Rey, Runný, and Jarl Holger examined the southern wing in detail. They searched the library, the stables, the caverns beneath the fortress. They searched the kitchens, the servants’ quarters, the great hall. Silla was nowhere to be found. Gradually, Rey’s anger was eclipsed by fear, his mind showing him different scenarios in which she’d been harmed.
But as they rushed from the great hall, a male scream echoed off the corridor walls. Rey veered toward the sound, shoving through the double doors that led to a garden courtyard. It was the same garden he’d chased her to during the feast of the Shortest Day, the lunar-blooming plants just beginning to unfurl. It took Rey’s eyes a moment to adjust, and another to make out the figures before him.
Silla, looming over a terrified Ingvarr, a long-bladed hevrít in hand. Ingvarr tried to scuttle backward, but as he tripped over his own feet, Silla attacked. Her movements were too quick, the blade lashing out like a serpent, and immediately Rey understood. There was no assassin. Myrkur had gained possession over Silla. There was no time to askhow.Silla brought the knife down, the blade missing Ingvarr by a bare inch.
“Silla!” Rey bellowed, storming toward the pair.
His feet faltered as Silla turned toward him, head cocked. Unkempt curls blocked her eyes from view, but Rey knew it was not Silla who peered out at him.
“What happened?” he murmured, panic thrumming through him. How had Myrkur gotten ahold of Silla? His gaze fell to the hevrít gripped in her hand. It was steel, not the lethal blade of black fire, which made him exhale a relieved breath. At the very least, the hindrium guarded Silla’s Ashbringer skill.
“I discovered her here, sleeping!” rambled Ingvarr, scrambling away from Silla. “I woke her and she…sheattackedme!”
Rey’s mind whirled, trying to understand. Hadn’t Silla mentioned she’d fallen asleep before the incident with Fallgerd?
“Kill,” growled Silla, in Myrkur’s voice of shadows and darkness.“Kill him. Finish him.” Silla stalked toward them, and Ingvarr retreated farther.
But Rey held his ground, raising a placating hand. “Silla. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Kill,” hissed Myrkur.
Rey got his first look at Silla’s eyes—utterly black with no whites to be seen, just as they’d been on that mountainside. She’d been lethal, a creature of death, and Rey had been forced to strangle her until she’d passed out. Bile rose in his throat at the prospect of having to do it again.
“Come back, Silla!” said Rey sharply, drawing his sword.
Silla only raised Ingvarr’s stolen hevrít and advanced on him. He yanked on his galdur as quickly as he could, but it was too late. Silla launched at him, and Rey could do nothing but parry her blows. Her strength was astounding—each blow reverberating down his arm—but her speed was terrifying.
Rey was forced to retreat until the backs of his knees hit a stone bench. Instinct had him ducking beneath a hissing blade. It sliced through a climbing plant, sending leaves and vines flying. Before he could right himself, Silla’s knee smashed into his nose. Cartilage and bone crunched, blood gushing down his face, and Rey bellowed in pain. But he channeled that pain into his galdur. Tendrils of smoke burst from his palms and wrapped around her torso.
But Myrkur grasped at Rey’s power and yanked it away.
“No!” bellowed Rey, as smoke churned from Silla’s palms…and a smile of pure malice spread across her face.
“What is this?” asked Myrkur, as Silla stared at her palms. Rey could feel her pulling from his source…gathering more and more smoke to her being. He closed his eyes. Tried to clamp down on his magic to no avail. Myrkur would drain him empty. Use Rey’s own magic against him.
With a cry of rage, he charged at Silla, driving his shoulder into her stomach and sending them both crashing to the ground. Startled, Rey felt Myrkur’s grip on his magic stutter, then fall away. They scuffled, Rey trying to pin her down with his bulk. Her nails gougedinto his neck, and he shouted in pain, his momentary surprise all she needed to wriggle free. But Jarl Holger and Runný both threw themselves at Silla, and Atli was suddenly at Rey’s side, blowing into a flute-like implement. A quill shot through the air and embedded in Silla’s arm.
“No!” screamed Myrkur as Silla thrashed about. But her movements grew more feeble with each passing breath, and Silla’s head soon lolled to the side.
“Kill,” Silla murmured, but the word was slurred, drawn out. Her knees buckled, Jarl Holger and Runný supporting her weight.
Rey pushed to his feet, pain radiating from his broken nose; from the wound on his neck. Atli handed him a pocket linen, and Rey pressed it to his gushing nose. Heart in his throat, he approached a limp Silla. Her eyes were open but disoriented, her muscles bled of all their strength. His gaze fell to her palms, and Rey grew preternaturally still.
Blood oozed from slash wounds in the middle of her hands, and he knew in an instant they were defensive in nature.
“Ingvarr?” Rey demanded, barely recognizing his own voice.
“He’s gone,” said Atli, appearing by his side. “You don’t think—” Atli’s expression darkened at whatever he read in Rey’s eyes. The jarl-to-be turned and bellowed at his retinue. “Find Ingvarr and apprehend him.”
As the warriors bolted from the gardens, Atli dropped to his knees beside Rey. “What do you need, Galtung?” There was no trace of malice in the heir-to-be’s voice. No hint at the hostility Rey normally felt.
“Bandages,” Rey managed.
Soon clean bandages were in Rey’s possession, and he used them to wrap the wounds on Silla’s palms. He caught sight of the quill in her arm and pulled it out to examine.
“A sedative,” explained Atli. “It shall work itself out in half a day’s time.”
“Thank you,” said Rey, meeting Atli’s gaze, “for incapacitating her.” In this moment, Rey could not convey the gratitude he felt atnot having to strangle Silla as he had in the mountain pass, but Atli seemed to read it in his expression. The jarl-to-be inclined his head in a subtle nod.
