Chapter 46
Kopa, íseldur
Standing in the caves deep beneath Ashfall Fortress, Silla tried to distract herself from her nerves by studying the murals painted on the walls.
But no matter how hard she stared at them, she could not shake the thought from her mind—everything was riding on today’s meeting.
Two days remained before she and Rey would ride to the heartwood, and aside from thirty warriors Atli had pulled from their reserves, and the fifteen Jarl Holger had committed to send, they had otherwise failed in mustering the necessary forces.
Myrkur’s possession of Eisa had been catastrophic to their plans.
Not only had they lost two precious days, but tales had spread among the jarls, and they readied to depart Kopa.
To have them leave without committing to Eisa Volsik, nor to sending warriors to the heartwood, was a failure beyond measure.
But then a letter had arrived with the most unexpected news.
Jarl Agnar was coming to speak with her.
After Rey had sent Kálf to investigate what precisely was happening on Hakon’s border, they finally had an update—and it was a good one.
Jarl Agnar would secretly venture onto Hakon lands to meet her.
It was enough to make hope flare brightly in her chest. Myrkur cringed, slinking deeper inside her.
“They’re late,” muttered Rey, glancing down the tunnel.
“They had a long distance to travel,” Silla reminded him.
She slid her palm into his, smiling at the warm scrape of his calluses.
Silla had recited hearthfire thoughts all morning.
She’d taken a long bath and had requested her favorite foods for the daymeal.
She’d visited the refugees and ensured they were well settled in Ashfall.
And once they’d returned to her chambers, Silla had showered Rey with kisses and soft touches until he’d tumbled them into the furs.
Suffice it to say, she was doing everything in her power to keep her moods bright and the god of chaos at bay.
A cough echoed down the passageway, and Silla whirled toward the sound. Kálf ambled forward, torchlight catching on his brown scalp and thick black beard. Silla rushed toward him, surprising the man with a firm hug.
“Now, that’s a warm welcome,” Kálf said with a grin as Silla stepped back.
“You did it,” she whispered, breath catching as her gaze slid over Kálf’s shoulder to a pair of warriors she did not recognize. With tunics bearing House Agnar’s blue eagle worn over chain mail, there was no question who these men were.
“Well done,” said Silla warmly, as Erik and Hef appeared. She shook their hands firmly as Rey kept his gaze on Jarl Agnar’s warriors, who’d entered the cavern and now swept the space for threats.
“Clear!” shouted one, and then Jarl Agnar himself was striding around the bend.
Silla had known the man was young, but she hadn’t realized just how young.
His brown skin was smooth, only sparse hints of a beard peppering his jaw.
Agnar’s shoulders looked slender even beneath the heavy armor he wore.
But as he strode toward her, the jarl’s eyes held a challenge—as though daring her to question his abilities.
Silla could relate, and immediately liked him.
She straightened her spine and smiled at the jarl. “Welcome,” she said, extending a hand.
The young jarl accepted it, meeting her eyes with honor and respect. It was hard to believe this was the man causing so much chaos on Jarl Hakon’s borders.
“I am glad to meet you, Jarl Agnar,” Silla continued. “How was your journey?”
“We traveled at a hard pace,” said Agnar, turning to inspect the sprawling caverns. “I am eager to put this matter behind me, as you can imagine.”
Silla kept pace with Agnar as he strolled to a nearby alcove and examined it.
“I am in your debt for granting my warriors safe passage on your lands,” she told Agnar.
“And I am grateful beyond measure that you heard their words with an open heart.” Silla took a deep breath and continued.
“I tried to write to you, but someone intercepted my letters. I suspect they have also been tampering with Jarl Hakon’s correspondence. Have you received any from him?”
Jarl Agnar’s gaze whipped toward her. “I—no.” He shook his head, confusion plain on his face. “I’ve received no letters from House Hakon, nor any reply to those I’ve written.”
Silla nodded to herself. “Then it is as I suspected. Tell me what is really happening on the eastern border.”
Jarl Agnar smoothed a hand down his tunic. “It started small. Farmsteads burned down, grain stolen, petty deeds done by petty men. But when an entire village was set alight and men wearing Hakon livery were seen fleeing, retaliation was necessary.”
Silla chose her words carefully. “Jarl Hakon denies any involvement. According to him, your warbands set a village on his lands alight.”
Agnar’s brows drew together. “ ’Tis not what his emissary relayed to us.”
“It’s…not?” Silla’s mind whirled as she tried to understand.
“Who was this emissary?” asked Rey, suddenly at Silla’s side. “Reynir Galtung,” he added, extending a hand for the young jarl to shake.
“A woman calling herself Valdasson. She came with a hundred warriors in House Hakon livery.”
Silla cast Rey a confused look, but his brows were drawn in concentration. “Valdasson,” he murmured. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“I do not know this name,” said Silla slowly. “What did she look like?”
Agnar was silent in thought for a moment. “She looked to have seen fifty winters. Reddish hair, a very…regal sort of air about her.”
“Valdasson,” said Rey, a note of discovery in his voice.
“A jarl with a small tract of land. I recall the name because he lost a large sum to Gunnar in a game of dice but paid only in a promissory note. When he went to collect months later, Gunnar said the jarl had died and his widow refused to honor the wager.”
Cold slid through Silla’s veins as the facts settled into place. She knew a jarl’s widow—one with auburn hair. Her eyes met Rey’s, and she could tell he’d come to the same realization.
It was Lady Tala.
“No,” murmured Silla absently. Could it be? “What did this woman tell you, Jarl Agnar?” she forced out.
The jarl watched her carefully, uncertainty in his voice. “That Jarl Hakon claimed the maps were drawn up wrong in my father’s time. That all lands within five miles of my eastern border were his by right. And that my people had ten days to vacate before his men would force them to do so.”
Silla’s heart pounded in her skull, a vicious wrath rising within her as Myrkur snarled. She funneled hearthfire thoughts into her mind, desperate to keep the god at bay and keep her mind as her own.
“There is no way those are Hakon’s terms,” said Rey. “He tries to unite the north, not divide it.”
“That emissary was not acting under Hakon’s orders,” said Silla, trying not to let the bitter sting of Tala’s betrayal grant Myrkur any power. “If my hunch is correct, she follows Signe’s command.”
“Q-queen Signe?” stuttered Jarl Agnar.
I’ll admit, whispered Myrkur, I’m rather impressed with Signe.
Silla blinked. You sound as though you know her, she shot back, against her better judgement.
Myrkur only chuckled, ducking away before Silla could gage His emotions. Rey touched her elbow and Silla refocused on Jarl Agnar.
“I—sorry.” She shook her head. “It seems the queen has been rather busy. Not only has she tried to have me assassinated several times, but she’s been stirring up chaos in the north.
Intercepting not only my letters but those of Jarls Hakon and Agnar as well.
” Silla’s gaze fell on Agnar and hardened. “Enough is enough.”
Silla thought back on all of her interactions with Lady Tala, seeing them in new light.
Tala, seated beside her the day her róa cup had been poisoned.
Tala, coming to Silla after Ingvarr’s botched attempt on her life, urging her to keep Fallgerd’s death quiet.
Tala, whispering advice to Silla that had only made her question herself.
Her blood chilled further as she recalled Tala coming to her while she was shackled to the bed, trying to feed her broth.
She’d been too nauseous to take it. Had it, too, been poisoned?
Let me in, Eisa, crooned Myrkur. Grant me access to your bloodline gift. We can make her pay. We will make it hurt.
Jarl Agnar’s voice thankfully diverted her attention.
“When your retinue arrived at the borderlands, I suspected treachery,” he confessed.
“I wondered if you lured us into a trap on Jarl Hakon’s behalf.
But the way your men spoke of you…I’ll admit I was intrigued.
And now that I’ve met you, I feel hopeful.
You’ve gotten to the bottom of our issues.
You treat your warriors with respect. And you alone have the ability to topple Ivar’s hold on the north of íseldur. To bring peace to these lands.”
Peace, laughed Myrkur.
Silla’s jaw hardened, but an idea struck her.
She strode across the cavern, beckoning Jarl Agnar to follow her.
“I will be honest with you, Jarl Agnar. I fear this conflict with Lady Tala will be the first of many battles.” Silla paused before the mural, staring at the Volsik king facing down a horde of demon creatures.
“Dark days are on the horizon, and if we wish to survive, we must unite.”
Silla watched the young jarl, waiting for some reaction. But he only nodded solemnly, staring at the mural. She drew a deep breath and prepared for what came next. This had to work. They were out of time.
“Do you know, Agnar, I believe we are much alike. Like you, I am used to being underestimated. It is, in some ways, my greatest weapon.” Silla turned to the mural, examining the Volsik king alone in his battle against Myrkur.
She’d thought she had time. Thought she could wait for Saga. But now she understood.
I will stand up to Tala and the jarls, she thought, and then, I will stand up to Myrkur.
You can try, mortal, taunted the god of chaos. But you will fail.
If I fail, thought Silla, at least I have tried.
Silla and Agnar spoke in hushed tones for the better part of an hour as she relayed her plans. By the time she left the cavern, the sting of Tala’s betrayal was smothered by a blanket of hope.
Rey’s hand slid into hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Do you realize what you’ve done?” She turned to him, alarmed, but a smile curved his lips. “You just won Jarl Agnar to your cause.”
She squeezed his hand back.
“And you did it,” said Rey, “simply by being Silla.”
Confidence and hope mingled in her chest. But Silla focused her attention on what must come next.
“We have work left to do,” she said.
By the time they returned to Silla’s bedchambers, the sister moons had risen under winter’s early nightfall. She walked to the windows. Snowflakes fluttered softly down, blanketing Kopa’s peaked roofs, and her gaze fell to the smallest of the sisters, now swelling toward fullness.
It was a reminder she did not need that only two nights remained before they departed for the heartwood. Silla’s heart gave a panicked leap. What if her plans failed? What if she and Rey had to ride to the woods with naught but Jarl Holger’s warband?
Silla blinked furiously at the moons, serene in the star-speckled skies, and felt a moment of outrage.
All her life, she’d left offerings for the gods and the spirits; all her life, she’d been dutiful in her worship.
How could the gods be so silent while Myrkur wrought havoc?
Where was Sunnvald, father of the gods? Where was Malla, goddess of love and battle?
My brother does not bother himself with you mortals, whispered Myrkur. But as a cloud drifted from the largest of the moons and the moonlight intensified, Myrkur hissed and burrowed deeper.
“Is it true, Sunnvald?” Silla murmured, gripping the window linens.
“What?” asked Rey from across the room.
Silla spun away from the window, shaking her head. “It’s noth…”
But her words trailed off. A moonbeam now flowed through the glass windows, like a beacon lighting a path for her to follow.
Breathless, Silla trailed it across the floorboards to where it landed on a stack of books—one of many that Runny and Atli had been combing through.
Heart pounding, Silla approached the stack and examined the book at the top.
It was a collection of old mythologies gathered from the northern reaches—Karthia, íseldur, Norvaland, and the like—and as Silla flipped it open, it fell to a particular page.
“What is it?” asked Rey, appearing by her side.
“Perhaps the gods have not abandoned me,” Silla said, glancing back at the window. The moonlight indeed led a path to this very book. “Perhaps I’ve forgotten to watch for their signs.”
Silla probed inwardly for Myrkur, and was surprised to find Him buried away, somewhere deep. Had the moonlight repelled Him? She could not say.
Silla settled on the floor in the moonbeam’s path, and began to read.
The Karthian fable told of a man named Tuiren, who engaged in a betting game with a mysterious stranger.
The drunken Tuiren made an increasingly astonishing series of wagers, not the least of which included his wife.
Given the man’s apparent lack of wits, it was no surprise to Silla when Tuiren lost, nor when the stranger revealed himself to be a god.
Tuiren, apparently realizing the error of his ways, begged the god not to take his wife. And when the god declined, Tuiren challenged him to combat to reclaim his wife. And so he fought the god, which, Silla would admit was romantic. But being impaled on a nature god’s antlers was rather less so.
She stared up at Rey, trying to understand. “Tuiren lost a wager with a god. Is a wager not rather like a bargain?”
“Wait,” said Rey, lifting a hand. “Perhaps we should wait—”
“He’s not listening.” Silla probed again for Myrkur, then grinned. “The moonlight—I think it has warded Him off.” As she realized she had her mind to herself, excitement thrummed to life inside Silla.
“King Hrolf was simply too old to attempt. That’s what Fallgerd said.” She tapped her finger on the image in the book. “He was too old to battle the god.”
“I do not like where this is going,” said Rey warily.
“I understand it now.” Silla walked to the window, never stepping from the moonlight’s path. She turned and faced Rey. In this moment, with her mind her own, Silla felt more like herself than she had in weeks. “This is how I will banish the dark god from my body.”
“How?”
She shook her head, incredulous. “I must challenge Him to battle.”