Rey thought of Vig, surrounded by his kin, thought of the emptiness which had spread through him when he realized he was all that was left of the Galtung bloodline. Leaving Kalasgarde had been the only thing Rey could do to keep darkness from swallowing him whole—vengeance the only thing to assuage his grief.
“I should have visited or written or…something,” he muttered.
Vig moved to put his gloved hand on Rey’s shoulder. Realizing it wascovered in excrement, he thankfully stopped. “You are here now, Galtung,” said Vig. “It is all that matters.”
Rey felt unburdened at that, a weight he had not been aware of lifting from his shoulders.
“Now,” said Vig. “This loaf of shite won’t pull itself apart.” And with that, they dug back in.
But it wasn’t a moment later that Runný burst through the wards. As she tightened the reins, her horse pranced to the side, agitation clear in beast and human alike.
“What is it?” demanded Rey, unease scraping along the back of his neck.
“Ástrid,” she said, her face twisting into grief. “Our neighbor. She was mustering their flock, but only the sheep hound returned. She’s vanished with a dozen sheep.”
Nausea twisted in Rey’s gut, his mind at war. He knew he should keep his face hidden about these parts. Should keep a low profile. But how could he stand idly by as people went missing?
“Take me to the paddock,” he said.
To saySilla was in a foul mood when Vig arrived to retrieve her from Harpa’s was an understatement. Another afternoon spent within the toxic confines of her mind. Another afternoon failing at this task. It was clear even Harpa was tiring of this routine.
“Why do you wish to master your galdur?” the old woman asked, after hours of practice.
Silla met Harpa’s stern gaze. Forced herself to hold it. “Saga,” she replied. “I must grow as strong as Rey so I can save her. And then…something good might come from all the bloodshed.”
“You cannot move forward if you are stuck in the past,” was Harpa’s reply. “There are times for fighting, and there are times for surrender. I see the fight in you. Perhaps it is all you’ve known. But you will not move forward unless you give yourself over. Let go. Surrender.”
“Surrender,” Silla repeated numbly, trying to understand. But there was only the frustration twisting in her stomach, the fear of the voices that would greet her the moment she tried to find the quiet corner of her mind. Wearily, Silla said, “Very well.”
And so, perhaps she’d been dreaming of Rey’s surly face riding through the wards for the last hour of her training. And perhaps, when instead it had beenVig, she felt a pang of disappointment. But as Vig informed Silla that another Kalasgardian had vanished, she felt like a fool. People were being taken—were possibly being killed—and she was wallowing in self-pity.
As Vig recounted the hours he and Rey had spent out searching for the missing woman with the rest of Kalasgarde, she forced her spine to straighten. And by the time they arrived at the shield-home and rode through Runný’s wards, Silla had pushed her misery deep down inside her. She could not stop thinking of Váli and Ástrid. What had happened to them?
Eager to return to his steading and patrol the fence line, Vig excused himself and departed.With a sigh, Silla dismounted and searched the yard for Rey. She wanted to help, wanted to join in the search. Her feet faltered halfway across the yard.
Rey rounded the corner, naught but a blanket wrapped around his hips. Water droplets glistened in his curls, her eyes tracking one as it slid down his neck and bare chest. Silla had once called the man a “walking mountain” and now she understood she hadn’t been wrong. He was broad, from his shoulders to his hips, his body carved by years of exertion on the battlefield. Her gaze followed a water droplet as it slid over his shoulder and down his chest, but her eyes snagged on the creature etched into his skin.
“A dragon?”
Rey’s head jerked up, eyes meeting hers. His grip on the blanket tightened as he came to a halt, and Silla’s gaze quickly found her feet. “You’re back,” said Rey. “How did you fare today?”
Silla found she could not muster a smile, nor could she resist another glance at his galdur-storing tattoo. Membranous wings spread across the planes of Rey’s chest, sharp talons poised to lash out. The dragon’s mouth yawned wide, spewing inky-black flames up Rey’s throat and over his shoulder, while its barbed tail snaked down his left arm. The detail was incredible, from the diamond-shaped scales to the spiny protrusions along the dragon’s back.
“Another day spent weathering Rykka’s insults,” she said with forced brightness, whirling away from him.
Silence suggested Rey was choosing his words. “Are you hungry?” he asked at last. “Gyda sent the evening meal for us.”
Keeping her back to him, Silla shook her head. “Vig told me about the woman. I want to join the search.”
“No,” answered Rey, his voice unmoveable. “You know we must keep our presence hidden. We cannot risk your face being seen.”
Frustration gathered in Silla’s gut. “And you?” she demanded, her frustration roaring back. “What about your identity?”
“I can take care of myself.”
She couldn’t clear her mind. Couldn’t join in the search for the missing people. Was there anything shecoulddo?
“The locals know these parts,” continued Rey, as though reading her thoughts. “The mountains are harsh and dangerous, especially after nightfall.”
