One leaf to numb yourself. A second to push the guilt away. Three to stop feeling altogether…
Silla clutched at her chest, seeking that vial. She hungered for those leaves like she hadn’t in weeks, was driven to her knees with a sound of agony. Need. Sheneededthem. Was incomplete without them, woulddieif she could not get them…
Another flicker of candlelight, and the longings vanished in an instant.
Breaths heaving from her, Silla clambered to her feet, trying to calm her racing heart. Movement in her periphery diverted her attention—a shadow creeping up the wall. Slowly, it grew, loose lines fusing into the form of a man, a crown of tall, thin spikes protruding from his skull.
“You have chosen,” said an unearthly voice. Deep and disembodied, it seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Goosebumps raced up Silla’s arms.
The king turned to the shadow, conflict carved into his face. “Is there not another?”
“No,” said the voice with quiet malevolence. “I will say it once more, king. My answer has never wavered, nor will it today.”
The king closed his eyes, shadows pooling in the hollows of his cheeks.
“Think of your beloved back in your arms,” said the voice. “You were robbed of time with her, Hrolf. You can undo this grave wrong.”
“But…my bloodline.”
“Your son is not so old. He might yet sire more children.”
A woman’s voice filled the air. “Hrolf, my dearest. It is agony for me without you. Each moment is a pain only curable by your love. Make the right choice, darling, so we can be together once more.”
The king’s eyes shone with unshed tears, his hand going to his heart. “Brida?” he whispered.
“Make the right choice, my love,” cried the woman, “I implore you.”
The king closed his eyes, hugging himself. Like this, he did not seem a king at all—only a broken man consumed by grief. But as he opened his eyes, hardness replaced the pain and anguish. The king straightened his spine. “I will do it.”
The shadow crackled with glee. “A life for a life,” it said.
The king nodded solemnly.
“Use the knife,” said the disembodied voice. “Take it. Deliver the girl’s life to me, and you will hold your beloved Brida once more.”
A slow shudder rolled through Silla, as the king’s intent became clear. It was wrong, a terrible deed, and yet…she understood. His grief had broken him—had twisted his thoughts, so that wrongs seemed right. Darkness was his path to the light.
Your fault,chanted the deep dark voice, penetrating her skull and burrowing deep into her mind.Your fault they are all dead.
Matthias’s face flashed in her mind’s eye. Then Ilías and Skeggagrim. A man with an iron brand looming over her. She deserved to be punished. Should have been strung up on a pillar with her family. The raw, black grief she’d caged away seeped through the bars, oozing through her like poison until she was choking on it, drowning in anguish…
Something hooked behind her navel and tugged. And then, once more, she was falling through blackness.
Silla landed. Blinked into the darkness. That smothering presence was gone, her grief caged away in the back corner of her mind. A light was growing, somewhere distant in this empty place.
“Where did you go?” snapped Harpa, amber eyes gleaming as she strode toward Silla. Harpa. Silla wanted to hug the woman.
“A room,” she managed. “There was a book…”
“Never mind that now,” said Harpa briskly. “You are where you must be. Follow the lights and trust the knowing feeling inside you. It will guide you into your power.”
Silla followed her gaze to the flickering lights. After pushing to her feet, she moved toward them. As she approached, it became apparent that they were not, in fact, lights. They were flíta—thousands of the butterfly-like creatures, flapping gauzy, luminescent wings. She walked amongst them in wonder. Some of the flíta’s wings caught flame, before burning up in tiny infernos and yielding to darkness. And somewhere in those ashes, a caterpillar would emerge.
Death and rebirth. A new phase of their lives beginning anew.
Much like her own. When Silla awoke, her life as an ordinary woman would be over. She’d be Galdra. An Ashbringer. And she’d be one step closer to freeing Saga.
Walking amongst the flíta, a larger light caught Silla’s attention, off in the distance. Unlike the flame-yellow light of the flíta, this larger orb was pure white. As she neared, its form became clear—a churning, throbbing orb.
