Forged by Magic (Falling for Fables, #1)(63)

It didn’t take long for us to reach the eastern side of the village. Gregor’s windows were dark, and unlike the last time we’d paid him a visit—albeit more furtively than now—the chimney expelled no smoke. Rivelin pounded on the door but didn’t wait for an answer. He slammed his boot into the wood and stormed inside.

I followed just behind him, casting a quick glance over my shoulder at the homes across the street. With this kind of noise, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone came to investigate.

“Gregor,” Rivelin called out as he moved through the messy room. “You can come out. There’s no use in hiding.”

But there was no answer or any sign of movement.

“I don’t think he’s here, Rivelin,” I said.

Frowning, he took one last look around and returned to the road outside. I followed, quietly closing the door behind us, though I needn’t have bothered. Several faces were already peering out their windows at us.

“We need to find him and the swords,” Rivelin said, dropping his voice to a near whisper. “If he’s angry and retaliates against the folk of this village, I’ll never forgive myself for making those weapons. I broke the law, and I might have doomed us all.”

“He’s only one man. Even if he rushes into the village with a sword, there’s far more of us than him.”

“Us?”

“I…yes. Isveig was cruel to me, but he did have his sister train me to fight, and she’s one of the best out there.”

“I know that, Daella. But you spoke like you consider yourself one of us.”

“Oh.” My heart pounded. “I suppose I do, in a way. At least when it comes to Gregor.”

Rivelin smiled slightly, but then he ran his hands through his hair, his expression now pained. “This is supposed to be a peaceful island, where nothing terrible happens, and yet here we are conversing about swords and making stands against the enemy. I thought, if we tried hard enough, this place could be immune from that kind of darkness. And yet it follows me no matter hard I try.”

I moved to stand before him and pressed up onto my toes to palm his cheek. “Don’t lose hope just yet. There may be no need for a fight. All we have to do is find Gregor before he makes his move.”

“Any idea on how we can do that?” he asked.

I thought back to the last time I saw Gregor. He’d been lurking in the trees. “I think he’s hiding out in the Ashborn Forest.”



W e waited until dawn before setting off to the forest. It would be more difficult to find him—and a hidden stash of swords—in the dark, and if he’d been awake all night for his thieving activities, he might find himself drifting off to sleep during the day, despite his best intentions.

After tugging the pack over my shoulders, I jogged down the steps and breathed in the scents of the village morning. Milka was already baking bread, judging by the earthy aroma drifting out of her open window from down the road. The old dwarf across the way sat on his toadstool with his pipe. He lifted his hand, waving. Dew clung to the vines crawling up the side of Rivelin’s house, and birdsong filled the air. I breathed it all in and smiled.

“Morning, my dear,” a soft voice called out to me.

I turned to see Mabel shuffling down the road, her smile as bright as the morning sun. Today she wore a dark green tunic, the edges embroidered with ancient words only I would recognize. Ris upp ur oskunni. The belt cinching her waist was a set of twisting chains, and the clasp had been forged into the shape of a dragon spreading its wings. Only Draugr wore clothes etched in dragon symbols.

The world beneath me seemed to tip sideways.

“Where did you get that belt?” I asked, hating the accusatory tone in my voice. But she’d been there in that village with the Draugr that day. I’d believed her to be innocent when I found her hiding in the cupboard. Had I been wrong?

She hobbled closer, leaning on her cane. “My husband gave it to me. It was his mother’s, and her mother’s before that. It was passed down in his family for centuries. I would have passed it on to our daughter, had we ever had one.”

“It’s an orcish belt?” I asked, furtively scenting the air. No hint of Draugr.

“That’s right. Just like this tunic.”

“Oh. All right.” I suppose it might make sense. Still, something about it unnerved me. It felt as though I were looking in a mirror, but a warped version of myself was looking right back and grinning like a fiend.

“Here.” She held up a linen sack. “I made you two some pasties for your journey.”

I relaxed and smiled. “How did you know we were going on a journey?”

“I live over by Gregor.” She chuckled. “You two made quite the ruckus last night. I heard every word you said, including the bits you probably didn’t want me to hear. Nevertheless, it makes no difference to me what our dear blacksmith crafts. Just so long as he gets them back and puts them someplace safe.”

I nodded. “We’ll do our best. And thank you for the food.”

“I just want my home protected, you hear? We all do. Why do you think so few of us stepped forward for the Games? It’s Rivelin’s turn, and we know he’ll find the right words to keep us safe from that monster across the Boundless Sea. And you will, too.”