a return of her demigoddess?

Agro clears his throat and scratches around a bald spot in the middle of where his helm normally rests, sprinkling a flurry of dandruff into his empty bowl.

Angelle blushes, warming her icy features. "Manners, Agrohorn." She brushes the table in front of him, clearing away old crumbs and fresh dust. "Your guest is still recovering. Let her finish a meal before you badger."

The woman and her daughters accepted Hildr into their home last night with care and grace. They stripped and washed her as if hospitality was their occupation. None of them smirked or spoke a negative word, and they led her to a private room with a bedroll, feather-filled pillows, and a thick quilt. Despite a mountain of pressing thoughts, it was her best sleep in a season.