Chapter 6

6

DAELLA

I’d know that smell anywhere. It had dogged my every step as a child. It had followed me into my dreams—and my worst nightmares. It was sulphur and spice, dust and cooked meat, salt water and leather. A unique combination of scents that only dragons and Draugr carried with them—or had, once, when they’d been alive. Emperor Isveig called my sensitivity to that smell my special power, though most orcs could scent a dragon from miles away. To us, it was more than a scent. It was a feeling—a thudding in our hearts.

The smell had always called to me, though I hated it.

I tried not to react, which was fairly easy when the pain of the rainfall still consumed every inch of me. The water had soaked through my clothes now, and all the salt water from the ocean had been washed away, leaving nothing but the blaze.

Rivelin glanced at my hands. My skin was growing redder by the moment. Without another word, he handed me a towel and a dry pair of nightclothes: soft linen trousers in an emerald green with a matching tunic. By the look of them, they were clearly women’s garments.

“Why do you have this?” I said with a shudder, my jaw still clenched from the unyielding pain.

“Don’t worry about that now. Just go get changed.” He motioned to a closed door at the end of a short hallway. I stumbled forward, barely taking in the rest of the home. All I could focus on was my feet—on one step in front of the other. Shaking, I shoved inside the room.

The scent of dragons grew stronger, but I barely paid it any attention. I tossed the fresh trousers on the bed, wriggled out of my wet clothes, and breathed in a ragged breath of relief. My hands shook as I toweled off the rain. With every brush of the fabric against my skin, the pain faded until it was nothing more than a dull ache. My skin was still red, but no welts had formed yet. I’d likely feel fine in the morning.

Thanks to the elf.

I pulled on the soft nightclothes and then took a moment to look around the room. It reeked of sulphur, so strongly that there was no doubt in my mind Rivelin had been in contact with a dragon or a Draugr not that long ago. A day at most. Maybe two.

Curious, since all the dragons were dead.

The room itself was sparsely decorated. A small bed took up most of the space, covered in periwinkle sheets and a patchwork quilt faded by sun and time. Beside it sat a single nightstand that held a glowing lantern and a leather-bound book. A storage chest at the foot of the bed was the only other piece of furniture.

A knock sounded on the door, startling me. I pressed down the front of the nightclothes and tried to look nonchalant, though I wasn’t the one hiding something.

“Everything all right?” Rivelin called out through the door.

I cleared my throat. “Yes, I’m dressed now. You can come in.”

The door swung wide, and Rivelin stepped into the bedroom. His eyes glowed as they trailed across me, and a strange heat filled my cheeks. I folded my arms, suddenly all too aware the shirt was pale and thin. I’d pulled off my undergarments along with everything else. Could he see through the material?

“Grab your wet clothes and follow me,” he said in a gruff voice.

I frowned at his tone but used the towel to gather my clothes from where I’d piled them on the floor, then followed him back down the hallway. We came to a large living space I’d only seen a glimpse of on my way inside. Unlike the bedroom, furniture and knickknacks filled the room, along with a cozy sofa, a ruggedly constructed desk, an armchair, and a woven rug. A fire blazed in the hearth, spilling heat across my chilled body.

Rivelin took my clothes from my arms and went over to a rack beside the hearth. He hung them without a word, carefully arranging them like he’d done this very thing a hundred times before. Everything about this moment struck me as odd, especially his gentle actions and this cheery room, so unlike the man he’d shown himself to be—so far, anyway.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” I asked, finally cutting through the silent tension.

“I’m not being nice.” He turned to face me. The orange flames splashed light onto one side of his face, leaving the other half hidden in shadow. “I just didn’t want your clothes dripping water all over my floor. It’ll warp the wood.”

Of course. “Such a gentleman.”

“This is the living space,” he said, ignoring my quip. He pointed at an archway leading to the rear side of the building. “Through there is the kitchen and the pantry, though I’m not much of a cook. You’ve seen the bedroom already.”

“And the spare room where I’m staying? Where’s that?”

He folded his arms. “You’ll be staying in the room I already showed you.”

“Where’s your bedroom, then?”

“Don’t get any wild ideas in your head.”

I snorted, though I couldn’t stop my cheeks from heating. “In your bloody dreams.”

“More like my worst nightmare.” He grinned, though there was nothing cheerful about his expression, especially since it resulted in flashing his sharp canines. They glinted like the deadly look in his eyes.

“You don’t actually have a guest room, do you?” I eyed him and then searched the room for something I could use as a weapon. “Why did you really bring me here? Is this your demented way of getting rid of the emperor’s murk? You lured me into your home so you could kill me?”

“Like I told you on the beach, we don’t do violence here. Unless you do something to provoke it.”

“So then what do you want with me?” I folded my arms. “You were eager to get rid of me before, and I know how you feel about who I am and what I’ve done for the emperor. You’re not just offering me your bed out of the goodness of your heart. You want something.”

“You’re right,” he said with a nod before motioning to the sofa. “I’ll be sleeping there. You can have the bed. In return, I want you to help me win the Midsummer Games. You’ll be my assistant, my teammate.”

“The Midsummer Games? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Of course you haven’t. No one in Hearthaven wants Emperor Isveig to find out and decide he wants to take part in the Games himself.”

“All right, I’ll admit I’m intrigued.” I perched on the arm of the sofa and waited for him to continue.

“Every year, Wyndale hosts the Midsummer Games. They take place in the summer—”

“Yes, I got that. Can you skip to the good part?”

“Perhaps if you didn’t interrupt me, I’d get there sooner.”

I just gave him a brilliant smile.

He scowled. “People from all around the Isles come to take part or spectate. That’s why there are so many visitors here right now, and why the inn was so packed. Everyone looks forward to it every year. Some say it’s the best part about living on Hearthaven.”

“All right, so what do you do? How do you win? And what do you get? It must be good if you’re willing to stoop so low as to team up with me.”

“There are seven participants every year, drawn at random. They go on to compete in a series of four challenges. Each one corresponds to one of the elements. After each challenge, spectators vote on the winner. Whoever has the most votes at the end wins the Midsummer Games.”

Four challenges, each representing one of the elements. It made sense. Our world revolved around the elements, just as most magic did.

“And the winnings?”

Rivelin gave me a long, hard stare, as if he were trying to decide whether he’d tell me the truth. It was something big, then. Something to do with dragons, perhaps?

“Not coin, if that’s what you’re thinking. This island is special. All these islands are. How do you think they’ve stayed hidden for so long?” he finally said. “It holds power of its own, one it likes to gift its residents. There are rules, though, made a very long time ago by the island itself. We get one gift per year. Otherwise, we’ll use up the magic too quickly.”

“I’ve never heard of an island having magic,” I said slowly.

“Is it really so surprising?” he asked. “With Galdur sand, we can bend the elements to our will to create magic. Those elements can harm as well as heal.” He gave my bare arms a meaningful look. They weren’t as red as they’d been before, but they were clearly still irritated. Irritated by water—one of the four elements. And the heat from the hearth soothed some of that pain. Fire always did make me feel better.

“So you take part in four challenges and win a gift from the island?” I asked.

“You can ask for anything you want,” he said in a low voice that was almost drowned out by the crackle of the flames. “Almost anything. It will not directly harm anyone or anything. And you can’t ask for it to change something on the mainland, unfortunately. It will only alter things that are here.”

Well, this was far, far more interesting than I ever could have dreamed.

“If you want to win so badly, you must have something in mind?” I cocked my head. “What are you going to ask the island to give you?”

“I’m going to ask it to protect the folk of this place from Emperor Isveig. Others have tried in the past, but they always get the wording wrong, since the island sometimes translates in unexpected ways. But I know what to say to make it right.”

My heart thumped against my ribs at the sudden passion in his voice. I’d hated Isveig ever since he’d brought his invading army into Fafnir, but I may have just met someone who hated him even more. Someone whose home reeked of dragon. Someone who was the ticket to my freedom…in more ways than one, potentially.

My hip ached from the icy sting of the shard, an ever-present reminder of who owned me, at least for a little while longer.

“Any idea what these challenges are?” I asked. “How dangerous are they? What kind of weapon will we need? You know, I’d be a much better help if you hadn’t tossed my mother’s dagger into the sea.”

“I should have known your first instinct would be violence. I told you, we don’t do that here,” he said with narrowed eyes. “No one is killing anyone for a little bit of magic.”

It was all I could do not to gape at him. “How long have you lived here?”

“On Hearthaven?” he asked, a suspicious tone to his voice. “Fourteen years. Why?”

“Then you’ve forgotten what it’s like out there,” I said, vaguely gesturing at the world beyond the storm-tossed sea. “Back in the Grundstoff Empire, people do kill others for magic. Mostly Isveig’s warriors. The ice giants are terrified of anything they can’t control, and that’s most magic. If it’s not ice, it has to die.”

Rivelin stared at me. His eyes roamed across my face, down my body, and then back up again. A shiver went through me. There was something so feral in that look, like he was peeling me apart, inch by inch.

At long last, he spoke. “You’re not made of ice and you’re still alive.”

“No,” I said slowly. “I’m not ice. And Isveig keeps me on a tight leash because of it.”

My answer seemed to satisfy him—for now—because he nodded. “Well, you’re no longer in the Grundstoff Empire, Daella. The Midsummer Games are a celebration of our freedom and of this island’s power. Now, do we have a deal?”

I didn’t even have to think about it. “We have a deal. I’ll help you win your Games. And you’ll give me somewhere to stay until I can board a ship and leave this place.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

The fire crackled in the awkward silence. I shifted on my feet, cleared my throat, and Rivelin cast his gaze around the room as if he were trying to look at anything and everything other than me. This was probably a terrible idea. I didn’t know this elf, and he had a massive grudge against me. But I’d handled Isveig for a very long time. I could handle a grumpy blacksmith.

“Well, I’m tired,” I finally said, making a move for the hallway. “I noticed the bedroom door doesn’t have a lock. If you try anything…”

He grunted. “I would rather swim out to sea and let the Elding take me. Sorry to disappoint.”

I arched a brow and sidled up to him, not entirely sure why. I should just retire to the bedroom and get some sleep, and yet…I dropped my arms to my side, no longer trying to hide anything the elf might be able to see through the tunic. And there it was. His eyes briefly flicked down—quick as a snake, but I caught it.

“You’re a rude blacksmith who lives alone and had to make a deal with a stranger you hate, just so you could have someone help you win a competition.” I winked as I backed away. “I don’t think I’m the one who’s going to end up disappointed.”

“Oh, is that a challenge?”

“Absolutely not. You keep your hands to yourself.”

“Scared that I’d win, are we?”

My foot snagged on a table leg, and I went stumbling sideways into the wall. I caught myself just before my knees buckled beneath me. Furious flames licked my cheeks when I glanced up and found Rivelin smirking at me.

“Feeling flustered?” he asked.

I glowered at him. “Oh, fate take you.”

And then I spun on my feet and started down the hall.

But he called after me. “I know I should take that as an insult, but at least you stopped wearing that fake smile of yours.”

This time, I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply. If the bastard wanted to get a rise out of me, he’d have to try a lot harder than that.