Saga huffed. As far as she was concerned, if she never laid eyes on that man again, it would be too soon.
Chapter Ten
NORTH OF ISTRÉ
Silla glared at the curious assortment of lichen covering the trees and surrounding forest, ignoring the harsh stare of the man sitting across from her. A crisp, late-summer morning, it was the day after the Wolf Feeders’ attack. They’d fled down the road for several hours afterward, before trudging deep into the woods and making camp for the night.
And now, Silla and Rey were up with the sun, readying for another long day of travel. As Rey wrapped clean linen around his arrow wound, Silla pulled her new cloak tighter around her shoulders and bit into her smoked elk.
Rallying cry, Silla, she thought.You didn’t die yesterday. You’re not alone right now. Even if your companion has a penchant for burning people alive…
She huffed, chewing harder. It was impossible to shake the image from her vision—Rey, melting the Wolf Feeders’ flesh from their faces with a mere flick of his wrist. He’d killed them in the most vile of ways…hadbeenkilling people as the Slátrari for the gods knew how long.
I am simply the blade, he’d explained, but it did little to quell her nausea. Instead, it brought to mind the queen’s warriors who’d killed her adoptive father and Ilías Svik. It made her think of Skraeda, stalking her along the Road of Bones at the queen’s behest. Were they notsimply bladesas well?
All this time, Rey was the Slátrari. It made her want to flee once more. But in the aftermath of the Wolf Feeders’ attack, Silla was more clearheaded. Her choices were grim: escape and take her chances with the monsters and warbands or stay with the murderous man before her.
It wasn’t really a choice.
Despite Rey’s violence, it was clear he intended to keep her…uncooked. For now at the very least.
“Aren’t you going to ask me?” grumbled Rey, drawing Silla from her thoughts. “Don’t you wish to know how we know one another,Eisa?” He jabbed a stick into the campfire, sending embers floating skyward.
Every muscle in her body tensed. “Don’t call me that.”
His brows drew together, gaze lifting to meet hers. “Why not?”
Silla massaged her temples. “I cannot think of it all, not now.”
“You’ll have to face it eventually,” he bit out.
“I know I’m a coward. You do not need to remind me of it.”
Rey opened his mouth, but snapped it shut.
“Fine,” sighed Silla, staring into the fire. “Tell me how you know her.”
He eyed her for a long moment before he began. “My father was a member of King Kjartan’s retinue, and we visited Askaborg often. When I was eight years old, we came to Sunnavík. And while our parents visited, the children went into the gardens to play. Kristjan and Saga were close in age, and they ran off together, leaving me with the baby sister.”
Met with her silence, Rey continued. “The nursemaid was with us for some time, but there was an emergency she had to rush off to attend. And that left me, an eight-year-old boy who wished only to play swords or climb trees, to watch a two-year-old princess who wanted to play a spinning game.”
Round ‘n’ round ‘n’ round we go,echoed in Silla’s mind. Was this game a remnant of Eisa’s childhood? Suddenly, she felt as dizzy as she had that night in the canyon.
Rey pressed his lips together as though he did not wish to continue. “Eisa climbed on Sunnvald’s fountain to walk ‘round ‘n’ round’ it, then fell and hit her eye on the ledge,” he said in a rush. Absently, Silla’s fingertips skimmed along the small scar. “And I received a stern verbal lashing from my father for failing to protect the princess from harm.”
“That’s it?” she asked, disappointed. “I thought it would be something more fanciful—clawed by a grimwolf or wrestled a bear. A fountain. I was told it was a table.” Numbness was creeping in from all corners. “It seems my whole life was a lie.”
Rey’s eyes narrowed as he examined her. “When did you realize you wereher?”
“Skutur. Skraeda…she pulled on a memory and…”
Confusion, then disbelief, crossed Rey’s face. “You’ve only just discovered,” he mumbled, more to himself. Silla watched him fight inwardlywith something. “I thought…” He exhaled, his gaze lifting to hers. “I thought you knew all along.”
Silla shook her head, trying to push back the pain. A new thought entered her mind, and she could not push it aside. “If you knew my birth father, did you?—”
Several moments passed before he prompted her. “Did I what?”
“Did you know my adoptive father? Tómas, he was called.” It stung to ask this question. To admit she knew so little of the man who’d raised her.
