Winter Be My Shield by Jo Spurrier

they stung beneath the mask. Sierra bit her lip to keep from sobbing. Don’t think about that, she told herself. Just focus on the problem at hand.
    Slowly, slowly, she eased one hand out from beneath the heavy furs and raised it up her face, expecting at any moment for it to be halted by chains or rope, but nothing checked the movement as she lifted her hand from the blankets. In the months that had passed since Kell left his dungeons to travel with the army, she had never been free of thechains for so long. Without them, she felt strangely light, as though she could just float away.
    Sierra slipped her other hand out and explored the blindfold with her fingertips. It was a band of cloth folded over several times and without even a knot to hold it in place. She slipped it off and, as it unfolded, she identified it at last — her cowl, the soft knitted tube that could be worn loose around the neck or pulled up and over the head for another layer of warmth.
    Her eyelids felt hot and tight. With great effort she could open them, but all she could see was a blur of grey. Snow blindness. Everyone who lived in the north experienced it at some point. It would heal within a few days, but she would be highly sensitive to light for weeks. Sierra mouthed a silent curse. It was a complication she could do without.
    Her face felt tight and swollen. She’d got herself frosted, either while she’d been freezing to death during the night or in the days before, she wasn’t sure. None of it had the icy-hot burning sensation of true frostbite, so she counted herself lucky.
    Whoever had brought her here had stripped her to her underwear, a sleeveless vest and knee-length britches of soft yaka -hair cloth, tucked into socks knitted of the same. That seemed a good sign. In Kell’s dungeons, prisoners were kept naked. Perhaps she was clutching at straws, but right now she’d take any reassurance she could get.
    Her wrists were neatly bandaged and, as she felt her way over them, Sierra realised the punishment bands were gone. For a moment, she was shocked to stillness, but then she had to bite back quickly on a giggle of hysterical relief. The last thing that bound her, gone! Her powers had grown since Kell had first captured her, grown more than she ever dreamed they could. She was no longer a terrified girl of sixteen, hoping that something could be salvaged from this disaster. When they came for her again, she would give them no quarter. This time, she had nothing to hold her back, nothing to lose.
    Sierra sat up and something soft yet firm brushed against her head and cheek. She flinched away violently with a small cry of surprise. She caught herself on her right hand and it was then that she realised the ache in her arm was not truly hers. Beneath the relentless throb a soft, spreading warmth was seeping into her body, a steady trickle of energy feeding into the store of power that coursed along her spine.
    Nearby, someone sighed and shifted beneath their furs. Sierra froze, waiting until they settled again. After a moment’s thought she knew what she’d brushed against  — the shaggy fur of a reindeer-hide tent, spread taut between the poles. The air was full of the smell of smoke and spruce. She forced her eyes open again, but it was no good, she couldn’t see a thing between the darkness and the snow blindness. Everything was silent and still.
    â€˜Are you awake?’ a hoarse voice whispered. Taken by surprise, Sierra gasped aloud.
    It was a man’s voice, dark and rasping, and speaking in Ricalani. The sound of it almost made her weep — Ricalani had been forbidden in Kell’s dungeon; for the last two years she’d spoken only Mesentreian, the language of the invaders.
    There was a rustle of furs as the one who had spoken sat up. As he moved, the throb in Sierra’s arm became a ripple of fire and the stream of power swelled to a river. There was something horribly