Silla’s mind whirled. Two weeks and not a single letter had arrived from Rey. She’d grown increasingly worried for his safety. But Eyvind had written Atli with no mention of harm. So why hadn’t Rey written her?
A hundred scenarios flitted through her mind—Rey, once more with the Bloodaxe Crew, remembering where his place truly ought to be. Perhaps the distance between them had given him new clarity. Perhaps he’d realized that Kalasgarde had been an illusion, that Silla and Rey didn’t fit together in the real world.You’re making too much of it,she argued with herself.
But the lack of letters stung worse than she cared to admit. A single blasted letter—three little words would even suffice.I miss you.Silla exhaled in irritation.
“Everything all right?” Atli inquired, glancing over his shoulder. “I assumed you’d already know of this.”
“No,” she replied, failing to keep the bitterness from her voice. “I’ve not heard any of it.”
Atli’s brows drew together, and he seemed to understand. “Galtung is good at his job,” he said at last. “And this one has proven stubborn. I’m certain he’s immersed himself so deeply he’s…temporarily lost track of things.”
Silla pressed her lips into a thin line. “Perhaps.” Desperate to change the subject, she said, “I’ve heard a second jarl and his retinue have arrived for the feast.”
“Aye, Geirmundur and his lot,” said Atli with irritation. “Wasted no time in drinking through three barrels of mead.”
Silla huffed. “Jarl Geirmundur,” she recited, trying to pull the name from the depths of her sleep-addled mind, “of the Geirroth dynasty. Holds the lands west of Kopa to the Nordurian border. His wife is Lady Gunhild—”
“Brynhild,” Atli interjected.
Silla exhaled, irritated with herself. “Do you know, Atli, I can recite the nine different methods used to make breads. I know which herbs and mushrooms are safe to forage; how to make five sólasstretch for a month. But I cannot, for the life of me, recall all these names.” For a moment, she longed above all else to go back to those simpler times.
Atli chuckled, and Silla was glad it was not in mocking. “I can help you,” he offered. “Let us sit together at the feast. We could…have a signal. You can stomp on my foot if you forget a name, and I’ll cough it into my dining linen.”
“Gods, Atli, that would be divine,” Silla exclaimed. “Please, that would ease my worries so very much.”
Atli grinned back at her. “Consider it done.”
A crack from above had Atli’s warhorse snorting, then dancing to the side. Silla could not see around Atli’s large form, but an incoherent shout raised the hairs on her neck.
“What did he say?”
The ground began to rumble, a high, splintering sound coming from above.
“Rockslide!” shouted Atli. “Retreat!”
Silla yanked on Dawn’s reins, whirling her around in time to see Runný doing the same. Keeping her body low to Dawn’s back, Silla tried to stay close to Runný’s mare as they raced back up the trail. But Runný was an experienced horsewoman, while Silla had only a few months of practice, and there was soon a gap between them. Above, the thunder of the rockslide grew louder, first one stone, then another tripping across the path. Silla reined Dawn up with not a heartbeat to spare—a boulder crashed down and the entire section of path ahead of her broke away from the mountainside.
Dawn whinnied, rearing up for a single, terrifying moment.
“Easy,” Silla murmured, sliding from the panicked horse before she could be thrown. “Calm, girl.”
But Dawn bolted, leaping over the broken section of trail and leaving Silla trapped by twin rockslides. Another horse raced past her—Atli’s riderless warhorse—but then an arm snaked around her waist and Silla was shoved against the sheer rock face. Disoriented, Silla pushed back until she realized Atli had thrown his body over hers and hefted his shield overhead. Stones battered down fromabove, and the strange press of magic against her skin told Silla that were it not for Atli’s Blade Breaker strength, they’d already be dead. He grunted, widening his stance, as Silla’s fear surged through her—but no, that was not fear, butenergy.
A mineral, earthy taste filled her mouth, and she gasped. She pressed her fingertips harder against the rock face, certain that if light shone upon them, she’d see blue veins streaked through. Now Silla was certain—it was the unshaped power of the halda stones flooding her veins. This wild power was eager to be set free—it pushed against her hold, demanded to be released. Had she not spent countless hours mastering expression, Silla would not have been able to grasp it at all.
“Hold on,” she told Atli, gripping the power like the reins of a bucking horse.
Rocks hammered down on them from above, but Silla slid her hands along the rim of his shield, clutching with the last shred of her will to the energy coursing through her.
And then she let go.
When she’d pushed Rey in that field so long ago, it had felt like tiny bubbles popping beneath her skin. This was a thousand times stronger. Power surged from her palms in an explosion so violent, it buckled her knees; made her teeth clank together. Atli shouted, his shield wrenched free, but it wasn’t only his shield—all of the weight bearing down on them burst free at once. Rocks shot a hundred feet into the air before slamming violently down in a radius all around them. Men shouted; boulders exploded against the bluffs; dust and debris rained down from above.
And then, silence so loud her ears seemed to ring.
The moment stretched on for a small eternity, broken only by the sound of laughter. Laughter? Silla blinked as Atli gripped her shoulders and shook her gently.
“You did it! How—was that what—Hábrók’s hairy bollocks, my life flashed before my very eyes, but youdid it!”
