“I saved us.”
It was difficult to think with bare inches separating them. With the light from her forearms, he could count each curving eyelash, trace the lines of her brows, the constellation of freckles across her nose.
“You burned them!” she shouted. “You brought them agony until their last breath?—”
Rey tried to focus on her words. “You’re Eisa-gods-damned-Volsik,” he gritted out. “What would you have me do?”
“But all those people along the Road of Bones! How many were there?”
“It does not matter.”
“How?” she demanded. “How can it not matter? All I can think of when I look at you is the flesh melting off their faces?—”
“You shouldn’t have watched.”
Silla stilled against him, and he sensed she tried to gather herself. “Explain,” she pushed. “Explain it to me.”
Rey looked away, releasing her. His stomach burned. How could she understand when she wanted nothing but to flee this kingdom?
She made a sound of irritation. “How can you preach honor while murdering good men?”
He scowled. “There was nothinggoodabout the men I’ve killed. Death, in fact, was too easy for them.”
She pressed her lips together, then continued. “And who decides this? What gives you the right to dispense justice as you see fit?”
“Ido not decide it.” He sent her a look as hard as granite. “That is done by men far wiser than I. I am simply the blade.”
It was clear a thousand new questions had sprung into her mind, but Rey was done answering them. The reality of his situation was sinking in. The birchbark etching flashed in his mind, and a wave of raw fury consumed him.
“Fuck!” he bellowed. Picking up a branch, he swung at a tree edging the road. Over and over, he swung the branch until it had shattered, and nothing remained. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against the tree’s trunk.
Rey’s likeness was now linked to the name Slátrari. Life as he knew it had just ended. Istré was no longer safe for him. The entire kingdom of Íseldur was no longer safe for him.
A hard lump formed in his throat. There was only one place for him to go. One place where he’d be safe.
Turning, Rey glowered at the curly-haired woman staring at him with pure loathing.
“Well,Sunshine, it looks as though you’ll have company in Kalasgarde.”
Chapter Seven
THE CITY OF KOPA
Jonas Svik needed to punch someone. Or perhaps bed someone. But most preferably, both.
He neededsomethingto remind him he was alive. Despite the raucous crowd in the mead hall, he’d never felt so alone.
Ilías had always loved the oddities of Íseldur’s north, and this place would have been no exception. Besides the obvious—the hall was crafted from volcanic stone, the hearths of polished obsidian—he’d appreciate the eccentric details the most. There were the garlands of bones dangling from the rafters, and the light flaring from a cage of flíta in the room's corner. But the thing setting this mead hall firmly in Kopa was the pure abundance of dragons—carved into the pillars; painted on decorative shields; embroidered on the barmaid’s dresses.
With a sigh, Jonas took a long draught from his horn of ale. He’d come here to forget, but it seemed there was no amount of ale that could wipe his brother from his mind. Everywhere he looked were memories of Ilías—a flash of golden hair; the rumble of falling dice; a certain pitch of laughter—should he turn, certainly his brother would be there.
“I got you!” Ilías would joke. “My most elaborate jest to date!”
Then, Jonas would drag him into a headlock and trounce him as only an older brother could. Laughing, they’d settle on the bench, drinking and speaking of the farmstead, until they floated along on a warm wave of contentment.
Lies. His fingers found the talisman strung around his neck and smoothed over the interlocking triangles. His brother was gone; the sooner Jonas acceptedit, the better off he’d be. But Jonas didn’t want to accept that his younger brother’s light had been snuffed from this world.
For a time, he’d thought he’d be able to move on from the tragedy. That if Ilías’s death hadmeantsomething, he could go forth with his life. And when Silla’s true identity had been revealed, it felt like he could see the threads of his fate clearly for once. Jonas needed only to turn Eisa in to the Klaernar, collect his reward, and retake what had been stolen from them all those years ago. He could reclaim his family’s lands.
