Chapter 52
Kopa, íseldur
Silla smoothed the leather-like scales of her lébrynja jacket as Hild held up a round of polished metal for her to examine her reflection.
Her curls were woven into a thick braid that fell down her back, and her eyes were free from kohl.
Gone were the fine garments and ornate jewels, exchanged in favor of an armored jacket and functional breeches.
The woman staring back at her was no longer Eisa.
Today, she would introduce the jarls to Silla.
Yet the dark circles beneath her eyes and her pallid complexion spoke of Myrkur’s ever-tightening grip. And as she stared at her reflection, darkness flashed in her eyes—so brief, she might think she’d imagined it.
Together we will make them bow, hissed the dark god. Once you are on the throne, Eisa, we will rule it together.
Silla frowned. What makes you think I would ever want that?
She sensed the dark god’s satisfaction. You cannot hide it from me, He taunted.
I hear it in your thoughts. Taste it in your blood.
Hunger surged through her. A desperate want.
Where is Saga? Would you work so hard to gain the fealty of these nobles only to have her claim it? It is you who should be on the throne.
She tried to shake off Myrkur’s odious presence.
Tried to ignore His provoking words. But it was impossible to do so when there was a kernel of truth to what He said.
Silla was forced to admit that she did want the throne, though not to rule as He would have it.
She wanted to make choices that would help Frida and her shelter home; Eilif and her ailing sister; the refugees unsettled in the north.
Let me in, Eisa, purred the god, her yearning growing more potent, and we will have the throne.
“No,” she said aloud, ignoring Hild’s perplexed look as she snatched the heart-shaped rock from her dressing table.
Immediately, memories of her foster father surged forth and her ears rang with the remembered sound of Matthias’s voice, calling her Moonflower.
Myrkur recoiled, filling Silla with satisfaction.
She stared at her reflection, smiling as she slid the heart-shaped rock into her pocket.
Silla drew a deep breath. Tonight was their final chance—to gain the warriors they needed in the heartwood and to earn the jarls’ trust. Armed with a plan and a few small defences against the dark god, Silla knew there was a chance, even if slim.
“Ready?” asked Rey, appearing by her side.
“Not truly,” sighed Silla, finding one last errant lébrynja scale and smoothing it flat, “but let us get on with it all the same.”
Rey’s large hand slid into hers, and when he looked at her, she was both warmed and strengthened by his presence. “Together,” he whispered.
“Together.”
The pair of them turned in unison, and as they exited her chambers, Runny and the rest of her queensguard moved into formation around them. Their pace was unhurried as they navigated Ashfall’s tangled corridors; as they descended stairwell after stairwell into the deepest parts of the fortress.
They approached the enormous oak doors Silla had nervously entered so many weeks before, and she reflected on how different she now felt.
Her pulse still pounded, and sweat still beaded on her brow.
But as the double doors opened before her, she was filled with a sense of certainty.
No longer was she trying to be someone else. Today, she was simply Silla.
Rey squeezed her hand, and when she glanced at him, Silla was surprised by the eagerness she found in his eyes.
“Are you…excited, Galtung?”
His lips curved up into an almost-smile. “Only for you to show them who you truly are.”
“An apologizer to rocks,” she teased.
“A resilient woman with a heart of gold. The best in this entire realm.”
I will relish watching others underestimate you, he’d told her all those weeks ago. His words, then and now, reached to the deepest parts of her, making something tender unfold inside her chest. This man and his unwavering belief in her.
Myrkur hissed with disgust, slinking lower.
With her mind to herself, Silla pushed up onto her toes and kissed Rey softly.
Thank you, she told him with her lips, for believing in me.
For building me up when so many would tear me down.
Silla ended the kiss quickly but sent Rey a look that promised more later.
They entered the hall side by side. Silla had given the jarls an earlier time than the rest. She wanted to ensure that their little games of power—tardiness high among them—had time to play out.
She also wanted them to sit with their peers—the stablemen and kitchen women, the refugees from the west. And perhaps Silla wanted the jarls to squirm a little as they wondered why one section of the benches remained glaringly vacant.
As the light of the braziers illuminated the many hundreds of people seated, Silla tried to ignore the butterflies swarming in her belly.
She glanced into the crowd, waving at Hild and Eilif before nodding at Jarl Holger.
Silla’s gaze skimmed quickly past Lady Tala before landing on Jarl Hakon, whose expression looked simultaneously curious and irritated.
He conspires, hissed Myrkur, pumping anger and hatred for Hakon through her veins.
Silla squeezed Rey’s hand, and his thumb caressed her knuckles in answer. Dimples, she recited, large hands. Trimming his beard. The dark god retracted, and with Him, her anger.
But as she brimmed with self-satisfaction, Silla caught Rey nodding at Atli and nearly choked on her own saliva.
It seemed that sometime during Myrkur’s possession of her, Rey and Atli had found a tentative sort of peace.
Indeed, Rey had informed her that he and Atli had been working to muster forces to join them in the heartwood.
Unfortunately, with the bulk of Hakon’s men stationed at the eastern border, it was not a straightforward task.
Silla and Rey climbed the dais stairs, then waited for her queensguard to fan out on the floor. Once they were all in position, she drew a deep breath and began.
“I thank you for coming,” Silla said to the crowd. “I know this is an unusual summons. But the fact is, we live in unusual times.” She cleared her throat, readying herself for the next part. “I see not all have arrived. Kálf, will you let our guests of honor into the hall?”
Whispers rippled through the crowd as attendees craned their necks toward the double doors.
Kálf threw them wide, and Jarl Agnar strode into the hall with his two dozen warriors.
The room collectively gasped. Jarl Hakon leaped to his feet, an angry flush creeping from beneath his bejeweled collar.
As the jarl’s hand strayed to his hip, Silla was glad all weapons had been left at the door.
You’ve shown Hakon, preened Myrkur. Now he sees who holds the power!
Despite reminding herself that they were all on the same side, it was impossible not to feel a measure of satisfaction as Jarl Agnar and his men crossed the hall and settled into the vacant expanse of benches. It was she who brought these warring factions together. She who would restore peace.
“There is a snake in our midst!” Silla called out, a giddy feeling rising as she took in the shocked expressions in the crowd. Myrkur wriggled gleefully. “One who conspires against me.”
The crowd fell deathly silent, jarls and peasants glancing around with equal confusion. Jarl Hakon sat down hard, glancing around at his peers with a hint of worry.
“Someone in this very room has tried to kill me four times.”
And they will pay, whispered Myrkur, the desire for vengeance surging through her veins. Rather than shoving it down, Silla let it flow. Reveled in this moment.
She wanted the culprit to squirm a little longer, but unfortunately, they hadn’t time to waste. “Lady Tala,” called Silla, “would you like to explain yourself?”
Tala looked around with a tittering laugh. “A jest? How humorous!”
But the silence seemed to thicken the air, and Lady Tala’s expression soon shifted to anger.
“Surely you do not accuse me of those attempts on your life?” she sputtered.
“I was not even present for the rockslide!” When Silla’s expression did not falter, Tala’s face turned crimson.
“After all I have done for you…after I’ve taken you under my wing… ”
Myrkur cackled wickedly inside her, and despite herself, Silla smiled malevolently as she gazed at Tala.
“Would you like to explain,” she said loudly, “how your son holds the deeds to Ingvarr’s family lands? Did you force him to do your bidding, Tala? Threaten to evict his family if he did not comply?”
She’s frightened, preened Myrkur, as Tala’s eyes widened. Keep going.
Silla complied. “Or perhaps you’d like to tell Jarl Hakon what truly happened at the border mediations?” Hakon’s gaze slashed Tala’s way. “Or shall Jarl Agnar speak for you?”
“What have you told her, Jarl Agnar?” demanded Lady Tala, sending him a thunderous look. “This child is a proven liar, Your Highness. You cannot trust a word he speaks—”
She is the liar! countered Myrkur, and Silla had to seal her lips shut so as not to shout it out.
“This is the woman,” called Jarl Agnar, “who came to our mediation on your behalf, Jarl Hakon. A so-called neutral party. But from her tongue came threats and the declaration that you’d laid claim to my borderlands.”
“Preposterous!” exclaimed Jarl Hakon, leaping to his feet. “Your men came onto my lands and set fire to several villages—”
“In retribution for the fires you set on mine!” challenged Agnar.
More, begged Myrkur. More chaos. More strife! The god was feasting on the conflict in the room, and Silla had to battle back His urges. Her hand slid into her pocket and wrapped around the heart-shaped stone. Immediately, the god cringed back.
Silla brought her focus outward once more, where the two jarls stared at each other for a long, tense minute.