Forged by Magic (Falling for Fables, #1)(52)

“Aren’t you a little vicious, too?” I asked as I joined him.

“Yes, but not mindlessly so like I was in the past. Now my rage is focused on Gregor, and anyone else who would threaten this place.”

“And that’s what all those swords are for.” I hauled his hammer from the ground and propped the end against my shoulder. “You follow the rules of Hearthaven, but a part of you itches for a fight. And so you’ve made sure you’re ready, if it ever comes to that.”

“Wouldn’t you—”

The door hinges creaked. Rivelin grabbed my arm and tugged me to the floor. I stumbled on all the mess, twisting sideways and barely catching myself as I face-planted on his broad, sculpted chest. He grunted and shifted beneath me. And as my heart thundered, I lifted my head and met his eyes. My face was only an inch from his, my lips nearly skimming the bottom of his chin. Fog rose around us like a cloud.

For a moment, I forgot what we were doing and why we were here. I didn’t even try to move, my mind jarred senseless from the fall. He shifted beneath me once again, and every plane of his body pressed against me, from his chest down to his thighs, and everything between. I swore he was as hard as steel.

I shuddered out a breath.

“Gregor, where are you going?” Lilia exclaimed from the street just outside.

“I hate to disappoint you, Lilia, but I’m not interested in what you have to offer anymore, which is…” Disgust laced his every word. “…so little I don’t know what I was thinking.”

A low growl rumbled in the back of Rivelin’s throat, and I hastily pressed my fingers to his lips. That single touch seared me with an intoxicating heat. His lips were so soft, so…warm, even though he was an elf. Everything within me coiled tight.

“Just…wait!” Lilia shouted.

In one fluid motion, Rivelin stood and somehow swept me to my feet, grabbing the last few tools from the floor beside the hearth. Five steps later, we were by the window. I went first, wriggling outside with Rivelin just behind. He landed beside me just as the sound of Gregor’s footsteps echoed through the house.

Neither of us moved. I stared up at him, and he stared right back, the moonlight cutting a sharp line across his jaw.

“We should hurry back to the forge,” he murmured.

Swallowing, I nodded. “Of course.”

“In the morning, I’ll report this theft to the others on the Village Council,” he said, making no move to leave the alley. “It should be enough to kick him out of the competition.”

“Yes, it will.”

His eyes swept across my face. “Thank you, Daella. I—”

Lilia took that moment to rush around the corner. She waved at us feverishly, and whatever Rivelin had been about to say got left behind in the shadows of that alley. As we took the return route to the forge, Lilia apologized profusely for failing to keep Gregor’s attention, despite the fact we’d scored the loot. Every few steps, I cast a furtive glance at Rivelin. Had he felt what I’d felt, back on that floor? What had I even felt, anyway?

Perhaps it had been nothing more than the excitement of the moment. We’d almost gotten caught, and both our hearts had been racing. Of course it was normal to get lost in that. It hadn’t been anything more.

And it never could be.





22




DAELLA





“I ’m telling you, I did not steal Rivelin’s tools!” Gregor threw up his hands and paced before the small crowd, including his very stern-faced mother. He jerked his thumb at Rivelin. “It’s him. He’s framing me to knock me out of the Midsummer Games. I’m his biggest competition, and he knows he can’t hack it unless I’m gone.”

Odel’s wings twitched as she frowned at the golden-haired elf. “Rivelin would never trash his forge. He loves that place.”

Hofsa sighed. “I’m afraid I have to agree with Odel. We all witnessed what you did to Kari, and while you made sure to stay within the laws of the competition then, you have quite blatantly broken our laws this time. You’re no longer a contestant in the Midsummer Games, and we’ll have to think if you need an additional punishment. We do not destroy and steal another’s property here, son. That’s the kind of behavior we’d expect in the Grundstoff Empire. And we will not allow it.”

I could not hide my surprise. All this time, I’d assumed his mother was in on his schemes to win the Games and that was how he’d cheated to compete on three separate occasions. So if she hadn’t been the one to aid him, who was? I glanced around at the crowd. Who would actually want him to participate, and why?

His mother walked purposefully to the stage, where five jars of pebbles still stood. She removed Gregor’s and poured out the contents, her eyes never leaving her son’s furious face.

“I didn’t do this,” he said through gritted teeth. “And one day you’ll find out the truth and look like a fool. Your precious Rivelin isn’t the saint he says he is.”

After shooting a glare in my direction, he stormed out of the square. Gregor was out. But Rivelin was right. It didn’t feel nearly as satisfying as it should have.



R ivelin and I fell into a pleasant routine over the next week. After we’d finished clearing his shop, he fired up the forge to start on our item for the Fildur Trial, and every morning at dawn we shared breakfast at his kitchen table—and with Skoll—before starting the work for the day. We enjoyed easy conversation as the flames roared around us, and then we broke for lunch where we often met Lilia, Odel, and Haldor in the square. Occasionally, we’d visit Elma at the Dreaming Dragon Inn, and she always put some extra olives on my plate. The afternoons were dedicated to more forging, some of which included working through Rivelin’s long list of commissions for the villagers: horseshoes, candlesticks, and a new plow for one of the local farmers. At the end of every day, I was so exhausted I often went straight to bed after dinner.