Page 101 of Forged in Fading

Her words earned an eye roll. “No, you most definitely wouldn’t. Because the gods wouldn’t allow you to fight other souls in Levahem.”

“That’s quite the assumption. I could end up in Helvahem. Besides, I care about more than just weapons.”

Boden flicked her dagger and spear at the same time, and she slapped his hands away. “They also don’t have sweets in the afterlife. Eating isn’t exactly necessary if you’re faded.”

And if she faded while Boden lived, Alvara would arrive in Levahem alone. An entire realm without him.

The thought hit her mind with the force of a dalvi snowstorm, and she quickened her pace. She was going mad from starvation. She was sure of it.

The mere sight of the chief’s meeting hall and the nine leaders inside sobered her mind. Thank Vitharen more had decided to show. Every pair of eyes darted around the room, weapons gripped in the humans’ hands as if one of them might strike at any moment. Chief Frigar had refused to attend the meeting unarmed, and Alvara had no doubt the other leaders felt the same way, especially after Boden had explained to her the tenuous relations between the different towns due to the humans’ penchant for raiding each other.

But if anyone could convince them of King Einar’s impending threat, it would be him. And not just because he was one of the few elves who could speak their language fluently, though that certainly helped.

If Alvara were left to it, she would have had to rely on her limited human vocabulary that mostly pertained to food and weapons. And now, dogs.

She joined Rav at the back of the room, who had promised to translate what he could to keep her informed. His other job consisted of updating the elven council members afterward on the proceedings, including his father, whom she would have liked to destroy in the sparring ring.

Seeing as that would probably cause a tangle of political and practical problems, she’d have to settle for glowering at him and daydreaming of bashing his head into the closest wall.

Or she could always find a way to add an excessive amount of salt to his food. Or⁠—

The hoot of an owl shattered her train of thought, and she focused on Chief Frigar. His tone was even more grim than usual, a difficult thing to accomplish.

“He’s thanking them for coming and explaining why he called a meeting,” Rav murmured.

As more voices joined the fray, Rav did his best to relay the conversation, but Alvara could tell from Boden’s scrunched face that even he was having trouble keeping up. “A few of them are saying they have out of control magic users in their settlements that are causing trouble. Of course, they blame the elves. And the chiefs from farther settlements think it’s unlikely King Einar will reach them with how small his forces are compared to the humans’. Idiots.”

“Do they not understand how powerful an army of wielders is?” Alvara drummed her fingers on her spear. If Gosibik—the town that likely had the most demi-elves in the human realm—fell, the others would soon follow. It was inevitable.

“Most of them had never seen magic until the barrier fell. And what they have seen is nothing compared to what’s happening here. They don’t understand the threat we’re facing.” Rav locked eyes with Boden, whose shoulders rose and fell in a long exhale.

As soon as Boden spoke, every head in the hall turned toward the sound, their bodies seizing up as the human words rolled off his tongue. To her, their language sounded the most beautiful on his lips, but the chiefs clearly didn’t agree. Both heads and weapons shook. Boden’s plea was soon drowned out by the outcries of outrage and suspicion.

A scream cleaved the tension in two.

Boden took a small step toward Alvara, but his head snapped in the direction of whatever horrors unfolded outside. Her elbows pressed into her sides and her leg muscles tightened, threatening to split when he barreled out the door toward certain danger.

Her feet moved before she could even tell them to, but they turned to stone the moment she stepped into the sunlight.

Vines devoured people and buildings. Blood flowed and foundations crumbled.

He was here.

King Einar had invaded. And they were nowhere near ready.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Elan soldiers tore through the humans like they were made of paper, their victims crumpling in heaps of grisly limbs and entrails.

Alvara hefted her spear, her arms shaking. This was all wrong. The witches said he would arrive when life returned, and yet it was barely nyr. What in Dalviri’s name was happening? And how had King Einar known to come on the day of the meeting with the chiefs?

“Traitor,” a tall, spindly elf spat in her direction as he stalked toward her. “I’m going to make you wish you’d⁠—”

Alvara lunged, her spear to his throat choking off his words. Blood sprayed, and the metallic smell climbed into her spasming lungs. Breathe. Impossible when cries of aggression and agony pierced her ears from every direction.

A bristled vine wrapped around her neck and thrust her backward. Her skull cracked on the ground. She wheezed. Her vision tunneled, and the binds only squeezed tighter. Alvara wrenched the shoots away from her throat and sliced. Hot liquid dribbled down her chest.

She was the only legacy her family had left. She would not fade today.