You hunger for power, she realized.
You want it, too, Eisa,purred the dark god.I sense it in your thoughts. Feel it in your blood. Imagine what we could achieve together.More visions arrived. She would be more than a queen—she would be agoddess.No one here would dare lie to her. Should they break their promises, she would break their spines.
And yet she sensed something buried beneath—the faintest traces of fear.
You’re trying to distract me,she accused.What don’t you want me to see?
The dark god writhed in anger, and Silla waded through the murkof her thoughts.You grew more vocal after I pulled galdur from the rockslide.
Myrkur screeched, rattling her bones. But His fear had sharpened above all other emotions, and Silla decided to test her theory.
You are curious about my bloodline gift,she thought,because it has the power to undo you.
No,snarled Myrkur, but she could taste the lie. With a growl of rage, the dark god burrowed down beyond her reach, leaving Silla blissfully alone with her thoughts.
The god had all but confirmed her theory, and Silla’s pulse skittered with excitement. The secret to defeating Myrkur flowed in her blood.
She turned to Rey, excited to tell him, but paused. Black lashes fanned against his brown cheekbones, and Silla found it unfair that the man could be so handsome, even in sleep. A rueful smile curved her lips as she realized she’d stolen the bulk of the blankets, and that Rey clung to a mere corner. With a sigh, she folded the blanket over him, tucking it carefully around his sides.
Her chest ached at the sight of this man, but the ache was chased by a pang of uncertainty. He hadn’t written to her, hadn’t come to find her forhoursafter his return. Last night, her mind had been so wine-addled she’d thrown herself at him without a second thought. But in the light of day, realization was settling. It seemed that their feelings for each other weren’t matched.
Silla needed to clear her mind. Needed tothink.With a sigh, she climbed from the bed. And after pulling on the gown Hild had left out for Eisa, Silla strode from the room.
Rey woke in slow increments. His mind was sluggish, his body aching, and he knew he’d pushed too hard on that last day of travel. But not reaching Kopa—not seeing Silla—had simply not been an option. And thank the gods he’d arrived when he had. Because Silla had been drunk and in Atli Hakonsson’s private quarters.
The insecurity he’d kept buried for years had reared its ugly head. But with morning had come clarity. It was over. He’d returned, and had disrupted Jarl Hakon’s schemes to push Silla and Atli together. Today was a new day, and he had much to accomplish. It was time to move forward.
He rolled toward Silla, only to find the other side of the bed empty and cold. The lurch in his stomach was softened by the fact that the blankets she’d stolen were now tucked all around him. But she hadn’t woken him—hadn’t nestled into the Silla-sized pocket between his arm and his ribs and drooled all over him.
You have a strange way of showing it.
Her words from last night rang loudly in his ears. At the time, he’d brushed them off as drunken nonsense, but now, paired with her absence, Rey knew something wasn’t right. He threw off the blankets and dressed quickly. Kálf and some of Hakon’s appointed queensguard lounged in the hallway but straightened as Rey exited.
“Well met,Rey Rey,” beamed Kálf.
Rey growled in irritation. “Where is she?”
Kálf nodded down the corridor. “At the chicken house.” As Rey stalked off, he called out, “Aren’t you going to stay and chat,Rey Rey? I want to hear all about Istré—”
Rey stormed through Ashfall’s corridors and out into the yard, and as the barn that housed the jarl’s chickens came into view, that gods damned hearthfire in his chest ignited. Based on the horde of guards lingering by the doors, Silla was still inside.
“Runný.” He nodded at his old friend. “Any news from Kalasgarde?”
“Well met, Galtung,” said Runný. “Had a note from Vig a few days’ past. The chasm remains sealed. Harpa yelled at him for disrupting her Weaving. The ice spirits have taken to following Snorri about. Oh, and there’s been a fresh hatching of chicks.”
Rey nodded, but his mind was elsewhere—was inside that barn. “Is she in there?”
“Aye.”
Rey entered the barn, wandering past rows of chicken roosts until he found Silla at the far end. With a fur-trimmed cloak secured over an elegant purple gown, she looked out of place in the barn’s squalor. Yellow chicks clustered around the bench she sat on, one nestled into her palm. As Rey neared, the chicks peeped in alarm, and Silla’s eyes darted up.
She smiled, but Rey knew her well enough to know it wasn’t her true smile. Something was definitely wrong. What had happened? Who had dimmed the light in her eyes? The chicks on the barn floor scattered as he made his way to the bench and settled beside her.
“How do you feel?” he asked, reaching over to stroke the chick in her palm.
“I shall never drink the red-colored wine again,” Silla said ruefully.
Rey huffed a laugh. “I suppose the chicks help improve your moods?”
