Page 42 of Forged in Fading

A clump of snow landed in his tea, and he frowned. “The enemy isn’t going to warn you either.”

Right. They were about to leave on a dangerous mission and risk not only their lives but possibly the lives of an entire city, an entire kingdom. It felt too large, too looming. She needed to do anything she could to stop King Einar.

“As much as it pains me to say it, I think it would be best if you cut your hair.”

Anything but that. “Why?” Cutting her hair meant losing her morning braiding ritual, her fleeting connection with her mother.

“You’ll be too easily recognized. When we travel to Vorianta, you won’t be able to speak to the people you know. It’s safer for them and for you to keep your distance.” Not even letting Jalomir and Pyry know she was all right…the idea hurt even more than she had expected.

Alvara patted the braids on her head. “Cutting my hair short would make me stick out. I’ve only ever seen a few elves with shorter hair, and you’re one of them.”

Boden mussed his chestnut hair as if reminding himself how long it was. “I’ll leave it up to you. I really do think it would transform you from the Alvara they know into someone different enough that they might assume you were someone else, and it may save us trouble down the line.” He tipped his head to one side. “You could try dyeing it, though it would be a shame to hide such a striking color.”

A small current of logic ran through his words, but she wasn’t willing to let go of that piece of her mother either—not yet. Little did he know, she had tried countless times to dye her hair, but it never stayed for more than a few minutes.

And striking? That was not a word she had ever heard associated with her or her hair.

“Throw another snowball.”

Chapter Sixteen

The next morning, with horses prepared and three members of the council chosen, the group readied themselves to leave. Alvara climbed onto her steed, already dreading multiple days in the saddle.

Boden spoke to his mother and sister a few paces away, Lilja’s jade green eyes reddened yet again as a waterfall of tears spilled out. He tugged her into his arms, and she buried her face in his chest, muffling her sobs.

This moment was private, something Alvara had no right to witness, so she combed her horse’s mane with her fingers, debating if he would like her weaving it into delicate patterns.

“Good luck!” Kat jogged toward her, as if she didn’t possess the ability to transform into a bird and fly at a much higher speed. “I hope you know I woke up early just for you. Otherwise, I would’ve slept all day after that much flying.”

“I wish you could come.” Alvara meant it. Of everyone she had worked with, she felt the most comfort from Kat’s presence, especially since discovering Eloisa’s string that tied them all together. But as the fastest shifter in Ilmanir, Kat needed to stay and scout the perimeter for suspicious activity.

“Me too. I want to spend way more time in a city full of Alvaras.”

“That sounds both utterly boring and terrifying. Don’t wish that on yourself.”

“I’d like to see more of where Eloisa grew up too.” Kat pressed a small bag into Alvara’s palm. “Sap candies. You’ll be happy to have them after eating stale bread and dried meat for days.”

“Thank you.” Alvara watched Boden untangle himself from his family’s arms. “You’ll keep an eye on them for him, right?”

“I promise.” Kat popped a candy in her mouth and nodded her head toward Boden. “Please keep an eye on him for us too.”

Alvara would have liked to say that they rode in silence most of the way while she and Boden did their best to smooth out the path they traveled with magic, but it was impossible to do so when the shortest and loudest member of the council, Orme, spoke nonstop, seemingly not requiring the ability to breathe.

Her ears threatened to fall off after hours of learning about the elf’s favorite and least favorite parts of Malva and every other kingdom. When he turned his attention to Dalvi, she stiffened, her gaze trained on Boden’s back in front of her.

“And Dalvians, well they’re not exactly the warmest people. Why would anyone want to live in a place as desolate as that? Only people without a heart and a will to live, I say. One time⁠—”

Boden’s voice interjected just as Alvara’s hands started crushing the reins she held. “The horses could use a rest. And Orme, for the love of Vitharen, drop it before I dig a hole for you that you’ll never be able to climb out of.”

Alvara’s screaming muscles made her all too happy to dismount and stretch. She seriously considered practicing her magic by launching a pile of snow at Orme’s head but instead studied their surroundings.

They seemed to be traversing a path that would cut right up the face of the Dalvian mountains, no doubt much faster, but highly treacherous. At this time of year, a small avalanche could bury them within seconds—she had seen it happen more times than she cared to count. There had to be a simpler route, albeit longer, that would provide them safer passage.

Alvara’s own journey to Malva had been meandering and passed through many towns on the way, not ideal for their current predicament, but another option had to exist somewhere.

“We should search for a lower path.” Her eyes outlined the rugged peaks. “It’s too risky to continue following this one at this time of year.”

Orme apparently considered this topic his personal specialty, and Alvara squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to drown out his shrill voice. “This is the quickest way to Vorianta. You of all people should understand that we have no time to waste.”