“We haven’t time to let her rest,” he growled. “I must know what she saw up there. Must know if it was the serpent.”
Harpa squeezed her woven belt, an unreadable expression on her face. “It will take time,” she said softly. “It has the feel of chaos magic, causing disorder within her body. But it has no permanent hold on her and should work through in a few hours.”
“I do not know what you were thinking,” he muttered.
His grandmother was silent for a moment. “I saw curious threads. Disruptions in the weavings, coming from Jökull,” Harpa admitted. “I thought perhaps it was a vampire deer and that it could be helpful in drawing out her Breaker skill.”
Rey’s temples throbbed. “Eisa Volsik, Harpa.”
“Perhaps it was risky,” confessed his grandmother. Shocked at her uncharacteristic admission of guilt, his eyes found Harpa’s. Gods, but they were so similar to Kristjan’s—a soft shade of amber, like honey when sunlight hit at the right angle. He forced his gaze away.
“You’re angry with me,” Harpa observed, and somehow, he knew she was no longer speaking of Silla.
Rey turned to the hearth, watching Rykka dance in the flames. Embers burst within her smoky wings as she looped and twirled.
“It is understandable,” said Harpa. “I am angry with myself.”
Rey’s brows drew together, and he turned.
Her overdress swallowed her small form, and Rey examined the gaunt linesof her neck, the grooves in her brow. Always, Harpa had seemed a fortress of strength—untouchable and indestructible. But now, his formidable grandmother lookedold. “Say what you must, Reynir. I fear I deserve it.”
Anger burned low in his stomach, his hand drawing into a fist. “You were selfish. You cared only for yourself.”
Harpa winced, but it brought him no satisfaction.
“You should have checked on him. Should have seen…” He drew in a long breath. Blew it out sharply. “You should have sent for me.”
Harpa nodded. “I should have.” His grandmother closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, they shone with emotion. “When you’re a child, you think adults know it all. But then you grow old, and you realize the truth. We’re all bumbling fools.”
Rey blinked.
“I wish I had done it differently.” Harpa’s gaze drifted to her bed, where Silla’s dark curls splayed across a pillow. “Motherhood never felt like my calling, and when my children were all grown, I’ll admit I was relieved. I took a place in Askaborg, training young Galdra and using my Weaver skill to better my kingdom. It felt as though I’d found the thing I was fated to do.”
Harpa drew a deep breath. “But then the war happened. King Kjartan sent many of the Weavers to the farthest reaches of the kingdom so we might preserve the stories of our ancestors, should Íseldur fall. A wise man, the king was, though I did not see it as such. While my peers fought in the front lines, I was relegated to hiding in the north. It did not seem an honorable thing to do. I fought against charging south every day. By the time you and Kristjan were thrust into my care, I was…bitter. Resentful. I was not a good mother to you, and I knew it.”
Surprise rushed through him, and for the first time in his life, Rey felt the smallest glimmer of understanding.
“I miss your brother,” she admitted. “I miss him every day, Reynir. I sit in the yard and feed the birds and imagine Kristjan beside me, naming each one.”
Emotion clawed up Rey’s throat, but he forced it back. “The bird houses,” he rasped.
“I had them built for Kristjan,” said Harpa, observing him. “So he might have a reason to visit his old grandmother. So he might know how sorry I am.”
Rey tried to rub the burn in his chest away.
“I cannot go back in time and be there for Kristjan. But I can be there for you.” Harpa swallowed. “I want you to be happy, Reynir. You deserve to be happy.” Her gaze fell to the bed. “She is good for you.”
Rey shifted in discomfort.
“I see changes in you since you’ve arrived. You smile more?—”
“I cannot do this,” muttered Rey, raking a hand down his face. “I cannot—”lose her, he could not finish.
But his grandmother seemed to understand. “She will be fine. She needs only to work the venom from her system. Give her another hour. If she has not awakened, we’ll rouse her, and you’ll get your answers.”
Rey could only grunt. His stomach was wrenching, twisting, tying itself in knots. “I have something to show you, Reynir,” said Harpa, breaking him from his thoughts. She beckoned him to the back corner of the room where her loom leaned against the wall. On it hung a partially woven tapestry, all grays and blacks.
“What is it?”
