Chapter 27 #2
Running a weary hand along his untrimmed beard, Rey wondered how much more of his time Jarl Hakon planned to waste.
After driving Horse as hard as he dared on the road from Istré, he was restless.
For days, they’d paused only for food and water, with only the briefest spells of sleep.
And though the grime of travel felt much like a second skin, it was not the prospect of a bath that had him on edge.
It was her.
He needed to see her. Wanted to hear every small thing that had happened in his absence.
He wanted to hear her hum, to braid her hair, to fold her into the Silla-sized pocket between his shoulder and his side.
Rey needed to wipe the sight of draugur and Turned beasts from his mind and remind himself what he fought for.
But Jarl Hakon only continued his pacing, as though Rey’s time didn’t matter in the slightest. Rey had already told Hakon everything that had happened—of the village of Turned draugur, gone to the mysterious place called Rokksgarde; freeing the Forest Maiden who’d sent him and Hekla on separate missions.
“I’m here to fetch Eisa,” he’d told the jarl, “and to muster as many warriors as I can to do battle in the heartwood.”
The jarl’s expression had shifted from disbelief to outrage at this newest revelation. “You cannot take Eisa Volsik to the Western Woods! This will ruin all of our plans.”
Rey’s gaze was hard and flat. “Would you prefer to watch every person you love turn draugur, Jarl? I have looked into their eyes, and can assure you—death is far preferable.”
Jarl Hakon began pacing, driving Rey’s agitation to new levels. “The feast of the Shortest Day approaches, and many jarls have begun the journey—some have already arrived! We cannot present Eisa Volsik to them without the woman herself.”
Rey released a long exhale. “Then I suppose it is a small comfort to you that we have agreed to meet under the infected tree when Marra is next at her fullest.”
The jarl threw his hands in the air. “How long is that?”
Rey pursed his lips as he calculated. “Seventeen days. Twelve when you account for travel time—”
“Twelve days?” the jarl sputtered. “Twelve days?”
Rey wanted to shake the man. It was nearly two weeks! “I thought you’d be happy this plan allows time for Eisa to attend your feast.”
Jarl Hakon grew still at that. “Will you attend the feast?”
That was not the question Rey had anticipated.
Clenching his teeth, he watched the jarl carefully.
Was he imagining it, or did Jarl Hakon seem displeased?
As a flush built beneath the jarl’s fine tunic and climbed up his neck, Rey understood—clearly his early return had disrupted one of Hakon’s schemes.
But the jarl resumed his pacing. “Surely you understand diplomacy cannot be accomplished in a single evening! It takes careful negotiations, and these take time.”
Rey sighed in irritation. He was not in the mood for political talk on the best of days, but today it drew his ire even more. “It will be a difficult task indeed,” Rey said through his teeth. “But if anyone can accomplish it, I expect it would be you, my lordship.”
“Be careful, Galtung,” the jarl bit back. “Your tone nears mocking.”
Rey ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He’d forgotten how much he despised these games of words. Rey always said the wrong thing. He was too blunt. Too terse. There was a reason he preferred to spend his days on the road. “I apologize, Jarl Hakon. I meant no disrespect.”
Hakon nodded curtly, then turned to the sideboard and selected a jug. “Wine?”
“I thank you, but no.” As the jarl poured himself a goblet, Rey pushed to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, Jarl, I must—”
“Wait!” The jarl’s voice had a desperate edge to it, one that gave Rey pause.
He eyed Hakon, leaning against the sideboard and tapping his rings against the jeweled goblet.
“I am glad you’ve returned safely to us, Galtung.
My son—” Hakon frowned into his wine, apparently uncertain how to finish his sentence.
Rey cocked a brow. “Eyvind is…” a lovesick puppy? “…doing a valiant deed. Without his Ashbringer skill, the group would be at the leech’s mercy in the Western Woods.”
Hakon sighed. “I do not like to think of him in those woods.”
“He’s finishing the task you set him, my lordship,” said Rey, carefully. “I think it an admirable thing.”
And as the jarl scowled absently into his cup of wine, Rey was finally able to slip from the room.
Rey felt like a man newly freed from the gallows as he set course for Silla’s chambers. He wanted to hear her gripe about the lack of pockets in her gowns and tell him about the strange dream she’d had; wanted to count the freckles on her nose and trace the scar beside her eye.
Gods, he was turning soft.
But Rey’s happiness was short-lived. Upon his arrival at Silla’s chambers, her maid Hild informed him she took the evening meal with Atli Hakonsson. The name shattered his moods in an instant.
“Atli Hakonsson?” Rey repeated with such loathing that poor Hild took a step backward. “My thanks,” he muttered, turning on his heel.
His insides twisted as he strode through the corridors, phantom whispers and laughter echoing in his skull.
He’d warned Silla to be careful who she trusted, but Rey ought to have gone farther.
Been more specific. Now he was viscerally aware of why Jarl Hakon had ushered him into a meeting immediately upon his return.
How could he not have anticipated that the jarl would push Atli as a husband to Eisa Volsik?
Because he was a fool. Rey should know better than to feel any sort of kinship toward Jarl Hakon.
Never mind that he’d been good friends with Rey’s father—that he’d fostered Rey through countless seasons while he trained with Eyvind and other Ashbringers.
To a man like Jarl Hakon, his bloodline would always come first.
Rey’s ground-eating strides had him in Atli’s wing with astonishing speed. Guards milled outside the jarl-to-be’s door.
“Galtung?” asked Kálf, stepping forward. “You’re back sooner than—”
“Is she in there?” Rey demanded, unable to keep his ire at bay.
Kálf scowled at his tone. “Aye, but—”
Rey shouldered through the guards.
“Runny and Ingvarr are acting as chaperones,” Kálf called out.
But Rey was already pounding on the door. “Silla!” he bellowed, anger coursing through him. If it had been anyone else in that room with her but him—
Rey raised his fist to pound again, but the door flew open, and Atli’s dark gaze met his.
Rey had made it his business to avoid Eyvind’s pompous older brother as much as possible, but as Atli propped an arm against the doorframe to bar his entry, there was no avoiding the arse.
Atli Hakonsson’s arrogant face still begged to be rearranged, his eyes gleaming in silent challenge.
Rey’s hands curled into fists. “Where’s Silla?”
“Do you mean Eisa?” Atli’s mouth twisted up in mock confusion, before settling into a smarmy smile.
It was a smile that sent Rey back in time.
A smile that made him feel small and weak.
Rey wanted to do what he hadn’t all those years ago.
Seize Atli by the collar. Slam his fist into his jaw and wipe that smile right off his face.
“Is that Rey Rey?”
His body stilled at that voice, his heartbeat steadying. Silla’s curly head peeked out from under Atli’s arm, and before either man knew what was happening, she’d ducked under it and thrown herself at Rey.
As her arms and legs wrapped around him, a delighted laugh spilled free from her. It was like standing in a sunbeam in the middle of winter. Rey closed his eyes. Let his anger melt away. Home. He was home.
His hands hooked under her thighs and he pulled her up until his lips could meet hers. And perhaps Rey’s kiss was more claiming than it ought to have been.
Mine, he told Atli-gods-damned-Hakonsson, like a complete cave dweller. But Rey couldn’t care. As his tongue dipped into her mouth, he pulled back.
“You taste like wine.” A lot of it. Now that he realized it, she smelled like it, too.
He turned them toward the torchlight, illuminating her glazed eyes and bright-red lips. Rey’s heart lurched and the urge to punch Atli filled him once more. Had he plied her with wine? Tried to take advantage?
But Silla’s fingers slid into his beard, a lopsided grin on her face. “I must trim it.”
A chuckle shook loose from him, and Rey rested his forehead on hers. “No sharp objects for you tonight. Perhaps after you sleep this off.”
She lay her head on his shoulder, burrowing her face into the crook of his neck. “I missed you so much, Rey Rey.”
One of Atli’s guards snickered, and Rey sent him a thunderous look before carrying her away from the onlookers. Her queensguard thankfully had the good sense to trail them at a distance, allowing him and Silla a modicum of privacy.
“I missed you, too, Sunshine,” he whispered into her hair, uncaring that she clung to him like a squirrel to a tree. “I have you,” he whispered into her ear. “And I’m not letting go.”
A choked sound came from her, and worry twisted in Rey’s gut as a tear slid along her cheek.
“What has happened?”
She kept her face buried in his neck, unbothered, apparently, by the road’s grime on his skin.
“I’m so tired,” she murmured.
His hand slid up and down her back. “Then you must sleep.”
A thousand questions pricked his mind—about all that had happened in his absence—but Rey knew now was not the time to voice them.
They reached her chambers, and Rey cast Runny a look that had her whirling on the other guards. “Sweep the room and then get out.”
“But—” began the leader of Jarl Hakon’s appointed queensguard—Ingvarr, if Rey recalled correctly.
“Any intruder will have to get through me,” muttered Rey, sending the man a look that had him scurrying into the room.
At last, the guards waved them into the chambers and Rey carried a yawning Silla in. He laid her on the bed, smoothing her curls out behind her.
“I dreamed of you like this,” he whispered, but realized it was not quite how he’d imagined it.
In his dream she’d not had dark circles beneath her eyes, nor such tightness at the corners of her mouth.
She was beautiful all the same, and as her eyelids fluttered shut, Rey found himself reaching for a coil of hair. He pulled it taut. Let it spring back.
“Gods, I missed you,” he said.
“You’ve a strange way of showing it,” Silla mumbled.
Rey’s heart lurched. “What?”
But her breaths had grown rhythmic, her face so peaceful, and Rey knew she was now deep in the realm of sleep. He pulled off her slippers and stockings, then drew a blanket over her, examining her all the while for some clue to the meaning behind her words. There were none to be found.
“Sleep,” he said wearily, climbing onto the bed beside her. Rey slid his hand into hers and squeezed it tight. “I have you, Silla.”