Jonas’s grip on the etching tightened, the voices in the mead hall growing muffled. More secrets. More lies. Did no one in this kingdom value honesty?
I was dishonest for my own safety,Silla had told him. But what about Ilías? Who had cared forhissafety? Not Silla, when she’d withheld the truth about who hunted her. Not Rey, when he’d led them into that battle, unprepared.
Nausea burned in his gut, but his anger was hotter, hungrier—it consumed him.
“All right, pretty boy?” asked the red-bearded warrior. “You know the pair?”
“No,” replied Jonas numbly. He was beginning to realize he’d never known either of them at all.
Long had Jonas yearned to feel something, but the fresh knife in his back was too painful to bear. It hurt to breathe. Hurt to think.
He couldn’t feel this. Needed to forget.
Jonas drew his fist back.
Smashed it into the red-bearded warrior’s face.
The mead hall erupted.
And as the battle thrill coursed through him, at last, Jonas felt something tolerable.
Chapter Eight
ASKABORG, SUNNAVÍK
Saga’s back ached. Seated in the hidden passageway, her ears were primed for conversation beyond the cold stone wall, as they had been for hours. To pass the time, she’d brought her drawing board, and her charcoal raced across the parchment.
The man’s nose was straight, his eyes piercing, but the scar on his cheek and golden hair knotted at his crown made it clear he was a warrior. Her gaze settled on the pendant hanging from his neck, etched with three interlocking triangles. Saga frowned. There was something unsettling about the man, despite his handsomeness, despite the hint of a smile. She felt as though she knew him, and yet, she could not place him.
The light guttered, and she glanced at the torch. It had burned nearly through, and she was down to her last one. That gave Saga…thirty minutes more before she’d be engulfed in complete darkness.
With a sigh, Saga set her drawing board aside, touching the torches together. The pitch-soaked cloth caught at once, and light spilled into the corridor anew. She leaned against the wall, head thunking back. How long had she been here?
It didn’t matter. She would stay here as long as it took to discover Eisa’s fate. Had the Wolf Feeders captured her? Was she shackled in a boat bound for Sunnavík? The hours passed with no answers, and the gnawing in her gut only worsened.
Using her Sense to listen in on Signe’s thoughts during meals had proven disastrous. She could manage, at most, two threads of thought at a time. Sothe great hall, filled with dozens of people, had quickly overwhelmed her. Instead, Saga had returned to the passageway in which she’d originally overheard Queen Signe and Maester Alfson converse. She’d lost count of how many days she’d spent in this secret corridor, ear pressed to the wall. Though she’d also freed her Sense, the thick stone impeded her gift for reasons she did not understand.
Saga had quickly realized it was Maester Alfson’s study beyond the stone wall, and it was him she most often heard. So far, she’d discovered nothing but the maester’s irritation at poor test results of some sort and his fondness for pickled herring.
There’d been no word from the north—no mention of the Wolf Feeders. Days passed with nothing to show for Saga’s efforts, save for yet another dress coated in dust. What had happened to Eisa? Why hadn’t Saga heard any news?
Staring at the shadows dancing along the roof, Saga tried not to let her worry get the best of her. But it was looking like yet another fruitless day.
It was impossible to keep the images from invading her mind’s eye. Her little sister, running through the wilds of the north, hunted by the Wolf Feeders. Little Eisa, caged like an animal—forced to come south against her will.
Anger festered in her veins. Saga could not allow this to happen. She was the older sister. Shehadto protect Eisa. But the longer she sat here, the worse these nightmare visions got. She needed to clear her mind before she went mad. With a long exhale, Saga pushed to her feet and began beating the dust from her skirts.
“Alfson!”
Saga froze, a prickle of recognition rushing down her spine. That was Signe’s voice. Heart pounding, Saga pressed her ear to the wall.
The muffled sound of a slamming door. “Your Highness.” It was Alfson.
“What have you to say of this?” barked the queen.
Silence stretched out, and Saga forced herself to breathe. Alfson mumbled in a low voice, and she pressed her ear tighter to the wall. “Arrow struck one target…bridge burned…targets escaped while we bypassed the gorge…”
Saga’s heart quickened. Thishadto be Eisa. Had she escaped the Wolf Feeders and slipped into the wilds? Elation filled her at the prospect, making Saga so buoyant she might float to the roof.
