Chapter 5
Kopa, íseldur
Rey stared across Ashfall’s sparring grounds as he leaned against the armory building.
The chill wind scraped across his cheeks, carrying the promise of more snow.
It had been a constant thing in recent weeks, making him feel as though winter had lasted an eternity, when in truth they’d yet to celebrate the Shortest Day.
Not that he’d be in Kopa to join in the celebrations, given they’d depart for Istré tomorrow.
The very thought of it caused unease to burn in his gut.
For so long, he’d been certain of his place in this world, and had been content to be a weapon in the Uppreisna’s arsenal.
But everything had changed in Kalasgarde.
Frightened together, they’d vowed. How did they do this together, when Rey was being pulled to Istré, and Eisa Volsik was needed in Kopa?
Pushing such thoughts aside, Rey adjusted the wolf’s pelt wrapped around his shoulders, gaze drifting to where Hekla and Silla stood at the edge of the sparring grounds.
The tightness in his chest eased as he laid eyes on Silla.
Each time he saw her, it was like finding a coveted belonging he’d lost a long time ago.
Like his head was in the clouds, but his feet were on the ground.
How unsettling it was that a person could have such an effect on him.
Today, determined to embody Eisa Volsik, Silla had opted for a thick, fur-trimmed cloak over heavy woolen skirts, her hair artfully styled into complicated braids. But he saw the envious way she now eyed Hekla’s lébrynja armor and wondered if she regretted her choice.
Hekla handed Silla her wool-wrapped blade, and Rey watched in amusement as Silla moved through the attack routines he’d taught her under the shadow of Kalasgarde’s mountains.
Her skirts inevitably grew tangled, and she grumbled as she righted herself.
Her exasperated expression tugged at his heartstrings, but he ought to have seen it as a warning.
It wasn’t until she turned on her heel and stormed around a stack of hay bales that Rey knew she was up to something.
He was halfway across the yard, ready to chastise her for leaving his field of view, when she reappeared with the elegant furred cloak draped over—her own set of lébrynja armor.
His feet faltered and he rubbed his chest in relief.
Rey shook his head at himself. He was a gods damned fool for this woman. But as he studied her newly donned armor, he soon grew perplexed. Had she worn it under her gown? Hekla hooted in delight and pulled Silla close, the pair conversing in low tones.
Reluctantly, Rey returned to his post by the armory building.
He tried to ease the jagged beat of his heart.
But when it came to Silla, he was always on alert; always watching for danger.
How could he not be, when she’d been hunted so relentlessly?
All it would take was one misplaced blade; one sly arrow.
Silla reclaimed the wool-wrapped blade, and Rey watched as she worked through the routine once more.
Seeing her clad in her lébrynja made Rey’s blood heat.
It was impossible to forget their morning sparring sessions in Kalasgarde.
His body certainly remembered the feel of hers as he’d adjusted her hips and the grip on her sword.
Silla’s movements were fluid, the wool-wrapped blade arcing through the air with confidence, and pride bloomed inside his chest. She was strong—capable of defending herself. He had to trust in Silla and in himself for teaching her to the best of his abilities.
He forced his gaze elsewhere, lip curling when it landed on Atli Hakonsson sparring with his retinue. The burn in his stomach had him quickly moving on until he found a black-clad Sigrún facing off against Runny.
Earlier in the day, Sigrún had approached Rey and apologized in handspeak for her “shameful failures” in Istré.
As Rey blinked, dumbfounded, Sigrún had explained that old fears had gotten the best of her, but she would not let it happen again.
She’d stroked the scarred flesh on her cheek, and Rey tried to put the details together.
Istré had gone up in flames, and Sigrun’s marks looked an awful lot like burn scars.
The petite woman had never spoken of her injuries, and Rey had never asked.
But now he felt the need to put her at ease.
“You need not apologize, Sigrún,” he’d replied, signing as he spoke. “But if ever you have worries you wish to speak of, you can confide in me.”
She’d sent him a strange look, and Rey realized it was entirely out of character for him.
A month ago, Axe Eyes would have simply grunted.
It seemed Kalasgarde had softened some of his rough edges.
He’d been shown that kindness was not weakness, and that speaking of old wounds could be healing.
He still wasn’t sure how he felt about this.
And as Sigrún peered curiously up at him, the old urge to keep people at arm’s length kicked in.
“What I mean—that is to say—” Rey cleared his throat. “You can tell Silla.”
Sigrún pursed her lips, glancing in Silla’s direction. Then she’d smiled, knowingly. You’re a far better match, Sigrún signed, before striding off and leaving Rey feeling out of sorts.
Movement in his periphery alerted him to Eyvind’s presence, and he turned to greet his old friend with a handshake and a slap to the back.
“Well met, old friend,” Eyvind drawled with a smile.
Clad in Hakonsson red, Eyvind had been busy mustering more warriors to join them on the trip to Istré, and Rey had not seen much of him in the past days.
Eyvind’s wavy black hair had once fallen around his shoulders.
Now it was cut short to tidy the disorderly singed ends acquired in Istré.
Yet Eyvind, who had been known to preen over his mane, seemed utterly unbothered.
He slumped against the wall with a long sigh, a small smile playing on his lips. Rey followed his friend’s line of view to where Hekla and Silla sparred, and his brows shot down at once.
“Good to be back, even if only for a few nights,” mused Eyvind, his gaze never leaving the women.
Rey grunted. “I must thank you for stepping up…for leading my Crew when I could not.”
Hekla twisted behind Silla, sweeping her feet out and taking her down.
With a cackle of glee, Hekla pinned Silla to the ground and straddled her hips.
Rey made the mistake of glancing Eyvind’s way.
His old friend had never been good at concealing his emotions, and right now, Eyvind’s eyes were filled with hunger.
“She’s spoken for,” Rey grumbled, stepping between Eyvind and the sparring women.
Eyvind’s hazel eyes met Rey’s in disbelief, followed swiftly by anger. “She said nothing of the sort to me.”
Rey’s heart lurched. “What?”
“She told me that she does not form attachments. And I don’t think she’d appreciate you, as you say, speaking for her.”
Rey was momentarily stunned by the hardness of Eyvind’s voice. Then his mind raced with questions—when had Silla and Eyvind become acquainted, and why would she tell him such things? Rey retraced this morning’s daymeal. He’d arrived late to find Eyvind jostling with Gunnar for a spot beside Hekla—
He stared back at the sparring women, and at last he understood. Rey huffed in amusement. “Is there something you need to tell me, Fire Breath? Did something transpire between you and a certain clawed warrior?”
Eyvind glanced at the sparring women and seemed to comprehend. A mischievous smile curved his lips. “Perhaps. And is there something you need to tell me about Kalasgarde, Soot Fingers?”
Rey shrugged. “She was cold.”
“Cold?”
“Aye.” Rey folded his arms over his chest, resuming his position against the armory’s wall. “I…warmed her up.”
Eyvind watched him with utter delight.
“And you, Fire Breath?” Rey bit out. “I sense there’s a story?”
As Eyvind’s eyes drifted back to Hekla, they seemed to soften. “A beautiful woman who can knock me on my arse and is not afraid to speak her mind? What’s not to like?” But there was something buried behind his words…something almost like bitterness.
Rey looked between Eyvind and Hekla, then shook his head in disbelief. Never would he think they would be a pair well matched. Then again, Rey would never have guessed he and a woman like Silla would be, either.
“I’m glad for you, friend,” he said, clapping Eyvind’s shoulder.
But Eyvind drew away with a glower. “Don’t be. I ruined it before it could start.” He sighed. “I didn’t think to tell her of Liv, because, well—”
It took Rey a moment to recall that Liv was the name of Eyvind’s betrothed. “Isn’t she—”
“Aye.”
“It sounds,” said Rey cautiously, “as though a conversation is in order.”
Eyvind kicked a stone. “Hekla won’t speak to me. Won’t give me a chance to explain.”
Rey considered this. “Perhaps you can win her favor back. Might I suggest baby chicks?”
“Chicks…as in chickens?”
“Aye.” Rey opened his mouth to elaborate, but a flash of raven-black hair diverted his attention. He felt his axe eyes settling into place, his moods souring in an instant as a familiar tall woman sauntered across the yard.
Eyvind huffed a breath. “Question for you, Galtung. Did you tell Kaeja about your new…attachment?”
Rey’s gaze found Atli, then darted quickly back to Kaeja. Black hair swept into a long braid; her lithe frame was encased in lébrynja armor. “I haven’t spoken a word to her since I carved her from my life.”
As a rule, Rey thought of Kaeja as little as was possible, and if you’d asked him an hour ago, he’d have said she had no effect on him.
But seeing the woman he’d once thought would be his wife brought a rush of unwelcome emotions to Rey.
His skin felt itchy, his stomach knotting tight.
Was it his imagination, or were heads bowing together, eyes darting his way?