Forged by Magic （Falling for Fables, #1）
Jenna Wolfhart
Author’s Note
Dear reader,
Grab a blanket, a mug of tea, and say goodbye to brutal kings and hello to grumpy village blacksmiths. This tale is one for the faint of heart and those in search of a feel-good palate cleanser with only a pinch of danger.
However, I would be remiss not to mention a few potential triggers: captivity, harassment, fire, brief violence and mentions of blood, and sexually explicit scenes. This book has a cozy vibe, but it isn’t strictly a cozy fantasy since it does have spice in it and a bit of danger.
And dragons. Don’t forget the dragons.
So curl up on the sofa, settle in with that blanket and tea, and get swept away into the whimsical world of Falling for Fables.
xoxo
Jenna
1
DAELLA
T he outward door’s locks tumbled for the first time in a year. I stood from my perch on the tower’s window seat and schooled my features into an expression of contentment, even as my heart thudded against my ribs. There could only be one reason the guards were unlocking that door instead of the inner one the maidservants used. The emperor had called for me.
It’s about bloody time.
The door swung wide, creaking on unused hinges. Two armored guards strode into my circular room, both unfamiliar. They were human, judging by the smooth curves of their ears and the curiosity in their eyes. They’d probably never seen an orc before, not even a half-orc like me.
The taller of the two flicked his eyes up and down my body, likely taking in the deep green tint of my skin and the sharp points of my ears. Unlike true orcs, I lacked tusks. It was one of the reasons Emperor Isveig had let me live. He seemed to think it made me less threatening.
And, as much as I hated to admit it, I supposed that was true. I was his prisoner, after all, even if he kept me locked in a luxurious tower instead of a dungeon cell.
“Emperor Isveig wants to see you,” the taller one said after a tense moment. “He has a job.”
The shard of ice embedded in my hip pulsed. That old thing annoyed me almost as much as the emperor did.
Almost.
“How lovely,” I said with the fake smile that everyone believed.
The shorter of the two, a stocky boy who couldn’t be more than seventeen, smirked. “Lovely?”
“Of course. I’m always happy to help the emperor.” Lies.
The shorter one narrowed his eyes. “Right. Well, come on then. Just remember what will happen if you try something.”
The ice shard pulsed again, but I showed no reaction.
The two guards led me out of my tower room and into the castle beyond. As soon as I stepped into the corridor, the humidity thickened, no longer broken by the breeze from the windows I kept open all summer long. Even in the winter, it was difficult to find relief inside Keystone Keep. An ever-present cloud lurked over the buildings, caught on the tallest tower. It had hung there for seventeen long years. When a heavy rain wasn’t drumming the tiled roof, sprays of saltwater dew misted down from the pregnant cloud. It had not stopped once in all these years. No one understood why, not even the Magisters.
So of course the emperor blamed fire magic, no matter that saltwater rain had nothing to do with Fildur—the power of flames.
After winding down the dark and silent stairwell, I followed the guards into the Great Hall, fondly called the Great Hel by Emperor Isveig’s servants, slaves, and prisoners—of which there were many. At the end of a narrow strip of carpet, the ruler of the Grundstoff Empire sat upon a throne crafted from cooling granite only found in the North, where he’d been born. Shame he hadn’t stayed there.
I walked the length of the carpet, flanked by the guards, and stared into the face of the ice giant who had conquered my home. Tall with ghostly blue skin, he was a towering mass of long, sleek muscle. He smiled as I approached, twirling one of the dozen rings that decorated ears that were as long as any dagger. Even though he’d rarely seen a battle himself, he covered his shoulders, forearms, and hips with gold plates, though his long legs were bare. Golden horns grew from the top of his head, sharp and deadly.
When I reached the foot of the dais, I stopped and waited, still beaming like a fool. In front of the emperor I always wore my smile. It was a lesson I’d learned a long time ago. Never show true emotion.
“Daella,” he said in a voice that crackled like ice. His eyes glimmered, pale blue like his skin. “You’re looking well. I forgot how much your smile lights up this gloomy place.”
“It’s been a long time.”
His smile faltered. “That’s your own fault.”
I bit the inside of my cheek.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he continued. “If you hadn’t tried to escape, you’d have more freedom, just like you used to before last year.”
Freedom. That was rich. I’d had no more freedom than the horses forced to drag the emperor’s carriage on the long, muddy road up North every time he got sick of the heat—which happened at least three times a year. The lovely beasts might get out of the cramped city and breathe in the fresh air, but they could not let loose their manes and gallop across the fields. The exhilarating thrill of freedom would never be more than a dream for them.
Or for me.
I was one of the few orcs to have survived Isveig’s conquest, and there had only been a few hundred of us before then. I’d been but a child at the time, and Isveig had believed it might be useful to keep a few of us around to do his dirty work. And so I had, always smiling. For sixteen long years. Until last summer when I’d tried to escape.
“What is it you’d like me to do, Isveig?”
He nodded to the tall human guard who stood beside me. I followed his gaze, stiffening when he pulled a dagger from his belt. My breath hissed through my clenched teeth, despite myself. I would never fail to recognize that curved blade, hilt engraved with the ancient orcish words Ris upp ur oskunni, meaning Rise from the Ashes—no matter if five thousand years passed before I set eyes on it again.
It had been my mother’s.
I turned back to the emperor, my hands clenching. “I told you I don’t want to kill for you anymore.”
“Not even purveyors of dragon magic?” he asked, arching a brow.
I held my breath. Dragon magic was lethal and toxic, but… “All the dragons are dead. You made certain of that.”
Isveig leaned back in his throne and drummed his fingers on the granite armrest. “There’s a rumor that some survived. In the Isles of Fable, somewhere near the Glass Peaks.”
“You still believe those islands exist? No one has ever been able to prove they’re real.”
Years ago, Emperor Isveig had sailed the Boundless Sea, hunting for these legendary isles. Several dwarves had appeared on the mainland not long after his conquest, bringing tales of magical islands hidden deep in the waters west of the empire. Isveig, as always, had decided he wanted to conquer those lands. He’d hunted for them ever since.
“Those dwarves didn’t come from nowhere.” He leaned forward and draped an arm across his knee. “Take the dagger. Sail with a score of my best warriors to find these islands, then root out the dragons and their bonded masters, the Draugr. Can you do that for me?”