Calmness fell upon Jonas at once. With a sword in his hand and the battle thrill in his veins, he almost felt like his old self. Jonas lost himself to the familiar movements of his body, throwing himself into it until his muscles ached and sweat dripped from his brow. Minutes, or perhaps hours, passed, but at last, his opponent lay panting and disarmed on the packed-earth floor of the arena.
“Did I wrong you in a past life, warrior?” he wheezed, making no move to stand.
Jonas opened his mouth to reply, but he felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he turned, his gaze finding the queen’s at once. She sat on the protected dais, watching him with an unreadable expression.
Jonas held her gaze, perhaps too boldly. Yet he could not forget how easily she’d dismissed him. How she’d refused to hear what he had to say. How she’d thrown him in this warband of thieves and murderers.
And so Jonas gave the queen a mocking bow.
Then he turned his back on her.
Chapter 27
Kopa, Íseldur
“Deliberate?” repeated Silla, trying to comprehend what Atli Hakonsson had just revealed. “Surely it cannot be true?”
But Atli’s expression bore no hint of amusement.
“If the rockslide was deliberate,” she murmured, “then it must have been another attempt on my life.” Her mind spun as she tried to make sense of this.
They were seated at a table in Atli Hakonsson’s private quarters, a pair of wine goblets before them. Candlelight cast a serene glow through the space, catching on a vase of Stjarna’s lilies and the finely embroidered table linen beneath them. When Silla had first entered the room—after Ingvarr and Runný had deemed it clear of threats—she’d found this an oddly intimate setting. It hadn’t helped that Atli was dressed in one of the most resplendent tunics Silla had ever seen, that his hair was styled in an elaborate warrior’s braid and his beard freshly oiled. But with her guards leaning against the wall behind her, and Atli’s retinue lounging on the benches near the hearth, they were far from alone. Besides, she reassured herself, the discussion of assassination attempts warranted a private setting.
Silla shook her head incredulously. “You’re certain?”
A look of concern settled on Atli’s face, and he reached acrossthe table to take her hand. Restlessness filled Silla as she pondered how to take her hand back without offense. But Atli’s next words shook the thought clean from her mind.
“There were deep grooves on the ridge where boulders once would have sat. There is no chance these stones dislodged on their own. Someonepriedthem loose.”
Laughter skittered down her spine.Still, they try to kill us,whispered Myrkur, pumping anger through her veins.
Since she’d caused that explosion to free herself and Atli from the rockslide, the god of chaos had been alarmingly active. Her awful dreams were more vivid, the cravings sliding through her veins more potent.
Atli’s thumb swept across the back of her hand, and Silla jumped, yanking it back. She blinked, trying to refocus. “Does this mean Ivar has allies in the north?” Silla frowned. “I didn’t ask for this. I always sayplease.I’m somewhat tidy. I even rescue spiders and set them free outdoors.”
We’re a threat, dear Eisa,purred Myrkur.We have the power to topple kings and queens.
There is no“we,” Silla shot back, then winced as the dark god forced visions into her mind’s eye. Silla and Myrkur sat on a throne in Askaborg Castle, a crown on their head. They would string the vile Urkan king and queen on those pillars—would flay the skin from their bodies—
You aspire to be queen, whispered the dark god.Let me in, Eisa, and together we can accomplish it.
Nausea roiled in her stomach, and with great effort, Silla pried the dark god’s talons loose from her mind. She drew her gaze back to Atli.
“Spiders?” he repeated, brow crinkled in amusement.
“What?”
“It’s only…” Candlelight flickered in Atli’s eyes, intense as they roamed her face. “I’m certain they do not wish to kill you for poor manners.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“You represent change,” said Atli. His gaze lingered on her mouth for a moment before flicking back to her eyes. “Perhaps they wish for things to stay the same.”
“Someone with power, then,” Silla mused. Frustration gathered in her stomach. She’d run over the suspects in her mind time and time again—the troublesome Jarl Agnar, who had yet to reply to her multiple letters; Helgi, angered that she’d spurned his advances.
Signe sends her regards—Silla had been unable to shake these words, spoken by the dark form standing over her in Fallgerd’s home. Had it been merely a dream? Or had someone truly spoken those words?
You know it was no dream,snarled Myrkur, and anger spiked sharply inside her. Silla reached for her goblet of wine and took a hearty gulp.
