Page 56 of A Sword of Ice
“Have a care. I’m praying to Mana, and if you want my wishes granted, you’ll shut up.” And she’d go back to praying and Iona would groan, unsure why it would matter if Iona wanted Mana to answer her sister’s wishes.
It wasn’t until later that Iona found out her sister never prayed for herself but for others. For their brother’s dreams. For Iona’s wishes. Their own personal shooting star that streaked through their lives, leaving star dust of hope and faith and a little bit of magic behind.
And she’d been cruel about her voice softening the edges of the darkness.
She swallowed away the memories and forced firmness into her voice. “She said that if you sent your will out, Mana would hear it and turn things in your favor. So the more you say that this life is hopeless, the more hopeless it will be. I try to stay positive, and I pray to Mana that things get better and I know that one day it will. Eventually.”
“Do you really believe that?” Shula’s voice was quiet.
Didshe really believe it? For so long, she’d scoffed at her sister for her habits and her sister had never taken offense. In fact, she’d smile as if Iona’s critiques were endearing instead of annoying.
She remembered her sister’s daily prayers, word for word, of every day.
Just like she remembered her last prayer, screaming out into a darkening day, with ashwood coating her tongue and iron embedded into her skin, her body coated in blood.
Save me.
Iona’s nails dug into her skin, bringing her back to the present. She smiled at Shula, though it felt like a sad twitch of her lips. “I have to believe it,” she whispered. “Because if I don’t, what else is there?”
* * *
Iona was…well, she was fascinating.
She was everything Shula had ever wished she was andmore.She was strong, independent, determined, and she radiated a positivity that Shula could only ever find in her dreams.
And she was everything Shula feared she’d be on the journey to Teg.
Iona knew how to wield her magic, embraced both it and the shape of her ears like an honor. She’d been a part of the original Resistance and wanted to help. To fight.
She believed in positive affirmations, that Mana was listening.
She wasn’t a bitter Fae and had helped Shula through her own magic.
With every passing second, the more Shula got to know Iona, she wondered if the others would see in the ice Fae what Shula did, and if they wishedshewas more like that. If they wished Shula would have been as easy to fall into their fold as Iona was.
They’d kidnapped her, kept her with them, watched her so she couldn’t leave. Shula had fought every step of the way and Iona just… accepted.
It was hard not to compare herself to the other woman when their purpose was the same. Now she had to find out where she stood within their space, where she could wedge herself between them. This woman was as scintillating as her ice beneath sunlight. It was a glow that seemed to be embedded into her personality. Shula didn’t feel half as brave as Iona so obviously was.
That didn’t sit right in her chest, and her magic stirred in response to her distress.
She turned away from Iona and slipped her tunic and jacket back on, feeling suddenly too vulnerable, too exposed before her. Her clothes became a barrier; if only they could ward off her negative thoughts.
“I’m going up,” Shula said, avoiding Iona’s gaze, lest the Fae see the truth in her eyes. That she would never surmount to be as incredible as her.
Her feet went up noiselessly and she chewed on the inside of her mouth, feeling Iona’s gaze on her back, as if she could see through her clothes and to the scars underneath. No, not the scars. Her very soul. It had Shula panting as she reached the top deck. Her feet nearly slid against the surface as she ran to the edge, gripping the railing tightly. Her breaths were coming out in quick bursts, and the rolling waters beneath them seemed to calm her a fraction.
Everything felt too restraining, too tight against her chest. Like nothing fit, not evenher, not her own skin against this new person she was trying to be.
She sucked in salty, cold breaths of air when his voice cut through the haze of her thoughts. “What is it?”
She jolted and turned to look at Ryker. At the picture he made in soft wafts of sunlight, the wind whipping at his long hair and beard. His scars seemed much more prominent against the graveness of his expression.
His eyes were flicking over her body as if he was looking for wounds. She wanted to tell him that the only thing wounded was her mind, not her body, but refrained from speaking. The last time they’d talked about the wounds of the mind, they’d ended up arguing.
And she was so, so tired.
“Nothing.” She turned back to the sea, her mind dizzy, her stomach in knots.
