Page 88 of Forged in Fading

Boden’s rigid body relaxed at the sound of her voice, though he continued to speak in hushed, curt tones with the man at the center of the demonstration. He squeezed his eyes shut and loosed a long breath. “Thank Vitharen you’re here. They refuse to let the refugees in and apparently want nothing to do with elves or demi-elves.”

An unfortunate task for the person who spoke for the refugees, which, it seemed, would be Alvara.

The man at the head of the group of humans fixed his gaze on her bandaged hand, where the blood oath would likely leave a small scar. Even if she had access to an elven healer, she wouldn’t let them heal the cut with no trace left behind. The scar served as evidence—a reminder of what she had done and who she represented.

A gob of spit landed at Alvara’s feet. Lovely. Boden’s eyes flared, and as he stared down the human responsible, a fire kindled in her stomach. He had given everything for these people, and so had his father and the elves of Ilmanir.

She moved closer until she stood only two handsbreadths away from the leader’s reddened face, refusing to flinch as he spoke. His words were nothing but garbled gibberish, but they held a clear meaning: violence.

She held up her hand and tore off the bandage to expose the slice the chief had made with his blade. This man likely knew little to no Elvish, but that wouldn’t stop her. “I made a blood oath with the chief, you stupid oaf. You’re going to listen to what I have to say.”

He opened his mouth, and Alvara sparked a small flurry of snow from her fingertips. The display of magic silenced him immediately.

“Do you know how much this male has given for your kind?” She pointed to Boden, who had become stiff as a board as his eyes darted between them. “He’s spent a decade saving your offspring from worse fates than you can imagine. He has given everything. We all gave everything to try and stop King Einar. And we’re here to help you, gods damn it!” Her voice rang off the walls of the hall in front of her, and the man took a step back, his knuckles white around his weapon.

Alvara lowered her voice to little more than a whisper. “You can either make this easy for all of us or very difficult for you. But you will show him respect. You will show all of them respect, or we will have a much bigger problem. They have done nothing to earn your distrust, yet here you are acting like a hot-headed youngling. Get yourself together before I make you.”

The leader’s face drained of its color. She turned to Boden, whose own jaw had dropped open. “Can you translate that?”

“Oh, I’m fairly confident he understood.” He tipped his head in the direction of the humans, who scattered, except one man pinned against the building’s exterior. Alvara locked eyes with him. To her satisfaction, he scampered away, leaving the entrance clear.

Once inside, they worked quickly, dragging tables and chairs away from the center of the massive spaces to make room for sleeping bodies. Alvara mostly watched, not wanting to aggravate her injuries any further. Boden took the brunt of the work in uncharacteristic silence, grinning like an ice fox that had successfully snagged someone else’s dinner.

“What?” she asked.

“I suppose I’m just accustomed to that treatment, that’s all. It was refreshing to see someone stand up to it.” He studied her bandaged leg. “Though you really should be resting.”

“And let you have all the drama to yourself? That would hardly be fun.”

“Your idea of fun will never not be concerning.” Boden’s hand paused on the chair he held. “Thank you, Alvara. Truly.”

She gave him a gentle nod. “Anytime.”

It was Alvara’s responsibility to defend his people. Their people. But that wasn’t what made it worth it—it was the lopsided smile that now warmed Boden’s features, one she would berate a thousand belligerent humans to see again.

Once she felt confident that the refugees could safely settle in what they now called the sleeping halls, she rallied who she could to assist with calming the demi-elves and their newly discovered magic. Kat had arrived at some point in the day, working with Aurilena and a few others to minimize the number of blood-curdling screams echoing through the streets.

The sooner the demi-elves could learn to harness their magic instead of letting it control them, the safer everyone in the town would be. Alvara moved past building after building marred by scorch marks, vines, and gods knew what else, until a familiar prickle skittered through her veins, drawn to magic that mirrored her own.

She followed the sound of sobs, and her own magic sparked in reaction to the Dalvian power thrumming in the air. Down a long, abandoned alley, Alvara discovered a young woman swallowed by a snowstorm, her face obscured by pale blonde curls.

“I’m—” Alvara’s words faded in her throat. A wonderful time to remember that she knew nothing of the human language, unlike so many of her friends. The woman’s blonde head snapped up, and her blue, puffy eyes flared.

Alvara conjured a shield just in time to stop an icicle from impaling her chest.

She kept her tone smooth and steady. “I know you can’t understand me, but I’m here to help.” She released a small shower of flakes and moved toward the young woman, step by step.

“Help?” The human sounded similar to Alvara’s age, though it would be hard to know exactly. She had no idea how long a demi-elf’s lifespan was.

Letting her shield dissipate, she focused on the frosty whirlwind before her that had begun to wane. “Help. Breathe slowly.” She pointed to the dramatic rise and fall of her own chest. “You’re safe.”

The young woman laid a hand on her heart and copied Alvara, and her storm slowed with each breath.

Alvara slid to the ground in front of her and touched her own chest. “Alvara.”

“Oda.” The girl sniffled. “Mother part elf.”

“It will get better, I promise.”