Enya cleared her throat, and Isla tore herself away. The Sunling shook her head at them while Isla drew her puddle of stars and portaled them to the people who had split her heart in two.
Wind howled in her ears. Her cheeks went numb. The air was white, coated in a thin layer of snow. They were on flat land, yet fighting against the current of the snowstorm made every step forward feel like climbing up a mountain.
“What a charming place to live,” Enya bit out, before her body was coated in reddish gold. It wrapped around her like Isla’s Starling shield, then spread beyond, warming the air around them until Isla could feel her nose again. “That’s better, isn’t it?” she asked. The snow below the Sunling’s shoes melted and sizzled.
Isla searched the blank horizon. There were a few monstrous mountains, covered in sharp panes of ice that looked like scales. “I don’t know how they survived out here,” she said. She remembered coming to Vinderland territory with Oro, during their search for the heart. It was hard to imagine, but back then, it had been colder. Ever since the Moonlings left, Moon Isle had increasingly gotten warmer.
“Are you ... are you afraid?” Isla asked, wondering if she sounded like a fool.
Enya only glanced over at her. “No. Not at all.”
“Why not?” she said. “The Vinderland are warriors. I’ve seen how well they fight”—which was why they so desperately needed them in battle—“They don’t just kill their enemies ... theyeatthem.” And not because of a curse. Simply for pleasure.
Enya stared at her for a long while. “I’m going to tell you something only Oro, Cal, and Zed know.”
Isla blinked. She was surprised Enya would tell her anything personal. They weren’t necessarily friends. It had been clear from the beginning that Enya was like a shield around Oro, protecting him at all costs. Her loyalty was to him, not her.
She waited.
“I know exactly when I will die,” Enya said.
Isla stopped and was instantly drenched in cold, now outside of the dome of warmth Enya had created.
She thought of her vision. Her own death.
“What? How—how could you know that?”
Enya motioned for her to keep moving, and she did. “The day I was born, a Moonling sent for my mother. The oracle wanted to see her. She hadn’t thawed in a while, so it was considered important. She visited her, holding me. The oracle told my mother she had seen my death.”
Isla realized they had more in common than she’d thought. For a moment, she wondered if she should tell Enya about her vision. Who else would understand?
In the end, all she said was, “That’s ... awful.”
Enya shrugged a shoulder. Bits of snow fell above them and melted inches away, raining onto their heads. “Most mothers might think so, but mine wasn’t like that. She said, ‘Well, are you going to tell me?’ The oracle did. When I was old enough to understand, my mother gave me the choice. Know how and when I will die ... or don’t. I’ve been told I’m a lot like her ... and you already know which choice I’ve made.”
“Does Oro know?”
“When I die?”
Isla nodded.
“No, though he used to ask me incessantly when we were younger. I think he wanted to know so he could somehow keep it from happening. He’s like you, in that way. He carries guilt around that doesn’t even belong to him.” She lifted a shoulder. “I think of it as a gift. I know when I die, so I can spend every day until then living to the fullest. You and Oro seem to get lost in your minds, thinking about the past, future—I spend most of my time in the present.” She sighed. “The reason I’m telling you this is to explain why I’m not afraid. Not even in the slightest.”
Just as the words left her mouth, a legion of Vinderland appeared on the horizon, wearing metal helmets with massive tusks, fur around their necks, and intricate armor. They were holding swords and axes longer than her limbs.
Enya casually turned to Isla, winked, and said, “I do not die today.”
...
A flurry of arrows struck Isla and ricocheted off the Starling shield glittering along her skin, humming with energy. It took every ounce of focus for her to hold it in place, and she winced with every hit. They might not have pierced her skin, but they would certainly leave bruises.
At her side, Enya formed a wall of fire, charring the arrows before they reached her. Her movements were smooth, casual even, as she melted all ice and snow around her and turned their weapons to ash.
There was a battle cry, and Isla leaped to the side as an axe was thrown right at her body. Its blade missed her by inches, and then the warriors descended.
They bellowed words she didn’t understand and rushed forward, moving surprisingly quickly with the heavy armor they wore. Thick furs peeked through the gaps in the metal.
“Red hair,” one of them yelled, staring at Enya. “You’re going to make a lovely stew. Charred and zesty.” He smiled, revealing teeth sharpened into points—better to tear flesh with.
