And so, the next hours were spent doing just that. As she practiced, Silla wondered if a sword was such a great thing. Other Ashbringers could express blasts of fire, taking out multiple warriors at a time. But the more she considered it, the more potential Silla saw in the weapon. An unbreakable blade, sharper than any metal in the kingdom. A sword she need not carry but could summon at the ready. Light as air, it was easy for a woman of her stature to swing.
“You have an affinity for this thing,” murmured Harpa, returning to the yard as the sun sank behind Snowspear. “It is the natural structure for your galdur.”
Indeed, it felt natural, her movements done with far more ease than the practice swords she used with Rey. Once summoned, it felt steady, pulling continually from her source to keep it alight.
As Silla mounted Dawn at the end of the day, she was bursting with excitement. After weeks of hard work, she’d finally summoned this sword! But one glance at Rey had her tensing.
“Any trace of your galdur?”
A slow nod.
“Thank the gods,” said Silla.
Rey nudged Horse forward, and Silla urged Dawn to do the same. “Sparring tonight?” she asked, desperate to break this strange silence between them. “The routine you showed me yesterday?”
But Rey did not reply. She wasn’t certain he’d even heard her.
And as Dawn trekked down the hill, the uncertainty Silla had pressed aside all day took full control.
An hour later,Silla’s wooden sword slashed through the cool evening air. The sun had long since set, Malla and Marra now beginning their Rise. Rey had reported his source was growing stronger with each passing hour. It should bring her relief, yet the coldness in Silla’s core was absolute.
This morning there’d been the exhilaration of surviving the Wolf Feeders. It had been all warm feelings and strong convictions. She’d been so certain, it had felt soright. But all day, there had been empty spaces, silences, gaps for doubt to creep in. She found herself dissecting each small expression on Rey’s face. What was he thinking? Why didn’t he confide in her?
Her mind swirled with irrational thoughts. In the aftermath of Jonas, Silla had lost all faith in her own judgment. Did Rey only want some fun in the furs? Didn’t he understand when she said she’d care for him, she meant in all ways? They should have spoken more plainly about it. Now Rey was pulling back, and Silla’s worry only grew.
She flipped her thick braid over her shoulder in irritation and tried to get out of her head. Widening her feet, she readied to launch into an attack routine.
“In need of a partner?” asked Rey from the shield-home’s doorway.
“What?” Her gaze caught on his, and she felt iteverywhere.
Rey stepped toward her. “In need of a partner?” he repeated.
Nodding apprehensively, Silla tried to corral her fears and shove them away. Rey ambled closer, one hand held behind his back. There was a look in his eyes—one she could not untangle. Again, she did not understand what was going on in the man’s head, and everything in her tightened.
“What is it?” she asked sharply.
“I…have something for you,” he said, pulling his hand out from behind him, revealing a garment.
She took it, frowning as she smoothed her fingers over gleaming black scales. “Lébrynja armor,” Silla murmured, her eyes meeting his.
“For you,” said Rey, the corners of his lips twitching up. “Put it on so I can see how you’ll look in the next battle.”
A reluctant smile spread across her cheeks. A gift for her, and so much more—it was an apology for forcing her to hide in the bushes at the burial grounds; a promise to trust in her skills going forward. “My thanks. Where did you get it?” She dropped her practice sword and pulled the armored jacket over her tunic. It fit like a glove, hugging every curve of her body.
“I had it commissioned from the Tailor,” he said. “It was delivered to Vig—’tis why he came to the shield-home this morning.” Heat flared in his eyes as his gaze skimmed from her toes to the top of her head. “It suits you well.”
His focus dropped to her mouth, but Silla busied herself by retrieving hersword. If she’d expected Rey to go easy on her in the wake of the morning’s events, Silla was very wrong. He blocked each blow, pushing back with strength. Her blood pumped harder with each swipe of her sword, her worries from earlier swept aside. She rushed at him again, and his wooden blade whipped out, knocking against her own. A smile curved her lips as she dodged his next blow.
After several long minutes, Rey broke the silence. “Are you ready to speak of it?” he asked, and Silla stumbled back.
“What?” she asked, regaining her balance.
“Whatever it is that troubles you.”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
