Ice-Bound Promise [Wattys 2023 Shortlister]

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Pressing on for two days and into most of each night, Únik began to regret not taking the option to run when she had the opportunity. Her backside felt sore from riding, legs cramped from gripping the horse's flank with her thighs. She never realised how tiring riding a horse was until this very moment and, if she never rode a horse again, she would count herself lucky.

She didn't care much for the company either. Not because they treated her with any resentment, or animosity, they treated her well, but because hardly any of them spoke. The rides made in silence, the camps almost as bad, with only murmured thanks upon accepting food, or little, short, clipped conversations. The only one that seemed to speak was Ylthara.

The Ice-Kin Storm Mage made the occasional question towards Únik, along the way. Not about Hatyara, or Shihiri, or about what they would do, where they would go, but about Únik herself and her life before Hatyara had started her upon this quest. Once Únik answered, the woman would lapse into silence once again.

Únik didn't know how to take Ylthara. With a far more dour personality than her sister, with none of the aloof arrogance, Únik considered, under any other circumstance, that she could come to like her. She appreciated the Ice-Kin's directness, her stoic resolve and the open, unreserved kindness. Hatyara had shown kindness, but not often. On the morning of the third day, Ylthara examined Únik's spear as they rode.

"It's a fine weapon. Old. Very old. I've never seen the design before, nor the wood that makes the shaft." Turning the spear in the loop of the saddle, Ylthara ran a finger down the black shaft. "A family heirloom?"

"No." Bristling at the thought of how she had come by the spear, Únik wanted to clamp her mouth shut before she revealed her crime of killing a Patron. "I found it. In an ancient city."

"Found it? As part of my studies, it was drummed into me all the different weapons in the West, the better to recognise our enemies, father used to say. I have never seen a spear of its like before. Not even in the ancient texts." The finger moved up to the point of the spear and she pulled back her hand with a sharp intake of breath, a bead of blood appearing on her ice-blue skin. "Still so sharp! Which city held this?"

"Your sister believed it to be Pithnar." Únik didn't know what information to give and what to keep to herself. Telling Ylthara the name of the city seemed innocent enough, but Únik was unsure. "I don't know. It was just a derelict city. I found that in the rubble."

"Pithnar? A city from before the last Upheaval?" A sense of awe emanated from the Ice-Kin and she touched the spear once again. "It must be magic, this weapon. Preserved for over a thousand years, still sharp? Does it have any other properties? Have you fought with it? It's fascinating!"

Another side to Ylthara became evident. A curious, keen mind and a thirst for knowledge. Hatyara had passed by and through everything and everywhere with little interest of the things and people around her, save for finding the bolt of material from her homeland in Shalbruk.

Ylthara, instead, seemed interested in things. The questions she had asked Únik had come from that interest. No ulterior motive, Únik now realised. She only wanted to know because it, Únik, was new to her. Únik found that admirable and endearing.

"No. I haven't used it." In a fit of embarrassment, Únik's hands gripped Ylthara's waist tighter. "I don't know how to use a spear, anyway. I lost my whale hook. It was either the spear or a bit of wood as a club. I'm beginning to think I should have gone with the club."

"Nonsense! To have such a weapon! It's a blessing!" Turning her head, Ylthara showed a genuine passion in her eyes. "I shall have to teach you. And Únik, never, ever, let anyone take this beautiful thing from you. You will never see its like again."