Just as she was spooning up the daymeal into a pair of bowls, the door scraped open, and a rush of cool mountain air carried into the cabin. Rey shut the door behind him. Their eyes met across the hearthfire, and a thousand thoughts crowded Silla’s mind.
But Runný was here and thanking him felt like a thing to be done alone.
“You cooked,” said Rey.
Silla nodded, fetching a third bowl and spooning it full as he hung his wolf pelt on a peg. They gathered at the table, chicks pecking around their feet as they ate. Rey went back for seconds and then thirds. Silla smothered a smile as he scraped the bottom of the cauldron with a wooden spoon and licked it clean.
When he caught her watching him, he quirked a brow. “I missed your cooking,” he said with a shrug. The words landed like a hug, wrapping around her middle with delicious warmth.
After the daymeal, Runný departed. Alone with Rey, Silla felt a little uncertain.The day before, he’d seen the ugliest parts of her. But he hadn’t balked—hadn’t run away. And as he beckoned her outdoors for their morning sparring routine, she began to relax.
“Take me down, Sunshine,” he said, a gleam in his eye. And with that, her nerves had an outlet. If Silla had worried yesterday might change things between them, Rey’s dry commentary immediately put her at ease. “You’ll have to do better than that,” and, “Why are you breathing so hard?” and, “You’re slower than the tides today.”
To Silla’s great pleasure, Rey didn’t allow her to win a single time.
“You’ve got a crowd,” he said, as she wiped sweat from her brow. Half a dozen shining blue ice spirits peeked at her from behind the foliage, zipping deeper into the woods when they spotted her looking.
She decided the beautiful, winged spirits were an optimistic sign from the gods. “They must like my offerings,” Silla said in delight. Indeed, the offerings of sheep’s milk and butter she’d left on a stump near the stables were gone.
As Rey stowed the practice weapons away, Silla made her way to the stables. Approaching Horse first, Silla pulled an oat treat from her pocket. Horse, predictably, nuzzled hers at once. Slowly, she approached Dawn, watching the horse’s nostrils flare as she scented the treat.
“Now, Dawn, I know we’ve had a rough path, but yesterday was something special. A fresh start. I can do this alone, girl, but I’d rather do it with you. So I’m going to hold this treat out, and I promise not to look. It’s there if you want it.”
Silla pulled the treat from her pocket. Flattened her palm and turned her head away.Surrender, she urged herself, vowing to love her stubborn horse just as she was, even if she didn’t take the?—
A breath steamed her palm. Silla’s eyes widened, but she did not turn her head. A soft nose nuzzled against her. And then the treat was gone.
An explosion of light and warmth and happiness filled Silla as she hazarded a glance at Dawn. The horse’s ears flicked in agitation. “Good girl,” Silla whispered, backing away slowly.
As she exited the stables, Silla paused. Squeezed her eyes shut. And wriggled with utter delight. When she opened her eyes, they landed on a tall, dark figure leaning casually against the shield-home’s door. Rey’s lips quirked into an Almost Smile.
And Silla smiled right back.
If Harpa was surprisedto see Silla cross the wards on her property, she showed no trace of it. Her arms were folded over her chest, and the swath of white in her black curls shone like snow on a mountaintop.
Dismounting, Silla felt uncertain. Like Rey, Harpa had seen the less savory parts of her. After a moment’s consideration of how to approach it, direct felt best. “I’m sorry—” Silla started.
But Harpa cut her off with a wave of her hand. “Do not be sorry. Be open. Be willing.”
Silla swallowed. “I’m ready.”
A slow smile curved Harpa’s lips. “Finally. Come, we have much to do.”
And as Silla followed her mentor into the cabin, she felt the strangest thing—possibility.
Days passed without outward success.Mornings were spent working on her mindfulness in Harpa’s cabin, afternoons chopping wood in the yard. More ice spirits found her each day, jostling and hissing at one another while she swung the axe. She greeted them and told them about her day, while they looped and whirled and wrote those curious runes on rocks and fence posts.
Her lengthy rest in the steam bath’s languid heat was the highlight of Silla’s day. The whispers persisted, as always, but instead of caging them away, Silla endured them. It was counterintuitive, this kind of surrendering. Rather than seeking peace and shelter, it felt a lot like exposing herself to dangerous elements. And yet, the only way out of the storm was through it.
On the sixth day since her breakdown, Silla knew what was to come. She did not fight it when Harpa nodded at the woodpile. Did not curse inwardly, nor question the rationale of her mentor. She was stoic and determined. Her path was set, and all that was to be done was to follow it.
There was such peace in acceptance.
Silla collected the axe and made her way to the chopping stump. She chattered mindlessly at the twenty or so ice spirits zipping back and forth at the edge of her vision and swung the axe over and over, until her shoulders ached and sweat dotted her brow.
As she worked, Silla considered her progress this week. So much of her suffering had come from fighting against herself. She had fought her guilt and grief, had smothered the things she’d lived through, had clung to her dreams long after they’d been shredded. For so long, Silla had thought surrenderingmeant giving up. But to her utter surprise, surrendering had only brought freedom.
Silla considered this. Would it be the same withher—Eisa Volsik?
