Chapter 21
Kopa, íseldur
Silla’s knee bounced uncontrollably as she sat at the sunlit table near her glass-paned windows.
Myrkur was silent, slumbering deep within her as He had since Fallgerd’s death.
Before her sat an empty jug of róa and the deconstructed ruins of a sweet roll.
The sight of them made her stomach turn over.
She’d had no appetite since leaving Fallgerd’s home the day before, and had not allowed herself to fall asleep.
What if Myrkur took hold of her again? Forced her to do some other dark deed?
Instead of sleeping, Silla had desperately pored over a fresh stack of books from Jarl Hakon’s library.
Now more than ever, she needed to rid herself of this bargain.
And Fallgerd had confirmed that there was a way out of it—something that King Hrolf had been too old to attempt.
Silla vowed she would not rest until she unearthed it.
But it was difficult to focus when Fallgerd’s corpse invaded her mind’s eye constantly. She’d taken a life before, but under duress. Fallgerd had been a good man.
Her heartache for Fallgerd had entwined with her sorrow at Saga’s absence. Every day, Silla asked Jarl Hakon, and every day, the answer was the same—there was no sign of her. Her sorrow twisted into frustration. It should be Saga here, uniting the jarls of the north. Where was she?
More than once, Silla had broken down into a mess of ragged sobs. During a particularly violent bout, Runny had rushed into her chambers and folded her into her arms.
“I killed him,” Silla said, “didn’t I?” She couldn’t stop staring at her hands. Couldn’t stop wiping phantom blood from them.
“We do not know that,” replied Runny, though even she did not sound entirely convinced.
Oh, what Silla wouldn’t give for it to be Rey’s warm chest against her back.
With his sturdy presence and his unfounded confidence in her, the impossible somehow felt within her grasp.
But by now, Rey would be in those monster-infested woods, risking life and limb for the innocent people in this realm. Clearly he was far too busy to write.
Gradually, Silla’s tears had subsided, and she’d allowed herself to be led to her bed. But the moment Runny had left her chambers, Silla had slid out and returned to the stack of books.
This morning, desperate to banish her fatigue, Silla had consumed far too many cups of spiced róa.
Rather than curing her exhaustion, the drink had only added a restless, buzzing sensation on top of it.
She stared vacantly at a knot in the oak table, her mind a maelstrom of thoughts.
A figure standing over her, a knife clutched in hand.
Queen Signe sends her regards. Myrkur’s satisfied smile.
He tried to harm us. Which was truth? Which was imagined?
Silla’s head jolted up. As her pulse jumped wildly, her gaze swung around the room. Had she fallen asleep? How much time had passed? But the hearthfire behind her still crackled away, joined by a soft knocking at the door.
She pushed to her feet. Her head spun, and she gripped the high back of her chair to steady herself. Runny opened the door, granting Lady Tala entry. At the sight of her mentor, Silla braced herself for Tala’s admonishments for ransacking Jarl Hakon’s grain stores and venturing into Kopa.
“Your Highness.” Tala dipped into a quick curtsy before striding to Silla and pulling her into a motherly embrace.
It was a surprising breech of protocol from the older woman, but Silla leaned into the hug, closing her eyes.
“Thank the gods above you are unharmed,” said Tala, smoothing a hand over her hair in a maternal gesture. “Ingvarr told me everything.”
Silla’s head swung up as she tried to gauge how much Lady Tala knew. Only Jarl Hakon and Silla’s inner circle knew about her mother’s bargain with Myrkur.
“That the despicable old warrior attacked you,” Tala clarified, studying her face. “That it was a miracle you escaped with your life.”
Silla pulled back and turned her palms up. No trace of blood. No cuts. No hint of the violence these hands might have delivered. But Lady Tala pulled her hands between hers and squeezed them gently.
“You must have been so very frightened.”
Tala’s words were a balm to her heart, filling Silla with the sense that she had all the answers and knew just how to make her troubles go away.
A god lives inside me was on the tip of her tongue.
“I know precisely what must be done, Eisa,” said Lady Tala.
“You do?”
Tala nodded, gesturing for Silla to take her seat at the table. Numbly, Silla obeyed as Tala waved a pair of servants in. They removed the remnants of Silla’s daymeal and placed a fresh bowl of porridge before her.
“First, you’ll eat.”
Silla’s stomach lurched, and she clutched it. “I cannot.”
“You will eat.”
The motherly tone of Lady Tala’s voice—the kind that left no room for argument—was strangely reassuring.
Silla could almost hear her foster mother’s voice in her ear.
The grains for this porridge were harvested and threshed and sorted, Silla.
You must not take this labor for granted.
You must be grateful for food when so many go hungry.
Reluctantly, she lifted her spoon to her lips. Thought of her mother’s soft hums. The sizzle of grains in a knob of lard. Somehow, Silla managed to swallow.
“We must forget yesterday ever happened,” Tala said as Silla took a second bite. Her voice was firm. Decisive.
“But it did!” Silla could still smell the blood in that room, could still feel it on her hands—
“Do you wish to unite the north, Eisa?”
“Yes,” Silla answered without pause.
Tala watched her carefully. “Think of how a scandal such as murder could damage your reputation.”
Porridge churned in Silla’s stomach as she considered it. Right now Rey and Hekla fought foes in the west. Jarl Hakon mustered men from all corners of the kingdom. Everyone was counting on Eisa to unite the north. This was her responsibility—there was no one else.
“Perhaps,” mused Lady Tala, “we could tell it differently. It could draw sympathy were it your guard who did the killing.”
Silla shook her head vehemently, but it only seemed to muddle her thoughts further.
But Tala was already waving. “Runny, come here.”
Reluctantly, Runny pushed off the wall, passing a nervous hand over her braids. Lady Tala had that effect on people. “You understand the…complications which would arise should Eisa Volsik be branded a murderer?”
“Yes, my lady,” replied Runny, her black eyes flicking to Silla’s for an instant.
“Good, my girl. We must maintain the people’s trust in Eisa. It would be best if we did not have them looking too closely at the incident with Fallgerd.”
Wrong, Silla thought, her porridge threatening to push up her throat.
Everything about this felt so wrong—and yet she could see the merit in Tala’s words.
Her entire purpose here was to meet with the northern jarls—to unite the north in an alliance.
Without unity, they hadn’t a chance against Rokkur, nor the Urkans to their south.
“When Ingvarr came to me,” continued Lady Tala, “I asked him to keep yesterday’s events from Jarl Hakon.”
“He hasn’t told him?” Silla’s brows knit together.
“The jarl would not be pleased to hear you’ve snuck out of Ashfall, Eisa, nor of the bags of grain you took from his stores.
” Silla’s cheeks flamed. “Telling the jarl might damage the rapport and trust you’ve garnered with him thus far.
It is, of course, your choice if we tell him or not. Ingvarr awaits your decision.”
An uneasy silence hung over the room.
Tala folded her hands on the table. “I propose that we keep your excursion to ourselves. And if anyone does find out, then we tell them this: Runny heard the screams. Rushed into the room to find Fallgerd wielding a knife at the princess. Violence was a necessary evil to save Eisa Volsik’s life.”
Runny met Silla’s gaze across the table. But before Silla could tell her not to do it, Runny answered.
“It is just as I recall it, my lady.”
A smile curved Lady Tala’s lips. “Good girl,” she said, glancing between Silla and Runny. “I’m certain I don’t need to tell you that this conversation does not leave this room.”
Runny nodded, but Silla only stared into her porridge.
None of this sat well with her. Yet none of being Eisa sat well with her.
Her daily existence was unsettling. Being Eisa was like wearing an ill-fitting gown, and Silla waited for it to get easier—for the morning she’d wake up and it would feel right.
Her mind was fogged with exhaustion. It was too hard to think, and Lady Tala was so kind and clever—and she knew how to play the games of politics.
Slowly, Silla nodded her head. A zip rushed through her at Tala’s approving smile.
“I’m glad that’s settled,” said Tala. “Now finish your porridge, Eisa. I have something to show you.”
Standing beside Lady Tala, Silla gazed at the cavern wall.
After she had forced down the last bite of her porridge—which Silla would begrudgingly admit had improved her state of mind—Tala had brought her into the deepest reaches of Ashfall Fortress.
Once they passed the cavernous meeting hall where Silla had first met the nobles of Kopa, the carved corridors had shifted to natural, tubular caves.
Minerals glinted from rough stone walls, the caverns high-ceilinged and strangely uniform.
“Lava once flowed through here,” Tala had explained. Noticing Silla’s alarmed expression, Lady Tala merely laughed. “Do not fret, Your Highness. I assure you, these caverns are quite safe. Unlike the Sleeping Dragons, Brími’s fire mountain does not slumber. It is well and truly dead.”
“Dead?”
“The chambers inside have been empty as long as our history reaches back. In fact, when the Sleeping Dragons last woke, it is thought the people of íseldur sheltered in Brími’s caves.”