Forged by Magic (Falling for Fables, #1)(40)

My stomach dropped. I remembered her, all right, though the lines in her face had multiplied and deepened over the years, and her black hair had gone bone white. It had been one of my first “missions” from the new emperor.

The old woman sniffled and big blobs of tears rolled down her cheeks. “You spared me. You looked right at me, right in my eyes. And you told the murks barging into my house that there was no one inside.”

There was something hot and scratchy in my throat, and my eyes burned. All these years, I’d often wondered about that woman in the pantry, if she’d escaped, where she’d gone, and whether the emperor had somehow known and tracked her down. But, against all odds, she’d made it here.

“I’m glad you got away from that bastard, too.” Mabel nodded at the parcel on my lap. “Now you eat that up, you hear, and don’t give none to Rivelin. I made it just for you.”

As she turned to hobble away, I finally found my voice. “Thank you. It’s good to see you again, Mabel. I’ve not forgotten you at all.”

“Nor I you,” she called out over her shoulder. And then she moved on, her cane digging into the ground with each labored step.

As I watched her go, I could feel the scorching heat of Rivelin’s gaze.

“Well, I suppose I should see what this is,” I mumbled aloud, more to distract myself from the intensity of his stare than anything else. I peeled open the wrapping. Inside was a small square pastry of a sort, brown and crispy along the top. Unexpectedly, the savory scent of cheese and fried mushrooms wafted toward me. I cocked my head, curious.

Rivelin practically moaned, a sound that sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. “One of Mabel’s famous mushroom pasties. She doesn’t make those for just anyone. Eat up or you’ll have the whole village coming to fight over it.”

“Surely it can’t be that good.”

I took a bite. Creamy cheese and salted mushrooms coated my tongue in a dizzying explosion of taste. The pastry crumbled, creating the perfect texture to complement the filling. My eyes went wide. Fates be damned. It was one of the best things I’d ever eaten in my life.

Rivelin sat there smirking at me. “Told you. It’s amazing, right?”

I waited until I’d swallowed to answer. “I’ve never had anything like it before.”

“Human recipe,” he answered. “Mabel grew up in the human kingdoms before moving to a village on the outskirts of Fafnir, after she met an orc and fell in love. When her husband died rebelling against Isveig, she fled on a ship and ended up here.”

I swallowed that awful scratchy lump again. The guilt of what happened that day was almost unbearable. Try as I might, I hadn’t been able to stop the murks from killing every innocent in that village. Isveig had been convinced there were dozens of Draugr and orcs hiding out in their homes. There had been many lives lost that day. Mabel seemed to see me as her savior, and I was anything but.

Her unexpected kindness combined with the trials and the future I didn’t think I could escape…it was just all too much.

I brushed the crumbs from my trousers and stood, my throat tight. “I need to do something. What’s the next trial? When does it start?”

Rivelin stood from the crate, his eyes locked on my face. I tried to avoid looking at him, sensing the pity I’d find there. After everything he’d said and done, I couldn’t stand the thought of him feeling sorry for me. Not the grumpy elf blacksmith who seemed to dislike everyone, except for Skoll and his sister. If he, of all people, felt bad for me, then I truly was fucked.

At long last, he finally spoke. “It kicks off today, but we have over a week to prepare for the actual competition. And there’s something I want to show you before we get started.”





17




DAELLA





“H ere.” Rivelin handed me a sturdy pair of boots to replace the ones I’d soaked. He then grabbed a leather satchel from a hook beside the door and started filling it with a compass, a couple of canteens, and an emergency kit.

I watched him curiously. “I have some questions. First, you seem to have an unlimited supply of women’s clothing that fit me perfectly. Second, how far are we traveling exactly? If we’re going far, I’ll need to pack salt and some kind of waterproof tent, if you can find one.”

“I told you. The clothes are all from Tilda, who is about your size. I’ll introduce you next time I see her. She won the Midsummer Games a few years back, and she asked the island for an endless wardrobe. She only ends up keeping half of it.”

Well, that certainly explained some things. “Not particularly useful compared to the running water.”

“It’s keeping you clothed, isn’t it?”

“You have a point.”

Rivelin vanished into the kitchen. Clattering and thumping followed. When he returned, he carried a pouch of salt, some stale bread, and dried meats, which he unceremoniously stuffed into the pack with the other supplies.

“You didn’t answer my second question,” I said.

“We’re going to the base of Mount Forge. It takes me less than a day to get there and back if I don’t run, but I don’t like going out there unprepared. Shit happens.”

“That explains the boots.”