Page 61 of Forged in Fading

She wiggled her fingers under the cold water and settled on a memory of home that had been bubbling to the surface since abandoning Vorianta. “My father was a tarinthúr, so we spent most nights as a family around the fire, listening to his stories. He always finished with the story of Vitharen, his favorite. Don’t ask me why—I find the whole chopped up body parts and brokenhearted lover thing to be gruesome and depressing.”

She paused, but Boden stared intently into the pan he was drying, undoubtedly using Alvara’s own trick on herself. Would it hurt or help her to let out more pieces of her father? “My father always reminisced about what the Golden Age of the elves must have been like. He loved stories and was my strongest supporter when I wanted to train as a weaponsmith. He had followed his heart and always wanted Eloisa and I to follow ours. But…after my sister and mother passed, he shut himself away. It almost felt like he was already fading, right in front of me.”

The words flowed out more readily than she had anticipated, laying a small shred of her soul bare for Boden to see. But instead of shying from her hurt, he locked eyes with her, his jaw set. “My father fought for me from the day I was born until his very last breath. He’s a large part of the reason I do what I do—fight for others who aren’t privileged to have someone like him on their side. I’m not sure what I would have become without him.”

“I think you would have turned out all right. Maybe a little less pompous, but we’ll never know.”

A boisterous laugh erupted from Boden, loud enough that the other kitchen workers looked their way. “Now that is something I haven’t heard before. And here I thought you were beginning to find me tolerable.”

“Sufferable might be the word I was looking for. You do steal the blankets at night.”

“That was one time! At least I can confidently say I don’t snore.”

Her jaw dropped. “I do not snore. Liar.”

The light had returned to Boden’s amber eyes. “You should ask Pyry, I’m sure he would agree.”

The grin that had started to grow on Alvara’s lips slipped. “I think there are lots of things he wouldn’t tell me.” And now he was in Ilmanir for gods knew how long. “I should go. See you at training tomorrow.”

She wouldn’t sleep. Her bed would feel too big, too cold after sharing it with someone for days, even if that someone was Boden. But perhaps the time alone would do her good and force her to process everything that had happened.

Alvara hesitated, one foot out the door. “Blue. My favorite color is blue.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Alvara threw herself into her training with Boden and her work at the forge the next week and a half, avoiding interactions with Pyry where she could. He had made efforts to find her and speak with her, but she continued to make excuses about weapons that needed tending to and menial tasks that needed doing, all to avoid him.

It wasn’t worth wasting her energy on for now, when she had much bigger concerns. Thank Vitharen, Sithuren had introduced Pyry to another local blacksmith who focused on crafting items of daily utility, like his family had.

A diversion, that was all any of it was. A pathetic way to try and skirt around the inevitable—the invasion of her city that would no doubt claim countless lives in King Einar’s brutal path to power. Even Kat had convinced her to join them for dinner each night, noticeably keeping every topic light and free from the burdens of what was to come.

Alvara and Boden met each morning to refine her magic, and each time, he offered her a small shake of his head. No news.

Neither of them spoke of her kingdom. Instead, they hurled earth and ice with a ferocity that quieted the constant unease coursing through her body.

As with all things in life, no one could stop fate, no matter how hard they tried, and she knew that as well as anyone. When the morning of Jolval came, Boden paused at the edge of the clearing, his face twisted with a pity that severed her soul from her body.

“We can skip training⁠—”

“You’re late,” she said as she tied her hair into even tighter braids, savoring the slight pain that pulled at her scalp. A reminder she still lived. Lived to see the king who had taken everything from her draw his last breath.

“Alvara—” His voice was too damn soft, too kind.

Ignoring almost two months of training to do otherwise, she ripped open her well of magic and fed it with every negative emotion gushing from the fresh wound.

The sky rained with an army of blunted ice arrows that shattered on the earthen shield he raised above his head with a curse.

Wave after wave of frozen weapons assaulted Boden, and still, he didn’t retaliate. “You’ll burn yourself out. You need to stop.”

“Fight, damn it,” Alvara forced through gritted teeth as she formed a blade in her mind’s eye. Her skin flushed with heat, and her vision wavered.

She missed home.

Her fingers clutched something small yet bulky, most certainly not the dagger she had envisioned. Her shallow breaths clung to the sides of her throat. In her hand stood a perfect copy of her youngling home, chiseled from ice.

She wanted to destroy it, every last piece.

But even as her fingers closed around the memory, her magic recoiled. She couldn’t do it.