Page 47 of Forged in Fading

But his touch, however uncomfortable, had likely been the only thing that could have pulled her out of her nightmare. This one had been worse than usual. Ice crystals covered the room, sparkling in a way that would have been beautiful if not for the fact that she could have killed them both.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Boden held on for a few more breaths before releasing her from his embrace and leaving the now frosty bed to rifle through the room’s dresser drawers.

“Does it happen often?” he asked as he handed her a blanket.

The material scratched at her skin, but she wrapped it around herself anyway. “Would you consider every night often?”

“Yes, I think most people would.”

Her nightmares were something no one knew about, not even her father. To share it with Boden, who had already learned much more about her than she would have ever liked… “I’m sorry I woke you.” Alvara tucked herself back into bed, not sure why she bothered with the covers when they were stiff as a board.

“I find calming my mind before sleep helps, deep breathing. All of that nonsense.” The mattress squeaked as he moved away. “If you’d ever like to talk⁠—”

“Goodnight.” He was the last person she wanted diving into the inner workings of her mind.

Something unsaid hung in the air between them, but thank Vitharen, he chose to leave it alone. Though Alvara felt a touch warmer, as if he had scooted closer to her side of the bed.

Chapter Eighteen

The group wound their way toward the palace, each dressed in what were probably the finest clothes they owned, except Alvara. She had borrowed a lilac gown from Kat, the closest her friend could offer to a traditional Dalvian blue, but it bore thin loops of fabric between her shoulder and forearm that did nothing to shield Alvara from the cold.

There was no denying it was beautiful and probably made of Valonian silk, but it was much too tight in her upper back and shoulders, and all the other places she bore the unusual muscle of an elf who exercised her body with more than just magic.

At breakfast, she had done her best to convince Boden and the councilors to minimize their discussion of humans when they approached Queen Myrithal. Though the councilors weren’t so much her concern as Boden, who had seemed more focused on his fifth cup of tea when he gave his half-hearted agreement.

They needed to focus on the threat to Vorianta and the Dalvian people—that was the only way to garner the queen’s support and secure an alliance.

A glittering palace lay before them, its numerous spindles such a pale blue that they almost looked white in the glare of the sun. The icicles clinging to every sharp edge and point would have been breathtaking had they not reminded her of the last time she had been in such a grand residence.

Alvara’s throat threatened to close as they neared the winding staircase, not so different from the one that had led her into the belly of a beast only a little over a month ago. She forced her lungs to accept the bitter dalvi air and concentrated on the shimmering azure inlet beyond the palace. This was different, this was home.

Metal clanked as the guards crossed their spears, purely for show and intimidation. If it came down to it, they would toss their weapons aside and freeze Alvara and her companions to the spot before they could even take a breath.

“What is your business here?”

Alvara focused on their light hair and blue eyes. She was in Dalvi. She was safe. “We are representatives from the Malvan king’s council. A letter was sent ahead of us by King Ulivar requesting an urgent meeting with Queen Myrithal.” She placed a duplicate scroll, sealed with a wax imprint of the Malvan crest, in the closest guard’s hands.

He took it and narrowed his eyes at the others behind her, the non-Dalvians. “If she grants you an audience, only three are allowed at a time.”

Wonderful. Even less assistance if the conversation went awry. The council members’ voices battled one another, Orme’s reaching a high pitch that threatened to split Alvara’s eardrum. Let them bicker. She tracked every step the guard took up the stairs, message in hand, into the heart of the palace. He probably had no idea he held the key to his own city’s salvation.

“I will go,” the oldest and thankfully quietest member of the council said. “We need you, Alvara, as the only Dalvian. And Boden to vouch for what he’s seen within the palace.”

So they waited.

And waited.

Alvara rubbed her bare arms. She had been an idiot and left her coat behind to appear more refined. It was worn and had clearly been passed between multiple owners, but she would have given her left foot for it right now. She tucked her hands inside the ends of her sleeves, where they dipped and flourished below the tips of her fingers.

When the guard finally returned, he looked as if he couldn’t believe the words that were about to leave his mouth. “She’s agreed to a brief meeting, Dalviri knows why. Leave any weapons here. You can retrieve them when you leave.”

When, not if. The queen had no plans to lock them away like King Einar.

None of them had brought anything pointier than Orme’s nose; it would have only harmed their intentions to meet with the queen. What Alvara couldn’t have anticipated were the bangles inscribed with runes that the guard slipped onto her wrists.

Her connection to her powers dimmed, but that wasn’t why she ground her teeth together. She was shackled, like she had been when everything had morphed into a nightmare in Ela.

“This isn’t Ela,” Boden whispered, his voice solemn. She knew he wasn’t uttering the words just for her sake.