Page 8 of Forged in Fading

“Your name?”

“Alvara.”

The king sighed and leaned his head onto his tawny fingers. “Your full name?”

Not this again. “Alvara Himren.”

She wanted to scream, My name is Alvara Himren, and I’m a nobody weaponsmith from Dalvi. Take your godsdamned sword and point me toward the nearest exit! But that likely violated about five different levels of royal protocol.

“And why are you here, Alvara Himren?”

“To deliver a sword?” That she no longer held, since the guard had taken it away somewhere with him.

“Is that all?”

This was starting to feel like a test she had studied for, only to find out she had been reading the wrong material and would undoubtedly fail. “Yes?”

The king grinned like a snow leopard on the hunt and unsheathed a vicious-looking dagger from his hip, the likes of which Alvara had never seen. Crafted entirely from some kind of black metal, the weapon bore a hilt in the shape of a protruding bone that had been etched with unrecognizable runes. The guard above the hilt flared in two wings, on either side of a skull with red jeweled eyes. Two intertwined pieces of barbed metal formed the blade itself. She could have investigated its lethal features for hours and would still struggle to replicate the remarkable design.

“Now tell me, dear Alvara, how long have you been involved in the insidious movement to destroy my kingdom?”

She blinked. “Pardon?”

“Your sister, Eloisa, was rather involved in the messy affairs of humans and demi-elves, if I remember correctly. Surely you assisted her in her efforts.” He leaned back and stroked his thumb up and down the flat of the dagger’s blade.

“Eloisa?” Her naïve, sweet sister? He must have lost his mind. “No, she came to Tasírath to train to become a teacher. That’s how she had the accident⁠—”

“Enough. My guards tell me you came to the aid of a human crossing our border without permission. Do you have an explanation for this egregious act?”

She wasn’t sure why she’d done it, let alone having to prove her motives to the ruler of the entire kingdom. The words flopped out of her mouth. “They were hurting her for no reason!”

King Einar sneered. “Ah, yes. I really must speak to them about it, thank you dearly for reminding me. They have no reason to imprison the ever-innocent humans, the very reasons why we have been unable to wield magic outside of our lands for more than two centuries.”

“The humans?” Alvara spoke more to herself than him. “I thought it was your father⁠—”

He pointed the dagger at her head. “My father? Do you even realize what he did, what he gave for those worthless vermin?”

She gulped. “I…”

King Einar’s blade trembled, his fingers clenched so tight around its hilt they had begun to pale. “He saved the humans from a plague, the very devastation of their kind, with his healing magic. And how did they repay him? Do you know, dear Alvara?”

Of course she did. Everyone knew the story of the previous Elan king. “They took your mother,” Alvara whispered, her voice shaking now.

“They stole her for her powers. Powers they had envied since the day of their creation. And yet the traitorous gods did nothing to stop them from slaughtering my father when he attempted to save her.” He flicked a bejeweled finger toward the other elf, who pursed his lips. “Lock her up. We will get the information however we must.”

“I don’t know anything! Please!”

She had to get out. Now. Alvara lunged toward the doors and screamed. A growing green shoot wrapped around her ankles, forcing its thorns through her boots and embedding them into her flesh. She was trapped. With no weapon.

Her bare hands tore at her binds, only succeeding in splattering her blood on the stone floor. The plant dug into her skin further, while someone twisted her arms behind her back and clasped them with searing metal cuffs.

No. This was all a huge mistake. She wasn’t meant to be here.

The vines around her feet slid free, and the king’s elf seized her arm and towed her down another maze of hallways.

Alvara wriggled against the burning metal cuffs, her pulse racing. They wouldn’t give, not unless she could find a flame and melt them without also liquefying her own limbs. Breaking free from the elf in charge of her was her only chance.

She forced tears down her cheeks and whimpered, falling to the ground in a pathetic pile. Just as she had hoped, her captor bent down toward her, and she drove her boot into his knee with all her might. He doubled over with a curse, and she scrambled to her feet and flew down the hallway as fast as her legs would take her.