Her sigh was weary. “You do not understand, Axe Eyes. You did not see him after…after…” She waved her left hand.
“You’re right,” he admitted, heaviness settling in his chest. When his identity as the Slátrari had been revealed to the whole of Íseldur,hiding in Kalasgarde had been the only option for Rey. He did not regret his choice, but he did regret that he hadn’t been there for his Crew in the aftermath of Ilías’s death and Jonas’s betrayal. The Bloodaxe Crew was his responsibility and he’d let them down. Rey scrubbed a hand through his beard.
“Did Jonas truly…”
Rey met Hekla’s amber eyes across the fire. “Truly orchestrate a plan to kill us?” He sighed. “His grief has changed him—has warped his perception of honor and justice. He’s not the man we used to know.”
Grief grabbed him by the scruff and shook him, leaving Rey disoriented. The coldness in Jonas’s eyes had been startling. It was hard to reconcile the man he’d met in Svangormr Pass with the one who’d been his right hand for five long years. Now he mourned not only Ilías but Jonas, too.
A squirrel chittered from a tree overhead, and Rey stared up into the darkness. The horizon was now a faint sliver of blue, and he guessed that first light would arrive within the hour. Rey’s eyes narrowed, then darted back to the source of the chatter. There had been no sign of any living thing on the road near Istré—unless one counted the Turned frost fox they’d swiftly dispatched.
“Patience,” muttered Hekla, drawing Rey’s attention. She’d pushed to her feet and now scowled up at the tree.
“What—” he started.
“It was not the right time to reveal it,” Hekla snapped. “You must be patient. I said I would do it today.”
And then Rey saw it—a small, twitchy figure, scrambling face-first down the tree. The squirrel paused, then unleashed a long string of chirrupy nonsense.
Slowly, Hekla turned to Rey. Raised her brows with a sort of weary acceptance. “This is Kritka. He wants to meet you. Says you have a curious smell.”
Rey was torn between barking out a laugh and sending Hekla back to Kopa to have her head examined. But then the squirrel bounded cautiously toward him. Once. Twice. Rey stared indisbelief as the small creature sniffed his boot, then stood on hind legs and scented the air.
“It seems you’ve held some details back, Hekla,” said Rey, unable to hide his amusement. He felt more than saw her scowl. “How long have you been able to speak to woodland creatures?”
Hekla released an exasperated sound. “Do you wonder why I did not tell you?”
“Curious, Hekla, I thought such skills were reserved for princesses in those tales from the Southern Continent.”
“You have my permission to bite him, Kritka.”
The squirrel hissed, launching itself upon Rey before he could react. Claws pierced through his breeches and into his flesh as it tried to climb him. With a shout of alarm, Rey toppled off his log, sprawling on his arse while trying to shake the creature free.
“That’s enough, Kritka,” said Hekla, looming over Rey with a satisfied smile. “I think the bjáni gets the point.”
The creature thankfully bounded away, and Rey sent it a suspicious look as he accepted Hekla’s hand up.
Hekla folded her arms, no trace of amusement left in her face. “When the mist trapped me, Kritka took the form of a grimwolf and saved me. Do not ask me how such a thing is possible, as I know it should not be. Now he seems to have…bound himself to me.”
Rey examined Kritka’s dark, beady eyes, ready to unsheathe his dagger should the rodent launch at him once more. Anyone else, and he might not believe them. Eternal fucking fires, a month ago he might not have believed it. But he’d seen Hekla command the creature to attack him, and knew his friend too well to doubt her words. Kritka turned to Hekla, making more vocalizations.
“I don’t know why he smells like the Protector.” Hekla looked at Rey and sighed. “I didn’t tell you about Kritka in Kopa because I needed you to see him with your own eyes. Do you recall the Klaernar sent to Istré to help deal with the mist?”
“The ones that ended up dead and strung to the pillars?” Rey asked.
Hekla nodded. “The murdered Klaernar were, Kritka claims, his mistress’s call for help.”
“The Spiral Staves?” Rey murmured. He tried to recall what else Magnus Hansson had said while detailing this job.
Klaernar strung on Ursir’s pillars by strange-looking vines…stabbed through the heart…a symbol written in blood, over and over. A Spiral Stave.He and Jonas had immediately suspected the Klaernar’s killer was altogether separate from the murderous mist. The squirrel’s story could fit.
“His mistress has since gone dormant, hiding herself in a tree. I know this sounds…mad…”
Rey quirked an eyebrow, and Hekla scowled.
“…but he claims his mistress is older than the gods. That she has great powers and knowledge. He begs that we wake her.”
“Who is your mistress, rodent?” Rey demanded, hardly able to believe he was talking to a gods damned squirrel.
