“What do you remember?” asked Rey, prodding his broken nose. It was swollen and tender, and would likely soon be spectacularly bruised.
“I had a bad dream,” she whispered, craning her neck to look at her restraints.
Rey followed her gaze to her curled fingers—to the bandages wrapped around her palms.
Silla released a ragged breath. “It wasn’t a dream, was it?” Before he could answer, a low wail escaped her. “Oh, gods. Ingvarr…your nose…did I—”
“No. It was not you.” But Rey’s words rang hollow, even to his own ears.
Silla’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, and he knew her mind had gone to Fallgerd.
“Everyone is safe, Silla. No one was harmed.”
“But I tried, didn’t I?” Her voice trembled, making an ache spread through his chest.
Rey was silent, which he supposed was answer enough.
“I was so tired,” she said, collapsing on the pillow and staring at the roof. “I’d kept Him out all day. My mental strength was weakened.”
“Let me release you—”
“No! You will keep me shackled to this bed. It is long overdue.” Silla drew a tremulous breath.
“It is time I accept the truth: I am a danger to others.”
Chapter 39
The Western Woods
With her prosthetic arm gripped between her knees, Hekla passed a whetstone along the edge of her claws. She’d grown complacent in her time with the Bloodaxe Crew—had been happy to let Axe Eyes tend her claws as he did any blade he could get his hands on. In his absence, Hekla had taken back her responsibility, and she had to admit, the task was rather soothing. It quieted her mind. Drove out the frustrations that had gathered.
They’d walked for days through the deepest depths of the forest, and everyone’s moods were flagging. The Forest Maiden, exhausted by her efforts of speeding their journey, slumbered constantly, but Kritka assured Hekla they made good progress.
The undead ravens continued to stalk them in greater numbers, growing more bold with each passing day. Earlier, a pair of ravens had swooped at Thrand’s face—an obvious attempt to surprise him into dropping the Forest Maiden. But it seemed the foul birds had not expected the lethal slash of Thrand’s sword. In a matter of moments, their corpses lay on the ground. The rest of the flock screamed angrily from the trees, though they quieted once Sigrún fired a few arrows at them.
They had not encountered the mist again, though Hekla doubtedthey’d seen the last of it. Yet still, she felt it watching, felt it biding its time. On the long days, Hekla’s mind strayed often to Kopa. Had Axe Eyes been successful? Would he be waiting for them in the heartwood? Or would Hekla and her beleaguered crew be on their own?
A shout yanked Hekla back to the present.
“You kunta!” Eyvind bellowed, lunging at a laughing Gunnar and bringing him to the ground.
Hekla pushed to her feet, bewildered. It was no secret these two shared no love for each other, but at least there had been tolerance. Now, as Eyvind drove his fist into Gunnar’s jaw, it seemed their emotions had reached a boiling point.
Were they fighting overher? Gods, she’d let this go on for too long. It was time to put an end to things.
Hekla rushed forward, elbowing through the warriors gathered around the grappling men. But Thrand put a hand on her shoulder, bringing Hekla to a halt.
“Stop, you man-boys!” she shouted.
Thrand chuckled, brows rising as Gunnar pummeled Eyvind with the speed that had garnered him the nickname Fire Fist. “You know this has long been coming,” said Thrand. “Let us enjoy the show.”
Hekla scowled as sólas changed hands among the warriors.
“Gunnar has been placing stones in Eyvind’s satchel,” explained Thrand. “Each day, he’s added another. And tonight, when Eyvind dumped the satchel out, there were a dozen of them in there.”
Hekla felt foolish to have thought it was she they quarreled over. Gunnar rolled on top of Eyvind, drawing his fist back. But Eyvind caught it and twisted, making Gunnar bellow. The men continued to wrestle, but Hekla’s tolerance for it had soured.
“Man-boys,” she muttered, returning to her whetstone.
