The heat guttered out, and the smoke evaporated into thin air. Silla felt hollow—felt empty. She blinked at her palms in astonishment. Where had it gone? What had that been?
Her eyes met Rey’s as he stared at her in wonder. “What was that?”
Yes,purred Myrkur, opening one eye and peering up.What was that?
“I felt—” Ignoring the god, she stared at her hands, the heat of Rey’s smoke lingering in her veins. “—You.”
Confusion marred Rey’s expression, but Silla was consumed with giddy excitement and her mouth crashed into his in a fierce kiss. He hummed, lips moving against hers as he kissed her right back. But he rolled them with a sudden burst of energy, and then it was Silla pinned to the ground, with Rey straddling her hips.
“Explain,” he ordered.
Silla bit down on her lip, momentarily distracted by that stern voice of his. Her anger had burned out, leaving something more smoldering.
“You took it, didn’t you?” continued Rey. “My galdur—it was as though it was suddenly siphoned straight from my blood.”
Silla nodded. “I do not understand it. You were tickling me with your smoke, and I desperately wanted to get away, and then…then suddenly it was inmyveins.” She stared up at him. “It feels so different from my own…so hot and…and I tasted smoke…”
“You’ve done it before,” said Rey. “When I had you restrained inthe bed. Do you recall? You freed yourself from my smoke, and I did not understand it—”
“Kaeja!” exclaimed Silla. “In the sparring yard, when I escaped her Harefoot speed, she called me athief.I thought she meant I’d stolen you, but now—” Silla’s mind careened wildly. Could it trulybe?
It was Rey who finally voiced it aloud. “You can pull galdur from more than mere halda stones.” He looked up at her reverently. “You can pull it from human Galdra. Perhaps you can pull it from all of the Ashen.”
Myrkur chuckled, yet it was quiet. Smothered. The god was exhausted, which meant this was the perfect time to investigate this curiosity.
Rey climbed to his feet and offered her a hand up, a wicked gleam in his eye.
“Do it again.”
Chapter 35
Sunnavík, Íseldur
Hunched over his plate, Jonas bit into a chicken leg and pretended he was not surrounded by murderers and rapists. During his time as a so-called member of the Corpse Bringers, he’d made a point of keeping his head down, and he always sat alone. The last thing he wanted was to get toknowthese people. He was merely biding his time until he could escape this vile warband.
Warband. The concept was a farce. This was no gathering of common minds—no brotherhood like the Bloodaxe Crew. This was a collection of the worst of Íseldur, forced together and prevented from leaving. But Jonas wouldn’t let the barred windows and dour-looking guards keep him from breaking free from this place. Sooner or later, he’d find a way out.
After picking the chicken bone clean, Jonas sopped up the juices on his plate with a heel of bread. At the very least, the fare here was better than Sigrún’s shite cooking. When dining in the garrison hall, it was impossible to tell there was a grain shortage. But it was no secret that the riots in Sunnavík had worsened, the death toll climbing higher this week.
King Ivar was not terribly popular among his people. Any hopes of a quick victory in Zagadka had been quashed; and any hopes that the fleet would return to Íseldur with boatloads of Zagadkian grain were long gone. Word was, the king had settled in for a siege,leaving his kingdom without provisions for the winter. Jonas was no ruler, but even he knew it wasn’t the wisest move.
Movement to his right had Jonas lifting his head. Straggly blond hair and a patchy beard had his eyes playing tricks on him once more. For a moment, it was Ilías approaching—Ilías with a tray clutched in bruised hands. The din of the dining hall fell away as Jonas’s heart grew wings. But then the light shifted, and the warrior’s likeness with it. Jonas’s cursed heart crashed into his rib cage.
It was the young warrior who’d been imprisoned in the cell next to his.
Jonas’s despair was so crushing it left him breathless and blinking at his plate as he tried to gather himself. How could this keep happening? How could he have let himself believe, even for a second? Ilías wasgone.Jonas would never see him again.
He schooled his face into a scowl as the young warrior set his bowl on the long table and climbed onto the bench across from him. The man’s eye was swollen shut, his face mottled with bruises.
“Jonas, isn’t it?” asked the man. “I’m Freki.” He extended a hand, but Jonas only stared at it.
How this warrior had escaped death during his trial for the Corpse Bringers, Jonas did not quite know. All he could say was that what Freki lacked in bulk, he made up for in speed. He’d been able to lure the undead creatures away from one another and had used a board pried loose from the dais to bludgeon them. The arena had fallen as silent as night as Volund had reluctantly welcomed the young man into the Corpse Bringers.
But Freki had not fared so well in Volund’s fighting games. When he was pitted against the brutish Horfi, not a single warrior among them had wagered on Freki, and they’d all been proven right. Jonas had forced himself to watch, and now he relived the vile brutality, staring at the ruins of Freki’s face.
Rolling his lips together, Jonas dropped the last of his bread onto his plate. He could not be seen with this warrior. Could not afford to offer even a shred of kindness. Wordlessly, Jonas pushed to his feet, then hesitated. He planted his hands on the table, holdingFreki’s pitiful gaze. The young warrior’s good eye widened, and he recoiled in fear.
“Let me give you some advice,” Jonas said in a low voice. “You see an opportunity to escape, you take it. Get out of this place before they kill you.”
