Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alvara threw herself into her training with Boden and her work at the forge the next week and a half, avoiding interactions with Pyry where she could.
He had made efforts to find her and speak with her, but she continued to make excuses about weapons that needed tending to and menial tasks that needed doing, all to avoid him.
It wasn’t worth wasting her energy on for now, when she had much bigger concerns. Thank Vitharen, Sithuren had introduced Pyry to another local blacksmith who focused on crafting items of daily utility, like his family had.
A diversion, that was all any of it was.
A pathetic way to try and skirt around the inevitable—the invasion of her city that would no doubt claim countless lives in King Einar’s brutal path to power.
Even Kat had convinced her to join them for dinner each night, noticeably keeping every topic light and free from the burdens of what was to come.
Alvara and Boden met each morning to refine her magic, and each time, he offered her a small shake of his head. No news.
Neither of them spoke of her kingdom. Instead, they hurled earth and ice with a ferocity that quieted the constant unease coursing through her body.
As with all things in life, no one could stop fate, no matter how hard they tried, and she knew that as well as anyone. When the morning of Jolval came, Boden paused at the edge of the clearing, his face twisted with a pity that severed her soul from her body.
“We can skip training—”
“You’re late,” she said as she tied her hair into even tighter braids, savoring the slight pain that pulled at her scalp. A reminder she still lived. Lived to see the king who had taken everything from her draw his last breath.
“Alvara—” His voice was too damn soft, too kind.
Ignoring almost two months of training to do otherwise, she ripped open her well of magic and fed it with every negative emotion gushing from the fresh wound.
The sky rained with an army of blunted ice arrows that shattered on the earthen shield he raised above his head with a curse.
Wave after wave of frozen weapons assaulted Boden, and still, he didn’t retaliate. “You’ll burn yourself out. You need to stop.”
“Fight, damn it,” Alvara forced through gritted teeth as she formed a blade in her mind’s eye. Her skin flushed with heat, and her vision wavered.
She missed home.
Her fingers clutched something small yet bulky, most certainly not the dagger she had envisioned. Her shallow breaths clung to the sides of her throat. In her hand stood a perfect copy of her youngling home, chiseled from ice.
She wanted to destroy it, every last piece.
But even as her fingers closed around the memory, her magic recoiled. She couldn’t do it.
Alvara dropped her creation into the snow with a muffled thump and left the clearing without a word, too numb to do anything other than hammer metal until her fingers ran red.
Alvara stood at the door to the meeting hall, heart pounding.
“There’s no need for you to be a part of this meeting. I can tell you everything tomorrow morning.” Boden’s words dripped out of his mouth, each one slow and precise.
But Alvara wouldn’t hide, not from this. “No. I need to hear it.” And she would need to tell Pyry, who she had barely spoken to since coming to Ilmanir, though that was entirely her doing.
Every conversation in the room hushed as she strode to the table where a map of her city lay. The place that had formed her, watched her love beyond measure, lose beyond all comprehension, and still come out on the other side. Her knees quaked, and she sagged into a chair.
She barely noticed as Boden settled into the spot next to her, her sole focus honed on the words of King Ulivar.
“Vorianta has fallen to King Einar’s forces.
” He bowed his head in Alvara’s direction in a brief, aching silence.
“The casualties are substantial, especially considering that Queen Myrithal neither accepted nor prepared for the prospect of war. She is missing, presumably captured or faded. That is all we know about what occurred in the capital. With the Elan army securing the border, we are unable to get anyone in or out. Whether we would like to acknowledge it or not, Ilmanir is next. We are the only thing that stands between King Einar and the power of High King. Vitharen help us all if that day comes.”
Alvara’s skin broiled. Even her rapid breaths did nothing to cool the scorching fever overtaking her senses, so she wound a small thread of ice up her arm.
“I can confirm that Valo is offering their forces to King Einar’s aid,” Aurilena said.
She sat near the hall’s exit, her shoulders hunched and her head low.
Her usually immaculately braided black hair had been pulled into a tight bun, and her honey-gold eyes held none of their normal intensity.
“I barely escaped the palace with my life. Since allying with King Einar, they have increased their security measures and become more suspicious. I won’t be able to return. ”
Kaurald thumped his fist on the table. “We must prepare for war. Katalen will need to inform the neighboring towns of the threat and scout for information on when King Einar will advance on Ilmanir. Those who wish to stay, we will do our best to protect. Those who wish to leave, you may travel in the elven kingdoms at your own peril.”
It was too much. Alvara had made a mistake in thinking she could handle any of this news.
She lurched to her feet, but Boden’s voice stopped her from leaving altogether.
“We will also send what shifters we can spare with anyone who has interest in heading toward the human realm. We should contact the Eskenti in the hope that they’ll agree to take in those seeking refuge from King Einar’s forces.
Their settlement between the elven and human realms may provide better protection than staying in nearby kingdoms.”
Kaurald scoffed. “The Eskenti? I find it unlikely that they will be willing to help after the number of times we have clashed with them.”
Boden didn’t even look in his direction.
“They may have a different approach than we do, but their goal is the same. This isn’t the time to become particular about allies, Kaurald.
We need all the help we are able to get.
Aurilena, are you willing to communicate with them and ask for their cooperation? ”
“I’ll do my best. You know how they can be.”
“And you know them better than any of us. Your history in their ranks may be the only thing that can convince them,” Boden said. “Rav?”
Ravanel spoke from his seat next to his father. “We will work to increase our weapons production. We can’t afford to shun any form of defense. Nyrian wielders who are willing will dig trenches outside and inside the city walls to slow the enemy when they invade.”
Not if, when.
She had heard enough. Alvara shoved her chair back, and it crashed to the ground. Chest tight, she shouldered body after body out of her way to escape into the fresh air.
She ripped off her coat and tossed it aside, letting chills run up her limbs.
Her city. Jalomir. Mikavar.
How many had suffered while she had been playing with magic? Every time she believed she had reached her limit of what she could lose in a single lifetime, fate delighted in proving her wrong.
She ignored the draw of her powers and lowered herself to the hard ground. Snowflakes drifted from the sky, too many to count. Was that how many King Einar had killed? Hundreds? Thousands?
“Do I need to do some dramatic rescuing, or are you under control?” Kat asked.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not. But you don’t have to be.” She settled herself next to Alvara and tucked her dark brown curls behind her ears.
“I don’t think I ever told you, but I grew up in a small town in Nyr.
” Alvara had no idea where this conversation was going, but it had nothing to do with her or Vorianta, so she let Kat continue.
“My father and mother are both part elf. We had a handful of demi-elves in our town, one of the main reasons my parents wanted to settle there. But as I got older, neighbors started acting more suspicious of those of us who weren’t full-blooded elves.
They even instated a stupid curfew. The attacks were small at first—a broken window, a slaughtered cow.
But it only got worse and worse, and once the fires started…
well, we fled. My parents found a new place to settle, and I left them to do what I could to try to stop it all. ”
Alvara laid her hand on top of Kat’s, her throat tight. “I’m so sorry, Kat.”
Kat flipped her palm up and squeezed Alvara’s fingers. “The reason I’m telling you this is because everyone here has lost something, big or small. Whether you make it out the other side is up to you. You find what’s important to you, what gives you life, and you pour yourself into it.”
“Like you and bread.”
Kat’s hazel eyes crinkled. “Exactly. Your offer to train with Lilja…I talked to her about it, and I think you might do each other good, Alvara. She’s going to join tomorrow, and if you’re really lucky, maybe I will too.”
Alvara had completely forgotten she had even made that offer to Boden’s sister, but at least it would give them both something to apply themselves to. And maybe by sharing a part of her that kept her wading through life’s muddy waters, she would help Lilja in some small way.
“So, both of your parents are still alive?” Alvara asked as a small flake floated down and landed on the tip of her nose, only to melt seconds later.
“Not all of us have giant wounds we can build our personalities around.” Kat bumped shoulders with her. “Some of us are pretty normal.”
Alvara leaned her head to the side. “Normal?”
“Oh, fine. Not normal, but I’m fun to be around, and that counts for something.” Kat hopped to her feet and offered Alvara a hand. “Be kind to yourself, Alvara. Dinner tomorrow? I heard Isathir is making fresh rolls in the morning.”
She huffed a short laugh as Kat tugged her to her feet. “See you then.”
Alvara arrived at her room that night to find a small item at the foot of the door.
It was too dark to make out whatever it was, so she brought it inside to hold it in front of the candlelight: a small statue of a house with Dalvian patterns curving around the entryway, including a terrible rendering of an ice bear, every detail too perfect to not have been created with magic.
Her eyes stung. In the palm of her hand sat her youngling home, fashioned out of stone.