Page 49 of Forged in Fading

The inn. The cursed room they shared. She had a hundred other places she would rather be, but nowhere else to go.

Chapter Nineteen

Knock knock. Alvara debated if it would be quicker to climb out the window or hide under the bed. If she didn’t, she might pummel the face that waited in the hallway.

“I’m sorry.” Damned Boden. “If you’d rather not let me in, then at least don’t let the sweets go to waste.”

What she really needed was a healthy pour of mulled ale, but more sugar would have to do. And the thought of him eating whatever sweets he had brought without her was almost worse than her real reason for being upset.

She creaked open the door bit by bit, letting him suffer the anticipation of what kind of Alvara would greet him. A crumpled version of Boden stood outside, looking like an ice fox someone had kicked to scare it away from their chickens.

Oh, damn it all. Alvara snatched the box from his hands and tossed herself back on the bed without closing the door.

“Dear gods, how many of these do you think I normally eat?” There had to be at least two dozen Jolval biscuits in her lap.

“I may have panicked. May I come in?”

“You do sleep here.” She sank her teeth into one of the desserts. If she were alone, she would have moaned at the impeccable majesty of each bite. Maybe she would eat all of them.

The mattress dipped beside her. “I truly am sorry, Alvara. I should have listened. You may not have noticed, but I have trouble keeping my mouth shut sometimes.”

She gave him a look to say, No shit, and dumped a biscuit in his hand.

“What’s happening to the demi-elves,” Boden said, “the humans—it’s everything to me. If other kingdoms cared even a little about their suffering, we might have been able to stop it years ago. But you were right.” His words lost any of their usual shine, becoming dim and cold like the world outside their room. “I hate that my position ruined our audience with the queen before it even began. I hate the terrible things I needed to do to keep myself in King Einar’s favor. But I hate most of all that she was right about me.”

Alvara chewed slowly. The nostalgic spices had started to calm the fire in the pit of her stomach. At least a small part of her had to admit that the queen seemed unlikely from the beginning to agree to any sort of alliance with Malva. And Boden aside, this probably would have been the outcome no matter what. Was Alvara mad at him, or at her queen for not doing whatever she could to protect her people?

She rubbed at a spot of jam on her finger. “This is my kingdom, my people. I understand your passion for the people you’re trying to help. It’s the same way I feel about Dalvi and Vorianta. But we had one chance, Boden. One chance to save them. And it’s gone.”

“It won’t outweigh my horrible mouth, but we may be able to convince King Ulivar to send some form of aid, even if Queen Myrithal would like no part in it.” He bit into the biscuit, and his eyes widened. “This is incredible.”

Alvara chuckled despite her sour mood. “Have you never had dessert before?”

“Ela focuses mostly on what they can grow, meaning their version of dessert is almost always just fresh fruit. Nothing as good as this.” Boden brushed a few crumbs off his tunic with a strange intensity. “You’ll stay, won’t you? Even if Malva isn’t willing to help.”

She had known it the moment news had come of the danger approaching Vorianta. “I have to.”

“Vitharen help those Elan soldiers. They can’t even fathom what they’ll face with you in the city.”

“I am quite intimidating, aren’t I?” Alvara snuck another biscuit from the box.

Boden tapped his cheek with a knowing smile. “Especially when you’re covered in the evidence of your obsession with sweets.”

She dragged her hand against her mouth through a thick glob of bright red jam. “You didn’t say anything? You’ve officially lost any ground you gained by bringing me biscuits!”

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

The forge. Alvara craved the heat and quiet of her second home. She would give anything to spend even a few minutes with Jalomir, whose presence had always calmed and grounded her in a way she hadn’t even realized she needed until it was gone.

But it wasn’t safe. She needed to keep her distance to avoid bringing harm to the people she cared about. But there was something they could do that would relieve the frustration building in her veins and winding up her muscles.

“I have an idea.”

They stood in a small gap in the trees, far enough from the inn to avoid unwanted sets of eyes. Alvara handed Boden a stick dusted with snow and pointed at him with the one she held in her own hands. She would have preferred a blade, but he would lose a finger in seconds.

Her body demanded to move, to burn off the rage that had only coiled tighter within her after a brief conversation with the councilors. They had agreed to approach King Ulivar for aid for Vorianta, but only if Alvara stayed behind to find out any information she could about the humans King Einar had sent. That alone had been acceptable, even a blessing, as it allowed her more time in her city.

What had blistered her pride was the insistence that Boden stay to keep an eye on her, because in Orme’s earsplitting words, “She can’t be trusted alone with the information she now has about Ilmanir.”