Váli hesitated a moment, then nodded. As the boy walked off, Vig glanced at Rey, then quickly away. “As I said, strange happenings about Kalasgarde. Best our young don’t go out alone.”
The words sent an ominous prickle down Silla’s spine, and yet she could sense Vig was not ready to say more.
At last, they reached the edge of town, riding through another gate onto a path that climbed up the mountain they called Snowspear. But before they gained much elevation, they veered from the road and into an empty clearing.
“Here we are,” proclaimed Vig with a broad smile.
“What—” Silla started, but it felt as though something pressed against her skin. And then, as though she were looking through the glassy surface of a lake, a small home swirled into view.
“What was that?” she asked, blinking.
“My sister has her uses,” said Vig happily. “She has bent the light to disguise the area. The barriers stretch to the edges of this clearing, so you can venture outdoors without being seen.”
“Impressive,” murmured Rey, his gaze drifting to Runný. She shrugged, but the tilt at the corner of her mouth suggested she was pleased. “When did you learn to affix your galdur?”
“Last year. Though it works only for stationary things.”
Silla examined the shield-home. Made of weathered timber beams, and topped with a turf roof, the windows were covered with animal hides. Beyond the home was a pair of outbuildings—a privy and a small stable perfect for theanimals. And beyond that, a stream cut through the clearing, vanishing into the forest.
As Silla examined the woods, a bright glint of blue caught her eye. Was it an ice spirit? Silla blinked, staring hard. But her eyes found only lichen-covered trees and scraggly bushes.
She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. Clearly, she’d been riding too long.
They dismounted and secured the horses. Vig fished through his saddlesack for an iron key which he used to unlock the shield-home’s door, and Silla followed the warriors inside. It was small and dark, with a single rectangular hearth in the center of the room, a cauldron hanging from a chain above it. On one side of the room sat a table and benches, cabinets and shelves on the other. A curtain separated a sleeping space at the back of the room from the rest, and that was the entirety of the home.
“We, erm, were not expecting two of you,” said Vig. “I’ll send Snorri over with some more furs and hay for the horses.” He paused for a moment. “Mother has gathered provisions at the farm, so you needn’t go into town. We know you plan to keep your presence hidden. But Mother’ll certainly come by to see you, Galtung.”
And with that, Vig and Runný departed. The door clicked shut, and Silla found herself watching Rey uneasily. In the events of the past few weeks, she didn’t know how to act around him. It was difficult to accept that Rey was the killer haunting the Road of Bones. But his words had echoed in her mind.
I am simply the blade.
She didn’t like it one bit, but knowing there was a reason behind the murders—that they weren’t random—put her mind partly at ease.
In the confines of the small shield-home, he seemed somehow larger. But the set of his shoulders and deep scowl on his face told her he’d rather be anywhere in the entire kingdom than here.
“It’s not much,” he muttered, glancing her way. In that small gesture, he seemed so unlike himself—almost self-conscious. And Silla found herself wanting to put him at ease.
“It reminds me of…” the homes she and her father used to live in, she wanted to say, but found she could not. Her hand moved to the place on her chest where the vial used to hang, and she quickly pulled it away. “It will be more than enough.”
Wordlessly, Rey vanished outdoors, returning a moment later with an armful of firewood. After arranging it in the hearth, he used his galdur to spark thefire.
“To think all this time you’ve hidden such a useful skill.”
His gaze was flat. “The bed is yours. I’ll sleep on a bench.”
“Rey,” she started, but he turned on his heel and strode out the door.
“I’ll be back late,” he called over his shoulder as he mounted Horse. And with that, Rey departed, leaving Silla alone in the shield-house.
Sitting on the bench, Silla warmed her hands over the hearthfire. She breathed in. Exhaled slowly. A shield-home. She’d made it.
After running for so long, at last she could stop and rest her feet. Wasn’t this what she’d craved for so many years? Silla waited for the hollowness in her chest to be filled with something—anything. But the jubilation she’d anticipated for so long did not come.
Instead, there was only more emptiness.
Bad beginnings bring terrible endings.
It was all Rey could think of as he stared into the glassy waters of Kalasgarde Lake, mountainous peaks reflected within. He and Silla’d had a bad start. Rey should have been able to see the threads of fate clearly back then—should have known to cut them swiftly.
