“You should have told me,” said Rey, settling down at the table. “I’d have joined the search.”
Gyda’s face melted into a knowing smile. “Of course you would have, Rey.” Her dark eyes slid from Rey to Silla, then back again. “But you’ve just traveled so far, and we thought you might not wish yourselves known in these parts.”
Rey nodded slowly. “It is best to keep our presence quiet. But I know how to stay hidden and lend a helping hand.”
Gyda sighed, cupping Rey’s cheek in a surprisingly affectionate gesture. “Have you been eating enough? Sleeping well?” She glanced around the cabin. “Suppose there is only one bed in this place. I should have fetched a spare pallet for you.” Gyda paused. “I am sorry you’ve been forced into hiding, lad. But I am not sorry it brought you back to us.”
But Rey shook Gyda’s hand from his cheek, grumbling something about firewood before retreating outdoors. Gyda only smiled, fetching a battered kettle and handing it to Snorri, who bounded out the door.
“That man has not changed one bit. Still so solemn outwardly, but his heart…” She sighed as Snorri returned, handing her the filled kettle, which she hung over the flames. Gyda turned to Silla. “And you, dúlla? What is your story?”
Story. Silla supposed she should have one of those. Her skin felt itchy, her stomach knotted tight. The old Silla would have woven herself in with these people, would have absorbed all the fun and affection they so obviously shared. But she’d seen too much, had weathered too much heartache. The new Silla understood that getting too close to these people would only endanger their lives.
“I’m afraid there isn’t much to say,” she muttered, hating herself. “I hope you’ll forgive me, but I must lie down. The day has quite exhausted me.”
“Ashes, how could I forget?” said Gyda, adding róa bark to the kettle. The rich, spiced scent filled the air. “You’ve just met Harpa. That can be a harrowing experience indeed. Of course, dúlla, rest. We shan’t be here for long, and there will be plenty of leavings for you when you wake.”
Silla looked away, blinking furiously. “My thanks, Gyda,” she said, retreating behind the curtain.
Though she tried, sleep did not find her. Instead, Silla listened to the clamor beyond the curtain, breathing in the scents of spiced róa and hearty stew, wishing she were out there with them. Wishing she wasn’t a danger to their lives.
Beyond the curtain, the cabin brimmed with voices. She heard Vig settle into a game of dice with the twins, heard Snorri rousing himself from his sorrow to pepper Rey with questions: “What’s it like to kill an illmarr?”, “Do you truly prefer a longsword to a greataxe?”, “Did you want to punch the Heart Eater when you met him?”
Silla listened keenly, touched by the way Rey indulged the boy’s questions. He would have been an excellent older brother, she realized with sorrow.
As Rey offered to train Snorri in swordplay, Vig huffed.“No true northerner would choose a longsword over a greataxe for battle.”
“Hush, bjáni,” chided Gyda.
It was not long after that Gyda and her brood began pulling on clothing for the return trip to their farmstead. Gyda informed Rey their cabin was now stocked with provisions—apples, carrots, hard cheese, róa bark, a loaf of bread, and limited supply of grains. Leavings from the evening meal were tucked away in a cold storage space beneath the floorboards. Fresh firewood was stacked on the front porch and hay in the stables. They’d left clothes for the pair in the cabinet—linen and wool tunics, breeches and leg wrappings, and a thick fur-lined cloak for Silla.
“For her southern blood,” Vig proclaimed loudly, as though he knew she listened in.
As the door to the shield-home ground open, Rey cleared his throat. “If ever you have need of men to go searching, I want you to fetch me.”
“I will,” said Gyda, in a smiling voice.
As the door clicked shut, Silla exhaled. She allowed a few minutes to pass before wrapping a fur around her shoulders and treading beyond the curtain.
“What was that about?” asked Rey. Her feet faltered as she saw he was fastening the buckles of his armored jacket.
“I was not much in the mood for visitors,” she lied. “What are you—” Her heart pounded as understanding settled in her. “You’re going to search for him. That boy.”
Rey simply grunted, unable to meet her eye. Silla stood, fur tumbling to the ground. “I shall go, too.”
His gaze slid to hers,axe eyescutting into her skin. “You will do no such thing.”
“I want to help!”
“No,” he answered coldly. “It’s too dangerous for you.”
“So,” she spat, “youmay leave the cabin, butImay not. Am I understanding this correctly?”
Much to her chagrin, tears pricked her eyes. Alone, he was leaving her alone, venturing out into the unknown to find the missing boy. What if he didn’t return? What if someone found her here, alone? The night before had been torturous, lying awake in the empty shield-home, wondering if he’d abandoned her for good.
Turning his back to her, Rey pulled on his wolfskin gloves. “Ican handle myself.Youcannot.”
Her hands trembled, yet somehow, her voice was steady. “It is darkening. What chance have you when dozens of others have failed?—”
