Page 5 of Forged in Fading

Damn him. She had forgotten how well they had truly known each other. “Fine, why are you here? We parted ways, Pyry, you made sure of that. This is just strange.”

“Jalomir asked. Knowing you might travel all this way alone…if something had happened…I needed to come.”

Ah. The root of his smothering overprotective side. Though what happened to his father had been no one’s fault—it could have happened to anyone in the seediest sector of the city, but she knew better than to say as much. “I would have been fine. You know I always carry a weapon on me.”

“Trust me, I know you do. It doesn’t matter. I’m here.”

And he sounded about as pleased with it as she was. “Let’s get back on the road. We should make it to the border a little after dark.”

After a less than restful night in a tiny inn near Dalvi’s border and another full day of riding, they arrived in the Nyrian capital, Revamor, where the air lacked the bitter tinge of the winds of Alvara’s homeland and instead carried the smell of damp soil.

Alvara dismounted from her horse and stretched her fingers to her toes with a groan, only to look directly into the brown eyes of a wolverine.

A grinning wolverine. Damn shapeshifters.

Surely just to aggravate her further, the animal transformed back into its elf form: a striking female with wavy copper hair and ivory skin marked with white tattoos, her full mouth pulled into a smirk as she strutted toward the city.

“Maybe don’t come near a stable full of nervous animals in your shifter form. Just a thought,” Alvara called after her. The female bared her teeth over her shoulder, and Alvara wrinkled her nose.

“Alva, please.” Pyry sighed and extended her pack.

She snatched it from his hands. “Let’s find somewhere to stay.”

The local inn, much larger than the last, boasted vibrant murals of various birds on the outer stone walls: the bright orange chests of robins, the red-tipped heads of woodpeckers, the pale brown wings of warblers. Some clung to sturdy branches, while others were only a blur of color, mid-flight to some faraway destination. If Alvara got her hands on some paint, she could add a small ice bear to the design, and surely no one would notice.

Though Eloisa would have been the one to entrust with that task. She could have re-painted an entire swathe of the city to match the rest of the buildings crawling with drawings of woodland creatures, and it easily would have been the most captivating in the kingdom. The art and creativity here would have filled her with such awe.

Alvara tripped over something soft, and a hissing lynx swatted at her with its paws. She bit back a scream and hurried into the building that was hopefully devoid of shapeshifters.

A plump and cheery elf greeted them as they entered, and Alvara did her best to not gawk at the white animals marked in ink on the left side of the female’s face. Nyrians were all obsessed with tattoos, even though only those born on a full moon in their season could shift.

“One room?” the female asked with a smile.

Oh gods, no. That would be Alvara’s worst nightmare. “Two, please.”

The owner peered over her shoulder at Pyry, who dutifully ignored her. She slid two worn keys across the counter and spoke in a whisper. “Do lock your doors while you’re here, dove. People’ve been tellin’ me of human attacks nearby. Wouldn’t want anythin’ to happen to you and your seluri.”

Alvara practically vomited at the idea of her and Pyry being soul-bonded. It showed just how little the Nyrian elf knew of Dalvi—neither she nor Pyry wore bracelets of any kind, let alone something as sacred as a bond bracelet. She thanked the owner, doing her best not to slip in her wet boots on her way up the stairs to their rooms.

Attacks? She had heard of humans in their lands, though she had never seen one in Vorianta. It made no sense for them to strike elves in Nyr, beyond the barrier protecting the human realm—Mennahem, as her father would insist she call it—from elven magic. Though the ancient names for the realms of the five races had mostly fallen out of use since the creation of the magic barrier. Unable to use their powers in other lands, many elves had no desire to travel far from home.

Maybe the owner was prone to hysterics. Alvara would be too if she didn’t know whether someone was going to turn into a beast at any moment.

The prospect of a warm meal and a bath alone washed away the last of her concerns, leaving Alvara to dream of home.

Chapter Three

Alvara had never been more relieved to see the imposing silhouette of Tasírath. Spending the past few days traveling with Pyry had been about as enjoyable as trying to shape metal over a feeble flame.

The city walls oozed with gaudy flowers that had no business existing this time of year, while a ridiculous number of guards clad in gleaming armor stood watch atop the gates. Quite an excessive defense system for a city of people who loved plants.

At the base of the entrance, a few of the guards grappled with a young female in a long yellow dress smudged with dirt. One of the larger elves grabbed her by the arm, wrenching her toward the city, and she tossed herself backward with an ear-splitting screech.

Eloisa. That could’ve been her on her first day in Tasírath. Blood rushed through Alvara’s ears. She descended from her horse and shoved the reins in Pyry’s hand, who trapped hers in his own with a look of disapproval she was quite used to.

“Don’t.”

She scowled, yanked herself free of his grasp, and rubbed her fingers against her coat, as if that would rid her of the minty scent from that damn soap he loved so much. She used to inhale it like a drug, but now it only made her sick. “Feel free to sit here and do nothing. I’m helping her.”