She hadn’t killed Fallgerd.
But who had? Silla forced her thoughts back to that horrid day.Ingvarr had hauled her to her feet and carried her from the home. She’d stared at his uniform, desperate for calm. Had noted the róa stains. The torn corner of his sigil.
“ItwasIngvarr,” she whispered. “Ingvarr killed Fallgerd.”
Victory swelled in Rey’s chest as Runný and Atli raced off to search through Ingvarr’s quarters. He and Silla were alone in the room.
“I have Atli’s sedative in my pocket,” said Rey, staring at Silla’s fluttering pulse. Her eyes were set with determination, yet uncertainty still lurked beneath.
He slid the key into the manacles and they clicked open, releasing her wrist. Rey took it in his hands and massaged the red indentation. His eyes met hers and held them. “I won’t hesitate to use that sedative. And I surely won’t let you near my nose again.”
Rey had seen his reflection—two black eyes and a new crook across the bridge of his nose. It looked ghastly, and yet it was nothing he hadn’t suffered before. As he released the rest of Silla’s shackles, he felt as though he could finally breathe. He’d spent hours chasing down leads, questioning anyone who’d been near Fallgerd’s home on that fateful day. Rey had been too late to examine Fallgerd’s body before it was buried. But when the undertaker had passed Rey a satchel with the old man’s bodily possessions, his irritation had quickly shifted to exhilaration.
That scrap of fabric changed everything.
And as he’d watched understanding light Silla’s eyes, he realized how much Fallgerd’s death had weighed on her. He hoped this news loosened the dark god’s grip on her just a touch.
Silla now held the scrap of fabric up to the light. “I should have known,” she said softly. “Ingvarr’s attire is normally pristine. But the day of Fallgerd’s murder, as he carried me back to Ashfall, it was stained and torn.” Silla’s gaze turned steely. “Queen Signe sends her regards.That’s what he said.”
“So Ingvarr is working for the Urkan queen.” Rey massagedSilla’s wrists, running over everything he knew about Ingvarr. “He was appointed by Jarl Hakon to keep you safe. Now it seems he might actually have been tasked with ending your life.”
“Ingvarr was with us on the day of the rockslide,” mused Silla. Her eyes met Rey’s. “Do you think Jarl Hakon knew Ingvarr’s motives?”
Rey bit down on his back molars. Jarl Hakon was a schemer to be sure, yet of anyone, he stood to benefit from Eisa Volsik’s return. “That landslide endangered his heir’s life,” Rey said slowly. “And Atli’s reaction just now”—he shook his head—“he was genuinely shocked.”
“I should like,” said Silla, climbing from bed, “to look at Ingvarr’s quarters myself. Perhaps there is an explanation—a motive to be found.” She snatched a gown draped on the back of a chair, then slid it over her head. Within minutes, she was dressed in a gown and boots, her hair braided back. But most beautiful of all was the brightness back in her eyes.
“May I?” asked Rey huskily. In his hands was the thigh sheath he’d gifted to her all those days ago. At her nod, he dropped to his knees before her, one hand sliding under her skirts. He slid the strap in place. Pressed a kiss to her knee. And let the silken skirts fall to the floor.
As he stood, he noted the color in her cheeks—the determination in her eyes. But as her gaze settled on Rey, they softened.
“You never gave up on me,” she said.
The very thought made anger kindle inside him. Rey slid his hands over her hips. He tugged her against him, then tilted her chin up. “Never,” he said through gritted teeth.
Silla’s fingers slid around his neck, and she pulled him down until his lips hovered just above hers. “Frightened together,” she whispered against him. “Somewhere along the line, I forgot about our promise.” And then Silla kissed him deeply, gripping his jacket while pushing up on the tips of her toes.
A groan built low in his throat as he held her to him, no traces of cold, no traces of anger—of the vile god still lurking inside her. “Always,” Rey said. It was strange how this thing between them grew stronger, even as the world fell to pieces.
With a sigh, Silla drew back, though her eyes held a dark promise. “Now,” she said with a mischievous smile. “Shall we have a little search through Ingvarr’s quarters?”
And as she flounced from the room, Rey couldn’t keep the smile from curving his lips. Today, he would get answers, even if he had to tear them from Ingvarr, kicking and screaming.
To Silla, the afternoon passed in a whirl before grinding to a halting stop. Ingvarr’s guards had gone into an uproar, insisting that he was a man of good name and morals.
But their protests had quieted as evidence emerged from Ingvarr’s chambers: plans for Fallgerd’s home; a pry bar with rock dust upon it; and most damning of all—the surcoat with a torn sigil. The scrap of fabric found in Fallgerd’s hand fit perfectly in the space.
Perhaps the biggest surprise of all was the collection of sedative quills found in Ingvarr’s chambers. According to Atli, these quills should be housed in the maester’s apothecary. Further investigation unearthed remnants of crimson thread—the precise kind used to secure correspondence to messenger falcons. And after turning Ingvarr’s room inside out, they found one of the missing letters—one from Eisa to Jarl Agnar—stashed beneath his mattress.
“Why would he keep it?” asked Silla, confused.
It was a good question—one that Rey seemed to puzzle over for some time. “Protection,” Rey had finally answered, which only made Silla’s head spin faster. “The only logical reason not to burn it is if this letter was damning to someone else.”
“I do not understand.”
“I think,” Rey said carefully, “Ingvarr was doing someone else’s bidding. It would make sense. Why would a queen correspond directly with a guard?”
“It’s only more questions,” Silla said with a sigh.
