Deep inside her, Myrkur shifted.
It was an old man, stooped with age, and yet Silla could tell he had a warrior’s build. As the man hobbled down the walkway, her brows drew together. There was something familiar about this man, something she could not quite put her finger on. With a grizzled beard that reached mid-chest and eyes bluer than clear skies, surely she’d have remembered him.
Myrkur’s eyelids fluttered.
“Well met.” Silla smiled, but as the man’s gaze met hers, it faltered. “Have we met before?”
The dark god peered upward, preternaturally still.
The old man shook his head. “I’ve never had the honor, Your Highness. But I once knew your great-grandfather. I was a member of King Hrolf’s retinue.”
Her stomach gave a sudden, unsettling swoop. “Might I ask for your name?”
Deceiver,hissed Myrkur.
Silla blinked at the god’s outburst, then refocused on the old man.
“I am Fallgerd, Your Highness.”
And at last, Silla understood why she recognized him. In Kalasgarde, she’d seen him in a venom-induced fever dream. Her mind supplied her with the vision—a far younger Fallgerd, saving Princess Svalla from King Hrolf’s dagger. Myrkur growled low inside her.
“You saved my mother.” Before she knew it, Silla was on her feet, striding toward Fallgerd. Her guards closed around her, but Silla stepped through them.
Fallgerd’s white brows lifted in surprise. “I—how did you know?” He swallowed, glancing around, and Silla realized her mistake—the attempt on Svalla Volsik’s life had been covered up. No one should know about it.
Slayer of kings,growled Myrkur.
“I’m glad to meet you,” said Silla, flustered.
She accepted Fallgerd’s hand and shook it firmly. But the moment her palm slid into his, Myrkur shrieked inside her skull. Dark, membranous wings beat violently against her chest, and anger seethed through her blood with startling force. Fallgerd jerked his hand back as though he’d been burnt.
Staring down at his hand, the old warrior backed away. “I—I must go—” Turning on his heel, the man made a hasty exit.
But Silla scarcely noticed with the dark thing thrashing about within her. Desperately, she tried to subdue the god’s hold on her.
Deceiver!hissed Myrkur.Murderer!
She was dimly aware of the guards closing back around her; of their murmured confusion as she clutched at her head. But her mind was a war field as the god of chaos rampaged inside her. Images flashed in her mind. A shadow on a wall. A bloodstained dagger. Little Svalla, clutching a wound on her neck—delivered by her great-grandfather, yet not deep enough. King Hrolf, felled by that meddlesome Fallgerd, thwarting their plans.
But the god’s anger was a finite thing, and Silla could feel His grip on her waning. She forced her thoughts to butterflies; to feeding Dawn treats. She thought of the iridescent gleam of a black sand beach and cool salt gales rustling her hair.
With a last, pitiful thrash, Myrkur slithered back into His deep crevice, leaving Silla’s mind completely to herself. She glanced at her guards, surprised to find them parted and Lady Tala at her elbow.
“Did that man say something unseemly to you?” Tala leaned closer.
“Say?” Silla tried to rub the goosebumps from her skin; tried to shake the echoes of Myrkur’s screams from her mind. “N-no. It is—I’ve a sudden headache.” She hated the lie, yet knew she must play the ruse. After a deep breath, she climbed the dais steps and sank into her chair.
“There’s no shame in resuming tomorrow,” murmured Tala, joining her.
“No.” Saga would certainly not let a headache keep her from her duties, and neither would Silla. “These people have waited hours. I shall not have them wait any longer.”
“Are you certain?” asked Tala.
“Quite.”
And so the next guest was led into the hall, and for the next several hours, Eisa Volsik met the people of Kopa. She saw their disbelief shift to hope—saw the faces of those who suffered most in this kingdom. And though she tried desperately to keep it at bay, gradually Silla’s imagination ran wild with thoughts of all the good shemight do as leader of this kingdom.No,she chastised herself. That was for Saga. For the oldest sister.
But as she met the everyday people of Kopa, she also saw hollow cheeks and famished eyes staring at the spread on their table. By the second hour, Silla ordered her guards to gather the food up and distribute it among those waiting in line.
