Known for his ruthless efficiency, Rey knew precisely how to draw answers. But this was different—this man had intendedherharm. So perhaps his cuts had not been as precise. Perhaps he’d not been quite as in control as Axe Eyes would have been.
Sobbing, Ketill had explained that he’d been in Eystri selling sheepskins for Hef and Freydis. That he’d come across a birch plank with Rey’s likeness and had recognized him at once. How he’d enlisted the group over ale at the mead hall and had brought them north to Kalasgarde with the purpose of capturing Rey. They’d planned to slip seeds into Rey’s ale when he showed his face at the mead hall, but each night, he’d failed to show. And when Ketill saw Silla at Harpa’s home, his plans had changed.
To Rey’s great relief, Ketill vowed no one else in Kalasgarde knew of the reward—swore that he did not know the girl’s true name. But Rey had to be certain.
No loose ends.
He’d erred in Kopa and would not do so again.
When he’d finished and Ketill lay lifeless in his own blood, pissand vomit, Rey had been surprised to find his hands trembling. His stomach had twisted. And to his great horror, he’d rushed to the bushes and retched.
Another life taken. More blood on his hands.
Draining his flask was all he could do to keep the trembling at bay. After washing himself, Rey had run straight through his stores of brennsa, stumbling into Silla’s room at Vig’s steading and watching her sleep.Safe, he’d reassured himself. Safe.
But then she’d awoken and had seen straight through his facade. Of course she had. She’d seen through Axe Eyes from the start. When she’d lured him onto the bed; had massaged the knots from his spine, Rey’s long-frozen heart had dripped with meltwater.
But now he ached with remorse—with that feeling of sharing too much.
You wanted to hold my hand.Rey raked a hand down his face. Had he truly told her that part of the story? He felt flayed open and exposed, wishing he could snatch those words—and many others—back. Thank the gods Silla was not in the bed. He could not face her yet.
And Rey wasneverdrinking brennsa again.
As pain speared through his head, he drained his waterskin. From the brightness of the room, he could tell it was at least mid-morning, Vig and Silla’s voices carrying from outdoors. He cursed. It was the seventh day—the serpent was due to feedtoday.
Rey climbed from the bed, eager to throw himself into work. Pulling on a fresh tunic and lébrynja armor, his fingers smoothed the Galdra-made scales down. Stepping into the common room, his feet stilled. Unlike the shield-home, Gyda’s longhouse had the look of a place well lived in. Herbs were strung from the rafters, tapestries and shelves lining the walls, an enormous cauldron bubbling over the central hearth. Chickens pecked the hard-packed floor, a cat prowling nearby, and seated on a bench before the fire was Gyda herself.
“Ahh, you’ve risen,” she said. In her right hand she held a distaff wrapped with raw wool, a spindle beneath it twisting the fibers into yarn. Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “You’ve gotten your rest, haven’t you, Rey?”
He nodded curtly.
“I’ve brought sweet rolls from town,” she said, nodding at the table.
“My thanks, Gyda,” grumbled Rey. He snatched a sweet roll from the table and tore it in half.
“She’s in the yard, sparring with Vig.”
Rey’s jaw hardened. “Has Vig told you?”
“About the attack?” asked Gyda. “I’m afraid so. Thank the gods above youreturned in time.” She paused, giving the spindle a hard whirl. “Ketill was a fool of a kunta.”
Rey’s brows rose.
“’Tis true, and you know it,” shrugged Gyda.
“He was,” admitted Rey, biting into the soft, flaky roll.
“Vig told me the rest,” said Gyda casually, tugging the raw wool down along the distaff. “That she’s Eisa Volsik. And now, it all makes sense.” Gyda met his gaze. “She’s a survivor, that one.”
“Braver than any I know,” Rey admitted. “Though she’s had some trouble…adjusting to the name.”
Gyda nodded. “She’s…quite fond of you, Rey.”
He scowled into the fire, unsure of how to respond.
“’Tis plain to see you share the sentiment.”
Rey exhaled in irritation. He’d forgotten how perceptive Gyda was. “She’s been hurt. Betrayed.”
