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“You must know,” he whispered. “I loved you like my own kin.”
It was always nothing. But one of these times, it might be something. A grimwolf or a bear or a vampire deer or, worse, a man.
The girl picked up a stick and poked at a dangling shred of flesh,
Reykfjord—the smoky fjord.
Only one of the great Volsik line had survived the sacking of Sunnavík—five-year-old Princess Saga, raised as Ivar’s ward and future bride for his son Bjorn.
is a man’s world in which we live, Skraeda, her queen had told her, in that calming voice of hers. Let them think us lambs, when truly, we are wolves.
That man needs to hug a baby or pat a dog, she thought.
“Because it takes a small man to be ruled by fear and a large one to show mercy. And anyone can see you are no small man.”
“Malla’s tits,” muttered Rey, dragging a hand down his face. “Tell me she did not just apologize to a rock.”
“And I wonder if the dowdy dresses and act of innocence are a trick, because good, sweet girls do not have a tongue as sharp and wicked as yours. And merciful gods, Silla. I am no good man, because all I can think of is drawing you into my furs and discovering what else that tongue is capable of.”
It was best they parted ways like this. Because this was the kind of problem he’d spent a lifetime avoiding.
Time slowed as she took in the creature before her. Six feet tall. White coat matted with blood, torn and hanging in places. Antlers, ghost white and sharp as daggers. Vampírudýr. Vampire deer.
Rey was silent for so long that she thought perhaps she hadn’t actually spoken the words aloud. But finally, he replied. “My brother took them.” And then he said the words that changed everything. “He’s dead now. They poisoned him.”
Sitting, Rey rubbed his head. Death had seemed certain, and now…he stared at the curly-haired woman. She had saved his life. This woman, who thought hearthfire thoughts and apologized to rocks and got drunk off three cups of brennsa, had saved his life.
“You’ve broken me…bewitched me…I know nothing except that I am miserable. All I can think of are your lips, the smell of your hair. How you felt in my arms, the way you made me feel so alive.”
was wrong to treat you like that. And I’m done fighting it, Silla. You shouldn’t be with other men. You belong with me.”
“Did something happen on your trip?” asked Jonas. A foreign feeling twisted in his stomach—jealousy, he realized with a start.
“You must keep vigilant, Silla. Do not let him get too close. You are too trusting.”
She looked into his eyes, trying to count the golden embers as he began to clean her face.
He could give her chickens.
One—the girl was her sister. And two—her sister was alive, somewhere in the Kingdom of Íseldur.
“Have you heard of Galdra twins, Kommandor? All that time in the womb…more than just blood is shared. My sister was an Ashbringer,
“We are not going to press her for answers,” he said gruffly. A strange sensation prickled up the back of Jonas’s neck. Why does Rey protect her? he wondered.
“I do not want you speaking to Rey anymore,” he said softly.
“You agreed to do what I said, Silla. Think twice before going behind my back again.” Jonas stalked off to saddle his horse, leaving the curly-haired girl leaning against the tree.
Dear, sweet Ilías. It should have been her.
It should have been me. I should have told you everything. I wish I could go back in time and take Ilías’s place.
“Not killing you when I discovered you in our wagon will be a thing I regret until my last breath.”
Lébrynja armor was impressively durable but not invincible, and Ilías was dealt not one but two death blows by the warriors who attacked him.
She was Eisa Volsik. And Eisa Volsik was not his.
Jonas would ensure that Ilías’s death was not meaningless. That he was not made a fool. That this woman got everything she deserved.
She’s made a fool of you. She was never going to tell you her true name. She never cared for you. And the thing that had finally roused Jonas from despair. Give your brother’s death meaning. It all made sense. There was meaning to be found in Ilías’s death, though it would not be handed to him. Jonas would have to take it for himself.
“Forgive me, brother, for not being by your side when you needed me most. Forgive me for cavorting with a vile woman, for sealing your fate in blood. I swear it to you, Ilías, I will avenge your death. She will pay retribution. She will suffer for what she has done.”
“You’re the Slátrari. The murderer!” Rey smiled, stepping toward the kaptein. The name was ridiculous, but he had to admit he enjoyed the notoriety.
Rey eased back into the woods. She escaped, he thought, his heart swelling. Somehow, this did not surprise him. She was clever, his girl. A survivor. Not your girl, he chastised himself.
