Page 50 of Forged in Fading

It was a good thing he and the other councilors had departed immediately, because Alvara would have gagged Orme’s mouth with ice and kept it frozen until her magic gave out.

“Remind me why I agreed to hand you a weapon when you’re clearly furious?” Boden inspected the tree branch like it might jump out and bite him.

“It’s a stick, not a weapon. You’ll be fine.”

He swiped it through the air in a clumsy motion. This was going to be fun. “I’m fairly certain I could hand you an apple and you would find a way to use it as a weapon.”

“You owe me.” She spun her own “weapon” in her hands, savoring the feel of control.

“And to be clear, your idea of fun is beating someone with a stick?”

“Your idea of fun is chopping vegetables, and I didn’t judge you for that.”

“You most definitely did.”

True, but she had come to see that it helped him quiet his mind the same way sparring did for her. “Are you going to whine or fight?”

“Can’t I do both?” he grumbled as he lifted the branch in a poor display of defense.

She could teach him how to fix his stance and grip. She could. Alvara swung her weapon above her head and lunged forward to strike his, but her stick lodged into a thin wall of frozen earth. “Boden, so help me Vitharen. Rule number one. No magic.”

The dirt disintegrated, and he leveled his weapon at her. “How is it possible that you’re more terrifying wielding a stick than magic?”

She answered with a tap to the side of his head.

Alvara’s chest heaved, her lungs and muscles sizzling in just the way she craved. Chills coursed through her sweat-soaked skin, and a low groan brought a curve to her lips. Boden lay in the snow with his arm over his face.

She was even more winded than she would have liked, with how long it had been since sparring with someone. Even if that someone had no idea how to fight. But maybe he was exhausted enough…

“I’m not sure I like that look.” Boden peered up at her from his spot on the ground.

She replaced whatever expression her face held with what she hoped was an innocent smile. “We could stop by my house for just a few minutes⁠—”

“No.”

“I just need to grab clothes, coins, and a few other things. It’ll take no time at all. I promise no one I know will see me.” Alvara smiled again, this time showing her teeth.

Boden pointed his amber eyes toward the sky. “First, please stop smiling like a menace.” She frowned. “There’s the Alvara I’m accustomed to. Second, as I have explained before, it’s not worth the risk. If the wrong person realizes you’re here and reports it to King Einar…”

“That won’t happen. Please.” She dragged out the word like a youngling begging for an expensive Jolval gift. “This could be the last time I’m in Vorianta for who knows how long.”

He wobbled to his feet. “Good gods, I’m going to be sore tomorrow.”

“Please?”

Boden puffed out a long exhale. “As long as you make it quick.”

“Alva?”

Alvara’s heart beat its fist against her chest and tried to tear its way out of her body. Oh gods no.

Pyry stood in the doorway of her home, his fingers clawing into the wood. His usually pristine hair fell in untidy waves around his face, his dull eyes wide and unblinking.

“Pyry.”

His nostrils flared. “I haven’t seen you in weeks, and that’s all you give me? Your father was murdered, Alva. You disappeared. I thought you might be…”

“How did you know I was here?” Not that the answer mattered much since he had found her and likely proved Boden right about her damn hair, something she would no doubt hear about later.