Valkyrie of Desire

12. Hungry

Woman and I, locked in a grim battle of wills

Our tearful daughter dives between us with arms wide

Catching us both in a grand stroke, swimming with hugs

Besieged with youthful charm, eye contact is broken

What was that thing we were fighting about again?

—Haden Abdi Nasar

Giggling, Hildr bounces on a wide bed's springy mattress. It dominates the center of an opulent room, and her heart flutters as her butt goes airborne.

There is a dream she has sometimes of a life before the brothel. She is a princess there, and the bed is as bouncy as this one, but the room is more spacious. It has balconies and wide windows, while this round room has a single door and a claustrophobic window.

She closes her eyes. Her fantasy is much fancier, occupying the top of a fortress rather than halfway up a backwood town's aviary tower. She wrinkles her noise at a whiff of griffin shit. There are no foul scents in her dream castle and no druidic Gardener cult role-playing as Verdant crusaders.

She blinks and shakes her head with gritted teeth. It has been too long without the focus of her demigoddess's missions. Her mind wanders like a spoiled teenager.

This place is grand, bigger than the whole bottom floor of Apple's townhouse, and its ceiling is almost twice as high. Rugs of various sizes and styles also cover the floor, while landscape tapestries woven with delicate detail decorate the curved walls.

"Husband, did you really make this?"

Apple lifts his head out of wrinkled hands. "What?"

"This huge bed." Hildr rubs her cheeks with the silk sheets. "Is it mystic?"

"Yeah, I made it." He sighs and shifts on a plush verdant chair. "With help from a Smithmage. And no, it's not actively mystic."

Hildr falls back and sweeps her arms across the soft surface. "Like swimming on a cloud." She tangles her legs in the sheets, curling her toes and yawning.

"It's one of a kind."

"Oh, and do you miss it more than sleeping with whores?" She moans and thrusts her hips. "Or, how about sugar?"

The old man bites his thumbnail and glances at the doorway. She frowns. He is more ready to piss himself than to protect her, and only a pair of potted plants guard the way to the spiraling stairwell.

She says, "Now is your chance to flee. Go on, Mr Chubby. No cowards survive me, and this chance is fleeting."

"Whatever, Sweet Peach." Apple points at the doorway and the stairwell beyond. "Let's get our story synced before Agastache gets here."

Hildr shrugs and wipes sweat off her palms. Challenging the old man's pride worked. Now she must project calm and confidence, or he will bail.

She says, "Do we really need her permission to perform for money?"

He scoffs. "That was the excuse to bring us in. We should be worried she thinks us sparking an insurrection."

"I went with the crowd. You heard the former foreman. They're tired of druidic rule. I helped them let off some steam and got them pumped enough about circus wrestling to toss some copper. What about that is a problem?"

A tightness in her lower back makes her twist about, stretching until a sharp pain flairs in her abdomen. She hisses and prods the sides of her stomach before sitting up.