Rey had turned to her. Must have read her expression. “Your mercy will be your downfall.” Straightening, he walked to Silla. In a single, agile motion, he scooped her up, stepping over bodies and out the shield-home’s door. Vig’s horse rushed through the wards, and he leaped off in a hurry.
“Fuck, Galtung, I lost you—” He broke off as he spotted Silla. “Silla! Are you…is she…”
Words were beyond Silla’s grasp, and she was thankful Rey answered. “The shield-home has been breached. We need somewhere to?—”
“Go,” said Vig. “Go to the steading. Take my room and have Runný set new wards in place.”
A cry from within the shield-home had Silla burrowing into Rey’s chest.
“Ketill,” Rey was saying. “I do not know the others. He…we…” Rey growled. “There are things you should know, but they must wait for now.” He slid Silla into Horse’s saddle and climbed up behind her.
Vig moved to the doorway, cursing loudly at the carnage within the shield-home. “Gods damn it, Ketill!” Vig gritted out. He turned to Rey with a thunderous expression. “He came tome, knowing I’d go straight to you, Galtung. He must have followed. Watched me ride through the wards.”
“The shield-home,” said Rey gruffly. “I must know if we’ve been compromised. I’ll need to question him.”
A heavy silence followed.
“Aye,” said Vig, reluctantly. “I’ll bind this walking sheep shite and begin cleaning up while you get her settled.”
Silla swallowed, resting her head against his chest. Reality was sinking in. Kalasgarde was not safe—ofcourseit was not safe.
“Rey,” she whispered, as they rode into the darkness. Questions had begun to gather. The birch bark etchings had made their way north. What did this mean? Would they have to leave Kalasgarde?
“Shh, my warrior,” he said with remarkable softness. “Do not think of it now. Rest. I’ve got you.”
He had her.
Thank the gods he had her.
Chapter Forty-One
“My wolfsbone dagger.” A low voice pervaded her dreams. “My obsidian-hilted dagger. My hevrít. My whetstone…”
Silla’s eyes fluttered open to torchlight dancing across the rafters of an unfamiliar room. Her heart took off at a gallop as memories surged back. Trapped. Not safe. Where were the exits?
“Peeling the flesh from Jonas’s face…” Rey’s voice.
Whipping toward him, Silla’s pulse eased. She recognized the shield slung on the wall as Vig’s, and recalled it was his room in which she slept. A wall-mounted torch illuminated Rey’s form, crammed into a chair far too small for him.
“You’re awake,” he said, watching her curiously.
Her eyes met his. “What are you doing?”
The man’s lips twitched. “Thinking hearthfire thoughts.”
Rey was here. Safe. She was safe. Taking a calming breath, Silla tucked her hand under her cheek. “Am I to understand all your hearthfire thoughts involve blades?”
He blinked slowly, his gaze meandering down to her lips. “Horse was included.” Rey leaned forward and whispered loudly, “The chicks as well.”
Silla choked on her laugh. Gods above. Was he drunk? “What else?”
Rey lifted his flask to his lips. Tilted his head back. Frowned when nothing came out. “Empty,” he muttered, dropping it to the floor. “Sweet rolls,” he said, his dark gaze honed in on her.
“Sweet rolls?”
He nodded. “And…sunshine.”
His gaze was on her lips once more, and Silla felt suddenly very warm. “Sunshine,” she repeated.
