Silla hated that a part of her agreed with the god. These were Jarl Hakon’s plans. She was naught but a figurehead for his schemes, a name the jarls could rally under until Saga took her rightful place. And yet Silla was growing increasingly aware that this was not whatshewanted. Was it not her duty as a Volsik to play a greater role? She wanted a seat at the table, making decisions that could better the lives of those in this kingdom.
Or did she? Was this ambition truly her own, or did it belong to Myrkur? Confused and rattled, Silla turned to Rey. At the warmth that she felt upon seeing his face, Myrkur hissed and loosened His grip on her spine.
“All right?” asked Rey. He sat to her left, glowering at the skull decor.
“Fine,” Silla replied, managing a small smile. “You?” She inclined her head toward Atli, silently asking,Have you made amends?
Rey grumbled something unintelligible that made frustration flare in her gut. She had enough on her plate without worrying about his childish grudges.
Silla’s knee bounced as she waited for Jarl Hakon’s arrival.
Backbone of steel,rang Lady Tala’s voice in her ears.Give them a queen they can believe in.
But how did she quell her racing heart? How did she stop her palms from sweating? Here sat the northern jarls of Íseldur—those who owned the land and controlled vast warbands to protect it. Their dynasties ran back centuries, their deeds sung by skalds around the kingdom. And then there was her. Silla. A girl raised in poverty. A girl who’d gone to bed with an empty stomach more times than she could count. A girl who’d recently served men, just like these.
They are only men,purred Myrkur.And they are only mortal.Asudden hunger grew in the pit of her stomach—the yearning to sit on a throne. To wear a crown. To make the men in this room kneel before her…
Rey’s hand slid onto her lap, and he squeezed her thigh gently. Myrkur snarled, wings unfurling in agitation. Rey seemed to have a knack for knowing when Myrkur was giving her trouble, and gods, it was lovely to have an ally in this internal fight.
Silla’s hand slid beneath his palm and she tangled their fingers together, but before she could say anything, Jarl Hakon finally strolled into the room.
“I see everyone has arrived!” he exclaimed, arms spread wide.
Deep inside her, Myrkur rattled in displeasure, a poisonous dislike for Hakon gliding through her veins. Hakon settled in the high seat to Silla’s right, then addressed the room.
“I thank every one of you for braving the winter elements to join us for the feast of the Shortest Day. It was an honor to share my table with you, and I trust that you ate and drank your fill.” He planted his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Now we must turn our conversation to the true reason we’ve come together.” Hakon looked at the jarls around the table. “Ivar wages war on the Zagadkians. The timing of this attack, paired with the sudden reappearance of Eisa Volsik, tells me one thing: The gods themselves want us to take Íseldur back.”
A chorus ofayesspread around the table.
He schemes,muttered Myrkur.He is an opportunist. He uses the Volsik name for his own gain…
Silla squinted as she tried to focus on the jarl’s words.
“Now you’ve had the opportunity to meet Eisa Volsik; to confirm that she’s returned to us,” continued Jarl Hakon, gesturing at Silla.
The motion triggered an avalanche of emotions inside her—frustration that she was meant to sit demurely and let this man use her name; yearning for a greater role; anger that she’d let this all happen.
Unaware of her inner turmoil, Hakon continued. “With theUrkans distracted by war, we must act quickly to solidify our northern alliance.”
“Where is Jarl Agnar?” asked one of the men—Jarl Holger, if memory served.
Hakon made a sound of irritation. “Killing my people along the eastern border,” he muttered. “I’ve written the boy, have sent emissaries to entreat with him. I even went so far as to offer him a valuable family heirloom as an offering of peace—but he simplywon’tacquiesce. I’ve stopped trying to understand his motives. They make no sense to me.”
Lies,hissed Myrkur.
“My letters did not help, then?” Silla asked.
“If they ever made it,” muttered Rey, and Silla could have throttled him.
Atli grumbled something under his breath that drew a fierce glare from Rey. Anger burst to life inside her.
They act like children, whispered Myrkur.Stand up, Eisa. Take control of this table.
With a calming breath, Silla pressed on. “I wrote to him thrice. Have you not heard back?”
“Afraid not, Your Highness,” said Jarl Hakon, while shooting a pointed look at his heir that seemed to urge him to behave. “It’s looking like we cannot count on Agnar to join our alliance.”
As silence stretched out in the room, Myrkur coiled ever-tighter. Talons kneaded; anger and frustration built low inside her. How dare these jarls not leap at this chance—not immediately bow to their rightful queen? With a ragged exhale, Silla managed to shake Myrkur’s grip.
