“Dark threads,” murmured Harpa, frowning. “The darkness I first sensed in Jökull has grown greater today. It is gathering elsewhere in this kingdom as well. I do not yet know the meaning.”
He examined the weaving, trying to guess what it would reveal. A dark curve formed the left side of the tapestry, and he leaned closer to inspect it. “Is that a leaf?” he asked.
“Perhaps,” was Harpa’s reply. Her gaze grew distant. “I must keep weaving. We must discover which secrets it has to reveal.”
A cough from across the room had Rey whirling. And there, in the bed, sat Silla, rubbing her eyes. He rushed to her side. Gathered her face in his hands. “You’re all right,” he told her—told himself. And for the first time in hours, Rey felt as though he could breathe. She was all right.
But her eyes met his, wide with fear.
“Jökull’s cave. We must go back!”
Chapter Sixty
Malla and Marra had begun their Rise, spilling moonlight across the cobbled streets of Kalasgarde as Silla followed Rey to the mead hall. It was so still, so silent, it felt as though the entire village was holding its breath.
And Silla held her own along with it. She was about to meet the Uppreisna—others like herself. Would share her truth and tell them about the caves and what she’d seen in them. Her heart pounded viciously in her chest, in her temples. The venom had thankfully worked through her, though a touch of lightheadedness remained.
The aftermath of her awakening had been a whirlwind. She’d relayed everything to Harpa and Rey—about the cave at Jökull’s base, the serpent hatchlings, the chasm, and that strange, malevolent voice.
“The dark threads…this chaos magic,” muttered Harpa, testing the pulse in Silla’s wrist. “It feels far more sinister than I first sensed. Do not go back alone.”
“The Uppreisna meeting is tonight,” Rey had said. “We could rally the Galdra to our cause?—”
“I will tell them what I saw,” said Silla, pulling the furs back and climbing from bed. She pulled Váli’s cloak pin from her pocket, passing it to Rey. “I will show them this.”
“The chasm,” murmured Harpa, glancing at her weaving. “The chaos magic…the ice spirits…the dark threads. It must be connected. The chasm may be the source of theserpent.”
“We will close it,” Rey concluded.
“I will come with you,” Silla had asserted. “You need someone who’s seen the creatures. Who knows the feel of their venom and where the chasm lies.”
She’d watched Rey battle his protective urges and had feared he tell her no again. But he’d swallowed his apprehension and nodded.
First, the mead hall. Silla was going to do this. Her body tingled with anticipation, but her stomach knotted with apprehension.Not her,pounded her head.Not ready.But she thought of Saga in that castle; she thought of Váli and Ástrid’s corpses in the back of that cavern.
Ready or not, it was time to be Eisa.
“The Split Skull?” she asked, making a face at the sign. “The name hardly inspires thirst.”
Rey pounded on the door. “I suppose you’d call it something revoltingly joyful. Hearthfire’s Shelter.” He paused. “Knowing you, I’m certain it would have an animal included. The Frothy Fox?—”
“The Cheery Chicken!” Silla said gleefully.
“No warrior in his right mind would be seen in such an establishment,” muttered Rey. He glanced at her sidelong. “You’ll do fine, Sunshine. Try not to talk too much.”
Silla’s sharp reply was interrupted as the door to the mead hall opened a crack, revealing a pair of blue eyes.
“Galtung,” came a deep male voice. “It’s been an age.”
“It has indeed,” said Rey. “Well met, Erik. I’ve brought a guest for whom I can vouch.”
Wood dragged against stone as the door widened, revealing a broad-shouldered blond man. Silla’s eyes slid to the hevrít gripped tightly in his fist, and she chewed on her cheek.
“This is Silla,” said Rey. “Silla, Erik.”
Erik did not return her smile. “She’s not from here.”
“No.”
