He swiped the ash away, wondering how long it had been since Harpa cleaned the place. From the looks of things, not since he’d last been here.
Five years.
Five years since he’d placed the last stone on Kristjan’s burial mound and turned his back on this place forever. Or so he’d thought.
The speed at which his life had flipped over disoriented Rey. He was back in the place he’d vowed never to return. Hiding like a craven while his Bloodaxe Crew faced deadly foes in Istré, and his brothers and sisters in the Uppreisna fought Ivar Ironheart’s regime. He felt powerless.
There is nothing to be done about it, he tried to tell himself. If the Klaernar had his likeness, Kalasgarde was the safest place for him in all the kingdom. And she…she was Eisa Volsik. The moment he’d realized, some part of him had known. How else could she have climbed intohisof all the wagons? How else,after seventeen years, could they have been brought back together? If this wasn’t the hand of the gods at play, Rey did not know what was.
She was bigger than Istré; bigger than the Bloodaxe Crew. Gods, she was bigger than him. Eisa was his fate—was the fate of his people.
Long had the Uppreisna toiled in the shadows—long had they satiated themselves on small-scrap victories. Though he was proud of what he’d accomplished, Rey knew he and the rebels had been nothing more than a small annoyance to the king—gnats buzzing around his head. But with a Volsik alongside them, so much more could be accomplished—they’d be able to quell the infighting in the north and unite under a single banner. And with numbers like that, they could do more than aggravate. They could make a difference.
She could beeverything.
Rey frowned at that thought. She did not wish for that role. He could see it in her eyes whenever he dared broach the subject.Time, he thought.She needs time. She’d nearly died in Kopa, had weathered so much. And Rey could not bear the thought of pushing more on her, not after everything she’d been through.
The door of Harpa’s home flew open, and the two women appeared. Even in the dim light of the home, Rey could see frustration etched into their faces. To be fair, it was not an unusual expression to see on Harpa. But Silla—his heart sank at what he saw. Irritation. Anger.
Rey’s fist clenched around his rag. He wanted to drag her out of here. Bring her somewhere beautiful and make her smile. But he knew she wanted to get stronger—to master her galdur. Which meant Rey would have to let her fight this battle on her own.
Their eyes met as she stomped the snow from her boots, and Rey couldn’t help but recall their sparring session this morning. His skin had heated with each small touch, his heart thundering as her back had brushed against his chest. By the end of their session, he’d been so worked up, he’d needed to douse himself in the stream’s frigid waters.
Trouble. This was naught but trouble. He’d been counting the days until he’d freed himself from her pull, now here he was, sharing a gods damned shield-home with her. Her draw was as strong as ever, and worse, she wasn’t afraid of him. Rey needed to distance himself from her. Needed to fortify his defenses.
Silla flopped onto the bench set before the hearthfire, staring into the flames. Harpa busied herself preparing the kettle and cauldron. Soon, the scent of róa bark and cooked food filled the small cabin. After a bowl of mutton stew, Rey set back to his scrubbing and tried not to listen to his grandmother. It was not long before he understood the problem.
“We will work first on clearing your mind. Do not think of the heart of your magic. Do not think of your galdur. Focus on stilling your mind. On pushing all thought from it.”
Silla’s lips pressed into a line as she nodded curtly. Closing her eyes, she shook out her body, but Rey saw the tension lingering in the tendons of her neck, in the way she clenched then unclenched her hands.
After fifteen minutes of bearing witness to this torture, Rey slipped out the door. It would not be pretty, and he suspected his presence would only worsen the situation. Harpa was stern and relentless, yet her methods were effective. Rey had grown to be one of the most powerful Galdra in the kingdom—his control impeccable, his strength built up over years upon years of practice.
Harpa’s voice could be heard outdoors, barking commands to Silla.
“Clear your mind.”
“Relax.”
“Focus.”
Over and over, she repeated them, making Rey’s insides twist. He channeled his irritation into chopping wood.
Vig’s worries floated to the forefront of Rey’s mind. Livestock vanished, wool and a strange smell the only remnants. And Váli, lost somewhere in the wilds.
The small detail of the decaying scent brought to mind the skógungar and wolfspiders which had attacked them along the Road of Bones. He’d forgotten all about them in the aftermath of Kopa. But now, Rey found himself pondering the unnatural smell of them and those eyes, red like burning coals. Could something be amiss in Kalasgarde as well? Was it all connected?
Rey had been quick to dismiss Vig’s fears, but with each swing of the axe, the gnawing feeling only grew. Hours this went on, as the sun sank ever lower from its pinnacle in the sky. Rey split log after log until his back screamed and at least a year’s worth of firewood was chopped.
By the time he’d stacked the last log in Harpa’s decrepit shed, his mind was made up. The knowing feeling inside him told Rey it warranted a look. And so he would ask Vig to take him to the pasture where the sheep had vanished. In the very best case, assessing the site would quell his worries. And at worst? Well. Rey could not consider that yet.
Dusting his hands, he assessed the clearing. The sun was low, casting long shadows. It was time to return to the shield-home.
On the ride down the mountain, Silla was silent, her misery so potent it seemed to bleed into the air. A dozen times, Rey opened his mouth to speak, but could not find the words. She could not clear her mind, that muchwas evident. This, he knew, was the trouble with older students. While Rey couldn’t help her with this, he could provide a diversion.
“Do you want to spar?” Rey cast a look over his shoulder. Her head had perked up, a glimmer back in her eyes. He found his lips twitching. “After the evening meal. I’ll run you through a new routine. See how badly you can slaughter it.”
And if Rey’s blood heated at the prospect of another evening spent torturously near to her, he refused to acknowledge it.
