Page 120 of Forged in Fading

The bounce in Gerdavir’s step as she headed toward the other warriors filled Alvara with suspicion. “Wait, what did she just say?”

“He looks like a strong man. Good choice,” Boden said, amusement warming his features.

“Gerdavir!”

At the sound of Alvara’s voice, the woman’s leisurely pace quickened, and she disappeared into the crowd.

Gods, Boden was just a friend. Maybe if she continued to say it to herself a hundred times a day, as she had been doing, it would finally stick.

“How has the town been, chief?” she asked as she fell into step beside him, hoping he would spare her by accepting the change of topic.

“I suppose it could be worse, no one’s faded, and only one building has burned to the ground. Though that may change depending on what we learn from Chief Frigar. It may put a damper on the festivities.”

“It’s just one holiday, I think they’ll survive.” The words came out much more callous than she had intended, hardened by the memory of what had happened to her own people during their most sacred time of year.

Their path twisted toward the sea, and Boden glanced at her. “You should join. It’s quite the celebration, or so I’ve heard.”

“Heard? Or experienced?” A small fleet of ships approached the town. Six. Was that how many had left a week ago?

“It’s possible it’s a little of both. Just tell me you’ll stay away from the mead, whatever you do,” Boden said, scratching his head. “It can catch up to you much quicker than you would expect.” He stopped mid-stride and lowered his voice. “It was a long week without you.”

It had felt like the longest week of Alvara’s life, but she had told herself it was only because they had been waiting for news of the raid. “I’ve been…busy.” Perfect. An articulate explanation that would most definitely assure him she was not avoiding him. “Besides, if you drink enough ale, you might be able to convince yourself one of the women here is that selkie.”

“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

A pair of elves, hands bound and mouths gagged, stumbled off a nearby ship. Prisoners. Her retort crumbled to dust in her mouth. “What are they going to do with them?”

“We’ll obtain the information we need.”

“We?” She didn’t like the sound of that. The men said a few words to Boden before shoving the elves toward the town. “Boden, please don’t tell me you’re going to…torture them.”

He had done dark things in his past, but this felt different, witnessing it firsthand.

“I’m not able to be this delightfully charming all the time.” His smile was hollow, his tone flat.

Her Boden—no, not her Boden—doing what that guard had done to Pyry…the blood, the screams. She hadn’t judged his past and still didn’t, but he wasn’t that person anymore. Not now that he was free from King Einar’s clutches.

Alvara spun her new dwarven spear in her hands as more men spoke with Boden, and the smooth metal hummed with life. She supposed the fact that they had even captured prisoners was a sign all had gone to plan, or at least somewhat so. She should be grateful.

She felt anything but.

As the conversation wore on, one of the warriors studied her spear. He wasn’t one of the men who had shown up to train with her and Rav, but clear hunger brewed in his eyes.

Alvara stretched out her weapon toward him. A grin lit the man’s face that immediately soured when his fingers touched the metal, and he yelped.

She may have forgotten about that tiny detail. He staggered backward, watching her spear closely as if it might jump out of her hands and stab him. For all she knew of dwarven weapons, it might.

“The raid was mostly successful,” Boden said. “They lost a few men, as to be expected, but they were able to destroy most of the Valonian fleet and captured two prisoners. We even gained grain and other supplies that will help feed extra mouths. Not a terrible outcome.”

Damn it, they were following the same path as the prisoners, who were already barely able to stand. “There has to be another way.”

“This is war.” He shook his head. “We’ll have to do uglier things than this by the end of it.”

“Oh, really? I had no idea,” Alvara snapped. She wasn’t a youngling, innocent to the harsh ways of the world. But this was Boden—her friend who had risked himself for her time and again, who had washed her wounds, become her rock.

Neither of them uttered a word as they walked toward a small shack. Boden stepped forward and gripped the door’s handle, and desperate pleas filtered through the cracks in the wood. Alvara’s next breath lodged in her throat.

She could convince him. He would listen. She grabbed his wrist, and his pulse raced under her touch. “Please.”