Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
The next morning, with horses prepared and three members of the council chosen, the group readied themselves to leave. Alvara climbed onto her steed, already dreading multiple days in the saddle.
Boden spoke to his mother and sister a few paces away, Lilja’s jade green eyes reddened yet again as a waterfall of tears spilled out. He tugged her into his arms, and she buried her face in his chest, muffling her sobs.
This moment was private, something Alvara had no right to witness, so she combed her horse’s mane with her fingers, debating if he would like her weaving it into delicate patterns.
“Good luck!” Kat jogged toward her, as if she didn’t possess the ability to transform into a bird and fly at a much higher speed. “I hope you know I woke up early just for you. Otherwise, I would’ve slept all day after that much flying.”
“I wish you could come.” Alvara meant it.
Of everyone she had worked with, she felt the most comfort from Kat’s presence, especially since discovering Eloisa’s string that tied them all together.
But as the fastest shifter in Ilmanir, Kat needed to stay and scout the perimeter for suspicious activity.
“Me too. I want to spend way more time in a city full of Alvaras.”
“That sounds both utterly boring and terrifying. Don’t wish that on yourself.”
“I’d like to see more of where Eloisa grew up too.” Kat pressed a small bag into Alvara’s palm. “Sap candies. You’ll be happy to have them after eating stale bread and dried meat for days.”
“Thank you.” Alvara watched Boden untangle himself from his family’s arms. “You’ll keep an eye on them for him, right?”
“I promise.” Kat popped a candy in her mouth and nodded her head toward Boden. “Please keep an eye on him for us too.”
Alvara would have liked to say that they rode in silence most of the way while she and Boden did their best to smooth out the path they traveled with magic, but it was impossible to do so when the shortest and loudest member of the council, Orme, spoke nonstop, seemingly not requiring the ability to breathe.
Her ears threatened to fall off after hours of learning about the elf’s favorite and least favorite parts of Malva and every other kingdom. When he turned his attention to Dalvi, she stiffened, her gaze trained on Boden’s back in front of her.
“And Dalvians, well they’re not exactly the warmest people. Why would anyone want to live in a place as desolate as that? Only people without a heart and a will to live, I say. One time—”
Boden’s voice interjected just as Alvara’s hands started crushing the reins she held. “The horses could use a rest. And Orme, for the love of Vitharen, drop it before I dig a hole for you that you’ll never be able to climb out of.”
Alvara’s screaming muscles made her all too happy to dismount and stretch. She seriously considered practicing her magic by launching a pile of snow at Orme’s head but instead studied their surroundings.
They seemed to be traversing a path that would cut right up the face of the Dalvian mountains, no doubt much faster, but highly treacherous.
At this time of year, a small avalanche could bury them within seconds—she had seen it happen more times than she cared to count.
There had to be a simpler route, albeit longer, that would provide them safer passage.
Alvara’s own journey to Malva had been meandering and passed through many towns on the way, not ideal for their current predicament, but another option had to exist somewhere.
“We should search for a lower path.” Her eyes outlined the rugged peaks. “It’s too risky to continue following this one at this time of year.”
Orme apparently considered this topic his personal specialty, and Alvara squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to drown out his shrill voice. “This is the quickest way to Vorianta. You of all people should understand that we have no time to waste.”
“Time doesn’t matter if you’re faded,” Alvara muttered, throwing a glare over her shoulder at the current bane of her existence.
“She’s the only Dalvian here,” Boden said. “We should follow her advice. I agreed to the quicker route, but safety comes first. We’ll take the longer but lower path, with a few departures from the road to avoid passing through large towns.”
The way he trusted her without truly knowing her—it spoke either of naivety or something deeper that Alvara didn’t quite understand. It bolstered her just a little, enough to remind her that this is why she had come: to share as much knowledge of her kingdom and her people as she could.
Orme grumbled something about Dalvians and clambered back on his horse with little dignity. “If we’re to take the youngling’s advice, we should continue to keep our pace.”
Youngling. A word no one had dared call since her own aging had slowed to a crawl in the first few years after finishing academy, a sign of maturity for their kind.
She had lived more lives in her short years than Orme could ever understand, though many older elves like him would still consider her too young to be of any consequence until she had reached the second half of her first century.
It would be a miracle if she managed to avoid strangling him by the end of the journey.
When they made camp for the night, and Orme launched into a lecture on how to build the best fire, Alvara volunteered to gather wood. Far, far away from the rest of them.
Or so she thought.
A branch snapped, and her heart galloped off without her. She spun around, brandishing a stick in one hand and her dagger in the other. “Oh, it’s you.”
Boden picked up more kindling at his feet. “That might be the nicest thing you have ever said to me.”
“That’s not true. I called you a pig. Some people find them pleasant.”
He arched a brow. “And you? How do you feel about them?”
She grabbed a pile of brush that was mostly untouched by frost and looked him up and down.
He was attractive, but so was every elf Alvara had ever met.
Some said it was one of the gifts bestowed on their race by the moon god, Kutamir.
But perfection rarely felt like a gift—once it surrounded you at all times, it became mundane, something you stopped noticing altogether.
Though Boden’s features were more rugged than the smooth and soft ones typical of their kind, like he had been carved from the very earth and stone he wielded. He had even let his stubble grow and now wore a short beard around his jaw and mouth.
His eyes darted to the side, as if looking for what had stolen her attention away. She shoved the contents of her arms into his. “I find them messy and loud. But they taste delicious when you cut them up and fry them in a pan.”
Boden’s eyes widened, and he made a choking sound. “Remind me to sleep with a dagger under my pillow.”
“I doubt you even carry one.”
“Yes, master blacksmith, I do.” He balanced his load in one arm and grabbed a small, sheathed blade from his boot with the other. She could already tell from the excessive outer decoration that the dagger’s craftsmanship would be nothing impressive.
Alvara turned the blade back and forth in the sunlight, and the vibrant colors from the hideous number of jewels danced on the snow.
“This will snap if you do more than open a letter.” She handed it back and pushed past a tangle of branches to move deeper into the forest. Gods, she could still hear Orme’s grating voice, even this far away.
“That doesn’t surprise me. My father gave it to me as a gift when I started in the palace. It was an effort on his part to help me fit into royal life.”
Oh. She always managed to say the wrong thing. “How are you doing since he…?”
Though the circles under Boden’s eyes were less prominent, his hair was still an unruly mess, even by his standards.
As if he hadn’t taken the time to brush it, let alone bathe in days.
She knew that feeling—like the little things didn’t matter anymore, not compared to what had just been lost. Food, clothes, sleep.
They were small specks in a sky of memories and emotions that refused to dim.
“I’m starting to get the sense that light-hearted conversations are not one of your strengths.”
“You wouldn’t be wrong.” Alvara gathered her own pile and treaded through the ankle-deep snow toward camp.
“It doesn’t feel real.”
She slowed her pace to avoid drowning out the quiet tone his voice had assumed.
“And I’m not confident it ever will. Part of me believes I might wake up one day and see him again, alive and whole, as if I didn’t watch him bleed out in front of me.”
“If it makes you feel any better, it sometimes still doesn’t feel real to me.
And it’s been years. You tell everyone what they want to hear.
That you’re doing better, moving on. But it still clings to you.
The loss. It becomes a part of you that you want to rid yourself of, but at the same time, you can’t imagine letting it go. ”
The footsteps behind her stopped, and Alvara peered over her shoulder. Boden watched her, his head slightly tilted as if he were contemplating the most complicated mysteries of the world.
“Nothing to say? That must be a first for you,” she said, if only to break his attention. The thoughtful look he wore made her uncomfortable for a reason she couldn’t quite place.
A small pebble tapped her on the nose. “I do have some control over my mouth, you know.”
Orme’s voice rang through the trees, scaring off more than a few birds, and Alvara let loose a dramatic sigh. Kill me now, she mouthed to Boden, and his soft laugh drifted on the breeze as they made their way back through the woods.