Grinning wildly, he spun on the stool. His booming voice went sharp when his gaze landed on my face. Suddenly, the music stopped, and every single eye in the room turned my way.
I beamed at them all, swallowing down the hitch in my throat. I was used to the scrutiny. Every time I left my tower, people whispered and stared.
There goes the emperor’s pet orc.
Truth be told, that was probably what everyone here was thinking too. If Rivelin knew who I was, there was no doubt the others in this village would as well. Even if my reputation didn’t precede me, it was difficult for us orcs to blend in these days. There were far too few of us left, and the entire known world knew it.
I lifted my hand in a little wave. “Hello. Which one of you is the owner?”
“That’d be me.” A shadow demon called out from behind the bar as she folded her arms on top of a wooden keg. Horns curved from the top of her head, much like Isveig’s, though hers were a deep, impenetrable black. A soft darkness gathered against her pale skin, pulsing with every beat of her heart. Unease whispered down my spine. Well, this was certainly unexpected. Isveig hated demons. Theirs was the only kingdom left in the land of the folk that he had not conquered, though he’d tried.
I walked over to the bar, my boots still squishing from the salt water logged inside the leather. The whole room remained silent, and the weight of everyone’s gaze was enough to make me shudder.
“I’m just passing through,” I said to her as quietly as I could. “I’d like a room for the night.”
“Is that so?” Her midnight eyes flicked to the emperor’s sigil on my shoulder. “Got any gold, or do you only have that fancy ice coin of Isveig’s? I’d also take a bag of Galdur sand, if you have any. We don’t get much of that around here.”
A few murmurs rose and fell like waves. I fought the urge to glance over my shoulder. Galdur sand was more prized than gold, due to its rarity. It could be one of four kinds: Fildur for fire, Vatnor for water, Vindur for air, or Jordur for earth. Anyone could use the sand to harness the elemental magic of the world, but you had to find some first. Not even Isveig had much of it.
“I’m afraid I have none of those things,” I said. “Everything I had got lost in the Elding. My ship was destroyed, and I washed up on shore here, and—”
“No coin, no room.”
My heart sank, but her response had been expected. “You can put me to work. I’ll wash dishes or serve ale or sweep up crumbs. Anything you need, I’ll do. I have nowhere else to go. My ship—”
She gave me a wicked smile, leaned forward, and shot a strand of shadow toward me. “No coin, no room.”
I nodded. “All right. That’s fair, I suppose.”
Hiding my disappointment, I turned back toward the rest of the room. Everyone instantly sprang into action, returning to their conversations and their ale. The dwarf plucked his lute and dragged his gaze from my face before breaking out into a tune about the trolls in the distant mountains. I wandered over to the nearest table. There was an open spot at the end of the bench, next to a group of elves.
The shadow demon owner appeared beside me the moment I sat.
“You’ve got to be a paying customer to take up space at this table.” She motioned at the rest of the bustling room. “It’s a busy time of year for the village of Wyndale, and we’ve got a lot of visitors who want drink, food, and seats. Paying visitors.”
I blew out a breath of frustration. “Please. It’s about to storm, and I have nowhere else to go.”
“No coin, no table.”
“Fine.” I shoved up from the bench. Now that she was no longer leaning against a keg, the shadow demon towered over me, and darkness seemed to stretch toward me. A tremor went down my spine at the dangerous look in her eye. “I’ll just wait out the storm in the corner, and then I’ll leave.”
She smiled. “No coin, no corner.”
I swallowed. No matter what I said, she wasn’t going to let me stay inside this inn. Even if I had coin, I doubted she would have given me food and a room. Everyone in this place saw me for what I was: a servant of their enemy. And so I did the only thing I could. I held my head high and walked toward the door, where the brewing storm was waiting.
I didn’t blame her. Not even a little. They shouldn’t trust me, especially if my suspicions were true. Because I would not hesitate to turn every last one of them over to Emperor Isveig. My freedom for theirs.
As I shoved through the door, I blinked back the tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks. There was no reason for me to feel ashamed of it—no reason for that guilt clawing at my heart. Dragon magic was a volatile, wicked thing. It was too dangerous. I’d seen the ramifications of its power. I knew exactly what horrors it wrought.
Draugr had killed my mother and father. And so I would help Isveig stop them from killing anyone else.
4
RIVELIN
“W e knew Isveig would send someone eventually,” Haldor said from where he leaned against the door with crossed arms. He looked far too at ease about this whole thing. The little murk could ruin everything. But he hadn’t seen her, not like I had. She’d looked like a drowned rat, gasping for air, but even then, I hadn’t missed the strength and confidence in the way she carried herself. Daella Sigursdottir couldn’t have survived in this world by being anything short of spectacular.
And she needed to get the fuck out of my village.
Odel, a bubbly pixie with deep brown skin, black curly hair, and fluttering pink wings, pranced over to Haldor and shoved a finger into his chest. “You seem to be forgetting something. The opening ceremony for the Midsummer Games is tomorrow. We can’t have one of Isveig’s pets here for that.”
“It’s fine,” he drawled, arching a bushy brow the color of flames, much like his hair and skin. As a fire demon, everything about him ran hot, except his temper. I’d never before met a fire demon, or anyone else for that matter, who could remain unruffled in the face of anything the world could throw at him.
It was one of the reasons the people of Wyndale had chosen him to be a part of the Village Council, along with me, for my unmatched skill with the blade, and Odel, for her cleverness. Together, we’d kept this village thriving for fourteen good years. And I was not about to let our people lose out on a fifteenth one because of a pesky murk.
“How is it fine?” I frowned, bracing my fists on the small meeting table set up in the back of the Wyndale Village Hall. Several lanterns illuminated the carvings on the wall—relics left behind by the humans who had called this village home centuries before. They’d abandoned it now. “She’ll return to Fafnir and tell her emperor about the Games, and then he’ll send a fleet of ships here to conquer us. As soon as he learns what this island can do, he’ll want a piece of it.”
“No, not a piece,” Odel corrected. “He’ll want the whole damn thing.”
“Because if Isveig is anything,” I continued, “it’s a conqueror.”
Haldor held up his hands. “All right. Let’s just think this through. What, exactly, did she say to you when you found her on that beach?”