“What do you mean?” asked Silla, her voice going high.
Vig scoffed. “He’s…uneven. Looks as though he hacked at it with a longsword.”
“It’s perfectly even,” Silla said defensively. “It was my first time! I need more practice?—”
“Galtung let you tend his beard?” Vig bent double, his laughter bouncing off the nearby stable. As he straightened, he wiped tears from his eyes. “And Horse? I suppose you’re responsible for the moonflowers braided into her mane?”
“Horselovesher braids.”
“Hmm. And Galtung?”
“They’re…growing on him.” Silla folded her arms over her chest. “With Harpa busy, I’ve had nothing but time, Vig.”
“Focus!” exclaimed Runný, dragging them back to their original conversation. “The point is, Silla, you don’t truly believe Vig will do you harm. And thus, your Blade Breaker skill remains shy. Perhaps you need to feeltruefear.”
Vig scowled at his sister. “What is your grand suggestion, Runný?”
Runný cocked an eyebrow, then vanished from sight.
“Runný,” warned Silla, searching for any sign of the Shadow Hound. The compacted snow made it impossible to track footprints. But the crunch of ice had Silla swinging around.
“Ow!” Vig doubled over, rubbing his ribs.
“Runný, don’t you dare—” A grazing touch against the back of Silla’s neck had her whirling. “Stop this—” A stone kicked across the ground came to a stop on the side of Silla’s boot. Her breath quickened, and she backed away. One step, two steps…
“Boo,” whispered Runný, at the moment Silla’s back bumped into her.
Silla’s heart stopped dead for a second. “You wretched—” She broke off at the telltale cold sizzle of her primed galdur. Silla expressed, herding her light into place until she looked upon the sword in all its glory—a slender, tapered blade of cold fire, the hilt clasped in her right hand.
A pair of ice spirits flitted over, hovering above Silla’s shoulder and watching with interest.
“Well, it’s not what I’d intended,” murmured Runný, once again visible. Her dark eyes were focused on the blade. “But itisa beautiful weapon.”
“What can it cut?” asked Vig, sidling up beside Silla.
“Everything I’ve tried so far,” replied Silla, her breath frosting in the air with tiny, shimmering crystals. The ice spirits zipped into the crystals, dancing and frosting the air further.
“Human heads, if I do recall,” muttered Vig, backing away cautiously.
Runný rolled the chopping stump across the yard, setting it on end. “Shall we play a game?”
Over the course of the next hour, Silla sliced through anything deemed worthless on Harpa’s property—logs, discarded nails and horseshoes, an iron axe that was half rusted away. The ice spirits clustered, watching intently, and zipping in excited loops. Silla cut through a series of stones, growing gradually larger until at last, she cut through a boulder half her size.
“Well,” said Runný, hands on her hips as she examined the smooth, frosted surface of the split boulder. “I suppose it’s quite sharp.”
With a ragged breath, she let the sword shatter into glittering frost. Silla glanced at the cabin from under frozen eyelashes, but it was quiet and still.
“Galtung tells me the pair of you shall return to Kopa when your training isdone,” said Runný.
Silla nodded, biting her lip. “I’m told Jarl Hakon has the means to help me rescue my sister.”
Vig put his hands on his hips. “Has he told you of Hakon?”
“He told me Hakon is a Volsik supporter, but to survive under Urkan rule, he’s had to do regretful things.”
Vig and Runný shared a knowing look.
“Galtung knows him best,” said Vig slowly. “His father and Jarl Hakon were good friends before the war. I know he spent many summers in Kopa with Jarl Hakon and his son Eyvind. Though”—he cast a wary look toward Rey—“there are whispers of corruption.”
