Page 25 of Forged in Fading

Entranced by the gleaming molten metal, Alvara twisted the tongs, letting the flames lick up the sides.

“Are you here to work or daydream?” The blacksmith, Sithuren, was an older elf with little to no patience.

She pulled the tongs from the forge and placed what would eventually become a sword on the anvil. “Sorry. It’s just been a long couple of days.” Her hammer collided with the metal, the impact ringing through her weary bones.

Sithuren set the blade he held down. “Metal won’t speak, one of the many reasons I spend my days surrounded by it. But it also won’t heal you. No matter how many sins and sorrows you see in its reflection. Only time will.” The blacksmith resumed his work as if he hadn’t just spewed ancient wisdom.

Unfortunately for her, time had a way of rotting her wounds. At least metal had always left her in peace. Until recently.

The forge felt empty, wrong without Jalomir and his comforting presence. Like a dagger strapped to your hip, whose power and purpose you didn’t realize until the day came when you needed it, and it was gone.

Days had passed, and Alvara was no closer to summoning her magic than she was to becoming lifelong friends with Lermi.

“Are you even trying?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before staring ahead at the teacher, who was deep in a demonstration of something to do with wind, as always. “I want to be here even less than you want me to.”

He leaned closer to Alvara and whispered in her ear, “We’re taking bets on how long it’ll take you to wield. I put ten coins on a year.”

Her mouth hung open. “A year? I’m not that pathetic.”

“I would’ve said longer, but I figure you only have a few good years left, seeing as you’re at least four hundred⁠—”

“Four hundred?” she shrieked. The teacher paused, pursing her lips in Alvara’s direction, who lifted a hand in apology. Younglings always possessed the uncanny ability to find someone’s weakest points and poke them until the person cracked.

“What are you doing here anyway?”

A fair question she had asked herself on a regular basis since arriving.

“Why? Because I’m casting shadows on your moonlight?”

Lermi cringed. “Everyone stopped saying that ten years ago.” He lowered his voice. “You’re old and obviously not from here. Why Malva?”

She owed no explanation to anyone, let alone Lermi, yet some wounded part of her pride prodded her, and she felt the foolish desire to prove herself. “King Einar killed my family.”

“Oh.” Lermi whirled the leaf in front of him in windy circles. “He took my mother.”

Any words on Alvara’s tongue dried to dust. She wished she had the right thing to say to ease the pain, but she didn’t even know how to stop hers. “Will you show me how you aim your magic so well?”

Life filled Lermi’s eyes again, and he jabbered away about the best methods for harnessing and directing magic. Alvara probably should have been listening, but her mind kept drifting back to his mother. How many lives had King Einar taken?

He needed to be stopped.

Chapter Ten

Alvara left the forge at the same time as Sithuren later that week, not wanting to appear lazy or ungrateful. She did so every day, even when the very sound of the metal made her grit her teeth so hard, she was surprised they hadn’t chipped.

She spotted a figure off in the distance arguing with a guard inside the safety of the city wall. Her curiosity piqued, Alvara sauntered toward the conflict, and something about the elf’s demeanor poked at her memory. As soon as she came close enough to see his face, Alvara froze.

Boden.

That godsdamned bastard. He was probably here to capture her and drag her back to Ela. The day she let that happen would be the day Vitharen came back to life.

She rushed toward the gate and knocked Boden to the ground with a sudden blast of ice. The show of controlled magic stunned both him and the guards (and herself, if she was being honest), and she leapt on top of his body and pinned him with her knees, her father’s dagger at his throat. She dug hard enough that a line of blood dripped down his neck.

“Lovely to see you too,” he muttered, lifting his hands back in mock surrender. “Though if you would kindly put away your dagger, I’d rather not stain my favorite shirt.”

“Alvara!” Aurilena clamped her hands around Alvara’s shoulders and tugged her off him. “What in Helvahem do you think you’re doing?” she asked as she pulled Boden to his feet.