Valkyrie of Desire

18. Summereve

My heart is a ship with many doors

If I don't take care to close each one

I'll be swamped by a sea of regret

—Solaris Sweetwater

Hildr piles dirty plates in dry wash bins. Doing dishes was her least favorite chore as a girl, almost not worth the escape from abuse. It was the other end of cooking, the part people did not appreciate. She rolls her neck and grimaces as it crackles. Days of lounging in the dank townhouse has cramped her style, but that will be over tonight with the circus wrestling rescue. Success or failure, boredom is dead.

She wiggles her toes on the smooth hardwood of the first floor, now the cleanest thing to eat off of. With the stink of grease gone rancid, rats will come soon. She smirks. Not welcomed guests, but a problem for whoever moves in next.

Meepsin trills in his sleep. Cute little man. Hildr goes to his box where he is curled against a pea green scarf. Will her child have a doll face as darling as his? She pulls the scarf over him like a proper blanket and flicks a bit of dust out of his mossy hair.

As she had eaten her fill of meat, cheese, and eggs, Meepsin had broken a dozen feathers dusting every nook and cranny he could throughout the two-story home. He prepared it for new owners with a foreign devotion that made her blush and twitch with anxious energy.

Hildr runs her finger across a floorboard and blows a few specks of dust off her skin. "Servants shame their masters."

What rooted her to watch while the little man worked? She makes a fist. Was it her own ego or some aristocratic remnant of Lady Desire?

In the stupor of the last few days, her only contribution was encouraging the brownie's efforts. She cheered him on even as she made a mess on shelves and counters out of his reach.

Hildr fingers a broom. Meepsin had even clawed at this broom's shaft in his desperation to serve, but it was far too thick and heavy for him to grip and heft as a tool.

"Chaos comes, little fae man." She shoves a full wash bin with her foot. "Let us start fresh."

He snores like a three-tone flute at the rattling, but otherwise does not stir.

Hildr chews her lip. A few words from her, and he would try to do the dishes no matter that the plates' width are half his height and are caked with grease.

She says, "Meepsin, cancel our deal. Stay with me as a partner or a friend, but don't serve me anymore."

His snore tappers off.

"And don't make me submit to your queen's judgment. Her curse got me pregnant. How about we consider that as punishment paid."

Meepsin covers his ears with his tiny hands and rolls onto his belly.

Hildr bites her knuckle. Keeping her word is the foundation of her faith. She cannot break it to save herself, but her child made no such promise. How do other mothers of Red handle this dilemma? Maybe pregnancy pauses promises until birth.

Lady Darla Desire would know. Could the demigoddess be watching through Hildr's eyes right now? If so, Darla must be desperate to possess her and write advice along with a mission to manipulate some lonely man a thousand yules away. Possession, when a demigod takes direct control of their mortal host, is almost guiltless. It is the missions, the tasks set for hosts when not possessed, this is when responsibility cannot be ignored. Six years of service as a weapon of desire and enough hearts have been ruined to rival the piercing potential of an archer platoon.