“So?”
I fought to hold on to my smile. “I’m half-orc. My skin can’t tolerate fresh water, and I doubt it rains salt here like it does in Fafnir. Most places in the world don’t.”
“Perhaps you should have thought of that before sailing into the Elding so you could hunt down Draugr for your ice giant emperor.”
“Keep talking like that, and I’ll think you’re a Draugr yourself,” I quipped.
A low rumble sounded from his throat. “Fine. Follow me back to the village, but don’t expect any help. They’ll all feel the same as I do.”
“Why, because they’re Draugr, too?”
“Watch it,” he said, curling back his lips into a snarl. “This is a peaceful island, and we do not raise our weapons at each other—or at strangers, most of the time—but I will not hesitate to protect my people from your emperor and you. That doesn’t make us dragon magic users. It makes us free folk who do not bow to any crown.”
And with that, he took off into the trees. My heart pounding, I quickly followed him, breathlessness taking command of my lungs. It had been a long time since I’d heard someone speak so boldly against the emperor. Even the other Draugr I’d helped track down had rebelled in silent secrecy. They hid their truths behind closed lips and in dank, dark tunnels carved through the earth.
“If you’re dealing in dragon magic, then you’re far more dangerous than me,” I said, picking up my pace to slide in front of him. I spun on my heels and jogged back, watching his expression for any sign of a reaction.
But his face betrayed none of his thoughts. He stopped in the middle of the path, and his fisted hands hung heavily by his sides. With a snarl, he stalked toward me and came so close that barely a breath of air stood between us. Keeping his eyes locked on mine, he leaned in and exposed his neck to me. His tanned skin glistened from the dense humidity of this place.
“Go on, then. I know you half-orcs can smell Draugr.”
Swallowing, I sniffed his skin. Just as before, he was all leather and smoke, but nothing more. A twang went through my belly when he pulled back and smirked.
“See?” he said. “Nothing.”
He took a step closer to where I stood in the way, between the beach and wherever he was heading—his village, he’d said. A light wind blew across my face, rolling in from the angry sea just beyond the trees, rustling the leaves against the ground. I took him in with a lifted chin and refused to look away, even if he’d won this small battle. I didn’t trust him, and I didn’t believe for one moment that he wasn’t hiding something. Everything he’d said and done so far screamed rebellion.
And if I could prove it, I could spend the rest of my life free from Emperor Isveig. I could find an empty expanse of land, surrounded by woods and birdsong, and I could build a cabin there. Somewhere far, far away from Isveig, the ice giants, and that cramped tower so high above the earth and the soothing essence of the elemental Galdur magic.
I would be free.
I pasted on a smile. “Nothing. So all I need is somewhere to stay for the night, and then I’ll be on my way back to Fafnir. The emperor will be happy to know the Isles of Fable are free of dangerous criminals.”
He grunted. “The Isles of Fable?”
“That’s what the people of the Grundstoff Empire call this place. Does it have another name?” If I got him talking, perhaps he’d let something important slip.
“No, we just call them the Isles.” He made a move to step around me, but I followed this dance with a step of my own. “And as for you returning to Fafnir…unfortunately for everyone, you’re stuck for a while. It’s not safe to sail until the Elding passes on, so no ships will dock in our harbors for another six weeks—the day of Midsummer.”
My heart jerked. “Six weeks?”
My hip ached in sudden pain. The shard didn’t like the sound of that. It was cutting things too close. I had two months to return to Fafnir, although it was likely less by now. I didn’t know how long I’d been gone. And if I didn’t arrive in time, Isveig would release his control over the shard and allow it to freeze all the breath in my lungs.
“Trust me,” Rivelin said with a frown. “I’m no happier about this than you are. Playing host to one of Isveig’s murks is the last thing any of us here want.”
He took a step around me, and this time, I let him pass. My mind tried to make sense of this new information. If the Elding attacked the waters around this island for six long weeks, what did that mean for the fate of the others who had been on that ship? Where was Thuri?
As an ice giant, she’d have a far better time of it out there than me, but I’d been the only one to wash up on the shore of this island. There was no sign of her or the rest of Isveig’s warriors. Could she somehow have survived? If so, where was she?
We reached the end of the path only moments later. The woods fell away to reveal a bustling village, even with the storm brewing in the nighttime sky. Clusters of homes dotted lush, rolling fields blooming with a kaleidoscope of colorful flowers. The sweet scent of them drifted toward me on the wind, along with the lilting voice of a bard and his lute. Every window was bathed in light. Every front door was wreathed in vines and flowers. And every burst of laughter sounded genuine and full of life.
My chest felt hollow. That was how Fafnir Castle had sounded all those years ago.
“That’s the inn.” Rivelin led me toward a cheery timber building at the edge of the village. The bard’s upbeat song grew louder as we approached, as did the laughter and the cheers. The window boxes were overflowing with jasmines and tulips, and vines of wisteria crept up the side of the building toward the roof. I cocked my head. That was curious. Wisteria normally didn’t grow on hot, humid islands like this one.
Hinges creaked as the overhead sign swayed in the wind, stronger now than it had been only moments ago. I glanced up as it rattled. The Dreaming Dragon Inn.
I arched a brow. “Curious name.”
“Don’t get any wild ideas. It’s just a name.”
He turned just as the wind gusted my wet hair into my face. I swiped it aside and called after him, “Where are you going?”
“Home.” He nodded at the door. “You said you needed shelter. There you go.”
“I don’t have any coin.”
A slight smile curved his lips. “Not my problem. Good luck, murk.”
3
DAELLA
I frowned at Rivelin’s back. He waltzed off like he didn’t have a care in the world. The bastard. When he vanished around the corner, I turned to face the inn’s door, steeling myself and schooling my features back into a pleasant, agreeable expression. I wouldn’t talk my way into a free room if I stormed in there scowling at everyone.
The storm gusted against my back, and a haze of mist sprayed onto my skin. Pain licked across my bare arms. I hissed through my teeth. If I didn’t find shelter soon, I’d be in a world of hurt when those heavy clouds dumped their rain.
I grabbed the door handle and pushed inside. A cacophony of sound consumed me, snapping my attention away from the lingering pain. Despite being within a tiny village that couldn’t be home to more than three hundred folk, if that, the inn was packed. Lanterns spilled soft, cozy light across the oak tables that filled the center of the floor, angled toward a small stage along the far wall. A small, floppy-eared bard with a long ginger beard stood on top of a stool, thumping his foot in time with the tune he played on his lute.