Myrkur’s possession of Eisa had been catastrophic to their plans. Not only had they lost two precious days, but tales had spread among the jarls, and they readied to depart Kopa. To have them leave without committing to Eisa Volsik, nor to sending warriors to the heartwood, was a failure beyond measure.
But then a letter had arrived with the most unexpected news. Jarl Agnar was coming to speak with her. After Rey had sent Kálf to investigate what precisely was happening on Hakon’s border, they finally had an update—and it was a good one. Jarl Agnar would secretly venture onto Hakon lands to meet her. It was enough to make hope flare brightly in her chest. Myrkur cringed, slinking deeper inside her.
“They’re late,” muttered Rey, glancing down the tunnel.
“They had a long distance to travel,” Silla reminded him.
She slid her palm into his, smiling at the warm scrape of his calluses. Silla had recited hearthfire thoughts all morning. She’d taken a long bath and had requested her favorite foods for the daymeal. She’d visited the refugees and ensured they were well settled in Ashfall. And once they’d returned to her chambers, Silla had showered Rey with kisses and soft touches until he’d tumbled them into the furs. Suffice it to say, she was doing everything in her power to keep her moods bright and the god of chaos at bay.
A cough echoed down the passageway, and Silla whirled toward the sound. Kálf ambled forward, torchlight catching on his brown scalp and thick black beard. Silla rushed toward him, surprising the man with a firm hug.
“Now, that’s a warm welcome,” Kálf said with a grin as Silla stepped back.
“You did it,” she whispered, breath catching as her gaze slid over Kálf’s shoulder to a pair of warriors she did not recognize. With tunics bearing House Agnar’s blue eagle worn over chain mail, there was no question who these men were.
“Well done,” said Silla warmly, as Erik and Hef appeared. She shook their hands firmly as Rey kept his gaze on Jarl Agnar’s warriors, who’d entered the cavern and now swept the space for threats.
“Clear!” shouted one, and then Jarl Agnar himself was striding around the bend.
Silla had known the man was young, but she hadn’t realized just how young. His brown skin was smooth, only sparse hints of a beard peppering his jaw. Agnar’s shoulders looked slender even beneath the heavy armor he wore. But as he strode toward her, the jarl’s eyes held a challenge—as though daring her to question his abilities. Silla could relate, and immediately liked him.
She straightened her spine and smiled at the jarl. “Welcome,” she said, extending a hand.
The young jarl accepted it, meeting her eyes with honor and respect. It was hard to believethiswas the man causing so much chaos on Jarl Hakon’s borders.
“I am glad to meet you, Jarl Agnar,” Silla continued. “How was your journey?”
“We traveled at a hard pace,” said Agnar, turning to inspect the sprawling caverns. “I am eager to put this matter behind me, as you can imagine.”
Silla kept pace with Agnar as he strolled to a nearby alcove and examined it.
“I am in your debt for granting my warriors safe passage on your lands,” she told Agnar. “And I am grateful beyond measure that you heard their words with an open heart.” Silla took a deep breath and continued. “I tried to write to you, but someone intercepted my letters. I suspect they have also been tampering with Jarl Hakon’s correspondence. Have you received any from him?”
Jarl Agnar’s gaze whipped toward her. “I—no.” He shook his head, confusion plain on his face. “I’ve received no letters from House Hakon, nor any reply to those I’ve written.”
Silla nodded to herself. “Then it is as I suspected. Tell me what is really happening on the eastern border.”
Jarl Agnar smoothed a hand down his tunic. “It started small. Farmsteads burned down, grain stolen, petty deeds done by petty men. But when an entire village was set alight and men wearing Hakon livery were seen fleeing, retaliation was necessary.”
Silla chose her words carefully. “Jarl Hakon denies any involvement. According to him, your warbands set a village onhislands alight.”
Agnar’s brows drew together. “ ’Tis not what his emissary relayed to us.”
“It’s…not?” Silla’s mind whirled as she tried to understand.
“Who was this emissary?” asked Rey, suddenly at Silla’s side. “Reynir Galtung,” he added, extending a hand for the young jarl to shake.
“A woman calling herself Valdasson. She came with a hundred warriors in House Hakon livery.”
Silla cast Rey a confused look, but his brows were drawn inconcentration. “Valdasson,” he murmured. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“Ido not know this name,” said Silla slowly. “What did she look like?”
Agnar was silent in thought for a moment. “She looked to have seen fifty winters. Reddish hair, a very…regal sort of air about her.”
“Valdasson,” said Rey, a note of discovery in his voice. “A jarl with a small tract of land. I recall the name because he lost a large sum to Gunnar in a game of dice but paid only in a promissory note. When he went to collect months later, Gunnar said the jarl had died and his widow refused to honor the wager.”
Cold slid through Silla’s veins as the facts settled into place. She knew a jarl’s widow—one with auburn hair. Her eyes met Rey’s, and she could tell he’d come to the same realization.
