The banging grew to a cacophony, and Silla’s heart felt as though it had grown wings. Tears clouded her vision, and she wrung her hands, trying desperately to keep her emotion at bay.Temporary, she reminded herself.Soon this will all belong to Saga.
“Take a seat,” whispered Atli, directing her to the chair beside Rey’s. She fell into it, glad that her part in this meeting had ended. Her instructions were to keep a demure, queenly smile upon her lips for the rest of the gathering. Rey’s hand slid over, squeezing her knee.
“Did I not tell you that you’d do well?” he whispered.
“Did you not see me trip?” was her reply.
Rey’s lips twitched in amusement. His gaze drifted to Jarl Hakon, now standing at the front of the dais, one hand raised. Within a few measured breaths, the crowd had quieted and taken their seats.
“I’ve received word from our spy in Askaborg.”
The hair on Silla’s arms stood on end, and her heart raced.Finally,she thought,news of Saga.Surely the mystery of her whereabouts would be revealed.
“I’m certain you’ve all heard of the explosion that rocked the castle a fortnight past.” Heads nodded among the crowd. “Strange tales have emerged. We continue to hear that Princess Saga wasthe cause of the explosion. That black flames shot from her palms and caused the destruction.”
Silla’s gaze found Rey’s hand, still resting on her knee, and she slid her own under it, desperate for comfort. There could only be one explanation for the explosion of black flames in Askaborg Castle: Saga had given Myrkur access to the heart of her galdur. Worry knotted tightly in her stomach, and Silla instinctively probed inward in an attempt to communicate with her sister. But with her galdur quelled, contacting Saga was impossible.
“Princess Saga’s whereabouts are yet unknown.”
Silla’s heart plummeted into her stomach as Jarl Hakon’s words sank in.
“She was not among the dead, nor is she in any Uppreisna safeholds,” continued Jarl Hakon. “Our spies continue their search and shall not rest until every shield-home in the realm has been examined. Wewillfind her.”
Jarl Hakon glanced over his shoulder at Silla as he said this, but it did nothing to ease her frantically racing mind. Where was Saga? Was she in danger? And how could Silla simply sit here without knowing—withoutdoingsomething?
But the jarl had turned back to the crowd. “Ivar has recovered from his injuries, and now he plots to retaliate against Zagadka. Despite reports of the black flames coming from Saga, the king accuses the Zagadkians of the attempt on his life.”
Confused murmurs slid through the room, but Jarl Hakon continued. “It does not take a Weaver to see the threads of fate coming together before us. With Ivar’s eyes on Zagadka, he won’t look so carefully at his northern lands. This, paired with Eisa Volsik’s return, tells me it is time.”
Jarl Hakon paused for effect. “Time to return to the old ways of Íseldur, where we can worship the gods of our ancestors and use the blessings they granted to us!” A cheer rose, but Hakon’s voice rose higher. “Eisa Volsik vows to champion the old ways! To banish the Klaernar from these lands! To tear down the pillars where so many of our kind have died!”
Silla’s mind raced somehow faster. This was not how it was supposed to go. It should beSagaVolsik, not Eisa. The people of Íseldur deserved a true queen, not some placeholder. But Jarl Hakon’s words had built excitement in the crowd. Warriors stood, some shouting and others banging their weapons on the floor. And in the middle of the dais, Jarl Hakon stood, arms spread wide, bathing in the moment’s glory.
Once the room quieted, Hakon continued. “We will have to act quickly to solidify our northern alliance.” His gaze swept the crowd. “As you know, Jarl Agnar has been the source of many violent incursions along my eastern borders. All attempts to talk sense into the boy have failed. Before the north can raise banners for the Volsiks, peace must be secured among us.”
Silla wrangled her mind to the troubles with the mysterious Jarl Agnar. She’d listened to Rey and Jarl Hakon discuss the young jarl over the daymeal this morning. Between the number of warriors oathsworn to Agnar and the ports he controlled in Kunafjord, it was clear he was a man of significant power. What would Saga do if she were here? Broker peace between Hakon and Agnar? Yes. Surely she’d pen a letter, perhaps meet the jarl face-to-face…
Shouting beyond the chamber doors yanked Silla from her thoughts. Her gaze darted along the walkway, fear prickling down her spine. She did not need to be reminded that discussions of treason would land every person in this room a brutal execution on the pillars.
The doors flew open, and five figures strode briskly down the walkway. The dim light of the meeting hall made it difficult to make out their faces, but as their voices grew louder, one rose above them all. Silla shot to her feet. She knew that voice.
“Hekla!”
Tears filled Silla’s eyes as she stared at the figure at the front of the group. Black hair was braided along the top of her head, and her metallic hand glinted as she stormed toward the dais. Gods, but she was glad to see her friend. There had been no communication from Istré in some time, and Silla’s worry for the Bloodaxe Crew hadgrown each day. But here they were, Hekla and Sigrún, and oh—there was Gunnar, bringing up the rear! They were hale and apparently as vivacious as ever.
Rey scrambled to the edge of the dais, and Silla was on his heels.
The group reached the end of the walkway, bickering among themselves, and Silla examined the pair of warriors she did not know. But then her gaze flitted to Hekla’s amber eyes, and emotions chased themselves across her friend’s face—surprise, relief, and utter delight.
Silla imagined her own expression looked rather the same.
“Eyvind!” bellowed Jarl Hakon. “What is the meaning of this?”
Silla’s gaze found the warrior in question right away, his likeness to Jarl Hakon and Atli impossible to miss. But Eyvind Hakonsson’s black hair was singed and sticking up at odd angles, and bright-red burn marks marred an olive cheekbone. Despite it, Eyvind was clearly a handsome man, tall, with vivid hazel eyes. Silla examined him with curiosity. So this was Eyvind Hakonsson, younger son of Jarl Hakon, and the childhood friend Rey had sent to Istré to help the Bloodaxe Crew.
“Istré has fallen,” Hekla proclaimed.
The words reverberated through the room for a long, weighted moment.
