She paused in the corridor, trying to control her emotions. Trying to loosen the dark god’s grip on her. Frustration would get her nowhere. Shehadto find a way to slip into Eisa’s skin. Too much was riding on winning over these jarls.
You must not fail,whispered Myrkur, slinking around her spine and displacing her frustration with a jolt of anxiety.
Rey caught her elbow. “All right?” he asked, eyes roaming her face. She nodded tightly.
I won’t convince anyone to bend the knee with you toying with my emotions,Silla told the god of chaos.If you want the jarls’ fealty, then keep your thoughts to yourself tonight.
Myrkur bristled. Then, to her surprise, the god crept deeper inside her.Very well, Eisa,He whispered,if it gets us power, then so be it. But if you fail tonight, I shall have to take measures into my hands once more.And with that chilling statement, the god of chaos seemed to vanish entirely.
Silla blinked at the disorienting feeling of having her mind to herself. Beside her, Rey was rigid as stone, but she was glad beyond measure to have him there as they approached the great hall.
Jarl Hakon appeared in the doorway clad in a crimson tunic; the jewel-encrusted cuffs in his black beard caught the torchlight. But Silla paused a dozen paces away, her heart racing as she considered what fate awaited her. Once she stepped into that room, there was no turning back.
“We could escape back to Kalasgarde,” Silla whispered to Rey. “Check on Vig and the chicks, and leave Jarl Hakon to do all the politicking.”
“We could.”
She shifted uneasily, willing her racing heart to calm. “But first…I suppose…I must do this.”
Rey’s hand slid into hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered.
His gaze pricked along her skin. “As am I.”
Together, they approached the great hall. Jarl Hakon beamed, taking her by the elbow. “You look like a queen, Eisa,” he said with a warm smile. His gaze slid to Rey, irritation flashing. “I hope you don’t mind if I borrow her.”
But Silla shook free from the jarl. “Rey will enter with me,” she said in her mostEisaof voices.
Jarl Hakon’s shocked expression lasted the span of a few heartbeats, but then he was waving Rey forward and signaling to someone within the hall.
“Introducing Eisa Volsik, daughter of Svalla and Kjartan Volsik, second heir to the throne and princess of Íseldur!” bellowed a crier dressed in House Hakon livery.
The great hall was filled with hundreds of nobles dressed in theirfinest for the feast of the Shortest Day. Jarl Hakon led Silla and Rey between dual rows of feasting tables decorated with sprigs of mistletoe and greenery. Candlelight flickered from antler chandeliers, making the golden stitching of her gown glint. And as heads dipped low in deference,Sillawas no more. For the first time, she trulyfeltlike Eisa.
Jarl Hakon led them to the high table at the front of the room. There stood Atli, watching with sparkling eyes. Her gaze skipped to Lady Tala, looking regal in a purple gown, then to the assortment of gray-bearded jarls filling seats of honor. She followed Hakon around the table, then turned to face the room. Eisa’s heart pounded vigorously, her palms slick with sweat. But Rey’s hand was an anchor of calm at her back—steadfast and unmoving.
“Eisa Volsik lives!” shouted Jarl Hakon. “Let us raise a cup to this blessing.” He lifted his goblet, and Eisa found her own to do the same. “We have much to celebrate on this Shortest Day! Skál!”
The crowd drained their goblets, then erupted so fiercely that it left Eisa stunned. Her hand flew to her chest as she took in tear-filled eyes and nodding heads, men who pounded fists on the finely dressed tables, and silk-clad women whose hands clapped together with astounding enthusiasm.
They looked at her and saw Eisa. They saw her parents and grandparents—a legacy that had been stolen not only from her, but from them all. And in this moment, everything she and Lady Tala and Jarl Hakon had been working toward became real. All the names she’d struggled to remember had faces. They were real people with love in their hearts—love for this kingdom and what it could be. And for the first time since arriving in Kopa, Eisa admitted to herself that she wanted this. Wanted the throne. Wanted to lead these people into a different sort of era. A better era. The realization terrified her. Was this another thought planted by Myrkur? But the dark god was nowhere to be found.
Eisa was shown to her seat, a fresh goblet of wine placed before her—after Eilif had tasted for poison, of course. It took Eisa a moment to realize she was seated between Atli and an unfamiliar blondman. There was no place set for Rey at the table. She turned to the jarl with pure, incinerating anger.
“Someone,” she said tersely, “had best set a place for Galtung on my right.” Hakon’s brows rose, and he nodded heartily. Soon servants were scurrying about. The blond man—anotherjarl’s heir as it turned out—was moved down the table. A chair appeared from nowhere, plate and goblet and serveware set on the table. Only then did Eisa settle into her chair with Rey beside her.
“You’ve already captured their hearts,” whispered Atli from her left.
Eisa examined Atli from the corner of her eye. Rey was certain he was responsible for the missing letters, and the thought made her insides burn with betrayal. She’d thought Atli a friend and confidant—a rare ally in this new and confusing place. But the stunt with her entry painted Jarl Hakon and Atli in a new light. It had seemed a move orchestrated to shame Rey and position Atli as a potential marriage match.
Behind her, she could sense a heated look exchanged between Atli and Rey, and again she had the strange inkling that these two had some history she did not understand. But tonight was too important to get pulled into such trivial matters.
Eisa watched on as a group of burly warriors hauled the yule log into the hall. Lady Tala had explained that the most majestic tree was selected for this ritual, and that this year, Sunnvald’s runes had been carved into its trunk. The northlings burned this offering to the Sun God in thanks for Eisa Volsik’s return to them. Eisa felt tears prick her eyes as she watched the warriors heave the log into the enormous obsidian fireplace, sending ash and sparks billowing.
Jarl Hakon was back on his feet, as were many in the room. “Now,” bellowed the jarl above the clamor of jovial feasters, “let us eat!”
Servants bustled into the room bearing platters of feasting food. They began with trays of smoked trout and bowls of root vegetable soup, and progressed quickly to the main event: a boar roasted specially for this occasion, accompanied by chicken legs and braised lamb.
