Page 72 of Forged in Fading

He tipped his head back, and she did the same. A full moon hung heavy over the clearing, bathing it in soft silver light. Such a beautiful way to remember this place before the violence of tomorrow left its scars.

She glanced at Boden, whose white tattoos peeked out of his collar. The Nyrian younglings born tonight would be granted not only the elemental power of earth, but a shapeshifting form like he had been. A rare and cherished magic, just like freezing time was in Dalvi.

Wait. Full moons only appeared on the first of the month, and with only two months in nyr… “Is today your birthday?”

“Maybe.” Boden tossed a rock at the trunk of a nearby tree. “And what better way to celebrate than war?”

“I can think of more than a few. Ale, for one.”

“And sweets for the second?”

The stars above them winked in and out of existence. “Maybe sweets first, ale second. At least these days.”

“If you needed an ale or two after today, I doubt anyone would blame you.” Boden ruffled his hair with his fingers, tugging on a few chestnut strands. “It never gets easier.”

Alvara busied her own fingers with taming her gray locks into two tight braids down the back of her head. “What doesn’t?”

“Any of it. Spilling blood, destroying lives. Watching the very soul drain out of someone’s eyes and knowing you are the reason why they’ll never draw another breath.”

“I take it we’ll be dabbling in light topics of conversations until the morning.”

A quiet laugh escaped his lips. “I thought you preferred to avoid small talk.”

“And I thought you enjoyed it.” She inhaled the fresh air. Such a clean scent that would soon morph into something unforgettably gruesome. “I’ve never had to…I don’t know how I’m going to handle it. How have you come out of it all relatively normal?”

“Always quick with the compliments, aren’t you?” He heaved a long breath. “I haven’t made it out, not truly. I spend most of my time doing my best to make up for my sins and all the things I did to save myself. Or at least I thought I was saving myself. I keep hoping each life we save will erase the stain on my conscience I feel every moment of every day, but it hasn’t worked so far.” He flicked one of her braids. “Perhaps next I’ll try dyeing my hair or take up gambling.”

“I’ve heard gray—or should I say, silver—is very popular now.” Humor was an easy escape, but it would do nothing to lighten the crushing weight of his words. “You can’t let your past swallow you, Boden. You deserve so much more than that.”

He gave her a look that said, I’m at my wit’s end with you. “Do I really need to tell you how ironic that statement is coming from you?”

Alvara ignored him, unsheathing her dagger and twirling it in her hands. “Have you ever talked about it with anyone?”

“Have I serenaded anyone with my stories of torture and murder? Seeing as I would like to have at least a few friends left, not quite.”

“I don’t know, Ravanel would probably enjoy them.” All those vile memories, locked up inside, eating away at him, bit by bit…it angered her on his behalf. “You can tell me. Think of it as repaying the life debt I owe you for saving me from my magic.”

He shook his head. “You’ve never owed me anything, Alvara. You know that.”

“Then how about as a birthday gift?” She placed her blade back in its sheath and pointed her face toward the full moon. “It might do some good, speaking it out loud.”

His voice was quiet, barely audible over the wind rushing through the forest. “I don’t want you to see me that way.”

In a strange way, it was almost laughable. Months ago, it would have changed her opinion of him without any difficulty, but not now. Now she could never see him as anything but good. “It won’t change the way I see you, I promise. Besides, I could use some tales of torture and fading. It will get me ready to fight tomorrow.”

In the silence, his long, deep inhales and exhales hung loud and heavy. Maybe he didn’t trust her enough, or he’d declined other offers in the past. Or, worst of all, maybe no one had ever wanted to know and had never asked.

“He loved nothing more than to make me hurt humans, demi-elves, anyone that reminded him of me.”

Alvara said nothing, taking a moment to shift on the cold ground.

When Boden began again, his words were hoarse. “The first one was a youngling. He was so damn small. But I knew if I didn’t do exactly what was asked of me, I risked my family’s lives. My life. I’m nothing like Rav, in many ways, but most of all, my magic isn’t…clean.” His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “At least he is able to put someone out of their misery without even laying a finger on them. It didn’t matter how many times I bathed or washed my hands; I still felt that youngling’s blood on my skin for months and years after. But I chose to do it. I could have fought, I could have done anything else. But I didn’t.”

His hands relaxed, his shoulders curling forward as if the mere memory weighed his body down. “For those first two years in his service, I only used my magic to torture, to kill. And every time I failed the king, he punished me.”

“The lashings,” Alvara whispered.

The sorrow, the agony in Boden’s eyes was bottomless. A dark place he had lived for so long alone, not willing to risk others’ peace to save what little of his own he had left. “The lashings, the time I spent chained in the dungeon, even the days I was denied food—all of that I could handle. What tore me apart were the servants…my failures meant they suffered at his hands too. At my hands.”