Chapter 2 #2
Perhaps Eloisa and Jalomir were right. There was little harm in approaching the journey with a small dose of optimism. She would make the best of what was to come.
“Pyry, I’m going to run you off the road if you don’t stop whistling.” Alvara ground her teeth. He had started when they left early that morning, and it was almost midday. It was enough to drive any person mad.
He stopped and glanced at her sidelong, lifting a wheat-colored brow.
Alvara huffed and adjusted her hat to cover her ears, stinging from the cold.
The ride had been mostly smooth so far, thanks to Pyry’s magic flattening the piles of snow on the road, though it was fairly limited since he was born at the height of malva instead of during their kingdom’s season.
His powers would likely give out soon, even during dalvi, when Dalvian magic grew stronger.
Quiet lingered, save for the horses’ hooves crashing into the icy ground.
Blinding sunlight reflected off the glittering frost, and the long shadows cast by the surrounding forest did nothing to relieve Alvara’s watery eyes.
It would be at least another few hours until they reached the edge of the kingdom.
Their Dalvian steeds may have been bred for these conditions, but they would need to rest soon.
Not to mention, Alvara’s backside was already tender. She would have preferred a reindeer-pulled sleigh complete with blankets and food, but that would only prolong the trip.
“We should stop. The horses need a break,” she said, shifting her position in the saddle.
Pyry only nodded and guided his horse off the path. He hadn’t said a word since meeting her that morning, though she hadn’t minded. It was nothing unusual for a Dalvian elf. Their people were hewn from the mountains they called home—steadfast, slow to change, and about as emotional as rocks.
And then there was Alvara, whose own emotions often wrestled with her for control and won, until Pyry.
He’d taught her to shut away any feelings that served no greater purpose.
And in spite of their past, he had come all this way to accompany her.
If there were ever a time to be civil, it would be now.
“Thank you for coming.” She nibbled at a stringy piece of dried meat, wishing it were a raisin-studded bun instead.
He dipped his head without comment, and his long blond hair tumbled in front of his face.
“Did you actually need to travel to Ela?”
Pyry rubbed at the reins in his hands. “You know how Jalomir is.”
“You’ve always been good at avoiding my questions.”
He gave her that look. The one that said, Why can’t you leave it alone? “No, I didn’t need to travel to Ela.”
Then why come? He hadn’t bothered with her in years, yet he had agreed to a one-on-one journey with her out of nowhere. But Alvara was a coward, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the truth. It might only tear open old wounds. “How’s the forge?”
He patted his horse’s side. “Same as always. Busy.”
“And your mother?” Alvara hadn’t seen her since she had moved away from Vorianta, after Pyry’s father had passed.
“Alva.”
The sound of her nickname on his tongue flooded her with memories of a time when life had been easier, less complicated. When she had been someone different. Her mother had always preferred her full name, and since her loss, Alvara had shed the shortened version like a second skin.
“Alva,” Pyry said. “Just ask.”
Damn him. She had forgotten how well they had truly known each other. “Fine, why are you here? We parted ways, Pyry, you made sure of that. This is just strange.”
“Jalomir asked. Knowing you might travel all this way alone…if something had happened…I needed to come.”
Ah. The root of his smothering overprotective side. Though what happened to his father had been no one’s fault—it could have happened to anyone in the seediest sector of the city, but she knew better than to say as much. “I would have been fine. You know I always carry a weapon on me.”
“Trust me, I know you do. It doesn’t matter. I’m here.”
And he sounded about as pleased with it as she was. “Let’s get back on the road. We should make it to the border a little after dark.”
After a less than restful night in a tiny inn near Dalvi’s border and another full day of riding, they arrived in the Nyrian capital, Revamor, where the air lacked the bitter tinge of the winds of Alvara’s homeland and instead carried the smell of damp soil.
Alvara dismounted from her horse and stretched her fingers to her toes with a groan, only to look directly into the brown eyes of a wolverine.
A grinning wolverine. Damn shapeshifters.
Surely just to aggravate her further, the animal transformed back into its elf form: a striking female with wavy copper hair and ivory skin marked with white tattoos, her full mouth pulled into a smirk as she strutted toward the city.
“Maybe don’t come near a stable full of nervous animals in your shifter form. Just a thought,” Alvara called after her. The female bared her teeth over her shoulder, and Alvara wrinkled her nose.
“Alva, please.” Pyry sighed and extended her pack.
She snatched it from his hands. “Let’s find somewhere to stay.”
The local inn, much larger than the last, boasted vibrant murals of various birds on the outer stone walls: the bright orange chests of robins, the red-tipped heads of woodpeckers, the pale brown wings of warblers.
Some clung to sturdy branches, while others were only a blur of color, mid-flight to some faraway destination.
If Alvara got her hands on some paint, she could add a small ice bear to the design, and surely no one would notice.
Though Eloisa would have been the one to entrust with that task.
She could have re-painted an entire swathe of the city to match the rest of the buildings crawling with drawings of woodland creatures, and it easily would have been the most captivating in the kingdom.
The art and creativity here would have filled her with such awe.
Alvara tripped over something soft, and a hissing lynx swatted at her with its paws. She bit back a scream and hurried into the building that was hopefully devoid of shapeshifters.
A plump and cheery elf greeted them as they entered, and Alvara did her best to not gawk at the white animals marked in ink on the left side of the female’s face. Nyrians were all obsessed with tattoos, even though only those born on a full moon in their season could shift.
“One room?” the female asked with a smile.
Oh gods, no. That would be Alvara’s worst nightmare. “Two, please.”
The owner peered over her shoulder at Pyry, who dutifully ignored her. She slid two worn keys across the counter and spoke in a whisper. “Do lock your doors while you’re here, dove. People’ve been tellin’ me of human attacks nearby. Wouldn’t want anythin’ to happen to you and your seluri.”
Alvara practically vomited at the idea of her and Pyry being soul-bonded.
It showed just how little the Nyrian elf knew of Dalvi—neither she nor Pyry wore bracelets of any kind, let alone something as sacred as a bond bracelet.
She thanked the owner, doing her best not to slip in her wet boots on her way up the stairs to their rooms.
Attacks? She had heard of humans in their lands, though she had never seen one in Vorianta.
It made no sense for them to strike elves in Nyr, beyond the barrier protecting the human realm—Mennahem, as her father would insist she call it—from elven magic.
Though the ancient names for the realms of the five races had mostly fallen out of use since the creation of the magic barrier.
Unable to use their powers in other lands, many elves had no desire to travel far from home.
Maybe the owner was prone to hysterics. Alvara would be too if she didn’t know whether someone was going to turn into a beast at any moment.
The prospect of a warm meal and a bath alone washed away the last of her concerns, leaving Alvara to dream of home.