She cocked her head, sending Atli a loose smile. “I hear your little brother has been chasing after my best friend.”
Atli raised his goblet, a conspiratorial smile on his lips. “Tell me what you know, and I’ll do the same.”
Silla lifted her own goblet, then did just that.
It took every last shred of Rey’s will to remain seated before the enormous obsidian fireplace in Jarl Hakon’s private quarters. Hakon paced before it, the ostentatious buckles on his boots clanking with each step, and his expression growing more thunderous with every lap of the room. But Rey couldn’t bring himself to care what the jarl felt. His thoughts were entirely consumed by Silla.
He’d have gone to her already, but the moment he’d dismounted in Ashfall’s yard, Jarl Hakon’s men had swarmed him. Before Rey knew what was happening, Horse was swept away to the stables, and he was being led urgently to the jarl’s chambers.
Running a weary hand along his untrimmed beard, Rey wondered how much more of his time Jarl Hakon planned to waste. After driving Horse as hard as he dared on the road from Istré, he was restless. For days, they’d paused only for food and water, with only the briefest spells of sleep. And though the grime of travel felt much like a second skin, it was not the prospect of a bath that had him on edge.
It washer.
He needed to see her. Wanted to hear every small thing that had happened in his absence. He wanted to hear her hum, to braid her hair, to fold her into the Silla-sized pocket between his shoulder and his side. Rey needed to wipe the sight of draugur and Turned beasts from his mind and remind himself what he fought for.
But Jarl Hakon only continued his pacing, as though Rey’s time didn’t matter in the slightest. Rey had already told Hakon everything that had happened—of the village of Turned draugur, gone to the mysterious place called Rökksgarde; freeing the Forest Maiden who’d sent him and Hekla on separate missions.
“I’m here to fetch Eisa,” he’d told the jarl, “and to muster as many warriors as I can to do battle in the heartwood.”
The jarl’s expression had shifted from disbelief to outrage at this newest revelation. “You cannot take Eisa Volsik to the Western Woods! This will ruin all of our plans.”
Rey’s gaze was hard and flat. “Would you prefer to watch every person you love turn draugur, Jarl? I have looked into their eyes, and can assure you—death is far preferable.”
Jarl Hakon began pacing, driving Rey’s agitation to new levels. “The feast of the Shortest Day approaches, and many jarls have begun the journey—some have already arrived! We cannot present Eisa Volsik to them without the woman herself.”
Rey released a long exhale. “Then I suppose it is a small comfort to you that we have agreed to meet under the infected tree when Marra is next at her fullest.”
The jarl threw his hands in the air. “How long is that?”
Rey pursed his lips as he calculated. “Seventeen days. Twelve when you account for travel time—”
“Twelve days?” the jarl sputtered. “Twelve days?”
Rey wanted to shake the man. It was nearly two weeks! “I thought you’d be happy this plan allows time for Eisa to attend your feast.”
Jarl Hakon grew still at that. “Willyouattend the feast?”
That was not the question Rey had anticipated. Clenching his teeth, he watched the jarl carefully. Was he imagining it, or did Jarl Hakon seem displeased? As a flush built beneath the jarl’s fine tunic and climbed up his neck, Rey understood—clearly his early return had disrupted one of Hakon’s schemes.
But the jarl resumed his pacing. “Surely you understand diplomacy cannot be accomplished in a single evening! It takes careful negotiations, and these take time.”
Rey sighed in irritation. He was not in the mood for political talk on the best of days, but today it drew his ire even more. “It will be a difficult task indeed,” Rey said through his teeth. “But if anyone can accomplish it, I expect it would be you, my lordship.”
“Be careful, Galtung,” the jarl bit back. “Your tone nears mocking.”
Rey ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He’d forgotten how much he despised these games of words. Rey always said the wrong thing. He was too blunt. Too terse. There was a reason he preferredto spend his days on the road. “I apologize, Jarl Hakon. I meant no disrespect.”
Hakon nodded curtly, then turned to the sideboard and selected a jug. “Wine?”
“I thank you, but no.” As the jarl poured himself a goblet, Rey pushed to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, Jarl, I must—”
“Wait!” The jarl’s voice had a desperate edge to it, one that gave Rey pause. He eyed Hakon, leaning against the sideboard and tapping his rings against the jeweled goblet. “I am glad you’ve returned safely to us, Galtung. My son—” Hakon frowned into his wine, apparently uncertain how to finish his sentence.
Rey cocked a brow. “Eyvind is…”a lovesick puppy?“…doing a valiant deed. Without his Ashbringer skill, the group would be at the leech’s mercy in the Western Woods.”
Hakon sighed. “I do not like to think of him in those woods.”
“He’s finishing the task you set him, my lordship,” said Rey, carefully. “I think it an admirable thing.”
