The snowpack pulsed. A clump of snow bounced down the mound of avalanche debris, shattering into a dozen smaller pieces. Rey’s heart thudded in his chest as he held his gaze on the pile. Had it been a trick of his eye? Or had the hard-packed snow truly moved?
Rey had only just convinced himself it was wishful thinking when it happened. The world exploded in darkness. Klaernar roared. Bodies flew from atop the avalanche track and snow showered down upon Rey.
“What in the gods’ sacred ashes was that?” muttered Runný, sitting up. Face swelling, she’d soon be sporting an impressive black eye. Her question was met with silence—Mýr, Kálf, Erik and Hef lay unconscious nearby.
Silla.Rey was unwilling to voice his hope aloud.
The Klaernar warrior watching their small group drew his sword, batting it against his shield as he stared at the haze of finely powdered snow. But a figure leaped through it, curls flying wildly behind her.
“Silla,” he gasped, unable to breathe. Gods above, but it had to be a miracle. Another one—the woman had more lives than a cat. A confusing muddle of emotions battled within him. Rey was furious at her for frightening him but relieved she was alive. He craved her touch—to prove she was real.
“Release me!” he bellowed to Silla, scrambling to his feet. “Let me help!”
But her face was impassive as she ignored him, dispatching the Klaernar with a brutal blow to the neck, severing his head clean from his shoulders. As she whirled on her next assailant, Rey’s brows drew together. The weapon clutched in hand was not her sword of frostfire. This blade’s flame was oil-black.
Not only that, but her moves were preternatural—sinuous, smooth, impossibly quick—and far more advanced than the ones he’d taught her. She fought with incredible skill—with more strength and speed than the berserkers. And, as Silla relieved a second man of his head, a cold feeling spread through Rey.
Something was wrong.
She sprinted at a third and fourth snarling Klaernar, taking them both on at once. Rey watched, horrified and fascinated all at once. Silla whirled and ducked, the black blade slashing out like an extension of her body. She moved as though she knew her foes’ moves before even they did. Blood arced through the air, painting the snow red. A pair of heads thunked to the snow, bodies collapsing a heartbeat later.
She turned to him.
Rey drew in a sharp breath. The same crescent-shaped scar. The same pertnose and pale complexion. But along the curve of her neck, dark blue veins stretched like tangling branches reaching for the sun. And her eyes—no light. Only black.
“Silla,” he murmured, taking a step back. “You’re all right.”
“Yes,” she said, from everywhere and nowhere all at once. “The best I’ve ever been.”
A chill stretched down his spine. Not her voice. Not his Silla. “Who are you?” he demanded of the creature wearing Silla’s skin. “What have you done to her?” Rey took another step back, hands cursedly still bound, though at least at his front. She approached, black blade held at her side. “Come back to me, Sunshine.”
“Eisa sends her regards,” said the voice. Silla lunged at him but stumbled, Runný’s hand wrapped around her ankle. With a growl, she turned, raising her sword for a downward strike aimed at Runný’s neck. Rey launched himself at her, tackling her to the ground. Her sword fizzled, dissolving into the air as he pushed his bound hands into her neck. She snarled like a creature of darkness, her skin so cold and so veryother.
Silla’s knee came up, landing hard in his groin. Rey bellowed in pain. An arm slipped free, her fist cracking into his nose, then clawing at his neck. The hindrium quill which must have been lodged in his shoulder fell free, landing on the snow beside her head.
“Silla,” he growled, trying to shake off the pain. Rey pushed his body harder on her, trapping her freed arm under his knee. She fought against his hold, kicking and snarling like a wild creature. But Rey had the benefit of his size, the full weight of him bearing down on her.
“You won’t have her,” he hissed in Silla’s ear. Rey caged her in with his body, his grip on her throat unrelenting. “She is not yours to take.” Guilt and anger battled for dominance, but his determination won out—he would fight for her, like she’d fought for him.
“What’s got her?” asked Runný. “How do we stop it?”
“I don’t know.” Rey gasped for breath. His muscles screamed in protest as he held her down, fear climbing higher as her arm began to slip loose. How could he subdue her without causing her real harm?
His gaze fell on the skarpling quill, resting in the snow beside her head. “Runný, get me a fresh one of those quills and hurry!”
Silla’s head lunged forward, crashing into Rey’s with such force his teeth knocked together. He blinked to clear his vision, but it was too late. Silla had slipped free and was scrambling to her feet. Rey threw his body at her, but she danced backward, a long taper of black flame forming fromthin air.
“Shit,” muttered Rey, backing away.
A malevolent smile curved Silla’s lips as she advanced on Rey. But her feet suddenly stopped, a look of confusion crossing her face. Her hand lifted to her neck, yanking a skarpling quill free. Slowly, Runný edged out from behind Silla.
“No!” screamed the creature inside Silla’s body, the sword of black flame flickering before vanishing entirely.
Rey was a man used to doing dark deeds for the greater good. And so, he didn’t hesitate. He tackled Silla to the ground. Tightened his hands around the throat he’d lavished with kisses earlier in the day. Her movements grew feeble, black eyes bulging as she fought for breath. Placing his lips next to her ear, he whispered, “I’m sorry, Sunshine. Forgive me.” Her hands gave one last flap before her eyes rolled back, and Silla moved no more.
Rey collapsed alongside her, the anguished sob he’d held back finally breaking free.
Chapter Eighty-Six
