Page 96 of A Sword of Ice
42
Like Sisters
Iona’s feet dragged against the cold dirt as she made her way towards the water. Lake Degara had several rivers that spread throughout Orknie, even some that splintered off across the Ley Line and into Tir na Faie. They were filled with fish and clear water for drinking and bathing.
She found Shula at one of the riverbanks, squeezing water from a cloth and onto the ground. She was obviously in the middle of bathing the blood and grime off her body. Clad in nothing but trousers and a thin shift, her back was facing Iona, and Iona found herself staring at the scars marring along Shula’s skin.
The image of flames seemed to be healing. Still fleshy, though they were no longer bright red and grotesque, and they were scabbing. They were dark against the Fae’s golden-brown skin and could be seen through the sheer, clinging material of her wet shift.
At the sound of Iona’s approaching boots, Shula whirled, her waist-length hair slapping against her skin. Her breath hitched up like she’d been startled, and she held the cloth in front of her like a shield.
When she saw it was just Iona, she lowered the material and scowled.
“I thought you were Weylyn,” she said breathlessly. Her chest rose and fell, and there was the slightest scent of fear wafting from her pores.
Iona’s feet skidded to a stop, brows pulling together. “Does he make a habit of spying on your while you’re bathing?”
Her cheeks colored and the fear seemed to dissipate until all Iona could smell was the warmth embers and confections. “You’d be surprised at what he’s done…”
“Fucking pervert. I should’ve kicked him in the balls.”
Shula didn’t snort with laughter like Iona had meant for her to. She was staring warily, her lips pursed and brows drawn together as if to ask, “What do you want?”
Iona tapped a rhythm, curled her nails into her palms for a second, and came closer to the riverbank, stripping her jacket as she went.
She was covered in grime as well, and it would be nice to have this conversation without blood on her hands.
She bent and cupped her hands in the river, shivering as the near frozen water touched her skin. She spread the water along her arms and rubbed at her neck then splashed some on her face. When she stood, she turned to face Shula. The water acted like some sort of barrier for Iona. One she desperately felt she needed to get through with this conversation. Now that she was clean, she could face her with a fresh start.
“Shula,” she began. A shiver of nerves ran down her spine and her next words came out choppy. Not because she was afraid to say them; it was something else indescribable. “I’m sorry.”
She’d hoped Shula would accept it immediately. That the almost meek, kind, and accepting female would make an appearance. But she sneered at Iona with a bit of disdain, and her tone was mocking when she replied, “For what? For almost killing my mate?”
Her fingers cramped. She closed her eyes, took in a steadying breath, and opened them again. “I miscalculated the situation,” she tried again. “I didn’t mean for any of that to happen. I know you might not want to forgive me, but I really am sorry.”
Shula stared at her for a moment and Iona felt scrutinized, laid bare. Even with the hostility, their magic reacted to one another in that strange pulsing sensation. It was a clashing of energies that warred as much as they embraced.
When she didn’t speak after a while, Iona picked up her discarded clothes in defeat and shrugged them on. As she started to walk away, Shula stopped her.
“Why do you think she’s still alive?” she asked.
Iona turned.
“Your sister,” she continued. “Why do you assume she’s still alive? She was taken a hundred years ago.”
One-hundred and two, Iona didn’t bother correcting her. “Because Mana tells me so.”
“Are you sure it’s really Mana and not just your own hope clouding your judgement?”
Iona chewed on the inside of her cheek. She knew she would face this problem when she came clean. That they’d think her delusional.
“You know when you’re decided and firm in doing something, but then your gut twists and you feel shivers down your spine? It’s like something is whispering that your decision is the wrong one.” She didn’t wait for Shula to answer. She didn’t need to. “When my sister was taken, that was the end. I thought she was dead, and I joined the Resistance to dual out my revenge. But it never felt right. There was always this feeling in my chest like I was making a colossal mistake.” Her fingers drifted to her curls then lowered once more.
“It’s why I could never bring myself to cut my hair in mourning.” At Shula’s confused expression, she elaborated, “Hair is important to us. It’s a way to connect, to celebrate. We used to spend hours braiding our hair as a family. When someone dies, it’s customary to shave our heads to express our sadness. I didn’t. That would mean accepting death, and I physically couldn’t.
“I spent years drifting in Porir, never feeling truly alive. Then I met George, and he told me about the camps, and something seemed to snap into place. Like Mana was telling me something, and I knew she was alive.”
Shula’s fingers twisted against the wet material she held in her hands. “My parents were taken to the camps twelve years ago…”
