Forged by Magic (Falling for Fables, #1)(19)

“All right!” Hofsa clapped again. “You have all made your sacrifices to our blessed goddess. She will now choose who is worthy to compete in this year’s Midsummer Games. Probably best for you all to spread out a little.”

I opened my mouth to ask Rivelin why we’d need space when a flame suddenly burst from the top of an elf’s head just in front of me—a woman who had been in the line. The flames consumed her brilliant red hair, but then they died in an instant, leaving behind nothing but a black smudge on her forehead. Magic. And it was the ancient magic of the Old Gods, the kind that didn’t need Galdur sand. The island—or Freya’s spirit—truly was choosing the participants for these Games.

The elf folded her arms and beamed. “It’s about damn time I got chosen.”

A flurry of fires ripped through the crowd, too fast for me to track every one, but I did spot a burly elven man with golden hair just to the left of Hofsa, who caught flame. His eyes were locked on my face, and when he saw me looking, he winked and smiled. From beside me, Rivelin let out a low growl.

Something about that sound sent a flutter through my belly.

Clearly, that was Gregor. I turned toward Rivelin to announce that I could, in fact, take care of myself, thank you very much, but his flaming head stopped the words from leaving my tongue. Relief shuddered across his face as the mask of disinterest—or gruffness, really—momentarily collapsed to show the truth of his emotions. He almost looked pained by his relief.

But then the furrowed brow returned. He folded his arms and ignored the applause that followed. I couldn’t stop watching him, even as Hofsa droned on about the start of the Games and everything it entailed. I wanted to see another slip, another hint as to what, exactly, was going on inside his head.

I’d known he wanted to participate. From my perspective, anyone would, which was why the low number of volunteers made little sense to me. But Rivelin—he was desperate. He wanted this with every fiber of his being. Luckily for both of us, so did I.





10




DAELLA





O nce the ceremony was over, the crowd’s exuberance only surged more. Music piped through the small market square, and the dancing began. Everyone split into groups, chattering and laughing the morning away. Rivelin, on the other hand, led me to the side of a building where he leaned against the rough timber wall and just stood there staring off into the distance.

I propped my hands on my hips, careful to avoid touching the ice shard, and cocked my head. “Is there a reason we’re lurking in the shadows instead of mingling with everyone else?”

“I’m waiting for my sister. She’ll be here soon, and then we’ll get started on making our boat.” His voice was dull—bored.

“For someone who just got chosen to participate in the Games, you seem pretty underwhelmed. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were annoyed.”

“I don’t like these ceremonies or big groups of people.”

“I see. Is there anything you do like?”

“What?”

I sighed. “A lot of things annoy you. So what do you like?”

He reached down to his side, where Skoll eagerly accepted his pat on the head. “I like Skoll, and I like forging steel. And I like my sister. That’s about it.”

“That’s really it?” I almost felt sorry for him. “This world is full of beautiful things.”

“I’m not entirely sure I agree, so I’ll stick with my three.”

“You can like whatever you want. It’s just a shame.” I shrugged. “But the scents of this place…the baking bread that curls around you like a hug. The blooming flowers and the fresh grass. The birdsong and the laughter of children that fills the air. The soothing warmth of the sun on your face. All of it just reminds me I’m alive. And I will relish that. We’re lucky to experience any of this. Life is a gift far greater than anything your island could give us.”

I felt his eyes on me, and a moment passed.

“You’re pretty poetic, for a murk,” he said.

I sighed. “I told you, I’m not a—”

“Rivelin!” a woman called out.

A bright-eyed, silver-haired elf bustled toward us, dragging a massive wagon behind her, its tires churning through the soft dirt. She looked so much like her brother, tall and clear skinned and achingly beautiful. But where he wore a frown like it was permanently carved into his face, her smile was like a new summer’s day.

A pair of brown trousers hugged her curvy frame, and she wore a pair of sturdy leather boots. She’d have to, dragging that wagon behind her. It was as large as a cottage. I had to admit, I was impressed by her strength.

At the sight of her, Rivelin visibly brightened for the first time since I’d met him. Smiling, he opened his arms as the elven woman dropped the wagon yoke and rushed toward him. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her in for a hug, but when her eyes caught sight of me, she stopped and swatted at his arm.

I braced myself for her reaction. Just like everyone else in this village, she’d know who I was and where I came from. Even without Isveig’s sigil, I stood out in a world where half-orcs were a rarity. Her eyes flicked up and down, but then she held out a hand and smiled.

“Hello. I’m Rivelin’s sister, Lilia. Are you…” She slid her gaze sideways at her brother with merriment dancing in her eyes. “Well, I don’t know how else to put this. Are you his lady friend?”