Page 6 of Forged in Fading

She stomped toward the guard without even a seed of a plan, just logic-numbing ice in her veins. What could go wrong?

The female tore at the iron grip imprisoning her, and Alvara rushed toward her. “Excuse me! What’s going on here?”

The nearest guard, shorter than the others but still lithe like his companions, spoke. “That’s none of your concern.”

Technically he was right. But that wasn’t going to stop her. “It is my concern if you’re dragging this elf somewhere with no good reason.” The young elf kept her eyes trained on the ground, cowering as if Alvara were more terrifying than her fate at the hands of the city guards.

“An elf? She’s nothing but a human.” The woman’s captor tugged on her light hair and revealed round ears. “She is trespassing on our lands.”

Alvara opened her mouth to speak, but only hot breath floated from her lips. A human. Ela was much closer to the border of the elven realm, Alfahem, than Dalvi, and its terrain easier to travel, but… “Trespassing?”

“Humans are not allowed in Ela,” the shorter guard said, as if that were a common rule everyone knew. Yet none of the kingdoms held any laws against humans that Alvara knew of.

She straightened her back. “Even if that’s true, you can turn her away. There’s no need for this.”

“That is for the king, and only the king, to decide.”

Alvara’s gut writhed with frustration as they hauled the young woman away, whose face now streamed with tears.

The head guard turned on Alvara and blocked her path to the city. “What’s your name?”

“Is there a problem?” Damn it, Pyry. He appeared at Alvara’s side and stepped in front of her, obscuring her view of the guards that she had been handling perfectly fine on her own.

“We need your names in order to allow entry.”

Alvara doubted that very much, but before she could stop him, Pyry—forever a rule follower—gave their full names to the guard, who let them pass with a grumble.

Pyry placed a warm hand on her shoulder and guided her back to the horses. “Why do you always insert yourself in situations that will only cause you trouble?”

She let her silence speak for her. Ever since losing his father, Pyry always avoided conflict, doing whatever it took to maintain smooth waters. But life wasn’t and never would be a placid Dalvian lake, something they had never agreed on.

As they entered Tasírath’s gates, Alvara’s ears pricked with the musical cadence of the voices of the elves that milled about, while vivid pinks and purples, oranges and yellows jumped out from each piece of clothing, almost as startling as the shapeshifters in Nyr. She removed her coat and glared at the vine-choked structures that made up the city. Grand archways overshadowed most of the buildings, hanging with colorful blooms that matched those carved into each door, some of which even flaunted glistening gems at the center.

A city of such beauty had swallowed her sister whole.

Alvara sent Pyry off to the nearest stable to settle their steeds with well-deserved hay and water, while she carried Jalomir’s sword to the palace. He would be fine on his own, and she needed the space. The sooner she saw this task to the end, the better.

Tasírath’s bright colors and equally sunny residents clogged her senses as she made her way through the bustling streets toward the king’s residence, where a large group of guards lingered at the main doors.

They would know the quickest way to the noble who awaited the weapon, but that also meant she needed to somehow approach them while holding a sword without looking like she was about to skewer them and storm the palace. Alvara held the sheathed blade flat in her hands and stretched her arms as far away from her as they would go. Great, now she just looked out of her mind.

A guard’s green gaze snapped to her, and she strained her mouth to its limits in what she hoped was a smile that said, I’m not going to murder you, I promise. “Excuse me. I’m delivering this weapon for one of the nobles. If I give you their name, would you be able to point me in the right direction?”

“And your name is?”

These elves really needed to find something else to fill their time other than learning everyone’s names. No one outside of Vorianta would have the slightest idea of who Alvara was, and even there, she would barely be able to fill the fingers on both of her hands with the number of people who remembered her. “Alvara Himren.”

He plucked the sword from her hold and marched over to the other guards, and the smile melted right off Alvara’s lips. However much Jalomir was being paid for this delivery, it was not enough.

But if the palace was any indication, the Elan client no doubt had more than enough coin to make up for the inconveniences of the journey. The entire structure had been constructed around the largest tree she had ever seen, its gnarled umber branches reaching so high they blended with the clouds before she could spot where they ended.

Scarlet blossoms dripped from the ancient giant in every direction, like blood from a weeping wound. The magic keeping it alive during dalvi could grow enough crops to feed an entire city for at least a few months. Each ivory wing of the palace curved around the enormous trunk at varying heights, its spires layered with gold likely mined from Vorianta’s mountains.

A hand squeezed Alvara’s wrist, and her heart leapt into her throat. On instinct, she twisted her arm free and jabbed her elbow backward with a crunch. She pivoted to face the elf responsible, clenching the handle of her dagger, frozen midway out of its sheath.

He clutched his nose, where a crimson trail ran down his chin and dripped onto the Elan crest emblazoned on his chest.

The guard. Shit.