Chapter 19

RIVELIN

Itossed and turned all night. I couldn’t stop thinking about what Daella had told me about her past—and her future. The bastard had bound her to him, and she saw no way out. It explained a lot. There had to be a way to get her out of this mess, but barring somehow removing the damn shard from her hip, I didn’t know what it was.

She couldn’t return to that life. That was all I knew for certain.

Skoll padded in from the back door I’d left cracked for him all night and nuzzled my hand. I sighed and sat up on the sofa, running my fingers through my hair. I’d hardly slept, and while elves didn’t need as much rest as most, I still felt like my head was stuffed with wool.

“Dammit,” I muttered to myself. Sometime in the past few days, I’d let myself soften toward the half-orc, and I didn’t much like that. It always came back to bite me in the ass.

“Good morning,” Daella said uncertainly.

I looked up to find her hovering in the doorway, still in her nightclothes. Quickly, I looked away. The thin material didn’t leave much to the imagination, and her curves were a delicious temptation I could never indulge in. Still, the shape of her thighs—and everything else about her—hadn’t escaped my notice.

I cleared my throat. “Morning. You hungry?”

“Starving. Should I make us something?”

I arched a brow.

“I do know how to cook, you know.”

The offer was sweet, and pretty unexpected coming from her. “No, no. You get dressed. We’ll break our fast at the Dreaming Dragon Inn. We can find out the details of the Fildur Trial there. They’ll have announced it yesterday while we were in the mountains.”

“The inn. Need I remind you, I got kicked out the first night I was here.”

I found myself looking over at her, despite my every intention not to, and fates be damned, that nightdress showed off every inch of her mile-long thighs.

Her cheeks reddened. “Right, you have coin so it’ll be fine. I suppose I should go get dressed now. Are you going to take a bath first or will you do it later? What about Skoll? Is he hungry? He should come with us, or do they not allow fenrir inside the doors?”

Her words came out in a breathless rush, and an unexpected satisfaction settled into me. She’d noticed me noticing her, and it had gotten her flustered. Her eyes darted down and then back up again. And that was when I remembered I was only half-dressed myself. She was noticing me right back. I smirked.

“I’ll go get dressed.” And then she was gone.

Skoll sat on his haunches and stared at me. There was judgement in his yellow eyes. Or was it encouragement? Fuck, I needed to focus. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen her body, though I’d been careful to avert my gaze when she’d been hurt. And when I had looked at her that night, I’d been so focused on that damn shard…

No matter. Today’s task loomed too large to get distracted by this kind of thing. Despite Gregor’s sabotage, we’d done well in the first challenge, but we needed to win the next one. It was the only way to stop Isveig from getting his giant claws into this place.

* * *

Mornings at the Dreaming Dragon Inn were quieter affairs than the boisterous evening revels. The village of Wyndale, being as small as it was most of the year, didn’t boast of a variety of delis, restaurants, and taverns. So if one wanted to break his fast somewhere other than at home, the Dreaming Dragon Inn was the place to do it.

A bell jangled on the door as I pushed inside, Daella just behind me. There were about a dozen patrons scattered around the many tables, each quietly digging into a full breakfast. Being a shadow demon, Elma’s specialty was khlea—some dried meat—and fried eggs, along with olives, soft cheese, and bread to scoop it all up. The inn was the only place on Hearthaven to serve it. She’d won the Midsummer Games several years back and asked the island for a steady supply of ingredients, since olives didn’t naturally grow around here. Food was always readily available, even if we still had to farm it.

Daella and I sat across from each other at a table along the back wall. Elma swung by only a moment later, wiping her hands on her faded brown apron. She shot me a smile but pointedly ignored Daella. Shadows pulsed from her skin.

“Morning, Rivelin. Rarely see you in here. What can I get you?”

“Elma, this is Daella, my assistant for the Games.”

She pursed her red-painted lips and glanced at Daella. “Yes. The murk from Fafnir.”

“Who saved Kari’s life.” I nodded at the corner where Kari quietly ate her meal alone. Every now and again, the red-headed elf cast a quick glance our way.

“Ah, yes. That is true.” Elma’s face softened a little. “Well, I suppose it’s nice to meet you, Daella, but I hope you don’t plan on telling your emperor about us. Otherwise, I’m going to have to kick you out again, even if you do have coin and one of my favorite patrons this time.”

To my surprise, Daella laughed. “You’re very blunt.”

Elma grinned. “Gotta be, running a place like this. You should see what some of the rowdy dwarves try to pull in the evenings. They can sometimes get rather handsy, if you know what I mean.”

“Something tells me you put them in their place easily enough.”

“That I do. That I do. Now what can I get you? Can’t say I know how to do a traditional orcish breakfast, but I can do a Full Eggs and Bacon—that’s what the humans like—or I’ve got the one from my homeland. Demonika Breakfast.”

“I’ll have the Demonika Breakfast, thanks.”

“The same for me,” I said.

After Elma bustled off, I lowered my voice. “Where did that come from?”

“Where did what come from?”

“You charmed Elma.”

“Well.” She smirked, folded her arms, and leaned back in the chair. “Sometimes I can be quite charming. Sorry you don’t know what that’s like.”

“Bet I could charm you.”

Daella’s eyes widened just a fraction of an inch. “Funny. Here I thought you’d already been trying. And failing miserably.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Daella smiled—a real one that crinkled the skin around her eyes and brought a brightness to her face—and I didn’t think she’d even realized she’d done it. And I knew, without a doubt, if she returned to Fafnir, she’d never smile like that again.

Instantly, my mood darkened and I remembered why we were here. I motioned Elma back over. I’d forgotten to ask her when she’d taken our order.

“Need something else, Riv?” she asked more sweetly than she had the last time.

“I was showing Daella the mountains yesterday, and we didn’t get back to Wyndale in time to hear the details of the Fildur Trial. Mind filling us in?”

“Oh, right.” She nodded. “Heard you weren’t there. Gregor got excited, thinking you’d forfeited.”

“Absolutely not,” Daella said, sitting up straighter in her chair.

Elma nodded approvingly. “Good girl.” She turned back to me. “Well, there’s not much to it, like most of ‘em. You just need to use fire to make something, and then you’ll present it at the ceremony in a little over a week. Figure you’ve got that one handled just fine.”

“Perfect,” I said. “Thanks, Elma.”

“You beat that bastard, you hear me? The both of you.”

Elma bustled off again, and then disappeared through the swinging wooden doors to the kitchen. Daella was fidgeting with the bottom hem of her shirt, and I could tell she still felt uneasy about the dragon issue despite what I’d shown and told her. I understood, though. When you spend your entire life in fear of something, it’s hard to let that fear go.

“Don’t worry. It’s normal fire, not dragonfire or actual Fildur flames.”

“You know, I’ve never seen Fildur flames,” she said quietly. “I’ve always wondered what they’re like, being an orc and all.”

“Wait, you haven’t?”

“Isveig, he hates fire. He banned it from Fafnir once he took over the city, even normal flames. When I went on quests with his mercenaries or warriors, we never used fire when we camped. Sometimes they would get so cold—not all of them are ice giants, you know. Still, no fire. They whispered about it like it was all cursed, like it all came from dragons somehow.” She looked up at me. “But you don’t think that’s true, do you?”

“That all fire comes from dragons?”

She nodded.

“Hmm.” I considered the question. “I think they were likely right, at least when it comes to the magical kind.”

Elma soon hastened to the table, balancing two plates and two mugs of tea. She deposited the food before us and fussed over Daella for a few moments as she explained the perfect combination of olives, bread, and cheese. We ate in comfortable silence, occasionally commenting on the food and the brilliant sunrise slanting pink and orange light through the inn’s windows.

Eventually, Kari approached. With her elf healing, there was no hint of the fight on her face. If I didn’t know, I never would have guessed she’d almost died a few days ago. When she reached us, she dropped a small leather pouch onto the table and smiled timidly at Daella.

“I wanted to thank you for pulling me out of the water,” she said, pushing her red hair behind her sharply pointed ear.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Daella said. “How are you doing? Looks like you healed up well.”

Kari smiled. “Only because of you. I owe you one.”

“I—” Daella tried to say, but Kari cut her off.

“I do, and that pouch there is the best I can come up with for now.”

“You really don’t need to give me anything,” Daella said, her eyes churning with a darkness I understood all too well. She didn’t think she deserved it.

“I know. But I’m giving it to you, anyway. Use it to win the Games, eh? Someone needs to beat Gregor.”

And then she patted Daella on the shoulder and wandered back to her table.

Daella shook her head and lifted the pouch from the table, weighing it in her hands. “This smells like Vindur sand.”

“It is,” I said. “Kari brought a stash of it with her when she came here. She used to be a scribe, which meant she had access to all the different Galdur sand in the world. Brought Vindur and Jordur with her, though she doesn’t have much left. It’s a remarkable gift.”

Daella fell silent as she finished her breakfast. Every now and then, she’d look at the pouch and shake her head, like she was thinking about trying to give it back. Thankfully, Kari left before she could.

When we finished eating, I left some extra coin on the table and thanked Elma on our way out. A short walk later, we were back home, and Daella helped me haul open the wide doors to my shop. It had been a few days since I’d opened the place, and the familiar scent of woodsmoke, iron, and fire rushed out into the street. Most weeks, I was open every day without fail, but the people of Wyndale understood things were different this year for Midsummer.

I did have some orders I needed to catch up on, though.

Daella followed as I ducked through the doors. Even though she’d been inside my shop twice already, she gazed at the towering brick forge with awe in her eyes. Pride swelled in my chest. I’d spent months getting this place into shape when I’ve arrived in Wyndale. I’d only been eighteen at the time, and it had been the first thing of my own I’d ever had.

“So what’s your plan?” she asked, running a hand along the flat top of the anvil.

“We need to craft something beautiful and eye-catching.” I watched her move through the shop like she belonged there, examining the hammers and tongs with keen interest. “Something beyond what anyone else will accomplish. Something that will clinch the win.”

“One of your swords, then.”

I folded my arms. “How did I know that’d be your first suggestion?”

“Tell me I’m wrong.” She reached the forge and stuck her head inside to look around. When she pulled back, she caught my eyes on her, and she flushed. “An impressive forge can make impressive blades.”

“No one here knows I craft swords,” I countered. “Except you.”

“You think they’ll be angry with you if they find out?”

“No, I just don’t want anyone to get any bright ideas. Those blades are not for killing.”

“What are they for?”

“I just…” I shrugged. “I like making them. It centers me and makes me feel like I’m doing something useful, even if they never get swung. But we’re getting off topic now.” I cleared my throat. I normally didn’t bare these kinds of details with anyone other than Skoll, and certainly not with someone who was still very much a stranger.

Except Daella did not feel like a stranger, not anymore. I knew more about her past than I did about most of the folk who lived in Wyndale, people I’d spent the better part of fourteen years with, side by side, every day. It was a strange realization, one I didn’t quite know what to do with.

Had I really kept myself that closed off?

I moved over to the wooden table along the back wall and held up a metal bracelet.

Daella frowned. “A bracelet? That’s…nice. But it’s not what I would call impressive. I saw your secret stash of swords. You can do much, much better than that.”

“This won’t be for the challenge.” I smiled. “I’m going to teach you how to blacksmith, and we’re going to start with something a novice can handle. That’s this.”

Her eyes darted from the bracelet to my face, almost eagerly. “Shouldn’t you make something without much help from me? I didn’t do an amazing job with the last trial.”

I chuckled. “That’s why we’re starting with this bracelet.”