Page 45 of Forged in Fading

Fourteen years between younglings was nothing Alvara hadn’t heard before. Most elves she knew who even had a sibling were at least a decade older or younger. “Eloisa and I were eight years apart, but it never stopped us from causing plenty of trouble. She was my best friend from day one.” She cleared her throat. “How long have you had to…?” Spy? Imprison people? Lead others to their fading? Alvara had no idea how to finish her sentence.

Boden glanced down at the reins in his hands. “Thirteen years this nyr. I started in the palace when I was eighteen.”

“You’re only thirty? You look older.” He somehow looked more mature than Alvara, despite being two years younger.

“That seems a little rich coming from someone with silver hair.”

“Leave my ancient hair out of this. And didn’t you say it was, what was the word? Striking?”

“That I did.” He grinned and tapped his heels against his horse’s sides. “Come on. Let’s tell the others it’s time for a rest. And maybe I can impart more of the wisdom of my old age while we train.”

Chapter Seventeen

The last bite of the Dalvian sweet sat untouched in Alvara’s sticky fingers. There stood the inn, one she and Pyry had ambled past together one evening years ago.

She had led the group through the gates of Vorianta to a secluded part of the city she rarely frequented, taking only a moment to stop in the first bakery she spotted. She would have faded if she didn’t get her hands on her favorite Jolval dessert: berry jam sandwiched between two buttery, spiced hazelnut biscuits shaped like snowflakes.

But now, facing the inn, her appetite had vanished. Frost clung to the evergreen boughs strung above each window, and different beautiful patterns of ice decorated the glass. Hearty smoke puffed out of the chimney, though not yet from a Jolval log engraved with blessings for good fortune in the coming year. Those would start burning in a week and continue to do so for all twelve days, and each Dalvian would save a small piece of theirs to start another fire the following Jolval.

It had always been her favorite time of year, even after her mother and sister had passed. She had tried to convince her father to share a festive log, but he had refused and left both their hearths cold and empty.

The reminder of what the celebrations meant, the danger coming for her people—it all formed a large lump in Alvara’s throat.

She tossed the rest of her biscuit into the snow before stepping inside the small building.

“What do you mean you only have two rooms?” Alvara tried to bite back the irritation slithering into her voice.

The owner shook his head. “With Jolval coming, we have Dalvians from all over visiting. It’s two rooms or nothing. One bed in each. Each room has enough space for two people, three if you’re desperate. You’re lucky we even have that, just about every other inn is fully booked.”

And they didn’t have time to waste roaming Vorianta to find another inn to stay at. Two rooms, and there were five of them, three of which she hardly knew. Alvara could guess who she would share with. Sometimes it felt like whatever god was supposed to be in charge of her future had gotten blistering drunk and turned her life into a drinking game.

“Fine.” Alvara slid payment across the counter and grabbed the keys. She approached the rest of the group, dangling the bits of metal in front of them. “There are only two rooms left.”

Two of the councilors looked at each other and nodded, and Boden shifted his feet. “Orme and I can try to find somewhere else to stay.”

Orme blustered about the indecency of being left behind, but Alvara ignored him. She would rather saw her own arm off than share a room with his aggravating presence for even a minute. Boden would have to do.

“As enticing as that sounds, this seems to be our only option. Besides, I’m sure Orme is more than happy to sleep on the councilors’ floor, aren’t you?” She gave him a pointed look, and he muttered something about Dalvians under his breath. Alvara popped a sap candy into her mouth as she headed toward the stairs. However many Kat had given her, it wouldn’t be enough to survive this trip.

When she and Boden made it to their room, they both stared at the bed, neither deigning to break the silence between them.

“I can sleep on the floor,” she finally said and threw her pack against the wall.

“You should take the bed, and I’ll sleep on the floor.” He picked up her bag and placed it on the mattress.

Unlike what others believed, she didn’t need to be coddled like a youngling and would continue to prove them otherwise. “I’m used to the cold here. You’re not. Take the bed before I make you.” She had no idea what her threat even meant, but the back and forth was setting her teeth on edge.

He spread his hands wide. “As you wish.”

It seemed that Alvara had forgotten what dalvi here was like. Tiny bumps covered her body head to toe, and no matter how tightly she wrapped the blanket around herself, it felt like she might as well have been sleeping in the snow.

“I can hear your teeth chattering from here,” Boden said from the bed above her. “It’s quite distracting when I’m trying to sleep.”

She ignored him and twisted away, and the cold floorboards sent a shiver up her spine.

“Please just get in the bed, Alvara. I promise I am more than capable of keeping my hands to myself.”

Her firm stance against showing any weakness had vanished along with her body heat, so she grabbed her pillow and shuffled over. She slipped under the covers and shifted herself away from Boden, as close to the edge as she dared without risking falling flat on her face.