Chapter 19
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.”
It was a good thing he and the other councilors had departed immediately, because Alvara would have gagged Orme’s mouth with ice and kept it frozen until her magic gave out.
“Remind me why I agreed to hand you a weapon when you’re clearly furious?” Boden inspected the tree branch like it might jump out and bite him.
“It’s a stick, not a weapon. You’ll be fine.”
He swiped it through the air in a clumsy motion. This was going to be fun. “I’m fairly certain I could hand you an apple and you would find a way to use it as a weapon.”
“You owe me.” She spun her own “weapon” in her hands, savoring the feel of control.
“And to be clear, your idea of fun is beating someone with a stick?”
“Your idea of fun is chopping vegetables, and I didn’t judge you for that.”
“You most definitely did.”
True, but she had come to see that it helped him quiet his mind the same way sparring did for her. “Are you going to whine or fight?”
“Can’t I do both?” he grumbled as he lifted the branch in a poor display of defense.
She could teach him how to fix his stance and grip. She could. Alvara swung her weapon above her head and lunged forward to strike his, but her stick lodged into a thin wall of frozen earth. “Boden, so help me Vitharen. Rule number one. No magic.”
The dirt disintegrated, and he leveled his weapon at her. “How is it possible that you’re more terrifying wielding a stick than magic?”
She answered with a tap to the side of his head.
Alvara’s chest heaved, her lungs and muscles sizzling in just the way she craved. Chills coursed through her sweat-soaked skin, and a low groan brought a curve to her lips. Boden lay in the snow with his arm over his face.
She was even more winded than she would have liked, with how long it had been since sparring with someone. Even if that someone had no idea how to fight. But maybe he was exhausted enough…
“I’m not sure I like that look.” Boden peered up at her from his spot on the ground.
She replaced whatever expression her face held with what she hoped was an innocent smile. “We could stop by my house for just a few minutes—”
“No.”
“I just need to grab clothes, coins, and a few other things. It’ll take no time at all. I promise no one I know will see me.” Alvara smiled again, this time showing her teeth.
Boden pointed his amber eyes toward the sky. “First, please stop smiling like a menace.” She frowned. “There’s the Alvara I’m accustomed to. Second, as I have explained before, it’s not worth the risk. If the wrong person realizes you’re here and reports it to King Einar…”
“That won’t happen. Please.” She dragged out the word like a youngling begging for an expensive Jolval gift. “This could be the last time I’m in Vorianta for who knows how long.”
He wobbled to his feet. “Good gods, I’m going to be sore tomorrow.”
“Please?”
Boden puffed out a long exhale. “As long as you make it quick.”
“Alva?”
Alvara’s heart beat its fist against her chest and tried to tear its way out of her body. Oh gods no.
Pyry stood in the doorway of her home, his fingers clawing into the wood. His usually pristine hair fell in untidy waves around his face, his dull eyes wide and unblinking.
“Pyry.”
His nostrils flared. “I haven’t seen you in weeks, and that’s all you give me? Your father was murdered, Alva. You disappeared. I thought you might be…”
“How did you know I was here?” Not that the answer mattered much since he had found her and likely proved Boden right about her damn hair, something she would no doubt hear about later.
Pyry took a step closer. “I’ve been coming by every day to see if you came back. And I would’ve noticed your hair anywhere.”
Boden coughed in the other room, and Alvara rubbed a finger over each brow, tugging the corners of her eyes down. Would he ever learn when to keep quiet?
“Is someone here?” Pyry barged his way in as if he had any right to do so.
“What do you need.” She needed him to leave for his own safety.
He whirled on her. “What do I need? I needed to know you were alive.”
Alvara hadn’t exactly considered how her absence would affect anyone else, let alone Pyry, who had seemed all too happy to be rid of her. “I’m sorry, but I’m fine. Really. I’m just here to pick up some things before we head out.”
“We?” Pyry’s posture had gone rigid. Oh gods. She was never his to possess and definitely wasn’t anymore.
“Would you prefer to keep pretending I’m not here, or may I please come out now?”
She dropped her face into her hand. These two would be her fading. “You can come out.” There was no easy way to explain any of this to Pyry without putting him or the people of Ilmanir in danger.
Boden’s steps thudded on the floorboards, and his warm arm slid around her shoulder. Alvara stiffened. “Alva,” he said, stretching out her nickname, “won’t you introduce me?”
That’s it, his funeral would be tomorrow. Boden knew godsdamned well who Pyry was and was only goading him. But he had to know that Pyry’s hand in his father’s passing was wholly unintentional.
Pyry’s gaze snapped to Alvara’s shoulder, where Boden’s irritating fingers were drumming a pattern. “Who is this?”
He hadn’t seen Boden at the palace. A small stroke of luck…maybe. Alvara untangled herself and elbowed Boden in the side. “We’re…” There was no single word to describe their relationship or lack thereof.
“Friends,” Boden said with too much delight, and she glared at him.
Pyry’s eyes traveled back and forth between them, his jaw locked so tightly she swore she heard a tooth crack.
She glanced at Boden. His tunic still clung to his muscled chest, wet with sweat from sparring, and his hair lay about in a sopping mess.
She didn’t need to peer down to know she looked just as disheveled.
“Boden, can you go make yourself useful somewhere else?” Alvara jerked her head toward the kitchen.
A sly grin drew up the sides of his mouth. “I can make myself useful however and whenever you’d like.”
Oh, for Vitharen’s sake. He withdrew from the room, leaving Alvara to deal with the consequences of his little show.
Pyry spoke through tight lips. “What in Dalviri’s name is going on, Alva?”
“I’m safe. That’s all that matters. I—”
“That’s all that matters? Who is that bastard?”
Alvara laid a hand on his arm, but Pyry shook it off. “He’s no one. Please just leave. The more you ask, the more danger you might put yourself in.”
“I thought. You. Had faded,” he said, his voice dropping lower with each word he forced out.
“Boden said he would have a message delivered—”
“A message written in someone else’s hand. It didn’t even say where you were. What was I supposed to think?” A vein throbbed on his pale forehead. “You’re not leaving again. Not with him.” The tone he had taken on made her itch for her dagger. But no, this was Pyry. He was just upset.
“You don’t get to decide what I do, Pyry. When I was drowning after Eloisa’s fading and my mother’s—” Her voice faltered. “You left me.” It came out softer than she had expected. “You lost any right to be concerned for me or have a say in my life.”
His arms hung loosely at his sides, and his head drooped. Maybe he would finally listen for once. “It wasn’t…No. I couldn’t help my father. I won’t let it happen again.”
Pyry pounced, and his icy grip yanked her toward the door. Alvara’s nails dug into her leg to keep from leaving him in a whimpering heap on the floor. He was acting ridiculous, but she didn’t want to hurt him if she could help it.
“Pyry,” she said slowly, “let go of me. Right now.”
“I would listen if I were you,” Boden said, and Pyry paused, though frozen crystals radiated from his fingers across her skin. “I have no doubt she could knock you unconscious without wasting a breath.”
“You know nothing about her.” Pyry’s voice was pure venom.
“Wouldn’t you love to find out what I know?
” Boden stalked toward them with the fluid and graceful movements of a predator.
Without even knowing his association with King Einar, anyone could tell he had ways of making others bleed.
“Alvara can choose to go with you of her own free will, but it seems clear to me that she has no desire to leave. She may be too kind to throw you out into the street, but I have no such reservations.”
Pyry’s grip loosened, but he didn’t release her.
“Please, Pyry,” Alvara whispered.
His hand dropped away from her arm. “If you hurt her, it will be the last thing you ever do.”
Boden snorted. Of course he did. “Your intimidation tactics could really use some finessing.” He slung the various bags of her supplies over his shoulder and gripped her spear in his hand. “Ready?”
Her eyes lingered on Pyry. If she never saw him again…she should say something. She opened her mouth to do just that when Boden shouldered past Pyry, smacking him in the side with the shaft of her spear.
“Lovely to meet you, Pyry. Hope we never have to do this again.”
Alvara pinched the bridge of her nose. “Let’s go, Boden.”
“As my lady commands,” he said with a smug smile, and she stormed out of the house through the snow.
“What in the nine realms was that?” Alvara snapped.
“I’m sorry but turning him as red as a tomato was a very cathartic experience for me. I may have to come back once a week to do it again.”
Alvara snatched her spear from his hands and trudged toward the inn.
“Is he always like that?” Boden asked.
“Are you always like that?”
“Alvara.” The way he said her name, with such gentleness—her feet stopped.
There wasn’t enough time in the world to explain everything that had transpired between her and Pyry since they had met. “He wasn’t. Not always. After his father passed, he changed. And when my family passed…it’s for the best.”
“You deserve better.”
Alvara didn’t have the heart to tell him that the gods sure didn’t seem to agree.