Rey met the Zagadkian warrior with a warning glare, but the man smiled back, unperturbed. Rey’s gaze then slid to Saga Volsik. With her blond braids and blue eyes, at first glance, there were few similarities with Silla. But the pert nose and the slope of cheekbones were shared by the sisters.
“We’ve…actually met,” he told Saga. “I’m of the Galtung line. You might not recall, but you played with my brother Kristjan in Askaborg’s gardens.”
Saga blinked. “The Galtungs…yes, I remember your family.” But her eyes narrowed. “And I most certainly recall the incident at the fountain.”
Silla’s hand went to the scar at the corner of her eye, while Rey felt that long-suffering twinge of guilt that she’d fallen from that fountain under his watch. He also felt Saga’s gaze on him, stern and assessing. He had the distinct impression she was trying to decide whether he was good enough for her little sister.
“The gods brought Rey and me back together,” explained Silla, excitement sparkling in her voice. “I hid in his wagon, and he tried to kill me, but then I blackmailed him to take me north—” Silla broke off as Saga’s glare on Rey intensified. “I have much to tell you, as I suspect you have to tell me.” Silla grew silent, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I cannot believe it,” she whispered through her smile.
The caution in Saga’s face melted away, and she closed the space between them, embracing her sister tightly. “I cannot, either.” Saga lifted her blue eyes to Rey’s. “Thank you for keeping her safe.Thistime,” she added.
A laugh broke free from deep in Rey’s chest. Saga Volsik was an older sister through and through. Perhaps they’d get along, the two of them.
Silla released her sister and smiled at Kassandr. “And you, uh, Lord Rurik?”
“You may call me Kass,” Saga’s husband said jovially, eyes dancing.
“I’ve always wanted a brother,” said Silla cheerily. Her gaze darted to his bare chest, then quickly back up. A nervous laugh fell from her lips. “Let us find you some clothing!”
And as Silla tugged Kass away, the pair chattered eagerly. Rey and Saga exchanged weary glances that each said the same thing: This would be a very long ride back to Kopa.
Chapter 68
Kopa, Íseldur
Silla sighed contentedly as Rey picked a comb gently through her freshly washed curls. A fire crackled in the hearth nearby, and the feel of Rey behind her was absolutely divine after so many days spent apart. He let out a sound of displeasure, working the comb through a stubborn knot.
Rey’s chest brushed against the back of her nightdress, and the friction set Silla’s skin alight. Gods, but she’d been away from this man for too long. But tonight, Rey was back in Kopa. Back in her bed. And Silla’s patience was quickly fraying.
All told, they’d lost roughly a third of their warband in the battle of the heartwood, and it hurt Silla deeply to think that each one was a father, a brother, a sister, or a mother who would not come home to their family. Yet their sacrifice was not without merit. They’d defeated the leech and had prevented its poisonous mist from spreading and creating any more Turned creatures. But it was impossible not to think of all those who’d already been Turned. To wonder how many draugur had traveled to the place called Rökksgarde, and for what purpose.
Still, Silla had returned to Kopa with Myrkur’s bargain broken. She was free from His dark whispers, from His twisted influence. She no longer had to dose herself with hindrium to protect herAshbringer source. And reuniting with her cold, wintry light had been a moment of pure joy.
The biggest prize of all wrought from the battle of the heartwood was Saga. The sisters had flown on Havoc back to Kopa ahead of their group—a fact that both Rey and Kass had initially opposed. But with Saga’s condition, days upon days spent traveling outdoors would be too taxing, and besides, Silla would let nothing come between her and getting on that winged horse. When Rey and Kass had seen the conviction on the sisters’ faces, they’d begrudgingly relented.
Silla would admit her heart had squeezed with delight when she’d laid eyes on Havoc. True the stallion did not care for her attempts to sweet talk him, but Havoc had allowed Silla to climb onto his back behind Saga. Soaring above the Western Woods and gazing out over the snow-swept lands of Íseldur had been a moment of absolute freedom.
There had been much fanfare upon the sisters’ arrival in Kopa, but Silla had quickly ushered Saga into her chambers, where they’d remained sequestered ever since. They’d exchanged stories of the strife they’d each faced, laughing and crying at each high and low. And then Silla had begged for stories of their parents—of the castle she’d been too young to recall. She collected each story like a treasure, and when Saga had offered to draw their parents, Silla had been overcome with emotion.
She owed her life to Saga. Once again, when she’d found herself in the darkest of places, Saga had extended a hand in help. Again and again, Silla mulled over the strange effect of braiding their power together. It was clear this channel between them allowed more than just communication. She hadfeltSaga—had seen her sister’s memories in her own mind. And Silla had felt Saga’s love like the warmest hug. Yet she wondered about this bond and what power it might reveal.
But now Silla finally had time alone with Rey. Each pass of that comb wound her up even tighter, the maddeningly gentle way he handled her hair only worsening things.
The next tug at her roots broke her patience clean through. Silla brushed her toes against Rey’s calf, back and forth, back and forth. But the man was dedicated to his task. She blew a wayward tendril from her face. Then another idea struck her. Silla dipped her shoulder, wiggling it until Rey huffed in irritation.
“Be still, woman, I’m nearly done.”
But it was enough—the loose collar of her nightdress had slid free. She waited for Rey to notice the bare skin of her shoulder; waited for the wet heat of his tongue to slide along it.
Nothing.
Her brows snapped together as he continued to pick at a stubborn knot. She bristled with frustration, then pulled forth her Ashbringer galdur. A smile curved up as the familiar cold press of her magic filled her veins. Her forearms glowed with pure white light, and her chilled breath clouded the air. Gods, but she’d missed this skill of hers.
Silla found the crevice in her mind that controlled her expression and gently pulled at it, allowing a slow release of her light into the air. Rey’s comb stilled, and victory swelled inside her. Silla herded the motes of light toward his bare foot, using the softest of touches to make them dance along his skin.
He gasped, goosebumps pebbling beneath her cold light, but his skin did not frost, nor did he jerk his foot away. She’d practiced this lighter touch in the days since her return to Kopa, and hoped that in time she could use her Ashbringer skill as adeptly as Rey did his smoke.
As though he could read her thoughts, the scent of smoke pricked Silla’s nostrils. An undulating charcoal tendril drifted over her shoulder before entwining with her light and lifting it away from his foot. She loved to watch their magic play together; loved watching the contrasts of dark and light, of ice and fire. It was strange, she thought, how such different elements could complement one another so well.
