Page 20 of Forged in Fading

This is the beginning, not the end.”

Alvara knelt in the snow and pressed her forehead into the heap of earth that held her father. “Goodbye. Hug Eloisa and Mother for me,” she whispered.

Boden shifted behind her. “I truly am sorry, Alvara, but we need to leave.” His voice was thick with a tenderness that didn’t belong between strangers.

Alvara rose, handed him his coat, and followed him to where a pair of Dalvian horses waited, their breath swirling like spirits ascending to Levahem.

They stopped at the forge to leave the note, though seeing the familiar building did nothing to soothe her raw heart. Jalomir would take care of things as he always did and let Mikavar know not to expect her again at training any time soon. Maybe not ever again.

The wind howled around them as they left Vorianta, heading toward…

Damn elf had never answered her question. “Where are we going?”

“Ilmanir. They are the closest we have to an ally, and you’ll be safe there.”

Alvara had never visited Malva, let alone the capital. One of the smallest kingdoms, they were known for keeping to themselves and not being overly hospitable to outsiders. Though anyone could say the same about Dalvi.

“Your magic is…something.” Boden’s words barely carried over the gusts that blew from every direction. “Do you normally let loose frightening displays of ice or was this an exception?”

Gods, this was going to be a long journey if this was his terrible attempt at distracting her with what he probably considered humor. “I was…overwhelmed. Also, you imprisoned me and let them torture Pyry. I don’t owe you any kind of explanation.”

“Technically speaking, I didn’t imprison you. I was following the king’s orders, so⁠—”

“Pyry.” Alvara gripped the reins tighter. “I left him.” Would King Einar send humans after him too?

“Your seluri,” Boden said. “He slipped my mind. It would be dangerous to return to collect him, but if we move quickly, we may be able to manage it.”

“He’s not my seluri. He’s not my anything.” Not anymore. They could turn around now…but it would be pointless. Pyry’s entire life and work revolved around Vorianta. He was much too stubborn and attached to what had once been his father’s forge to ever consider leaving. Even if it meant living in danger. “Pyry won’t listen, no matter what I say. But it feels wrong leaving him without at least trying to warn him.”

“I can have a message delivered to him if you’d like, but it must avoid mentioning Ilmanir. We can’t risk their safety.” Boden looked back past the shaking trees that lined their path. Toward the city, her home, that grew smaller with each bump in the saddle. “Pyry should remain safe, at least for now. The king has little evidence or belief that he is involved in our ranks. Your father, older and alone, was the easier target, especially since Pyry proved futile in forcing information from you.”

If Boden spoke the truth. Every question, every decision depended on trusting an elf she had barely met, let alone knew anything about. At least a letter could inform Pyry of the threat he faced and beg him to keep to himself and live as inconspicuously as possible.

“You asked about my magic,” Alvara said, though it was a topic she’d prefer to avoid. “I haven’t used it since Eloisa faded. I didn’t put much practice into it to begin with, and I’ve never had the kind of control she possessed.”

“You will have to learn to control it. Otherwise, you’re a danger to others.” Boden eyed her as if she might freeze him to his horse at any moment.

He was right. If her powers were bubbling to the surface again, she needed to learn how to restrain them in order to be helpful.

“But first, we travel to Ilmanir.” Boden pushed his heels into his horse’s sides, and Alvara did the same. “We’ll stay the night in a small border town.”

The town turned out to be a small village, if one could call it that. It consisted of only a handful of ramshackle buildings, and the neighboring trees bore none of the green needles of Vorianta. Instead, their trunks were thin and their branches empty.

The inn itself was barely bigger than Alvara’s youngling home, the dilapidated sign out front lit by a single flickering lantern, and the owner studied Boden with narrowed eyes as they entered.

Better for her to speak to the older elf, who would be more forthcoming with a fellow Dalvian. “Two rooms.”

Boden leaned an elbow on the counter. “And two meals if you have them, please, sir.”

Alvara cast him an irritated look. His excessive Elan pleasantries would do nothing here. Most Dalvians, especially in rural parts of the kingdom, didn’t waste time on such trivial things.

The owner scowled at the tattoo now visible on Boden’s wrist and pushed it away with the spine of a book, like the ink on his skin might stain the wood. “Ten coins.”

Money. She hadn’t even thought to bring coins for the journey. Even her pack full of food meant for her father was still lying out in the cold, forgotten.

“Thank you for taking us in at such a late hour.” Boden slid twelve coins to the gnarled hands that waited with keys.

Alvara hobbled after him up the uneven stairs. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.” She would need to find blacksmithing work in Ilmanir, along with a place to stay, clothes…gods, it was all too much to worry about right now.