Chapter 28

DAELLA

Ihad a bounce in my step as I wandered through the maze of stalls set up along the perimeter of the festival, absentmindedly twisting the handmade bracelet on my wrist. Rivelin and I had not gotten much sleep, but I’d never felt more awake. No, that wasn’t quite right. I’d never felt more alive. Humming cheerfully—I went with the tune about Isveig I’d heard from the bard that first week—I stopped by Elma’s booth, where she had a platter of various cheeses set out for the occasion.

“Morning, Elma,” I said with a smile. “Thought you’d be at the Inn.”

She eyed me carefully as the shadows whispered across her skin, and for a moment, I worried she’d decided she didn’t like me very much after all. “Pointless being there with the trial ceremony looming. No one will be in town right now.”

“Well, lucky me, I guess. I’d love some of that cheese.”

She grinned. “You know the drill. No coin, no cheese.”

I dropped a pile of gold onto the counter that Rivelin had given me and exchanged it for a block of crumbly cheese. As I popped the delicacy into my mouth, Elma smiled and wished me luck. Right now, I didn’t really feel we needed much of that. I’d already spotted the other contestants, and while our cupcakes wouldn’t quite be the runaway hit like fireworks were, I had a good hunch we’d still win.

It felt like everything was starting to fall into place, even though we hadn’t yet found my cure. So as I headed to the stage, I should have expected what happened next. Gregor appeared from nowhere, grabbed me by the waist, and hauled me into the bushes again.

I elbowed him in the gut and twisted away from him.

“What in fate’s name do you think you’re doing?” I hissed.

He looked even worse than the last time I’d seen him, and that was saying something. His golden hair hung in tangled clumps around his gaunt, dirt-stained face. Had he been eating?

“I need to talk to you,” he said wearily. “About Rivelin. Again.”

I heaved out a sigh. “I see what this is. You’re holding his swords hostage. What do you want in exchange for them? Something to do with the Games?”

“What?” Confusion rippled across his face. “Rivelin has swords?”

“Don’t play the fool. What do you want for them?”

He held up his hands in surrender. “I don’t have them. I didn’t even know he had swords. Do Odel and Haldor know? It’s against the laws of this island.”

I eyed him, taking in his puffy eyes and—shockingly—his bare feet. His shirt was in tatters, and he hunched over, like he was in pain. “Someone broke into Rivelin’s house, knocked him out, and stole some swords. Are you really saying it wasn’t you?”

“That kind of thing doesn’t happen in Wyndale.”

“Except it did happen, and you’re the most likely culprit.”

He frowned. “And you saw this yourself?”

“Yes. I mean, I saw the aftermath. I found Rivelin unconscious, wounded, and bleeding on the floor. Then we realized the swords were missing.”

“That’s clever of him.” Gregor paced, his bare feet thumping against the ground. “Where was this wound? On the front of his head or on the back?”

I narrowed my eyes. “His front. What are you trying to suggest?”

“Rivelin is the mastermind. Think about it, Daella. He wants to win this thing more than anyone, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes. I was his biggest competition, and he got me kicked out by framing me.”

“Stop being so delusional. You weren’t his biggest competition. Viggo is. And besides, we all know—”

“You’re right. Viggo’s winning.” Gregor’s eyes widened. “And I bet you’ll find those ‘stolen’ swords in his house. Rivelin will have put them there. If he gets all his competition kicked out of the Games, he wins by default. It’s ingenious, really. I should have thought of it myself.” He eyed me. “But I bet you wouldn’t be too happy about him cheating like this. Orcs are infamous for their principles.”

I flinched. “Don’t speak about orcs like you know anything about us.”

I needed to find Rivelin and tell him Gregor was wandering around acting irrationally. The elf looked like he’d been to Hel and back, but he had to be hiding the stolen swords somewhere nearby. And judging by his confusion, I didn’t doubt he’d try to use them.

“Has he charmed you yet?” Gregor called out as I turned to go.

I paused, glancing over my shoulder. “What are you on about now?”

“He had a meeting with Odel and Haldor when you first arrived here. They agreed Rivelin would invite you to stay at his home so he could charm you and make you fall in love with him. They thought it would be the best way to convince you not to tell Isveig about this place. Because the three of them want to hide things from you. About dragons.”

I scowled at him, but something in my heart twanged at the words. So he could charm you and make you fall in love with him. “You’re lying.”

He spread his arms out on either side of his body, a move that revealed his scruffy dirt-stained tunic. “Do I look like I’m lying?”

“Yes.” I started toward him, hands fisting. No need to fetch Rivelin when I could take care of the bastard myself. I knew a move that could flatten him on the ground, then I would put him in a chokehold and drag him before the Village Council. They could deal with him and his crimes as they saw fit.

A bell chimed in the distance, signalling the start of the presentation. Gregor’s eyes widened. Without another word, he spun on his bare feet and took off through the trees in a blur of motion. As an elf, he was fast. Too fast, and I had no hope of catching up with him.

I stared after him for a moment, listening to the chimes fade and the roar of the crowd fill the silence it left behind. But I barely heard any of it, too focused on Gregor’s words. Surely it all had to be a lie. I’d asked Rivelin if he dealt in dragon magic—if anyone in this village did—and he’d looked straight in my eyes and told me no. I’d only met him a handful of weeks ago, but still. He wouldn’t lie to me about something that big…would he? He wouldn’t pretend to have feelings for me just to keep me from finding out the truth? Would he?

Gregor had done nothing but try to ruin everything since the Games began. He was a saboteur. That was all he was trying to do now. If he turned me against Rivelin…well, I didn’t understand what he hoped to accomplish, but he seemed desperate enough to try anything.

Nodding to myself, I returned to the celebration and joined Rivelin at the stage, where the rest of the competitors had already gathered. Hofsa shot me a sharp look, noting I was late. I wondered how she’d feel about her son’s continued attempts at sabotage.

Rivelin leaned in and whispered, “Where were you?”

“I’ll tell you later,” I murmured back. “After we win.”

He frowned but didn’t argue. There were hundreds of spectators watching us, and many had enhanced hearing. I didn’t want to risk anyone overhearing me talk about his swords. Contrary to what Gregor believed, I didn’t think Odel or Haldor would be angry about the weapons. I couldn’t say the same for everyone else, though. Half the folks here weren’t from Wyndale. They might not know Rivelin the way the residents did.

The way I did…or thought I did.

I glanced at the other contestants. Hege, the dwarf, had brought a brilliant flower arrangement of lilies, wisteria, and white roses. It was a strange combination, but it somehow worked, and the sweet scent of them filled the air around the stage. Nearby, her wife, Nina, encouraged her with a smile.

The quiet human named Godfrey held a sculpture made entirely of leaves. Formed in the shape of a fenrir, it was an impressive sight. If he wasn’t already so behind, he’d gain a lot of important votes in this task.

Then there was Viggo, the fire demon. Much to my surprise, his submission wasn’t as impressive as the others. All he had was a small pouch that sat on the stage. I took a sniff. Jordur sand. Interesting. Did he plan to use it for some kind of demonstration?

Movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. I turned to see Odel and Haldor huddled together off to the side, away from everyone else. They were whispering furiously, muscles tight around their eyes. Haldor shot a glance my way, and then averted his gaze just as quickly. I frowned. What was that about?

Rivelin placed a strong hand against my back, and the roar of the crowd washed over me. I’d been so focused on Haldor and Odel that I’d missed everything. The presentation was over, and the spectators were approaching the stage to taste the hundreds of cupcakes I’d spent hours baking with Rivelin. I stumbled aside, almost numb.

“Look at them,” Rivelin said, smiling, as the crowd descended upon the food. “They love the cupcakes. You did this, Daella.”

But I couldn’t find it in myself to truly appreciate the delighted moans and frost-covered smiles. Gregor’s words still echoed in my ears, even more now that I’d seen the strange meeting between Odel and Haldor. But no, it was ridiculous. Rivelin had only sought me out because he didn’t want me poking around. He’d initially agreed to keep an eye on me, not romance me.

He wasn’t using me…was he?

“Yes, it’s wonderful,” I said as brightly as I could, trying my best to smile. “It looks like we’re getting some votes.”

He searched my face, his brow pinched. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m just tired. We barely got any sleep last night.”

“Daella, I know when you—”

“I saw Gregor,” I blurted out.

He tensed. “Where?”

“He was in the woods behind the merchant stalls again. But the things he stole, he didn’t have them. He didn’t even know what I was talking about when I tried to make him tell me where they were.”

Rivelin scowled and started to head to the stalls, but I grabbed his arm to stop him. “He already got away. With the speed he has, it will be impossible to catch up with him now. You’re fast, too, but he’s already long gone. We don’t even know which direction he went.”

“What did he want?” he snapped.

I swallowed and decided to tell him everything. It would be the only way to rid myself of all these doubts. I needed to look into his eyes while he told me that every word Gregor had told me was a lie. I needed to hear he hadn’t seduced me only to divert my attention away from dragon magic.

I needed to know that whatever was between us was real.

But before I could say a word, Hofsa rang the bell atop the stage. Holding aloft a half-eaten cupcake, she called out for all the crowd to hear, “It seems we have a winner!”

Indeed, she was right. Our glass jar of pebbles now sat even with Viggo’s, who had done nothing with his sand, while the other two only had a handful more pebbles in them. The crowd roared their approval.

Any hope I had of speaking to Rivelin about Gregor’s accusations whispered away on the wind as hundreds of cheering spectators surrounded me, sat me on a vine-covered chair, and lifted me in the air.