Rey’s gaze was hard as flint as he looked at the group and said, “We shall not stop until we reach Istré.”
Chapter 12
Kopa, Íseldur
When Silla closed her eyes at night, she never knew what would meet her in sleep. She might see her foster father’s face, those desperate last words gasping from him. She might see Rey’s dimples or meadows of wildflowers as she galloped on Dawn. But tonight, when she closed her eyes, Silla saw something altogether different.
A desolate plain ruled by night. A river of poison, its beaches strewn with corpses. A hall made of bones, its roof of pointed swords and its floor a writhing mass of serpents. A figure sprawled across the high seat, glowering into the hearthfire. Despite the black flames flickering in the hearth, this place was cold and bleak. Worst of all, it was so very boring. Years and decades and centuries blended together, nothing ever changing, the monotony excruciating.
But then the flames sputtered. The figure sat upright. The flames flickered higher, and inside them the god of chaos saw it all—the Urkans’ prowed ships landing on the shores of Íseldur. Berserkers charging the walls of Askaborg. Blood and death and so much chaos. Beneath His dark hood, Myrkur smiled. So long He’d waited for His opportunity, and here it was—a snarl in the webwork of His brother’s orderly world.
The horrid vision vanished, and the canopy above Silla’s bed blinked back into focus. Wings fluttered; talons retracted—the godwas stirring inside her. Ever since she’d discovered the black hawk at her window, Myrkur had grown more active: restlessly shifting, prodding, scraping. It was unsettling, but she reassured herself her daily dose of hindrium kept Him from accessing her Ashbringer source.
Yet Myrkur’s anger thrummed through her veins. And as the dark god burrowed deeper inside her, Silla was suddenly certain of two things: That hadn’t been a dream, but amemory,and the god of chaos had not shared it freely.
She rolled out of bed, bare feet landing on cold stone floors. The hearthfire had burned low, so she padded over and added another log. Staring into the glowing coals, Silla tried to calm her racing thoughts, but it was to no avail. Instead, she settled beside the stack of tomes Jarl Hakon’s magisters had provided and resigned herself to a wakeful night. For hours she thumbed through book after book, desperate for a way to evict the god from her body.
But by the time the sun rose, she had nothing to show for it but bleary eyes.
Silla could not stop staring at her lap. Never mind that the sapphire on her ring was the size of a boulder; the silk gown beneath her hand could fetch enough sólas to feed a family for a year. Yet surrounded by her self-appointed ladies-in-waiting in Ashfall’s great hall, Silla didn’t look out of place. To her right sat Lady Tala, whose violet gown had jewels sewn right into the bodice. And to her left sat Lady Liv, wearing so many strings of glacial pearls around her neck, it seemed a miracle she could hold her head up.
Today Eisa Volsik would meet the citizens of Kopa, and Silla was actually excited about it. Rather than memorizing the dynastic lines of Íseldur and the etiquette of a queen, today she’d speak to Kopa’s everyday citizens. And if there was one thing Silla excelled at, it was talking.
But as she now gazed about, her stomach hurt with the opulence of the hall. Gleaming black pillars flanked a walkway to the dais,where a table was set with chairs and benches draped with furs. Fires crackling in golden braziers cast light to the high vaulted ceiling and made the scarlet tapestries lining the walls shimmer.
The table before her was laden with bowls of fruit and plates of sweet rolls, jugs of mead, and cups of spiced róa. Silla stared at it uneasily, questioning if this was, in fact, the best way to present Eisa Volsik to the people of Kopa. But Lady Tala’s teachings had instilled in Silla the need to project an air of power and greatness. She needed the people to believe in her.
An enormous yawn burst free, and she blushed as she realized her ladies-in-waiting watched her expectantly. Had someone asked a question?
Silla’s gaze fell quickly upon Lady Tala. “I…beg your pardon?”
“I asked how you slept, Eisa,” said Tala, her green eyes drawn with worry. “You look a touch pale today.”
“Oh,” murmured Silla, suppressing a second yawn as she tried not to think of the dreams. “I’m afraid it was a restless night.”
“Missing Rey Galtung, are you?” Lady Liv teased.
Silla glanced down the dais, to where Kaeja sulked. She’d tolerated Kaeja’s presence among her ladies-in-waiting in some stubborn belief that people were more than their past actions. Or perhaps she simply wanted Kaeja to know her littledisplayin the sparring yard had not unnerved Silla one bit.
“Liv Eriksson,” chided Lady Tala. “Comport yourself.”
Liv opened her mouth to protest, but quickly slid it shut.Can you believe this woman?her eyes seemed to convey to Silla. A cupbearer appeared at Silla’s elbow, taking her untouched, cold cup of róa away and replacing it with a fresh, steaming one.
“Drink up, Eisa,” Tala said now. “You’ll need your strength. I’m told the queue winds all the way to the entry hall.”
Silla tried and failed not to blink at the name.Any day,she told herself,and this will feel as effortless as sliding on a well-worn glove.But currently, being Eisa felt like pulling on a damp sock. Perhaps once she was reunited with her sister, everything would feel real. But as of this morning, there had still been no word of Saga’s whereabouts.
“Best we get started,” said Silla, forcing brightness to disguise her worry.
Lady Tala waved at Ingvarr, chief among Jarl Hakon’s appointed queensguard. Ingvarr pushed the massive oak door open, allowing the first of Kopa’s citizens entry.
The first woman to enter was tall, with silver streaks in her chestnut hair, and she clutched a satchel as she limped forward. Silla shifted. The woman had an injury—should she not descend from the dais to meet her? But Lady Tala had been clear that visitors must come toher.And so Silla kept herself planted in her chair.
At last, the woman reached the end of the walkway, her eyes widening as she studied Silla. “Itisyou,” she breathed. “I would not believe it were it not for the proof before my eyes. You look so like your parents.”
Silla’s heart lurched, as it did each time someone remarked on this likeness. It seemed unfair that strangers knew things about her birth parents when she herself had been robbed of the chance. But the woman’s shining eyes were precisely why Jarl Hakon had arranged this. To hear of Eisa’s survival was one thing. To see her with their own eyes was another.
The woman’s hand slid into her satchel, and a pair of Jarl Hakon’s guards flashed forward. Soon their spear tips were poised at the woman’s throat, and she raised her hands in defense.
