A thousand questions sprang to mind, but Silla forced herself to remain quiet. Harpa turned to Rey, her breath misting the air.
“I will do it,” said Harpa, “for Kjartan and Svalla. For Íseldur.” The old woman took a deep breath. Seemed to struggle with the next words. “And I will do it for you, Reynir.”
Chapter Fifteen
Rey rode down the mountain with a lighter heart. It was a monumental obstacle overcome. He wouldn’t tell Silla how much he’d dreaded this day. How hard it had been to look into those amber eyes that looked so much like Kristjan’s…
But it was done.
“I wish we could have done the Rite today,” muttered Silla from behind him.
“Harpa will not be rushed,” he warned her. “She does things at her own pace.”
Silla huffed. “I must learn it quickly.”
Rey’s brows drew together. “Why?”
“You’ll only laugh.”
“I swear to you, I won’t.”
She was silent a long moment before answering. “My sister. She’s all alone, living with murderers. I must learn my galdur so I can free her.”
Inwardly, Rey groaned. Dozens of attempts had been made, countless lives lost trying to rescue Saga. But Silla had weathered so much in the past weeks, and Rey couldn’t bring himself to snuff out her hope.
“Hakon,” he said instead. “Jarl Hakon in Kopa is who you’d need to speak to.”
“Jarl Hakon,” sherepeated.
“After the search for us has quieted, I will take you to him. Hakon has ways…he can help us slip into the city undetected.”
“Yes,” she said brightly, to herself more than Rey. “Yes.” She began to hum, and the corners of Rey’s lips tugged up. But Silla stopped abruptly. “Reynir. Harpa called youReynir.”
Rey scowled, knowing what would come next. Gods, but he never should have told her.
“You said Kraki and your grandmother were the only ones to call you that. Harpa is yourgrandmother?” Silla cackled gleefully behind him. “Oh, I understand you much better now.”
Rey groaned inwardly—he could practically hear the questions brewing.
“Did Harpa raise you?”
Instinct had Rey pulling his walls higher. No one got in, not anymore. But he knew this woman was relentless, and he’d be stuck in the shield-home with her for the gods knew how long. Perhaps, in this case, the better defense was to answer and move on. He took a stabilizing breath. “Harpa raised my brother and me when we fled north.”
“Fled north?”
Rey ignored the ache in his chest, digging deeper for the cold, impenetrable place inside him. “My parents sent us north the moment Ivar came ashore in Íseldur,” he said. “As some of the staunchest Volsik supporters, they knew if things went awry…”
Rey’s throat constricted.Continue, he urged himself.Say it once and you need never speak of it again.
“They were not wrong,” he continued at last. “When Ivar took the throne, he came for them. Came forallVolsik supporters.” He took a deep breath. “Ivar killed my parents. He sliced the backs of their ankles, then forced them into Askaborg’s pits with his pet bears. They could not run. A crowd of Urkans and Ivar’s supporters cheered as they were devoured.”
A sound of distress came from Silla, and Rey wondered if he’d said too much. But this wasn’t about her, nor even about him. This was about those who could no longer speak. Those who deserved justice.
“He saved his vilest methods for Volsik supporters,” said Rey. “He made a sport of it. And yet my uncles had more honor than to flee.”
“You were a child,” interjected Silla. “There is no dishonor in fleeing?—”
“My cousins were scarcely old enough to bear arms, but they did. They died with honor, as did any with a drop of Galtung blood in their veins. It was only the two of us left, with Harpa to care for us.”
