“And you’ve not been about these parts for what…eight years?”
“Five.” Rey glowered.
“It is strange you should return after so many years with an unknown, right when suspicious things are afoot,” said Erik, eyeing Silla once more. “I do not like the feel of it. But it is for Kálf to decide.” Thankfully, Erik stepped aside, allowing them to enter the Split Skull.
Silla followed Rey into the mead hall, all eyes swinging their way.
“Two men watch the front—Erik at the door, and another in the shadows of the street,” explained Rey, nodding in greeting to a scowling woman. “Shouldproblems arise, there is a back door and a cellar beneath the bar with exit tunnels.”
At Silla’s look of concern, Rey added, “There has never been trouble in Kalasgarde.” But she heard the words left unsaid—therehadbeen trouble in other places. Because this gathering was forbidden. Not only did the people in this room live a life in hiding, but they actively schemed against King Ivar. Suddenly, Erik’s suspicion felt entirely valid.
Like all mead halls, rows of feasting tables were arranged end to end, the scent of ale mingling with woodsmoke and urine. Above, iron chandeliers cast shivering light upon the hardened warriors—two dozen, Silla guessed. She waved at Vig and Runný, but Rey led her past them and to the front of the room.
A large warrior sat in the middle of the long table, his glinting brown scalp a stark contrast to the thick black beard covering his jaw. He watched Silla with stern, unnerving eyes, as though he analyzed each small detail. This, she supposed, must be Kálf. Her eyes slid to the man’s left, landing on a pale-skinned warrior with a lone streak of white in his black beard. She recognized him at once—Hef, who’d carried Freydis to Harpa’s house. Hef, whose cousin Ketill had attacked her with an axe.
“Kálf,” said Rey briskly, pulling Silla forward. “This is Silla. I vouch for her.”
Warriors lined the bench on either side of Kálf and Hef, all watching her with marked suspicion.
“Well met,” she managed.
Kálf sent a hard look at Rey. “Why has it taken you so long to present yourself, Galtung? Word is you’ve been here forweeks.”
“I meant no disrespect,” said Rey, carefully. “My identity was revealed, and I was forced into hiding.”
“Interesting,” said Hef sourly, “that the letter Vig procured for us makes no mention of yourself.” He drew out a piece of parchment, reading the words slowly. “Accommodation for one Galdra, Ashbringer.”
Silla’s palms began to sweat as she looked from Kálf to Hef. This felt less like a meeting and more like an inquisition.
“Many curious happenings since your arrival, Galtung,” said Kálf. “And now you stand before us, lying?—”
Rey shifted uneasily. “I have not spoken a single untruth?—”
“Half-truths are as good as lies, Galtung,” spat Kálf. “Explain yourself. And start with Ketill.”
Rey cleared his throat. “He attacked Silla, and I was forced to stop him.”
Kálf’s heavy gaze landed on Silla, brows drawn together. “And why would hedo such a thing? I know Ketill was not the sharpest of axes, but even he would have had a reason.”
Silla’s heart pounded. Now was the time for her to reveal her identity. But the words were stuck in her throat.
“Silla has seen the serpents,” said Rey, an obvious attempt to change the subject. “Has discovered a cave beneath Jökull where hatchlings are nested. We come to you asking for help to destroy them before they wreak havoc in the north.”
Kálf took a long drink of ale, wiping the froth from his mustache. “More than one, is it now? Have you struck your head, Galtung? You sound just like Gray Locks.”
“Rey speaks the truth.” Silla fumbled in her pocket, pulling out Váli’s cloak pin. “I found this in a cave beneath Jökull before being chased by ice serpents twice my size.”
Kálf assessed Silla with a cold, hard look, gaze falling back to Rey. “You expect us to believe thisgirlfaced down these…serpents?”
Silla crossed her arms over her chest indignantly. “I’ve seen twenty winters, which does, in fact, make me a grown woman.”
“Do not make the mistake of underestimating her, Kálf,” said Rey in a low voice. “I, myself, did the same when first we met, and she’s proven me wrong more times than I can count.”
Kálf’s eyes narrowed as he examined Silla. “Where have you come from?”
Now. She needed to reveal her identity now. But her insides rebelled.Not her, not her! they screamed. “Skarstad,” was all Silla could manage.
“What brings you to these parts?”
