Forged by Magic (Falling for Fables, #1)(13)

I didn’t even have to think about it. “We have a deal. I’ll help you win your Games. And you’ll give me somewhere to stay until I can board a ship and leave this place.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

The fire crackled in the awkward silence. I shifted on my feet, cleared my throat, and Rivelin cast his gaze around the room as if he were trying to look at anything and everything other than me. This was probably a terrible idea. I didn’t know this elf, and he had a massive grudge against me. But I’d handled Isveig for a very long time. I could handle a grumpy blacksmith.

“Well, I’m tired,” I finally said, making a move for the hallway. “I noticed the bedroom door doesn’t have a lock. If you try anything…”

He grunted. “I would rather swim out to sea and let the Elding take me. Sorry to disappoint.”

I arched a brow and sidled up to him, not entirely sure why. I should just retire to the bedroom and get some sleep, and yet…I dropped my arms to my side, no longer trying to hide anything the elf might be able to see through the tunic. And there it was. His eyes briefly flicked down—quick as a snake, but I caught it.

“You’re a rude blacksmith who lives alone and had to make a deal with a stranger you hate, just so you could have someone help you win a competition.” I winked as I backed away. “I don’t think I’m the one who’s going to end up disappointed.”

“Oh, is that a challenge?”

“Absolutely not. You keep your hands to yourself.”

“Scared that I’d win, are we?”

My foot snagged on a table leg, and I went stumbling sideways into the wall. I caught myself just before my knees buckled beneath me. Furious flames licked my cheeks when I glanced up and found Rivelin smirking at me.

“Feeling flustered?” he asked.

I glowered at him. “Oh, fate take you.”

And then I spun on my feet and started down the hall.

But he called after me. “I know I should take that as an insult, but at least you stopped wearing that fake smile of yours.”

This time, I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply. If the bastard wanted to get a rise out of me, he’d have to try a lot harder than that.





7

DAELLA





B ack in “my” bedroom, I took a moment to steady my breathing. I didn’t know what I was so worked up about. It had just been an irritating conversation, and the elf had only been trying to get a reaction. We had a partnership of sorts, but that didn’t mean he held anything but disdain toward me. And the feeling was mutual. At the end of the day, he was only using me the same way Isveig always had.

The only difference was, I was using him, too.

Our conversation echoed in my ears as I pulled back the patchwork quilt and climbed into bed. Rivelin wanted me to help him win four challenges so he could ask for the island’s blessing. One gift. Endless possibility, as long as it did not cause harm.

Heart thumping, I slid a hand down to my hip and pressed my fingers against the shard. It had been years since Isveig had branded me with the ice, and the skin had mostly healed over it now. But the rough, pink scar was still there as a raised bump, and the shard beneath throbbed and whistled like steam, as if it were calling to its master from across the Boundless Sea.

The damn ice was the only thing that kept me tethered to Isveig, and even then I’d tried to run away a year ago, despite knowing what could happen. I’d reached my breaking point. I would have done anything just for a moment outside with the sun on my face, free to follow my desires.

Even when I knew that moment might be my last. It had been the darkest point in my life.

Sighing, I closed my eyes and sagged against the pillows. When I’d tried to escape, his guards had caught me. And now here I was, in a strange land, in an even stranger man’s bed.

But maybe, just maybe, there was another way to be free of it all. A backup in case I failed to fulfill my quest. If I helped Rivelin win the Midsummer Games, perhaps I could beat him to the punch and ask the island give me the gift. The only thing I’d ever wanted: freedom.

I would never have to look into Isveig’s face again. When the ships came, I could just sail to wherever I dreamed. My life would be mine and no one else’s.

The thought tasted like berries on a warm summer’s day. And with that hope in my heart, sleep called me away.



A hammer beat the walls. Disoriented, I jerked up from the bed, my eyes swimming as I stared at the unfamiliar room. My rich, silken sheets from my tower bed were gone. The plush settee where I spent hours flipping through bakery books was nowhere to be found. Even the drab light from the ever-present cloud had been replaced by a beaming sun pouring in through the window just beside the bed.

I blinked again, taking in the flowers creeping in through the windowpane and the brilliant birdsong and the soft quilt that covered me. This was not my tower.

The knocking sounded again, and memories poured through me. Thuri’s face, troubled on the ship, followed by the storm that blasted us all apart. Me, sputtering as I crawled up the shore. Rivelin, tossing my mother’s dagger into the sea. The bastard.

“Daella?” the elf called out through the door.

“Yes, yes, I’m awake.” I rolled my eyes at the ceiling. “No one would be able to sleep through all your noise.”