“You’d make a better ruler,” I told her. “And I’m not the only one who thinks so.”
She tensed, cutting her eyes toward the nearest human warrior, then dropped her voice to a whisper. “Stop. You can’t say things like that out loud. You could get us both killed.”
“Except, like you said, Isveig already sent us on a doomed mission.” I cracked a smile, nudging her shoulder.
I’d meant what I’d said. Unlike Isveig, Thuri had never threatened me, she’d never locked me in my tower room, and she’d never raised her sword against the people of Fafnir. I truly believed she’d tried to hold Isveig back during the conquest. Once, I’d even spotted her scurrying through the alleys handing out bread and coin to the poor. For weeks after, Isveig had complained about a thief in the castle, but he’d never suspected his own dear sister worked against him.
Thuri sighed. “Speaking of this doomed mission, do you smell any Draugr yet?”
I took a sniff of the saltwater air, even though I already knew the answer. “No. We’re not close enough.”
Suddenly, she reached out and clutched my hand. Lowering her voice, she whispered. “Do you truly believe I could do it?”
“I do, Thuri. I really do.”
Lightning flashed; thunder boomed. A monstrous wave suddenly came from nowhere and slammed into the side of the ship. I didn’t even have time to gasp for air as I was tossed from the deck.
A ngry waves pushed me onto the shore, and my lungs burned as I coughed up seawater. I dug my fingers into the coarse sand and dragged my aching body away from the spray. I tried to think around the overwhelming sense of wet that clung to every inch of me. At least it was salt water. It was the only kind my skin could endure.
What had happened? The last thing I could remember, I’d been standing on the deck of one of the emperor’s grandest ships, and now I was here, clawing at the beach like a drowned cat. I glanced behind me at the churning skies.
Where was Thuri? Had anyone else survived?
Boots thumped beside my head. I lifted my eyes to spy a six-foot-five elven man with brilliant silver hair, staring down at me and scowling. His soft blue linen tunic clung to a muscular chest, draping down to a perfect V where it tucked into his brown trousers. He pointed the tip of his sword, as sharp as the curves of his ears, at where my mother’s dagger had washed up beside me. Before I could stop him, he leaned down and plucked the blade from the sand.
“Now what do we have here?” he asked in a deep, melodic voice. “Hello, little murk.”
I’d always hated that term. It was short for mercenary. Someone who would do anything for a bit of coin. That wasn’t me.
Coughing, I peered up at him. “I almost died. Do you really need to hurl insults right now?”
“I suppose not. I’ll just hurl something else instead.” And with that, he hauled back his arm and tossed my mother’s dagger into the sea.
2
DAELLA
M y chest burned as I fought the urge to cry out. That was the only thing of my mother I had left. And this…this bastard had thrown it away like it was nothing more than a piece of rubbish.
“How dare you?” I asked, shakily pushing up from the beach. “That was mine. It meant something to me.”
His face remained impassive. “We don’t allow weapons to be brought into Hearthaven, especially by one of the emperor’s murks.”
Hearthaven? I’d never heard of a Hearthaven before. That must mean…we’d made it to the Isles of Fable. Or at least, I’d made it. The Elding had come from nowhere and bashed the side of the ship. We’d been miles from any land. How had I even gotten here?
“This is one of the Isles, isn’t it?” I said to the elf. “How close are we to the Glass Peaks?”
He held on to his stony expression, but I didn’t miss the brief flash in his eyes—a hint of wariness. “Not close. You washed up on the wrong island.”
And then he turned to go.
Moonlight bathed his muscular form in silver. Tall and powerful, he looked like he could handle that sword well. It had been a long time since I’d seen an elf, and while they were known to be attractive, I didn’t remember them being quite this striking. It was unfortunate he didn’t have the personality or manners to match his looks.
With his back turned to me, I took the opportunity to sniff the air. No hint of dragon magic. Just smoke and leather and steel. And he was about to leave me stuck on this beach. I patted my waist where my small pouch had been. It was gone, along with all my coin, plus the satchel with my food, my clothes, my salt, and my protective tent. I wouldn’t get very far like this.
“That was my mother’s dagger,” I called after him.
I didn’t expect him to stop, but he did. Tensing, he glanced over his shoulder, his face hidden in shadows. “Your emperor can give her a new one to replace it.”
Pain pulsed in my hip.
The elf started walking away from me again. Narrowing my eyes, I jogged to keep up with him, my wet boots squishing with every step. “Look, I know you think I’m some kind of mercenary—”
“Aren’t you?” he cut in as he continued forward, not even casting a glance my way. “Or do you just wear the monster’s wolf sigil for a laugh?”
I bit the insides of my cheeks, noting his outright hostility. Truth be told, Isveig wasn’t particularly popular due to his conquest, even among the ice giants who’d remained in the North. But something in the tone of this elf’s voice prickled the back of my neck. He could be hiding something—the very thing I’d sailed here to find. Yes, I’d landed on the wrong island, but what if the dwarves were mistaken? What if the Draugr were in Hearthaven, and I’d already found my first one?
And so I chose my words carefully. “I’m not a mercenary. He makes everyone in Fafnir wear one of these.”
“A half-orc from Fafnir?” He stopped and arched a silver brow. “Then that must make you Daella Sigursdottir, the infamous tracer who roots out dragon magic. If that doesn’t make you a murk, then I don’t know what does.”
My cheeks flamed with heat. “At least you’ve heard of me. I can’t say the same for you.”
“Good.” He continued up the sloping beach, heading toward a copse of trees that backed up against the bank. I kept pace with him as we drew closer, and a thin dirt path cut through the looming woods. It occurred to me that I was about to follow a hostile elf who believed the worst of me, right into a dark forest. I was unarmed. He wasn’t.
But what else could I do? I had no coin, no shelter, no food.
And by the look of the pregnant clouds, rain could slash down from the sky at any moment. I didn’t want to be caught outside without my tent and my salt when it did.
“Well, you know my name. What’s yours?” I asked him in my much-practiced chirpy voice. As much as it pained me to lose my mother’s dagger, I couldn’t focus on those emotions right now. I had to bottle them up, like I always did.
To my surprise, the elf actually answered. “Rivelin.” He stopped at the edge of the path and narrowed his eyes. “Stop following me.”
“I’m not staying out here on the beach. It looks like it’s about to rain.”