Forged by Magic (Falling for Fables, #1)(10)

“Let me guess. You don’t want the murk anywhere near your horses.”

“No, I mean…” He closed his eyes and spoke his next sentence through gritted teeth. “No one should have to sleep on the ground. I have a room. You can stay with me. For one night.”

For a moment, all my words and thoughts left me. Surely I hadn’t heard him right. Out of everyone in this village, he was the one offering me a bed? Had the storm already started, and I had gotten delirious from the rain? Or had I fallen asleep, and this was nothing more than a dream?

“I thought you hated anyone associated with the crown,” I finally said.

“I do.” He opened his eyes, and the gleaming yellow of them speared me. “But I won’t have you roaming around Wyndale hungry and cold. So get up and follow me.” Rivelin barked the words like an order, and I bristled.

Ah, I understood now.

Did he think I was a fool? He didn’t want me roaming around Wyndale because he and the others were hiding something. If he hadn’t already made it clear what he thought of me, I might have fallen for it, but I’d spent most of my life in Fafnir Castle. I knew what scheming looked like. He wanted to keep me close so that I wouldn’t find anything.

“Nice try,” I said with a smile. “But I think I’ll be far more comfortable out here in the rain than in your house.”

The scowl was there and gone in a blink of an eye, but I caught it. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

He turned and walked off without another word. Now that he was gone, I dropped my smile, and then settled against the stables once more. But try as I might, I couldn’t pull my eyes away from him. I watched him walk to the end of the road and then climb a short flight of stairs to a two-story timber house with white and red beams, the many window boxes vacant of flowers. The ground floor had wide doors and a metal sign in the shape of an anvil that read, Rivelin’s Forge.

That explained a lot. No wonder he smelled like smoke and steel.

When he vanished inside, I blew out a tense breath. He was going to be difficult to deal with, I could already tell. Suspicion practically swam in his yellow eyes when he looked at me. The fact he’d invited me into his home meant he would try to do his damndest to keep me from finding out the village’s secrets.

I’d just have to be smarter than him. Shouldn’t be hard.

A peal of thunder shook through the skies, and the clouds opened up. Buckets of rain fell in sheets. I scrabbled back, pressing my body as close to the stable wall as I could, but it was no use.

The wind sprayed the water over me like a thousand shards of glass. Pain consumed my body, stealing my breath away. I fisted my hands and gritted my teeth, flinching with every blast of water against my skin. Unwanted tears burned my eyes, and I twisted my face to the side, if only to give one cheek a brief respite from the blinding pain.

It had been five years since I’d felt freshwater rain on my skin. I’d done so well these past years avoiding it, always carrying a tent and salt with me everywhere. And in Fafnir, it only rained salt water.

Moments passed in excruciating torment. My blood roared in my ears as the rain lashed and lashed at my skin. Shuddering, I peeled open my eyes and risked a glance at the sky. An inky black consumed the world overhead, only occasionally shot through with bursts of lightning that revealed the heavy clouds. They’d barely moved an inch. This storm wouldn’t end for a good long while.

I was soaked through now, and rivulets of water ran down my back, driving a wedge between my leather armor and my skin. My entire body burned. I choked out a cry. It was too much. As strong as I was, I couldn’t handle this.

Rivelin’s words echoed in my ears. He’d offered me a place to stay, at least for the night. Everything within me flinched away from the thought, but I couldn’t stay out here like this. The rain might not kill me, but it could weaken me, leaving behind angry red welts that wouldn’t heal for weeks. And if I was too ill to hunt down the Draugr, then I’d have no hope of escaping my gilded cage.

And so I pushed up onto my trembling legs and half-ran, half-stumbled down the road. The village was silent now, the windows dark. Everyone had gone home to their warm and dry beds to wait out the storm, though I spotted movement behind the curtains in a few buildings I passed. Nevertheless, I made it to the blacksmith shop and I crawled up the steps, my mind nearly numb from the pain.

I raised my fist to knock, but the door swung open before my knuckles made contact. Rivelin leaned against the doorframe, folded his arms, and smirked.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said. “Have you come to peddle your murk services? If so, I’m afraid I’m not interested.”

Another gust of wind hurtled the rain against my back. I stumbled forward a step, hissing in pain.

“Please don’t make me beg,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll take the bed. Just for one night. I need to get out of this rain.”

His eyes flashed with something resembling concern, but that was likely my delirium. He opened the door wider. “It’s yours. Come inside.”

I stumbled into the elf’s home, and that was when the scent of dragons struck me.





6

DAELLA





I ’d know that smell anywhere. It had dogged my every step as a child. It had followed me into my dreams—and my worst nightmares. It was sulphur and spice, dust and cooked meat, salt water and leather. A unique combination of scents that only dragons and Draugr carried with them—or had, once, when they’d been alive. Emperor Isveig called my sensitivity to that smell my special power, though most orcs could scent a dragon from miles away. To us, it was more than a scent. It was a feeling—a thudding in our hearts.