It was bare moments before she held the sword of cold light. The serpents recoiled, watching Silla with red eyes, glowing as though lit from within. Their scales were ice blue, though their underbellies were closer to white.
“Find something else to eat!” Silla growled, swinging her blade through the air. It bounced harmlessly off the nearest creature’s scales. Silla hadn’t the chance to feel disbelief because the snakes were lashing out…
A swarm of crystalline blue forms surged at the creatures from below. The snakes recoiled, crashing into one another as the ice spirits mobbed them, driving them back.
Silla noted the ice spirits attacked from below, focusing on the hatchling’s undersides. An idea coalesced, and then she was swinging upward, her blade sinking through the nearest creature’s stomach like butter.
She whirled and ran. Dashing through the caves, Silla’s coordination quickly deteriorated. She stumbled over rocks and slid on patches of ice. The ground rumbled behind her, and she guessed the hatchlings had broken past the ice spirits.
They could not escape. She needed to block the exit. The roof of the cavern thinned, and soon, her vision exploded with disorienting light as she burst outdoors. Her mind felt as though it was stuffed with wool, but Silla turned on the cave entrance, hacking at the overhanging shelf with her sword.
Again and again, she brought her sword down on the snow-covered opening, hoping, praying that it would be enough. A clump of ice fell, sending another crashing, then another. The ground rumbled, and Silla stepped back. Snow cascaded down, landing with a solid thump and sending powder pluming into the air.
The rumbling stopped, a muffled hiss coming from beyond the snow. Silla let out a long breath. The exit to the cave was sealed—for now.
She needed to get out of here—needed to bring help to destroy the creatures for good.
Turning, Silla rushed away from Jökull’s caves.
As she stumbled down Jökull,Silla became aware that the snake’s bite was no mere flesh wound. It started with a low throb in her leg, but with each passing step, it grew and spread, until feverish heat burned through her body.
A life for a life,whispered that malevolent voice, seeping like venom into her mind.
Silla grabbed on to a scrubby tree as her feet slid out from beneath her along the snow-covered path. Sweat dotted her brow, the ground swaying beneath her.
Use the knife.
Pushing to her feet, Silla edged down the trail. It seemed to take all her energy to keep her focus on the ground, to keep from tripping over tree roots and rocks. Thankfully, the snow soon receded, the trees growing taller.
A good girl you are, my darling Svalla.
Her vision swirled, the voices growing louder. Images flashed in her mind—a fountain; a rose bush; a blood-soaked dagger.
Gods, but there must have been venom on the serpent’s teeth.
I miss her so much.
Her vision warped, and Silla felt herself stumbling aimlessly amongst the pine trees. She fought to maintain her grip on her mind, but it was slipping through her fingers. Reality blurred, swirled, twisted around her. And then Silla tipped into the realm of her mind.
Silla saw a girl,blue eyes just like Saga’s, but dark curls just like her own. And then, she was one with the girl, skipping through a stone-paved courtyard, a doll tucked under her arm. She smiled as sunshine heated her cheeks, and Silla could smell spring—sweet floral blossoms and freshly turned earth and bright grassy things.
She was going to the fountain. How glorious it was to see the last of winter’s snows melted. Soon there would be flowers and midday meals in the garden and trips to the shore. And it also meant Cook would set fresh berries out with every meal, and that was her favorite—crowberries with a drizzle of honey.
But today, she would go to the fountain and give three wishes to Sunnvald. The first, of course, would be for a baby brother or sister. The second would be that Grandpapa would feel happy again. She missed his smiles and the stories he used to tell before Grandmama got sick and went to the stars above. The third wish she had not yet chosen. A hundred days of sunshine? Or perhaps she should wish for something more, as her papa would say, “noble.” The absolute best harvest season ever? The most bountiful fishing hauls for everyone?
Silla pursed her lips, skipping past the bush she’d helped Mama plant. A rose bush, Mama had said, from the Southern Continent. Apparently, it would soon befilled with luscious pink blooms, but she wasn’t sure she liked this one. It had thorns all over it, and they bit. What kind of pretty flower had sharp parts?
Rounding the corner, Sunnvald’s fountain came into view, carrying the soft tinkling sounds of water. She pulled the offering from her dress pocket, loosening the ties of the small hemp sack and tipping it upside down. Metal shavings fell to the fountain, hitting the water with sharp strikes, then sinking slowly to the bottom.
Sunnvald likes shows of fire and might,her father had told her.When making an offering, lay mead, meat, or a well-crafted weapon on the altar.Well, mead would not fit in a pocket, and meat was too messy. And Silla did not have a weapon, save for the small wooden sword for sparring with Papa. But being clever as she was, she’d snuck into the blacksmith’s forge and collected metal scrapings from the floor.
She kissed her knuckles and closed her eyes. “Oh, Bright One,” she whispered, but something crunched behind her. Eyes flying open, Silla whirled. An old man stood, flanked by a dozen guards. “Grandpapa!” she gasped, filled with shame. Caught escaping from her nursemaid for the third time this moon cycle. Surely she’d weather a blistering reprieve. She brought a finger to her mouth, gnawing on the nail.
“Come here, my dear,” came the king’s watery voice as he sat on a stone bench. She blinked, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the deep wrinkles in his forehead. He’d always been old, but he’d never looked sickly until the queen had died.
But now, as Silla looked at him, there was a glimmer in his eye, a hint of the man who’d told her of the great battle of fire and ice. With a cautious smile, she stepped forward, taking a seat on the bench beside him. Chewing on her fingernail, she waited anxiously.
“Fallgerd,” said the king, waving at his chief guard. “Allow me a moment with my granddaughter.”
