Chapter 26

DAELLA

“It didn’t work.” I sighed and moved over to the sofa, where I promptly dropped onto the cushions like a puppet whose strings had been snipped. The ice shard had started throbbing, like it knew I was trying to rid my body of its cruel magic.

Rivelin tossed the torch back into the hearth to let it burn down with the other logs, then joined me. His left shoulder and thigh pressed into mine. He felt so warm and powerful, and I suddenly realized just how small the sofa was. There was no way to put space between us. Not that I wanted to—I just found it difficult to concentrate with him so close.

“I’m sorry I gave you hope. I really thought it would work,” said Rivelin.

“Deep down, so did I.” I looked up at him and caught his stare. A quiver went through me. “You really should rest. That wound on your head…”

“I feel fine now. I’m an elf, remember? We heal fast.”

“What kind of bastard would attack you in your own home?” I scowled, and in unison, we said, “Gregor.” I shook my head. “I just don’t understand why. Attacking you accomplishes nothing, even if he does want revenge. If anyone would understand how fast you heal from a wound like that, it’s him.”

Rivelin shifted sideways and took my chin between his fingers, gently guiding my eyes to meet his. “I don’t want to talk about Gregor.”

I swore my heart skipped a beat, an expression I’d always rolled my eyes at before. But I’d felt it—a pulsing tremor that stole my breath away. “I assume we need to start on the next trial in the morning. Should I leave you to get some rest?”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

“Oh?” A smile curved my lips. “Is there something else you have in mind?”

His hand glided from my chin to my ear as he slowly slid his fingers through the strands of my hair, then gripped them in his fist. My breath caught as he tugged me closer and brushed his lips against my ear.

His breath caressed my skin, sending a shiver through me, and he said, “Someone broke into my house and attacked me. There’s only one thing that can make me feel better. I want your perfect lips wrapped around my cock.”

A shiver stole down my spine. “I thought you said you feel fine now.”

“Did I say fine? I meant I can’t stop thinking about how dripping wet and hot you were when I fucked you in my forge.”

I shuddered, reaching for his belt, my knees digging into the cushions. “Well, in that case, I should heal your affliction.”

Rivelin watched me with hooded eyes as I undid his belt and tugged his trousers down his legs. Wetting my lips, I gazed down at his cock, wondering how I would fit the entire length in my mouth. Something in me heated, my core tightening.

Slowly, I gripped his shaft and lowered my mouth to the tip. I brushed my lips across it. A hiss escaped him, his hand tensing where he still gripped my hair. My core ached even more at the delicious thrill that went through me, just from getting a reaction out of him so easily.

I spread my lips and slid them down the length of him, moving my hand at the same time. A low guttural sound escaped his throat. “Fuck, Daella.”

“Mmm.” My voice rumbled against his skin as I took him in further, deeper and deeper until his tip hit the back of my throat. And then I moved back up and brought my hand with me. His hold on my hair tightened.

“So fucking perfect,” he groaned.

I took him faster and deeper, my hand and mouth working in unison. As I tasted and sucked and licked every inch of him, I felt his tension mount and his cock stretch larger. I squeezed his balls with my free hand, and that was all it took. His climax crashed through him, rocking into me. A groan spilled from his lips, and his seed coated my tongue. It tasted of salt and of him, somehow. With a smile, I swallowed it down.

As I sat up, he gazed at me with such an intoxicating mixture of desire and affection that my heart nearly stopped working right then and there. His hand grazed my cheek, then he started to lift his tunic over his head. And I knew without a doubt, he wasn’t done with me yet. Good. I didn’t want him to be.

But when he was partway through undressing, he frowned and looked down. He patted his bare chest, his face paling. And then he leapt to his feet. “The fucking key is gone.”

“What?” Confused, I watched as he hastily dressed and stormed toward the door leading down into his forge. By the time I’d stood from the sofa, he was back, angry lines bracketing his mouth.

“What’s going on, Rivelin?”

His hands clenched. “The lock on the weapons closet is unlatched. Gregor stole my swords.”

* * *

Ifollowed Rivelin outside. Behind a hazy fog of clouds, only the bottom half of a crescent moon was visible, cutting through the night sky like a scythe. I tried not to take it as an omen as I walked down the road by Rivelin’s side and the night’s chill bit into my skin. My breath puffed from my lungs as I endeavored to keep up with him, his elven speed powering his strides.

It didn’t take long for us to reach the eastern side of the village. Gregor’s windows were dark, and unlike the last time we’d paid him a visit—albeit more furtively than now—the chimney expelled no smoke. Rivelin pounded on the door but didn’t wait for an answer. He slammed his boot into the wood and stormed inside.

I followed just behind him, casting a quick glance over my shoulder at the homes across the street. With this kind of noise, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone came to investigate.

“Gregor,” Rivelin called out as he moved through the messy room. “You can come out. There’s no use in hiding.”

But there was no answer or any sign of movement.

“I don’t think he’s here, Rivelin,” I said.

Frowning, he took one last look around and returned to the road outside. I followed, quietly closing the door behind us, though I needn’t have bothered. Several faces were already peering out their windows at us.

“We need to find him and the swords,” Rivelin said, dropping his voice to a near whisper. “If he’s angry and retaliates against the folk of this village, I’ll never forgive myself for making those weapons. I broke the law, and I might have doomed us all.”

“He’s only one man. Even if he rushes into the village with a sword, there’s far more of us than him.”

“Us?”

“I…yes. Isveig was cruel to me, but he did have his sister train me to fight, and she’s one of the best out there.”

“I know that, Daella. But you spoke like you consider yourself one of us.”

“Oh.” My heart pounded. “I suppose I do, in a way. At least when it comes to Gregor.”

Rivelin smiled slightly, but then he ran his hands through his hair, his expression now pained. “This is supposed to be a peaceful island, where nothing terrible happens, and yet here we are conversing about swords and making stands against the enemy. I thought, if we tried hard enough, this place could be immune from that kind of darkness. And yet it follows me no matter hard I try.”

I moved to stand before him and pressed up onto my toes to palm his cheek. “Don’t lose hope just yet. There may be no need for a fight. All we have to do is find Gregor before he makes his move.”

“Any idea on how we can do that?” he asked.

I thought back to the last time I saw Gregor. He’d been lurking in the trees. “I think he’s hiding out in the Ashborn Forest.”

* * *

We waited until dawn before setting off to the forest. It would be more difficult to find him—and a hidden stash of swords—in the dark, and if he’d been awake all night for his thieving activities, he might find himself drifting off to sleep during the day, despite his best intentions.

After tugging the pack over my shoulders, I jogged down the steps and breathed in the scents of the village morning. Milka was already baking bread, judging by the earthy aroma drifting out of her open window from down the road. The old dwarf across the way sat on his toadstool with his pipe. He lifted his hand, waving. Dew clung to the vines crawling up the side of Rivelin’s house, and birdsong filled the air. I breathed it all in and smiled.

“Morning, my dear,” a soft voice called out to me.

I turned to see Mabel shuffling down the road, her smile as bright as the morning sun. Today she wore a dark green tunic, the edges embroidered with ancient words only I would recognize. Ris upp ur oskunni. The belt cinching her waist was a set of twisting chains, and the clasp had been forged into the shape of a dragon spreading its wings. Only Draugr wore clothes etched in dragon symbols.

The world beneath me seemed to tip sideways.

“Where did you get that belt?” I asked, hating the accusatory tone in my voice. But she’d been there in that village with the Draugr that day. I’d believed her to be innocent when I found her hiding in the cupboard. Had I been wrong?

She hobbled closer, leaning on her cane. “My husband gave it to me. It was his mother’s, and her mother’s before that. It was passed down in his family for centuries. I would have passed it on to our daughter, had we ever had one.”

“It’s an orcish belt?” I asked, furtively scenting the air. No hint of Draugr.

“That’s right. Just like this tunic.”

“Oh. All right.” I suppose it might make sense. Still, something about it unnerved me. It felt as though I were looking in a mirror, but a warped version of myself was looking right back and grinning like a fiend.

“Here.” She held up a linen sack. “I made you two some pasties for your journey.”

I relaxed and smiled. “How did you know we were going on a journey?”

“I live over by Gregor.” She chuckled. “You two made quite the ruckus last night. I heard every word you said, including the bits you probably didn’t want me to hear. Nevertheless, it makes no difference to me what our dear blacksmith crafts. Just so long as he gets them back and puts them someplace safe.”

I nodded. “We’ll do our best. And thank you for the food.”

“I just want my home protected, you hear? We all do. Why do you think so few of us stepped forward for the Games? It’s Rivelin’s turn, and we know he’ll find the right words to keep us safe from that monster across the Boundless Sea. And you will, too.”