Forged by Magic (Falling for Fables, #1)(30)

“Probably for the best since you’re spilling as much of it as you’re drinking.”

“Very funny. I’m glad I can be a source of amusement for you.”

He chuckled as I left the living room to rinse the cup. When I returned, he was already spreading his blanket across the sofa. His bed for the night. I hadn’t planned on going to sleep just yet, but I couldn’t very well stay in here now. The idea of sitting in the armchair while he lay down…it felt far too intimate.

Because he smelled like a dragon. That was why. There was no other reason I felt on edge.

And so I wandered toward the hallway as Rivelin called out behind me. “Good night, Daella.”

I swallowed. What was wrong with me? “Night, Rivelin.”

After I walked into the bedroom and shut the door, I noted the dragon scent had faded. And it had been so strong, so spicy and intoxicating, it felt odd now that it was gone. Like something essential was missing.



T he next morning, Rivelin was practically vibrating with intensity. I found him in the back garden looking over my handiwork from the day before. Based on the shadows beneath his eyes, he’d clearly struggled to sleep. He ran his massive hands along the ropes I’d used to tie the logs together. Admittedly, the thing was more like a raft than a boat, but it wasn’t as though I’d ever built a damn ship before.

“This is going to be a problem,” he said in a gruff voice that prickled my irritation.

“You’re welcome, Rivelin. I know you ran off to waste all of yesterday grumping around wherever it was you went. Probably the woods.” Or a dragon lair. “You really are lucky I took it upon myself to finish your boat. Otherwise, you’d have nothing.”

“You’re my assistant,” he said through gritted teeth. “The rules state that you have to engage in every challenge.”

“And I did. I built your fucking boat.”

“You built a raft, Daella. And you have to come with me onto the lake.”

My blood ran cold. “Pardon?”

“You can’t stay on shore. You have to come. If you don’t, we forfeit our place in the Midsummer Games.”

It was then I truly understood the depths of his aggravation. I stared at the raft, seeing it with new eyes. Yesterday, I’d pieced it together imagining a single person—Rivelin—maneuvering it across the lake without worrying about water spilling through the cracks between logs and seeping into his trousers. Or splashing over the side. Or potentially capsizing if the thing was just a tad on the too-small side. He would right it and climb back on and all would be well.

Me, on the other hand…

“I can’t go on that.”

“I know.”

“My skin is allergic to fresh water.”

“I know.”

I started pacing. “We have some other logs I didn’t use. If we pile some on top of what we already have—”

“The raft will sink.” He ran a hand down his face and sighed. “This is my fault. I should have come out here last night to see how it looked instead of waiting until this morning.”

“Well, what you should have done was not storm off yesterday.”

“I didn’t storm off.”

“You did.”

He glared at me, but I just smiled back. After a moment, he shook his head. “You know, I can tell your smile isn’t genuine.”

“What else do you expect? I’m about to have a grand old time on your raft.”

“No, you’re not,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“We may not get along well—”

“You think?”

He narrowed his eyes. “If you would just let me finish.”

I motioned for him to continue, and then mimed buttoning my lips.

“We may not get along well,” he tried again, “but I’m not going to put you through that. I’ll forfeit my spot in the Games and try again next year.”

Panic clawed its way up my throat—funny I felt more alarmed by losing the chance at the island’s gift than getting drenched by lake water. “No!”

He frowned. “Daella, you will get wet.”

“Yes, but…” How could I phrase this? “I believe in your mission. You want to protect everyone from Isveig. So do I.” Just as long as they weren’t Draugr.

“There isn’t room for both of us on that raft,” he pointed out.

“Well.” I flushed. “I’m sure there’s a way to make it work.”

He propped his hands on his waist and stared at the ridiculous contraption I’d spent so many hours building. In the light of everything else, it looked a mess. The edges of the logs weren’t lined up, and the rope was frayed and far too thin for my liking. The last thing I wanted was to share the thing with Rivelin, but what else were we to do?

“You’ll have to sit on my lap,” he finally said.



R ivelin heaved the raft into his arms and carried it through the house and out onto the front steps, like the thing weighed no more than a feather. A moment later, he came back inside and rooted around in a trunk before handing me some leather oilcloth—it was waterproof, apparently, though I wasn’t convinced. The material was thick and far too warm for summer weather, but I’d rather be sweaty than shivering in pain.