The beast moved no more.
Her chest heaved, and she swiped tears and black blood from her face as she stared at the corpse of her faithful steed. Hekla fell to her knees. Slid her hands along her horse’s once-lustrous coat.
“Be at peace,” Hekla whispered, bowing her head.
FIFTEEN
By first light, Hekla’s ribs throbbed viciously, yet inside, she was numb with exhaustion and disbelief. Hours had passed since she’d killed her Turned horse, and she could not push the sight of it from her mind. Those ember-red eyes and misshapen limbs would more than likely haunt her for some time.
Hours Hekla had walked, the sister moons and Kritka her only companions. The squirrel had been uncharacteristically quiet, and she suspected the night’s terrible turn had not been part of his plans.
Hekla had discovered many horrors this night: the fate of the mist’s human victims; the truth of Loftur’s deception; the confirmation that the mist was, indeed, capable of Turning animals and humans alike. But she’d also discovered some things of hope; for one thing, the mist was repelled by fire. And moonlight—well, that had been even more surprising. The mist had evaporated before her very eyes.
Was this why the mist could not venture far from the woods? If it was vulnerable to moonlight, the forest’s canopy might offer protection. But this thought only tightened the knots in Hekla’s stomach, for Loftur’s feast was slated for the night of the double black moon.
You’re not Loftur, the mist had said through the draugur’s mouth. At the time, Hekla hadn’t thought anything of it. But now, she couldn’t shake it from her mind. Istré’s chieftain had been communicating with that...thingin the woods. And it was suddenly clear that Loftur was not taking orders from Sunnvald at all.
What had the mist promised Loftur? That it would Turn the draugur in that barn back to their natural state? Was Loftur truly such an imbecile that he’d trust in something so obviously malevolent?
“Gods, but I want to throttle that man,” Hekla growled, wincing as her bare foot landed once more on a sharp stone. But she frowned when her anger failed to materialize. Much to her chagrin, Hekla pitied Loftur. The man was truly an eelhead. Yet his heart was in the right place. He wanted to help those people. And as her mind’s eye showed her the carved horse toy nestled in the straw—those child-like draugur wrestling in the barn—Hekla understood his motives entirely.
She also understood they couldnothold a feast on the double black moon. In the absence of moonlight, the mist would not be restrained in the woods, and Istré’s people would be ripe for the taking. There was only one logical plan of action: They had to evacuate the town.
Now Protector trusts Kritka, yes?the squirrel suddenly chattered in her mind.Now Protector will come free our mistress?
Hekla nearly groaned. How many times did she have to tell this squirrel she was not this so-called Protector? “I must return to Istré,” she said aloud. “We must gather provisions and prepare to evacuate?—”
The squirrel released a torrent of angry chitters before scrambling down her body and scampering into the road. The rodent stood on its hind legs, glaring—if a squirrel could do such a thing—up at her.
Long Kritka has searched for the Protector. Kritka has beenpatient!The squirrel bared its teeth and screeched.Protector must free our mistress!
Hekla’s shoulder was badly bruised, and she was covered in her undead horse’s black blood. She was not in the mood to be screamed at by an unhinged squirrel. She opened her mouth to say as much, but the sound of hooves on the road diverted her attention. A figure appeared on the horizon. As the rising sun caught a swath of red, Hekla nearly fell to her knees in relief. She’d never been so gods-damned glad to see Eyvind and that ridiculous cloak of his. He urged his horse into a gallop, sending Kritka scampering off the road and vanishing into the shrubs.
“Good riddance,” Hekla muttered.
Eyvind leapt from his horse and rushed toward her with startling speed. His eyes were wild, scanning her from head to toe, and then he was there, large, warm hands cupping her jaw and probing along her neck.
She swayed toward him but caught herself.
“Where are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, Hakonsson,” she muttered, trying to extract herself, but those large, capable hands held her in place.
“Is that blood on your face?” His nose curled. “What is that smell?”
Hekla opened her mouth to reply, but as Eyvind’s assessing hands reached her shoulder, she hissed in pain.
“Youarehurt,” he accused.
She finally managed to wrench free from his grip. “The blood is from my horse. It was Turned.”
“Turned?” Eyvind glanced over his shoulder, and Hekla realized he was not alone. Thrand and Konal had appeared on the horizon, the rest of his retinue following suit.
“Listen,” hissed Eyvind, “I don’t have a lot of time. I need you to listen?—”
“No, Eyvind, I needyouto listen,” Hekla shot back. “We mustride to the Hagensson’s steading. Loftur endangers all of Istré for the sake of the slain.”
Eyvind’s coal-black brows dipped low. “The Hagensson’s steading.”
