“Do I believe that our purpose is to protect Íseldur while the king fights in Zagadka?” He shook his head. “I do not think it true.”
The queen seemed pleased with this answer. She leaned forward and placed a hand on Jonas’s forearm. “And what do you think the warband’s purposeis,darling?”
He licked his lips, choosing his words carefully. “I think you have your own plans for the Corpse Bringers.”
The queen nodded to herself, as though confirming some suspicion. “I can see your ambition. I can feel your anger. You’re a talented, cunning warrior. We have so much in common, you and I.” Her fingers massaged his forearm softly. “Tell me, Jonas, what do you want?Trulywant?”
He need not even think about it. Wordlessly, Jonas reached for the talisman hanging from his neck and pulled it over his head. He handed it to the queen, allowing her to examine the three interlocked triangles.
“Family, respect, duty,” he said softly. “These are the Svik family values. All I seek in this world is to restore my family’s honor. I must avenge my brother’s death and buy back the family lands that were stripped from us.” It was strange. The sense of conviction he normally felt had grown somewhat muted. Perhaps it was only that Jonas had spoken these words so many times.
The queen pressed the talisman back in his palm, then folded his fingers over it. Her eyes met his, and he felt it all through his body.
“What if I told you,” said Signe, “that you could do better. You could have all that, and more. A jarldom—a rank of power. You could have your family lands backandgain authority over those who wronged you.”
A hot, hungry feeling pumped through Jonas’s veins. All his adult life, he’d only yearned for what he’d lost—had never imagined he could do better. But with this queen beside him, the world seemed more like a feasting table.
“Do you want that, Jonas?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” said Signe, pulling him toward her on the bed. “I have need of good men. Cunning men. Warriors who can see beyond the battlefield to the greater picture.”
As Jonas crawled to her, Signe’s eyes roamed hungrily across his straining biceps.
“And our plans have just begun,” said the queen, coming up on her knees and running a soft hand along the planes of his chest. “Soon we shall head north to Rökksgarde and unite with Maester Alfson. Do you recall the Chosen warriors who accompanied you to Nordur?”
Jonas thought of the strange warriors who’d been able to render themselves invisible. The queen’s Chosen, they’d been called, an elite branch of warriors with special gifts. “Aye,” he said, letting his own hands wander along the queen’s pale skin.
“They were only the first of Alfson’s experiments. In Rökksgarde, our warband will start the next phase of training, transforming into something great…somethingunstoppable.” Signe’s fingers slid into Jonas’s beard. “After you complete the ritual in Rökksgarde, you’ll be promoted to Volund’s second, but it is only the start.” A smile curved her soft lips. “Stay this path with me, Jonas, and you’ll be granted power beyond your wildest imaginings. Together, we will avenge your brother and my Yrsa’s deaths. The Volsik sisters cannot live.”
She drew back, her ice-blue eyes blazing. “What say you to this?”
Jonas’s fingertips drifted up the bumps of her spine. “I think,” he said softly, “I find your passion quite catching.”
The queen leaned forward, finally bringing her lips to his. “Good,” she whispered against him. “I’ve found I’m rather hungry for something other than food.”
With a warrior’s speed and strength, Jonas rolled Signe onto her back and pinned her to the mattress. “What does my queen command?”
“Make me scream,” she whispered with dark delight.
Chapter 43
Kopa, Íseldur
The hours dragged on, but Silla only grew more resolute in her choice to remain shackled to her bed. She’d let her condition go on in secret for too long—she ought to have locked herself away in the aftermath of Fallgerd’s death.
Now she was simply too tired to keep the god of chaos from slithering into her mind. She dreamed His dreams; heard His curious mutterings. Myrkur was always prodding, always searching, and Silla knew He was trying to understand her bloodline gift and how it had the power to undo Him. She’d thought that she could hold Him off—that she had more time. But now, she was forced to accept the truth.
She was slowly losing herself to Myrkur.
For the hundredth time, Silla wondered how things had gone so badly. She’d failed at being a silent placeholder queen. Had ruined Hakon’s plans to rally the jarls and Rey’s chances of mustering warriors. Gods, what had she done? Saga would never have made such a mess of things.
Atli and Runný sat near the hearth, frantically flipping through tomes as though the answer to all Silla’s problems would suddenly emerge. The silence in the room made Silla want to scream. It was no weightless, easy silence, but a dangerous, unsettling kind. Each passing breath brought them a moment closer to the doomed battleat the heartwood. How was she going to vanquish this mist when she did not have her own thoughts to herself?
You must convince them to release you, Eisa, whispered Myrkur.If we want the throne, we must act quickly. The jarls cannot leave before they’ve sworn themselves to us—
Silla squeezed her eyes shut and tried to push the god away. But no matter how many hearthfire thoughts she forced into her mind, Silla could not find a shred of optimism. It was like a vital part of her had died; like her light had been smothered by Myrkur’s darkness.
