Silla lifted her palm. Flattened it. Held herself unflinchingly still.
And then it happened.
Brown Horse released Silla’s hair and dipped her head. Her nose slid along Silla’s palm, then the treat was plucked from her hand.
The tears streaked freely down her cheeks, her chest expanding with warmth.
Brown Horse.
Brown Horse had willingly come to her. Had allowed Silla to feed her.
If this was not a sign from the gods, Silla didn’t know what was. Hope ignited in her chest, warming her through.
Unbidden, Matthias’s words came to Silla—a thing he’d said following her mother’s execution. They’d fled from the village, leaving behind their friends, their home,their chickens.
Remember, Moonflower, it is always darkest just before dawn.
Tears spilled down Silla’s cheeks, and she whispered to Brown Horse, “I have a proper name for you, girl. It is a name for hope and new beginnings. A reminder that it is always darkest before first light.”
Rey watched her silently.
“I will call you Dawn.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
KOPA
Hunched over a horn of ale, Jonas tried his best to feign disinterest in the pair seated beside him. As evening progressed, the mead hall had grown more and more busy, Klaernar warriors filtering in as the night watch took over. It was perfect, truly. With burly warriors milling about and growing increasingly intoxicated, it forced the men to raise their voices in order to hear one another over the crowd.
Over the past weeks, the sight of claw-tattooed faces and snarling bear shoulder plates had become a regular occurrence. Jonas told himself he kept coming back to this mead hall because he’d been kicked out of all the others in Kopa. But it wasn’t altogether true.
It was like a scab he couldn’t help but pick at. What had started as a mild case of curiosity had quickly spiraled. Jonas found himself watching Kaptein Ulfar from across the room. Then, from just down the bench. And now, from directly beside him. Gradually, he’d picked up small details on the Klaernar’s investigation into the Slátrari. From the man who’d tried to claim Rey was hiding amongst the Sleeping Dragons, to the one who’d claimed he was tilling fields near Midfjord, none of the information the Klaernar had received was remotely accurate.
At first, Jonas had felt relief. Relief that his brother in arms was lying low. If he knew Rey, the man was concocting a plan, keeping two steps ahead of his enemies. But as the days moved on, and the Klaernar grew irritated, new thoughts settled in place.
No one had come forward withtrueinformation. It was becoming increasingly evident just how well Rey had kept his identity hidden.
Jonas couldn’t help but wonder if the Bloodaxe Crew had been merely a cover for Rey while he went about killing people. Why had he never confided in the Crew…inJonas? Five years, they’d fought side by side—had saved one another from death countless times. But now that Jonas knew the truth, the past took on new meaning.
All the deeds he’d done with the Bloodaxe Crew felt…empty. Naught but a ruse to buy Reynir Bjarg’s cover. He was Galdra. Probably belonged to one of those Galdra rebel groups fighting against the king. The thought tasted bitter, but the more he considered it, the more it made sense.
His memory flitted back to that meeting with Magnus Hansson in Reykfjord all those weeks ago. They’d discussed the gods damned Slátrari, with Rey seated beside him. He’d probably gone back to his chambers and had a good laugh about it.
Nausea twisted in Jonas’s stomach. It was only one of many meetings he and Rey’d had with Magnus Hansson. Jonas went back over them all. Had Rey been more talkative than usual? Had he pressed Magnus for details on strange things? Jonas could not remember. But the very thought made him feel soiled. Used.
“Makes no sense!” muttered Kaptein Ulfar, handing the letter to a black-bearded warrior, who, Jonas had learned, was called Hagbard.
Hagbard, it seemed, was not so keen a reader. “All-peen cats-paw,” he labored.
“Ursir’s bloody liver,” said Ulfar, snatching the letter back. “Al-pine catspaw, you kunta. Dry for two weeks, then grind to a fine powder.” He looked up at Hagbard. “What does itmean?”
Hagbard blinked, clearly just as enlightened as Ulfar. “If it’s orders, it’s orders,” the man said with a shrug.
“Are we to take it in our róa? Smear it on our skin? There’s no directions.” Scowling, Ulfar drank deeply from his horn of ale. “For all I know, it could be a poison…perhaps a sleep aid to help with their capture.”
“Can’t capture someone you cannot find,” Hagbard said glumly.
The look Ulfar sent him could shatter glass. “They’ll be found.” He lowered his voice and Jonas leaned closer. “We’ve a new lead.” When Hagbard stared blankly, Ulfar continued. “Haeth.”
