Chapter 16

DAELLA

The pity in Rivelin’s eyes hurt more than the welts did. Physical pain I understood, but not this…this rawness around my heart. I’d spent so much of my life trying to pack all the emotion into crates inside my mind, nailed shut forever so that no one like Isveig could use them against me. Could use me.

The people at court in Fafnir Castle had often stared at me with mocking smiles or blatant curiosity. The Draugr I’d tracked down gaped at me in fear. No one had ever looked at me like they felt sorry for me, especially not someone who would happily condemn me to die in this place. This situation had damaged those carefully sealed crates, and the emotions burst through.

I started to shove past Rivelin. I couldn’t let him see me cry. But he gently grabbed my hand before I made it to the ladder.

“Daella, wait,” he murmured as the steam rose between us.

I blinked, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I can’t have this conversation with you.”

“Isveig is the enemy. Not me.”

“Aren’t you?”

He pressed his lips together. “I don’t have to be.”

“Then don’t ask the island to prevent people from leaving. Don’t force me to stay here if you win.”

“Isveig can never know anything more about us than he already does.”

“But why?” I asked. “If he can’t come here, what does it matter?”

“I cannot say.”

I swallowed as he stepped in close, and I tipped back my head to meet his stare. “I know you want to protect these islands from Isveig’s conquering army, but it’s more than that. There’s something here you want to hide from him, and even if I hate him—even if I balk at his every command—I agree with him about the Draugr. Dragon magic users are volatile and dangerous. They will burn this whole world down if someone doesn’t stop them. Not just the Grundstoff Empire. The Isles, too. And you would stand in my way if I tried to prevent it.”

He released my arm, but he did not step back. “There are no Draugr in the Isles.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Believe it or not, but you won’t find them here.”

“The dwarves said—”

“The dwarves were lying. They were probably trying to lure Isveig to their mountain city. Most don’t know this, but they were once great allies to the orcs. To your old king. He knew about the Glass Peaks when he was still alive.”

My brows shot high. “Lure him here? To kill him?”

“Perhaps.”

“I thought you had a law against violence and bloodshed on the islands.”

“On Hearthaven. The dwarves do things differently over in the Glass Peaks.”

My heart pounded as I gazed up at him, at the line of silvery moonlight that ran along his defined, angular jaw. A part of me wanted to believe him—desperately so. I did not want to doom the folk of Wyndale.

But I knew Rivelin was lying. He had to be. Why else would the stench of dragons be so strong?

As if in answer to my thoughts, the ice shard throbbed, but the pain was nothing compared to the welts.

“I’m tired. I’m going to bed,” I said.

Rivelin’s luminous eyes searched my face. “This shard in your hip. I’ll help you figure something out.”

I could only shake my head and laugh bitterly. “I’ve been trying to figure something out for years. There is no solution.”

He watched me go as I wearily climbed down the ladder. I hadn’t been lying. Everything inside me ached for bed. And despite all the thoughts and warring emotions tumbling through my mind, I fell asleep the second my head hit the pillow.

* * *

The next morning, we ate breakfast in strained silence before heading to the market square to see the results of the Vatnor Trial. The distance between Rivelin’s front door and the main thoroughfare was far too short for my liking, even though my pace was slow. I was still recovering from the day before.

As far as I could determine, there was no winning in my current situation. If we came in last place, and we might have, any hope I had of asking the island for freedom would drift away like smoke in the wind. But, if we somehow got enough votes to be in the top half of the competition, Rivelin would be closer to his goal, which was at odds with my future. Rivelin seemed to think he could find a solution, but I wasn’t convinced.

When we walked into the square, we found a crowd milling around the center stage, blocking our view of whatever it was they were looking at. Lilia pranced over to us, though there were storm clouds in her bright yellow eyes.

“Gregor’s back,” she whispered fiercely, latching onto Rivelin’s arm with white-knuckled hands.

A muscle in Rivelin’s jaw ticked as he scanned the crowd. “Where?”

“He came by a few moments ago to check out the votes. Then his mother dragged him away toward his house. I think she’s been keeping him hidden until everyone forgets to be angry.”

“Hmm,” was all Rivelin said.

“How are you feeling today?” Lilia asked as she pointedly avoided glancing at my exposed skin. Rivelin had produced yet another change of clothes for me. This time, he’d provided me with options. I’d gone with simple brown trousers and a sleeveless black tunic that left my skin exposed, rather than choosing to cover my arms. The welts weren’t pretty, but fabric rubbing against them was too painful.

“I’d feel a lot better if Gregor was eliminated from the competition,” I said.

“You should see the votes, then.” She grinned.

I perked up a bit at that, though I still wasn’t sure which way I wanted this to swing. Lilia took off toward the stage, and Rivelin’s hand brushed against my back to urge me to follow. Hot steam hissed from the touch, and I was acutely aware of every single inch of his strong, calloused palm. Rivelin cleared his throat, and his hand dropped away.

Cheeks hot, I marched away from him and refused to look in his general direction. That damn steam kept getting me flustered, and there was no reason for it. It was nothing.

I shook my head and focused on the stage. The votes were what mattered right now.

The crowd parted before us, their murmurs and whispered conversations receding like the tide. Lilia eagerly tugged me forward and motioned at the line of glass jars set out on the stage. Seven in total, each filled with blue pebbles. A plaque was set out in front of each of them with the contestant’s name written in a loopy, artistic scrawl.

Rivelin’s jar was on the far end. It was the second most full out of all of them.

My stomach twisted.

“See?” Lilia motioned at the other end of the stage. Gregor’s glass jar was almost empty, which would have put him last if it weren’t for the two entirely empty ones. Kari had withdrawn from the competition after the fight, and Nina hadn’t even made it across the lake, which meant she was out.

“So we’re in second,” I said slowly, heart thumping a painful beat. My welts seemed to throb in rhythm with it.

“Because of you and your courage,” Rivelin said quietly.

I didn’t know what to say. My conflicted emotions were too much to bear. Swallowing, I moved away from the stage, wandered down the street, and found a crate to sit on beside the overgrown well. Skoll trotted over to me, his tongue lolling from his mouth. I hadn’t even noticed him following us.

He sat on his haunches and blinked at me. With a sigh, I ran my hand along his fur and tried to think. Perhaps winning really was the only way to solve this. I would just have to snatch the victory away from Rivelin before he could ask the island for what he wanted.

Rivelin found me and sat beside me on the crate. “No fake happiness this time, then?”

“Gregor’s back,” she whispered fiercely, latching onto Rivelin’s arm with white-knuckled hands.

A muscle in Rivelin’s jaw ticked as he scanned the crowd. “Where?”

“He came by a few moments ago to check out the votes. Then his mother dragged him away toward his house. I think she’s been keeping him hidden until everyone forgets to be angry.”

“Hmm,” was all Rivelin said.

“How are you feeling today?” Lilia asked as she pointedly avoided glancing at my exposed skin. Rivelin had produced yet another change of clothes for me. This time, he’d provided me with options. I’d gone with simple brown trousers and a sleeveless black tunic that left my skin exposed, rather than choosing to cover my arms. The welts weren’t pretty, but fabric rubbing against them was too painful.

“I’d feel a lot better if Gregor was eliminated from the competition,” I said.

“You should see the votes, then.” She grinned.

I perked up a bit at that, though I still wasn’t sure which way I wanted this to swing. Lilia took off toward the stage, and Rivelin’s hand brushed against my back to urge me to follow. Hot steam hissed from the touch, and I was acutely aware of every single inch of his strong, calloused palm. Rivelin cleared his throat, and his hand dropped away.

Cheeks hot, I marched away from him and refused to look in his general direction. That damn steam kept getting me flustered, and there was no reason for it. It was nothing.

I shook my head and focused on the stage. The votes were what mattered right now.

The crowd parted before us, their murmurs and whispered conversations receding like the tide. Lilia eagerly tugged me forward and motioned at the line of glass jars set out on the stage. Seven in total, each filled with blue pebbles. A plaque was set out in front of each of them with the contestant’s name written in a loopy, artistic scrawl.

Rivelin’s jar was on the far end. It was the second most full out of all of them.

My stomach twisted.

“See?” Lilia motioned at the other end of the stage. Gregor’s glass jar was almost empty, which would have put him last if it weren’t for the two entirely empty ones. Kari had withdrawn from the competition after the fight, and Nina hadn’t even made it across the lake, which meant she was out.

“So we’re in second,” I said slowly, heart thumping a painful beat. My welts seemed to throb in rhythm with it.

“Because of you and your courage,” Rivelin said quietly.

I didn’t know what to say. My conflicted emotions were too much to bear. Swallowing, I moved away from the stage, wandered down the street, and found a crate to sit on beside the overgrown well. Skoll trotted over to me, his tongue lolling from his mouth. I hadn’t even noticed him following us.

He sat on his haunches and blinked at me. With a sigh, I ran my hand along his fur and tried to think. Perhaps winning really was the only way to solve this. I would just have to snatch the victory away from Rivelin before he could ask the island for what he wanted.

Rivelin found me and sat beside me on the crate. “No fake happiness this time, then?”

“You know why I have mixed feelings about this.”

“I’m guessing that means you don’t believe me about the Draugr.”

My heart pounded as the words itched to escape my throat. If I came clean, it could doom me—really doom me. He would understand me as the threat I was, and he would happily trap me here, regardless of what it meant for my life.

“Rivelin.” I sighed and leaned back against the stone well, kicking my feet up onto another crate. I gave him a flat look. “I thought you understood what orcs can do, what I can do. You called me infamous, as a matter of fact.”

“Everyone in the fates-damned world knows your name. Wouldn’t you say that makes you infamous?”

“I’d say that’s a tad alarming, but that’s not my point. You know….” I tapped the side of my nose. “I can scent dragons. Their magic, too.”

He folded his arms and rested against the well, his shoulder brushing mine. “What are you getting at?”

“Rivelin, your shop reeks of it. So did your bedroom when I first arrived. Every now and then, I get a whiff of it on the air, too. There are dragons somewhere nearby, and you’ve been in contact with them. Or you’re a Draugr.”

“I see,” he said quietly.

“Rivelin!” A pink-haired pixie landed before us, her wings fluttering. She wore a bright smile and an interesting assortment of clothes: a breezy shirt that moved like clouds around her legs, a cropped tunic the color of sunshine, and at least a dozen multi-colored gemstones in each ear. It created a particularly flamboyant effect. “Well done on coming in second place. You should be thrilled.” She looked at me and stuck out a hand. “Hi, I’m Odel. I’m on the Village Council with Rivelin here.”

I shook her hand. “I’m Daella.”

She let out a tinkling laugh. “Oh, honey, I know who you are. How are you liking Wyndale? Sorry about the…” With a grimace, she motioned at my arms.

“It seems like a lovely village. For the most part.”

“Yes, well.” Odel sighed. “We’re trying to find a way to deal with that whole situation. In the meantime…” She turned toward the corner of the nearest building and made a waving motion at the shadows. “Come on out, then. She won’t bite.”

I sat up a little straighter as an elderly human woman with white, frizzy hair hobbled around the corner, one hand clutching a wooden cane and the other holding a parchment-wrapped lump. With a watery smile, she approached and set the package on my lap. The warmth of it seeped through my trousers like rays of summer sun.

The woman bowed and backed away.

“Now Mabel,” Odel said with an encouraging smile. “Don’t just stand there and gape at her. Tell her what you told me.”

Mabel shuffled her feet a bit. She then patted my hand, careful not to touch the welt near my wrist. “You came into my village fourteen years past. You likely don’t remember me—you were so young. I was hiding in a pantry and heard Isveig’s murks order you to kill every last one of us, just to be on the safe side. Even if you smelled no dragon magic on us.”

My stomach dropped. I remembered her, all right, though the lines in her face had multiplied and deepened over the years, and her black hair had gone bone white. It had been one of my first “missions” from the new emperor.

The old woman sniffled and big blobs of tears rolled down her cheeks. “You spared me. You looked right at me, right in my eyes. And you told the murks barging into my house that there was no one inside.”

There was something hot and scratchy in my throat, and my eyes burned. All these years, I’d often wondered about that woman in the pantry, if she’d escaped, where she’d gone, and whether the emperor had somehow known and tracked her down. But, against all odds, she’d made it here.

“I’m glad you got away from that bastard, too.” Mabel nodded at the parcel on my lap. “Now you eat that up, you hear, and don’t give none to Rivelin. I made it just for you.”

As she turned to hobble away, I finally found my voice. “Thank you. It’s good to see you again, Mabel. I’ve not forgotten you at all.”

“Nor I you,” she called out over her shoulder. And then she moved on, her cane digging into the ground with each labored step.

As I watched her go, I could feel the scorching heat of Rivelin’s gaze.

“Well, I suppose I should see what this is,” I mumbled aloud, more to distract myself from the intensity of his stare than anything else. I peeled open the wrapping. Inside was a small square pastry of a sort, brown and crispy along the top. Unexpectedly, the savory scent of cheese and fried mushrooms wafted toward me. I cocked my head, curious.

Rivelin practically moaned, a sound that sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. “One of Mabel’s famous mushroom pasties. She doesn’t make those for just anyone. Eat up or you’ll have the whole village coming to fight over it.”

“Surely it can’t be that good.”

I took a bite. Creamy cheese and salted mushrooms coated my tongue in a dizzying explosion of taste. The pastry crumbled, creating the perfect texture to complement the filling. My eyes went wide. Fates be damned. It was one of the best things I’d ever eaten in my life.

Rivelin sat there smirking at me. “Told you. It’s amazing, right?”

I waited until I’d swallowed to answer. “I’ve never had anything like it before.”

“Human recipe,” he answered. “Mabel grew up in the human kingdoms before moving to a village on the outskirts of Fafnir, after she met an orc and fell in love. When her husband died rebelling against Isveig, she fled on a ship and ended up here.”

I swallowed that awful scratchy lump again. The guilt of what happened that day was almost unbearable. Try as I might, I hadn’t been able to stop the murks from killing every innocent in that village. Isveig had been convinced there were dozens of Draugr and orcs hiding out in their homes. There had been many lives lost that day. Mabel seemed to see me as her savior, and I was anything but.

Her unexpected kindness combined with the trials and the future I didn’t think I could escape…it was just all too much.

I brushed the crumbs from my trousers and stood, my throat tight. “I need to do something. What’s the next trial? When does it start?”

Rivelin stood from the crate, his eyes locked on my face. I tried to avoid looking at him, sensing the pity I’d find there. After everything he’d said and done, I couldn’t stand the thought of him feeling sorry for me. Not the grumpy elf blacksmith who seemed to dislike everyone, except for Skoll and his sister. If he, of all people, felt bad for me, then I truly was fucked.

At long last, he finally spoke. “It kicks off today, but we have over a week to prepare for the actual competition. And there’s something I want to show you before we get started.”