The ice spirit zipped back and forth while continuing to hiss. Intrigued, Silla watched. Was it trying to communicate with her? Could this spirit not simply speak to her, as Rykka could? “You seem agitated,” she said. The spirit looped in an excited motion with a series of softer hisses. “Yes?”
The sun vanished behind a cloud, and Silla’s gaze fell on her axe. “I must complete my task. But it’s lovely to meet you.” Yanking the axe from the stump, Silla hefted it overhead.
But the ice spirit would not be dissuaded, darting into Silla’s vision with startling speed. Reeling back, Silla watched the winged woman make an agitated loop.
“Is this your territory?” guessed Silla.
The ice spirit hissed. Flashing a brilliant blue, she zipped away, then back.
“What is it?” Silla asked in mild irritation.
Baring her teeth, the ice spirit burst into a small blizzard that vanished into the air. But with a quick swirl, she’d reformed, flitting back and forth in the periphery of Silla’s vision.
With a shake of her head, Silla turned back to her task. She placed a log on the chopping stump and tipped it on end.
The ice spirit zipped in front of her, a blur of ice blue and shimmering white.
“What?” snapped Silla. The ice spirit darted to a patch of exposed rock in the ground, gesturing at a frosted symbol she seemed to have drawn. It was the protection rune, though upside down.
“I thank you for your protection, kind spirit,” said Silla, as calmly as she could manage.
The ice spirit looked as though she were about to hiss once more but zipped into the bushes as Harpa’s door banged open. After trudging across the yard, Harpa examined Silla with an unreadable expression. Then, she dragged her by the elbow to a small hut near the shed, smoke puffing from a hole in the roof.
“Strip,” ordered Harpa, watching Sillaexpectantly.
Silla’s mouth fell open, protests gathering on her tongue.
“Stop questioning,” barked Harpa, and Silla’s mouth slammed shut. “Surrender yourself. You will strip down to your underclothes and warm in the steam bath.”
“Steam bath,” repeated Silla, shimmying out of her overdress.
As she stepped into the steam bath in naught but a shift, Silla sighed with contentment. Steam poured from an oven of burning stones and hung thick in the air, clinging to Silla’s cool skin. As she eased onto the bench, Harpa spooned water over the stones, standing in the doorway.
“Clear your mind,” she said, then closed Silla into utter darkness.
Silla blinked. In here, there was only darkness and the sizzling stones. Her body ached, exhausted from her wood-chopping efforts, but as the heat slowly penetrated her, she began to relax.
She closed her eyes. Tried to focus on the backs of her eyelids.
This is a waste of time, said her father.
Irritated, Silla shook out her shoulders. She focused on the beat of her heart, on the slow slide of sweat along her temple.
I gave my life for you, and yet you squander it.
Silla found that cage, shoved the voice behind it. Locked it in then boarded it up.
Come and find me, sister,said Saga.I need you.
“I’m trying,” whispered Silla. “But first I must?—”
There is no time!
Reluctantly, Silla corralled Saga’s voice into the cage. If Harpa’s aim was to tire her mind into submission, then it was a failure. She was letting down those who’d given their lives for her—who’d sacrificed for her safety.Her throat stung as tears scratched forth.
Cold tension purred in her veins, and Silla’s eyes flew open. White light seeped from her forearms, catching undulating clouds of steam in the air. Silla vaguely recalled Harpa telling her that both heat and tension could make priming and expression easier. Something about energy barriers.
“Express,” she muttered, imagining light flaring in the steam bath. “Express!” Jaw clenched, she tried to wrangle it like a wild horse, tried to push, shove, enslave the thing to her will. Nothing happened.
