I didn’t know why I’d asked that last bit. I mentally gave myself a quick kick in the head.
“Neither. Why?”
“Someone else, then. A friend?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“I got them from Tilda. She’s about your size and has far more clothes than she knows what to do with. But they belong to you now. She doesn’t need them back. Satisfied?”
“You’re certain she doesn’t want them back?”
He sighed. “Yes. Can we go now?”
“It’s just, I’m not used to this style, and it’s extremely warm. I need a pair of scissors and a moment of privacy.” I smiled for good measure. “Please?”
He stared at me for a moment, his expression unreadable, and then he sighed again. “There’s a pair of scissors in the desk drawer over there. Just hurry up. We don’t have all day.”
Before he could change his mind, I grabbed the scissors from the drawer he indicated, where it sat with a pile of parchment, returned to the bedroom, and pulled off the tunic. A few snips later and the tunic was much more bearable in the humid heat. I’d cropped the shirt and cut off the arms, sighing in relief at the soft caress of the air against my bare skin.
When I returned to the living room, where Rivelin was waiting for me, I could have sworn his breath quickened. But when I met his eyes, there was no indication he’d had any reaction to me at all. Which was just as well. I didn’t want him getting any wild ideas just because I was exposing a little more skin than he was used to.
“Is that the standard of dress at Fafnir Castle?”
“For me? Yes.” I shrugged. “I run hot.”
“Hmm.” His eyes flicked down to my exposed stomach, and something in his expression tightened as he dragged his gaze back up to my face. Something about the whole situation brought a flush to my cheeks, even though I’d worn outfits like this every day of my life. I’d never before felt so…seen. Not even when Isveig had ogled me. “Just watch out for Gregor. Knowing him, he’ll try something when he sees you.”
I cocked my head. “The saboteur?”
“The one and only.” He opened the door and motioned me down the front steps. When I stepped outside, the gentle breeze brought with it the scent of lilacs and berries, of fresh grass and baking bread, of cedarwood and citrus and wet stone from the morning dew. I closed my eyes and breathed it in, letting the scents consume me, the soothing sensations chasing away the remnants of last night’s pain.
Rivelin stepped up beside me, and I felt his eyes on my face. But he didn’t comment on my reaction. He just stood there and let me breathe.
Sighing, I opened my eyes and took in the sight of Wyndale in the morning light. Before the rain-drenched darkness had taken over last night, it had looked like a bustling, bright thing. That had been nothing compared to the sight of it now. Several dirt-packed streets wound through the cheery clusters of buildings—some homes, some shops, some both, like this one. Vines and colorful flowers wound across each one, draping around windows and curling across chimneys. Everywhere I looked, there was life. Even the streets were pockmarked by small bursts of grass, and blackberries seemed to consume the unused wishing well along the way.
Clothes rippled along washing lines. The sound of laughing children echoed from somewhere nearby. A few doors down, a small, squat dwarf perched on an oversized wooden toadstool and puffed from his wooden pipe.
My chest seemed to open up at the sight of it, and a raw ache spread through my soul. I’d dreamed of a place like this all my life. I hadn’t been certain one really existed until now. But just as quickly as that thought occurred to me, I pushed it down. On the surface, this idyllic island village looked safe and warm and calm, but it might be nothing but a facade. A way to hide the villagers’ use of dragon magic. Or at least his. I glanced up at Rivelin, who was still watching me.
“Not as fancy as your Fafnir, I’m guessing,” he said in a gruff voice.
I jogged down the steps. “Nothing is as fancy as Fafnir, if your definition of fancy includes lots of stone and cold steel and empty castle halls with about as much soul as a dead man.”
Rivelin followed with Skoll right on his heels. “Haven’t you lived there all your life, even before your emperor took over?”
“Bit odd you know that about me.”
He huffed out a laugh. “You’re infamous, Daella.”
“Good to know the world is aware of all my amazing qualities,” I quipped, though something inside me felt unsettled by what he’d said. What, exactly, had Isveig spread about me? And how much of it was true? From what I’d heard so far, he’d definitely exaggerated when it came to my willingness to work for him. I should have expected as much. He wanted the world to think he had a half-orc under his thumb because she wanted to serve him, not because he’d stuck a deadly ice shard in her skin and threatened her.
I opened my mouth to say just that, but we took the corner and ran smack dab into at least two hundred people crowding the road ahead of us. Several tented stalls were stationed along the perimeter of a cobblestone square, merchants selling freshly baked breads, bouquets of flowers, and piping hot tea, even though it was a warm morning at the beginning of summer. Women strode by with ribbons trailing from their hair, and a harpist plucked a tune from where she’d set up in the center of the square, right next to a stone statue of Freya, who embodied the elemental magic running through the bones of the earth.
“The Old Gods,” I murmured. The ones my people had worshipped before the arrival of the ice giants, before Fafnir had been taken as part of the Grundstoff Empire, where they only worshipped one—Ullr, who Isveig insisted he was descended from. Not that many believed him, even his own followers.
“Are you surprised?” Rivelin asked, a step closer than I’d realized. At the sudden sound of his deep, husky voice, I almost squeaked.
“Did you really have to sneak up on me like that?”
“I’ve been standing here the whole time.”
“Not that close, you haven’t.” I pointed at the statue. “And yes, I am surprised. Your island is called Hearthaven, and this village is Wyndale. Those names sound more like something you’d find in the human continents across the Northern Ocean. They have different gods than the elves, the orcs, and the pixies do, although the humans who live in Fafnir now worship Ullr.”
He gave me an appraising glance. “Good catch. Humans were the first to settle here, ages ago. They named these islands and villages, but they did not bring their gods with them. The folk didn’t find the Isles until many years later.”
“Where are all the humans now?”
“Most developed wanderlust and left, though a handful remained. Their descendants are still here.”
I looked around at the crowd, indeed spotting a small number of humans amongst the folk. There were also plenty of elves, dwarves, pixies, fire demons, and shadow demons. Unease whispered through me at the sight of the horned creatures. They reminded me far too much of Isveig and his loyal court of giants, even if they were shorter of stature.
Swallowing, I tried to school my features into a mask of calm, but somehow Rivelin saw through it. “If you’re looking for one of Isveig’s ice giants, you’re out of luck. None of them have ever reached this place.”