Page 21 of Forged in Fading

“I did lock you in a dungeon, just as you said. One free night in a terrible inn with what is undoubtedly going to be inedible food makes us even, I think.”

He wasn’t incorrect when it came to the rooms—hers was barely large enough to fit a mattress as thick as three sheets of paper, along with a rickety side table that looked like it might splinter under the weight of the candle nub on top of it.

Alvara sat on the bed, pulled out her father’s dagger, and watched the moonlight dance along its blade. He was gone. If she had visited him earlier, maybe she could have stopped it. Instead, she had been too entrenched in her own burdens to summon the energy to take care of the only family she had left. And now she had lost him too.

A quick knock meant the arrival of food, which she sorely needed but had no appetite for. Yet when she looked up, Boden stood in the doorway, not the inn owner.

He laid the steaming plate of mush beside her. “I didn’t dare ask what it was.”

She chose not to respond, hoping he would understand the silent request to leave her in peace. But Boden lingered, his gaze fixed on her father’s dagger. The weapon weighed heavy in her hands.

“Were you close?”

She wouldn’t speak of him. Couldn’t. It would only fester the wound and weaken her already withering soul. Alvara set the weapon on the table and dragged the tines of her fork through the food next to her, a generous word for the sticky substance.

After Eloisa and her mother’s fadings, she could barely eat for weeks, the pain of their losses sending her stomach into cramping or nausea fits. Her gut roiled with the same affliction as a waft of butter reached her nose.

“With your father,” Boden added, as if his first question wasn’t clear enough.

“I know who you meant.”

He picked up the plate and placed it in her lap. “A meal and a decent night of sleep will do wonders, I promise. Good night, Alvara.”

Even the tasteless meal and scratchy blanket couldn’t fend off her exhaustion, though the sleep that claimed her was anything but restful. Her dreams were hazy, soaked with blood and the wails of fading spirits. Her father, crying out for help that would never come.

Taking his very last breath.

Alone.

Chapter Eight

Muffled voices filtered through the walls. Alvara’s fingers scoured the bedside table for her weapon. It could be other guests that had stayed the night, or someone searching for her. With the obscurity of the village and limited appeal of the inn, one was more likely than the other.

She tiptoed to the door, forced to put more faith in the rusty hinges than she would have liked, and cracked it open to investigate.

“I did exactly as he asked,” Boden said, his tone aggressive in a way Alvara hadn’t yet heard. It only made her squeeze the handle of her dagger tighter. “Alfris Himren is gone, and as we suspected, she came to the house and discovered his body. I couldn’t bring her directly to Ela without raising her suspicions. The deviation from the plan was necessary.”

The floorboards groaned as if they were already tired of this interaction. “Where is she?”

Boden clicked his tongue. “You still don’t trust me? What a pity, I thought we were making great strides in our friendship.”

“Tell us where the Himren female is.”

“She ate up my lies and accompanied me here with hardly any convincing. Return her to the palace yourself if you’d like—it will save me the trouble.” Boden yawned. “That is, if you haven’t already alerted her of your presence with your blaring voices.”

Out. Alvara needed out. She wasn’t going back to Ela, not with them. Her only option was the window, low enough to the ground that she might drop down without breaking any bones. The shutters swung open with a low whine, and she landed with a thud.

Her limbs stung as she staggered to the stable, which was thankfully empty of all life at this early hour, other than the horses that whinnied at her approach. She untied all but her own with unsteady fingers and sent them running with smacks to their rumps. It might buy her time she desperately needed.

She saddled her own mount, clambered on, and flew away with a snap of the reins, her heart roaring so loudly she wouldn’t have been surprised if it woke the entire town. She would head toward Malva, although Boden, damn him, had been the one to tell her about the safety of its capital, Ilmanir, which meant it was probably far from it. But Dalvi was dangerous, and she wouldn’t waste time pondering her own stupidity in trusting him.

She would follow the changing trees, relying on the landscape and warming air to guide her toward the Malvan capital for now.

One thing pulsed as clear as the first star in a moonlit night: If Boden ever dared to set foot near her again, he would regret it. She would make sure of it.

The woods in Malva were devoid of any life, not a single leaf or needle to be found on the trees that passed in a blur, and their faded branches only reminded her of the possible fate that likely followed closely behind her. White powder decorated them, the only adornment other than a few birds that watched Alvara with curious eyes, as if to ask why in Dalviri’s name she was wandering in their woods in the heart of the coldest season.

A falcon called out, its voice high and shrill. Alvara’s horse froze in place, ears alert and body rigid.