“Tómas was King Kjartan’s bodyguard,” replied Rey, studying her. “My father knew him well.”
Somehow, Silla had thought answers might assuage her grief and anger. Instead, they only exasperated them further. “I suppose that explains how he killed six mercenaries near Skarstad,” she said bitterly. “And my mother, Ina? Unless that was a false name as well.”
Rey’s brows drew together. “Eisa’s nursemaid. Her name was Ina.”
“Nursemaid,” she muttered. “And bodyguard.” Pieces were sliding into place—Tómas and the nursemaid, stealing Eisa away from the palace, unable to get to Saga in time. An ache began to grow in her chest.
Silla drew a long breath and pushed to her feet. Lichen crunched underfoot as she wandered into the bushes under the guise of relieving herself. But once behind a copse of trees, she braced against a scaled trunk, gasping for breath. The lies were endless, each new one more painful than the last. Why hadn’t Matthias—Tómas, she corrected bitterly—told her? Why hadn’t hetrustedher?
Her entire body ached, tears burning in her eyes. But she could not afford to fall apart now. She needed to wrangle the grief flowing through her and shove it in a cage.
And when she strode back into camp, her expression was as hard and unyielding as Rey’saxe eyes.
Rey watchedher emerge from the bushes, bleary-eyed and tense as a bowstring. The swelling around her eye had faded, but purple bruises lingered, reminding him of all she’d suffered in Kopa. He should be kinder. Gentler. But neither of these words described him in the least.
Grabbing his stick, Rey jabbed a burning log.
She’d onlyjustlearned her true name, and the discovery left Rey reeling. How could Tómas have withheld this from her? Fed her those poisonous leaves and treated her like a child? Anger burned in Rey’s gut at the very thought.
He searched for something to say that would put her at ease. Nine days it would be until they reached Kalasgarde and the safety of a shield-home…gods,Kalasgarde. Bile pushed up his throat at the very thought.
From the corner of his eye, he tracked Silla. She peered at the horse he’d stolen from the Wolf Feeders, now tethered to a tree. A deep chestnut brown, already it was clear the mare had a temperamental disposition. Rey watched with apprehension as Silla approached and the horse’s tail swished.
“Good morning, beauties,” said Silla with forced brightness. “What brilliant and valiant warriors you were yesterday.” Horse snorted, stepping forward and nuzzling against her palm. “In case your rider forgets to tell you this, I insist that you do not forget it.”
The new horse snorted, ears flicking back in irritation. Rey pushed to his feet, moving forward on instinct. “A lot has changed for you in a short time, hasn’t it?” Silla said softly to the new horse, reaching out to stroke her cheek. Rey lunged a moment before the horse, arm snaking around Silla’s waist and hauling her back. The horse’s teeth snapped together where Silla’s hand had been moments before.
As her back came flush to his chest, a jolt ran through him. Instinctively, Rey’s arms tightened around her, and she relaxed against him. But after a heartbeat, she came to her senses. Whirling, she wiped a furious tear from her cheek.
“She’s a warrior’s steed,” Rey grumbled, stepping back. The feel of her lingered, and he ran a flustered hand over his face. “You must earn her trust.” He gazed at the new horse. “But her ears are not pinned, and she hasn’t reared or kicked out, so she should be safe for you to ride.”
“Ride?” Silla asked, aghast. “She tried to bite me!”
“It was merely a warning nip,” he said gruffly. “I advise you not to pat her.” Rey tried to soften his voice. “I know you do not trust me, but I hope you know I wouldn’t compromise your safety.”
Those dark eyes met his for one moment, and once again, Rey could feel the ghost of her leaning into his touch. Grinding his teeth, he turned to gather his belongings.
Thank the gods above, the horse tolerated Silla in the saddle, though a lead tied to his own mount was an unfortunate necessity. At last, Rey had Horse back to himself. At last, he couldthink. But with each step closer to Kalasgarde, the burn in his stomach intensified. Kalasgarde, the last place in all of Íseldur he wished to go. Rey had worked so hard to leave Reynir Galtung behind him—to create a new version of himself as Rey Bjarg.
Yet, it seemed fate had other plans. In the better part of a decade that Reyhad worked for the Uppreisna, he’d never needed a shield-home. And now, he’d be stuck in hiding. Withher.
And yet he knew with utter certainty he would do it all over again. Even before he’d discovered she was Eisa-gods-damned-Volsik, Rey had known Silla was worthy of protection. He’d thought her one of the last good things in this cursed kingdom.
Still, he glowered over the implosion of his life, scraping together plans to salvage the Istré job in his absence. First, Rey would contact Eyvind, a childhood friend who owed him favors. Eyvind was a talented warrior who had a genial way about him—he could win over even the most ornery of men. And whether his father, Jarl Hakon, could see it or not, Eyvind was a capable leader. The Bloodaxe Crew would not like a stranger stepping into Rey’s shoes, but given the difficult circumstances, they had little choice.
Next, the Uppreisna would need to be informed of Eisa. Yet, on this matter, Rey hesitated.I cannot be her, Silla had told him, a look of panic in her eye. He frowned. Perhaps, that needn’t happen right away.
He glanced behind him. Took in the droop of her shoulders. And decided Eisa Volsik could wait.
In his anger, Rey had pushed too hard, but now the truth was plain to see. Right now, Silla Nordvig had her own battles to fight.
Chapter Eleven
For six long days, Silla and Rey rode north. The terrain shifted from the flat acres near the Western Woods to rolling foothills, the winds from cold gusts to ice-tinged gales. Silla pulled on all the clothing she owned and accepted Rey’s wolfskin gloves with grim resignation. Despite the cold, the countryside was rather lovely. The pinewoods covered wild and rugged mountains, the road branching frequently and growing ever narrower. Alongside the road, clusters of blue lilies bloomed between lichen-crusted boulders, and when a family of frost foxes darted across their path one day, Silla’s breath caught in her throat.
She decided frost foxes were a good omen. A reminder of adaptability. Like the foxes, whose fur shifted to blend in with their surroundings, Silla, too, could reshape herself.
On the long, silent days, Silla had nothing but time to think. Over and over, her mind’s eye showed Rey, killing a horde of warriors with barely a thought. It had been horrific, so gruesome, and yet…he’d wielded suchpower. It was the first time Silla had considered that her galdur could be more than a death sentence. Shifting the reins to one hand, she pulled up the sleeve of her tunic, examining the smooth, pale underside of her forearm.
