Page 55 of A Sword of Ice
Iona’s own eyes widened. “No shit.”
All her life, she’d used her magic. Her parents had encouraged it, but she was obviously older than Shula. Had lived in a different time when magic had been appreciated. She didn’t have a childhood memory where she hadn’t practiced honing her gifts.
Shula swallowed. “I mean, I can do some things. But I haven’t perfected it. Not like you have. And I don’t want to—”
“Hey, I’m not judging you.” Iona waded through the water so she was closer to the other woman. “And honestly, I never would have guessed. You had such control over it when we were fighting that I just assumed…” She trailed off, observing Shula intently.
Shula was biting the inside of her cheek, and her trembling fingers pulled at her dark strands of hair, covering them over her ears and then uncovering them once more. It reminded Iona of her own finger tapping habits.
Everyone had their own monsters, some more vicious and deadly than others. Everyone had their own insecurities and this was obviously one of Shula’s.
“I can teach you.” The words had Shula snapping her gaze to Iona. “I mean, I’m not a fire Fae,” she amended. “But I am an Elemental. You have good control. I’m guessing you just need to fine tune your abilities?”
Shula nodded.
“Right, so my magic is ice, but it’s more than that. It’s cold. It’s molding shapes.”
“Like that sword.”
“Yeah. I used to make igloos on the beach at the Jade Court back when—” She broke off and shook her head. That information was irrelevant and brought with it pain that she didn’t need. “Anyway, magic isn’t just one aspect. Your magic isn’t just burning. It’s warmth. It’s drying water. It’s life.”
Awareness shone in Shula’s pretty golden depths. “Right.”
“All you have to do is tell your magic what you want. In this instance, you don’t want fire. You want the warmth it brings to dry all this water up. Give it a face, call it towards you. Concentrate.”
Shula tugged at her hair again before she released a breath and stepped down, wading into the water beside Iona. She held out her palms, closed her eyes.
Iona waited, while keeping her own magic at the ready just in case. She could feel the waves of concentration coming off the other Fae and held her breath so as to not disturb her.
Shula’s veins seemed to spark to life beneath her skin, like rivers of fireworks flickering across her veins, her magic came to life, the tips of her fingers glowing red. She grunted, the veins in her neck bulging.
Slowly, steam began to rise in the water. It heated Iona’s legs, and the confines below deck grew almost stifling. Iona’s own magic held strong against the boat, the ice solidifying with every pressing wave of heat. Sweat beaded against her face and she lifted her hand to wipe it away. Her curls frizzed against her cheeks. By the time Shula was finished, she was sweating through her clothes and they clung to her damp skin. Vapor surrounded them, nearly suffocating, but at least the water was gone.
Shula’s eyes opened and she let out a gasp. Her own hair clung to her cheeks, strands sticking to her ears. She smiled and turned to find Iona chucking off her tunic, peeling the material from her skin.
“You did good.” Iona hung her tunic or the rail so it could dry. She turned and caught sight of Shula staring at her back and the raised scars there. She smirked. “An agonizing experience, I can assure you.”
“Don’t I know it.” Shula pushed off her fur cloak then reached for the hem of her tunic, yanking it over her head to mimic Iona, placing it over the rail. Then she turned, pushing aside her waist-length locks of hair to expose her back.
And the scars of flames down her spine.
There were two flames trapped within a circle, starting just at the base of her neck. The artistry of her scars matched Iona’s own. As if they’d been carved by the same hand of fate. Shula had two circles, and Iona had five. But Iona’s were old scars and Shula’s looked fresh, crusted over with scabs and painful to look at.
Shula turned back around, fingering the tips of her long hair. “You know what it means, right?” Her voice shook.
“It means we are the last.”
Shula swallowed visibly. She looked… uncomfortable, and for a moment that confused Iona. When they’d met a few hours ago she’d seemed confident in her abilities and now it seemed she was retreating within herself, hiding some integral part of her. Something about her was embarrassed. Afraid.
“We could have children someday,” Iona said, her eyes flicking over the mark on Shula’s neck. A mating mark. If she had to take a guess, it belonged to Ryker. The indication was there. From the way they’d pressed close to one another. From the way his eyes devoured her with every step. From the way his bicolored eyes flared. Like looking at her for too long hurt and was akin to jumping directly into a blazing fire, only to be consumed whole by her flames. “We might not always be the last.”
Shula’s eyes flashed with what Iona could only describe as surprise. “If we live that long.”
Iona wanted to flinch at the harsh tone of her voice but shook her head. “What I’ve learned in my life is that it’s best to trust in Mana. Mana will guide you if you believe.” She paused and her fingers tapped against her thighs. “When I was young,” she began softly, “my sister would pray every night to Mana.”
It was a ritual of sorts, one that had irritated Iona to no end. Sometimes, in the dead of night while she was trying to sleep, she could hear her sister’s voice echoing through the miniscule space of their shared room, interrupting Iona’s rest.
She would toss a pillow to her sister’s face. “Shut up or get out!”
