“It seems I’m glad to be back as well,” said Rey with a shake of his head. He’d never have believed he’d feel this way about Kalasgarde.
Rey’s eyes found Silla across the hall, pushing a coil of hair from her forehead. Her cheeks were flushed, a smile on her face. Heat in Rey’s chest spread to all his limbs. She’d been incredible, facing down these warriors and sharing her story. She hadn’t timidly stepped into Eisa’s shoes. She’d leaped into them with astounding bravery.
“Tales of your doings in the south reach our ears, courtesy of the high chieftains,” Kálf was saying as they made their way toward the door. “The explosion at Reykfjord’s berskium mines—that was you?”
Rey’s lips twitched. “Aye.”
He chuckled. “I’ll wager those Klaernar were spitting mad when their berskium caches were ruined. And Kommandor Valf in Kopa? That had to be your doing.”
Rey nodded at Silla. “I’m afraid I cannot take credit for that.”
Kálf’s mouth opened and closed, much like a fish. “I do not believe it,” he spluttered. “How—it is not possible?—”
“As I have said,” said Rey, the warmth inside him shimmering brightly, “she’s more than she seems.”
“Her tale is…much to take in,” continued Kálf, allowing a pair of warriors to pass. “But I’ll admit, I cannot understand why a person would make such a thing up.”
“Sometimes the truth is wilder than the most imaginative tale,” said Rey.
“Ready to slay some serpents, Galtung?” asked Vig jovially, as he and Silla joined them.
“More than you know,” Rey replied, eyes landing on Silla. “We’ll see you at the trailhead, Vig.” Without giving his friend the chance to reply, he steered Silla out the door and into the frigid nighttime air.
As they stepped out from the Split Skull and into Kalasgarde’s streets, Silla’s head tilted up with a gasp. The black night skies were painted with brushstrokes of luminescent green.
“Up here, they call it the dawn of the north,” Rey said, unable to look away from the wonder in her eyes. He wanted to capture that look. To see it again and again. And in that moment he had to show her.
Grabbing her hand, he pulled her forward, and they walked in silence to the gates of Kalasgarde. Rey paused. “We’ve some time to spare before we must meet the others,” he said, turning away from the route back to the shield-home. “And I’ve something to show you.” She trailed him along the path as they began to climb a small foothill. White lichen, clinging to slender pine trunks, hadunfurled beneath the moonlight, the northern lights casting a slight green tinge upon the luminescent gills.
“You did well tonight,” he said.
“I am glad it is done,” she admitted. “It earned us the help we needed. And…” She paused. “And it feels good to be a part of something.”
It wasn’t long before they crested the hill. Rey removed his wolfskin cloak and spread it on the ground at the edge of the trees. As he and Silla sank down on the cloak, her mouth fell open.
They sat on the edge of a precipice, cutting sharply down to Kalasgarde Lake. All around them were impossibly tall, snow-capped mountains, lunar-blooming plants dotting the landscape. The star-filled sky undulated with green light, reflected in the lake’s glassy surface.
But as Silla watched the river of green cresting in the skies, it was she Rey could not stop watching.
“Some say it is Sunnvald’s show for the kin he misses dearly,” he said, forcing his gaze to the lake and trying to see it through her eyes. But when he looked out, Rey was transported to a different time. Instead of Silla beside him, it was Kristjan, the pair of them grouching about Harpa. Rey would make a wry comment about their grandmother, and Kristjan’s head would fall back in laughter, his entire body shaking. That was how his little brother had been. He never laughed halfway.
“You came here with your brother?” Silla asked, reading whatever was written in his face.
As he swallowed back his emotion, all he could manage was a curt nod. Rey was filled with sudden regret. Why had he brought her here, of all places? Of course he’d react this way, and she’d want to know more.
“Will you tell me about him?” she asked. Rey could hear the caution in her voice, and beneath it, her gnawing need to know more.
Years of defensive instincts kicked in all at once, clamping down on all memories, all thoughts of Kristjan. And as Rey wordlessly forced his gaze to his boots, he cursed himself inwardly. Why couldn’t he do this?
“I’m sorry,” Silla mumbled.
Rey understood her disappointment; saw the hypocrisy in his own actions. Hadn’t he just pushed her to stand before the Uppreisna? To share her true name with them? But the wound left in Kristjan’s wake had been untended too long. He’d learned to live with the dull pain of it. To speak of him now would be like slicing it open—would be subjecting himself to the sharp agony all over again.
A sound from above drew an incredulous breath from Rey. “He’s here,” he said with a shake of his head.
“Who?”
“The owl.” Gods, the owl was as good as a knife, slicing without Rey’s consent.
