Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
The prospect of training with someone other than Boden brought a fresh wave of excitement, until Alvara realized who had been assigned to her.
Ravanel.
She couldn’t fathom why no one else had any interest in spending time around someone who could slice their throat with an errant thought.
Though with how little he spoke and how much he likely still wanted to throttle her, she doubted he had any interest in training her either. Boden had likely made him because of his ability to absorb magic, but at least she was less likely to blast him into pieces than the others.
An uncontrolled shower of snow hit a nearby trunk, and Alvara glared at the tree she had been aiming for, its dark bark still untouched by her magic. Her ties with her powers had grown stronger, but her use of it was still erratic and generally unsuccessful. “How do you do this?”
Ravanel looked at her like she had grown an extra head. “Magic?”
“Yes, obviously. We’ve barely spoken two words to each other. What else could I be talking about?”
He withered her to dust with his gaze. “It comes naturally to me.”
“I really did mean it when I said I was sorry for what I did to Kat. I’m trying my best to learn to control my magic, so it never happens again.”
“I’m here for Boden, not you. He’s too damn nice.”
Boden. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what would happen to that poor elf.
What Boden would let happen to her. “Nice? He only seems to help himself.” Alvara launched another flurry of flakes, much stronger than she had intended, but a vicious wind turned its direction, and it splattered her in the face. Damn these males and their magic.
She plopped herself into the snow and wiped the sleet from her eyes, the cold tingling against her skin. “How do you know each other?”
He crossed his arms as his gaze skimmed the tree line. “Ela.”
Gods, it was like trying to have a conversation with Pyry. A small pang of guilt lodged itself in Alvara’s gut—hopefully he was safe. “And?”
“My father is part of King Ulivar’s council. We visited Ela often when I was younger. I met Boden in the palace.”
“So, you saw what he did for the king, and it didn’t bother you?”
“He does what he has to.”
Alvara huffed, and a strong breeze rustled the trees.
“Keep whatever thoughts you have to yourself if you want to continue training.”
Want was a strong word for how Alvara felt about her magic, but she kept her mouth shut. Improving her control of it was the only way to ensure she could stay and continue her sister’s work.
While Alvara’s control improved slightly over the next few days, her interactions with Ravanel did not. He only spoke when necessary and ignored any questions she posed that were unrelated to their training.
Meanwhile, the reports of human attacks in Dalvi only multiplied. Each whisper of the suffering sank another stone in Alvara’s stomach. Someone had to warn her people that this was just a grander part of King Einar’s plan—it was only going to get worse.
After a long day of somewhat productive training with Ravanel and muscle-numbing work at the forge, Alvara headed to the food hall.
Not that she felt like eating much anyway, but her body needed it.
Between training, blacksmithing, and finding small moments to practice her combat forms, Alvara’s body had never been more sore.
She pried open the door with aching fingers and slipped inside the deliciously warm building with every intention of grabbing a plate of food and making a quick escape to eat alone in her tiny room.
But a cheery voice rang out from one of the tables.
She ducked her head as if that would somehow hide her gray hair among the other elves.
“Alvara! Eat with us!”
Kat. Alvara gripped her plate. Would it look terrible if she dashed out the door? Instead, she dragged herself to the table where Kat, Ravanel, and a few others she didn’t recognize sat.
“How are you?” Alvara asked, the words coming out stiff. Small talk had never been her strength.
Ravanel snorted, and Kat threw him a glare. “Back to patrols at all hours of the day. Always busy. How has training been going?”
Alvara looked to Ravanel, who suddenly busied himself with drinking an alarming amount of water.
“Fine,” she said, and turned her attention to her food.
A simple dish of roast chicken, potatoes, and some kind of off-putting bitter green.
She lifted a forkful to her mouth, and the bland flavors melded on her tongue.
She missed home.
Aromatic spices punched each Dalvian dish with flavor that would warm any stomach on a cold day. She glanced up to find Kat’s gaze focused on her, even as the other elves chatted away.
“It’s the spices, right? Eloisa had the same complaint. If you want, there’s somewhere I’d love to take you after dinner.”
As everyone filtered out of the hall into the frosty air, Kat hooked her arm through Alvara’s and tugged her toward an unknown part of the city.
“I want to show you the market. The food here never bothered me, but Eloisa became somewhat of a regular at Ilona’s stall. Ilona loved her. Well, everyone did.”
A regular? Eloisa must have spent significant time in Malva, probably traveling to other kingdoms too. She hadn’t just lived in Ela. “Did you know her well? My sister.” So strange, learning these little facts, tiny pieces of a puzzle that she hadn’t even known existed a few weeks ago.
“We were really close, and no one could make me laugh like she could.” Kat let out a small chuckle of her own.
“She was so full of life. I always thought her heart must’ve been enormous for how much she cared for everyone she met.
It feels good, knowing I’m continuing what she faded for.
It’s what she would have wanted.” She paused as a bustling market came into view.
Stalls upon stalls stood before them, filled with mouthwatering breads and cheeses, luxurious fabrics and clothing, exquisite paintings and pottery.
Elves from every kingdom except Alvara’s sold their goods, their clashing voices vying with each other for the most attention.
The sweetness of Elan fruits, the briny and, in Alvara’s opinion, disgusting smell of Valonian fish, the rich hues of Nyrian art, and the crunch of Malvan sap candy in the mouths of customers roaming about—it was all an assault on her senses, enough to make her want to scamper back to the food hall.
“Or at least I think this is what Eloisa would have wanted.” Kat sniffed a bottle of perfume and cringed, tongue out. “I don’t know, communing with the faded has never really been a pastime of mine. I’ve thought about it, but it seems like too much work.”
“I would ask Eloisa where she put my favorite dress she borrowed.” The jest felt flat, odd on Alvara’s tongue. “She was…”
“Everything.” Kat fiddled with the stopper of another bottle.
“I feel the same way. But good news, if you like dresses, they have some pretty ones here, mostly black. That seems to be a Malvan thing, I swear Rav doesn’t wear any other colors.
” Her eyes lit up. “Spices!” She pushed Alvara toward a small stall, smattered with an array of colors, like the canvases Eloisa had loved painting.
The piles of powders and dried herbs were almost too many to count, the mix of exotic smells creating an unpleasant feeling in Alvara’s stomach.
She had some coin on her from the small amount Sithuren insisted she take for her work, even though she was receiving free food and shelter. Spices weren’t exactly what she would choose to spend it on, but she could think of nothing more awkward than leaving the market without buying something.
The elf working the stall, a short female with rich brown skin, smiled at Alvara, and her light gold eyes crinkled at the corners. “Dalvian? You aren’t…”
“Eloisa’s sister.” Kat picked up a small packet and dangled it in front of her face with a curious look.
“Let me guess, you’ve discovered the lifelessness of the food here. Aurilena stops by quite often too, though for hotter Valonian spices. Anything in particular you’re looking for?”
Alvara leaned closer to a heap of a red spice she didn’t recognize and sniffed it, and the sharp aroma of some kind of pepper prickled her nose. She had only come here to appear pleasant and friendly, but she might as well find a few things to make meals more enjoyable. “Kardevar might be useful.”
The vendor tapped her finger on a small bottle filled with light brown powder.
“I don’t have much of it, since we tend not to see Dalvians around here, especially since Eloisa—” She cleared her throat and adjusted the signs planted in the mounds of powders filling her stall. “But it should last you a while.”
“How much?”
Ilona placed the spice in Alvara’s hand and closed her fingers around the bottle. “Nothing. Take it, in memory of your sister.”
Alvara swallowed and pocketed the small taste of home.
They left the market not long after, following a path toward the heart of the city with Kat chattering the whole way. Everywhere Alvara looked, elves hurried to their houses, likely to spend the rest of the evening with their loved ones. She forced herself to look away, her throat tight.
“Thank you.” She and Kat had stopped outside the door to her building, where they housed newcomers to the city who had nowhere else to go. Her room wasn’t much, but it was a safe place to sleep, or at least try to, and that was all she really needed.
“Of course. If you need anything, I’m always here.
Lena and Boden are both gone most of the time spying or whatever it is they do, and Rav is busy helping his father so he can learn how to take over his position one day.
It’s nice to have another friend around.
” With a wave, Kat skipped off into the night, leaving Alvara to climb the steps to her room and ready herself for another nighttime battle for rest.
Friend. Alvara wasn’t sure how Kat considered her a friend after she had almost killed her and been a very poor partner in conversation, but the word felt good. Warm. Kat helped her feel less alone in this place that felt so foreign.
She had enjoyed it, existing next to someone else, talking about nothing of importance. Except Eloisa.
Kat seemed more than able to remember her sister with fondness instead of all-consuming pain, a skill Alvara wasn’t even close to mastering.
She had thought Eloisa to be her best friend, her closest confidant, and yet Alvara was starting to discover she knew her less than the local pig farmer.
Maybe he was leading a double life too, farmer by day, bandit by night.
All Alvara knew was she didn’t know anything anymore.