Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
They spent the rest of the day asking around Vorianta for news of the humans who had attacked over the past few weeks, though Alvara made sure to cover her gray hair with a hood.
Their efforts proved fruitless, either because Alvara’s people weren’t willing to divulge the information they held, or because the queen had kept it hidden within the palace walls.
Alvara readied herself for what would no doubt be another horrible night of sleep and slipped into her cotton nightgown with her back turned to Boden’s—an unspoken agreement they had settled on the first night.
As usual, the bed was stifling from Boden’s scorching body heat. He might as well have been covered in flames. No wonder he slept poorly.
“You really can take some clothes off, Boden. I’m not going to faint from seeing you shirtless.”
“Now, now. Let’s not make promises we can’t keep.”
Alvara ignored him and rolled to her side. If he wanted to stay uncomfortable, it was none of her business.
Boden rustled under the covers and loosed a sigh. Maybe he would have been more comfortable sleeping on the cold floor. She turned to say as much, but the words caught in her throat.
Countless layers of raised scars marred his back, where a large white tattoo had been torn into indecipherable pieces. A small gasp escaped her lips, and Boden’s muscles twitched. How many times had he been whipped?
“Too tempting? I can put the shirt back on.”
“Your back,” was all Alvara managed to get out. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. The agony he had endured…
Boden rolled over, eyes closed, likely hoping she would leave the topic alone. If he thought that to be the case, he knew her even less than she had assumed.
“What happened?”
He scrunched his eyes shut even tighter. “Take a guess. I’ll give you a hundred coins if you’re right.”
King Einar. “But why?”
“It was his favorite punishment for when I didn’t deliver the right information or prisoners. Or, many times, just because he wanted to.”
But with the abundance of healers in Ela, he should have never had any scarring. Not that it would have made it any better. “But the scars—”
“He denied me access to the healers unless I was in danger of fading. He did the same to the servants as a constant reminder of his power over us.”
And healers were unable to fix wounds that had already healed themselves, so Boden would bear those scars for the rest of his life.
“Did your father…”
“No. Only Rav and—” He paused, and his jaw tightened. “Only Rav knows. And you now, I suppose.”
She should have shown pity or even apologized for what he had gone through, but rage drove her words. “We’ll make him pay. I promise. No one who did that to you should be allowed to draw another breath.”
He turned his body away from hers. “I have told myself the same thing each night for over a decade, and yet he still stands.”
Alvara dreamed of blood. Not her father’s or her sister’s. Not even Pyry’s, but Boden’s. His back in shredded crimson ribbons, King Einar standing above him, a wicked whip in his hand, gore dripping from its end.
When the sun rose the next morning, Alvara’s pillow was dry with no signs of tears or her magic. Hopefully she still hadn’t woken Boden with any nightmares. She peered over at his sleeping frame, where his head lay nestled in his pillow, surrounded by a dried puddle of sweat.
Perhaps he had been entrenched in nightmares of his own.
The rest of the week passed by at the pace of a lumbering walrus.
Alvara rarely hoped these days—she found it such a fickle thing, unreliable and weak at best. But this time, she did allow herself the smallest bit of hope that news would come from King Ulivar, and he would show her people mercy by lending even a few elves to their aid.
She and Boden spent the days wandering the city and avoiding any places Alvara had been known to frequent, which thankfully besides an embarrassing number of bakeries and taverns, had been few since Eloisa’s fading.
Vorianta bustled with preparations for Jolval, and the fresh scents of pine and festive songs of the season filled the streets.
Alvara shared what she could of their traditions with Boden to distract herself from the news she so desperately awaited.
Through questions peppered into every conversation with shopkeepers and the like, they had been able to piece together some information.
The queen had quietly dealt with any humans sent by King Einar, apart from the man who had taken Alvara’s father’s life.
For reasons she couldn’t fathom, fate had spared him.
He had somehow escaped the capital without harm.
If she ever came face to face with her father’s murderer…the mere notion had pushed her close enough to the edge that Boden had led her into the woods without a word and handed her a branch.
The day before the official start of Jolval, a flurry of raps landed on the door. No one ever came by, so it could only mean one thing. Alvara almost couldn’t decide if it was worth letting the news in or if it was better to stew in hope a little longer.
More knocking. Alvara tucked her knees up to her chest where she sat on their bed. If the Malvan king had ignored their pleas for help, she would be the only one left to defend Vorianta.
Boden let Kat in without a word, and she eyed their shared bed. “You two have been very cozy—”
Alvara had waited long enough. “Just tell us.”
Her friend’s expression collapsed, and Kat stared into the mug she held out to Alvara. “I’m sorry, I really am, but with the Dalvian queen not even willing to protect her own people, King Ulivar wasn’t willing to risk his.”
And just like that, hope faded, its heart plucked from its body before she could draw another breath. She took the mug from Kat and sipped on the warm liquid. Gods, whatever stale tea Kat had bought managed to be intensely sweet and bitter at the same time. It must’ve been years old.
“How are Lilja and my mother?” Boden asked. Such a simple question, yet one that would never leave Alvara’s lips about her own family as long as she lived.
“They’re both good. Still settling in, but safe. Everyone in Ilmanir is safe, for now.” Kat’s eyes flitted to Alvara’s tea. “I’m sorry about Vorianta, and I really wish we could do more. Are you ready to leave, or do you need time to say goodbye?”
Leave? No. She would stay and fight for her people, to what would likely be her last breath. “I’m not leaving. I have to help.”
The mattress groaned under Boden’s weight. “Alvara, there’s nothing to be done. The only thing you will accomplish by staying is fading.”
“I would rather fade fighting for my people than live knowing I didn’t even try to help them.” She would at least try to warn the people of Vorianta of the attack, but they would probably dismiss her as a madwoman, out of her mind from too many nights spent at taverns.
“We can’t just leave you here to fade,” Kat said. “You’re worth so much more than that, Alvara. We need all the help we can get in defending…andthat’sa bat…wemigh…”
Kat’s words blended together, slow and murky, and Alvara’s eyes couldn’t focus on her face. It was all so fuzzy. She lifted an arm to rub her eyes, but her limbs weighed more than a herd of reindeer. Warm liquid splashed down Alvara’s shirt, and she collapsed to the bed, unable to move.
Boden leaned over her and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. He spoke, but she could barely hear him as everything slowed to a crawl.
Something was wrong. Terribly—
Alvara’s head throbbed, and her mouth felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton. Water. She needed water.
She pulled her head up, expecting the familiar walls of the inn, but snow stretched out in the distance from every side. Towering trees lined the perimeter, swathed in darkness.
No.
“Oh gods, she’s up. Scatter.”
Kat. The tea she had given her.
Alvara thrust herself forward, but her torso met with a tangle of rope. Another unconscious body lay strapped to the sleigh next to her. What in Dalviri’s name had they done?
Pointed ears peeked out of the male’s long, wheat-colored hair. Pyry. No, no, no. She most certainly did not have the energy to handle him right now.
Binds pulled tight around Alvara’s waist as she sat up. “You. Drugged. Me!” She hurled everything she had at Kat—ice, snow, hail. Her fury dug a shallow but potent well for her magic, but every flurry slammed into an earthen wall.
Kat poked her head out around her shield. “Don’t make me shove more of that tea down your throat. Calm down.”
“Calm down?” Alvara’s people were going to be slaughtered, and she wasn’t there to help them.
“I’m sorry, Alvara.” Boden lifted his hands up, palms out. “I didn’t know—”
“My people will fade.” Alvara twisted and writhed, but the rope held fast. Her head spun, and she slumped back down on the sleigh, where the cold wood bit her already frigid skin. She flung a blunted shard of ice at Boden’s head. “I am mad at Kat, but I am furious with you.”
“I’m not the one who drugged you—”
“Were you going to let me stay?”
“We saved your life,” Boden said slowly as he kicked her projectile to the side.
Her life? What was her life worth compared to an entire city’s?
“Damn your noble intentions, Boden! I didn’t ask you to save me.
It was my choice to stay and fight for my people, not yours.
Not Kat’s. You speak down to Pyry about not allowing me to make my own choices, and yet here you are.
I’m not some pawn in your twisted game, like your demi-elves.
At least some of them had a choice in the matter. ”
He flinched like she had slapped him, and part of her wished she had. “I’m not the one you should be upset with. I was perfectly content reasoning with you before Kat here decided insanity was the best course and fed you sleeping powder.”