Forged by Magic (Falling for Fables, #1)(7)
The shadow demon owner appeared beside me the moment I sat.
“You’ve got to be a paying customer to take up space at this table.” She motioned at the rest of the bustling room. “It’s a busy time of year for the village of Wyndale, and we’ve got a lot of visitors who want drink, food, and seats. Paying visitors.”
I blew out a breath of frustration. “Please. It’s about to storm, and I have nowhere else to go.”
“No coin, no table.”
“Fine.” I shoved up from the bench. Now that she was no longer leaning against a keg, the shadow demon towered over me, and darkness seemed to stretch toward me. A tremor went down my spine at the dangerous look in her eye. “I’ll just wait out the storm in the corner, and then I’ll leave.”
She smiled. “No coin, no corner.”
I swallowed. No matter what I said, she wasn’t going to let me stay inside this inn. Even if I had coin, I doubted she would have given me food and a room. Everyone in this place saw me for what I was: a servant of their enemy. And so I did the only thing I could. I held my head high and walked toward the door, where the brewing storm was waiting.
I didn’t blame her. Not even a little. They shouldn’t trust me, especially if my suspicions were true. Because I would not hesitate to turn every last one of them over to Emperor Isveig. My freedom for theirs.
As I shoved through the door, I blinked back the tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks. There was no reason for me to feel ashamed of it—no reason for that guilt clawing at my heart. Dragon magic was a volatile, wicked thing. It was too dangerous. I’d seen the ramifications of its power. I knew exactly what horrors it wrought.
Draugr had killed my mother and father. And so I would help Isveig stop them from killing anyone else.
4
RIVELIN
“W e knew Isveig would send someone eventually,” Haldor said from where he leaned against the door with crossed arms. He looked far too at ease about this whole thing. The little murk could ruin everything. But he hadn’t seen her, not like I had. She’d looked like a drowned rat, gasping for air, but even then, I hadn’t missed the strength and confidence in the way she carried herself. Daella Sigursdottir couldn’t have survived in this world by being anything short of spectacular.
And she needed to get the fuck out of my village.
Odel, a bubbly pixie with deep brown skin, black curly hair, and fluttering pink wings, pranced over to Haldor and shoved a finger into his chest. “You seem to be forgetting something. The opening ceremony for the Midsummer Games is tomorrow. We can’t have one of Isveig’s pets here for that.”
“It’s fine,” he drawled, arching a bushy brow the color of flames, much like his hair and skin. As a fire demon, everything about him ran hot, except his temper. I’d never before met a fire demon, or anyone else for that matter, who could remain unruffled in the face of anything the world could throw at him.
It was one of the reasons the people of Wyndale had chosen him to be a part of the Village Council, along with me, for my unmatched skill with the blade, and Odel, for her cleverness. Together, we’d kept this village thriving for fourteen good years. And I was not about to let our people lose out on a fifteenth one because of a pesky murk.
“How is it fine?” I frowned, bracing my fists on the small meeting table set up in the back of the Wyndale Village Hall. Several lanterns illuminated the carvings on the wall—relics left behind by the humans who had called this village home centuries before. They’d abandoned it now. “She’ll return to Fafnir and tell her emperor about the Games, and then he’ll send a fleet of ships here to conquer us. As soon as he learns what this island can do, he’ll want a piece of it.”
“No, not a piece,” Odel corrected. “He’ll want the whole damn thing.”
“Because if Isveig is anything,” I continued, “it’s a conqueror.”
Haldor held up his hands. “All right. Let’s just think this through. What, exactly, did she say to you when you found her on that beach?”
I thought back to the moment I’d set eyes on her, when she’d been coughing and sputtering and clawing at the sand. At first, my instincts had propelled me forward to help. The Elding must have attacked her ship, and she’d somehow survived when few did. Orcs weren’t known to be good swimmers, not when fresh water welted their skin. But she was there. And she’d needed help.
That was when I’d spotted the dagger in the sand and the emperor’s sigil on her shoulder.
“She asked about the Glass Peaks,” I told them. “She didn’t seem to know anything about Hearthaven.”
“See? She’s hunting for Draugr over on the mountain island where the dwarves live. She’s got no business here,” Haldor said.
“And yet she is here,” I countered. “We won’t be able to get rid of her for six bloody weeks because of the Elding. That will take us through the whole of the Midsummer Games. She’ll see everything.”
Odel tapped a finger against her chin. “We could send her up to Milford, or even Riverwold.”
“Bad idea. She’ll just come back when she finds out half their residents are here for the Games,” Haldor said.
“He has a point.” Odel frowned and turned back to me. “We’re going to have to convince her we’re not dealing in outlawed dragon magic and charm her enough that she won’t want to tell the emperor about our island. We need to show her we’re just a small village of peaceful people who don’t want any trouble. If she believes that, she won’t tell Isveig a damn thing.”