Chapter 34 #3
“Get out of here!” she shouted, waving her sword in the air. “Leave me alone, you wretched creature!”
Boots crunched in the snow behind her, and Silla whirled to find Rey approaching. And based on his expression, he’d seen the entire exchange.
“What?” Silla pushed a stray lock of hair from her face and sent him a challenging look. “I’m not mad!”
“I said no such thing.”
“I can see it in your eyes, Reynir. You think I’m unfit, just like those jarls!”
Rey stepped closer to grip her elbows. “I do not think you’re unfit, and neither do the jarls—”
“He manipulated me,” she whispered frantically, burying her face in his tunic. “He pulled on my emotions…whispered things in my ear. I cannot do this, Rey—I cannot live like this!”
“I know. We must renew our search for a cure.”
How? she wanted to scream. Her search for a cure had taken her through countless books—had rendered the Weaver comatose and had cost Fallgerd’s life. Silla had exhausted every avenue she could think of and was running out of hope.
Rey’s arms were a reassuring weight as he held her to him.
But Silla wasn’t ready to let him soften her anger.
She wanted to bathe in the flames of her burning wrath.
Wanted to break and burn things to the ground.
Silla shook free from his grip and pointed the wool-wrapped tip of her sword to the middle of his chest.
“Spar with me,” she challenged. Rey pursed his lips as he stared at the sword, then leveled her with a hard look.
“Very well.”
Silla paced restlessly as Rey wrapped his sword, and when he turned, his face was set in grim determination. Warmth fluttered deep inside her, and for a moment, she was back in the snowy yard of their shield-home—before everything had gotten so gods damned complicated.
“I won’t apologize for sending those men to Jarl Agnar,” said Rey, surging forward. Silla parried his blow, glad that her restless emotion was finally channeled into something.
“I will never apologize when it comes to your safety, Silla.” Rey ducked under her lashing sword, then delivered an upward swing in return. She blocked it without a heartbeat to spare.
Rey leaned between their locked swords. “I have already proven I’m willing to kill, to torture, to do whatever dark deeds I must to keep you safe. You’ll just have to get used to that.”
“Stubborn man,” she muttered, shoving him back and finding her stance.
Rey’s eyes burned like the hottest embers of a fire. “For you, always.”
“Always,” she repeated. The word felt somehow heavier than all the rest, as though it held meaning. As though he’d almost named this thing they’d been dancing around for some time.
Capitalizing on her momentary distraction, Rey drove forward in a vicious series of blows.
Her sword fell to the ground, and Silla was left ducking and dodging, looking for an opening.
She saw it when he drew up short—the fool of a man feared hurting her.
With a shout, she threw herself at him, tackling him around the waist.
Silla knew he let her take him down to the ground, but she was too far gone to care. Rey landed hard, and though he’d retained his grip on his weapon, Silla pinned his sword arm beneath her knee. She straddled his upper chest, and the position sent heat blazing through her.
“Stupid sparring sessions in Kalasgarde,” Silla muttered. Her body now seemed to confuse sparring practice as the precursor to something altogether different. And based on Rey’s smoldering eyes, it had the same effect on him.
Silla’s moment of victory was short-lived. The air shuddered with magic, and a thin ribbon of smoke peeled up from Rey’s palms. The smoke slithered toward her, coiled along her arm, and caressed her shoulder.
“Cheater!” she accused, writhing as the smoke prickled the sensitive skin on the back of her neck.
“Opportunist,” he said cheerfully.
She squealed as the smoke delved down the collar of her jacket. And then everything happened quickly. Heat surged into her body. The taste of smoke burst on her tongue. And suddenly, the ribbons of smoke were pouring from her palms.
Rey’s eyes widened. “What—”
The heat guttered out, and the smoke evaporated into thin air. Silla felt hollow—felt empty. She blinked at her palms in astonishment. Where had it gone? What had that been?
Her eyes met Rey’s as he stared at her in wonder. “What was that?”
Yes, purred Myrkur, opening one eye and peering up. What was that?
“I felt—” Ignoring the god, she stared at her hands, the heat of Rey’s smoke lingering in her veins. “—You.”
Confusion marred Rey’s expression, but Silla was consumed with giddy excitement and her mouth crashed into his in a fierce kiss.
He hummed, lips moving against hers as he kissed her right back.
But he rolled them with a sudden burst of energy, and then it was Silla pinned to the ground, with Rey straddling her hips.
“Explain,” he ordered.
Silla bit down on her lip, momentarily distracted by that stern voice of his. Her anger had burned out, leaving something more smoldering.
“You took it, didn’t you?” continued Rey. “My galdur—it was as though it was suddenly siphoned straight from my blood.”
Silla nodded. “I do not understand it. You were tickling me with your smoke, and I desperately wanted to get away, and then…then suddenly it was in my veins.” She stared up at him. “It feels so different from my own…so hot and…and I tasted smoke…”
“You’ve done it before,” said Rey. “When I had you restrained in the bed. Do you recall? You freed yourself from my smoke, and I did not understand it—”
“Kaeja!” exclaimed Silla. “In the sparring yard, when I escaped her Harefoot speed, she called me a thief. I thought she meant I’d stolen you, but now—” Silla’s mind careened wildly. Could it truly be?
It was Rey who finally voiced it aloud. “You can pull galdur from more than mere halda stones.” He looked up at her reverently. “You can pull it from human Galdra. Perhaps you can pull it from all of the Ashen.”
Myrkur chuckled, yet it was quiet. Smothered. The god was exhausted, which meant this was the perfect time to investigate this curiosity.
Rey climbed to his feet and offered her a hand up, a wicked gleam in his eye.
“Do it again.”