“But—”
“And it brings up another matter.” There was a note of something in Tala’s voice that made Silla brace for what was to come.
Tala sighed. “This is a rather tricky subject, but one that must be addressed.” She took a sip of her róa, then met Silla’s gaze. “You must know that there is one way to gain allies that is effective above all others, Eisa. Marriage.”
Silla felt the blood drain from her face. “But I’m with Rey.”
Tala pressed her lips together. “I mean this with every ounce of respect,” she said carefully. “He’s a soldier, dear. A handsome one, to be sure. But he has no lands…no standing. Marriage to him yields no benefit to Íseldur.”
Anger churned in Silla’s stomach.He has no house,she wanted to spit,no standing, because Ivar stripped it from his family when they refused to turn on the Volsiks.But in truth, his noble standing was beyond the point—what she and Rey had was…precious. A thing to be treasured. And yet it was still new, fragile—and completely untested. In Kalasgarde, they’d been sheltered from the realities of the world, but in Kopa, their delicate connection was exposed to dangerous elements.
“All I’m suggesting,” continued Tala, “is to keep an open mind. Perhaps someone will catch your eye and you’ll reconsider.”
Silla bit down on an angry reply and forced herself to nod, then felt thoroughly guilty for it.
Tala leaned forward, clasping Silla’s hand in hers. “I’m glad we had this talk, Eisa,” she said quietly. “Now, would you like to meet your new lady?”
Silla nodded, trying to brighten her moods. But as she turned toward the approaching footfalls, her forced smile fell.
A pair of women swept into the room. She recognized Liv Eriksson at once; blond curls bouncing and cheeks rounded with a bright smile. It took her a moment to identify the lithe, black-haired woman to Liv’s right. But as she met the woman’s glowering blue eyes, Silla’s stomach sank. It was the last person she wanted to see.
“Eisa,” said Kaeja with exaggerated cheer. “How lovely to see you again.”
“Can you believe it?” Silla huffed to Runný as they returned to her chambers several hours later.
“I don’t know,” said Runný thoughtfully. “The one named Liv is quite kind.”
Silla’s gaze swung to Runný. “Are you…blushing, Runný?” As the red flush on Runný’s face swept down her neck, Silla bit down on her smile.
She’d spent a torturous afternoon practicing the art of conversation with Liv—the woman betrothed to Hekla’s fling—and Kaeja, Rey’s former lover. She hadn’t missed Kaeja’s rolled eyes and mutterings under her breath each time Silla had made a misstep. It had been a miracle she hadn’t leaped from her chair and finished what she’d started with Kaeja in the sparring grounds.
Silla huffed.
Runný eyed her. “Do you need to visit the chicks again?”
Silla thought of the yellow fluff balls they’d snuck off to visit on multiple occasions, but suppressed a yawn. “Desperately. But I have the evening meal with Jarl Hakon, and I would rest my eyes for a few moments before it.”
They reached the door to her chambers, and Silla felt for the dagger strapped to her thigh. The feel of it there was comforting, yet at the same time a disquieting reminder that Rey had left for Istré. Kálf, Hef, and Erik swarmed into the room to check for dangers. It was strange, this new routine, and Silla had yet to adjust toit.
Kálf soon appeared in the doorway, scratching his full beard. “Seems the jarl’s magisters left more books for you.” He gestured to the stack of books near the hearth.
“Oh, good!” Silla said with forced brightness, though truly, the prospect of thumbing through yet more books for clues of how to rid herself of the god of chaos made her temples throb. Weeks, she’d been at this, and with each tome she set aside, her optimism dwindled just a little more.
By the time the rest of her queensguard had cleared the room, the throb had intensified to a full-headed ache. The door clicked shut, and Silla flopped onto her bed with her limbs spread wide.
But a curious sound had her lifting her head. At first, she thought her headache had worsened, but then she realized it was fainter, higher. Silla rolled onto her back. It was a scratching sound, coming from the glass-paned windows next to her bed. The heavy velvet curtain had slipped free from its tie, and Silla pulled it gingerly back.
She stared at the iron plate secured to the outer window ledge. At Silla’s request, Hild had brought offerings from the kitchen—one for the gods, one for the spirits. And where once had lain two cups of mead and the carcass of a fish, now stood an enormous bird. Cunning black eyes stared at her as the creature leaned forward and scratched its yellow beak along the glass pane.
It was a black hawk.
The omen of death.
She’d seen one minutes before her father had been killed, and again just before the Wolf Feeders had attacked in Kalasgarde. The gods had warned her both times before, and there was no question in her mind.
Long talons unfurled inside her, as though in recognition.
Death,whispered Myrkur, suddenly alert inside her. Goosebumps skittered down Silla’s spine.Death is coming.
