“The noteboard calls you the Slátrari. They’ve made a terrible mistake…” Silla’s voice trailed off as she caught something in his expression. She took a cautious step backward, her hand reaching where that damnable vial used to hang.
“No,” she murmured, taking another step back.
But his mind could not function. He could only stare at the birchbark etching and wonder how this troublesome woman could have climbed into his wagon and ruined his life so thoroughly.
“—the burned corpses at the door to Kopa?—”
His face was now linked to the nameSlátrari, illuminating nearly a decade of work in the shadows to the entire kingdom. How long would this take to reach Sunnavík—for Magnus to realize the leader of his favorite warband had been using him to collect information for the Uppreisna? How long would it take for the entire gods damned kingdom to be searching for him?
“—oh gods,oh gods?—”
Rey’s vision tunneled as he fought the urge to scream—to drive his fist through Istré’scursed gates.
“—you’re him.You’rethe murderer—” Silla’s back hit the wall, her eyes wide with panic.
Rey knew that look well—the look of prey about to bolt. Gods, but she would do it again, wouldn’t she? Infuriated, he leaped from Horse, striding toward her while drawing his galdur to the surface of his palms.
“You,” was all he could manage. He was beyond words, beyond anything except the wrath burning through him. With an exhale, ribbons of ash peeled up from his palms.
“No!” she shrieked, stumbling on a loose stone and landing on her backside. Her eyes were wide, the pulse in her throat hammering. She scrambled to her feet. Turned.
And then Silla fled.Again.
“Too late,” Rey growled, his smoke swarming after her, sliding up her spine and hooking around her shoulders to halt her.
“Don’t kill me!” she begged, struggling against the hold of his smoke. Rey was practiced enough to maintain a light touch and not burn her.
His boots crunched on the rocky road as he stepped toward her. She writhed like a wild animal, trying to wrestle free. “In case it wasn’t clear,Eisa,” he said roughly, “if you run, I will come after you. If you cannot make smart choices, I will make them for you. AndSunshine”—he tugged on his smoke, twisting her around to face him—“running into those woods isnota smart decision.” With that, he strode back toward Horse, dragging Silla like a leashed animal behind him.
“Why?” she spluttered. “Why would you kill those people? What will you do with me?”
He opened his mouth to reply, but stopped short as something whizzed beside his ear, embedding into the timber gates with athwack. Rey’s warrior instincts kicked back in. Grabbing Silla around the waist, he threw her into the saddle, launching himself up after her. With a pull on the reins, he whirled Horse to flee.
Ten warriors blocked the roadway, arrows nocked in longbows.
Silla wailed, thrashing against him.
“Hush,” he growled in her ear, tightening his smoke’s grip.
Thankfully, with the glint of arrows trained on them, she stilled. Yanking on the reins, he turned Horse to retreat, only to face eight more archers, aiming straight at them.Panic flared inside him as Rey assessed the situation. Eighteen warriors, he could handle, but if he maintained his smoke’s grip on her, he risked losing control and burning her…
“Do you want to live?” he whispered roughly. “If you do, your only chance iswith me. Do you understand?” Slowly, she nodded. “Good. I will release you, but you must be still and silent. If we wish to escape, we must work together.” He eased his smoke away from her and was relieved she did not bolt like a frightened rabbit. Perhaps she’d finally realized the murderer she knew was a far better option than the warbands and monsters.
Rey assessed the archers before him—helmless and clad only in boiled leather armor. He recognized the wolf sigil etched on their breasts.
“Wolf Feeders,” he muttered.
Fool. He should have seen this coming. Should have known what came of loose ends. The lone Klaernar who’d escaped in Kopa…Rey should have chased him down. Now it was too late. He scanned the surrounding woods and wondered how many on horseback lurked in the shadows.
“You’re outnumbered, warrior,” said one archer. “Best to give yourself over.”
Without another thought, Rey drew more galdur forth, the warm familiarity of it calming his heartbeat. They knew his identity; he might as well give them a show. Rey hoped the reputation of the Slátrari had preceded him—fear was an equal weapon to any blade.
Silla whimpered as smoke hissed from his skin.
He assessed the situation while drawing from the pool of galdur nestled next to his pounding heart. Numbers. Weapons. Weaknesses. Escape. Not all battles must be won. It was counter to Rey’s nature to flee, but he had Eisa-gods-damned-Volsik with him. Had walked her straight into a trap.
Escape. If they could outrun these warriors…but they were two on one horse with eighteen arrows drawn on them, and the gods knew how many more on horseback in the shadows.
