It’s time, she thought, steeling herself.
Slowly, Saga crawled out from the folds of her mind, into the light, the noise, the utter chaos. A wall of sound crashed into her, so intense it knocked the breath from her lungs. Saga blinked, Yrsa’s face coming into focus, brown eyes widened with concern. Turning, Saga took in the deep line between Ivar’s brows. Conversation had come to a stuttering halt, each eye in the room on her. Yet still, the thoughts blasted into her.
…possessed by spirits, she is…
…I knew the girl was not natural…
…a Galdra of the mind to be sure. Perhaps she’ll prove useful after all…
Saga’s gaze met Signe’s. Pale eyes in her pale face, framed by the palest of blonde hair. But her lips, tinted red from wine, curved in victory.
And a thousand small cuts collected over seventeen years became a raw gaping wound. Saga hated Signe more than Ivar. More than Magnus. More than each member of nobility who’d turned on the Volsiks.Theydidn’t pretend. But Signe, with her false smiles and demure beauty, was the vilest of them all.
A beast inside Saga unfurled its wings and stretched its maw wide. It was darkness incarnate, alluring. Empowering. With gentle wingbeats, it fanned the flames of her anger.
Each wound Signe had inflicted was kindling for today, for this very moment. It was time for her to burn.
The creature inside her breathed in her anger—her hatred—exhaling pure, raw power. It looked at Saga and smiled.
There you are, daughter of Svalla. I’ve waited so long for you.
Chapter Eighty-Four
SVANGORMR PASS
Silla returned to a jarring coldness. It pushed in on her from all sides; above and below, penetrating her lébrynja armor, seeping into her hair, pressing into the creases of her ears and the space between each finger.
Trapped.
Buried beneath a mountain of snow, to depths she could not guess. By some miracle, there was a pocket of air around her head. But it was finite. Already she could tell each breath was a little less effective. Bright dots edged her vision as she gave an experimental kick of her foot, a wiggle of her fingers.
Nothing.
Lodged in place. Stuck in a snowy tomb.
Swallowing back her growing panic, Silla probed at her galdur, pulling, dragging, yanking it forth. A flicker of light was all she could manage.
Drained.
“Oh gods,” she whimpered, trying and failing to control her breaths. She was trapped; buried; would die in this snowy tomb. She didn’t want to die…not like this. And she didn’t want to leave Rey. Gods,Rey.
Silla was so consumed with panic that she failed to notice the peculiar sensation she’d felt the moment Saga had claimed her power. Familiar, yet not of herself. Slowly, it opened one eye and peered at her.
I’ve waited for you, daughter of Svalla, it crooned in a voice of shadows and echoes.
Silla started. She knew that voice. Could not forgetit, in fact.
Panic tightened her throat. It could not be.
It is, said Myrkur with glee.How long I have waited for the pair of you to come into your full magic. At last I can fulfill Svalla’s bargain.
Anger surged through Silla at the memory.You tricked her. You preyed on her in a moment of desperation.
Svalla is master of her own words.A life for a life, she said. It was settled long ago.
Her lungs were burning, her throat, her limbs. Buried, she was buried, lost to this world. Something inside her cracked.Then take me, Silla wheezed.
Myrkur’s irritation prickled through her.A life yielded is not what I want.
