Silla’s brows drew together, apprehension knotting her gut. Svalla stepped to the wall, selecting the white-hilted dagger from a shelf and holding the tip to her palm.
“No,” whispered Silla, watching numbly.
Svalla let out a shaky breath. Slashed the blade through her hand. Drew symbols in blood on the wall.
“Dark One, I call to you,” said Svalla in a resigned voice.
A cold, dark feeling spread outward from the pit of Silla’s stomach. Her mother was…no. This could not be. This was all wrong.
The candles guttered, the temperature in the room plunging. This time, Silla knew what to expect—an inky shadow blotting up the wall, blurry lines coalescing into the eerie shape of a man crowned with spikes.
“Little Svalla,” said the voice, disembodied and chilling, “you’re all grown up.”
Svalla straightened her spine, facing the shadowy form on the wall. “Do you still thirst for my soul?”
The shadow crackled, then settled, its hunger filling the air. “What is it you want, Svalla?” it asked.
“Protection,” she replied, voice wavering. “For them.”
“Ahh,” said the shadow, tilting its head to the side. “For them.”
“My daughters are innocent,” said Svalla. “They cannot—” She broke off in a sob. “They cannot die. The Urkans have taken Sunnavík and will soon breach the castle walls. Askaborg will fall. Please, my daughters—they must be protected.”
Bone-chilling laughter rattled Silla’s skull. “You know the way, Svalla. There is a cost.”
“A life for a life,” said Svalla dully.
“You agree then?”
Svalla bit her lip, eyes shining with unshed tears. She nodded.
“Say the words, Svalla.”
Silla’s mother took a deep breath. “Yes. A life for a life.”
The candles flared with writhing black flames, power surging through the room and spiraling through Silla’s body. She could feel change occurring—bonds broken and reforged, the natural thread work of the world snapped through and rearranged into something new.And something inside Silla thrummed like the strings of an instrument plucked. The surging power ebbed, candles flashing orange once more.
“It is done,” said the voice from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
Svalla exhaled, lifting the white-hilted dagger with trembling hands. “Now?” she asked, the tip of the blade hovering over the pulsing point in her throat. “Here? With this dagger?”
The shadow laughed, a broken and jagged sound. “Oh, Svalla. Let this be a lesson in bargaining. Specificity is of the utmost importance.”
“What?” sputtered Svalla.
“I don’t wantyourlife, Svalla,” said the thing. “You’ll be dead soon enough on your own.”
Svalla’s blue eyes widened.
And then Silla tipped forward into a void of nothingness.
“Wake up!”
Pain lashed across her cheek. Silla blinked, then blinked again. Flickering candlelight. The smells of woodsmoke and herbs. Two forms struggling over her.
“Release me, Reynir!” That was Harpa’s voice.
“You willnotstrike her again.” Rey.
