Chapter 13

DAELLA

When Rivelin returned, he reeked of dragon. I’d spent a good twelve hours in his back garden assembling the boat, with rivulets of sweat trailing down the back of my neck. Skoll had sat with me for a time as if observing my work, occasionally growling his approval. It had taken the entirety of the day, but eventually I finished the boat as best I could. My hands looked like they’d gotten into a fight with a cat, and my muscles ached, but I felt damn good. Useful and tired in the best kind of way—like I’d earned the cup of tea that now steamed in my hands. Funny thing about orcs, fresh water burned our skin, but we could drink it easily enough.

And so I’d helped myself to Rivelin’s herbal tea bags, choosing a chamomile and lavender mix, and then settled into the armchair in the living room while Skoll curled up on the rug beside me. The second I’d tucked my feet beneath me, the front door flung wide open and the elf charged in like he was itching for a fight.

And he smelled like a fates-damned dragon.

Skoll lifted his head and sniffed. Could he smell it, too? He probably could.

All my senses went on high alert, but I schooled my features into an easy smile.

Rivelin narrowed his gaze at me as he kicked the door shut. “What are you doing?”

“Having a cup of tea,” I said sweetly. “Would you like one?”

“Tea.”

“Yes, tea…”

“You’re still here. Drinking tea.”

I blinked, taken aback. “If you wanted me to leave, you should have said so. I just thought you wanted some space after the weapons closet incident. Since that’s, you know, what you said.”

“The weapons closet incident,” he repeated.

Slowly, I put down my mug and unwound myself from the armchair. “I think I’ve missed something.”

“You had access to all those swords,” he said with a frown. “I assumed you’d take one, or even a few so you could sell them for coin, and then you’d be on your way out of Wyndale.”

“And why would I do that?”

“To find somewhere else to stay until you can leave this island to sail for the Glass Peaks. If you took the swords and sold them, you wouldn’t have to stay here and help me with the Games. You had an easy way out. I assumed you’d take it.”

“I see,” I said quietly. “And did you want me to take it?”

A tense silence hung between us as I waited for his reply. My breathing went shallow, not that I cared if he’d hoped to find his house empty when he returned home. If he wanted me to leave, so be it. It was a shame I’d miss out on the Games, but I had options. I would still find out the village’s secrets. I would still track down the source of that scent. And Isveig would free me. That was the only thing that mattered.

Still, my sweaty palms and thundering heart made the wait for his answer almost unbearable.

“I need your help. With the Games,” he eventually said.

“So you don’t want me to leave?”

“Not particularly.” He eyed the nightclothes I wore and the mug on the table, almost like he was seeing them both for the first time. “You look like you’re settling in for the night.”

“It’s late, and I’m tired. Is that a problem?”

“The first event kicks off in the morning.” He frowned and rubbed his jaw. “The boat’s only half done. I’ll need to—”

“Fully done. I finished it while you were out doing…whatever it was you were doing.” Sitting in a dragon’s nest, probably.

“You…” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re telling me you finished building the boat by yourself?”

“And it’s a good thing I did. I doubt your neighbors would be thrilled with noisy pounding all night.”

Something flashed in his eyes. “If it came from inside the house, I doubt they’d hear.”

“Well, yes, but I don’t think you want to build a boat inside your living room.”

The corners of his lips twitched, and then he motioned at my tea before I could ask him what, exactly, was so funny. “I didn’t take you for a tea drinker.”

“And I didn’t take you as someone who would have fifteen different kinds of tea in his cupboard.” Speaking of, it was probably starting to get cold, and I hated cold tea, much like I hated most cold things. I grabbed my mug and took a sip. It was no longer piping hot, but it would do.

“And I didn’t take you for someone who would pass up stealing my swords.”

I lifted a brow. “I’d say I didn’t take you for someone who would have a secret stash of swords, but that pretty much fits. They are a lot more…artistic than I would have expected, though.”

“It seems we’ve both made snap judgements.”

“Never judge a book by its cover.”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” he said. “If a book has an intriguing cover, I’m much more interested in opening those pages and finding out exactly what awaits me inside.”

There was something in his voice. It was almost as if it had dropped an octave. And his tone had shifted into something that reminded me of a velvety caress. Flushing, I took a quick sip of my tea to mask my reaction, along with the fact that I’d just noticed how he’d rolled up his sleeves to reveal his powerful forearms. Why in fate’s name was I looking at that?

He took a step toward me, and my body tensed. I still had my tea mug to my lips, and the liquid flew down my throat. I choked, sputtering up all over my shirt and making an absolute fates-damned idiot out of myself.

The lukewarm liquid dripped down my chin, leaving a trail of pain in its wake. I brushed it aside with my shirt and lifted my gaze to find Rivelin practically grinning.

“Everything all right, Daella?” My name rolled off his tongue like a decadent piece of chocolate.

“I think I’m done with my tea for the night.”

“Probably for the best since you’re spilling as much of it as you’re drinking.”

“Very funny. I’m glad I can be a source of amusement for you.”

He chuckled as I left the living room to rinse the cup. When I returned, he was already spreading his blanket across the sofa. His bed for the night. I hadn’t planned on going to sleep just yet, but I couldn’t very well stay in here now. The idea of sitting in the armchair while he lay down…it felt far too intimate.

Because he smelled like a dragon. That was why. There was no other reason I felt on edge.

And so I wandered toward the hallway as Rivelin called out behind me. “Good night, Daella.”

I swallowed. What was wrong with me? “Night, Rivelin.”

After I walked into the bedroom and shut the door, I noted the dragon scent had faded. And it had been so strong, so spicy and intoxicating, it felt odd now that it was gone. Like something essential was missing.

* * *

The next morning, Rivelin was practically vibrating with intensity. I found him in the back garden looking over my handiwork from the day before. Based on the shadows beneath his eyes, he’d clearly struggled to sleep. He ran his massive hands along the ropes I’d used to tie the logs together. Admittedly, the thing was more like a raft than a boat, but it wasn’t as though I’d ever built a damn ship before.

“This is going to be a problem,” he said in a gruff voice that prickled my irritation.

“You’re welcome, Rivelin. I know you ran off to waste all of yesterday grumping around wherever it was you went. Probably the woods.” Or a dragon lair. “You really are lucky I took it upon myself to finish your boat. Otherwise, you’d have nothing.”

“You’re my assistant,” he said through gritted teeth. “The rules state that you have to engage in every challenge.”

“And I did. I built your fucking boat.”

“You built a raft, Daella. And you have to come with me onto the lake.”

My blood ran cold. “Pardon?”

“You can’t stay on shore. You have to come. If you don’t, we forfeit our place in the Midsummer Games.”

It was then I truly understood the depths of his aggravation. I stared at the raft, seeing it with new eyes. Yesterday, I’d pieced it together imagining a single person—Rivelin—maneuvering it across the lake without worrying about water spilling through the cracks between logs and seeping into his trousers. Or splashing over the side. Or potentially capsizing if the thing was just a tad on the too-small side. He would right it and climb back on and all would be well.

Me, on the other hand…

“I can’t go on that.”

“I know.”

“My skin is allergic to fresh water.”

“I know.”

I started pacing. “We have some other logs I didn’t use. If we pile some on top of what we already have—”

“The raft will sink.” He ran a hand down his face and sighed. “This is my fault. I should have come out here last night to see how it looked instead of waiting until this morning.”

“Well, what you should have done was not storm off yesterday.”

“I didn’t storm off.”

“You did.”

He glared at me, but I just smiled back. After a moment, he shook his head. “You know, I can tell your smile isn’t genuine.”

“What else do you expect? I’m about to have a grand old time on your raft.”

“No, you’re not,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“We may not get along well—”

“You think?”

He narrowed his eyes. “If you would just let me finish.”

I motioned for him to continue, and then mimed buttoning my lips.

“We may not get along well,” he tried again, “but I’m not going to put you through that. I’ll forfeit my spot in the Games and try again next year.”

Panic clawed its way up my throat—funny I felt more alarmed by losing the chance at the island’s gift than getting drenched by lake water. “No!”

He frowned. “Daella, you will get wet.”

“Yes, but…” How could I phrase this? “I believe in your mission. You want to protect everyone from Isveig. So do I.” Just as long as they weren’t Draugr.

“There isn’t room for both of us on that raft,” he pointed out.

“Well.” I flushed. “I’m sure there’s a way to make it work.”

He propped his hands on his waist and stared at the ridiculous contraption I’d spent so many hours building. In the light of everything else, it looked a mess. The edges of the logs weren’t lined up, and the rope was frayed and far too thin for my liking. The last thing I wanted was to share the thing with Rivelin, but what else were we to do?

“You’ll have to sit on my lap,” he finally said.

* * *

Rivelin heaved the raft into his arms and carried it through the house and out onto the front steps, like the thing weighed no more than a feather. A moment later, he came back inside and rooted around in a trunk before handing me some leather oilcloth—it was waterproof, apparently, though I wasn’t convinced. The material was thick and far too warm for summer weather, but I’d rather be sweaty than shivering in pain.

After changing into the oilcloth, I stomped outside in waxed leather boots. Instantly, the morning sun baked me. Rivelin looked me up and down, then nodded in satisfaction. “You sure you don’t want something to cover your face?”

“As long as you don’t tip the thing sideways, it should be fine,” I snapped, scowling.

He chuckled.

“What?”

“It’s just nice to see your true nature come out.”

“And what true nature would that be?”

“You try to pretend that you’re cheerful all the time, but inside, you’re just as prickly as I am.”

I scoffed. “No one is as prickly as you are.”

A bell chimed in the distance, and a flock of blackbirds scattered into the air, their retreating bodies flecks of black against the clear sky, like grains of peppercorns. Rivelin’s smile dropped as he gathered the raft in his arms. “That’s the signal. We need to go.”

“All right.” Nervously, I pressed down the front of the oilcloth, thick and clammy against my skin. My gloves made it so I couldn’t feel the material at all, and my senses seemed dulled because of it—like I was blind in one eye.

Rivelin paused. “You can still say no to this. If it’s too much, I’ll understand if you want to back out.”

I shook my head. “I never back out.”

“Then we’ve got a trial to win.”