“You’ll need both numbers and the element of surprise,” said Jonas, slowly. “Corner him. Play to his weakness.” His lip curled. “You can bring him to his knees without even drawing a blade.”
Rey was a protector—but this was information Jonas kept to himself for the time being. The memory of Rey pulling Ilías and him from Sunnavík’s streets flashed through Jonas’s mind. He’d saved them. Had said he admired Jonas’s loyalty. The memory twisted as he saw it in new light. Rey, finding two young men desperate enough to trust him. To buy into his lies. After all, they were too busy being grateful to look closely at Reynir Bjarg.
“You think such basic tactics will earn your reward?” glowered Kaptein Ulfar.
Jonas leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “I require half the payment up front. After I have the sólas, I’ll hand you everything you need to best him.”
“Up front!” guffawed Hagbard. “What do you think this is?”
“I think,” said Jonas, scowling at the warrior, “I’ve been burned by the Klaernar once before. I brought the girl to Kommandor Valf. Had her imprisoned in your keep.Iheld up my end of the bargain, and yet, I was not paid. Because of your predecessor’s incompetence.”
Ulfar’s glare was sharp as daggers. “Your knowledge of the man’s tattoos and the girl’s scar is not proof you know their minds. We’ll need a…demonstration before we can trust your word.”
“Send a missive to your warriors. Send them to Kalasgarde to observe only.” Jonas’s jaw worked as he tried and failed to voice the next words. This felt too personal. Too…much. But his mind’s eye helpfully showed him Ilías rushing into battle. The blades protruding from his back. His little brother’s final moments, blinking at Jonas as he spoke of the elm tree.
Jonas’s hand wrapped around the pendant strung around his neck and squeezed. “Rey had a younger brother,” he forced out. “Kristjan was his name. I assume he’s buried in Kalasgarde.” He closed his eyes. Tried to unclench his jaw. Tried to block the swelling tide of self-loathing. “I imagine he’ll visit the burial mound at some point.”
Ulfar nodded, studying him far too closely.
Jonas swallowed. Gazed into the hearthfire. “Have them watch the burial grounds for Rey.” Remorse tasted bitter, but there was no time for that. He’d committed himself to this path, and there was no turning back. “Once you have confirmation they’re in Kalasgarde, then you’ll provide half my fee. And then, I’ll tell you how to best Axe Eyes in combat.”
Ulfar watched him. “How do we know you’re not like the rest of the reward hunters?”
“Because,” said Jonas, “for them, it’s just sólas.” He leveled the kaptein with a hard look. “For me, it’s personal.”
Chapter Forty-Five
KALASGARDE
Rey had decided the birds hated him. Why else would they be gathered just outside the window, screeching like berserkers? They’d infiltrated his dreams. Had dragged him violently from sleep. He reached for his dagger, ready to send it sailing through the window. But rather than the unyielding surface of the gods damned bench, his hand met unfamiliar softness.
He sat up. Rubbed his throbbing temples. Decided that the birds might in fact be screaming goats because this was Vig’s room. And that was Vig’s voice, filtering through the window…
“Good, Helga, just a little closer. Yes. Now sing!”
The screeching re-started, driving into Rey’s skull like a thousand knives.
“Vig!” he bellowed, flinging the furs aside. Snickering beyond the window confirmed his suspicions.
“Let him sleep,” came Silla’s voice, making Rey’s stomach tighten. And a curious memory filled his mind’s eye—Silla, curled into his chest, soft breaths puffing against his skin. He’d thrown an arm over her hip, hauling her closer. Had slept with his nose buried in her curls.
With a grumble, he dangled an arm over the side of his bed, his hand meeting the smooth curve of a waterskin. Grabbing it, he sat up and choked the water back. What had he been thinking the night before, drinking more brennsa than Kraki on Longest Day?
Hehadn’tbeen thinking.
The need to obliterate his feelings had blinded him. Discovering an axe-wielding, blood-splattered Silla, clad in only her tunic, was bad enough. But to discover it was Ketill—that a Galdra he’d grown up with had so readily betrayed him—was altogether different.
After getting Silla settled into Vig’s room, he’d looked her in the eye. Had told her what he truly did not wish to. “We must tell Vig the truth of who you are. Runný and Gyda as well.”
He’d watched her swallow—watched her gaze grow distant. “You can tell them,” she whispered. “You can tell them who I am.”
It was enough that she’d allowed him to share this, yet Rey found himself frustrated. How long would she need to grow comfortable with Eisa? He could only hold off the Uppreisna for so long, and after tonight, avoiding the local chieftain would certainly grow more difficult. No one would believe a craven like Ketill would go toe-to-toe with Reynir Galtung. How would Rey explain the bodies?
Time. She only needed time.
Rey had relayed her identity to Vig and Runný with cold calm. Had ordered them to share it with Gyda alone. Had threatened to thrash them if they treated her any differently. And then Rey had needed to find the cold place inside him before facing what came next.
He’d returned to the shield-home to find the bodies laid out in the yard. Rey had stared at these men, trying to place them, but neither he nor Vig knew them. And with that, he’d turned his sights on Ketill.
