I’d just have to be smarter than him. Shouldn’t be hard.
A peal of thunder shook through the skies, and the clouds opened up. Buckets of rain fell in sheets. I scrabbled back, pressing my body as close to the stable wall as I could, but it was no use.
The wind sprayed the water over me like a thousand shards of glass. Pain consumed my body, stealing my breath away. I fisted my hands and gritted my teeth, flinching with every blast of water against my skin. Unwanted tears burned my eyes, and I twisted my face to the side, if only to give one cheek a brief respite from the blinding pain.
It had been five years since I’d felt freshwater rain on my skin. I’d done so well these past years avoiding it, always carrying a tent and salt with me everywhere. And in Fafnir, it only rained salt water.
Moments passed in excruciating torment. My blood roared in my ears as the rain lashed and lashed at my skin. Shuddering, I peeled open my eyes and risked a glance at the sky. An inky black consumed the world overhead, only occasionally shot through with bursts of lightning that revealed the heavy clouds. They’d barely moved an inch. This storm wouldn’t end for a good long while.
I was soaked through now, and rivulets of water ran down my back, driving a wedge between my leather armor and my skin. My entire body burned. I choked out a cry. It was too much. As strong as I was, I couldn’t handle this.
Rivelin’s words echoed in my ears. He’d offered me a place to stay, at least for the night. Everything within me flinched away from the thought, but I couldn’t stay out here like this. The rain might not kill me, but it could weaken me, leaving behind angry red welts that wouldn’t heal for weeks. And if I was too ill to hunt down the Draugr, then I’d have no hope of escaping my gilded cage.
And so I pushed up onto my trembling legs and half-ran, half-stumbled down the road. The village was silent now, the windows dark. Everyone had gone home to their warm and dry beds to wait out the storm, though I spotted movement behind the curtains in a few buildings I passed. Nevertheless, I made it to the blacksmith shop and I crawled up the steps, my mind nearly numb from the pain.
I raised my fist to knock, but the door swung open before my knuckles made contact. Rivelin leaned against the doorframe, folded his arms, and smirked.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he said. “Have you come to peddle your murk services? If so, I’m afraid I’m not interested.”
Another gust of wind hurtled the rain against my back. I stumbled forward a step, hissing in pain.
“Please don’t make me beg,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll take the bed. Just for one night. I need to get out of this rain.”
His eyes flashed with something resembling concern, but that was likely my delirium. He opened the door wider. “It’s yours. Come inside.”
I stumbled into the elf’s home, and that was when the scent of dragons struck me.
6
DAELLA
I ’d know that smell anywhere. It had dogged my every step as a child. It had followed me into my dreams—and my worst nightmares. It was sulphur and spice, dust and cooked meat, salt water and leather. A unique combination of scents that only dragons and Draugr carried with them—or had, once, when they’d been alive. Emperor Isveig called my sensitivity to that smell my special power, though most orcs could scent a dragon from miles away. To us, it was more than a scent. It was a feeling—a thudding in our hearts.
The smell had always called to me, though I hated it.
I tried not to react, which was fairly easy when the pain of the rainfall still consumed every inch of me. The water had soaked through my clothes now, and all the salt water from the ocean had been washed away, leaving nothing but the blaze.
Rivelin glanced at my hands. My skin was growing redder by the moment. Without another word, he handed me a towel and a dry pair of nightclothes: soft linen trousers in an emerald green with a matching tunic. By the look of them, they were clearly women’s garments.
“Why do you have this?” I said with a shudder, my jaw still clenched from the unyielding pain.
“Don’t worry about that now. Just go get changed.” He motioned to a closed door at the end of a short hallway. I stumbled forward, barely taking in the rest of the home. All I could focus on was my feet—on one step in front of the other. Shaking, I shoved inside the room.
The scent of dragons grew stronger, but I barely paid it any attention. I tossed the fresh trousers on the bed, wriggled out of my wet clothes, and breathed in a ragged breath of relief. My hands shook as I toweled off the rain. With every brush of the fabric against my skin, the pain faded until it was nothing more than a dull ache. My skin was still red, but no welts had formed yet. I’d likely feel fine in the morning.
Thanks to the elf.
I pulled on the soft nightclothes and then took a moment to look around the room. It reeked of sulphur, so strongly that there was no doubt in my mind Rivelin had been in contact with a dragon or a Draugr not that long ago. A day at most. Maybe two.
Curious, since all the dragons were dead.
The room itself was sparsely decorated. A small bed took up most of the space, covered in periwinkle sheets and a patchwork quilt faded by sun and time. Beside it sat a single nightstand that held a glowing lantern and a leather-bound book. A storage chest at the foot of the bed was the only other piece of furniture.
A knock sounded on the door, startling me. I pressed down the front of the nightclothes and tried to look nonchalant, though I wasn’t the one hiding something.
“Everything all right?” Rivelin called out through the door.
I cleared my throat. “Yes, I’m dressed now. You can come in.”
The door swung wide, and Rivelin stepped into the bedroom. His eyes glowed as they trailed across me, and a strange heat filled my cheeks. I folded my arms, suddenly all too aware the shirt was pale and thin. I’d pulled off my undergarments along with everything else. Could he see through the material?
“Grab your wet clothes and follow me,” he said in a gruff voice.
I frowned at his tone but used the towel to gather my clothes from where I’d piled them on the floor, then followed him back down the hallway. We came to a large living space I’d only seen a glimpse of on my way inside. Unlike the bedroom, furniture and knickknacks filled the room, along with a cozy sofa, a ruggedly constructed desk, an armchair, and a woven rug. A fire blazed in the hearth, spilling heat across my chilled body.
Rivelin took my clothes from my arms and went over to a rack beside the hearth. He hung them without a word, carefully arranging them like he’d done this very thing a hundred times before. Everything about this moment struck me as odd, especially his gentle actions and this cheery room, so unlike the man he’d shown himself to be—so far, anyway.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I asked, finally cutting through the silent tension.
“I’m not being nice.” He turned to face me. The orange flames splashed light onto one side of his face, leaving the other half hidden in shadow. “I just didn’t want your clothes dripping water all over my floor. It’ll warp the wood.”
Of course. “Such a gentleman.”
“This is the living space,” he said, ignoring my quip. He pointed at an archway leading to the rear side of the building. “Through there is the kitchen and the pantry, though I’m not much of a cook. You’ve seen the bedroom already.”