“Chases away the storms.”
Flustered, Silla pushed into a sitting position, wincing at the vicious throb of her temples, her back, her ribs…everything hurt. But Gyda had examined her before she’d settled into bed, deeming her only bruised. And then, leaving Silla under Gyda and Runný’s watchful eyes, Rey had returned to the shield-home to deal with Ketill.
“I gather you’re drunk,” she said carefully.
Rey shrugged, a flippant, careless gesture so unlike him. Even through the drink, his eyes held a haunted look. “Had to question Ketill,” Rey mumbled, head knocking against the wall as he stared at the roof. Anders, back on the Road of Bones, flashed in Silla’s memory. Fingers sliced off. Bones broken. The look in Rey’s eyes as he’d slit the man’s throat…
“You killed him.”
“Had to know if he’d spread word?—”
“Butkillinghim?—”
His gaze speared right through her. “No loose ends, Silla. Never.”
“Loose ends…”
“I left one in Kopa. ’Tis how they know my likeness. I let one live.”
Silla’s brows drew together, discomfort tightening her stomach.
“They already want me for murder, Silla. What is the harm in one more?” But there was something in his words, a certain…self-deprecation she didn’t like one bit. “Chicks are unharmed,” Rey said, the flask clunking to the floor. “Runný fetched them.”
“Good,” said Silla, mind drifting back to the shield-home. Those men, thirsting for her blood. Ketill, his face seared by her galdur. She winced.
“Bodies are with Kálf.”
“Kálf?”
“He’s…chieftain around here.”
Silla was growing uncertain. “And…the shield-home? Do you think it safe?”
A muscle in Rey’s jaw flexed. “Ought to have been safe all along. How Ketill discovered?—”
“Harpa,” Silla cut in. “Ketill was in Hef’s company when he brought Freydis to her home. He must have recognized my face.”
Rey scowled. “Ketill. Did you know I grew up alongside him? He always lacked honor, but never did I think…” He scrubbed a hand down his face. The man looked exhausted. “He’s forced us out. What is it you want to do, Silla? If you wish to leave, then so we shall.”
We shall, he’d said. Silla wasn’t certain when they’d become “we,” but the very thought made her heart feel too big for her chest. “I wish to stay.” She was more certain of this than anything in her life. “At last, I am making progress with Harpa.” Silla turned her wrist over, examining her forearms anew.
“You expressed,” said Rey. “Right into his face. Wish I could have seen it.”
“I owe you my life, yet again.” She hesitated, then shifted, making space for him on the bed. “You look exhausted, Galtung. Come here.”
Rey pushed to his feet, then stumbled to the bed, flopping onto his stomach with all the grace of a walrus. Silla snickered, crawling onto his lower back. As she leaned forward, kneading the rigid muscles of his shoulders, she tried not to think of all the parts of her that touched him.
“You’ve not slept,” she guessed.
Rey shrugged, turning his head to the side.
“Rest,” said Silla. “I have you.”
“I said that.” A soft, raspy chuckle, and Silla caught the corner of a smile. Her heart flipped over.
“You’re smiling.”
“Your doing,” was his only reply. But his smile fell. “You truly wish to stay? What if…” His voice drifted off.
