Chapter 34 #2
“We have waited long enough! Salvation will not fall into our laps—we must seize it for ourselves. Band together against our common enemy in a northern alliance. We will slaughter one of theirs for each life stolen. Blood for blood. Together, we will make them pay!”
As Silla’s words registered—as the jarls stared slack-jawed—panic rippled through the wall of incinerating rage.
These were not her words. These were His.
And yet they’d felt so good to speak. Had felt so right.
Silla sealed her lips shut to prevent more from coming, but her temples throbbed with the need to spill blood—the need to hunt down her enemies and make them pay.
She would make it slow…make them hurt as they’d hurt her parents…
Good, Eisa, whispered Myrkur, wings fluttering gently. You spoke well. His approval fulfilled every longing she’d ever had and she yearned for more, thought of every conceivable way she might get it…
A warm hand slid into hers, jolting her from her thoughts. Rey pulled her down into her chair, eyes steadily holding hers. She anchored herself in his gaze and in the warmth of his hand. Myrkur hissed, but slowly, gradually, those talons loosened by subtle degrees.
Hakon’s nervous laughter met her ears. “What Eisa means to say is that a northern alliance would solidify our friendship and strengthen us all. United against the Urkans, we would be unstoppable.”
Through the tension in her skull and the restless fire in her veins, Silla looked around the table, ready to meet the jarls’ eager gazes. They would come to her, one by one. Drop to their knees and pledge fealty. But they only looked at her with skepticism and doubt.
Myrkur snarled in disapproval, and the desire to spill their blood pushed forth once more. She would collect their jarldoms as her own. If they would not bow, then they would break. Silla tried to push to her feet, but Rey grabbed her hand and yanked her back down.
“You must understand, Your Highness,” said Jarl Holger, glancing apprehensively her way, “I think I speak for every man at this table when I say that a Volsik belongs on the throne. We long to push the Urkans from our kingdom and to restore íseldur to what it once was. But to do so, we must be careful and clever. And the facts are that without Jarl Agnar, this alliance simply won’t work. ”
Myrkur thrashed about in wrathful indignation, Silla’s heart churning madly in her chest.
She glared at Jarl Holger as he turned his gaze on Jarl Hakon. “Agnar controls the ports at Kunafjord, and he has many hundreds of warriors oathsworn to him. Without them, we will be no iron fist of resistance—we will be but an open hand.”
His statement hung heavily in the air, several jarls nodding in agreement.
Coward! bellowed Myrkur in her mind. Fool of a man! We will cut you down first!
Silla gripped Rey’s hand tighter, fighting against the urge to leap to her feet. Throw herself across the table, and squeeze the life from Jarl Holger. She desperately focused on Rey’s thumb rubbing circles on the back of her hand. The dark god thrashed deeper, seething.
“Then we need Jarl Agnar.” The words came from Rey, and Silla blinked in surprise.
“You have written and sent emissaries?” Holger asked Hakon.
“Aye.”
“Perhaps we might try with a more neutral party?”
Jarl Hakon was silent for a thoughtful moment, before his gaze fell on Rey. “What about Rey Galtung—”
“Father,” interjected Atli, “you cannot entrust him with such a task—the man has the temperament of a bear!”
Children! seethed Myrkur, His anger rising anew. Silla squeezed Rey’s hand so tightly he glanced her way. But words were building, and Silla could not hold them back…
“Rey will not go,” she said tersely. “He’s needed here—”
“It does not matter,” interjected Rey. She had the sensation he was trying to prevent her from talking, and slowly swiveled her gaze to him. “I’ve already sent men to the borderlands to entreat with Jarl Agnar.”
Schemer! hissed Myrkur, turning His gaze upon Rey. The god’s wings flapped violently, spurring her anger back to life. More secrets! More withheld truths! This man is no ally of ours, Eisa.
Betrayal and anger and dumbfounded confusion roiled in Silla’s blood. She longed to scratch her nails down his skin. Gouge his eyes from his skull. As she turned to Rey, concern flickered in his expression. “You did what?”
A muscle in his jaw feathered, but his thumb continued its soft, reassuring circles on the back of her hand. But Silla didn’t want to be comforted and she yanked her hand free.
Rey’s gaze hardened. “Someone was tampering with your correspondence, so I took it upon myself to determine whether your letters to Jarl Agnar ever arrived. Hef, Kálf, and Erik have gone to investigate, and if possible, I asked them to entreat with him.” Rey’s hard gaze slid to Jarl Hakon, whose face was slowly turning red.
“I mean you no dishonor, Jarl Hakon, but I won’t take any risks where Eisa is involved. ”
The jarl and Rey exchanged sharp words, but Silla was too busy weathering the storm of emotions inside her. She wanted to spill their blood. Wanted to show them that she was no placeholder queen. Why did he keep this from you, Eisa? seethed Myrkur. We cannot amass power with this man at our side!
Silla closed her eyes, trying to control her rapid breaths, yet the sting of Rey’s withheld truth made it difficult.
“It was merely a precaution,” Rey said carefully. She sensed his gaze on her, but was too angry to meet it. “I was only planning to tell you if they discovered something of concern.”
She homed in on his words. Tried to drag them into her mind. He did not want to burden us, she told Myrkur. He did it to protect us. But the god only snarled, rejecting the notion.
“Well.” It was Holger’s voice, from the opposite end of the table. “It seems we shall have to wait to hear Agnar’s response.”
“Which means,” said Rey, “we can turn our attentions to another matter of urgency.”
Stand up, Eisa! screamed Myrkur. Let me in and we’ll show them…
Silla could not open her eyes. Could only breathe through Myrkur’s displeased tantrum. She did not trust herself not to stand and unleash a verbal tirade like before.
Silla sensed Rey standing. Addressing the table.
“An enemy gathers in the Western Woods,” he began, but she tuned him out.
Placed a chasm between her and this room.
Stop him, hissed Myrkur. Anger and bitterness burned inside her.
Frustration and the thinnest thread of fear that these mortals would ruin all her plans.
Distantly, she heard Rey detailing everything that was happening in the Western Woods.
The leech draining life from the trees, using it to create spawn in the form of undead creatures.
He told of the empty village and the draugur being mustered to a place called Rokksgarde.
He told them of the Forest Maiden’s awakening and her prophecy of a battle in the heartwood.
“And so,” he concluded, “we ask for warriors to join us in the woods to do battle on the next full Marra. We’ll need to depart no later than eight days from now. ”
“Forgive me.” Jarl Holger chuckled nervously. “Surely you did not just tell us—”
“That a poisonous mist is turning the good citizens of íseldur into the restless dead?” Rey laughed caustically. “Yes.”
Speak, Eisa, pleaded Myrkur, sending a visceral wave of anger that had her gasping. Let me in!
As she sensed the room’s attention, her eyes fluttered open, only to find the jarls exchanging wary glances. Inside her, Myrkur clawed, trying to regain control, and it took all her might not to scream with rage.
Her fingers itched to wrap around Rey’s throat and squeeze. To show him what she thought of his keeping secrets from her. But a servant suddenly burst into the room.
“F-fire!” he exclaimed. “Fire in the hall! We must evacuate now!”
The words hung in the air for a moment before pandemonium broke out.
Jarls leaped to their feet, jostling for the door, while the scent of smoke grew more potent by the second.
Cries of alarm flowed in from the hallway, but for the first time since this cursed meeting had started, Silla felt a wave of relief.
She could get out of here. Regain control of herself.
Myrkur thrashed about, screaming in rage. Rey, thank the gods, was at her elbow, calmly pulling her toward the exit. At least one person in this room had some sense in their head.
But even amid the tumult—even amid Myrkur’s angry rantings—Silla retained enough clarity of mind to know one thing for certain.
Today’s meeting had been an utter disaster.
Silla’s wool-wrapped sword flashed through the air in the sparring yard, yet it did little to quell her frustrations.
The fire in Ashfall Fortress—caused when a serving thrall had knocked over a candle—was extinguished before extensive damage could be done, but the meeting with the jarls had been canceled.
Jarl Hakon had rescheduled for the next day, tersely urging Silla to rest and regroup.
What he hadn’t spoken aloud was written plainly enough across his face.
Her performance at that meeting had been reprehensible.
Thankfully, after an hour of conspiratorial rants that had her pacing restlessly, Myrkur had seemed to wear Himself out.
Now she sensed Him curled low inside her, dark wings tucked in tight.
Yet the restless energy persisted inside Silla.
She could not shake how Myrkur had shaped and molded her words in that hall.
The things she’d said—the things she’d felt—haunted her.
The god of chaos was doing what He did best, causing strife and unrest among the mortals, and she was furious with herself for letting Him control her like that.
A cry from above had Silla craning her neck, shielding her eyes from the winter sun’s glare. Her stomach hollowed out when she saw it—perched high on a spire sat that gods damned black hawk.