A memory rattled in Silla’s mind. “Hekla’s prosthesis.”
Rey nodded. “A collaboration between a Metal Smith and the Tailor. Together, they’ve made many limbs and helpful devices for Galdra warriors.”
Her brows furrowed. “But it is so useful,” she mused. “How could the king not wish to use such skills to his advantage?”
“Pah!” Harpa threw her hand in the air, back hunched over her worktable. “He fears the Galdra, that man. He tries to outrun his fate, but he should know better. Not even a king can escape such a thing.”
Silla looked at Rey, hoping for clarification. “There are stories,” he said slowly, glancing at his grandmother. “That Ivar once sought a Weaver to read his future. She was never seen again. It was then Ivar’s vendetta against the Galdra began. They were rounded up in large groups and executed. But many escaped, fleeing to the far corners of the kingdom.”
“What did the Weaver tell him?” asked Silla.
“That he will fall by galdur’s hand,” said Harpa.
“Speculation,” muttered Rey.
Harpa straightened, handing a clay cup to Rey. “Add water to this, Reynir.”
“What will happen today?” asked Silla, unable to hold her questions at bay. “How long will it take? Will I be as powerful as Rey?”
“You talk a lot,” said Rykka, twisting up from the hearthfire’s flames. “I will call you Trilla. Like the squirrel in the yard, always chattering for food.”
“Rykka,” warned Rey, pressing the cup of steaming liquid into Silla’s hands. “Be kind.”
“I’m always kind, Reynir,” she purred. “Squirrels are the most darling of rodents.”
“Off with you, Rykka,” barked Harpa. “We need peace.” She turned to Silla. “You will drink this and then we will start your Cohesion Rite.”
“Now?” asked Silla, bouncing onto the tips of her toes. All morning, thoughts of this moment had consumed her, but now it was here, apprehension knotted her gut.
“Yes,now. Today, I will guide you through the Rite, and then you must rest. Tomorrow we will work on expression and weaving your galdur into physical shape.” Harpa’s gaze dipped to the cup. “Drink.”
Gazing at the cup, Silla had a moment of trepidation. She’d learned the dangers of accepting food and drink from others the hard way. “What’s in it?”
“An herb that will help draw your powers from the heart of your magic. It makes it easy for your mind to find this part of yourself and link them together.”
Rey watched her carefully. “It will prime you. Draw the light to your arms, and nothing more.”
Prime her. Her heart palpitated as Silla stared at the steaming mug. “The catalyst?”
Rey’s jaw tightened. “How do you know that?”
Silla’s hand lifted to that short patch of hair. “Valf. Kommandor Valf had it baked into my f-food.” Tapestries flashed in her mind—gleaming locks of brown woven with blonde; hands wrapping around her throat;scream dear. I do so enjoy it.
The cup fell from her hand, clattering on the floor and making Silla jump. She looked down, surprised to see liquid splashed across her boots.
“Harpa,” said Rey. “We need a moment.”
Arm sliding around her shoulders, Rey’s hold was sure as he guided her through the door and into the yard. An icy gust scraped her cheeks, the cold rousing her from the shock.
“You did not tell me,” said Rey, his voice low. Large hands slid over her shoulders, turning her to face him while holding her steady. “You did not tell me he gave you the catalyst.”
“Why did you think I was glowing like the auroras?”
“I thought it was battle thrill or fear. Both can help to prime you.”
Silla’s gaze grew unfocused as she stared into the woods.
Rey cursed viciously. “The death you granted that man was far too swift.” She met his eyes, golden embers sparking in an ocean of deep brown. “I’d have been far less merciful.”
