Brown Horse’s nostrils flared as she scented the treat. “You might be used to brash, rude warriors,” said Silla softly, “but in time, you’ll adjust to me.” Brown Horse’s large, dark eyes settled on the treat, and for the barest of moments, Silla thought she might finally break through.
But this horse, it seemed, was as stubborn as a mule. Brown Horse turned, showing Silla her backside. And then, the rude creature lifted her tail and shat on the floor.
Silla crossed her arms over her chest. “Unfortunately for you,” she said through gritted teeth, “I’ve abundant experience in dealing with ill-tempered brutes.”
Grabbing a shovel propped near the stable’s entrance, she scooped up Brown Horse’s offering and flung it into the woods. “In case you were wondering,” she told her mount’s rear end. “I shall be back tomorrow. And the day after that. And one day, you insolent creature, you’ll love me.”
As she stormed from the stables, Silla pulled up short. Vig’s horse was gone, and Rey was alone, working through one of his defensive routines with a longsword. He’d trimmed the sides of his skull and neatened his beard, his clean-cut look only enhancing the intensity in his eyes.
“May I join you?” she asked. “After Kopa, I…” Silla drew a deep breath. “It’s clear I must continue my defensive lessons.”
Rey stopped and examined her. “Grab the practice swords. Let’s see if you can knock me on my arse.”
And suddenly, Silla’s irritation at Brown Horse was channeled into something new. Wordlessly, she fetched the wooden swords and came to stand before Rey, handing one to him. “What now?” she asked, watching him keenly.
The sun caught the golden flecks in Rey’s eyes. “First, your stance,” he said, examining her posture.Silla forced her gaze ahead, ignoring the pounding of her heart. “Widen your feet,” said Rey, rounding behind her. “Loosen your hips.”
Silla gasped as his large warm large hands landed on her hips, tingles rushing down her spine. Rey adjusted her to the left. “Good,” he grunted. “Now your sword.” His arm brushed along hers, a warm palm sliding over her sword hand. His hand closed over hers, adjusting her grip. “Hold it higher. There.”
Silla’s eyes fluttered shut as she tried to focus on his direction. But all she could think of was the feel of him at her back and the fact that she’d fallen asleep against him last night. That she’d awoken in her bed with the furs tucked neatly around her.
“Your other hand will be busy with a shield,” Rey was saying. His left hand slid under her elbow, nudging it upward.
As he eased away from her, Silla’s body throbbed in protest. Stepping backin front of her, Rey’s lips twitched. “Now, I’ll show you the routine, and you’ll repeat it.”
After demonstrating, Rey gestured for Silla to try it. As he watched her, arms folded over his chest and an unimpressed expression on his face, Silla was reminded of all those lessons on the Road of Bones. “What do you think Hekla is doing right now?” she asked, an ache growing in her chest.
Rey’s scowl deepened. “Causing trouble in Istré’s mead halls.”
“I hope so.” Silla’s lips twisted up. “I miss her. And Sigrún. And Gunnar and…”Ilías, she could not say.Jonas. The way things were for so many weeks. She was hit with an intense yearning for the past. For the ability to go back in time and take Ilías’s place.
Guilt’s familiar scald spread through her body. Scowling, Silla gripped her sword and forced herself into the routine. Her moves were awkward, her swing hesitant. With an irritated huff, Silla returned to the starting stance.
“Gods above,” muttered Rey, running a hand down his face. “Did you make that up? That had no resemblance to what I showed you.”
“Kindness, Reynir,” chided Silla.
“I’ll attempt kindness if you attempt intelligence. I’ve seen better from drunken children.”
“Who is letting children get drunk?” she asked, aghast.
But a smile crept across her face, and she readied herself for another try. And so it went for the better part of an hour—Rey, running Silla through the routine, correcting her posture and grip as needed. Slowly, Silla sank into it, losing herself in the movement of her body. This, she decided, was precisely what she’d needed. A new purpose. A way to relax.
And with that, a new morning routine was born.
Chapter Twenty-Two
After an hour of sparring, Silla saddled the horses while Rey dipped into the stream behind the home. Then, she followed him up Snowspear to Harpa’s home. With no sign of Váli, Silla couldn’t help but look over her shoulder as they rode. Was something dangerous lurking in the wilds of Kalasgarde? Or had Váli merely gotten lost?
Now she stood in Harpa’s yard, amid the confusing disarray of summer and autumn and winter, trying to keep such thoughts out of her mind. It was a gray mid-morning, and yesterday’s dusting of snow had grown incrementally deeper. In the distance, Harpa’s wind chimes clunked together, while Brown Horse chewed grass at an ungodly volume.
Today, Harpa looked like a queen, lounging on a bench surrounded by her subjects. If birds could be subjects, that was. They squawked and chattered around her, swarming over bits of bread she tossed to the ground.
A loud thud drew her attention to Harpa’s home. Rey was in there, doing the gods knew what.
“Now that you’re Cohesed,” began Harpa, “you should be able to sense the heart of your galdur—your source. Can you feel it?”
Silla nodded. She did not need to search for the warm shimmering pool of magic sitting behind her breastbone; though it had not even been a full day since her Rite, already it felt like an essential part of her being.
