“Yes, my lady?”
Saga gathered what remained of her courage. Straightened her spine. “I need you to arrange a meeting with the queen.”
Chapter Seventy-Seven
KALASGARDE
The morning they left Nordur, Rey found himself standing in Harpa’s snowy yard, considering her home. As though the gods were bidding them farewell, Nordur was in full splendor. It was a cool, crisp day, the frosted air shimmering in bright morning sunlight.
At the far edge of Harpa’s property, a cluster of ice spirits twirled and danced, chasing a squirrel up a tree and frosting the gnarled trunk. Silla had already said her farewells to the tiny blue creatures after asking them to keep watch over Jökull. She’d asked them to report to Vig, though Rey supposed only time would tell if they’d understood.
Between Silla and Rey’s combined efforts, Harpa had five winters’ worth of firewood chopped and stacked in her woodshed. Rey had cleaned and polished the interior of her home to the best of his abilities. Had re-thatched the roof near the smoke hole and winter-proofed the home’s walls with fresh pine resin. At the very least, Harpa was winter-ready.
“But Eisa is not ready,” whined Rykka. After ensuring the ice spirits were busy at the yard’s edge, Rykka had made a rare trip outdoors. Her smoky form now undulated above Harpa’s shoulder, casting steam into the cool air.
“Rykka is right,” glowered his grandmother, amber eyes fixed on Silla. “We need to fortify your mind’s defenses. Keep the Dark One out.”
“Saga needs me,” was Silla’s only reply.
When Silla had described the mind-to-mind communication with her sister, Rey had been filled with wonder and disbelief—he’d never heard of such a thing.And yet, there were always anomalies amongst the Galdra. Any doubt he might have felt was assuaged by Silla’s steely determination.
“We must go to Kopanow,” she’d insisted.
If you want to fight, I will draw my sword beside you, Rey had told her, and now he would prove his word.
The rest of the day had been a blur, chasing down the warriors who would accompany them and sending word to Jarl Hakon. Kopa had long been their plan. Jarl Hakon’s resources and connections were essential in arranging for Saga’s rescue. But with the trip now imminently upon them, he was filled with apprehension.
Rey did not like making decisions based on emotion—that was how mistakes were made. But Silla would not be swayed. Saga was her last living blood relative. And as Rey watched his grandmother, he understood that duty in his own way. No matter how fraught his relationship with Harpa, if she was in trouble, he’d always come calling.
And so, Rey had resigned himself to the preparations. At last count, they had a group of nine warriors, including Erik, Mýr and Runný. And to Rey’s great surprise, Kálf had volunteered, installing Vig as temporary chieftain in his absence.
“Your Blade Breaker skill remains elusive,” said Harpa, her displeasure palpable. “A few more weeks?—”
“And Saga could be dead,” replied Silla flatly.
Rey’s mind drifted ahead to Kopa. They would take refuge in Ashfall Fortress, away from the Klaernar’s prying eyes. Would set plans in motion to free Saga from Sunnavík. If Jarl Hakon and the Uppreisna refused…if it meant gathering warriors of his own and storming the walls of Askaborg, Rey would do it.
He was starting to realize Silla could ask him to jump off a cliff, and he’d ask which one. A slow smile crept across his face.
“Reynir,” cooed Rykka, “surely you don’t support this.”
“I support her decision,” he replied.
Rykka pouted, her charcoal wings flaring.
“Her training,” began Harpa.
“I will continue her training,” he answered. “Unless you wish to join us?”
Harpa’s laugh was harsh. “My place is here with my loom. You know that, Reynir.” But the lines of her face softened, and she studied him for a moment. “I will be searching through the threads. Communicating with the other Weavers. If I discover anything, I will send word.”
He nodded. “We will keep you informed of our whereabouts. Gyda and Vig will check on you. Don’t hesitate to ask them for anything should you need it.”
Harpa’s gaze settled back on Silla. “I fear this is Myrkur’s doing. That he lures you into a trap before your training is complete.” Silla remained silent. “If you must go, remember this: you will never master your galdur until you believe—in yourself, in the gods, in your power. You have come far but still you fight it. Remember, Eisa, that to win, you must sometimes surrender.”
Something passed behind Silla’s eyes, and Rey reached for her hand, sliding his fingers through hers with a comforting squeeze.
Harpa’s eyes settled on their joined hands. “Very well,” sighed his grandmother, meeting his gaze. “Stay safe, Reynir. And you, Eisa.”
