Chapter 15 #2
I’m not done with you echoed endlessly in her mind, though the god Himself was silent and slumbering.
Myrkur had done that—had harmed the Weaver to prevent Silla from learning more about her curse.
Hopelessness filled her each time she remembered it.
How was she supposed to cure herself of Him when He was privy to each thought in her mind?
Fingers squeezed her shoulder, and Silla’s hand lashed out, nearly connecting with the goblet on the table before her. Thank the gods above, she’d missed. Trying to shake some sense back into her skull, Silla turned to Atli.
“I was just telling Helgi here—” Atli gestured to the jarl’s heir, on Silla’s right. “—about the meadows.”
“The meadows?” Silla repeated.
“Aye,” said Atli, and Silla gathered this was not the first time he’d explained it to her. “There’s a trail climbing up behind the fortress. A tad steep to start, but it flattens out up top into a meadow. There you’ll find winter-blooming flowers and a clear view all the way to the ocean.”
“It sounds lovely,” said Helgi, though his gaze was trained on her necklace—or was it lower?
Indignance rose within her, but Silla reminded herself she was Eisa Volsik tonight—that she must recall her etiquette lessons. “It does. Can you ride to the meadows?” She hung on to this thread of conversation for dear life.
“Aye,” said Atli.
She didn’t have to muster her wistful smile—Silla had lost count of how many days it had been since she’d ridden Dawn, and fresh air sounded positively divine.
But that thought had her wondering how long it had been since Rey left—and how many days it had been without a single letter arriving.
Gloom settled heavily inside her at that.
It had been silly to ask him to pen letters in the midst of the danger they’d surely face.
Yet Rey had been so sincere in his promise.
“Perhaps we might ride the trail, just the pair of us?” Helgi said in a low voice, his breath hot in her ear.
He was far too close, and his hand on her knee made Silla jump in fright again.
This time, her hand connected with the goblet, and she watched in horror as it tipped onto its side.
Blood-red wine splashed across the table—and right onto Helgi’s lap.
He leaped to his feet with a startled cry while Atli hauled Silla up and away from the dripping mess. Silence fell upon the hall, and Silla knew all eyes at the table were upon her.
“My mistake,” said Atli, jovially. “Perhaps I ought to switch to ale.”
Laughter burst around the table, though Helgi remained furiously silent as he blotted his tunic with a scrap of linen. As the conversation gathered back up, Helgi cast a single scathing glare at Silla before wordlessly turning on his heel and leaving the room.
“Barnacles,” she muttered, snatching a linen from the table and mopping at her mess. “You didn’t need to take the blame,” she told Atli from the corner of her mouth.
He shrugged. “It was no trouble to me.”
Eilif bustled up, taking the linen from her hand. Before Silla could protest, a second serving woman was at her elbow, pouring her a fresh goblet. Then, to her great distaste, Eilif sipped the wine to detect poison. Across the table, Kaeja glanced her way, whispering animatedly to Lady Liv.
Silla’s skin prickled with humiliation. This was her first chance to make a good impression upon the jarls of the north, and already she was failing.
Her gaze drifted across the table, where Liv and Kaeja conversed with Helgi’s brothers.
Kaeja’s posture was straight but at ease, her fingers wrapped daintily around her goblet as she laughed at something one of them said.
How did they make it seem so effortless?
Atli pulled her chair out, and Silla took a seat. “Thank you.”
“Someone ought to have warned you,” said Atli as he took his own seat. He lowered his voice. “Helgi might be heir to the Sveinar lands, but the man is a lecherous scoundrel.”
Her fingertips trailed absently along her neckline. “I…had a curious sense about him.”
“And perhaps my motives weren’t entirely selfless.” Atli picked up his goblet and swirled his wine. “If anyone shows you the meadows, it ought to be me.”
Silla’s gaze darted to Atli’s, trying to find any hidden meaning in his words.
She was not a complete fool. Atli was so frequently seated beside her at meals, and it was impossible to miss Jarl Hakon’s frequent eager glances between the pair.
Marriage to a man like Atli Hakonsson, heir to the largest landholdings in the north of íseldur, was precisely what Lady Tala would deem “beneficial.”
Silla lowered her voice, but held his gaze. “You do know that I am with Rey?”
Atli shrugged, his smile gleaming. “You’re a beautiful woman.
Surely you cannot blame a man for trying—” Atli ran his hand along his warrior’s braid, glancing toward his father.
He lowered his voice and leaned closer to Silla.
“Let us be friends, then. I know Lady Tala can be rather…zealous in her teachings. If you’d like a break, the offer stands. ”
Silla could have sworn there was still a flirtatious glint in his eye, but she couldn’t be certain.
Atli nudged her with an elbow. “Is that a yes to the meadows?”
A smile spread across her lips, and Silla nodded. “Yes.”
But as her gaze drifted across the table, she caught Kaeja watching her and Atli. And while she could not read the look in her eyes, Silla was certain she did not like whatever it hinted.