There were few places in the shop someone might hide something. Inside the forge itself was a possibility. What better way to throw someone off the scent than by burying any contraband beneath a pile of charred coals? Of course, then I likely wouldn’t scent dragon at all. Coal hid smells extremely well.
Rivelin also had some barrels packed full of various tools: axes, long-handled hammers, and a couple of spears. I shoved my face into the barrel and took a long sniff but found no dragon magic there.
That left the closet in the corner. With furtive steps, I crossed the room and reached the back wall with one ear still listening for footsteps. I frowned as I looked at the closet’s door handle. There was no lock.
This felt wrong somehow, but if I didn’t check, I might never confirm the truth.
And so I yanked open the door and looked inside.
Rows upon rows of swords lined the closet walls. Each one was unique and expertly crafted. Designs swirled across the blades, gemstones had been inlaid along the hilts, and some pommels had been carved in the shape of various animals. I was struck by the beauty of it all—the incredible talent needed to create these. Each and every one was like a piece of art.
“Trying to find the perfect weapon to wield against me?” Rivelin said from behind me.
I yelped, my heart leaping into my throat. As I turned to face him, I braced myself for the angry lines that would bracket his mouth, but instead, his eyes roamed across my face, almost…curious.
“I’m sorry, I was just having a look around,” I said. It was close enough to the truth.
“In my weapons closet?”
“Well, I didn’t know it was a weapons closet until I opened it. A pretty impressive one, I’ll admit. Have you made all of these?”
He nodded warily. “I’m a blacksmith. That’s what we do.”
“True. It’s just…you made a big deal about this island and your no-weapons law. I’m surprised to find you have so many swords.”
“I don’t use them, nor do I announce their presence. They’re supposed to be safely hidden away in my closet.”
“There’s no lock on the door,” I pointed out.
“I don’t normally have intruders poking around my shop.”
“I’m offended. I’m not an intruder. I’m a…”
He raised his brow, waiting for the rest of my sentence. Truthfully, I kind of was an intruder, at least to the island at large. I’d been sent here by the enemy emperor to find some people to capture. Maybe not this specific island, but close enough. And I had every intention to keep up my end of the bargain if we didn’t win these Games. Because if I didn’t, I’d never go free.
So Rivelin did have a point.
I decided to change the direction of the conversation. “These aren’t just any swords. The craftsmanship is incredible. The pommel here—is that a dain?”
“I’m surprised you know of dains.”
“I came across some in a forest once when I was…anyway, it is a remarkable resemblance.”
Dain were deer who feasted on a particular type of plant only found in the deepest parts of the forests of Edda. They had elven features with their sharply pointed ears and long lives. Some said they were somehow distantly related, though I’d always thought that story was more myth than truth. Perhaps I’d been wrong.
Rivelin gave me a long, lingering look before he replied. “Thank you, I think. I spent a long time on that one.”
“It looks like you spent ages on all of them. How did you learn to do all this?”
A shutter went over his eyes. “My parents.”
“Are they here on the islands, too, like your sister?”
“No, not here,” he said, his voice clipped. “They’re dead. The emperor’s murks killed them.”
Oh.
I stared at him, my heart thundering, unable to find the right words. I should have known as much with the way Rivelin spoke about Isveig and his mercenaries. His feelings toward the emperor went far deeper than mere dislike. He held a grudge. A big one. And I understood far better than I could ever explain.
Isveig had killed a lot of people. And if he hadn’t done the deed himself, his warriors, his guards, and his mercenaries had done it for him. I had done it for him. Regret wound through me.
Rivelin grabbed a leather satchel from the table beside his anvil and made for the shop’s front door.
“Where are you going?” I asked, my voice hoarse from the conflicting emotions pumping through me.
“Out,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Don’t follow me.”
I frowned. “Don’t we need to work on the boat? The first trial starts tomorrow, doesn’t it?”
“We’ll work on it later. I need some space.” He reached the door and shoved it open.
“Rivelin, wait,” I felt compelled to say, though I didn’t know why. The scent of dragon made it clear he was my enemy. I shouldn’t feel so eager to smooth things over, and yet, the words had come of their own accord.
He paused, one hand on the door. “Close the closet and don’t touch anything in there. I’ll know if you do.”
And then he was gone.
13
DAELLA
W hen Rivelin returned, he reeked of dragon. I’d spent a good twelve hours in his back garden assembling the boat, with rivulets of sweat trailing down the back of my neck. Skoll had sat with me for a time as if observing my work, occasionally growling his approval. It had taken the entirety of the day, but eventually I finished the boat as best I could. My hands looked like they’d gotten into a fight with a cat, and my muscles ached, but I felt damn good. Useful and tired in the best kind of way—like I’d earned the cup of tea that now steamed in my hands. Funny thing about orcs, fresh water burned our skin, but we could drink it easily enough.
And so I’d helped myself to Rivelin’s herbal tea bags, choosing a chamomile and lavender mix, and then settled into the armchair in the living room while Skoll curled up on the rug beside me. The second I’d tucked my feet beneath me, the front door flung wide open and the elf charged in like he was itching for a fight.
And he smelled like a fates-damned dragon.
Skoll lifted his head and sniffed. Could he smell it, too? He probably could.
All my senses went on high alert, but I schooled my features into an easy smile.
Rivelin narrowed his gaze at me as he kicked the door shut. “What are you doing?”
“Having a cup of tea,” I said sweetly. “Would you like one?”
“Tea.”
“Yes, tea…”
“You’re still here. Drinking tea.”
I blinked, taken aback. “If you wanted me to leave, you should have said so. I just thought you wanted some space after the weapons closet incident. Since that’s, you know, what you said.”
“The weapons closet incident,” he repeated.
Slowly, I put down my mug and unwound myself from the armchair. “I think I’ve missed something.”
“You had access to all those swords,” he said with a frown. “I assumed you’d take one, or even a few so you could sell them for coin, and then you’d be on your way out of Wyndale.”
“And why would I do that?”