“Well, I’m tired,” I finally said, making a move for the hallway. “I noticed the bedroom door doesn’t have a lock. If you try anything…”
He grunted. “I would rather swim out to sea and let the Elding take me. Sorry to disappoint.”
I arched a brow and sidled up to him, not entirely sure why. I should just retire to the bedroom and get some sleep, and yet…I dropped my arms to my side, no longer trying to hide anything the elf might be able to see through the tunic. And there it was. His eyes briefly flicked down—quick as a snake, but I caught it.
“You’re a rude blacksmith who lives alone and had to make a deal with a stranger you hate, just so you could have someone help you win a competition.” I winked as I backed away. “I don’t think I’m the one who’s going to end up disappointed.”
“Oh, is that a challenge?”
“Absolutely not. You keep your hands to yourself.”
“Scared that I’d win, are we?”
My foot snagged on a table leg, and I went stumbling sideways into the wall. I caught myself just before my knees buckled beneath me. Furious flames licked my cheeks when I glanced up and found Rivelin smirking at me.
“Feeling flustered?” he asked.
I glowered at him. “Oh, fate take you.”
And then I spun on my feet and started down the hall.
But he called after me. “I know I should take that as an insult, but at least you stopped wearing that fake smile of yours.”
This time, I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply. If the bastard wanted to get a rise out of me, he’d have to try a lot harder than that.
7
DAELLA
B ack in “my” bedroom, I took a moment to steady my breathing. I didn’t know what I was so worked up about. It had just been an irritating conversation, and the elf had only been trying to get a reaction. We had a partnership of sorts, but that didn’t mean he held anything but disdain toward me. And the feeling was mutual. At the end of the day, he was only using me the same way Isveig always had.
The only difference was, I was using him, too.
Our conversation echoed in my ears as I pulled back the patchwork quilt and climbed into bed. Rivelin wanted me to help him win four challenges so he could ask for the island’s blessing. One gift. Endless possibility, as long as it did not cause harm.
Heart thumping, I slid a hand down to my hip and pressed my fingers against the shard. It had been years since Isveig had branded me with the ice, and the skin had mostly healed over it now. But the rough, pink scar was still there as a raised bump, and the shard beneath throbbed and whistled like steam, as if it were calling to its master from across the Boundless Sea.
The damn ice was the only thing that kept me tethered to Isveig, and even then I’d tried to run away a year ago, despite knowing what could happen. I’d reached my breaking point. I would have done anything just for a moment outside with the sun on my face, free to follow my desires.
Even when I knew that moment might be my last. It had been the darkest point in my life.
Sighing, I closed my eyes and sagged against the pillows. When I’d tried to escape, his guards had caught me. And now here I was, in a strange land, in an even stranger man’s bed.
But maybe, just maybe, there was another way to be free of it all. A backup in case I failed to fulfill my quest. If I helped Rivelin win the Midsummer Games, perhaps I could beat him to the punch and ask the island give me the gift. The only thing I’d ever wanted: freedom.
I would never have to look into Isveig’s face again. When the ships came, I could just sail to wherever I dreamed. My life would be mine and no one else’s.
The thought tasted like berries on a warm summer’s day. And with that hope in my heart, sleep called me away.
A hammer beat the walls. Disoriented, I jerked up from the bed, my eyes swimming as I stared at the unfamiliar room. My rich, silken sheets from my tower bed were gone. The plush settee where I spent hours flipping through bakery books was nowhere to be found. Even the drab light from the ever-present cloud had been replaced by a beaming sun pouring in through the window just beside the bed.
I blinked again, taking in the flowers creeping in through the windowpane and the brilliant birdsong and the soft quilt that covered me. This was not my tower.
The knocking sounded again, and memories poured through me. Thuri’s face, troubled on the ship, followed by the storm that blasted us all apart. Me, sputtering as I crawled up the shore. Rivelin, tossing my mother’s dagger into the sea. The bastard.
“Daella?” the elf called out through the door.
“Yes, yes, I’m awake.” I rolled my eyes at the ceiling. “No one would be able to sleep through all your noise.”
“Are you dressed?”
“Do you truly believe I’d risk getting naked anywhere near you?”
A pause. “I’m going to take that as a yes.”
The door swung wide and Rivelin stepped into the bedroom. I was immediately struck by how different he looked in the light, how inexplicably…better. His silver hair seemed to glisten, the damp strands curly around his sharply pointed ears. And his eyes, they seemed to glow as bright as the sun itself. Even his tanned skin evoked the hazy feel of summer.
I glanced away before my eyes wandered further south to his broad chest. His light brown tunic was tight enough to highlight his biceps, which were…not small.
“Oh. You’re still in bed,” he said, his voice a bit rough. He was clearly caught off guard, even though he’d been the one to storm in on me.
And I couldn’t help but wonder what he saw now when he looked at me? Did I look better in the light, like him? Or worse? My hair was a wreck from the storm.
Not that it mattered.
“Is there something you want?” I asked.
He held up a bundle of linens. “I brought you a towel and some fresh clothes. There’s a bath through the door across the hallway.”
“Oh.” I sighed. “I can’t take a—”
“I’ve put a bag of salt in the bathing chambers. I think it should be enough,” he said gruffly.
I lifted a brow, wondering if I was still asleep and dreaming. “You got me some salt?”
“Don’t get excited. I already had some stocked in my cupboards.” He held up the towel and the clothes. “Now do you want to stop babbling and get clean, or what?”
I gave him my trademark smile. “You, Rivelin the Blacksmith, are a lot softer than you want everyone to believe.”
“If you start thinking that, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.” He strode across the room, dumped the clothes on the bed, and walked straight out the door without another word.
T he bathing chambers were far more luxurious than I’d expected. In fact, I’d assumed I’d find nothing but an old, beat-up tin tub full of cold water. Rivelin might have scrounged up some salt for me, but it was unlikely he’d have taken the time to light a fire, heat up the water, and lug it all the way in here. It would take several trips, at least.
And I was right. He hadn’t done any of that. Because he hadn’t needed to.
Holding the towel around my chest, I twisted a metal valve and marvelled at the deluge of warm water that spilled through a spout, filling the stone tub in only moments. I’d never seen anything quite like it before. How could a tiny island village have something like this when Fafnir didn’t?