Page 9 of Forged in Fading

There had to be a way out of this cursed place. Her eyes locked onto a door a few paces away. She pivoted toward it, only to slam headfirst into a wall of stone that hadn’t been there seconds ago. She fell backward with a crack that reverberated through her skull. Her ears rung, and pain flooded her body.

“If you could play the part of a fearful prisoner who quakes at the sight of me instead of insisting on injuring both me and you, that would make my life much easier.”

Alvara glanced up at the elf standing over her, whose rolled beige sleeves revealed tan skin littered with white tattoos. A Nyrian elf. Of course. He could manipulate earth or stone and steal the very ground from underneath her. It also explained why his voice was smooth and steady, unlike the jingling speech of most Elan elves. He was probably another of Nyr’s attempts to garner alliances wherever they could to protect their small kingdom.

He slid an arm under her aching back, tightened his hold, and set her upright.

“Is that a fawn?” she asked, eyeing the rather adorable animal on his wrist.

“A terrifying fawn. I’d prefer if you cooperated before you ruin my good knee.”

Alvara was done with being hauled around like a sack of potatoes. “I can walk on my own.” She ripped herself free and promptly tripped on an uneven piece of ground. Brute.

He chuckled and walked beside her, thankfully keeping his hands to himself. Without his magic, she would have been able to overtake him, but he did stand about a half a head taller than her. Impressive, considering the fact that she surpassed most elven females in height. But she wouldn’t give up, not yet. There had to be a way to escape.

The air turned increasingly stale, ripe with the smell of unwashed bodies and decay, as they descended the steps into the waiting darkness. After what seemed like an almost endless spiral, they reached the bottom: a dim hallway, lit by a few dwindling torches scattered along grimy walls. They marched past an alarming number of cells, some empty, but most filled with hulking figures hidden in the shadows. A sour taste bloomed on her tongue.

It wasn’t the prisoners that unsettled her—it was the silence. Not even a cough or a voice to prove life existed this far below the earth.

He paused in front of a door made up of rusting iron grates and gestured inside with a sweep of his arm. “Your new quarters. They’re not the nicest we have, I will admit, but they’re also surprisingly not the worst.”

She nudged past him, doing her best to ignore a dark stain in the corner that she could only hope wasn’t dried blood, next to a chamber pot whose cleanliness she would rather not contemplate. He freed her hands for one blissful moment, only to tether her to white-hot chains dangling out of a stone wall that leaked with gods knew what.

A single click, and she was alone.

Fear gnawed at her stomach, and she examined the shackles that bound her to avoid spiraling into its shadowy depths. The metal burning her skin held just what she had expected: runes engraved into every piece to block elven magic. Little did they know they had wasted much of their own trying to accomplish something she had taken care of herself long ago.

Alvara slumped to the filthy ground and rested her head against the cold stone. How had she ended up here? Regrettable choices stained her past, but nothing illegal. And Eloisa had surely never done anything remotely criminal, let alone conspired to overthrow a king in favor of humans.

And there was nothing Alvara could do to escape. No one knew where she was except Pyry. Oh gods, Pyry. When she didn’t return, he would panic and turn into the version of himself she liked the least. In that state, he could easily earn himself a cell next to hers.

There was no telling what King Einar would do with her or how long she would remain locked up here, and all because she had helped a human. It had been at least two hundred years since the humans had kidnapped his mother and killed his father, and the ones who had were now nothing but ashes. But perhaps when that amount of time didn’t even cover half your lifespan, anything could still feel raw.

Chapter Four

The clicking of footsteps bounced off the cell walls. Alvara jolted upright. Without windows or sunlight, it was impossible to know how long she had been out.

A mixture of voices floated down the hall, and her muscles seized. They might be coming for her.

“Where is she?”

Her gut twisted itself into knots. Pyry. She had never wanted to be more wrong in her life, but there he was, struggling against his restraints, his face flushed.

He stumbled into the cell, eyes wide and body tense. “What’s going on? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. They think I’m involved in some movement with the humans. I’ve told them I don’t know anything⁠—”

“We’ll see about that.” The guard escorting Pyry brandished a short sword, yanked his head back, and dug the metal into his neck.

Alvara’s stomach might as well have dropped out of her body. “Please, I don’t know what you want from me. There’s nothing to tell you. Don’t hurt him. He didn’t do anything wrong!”

The blade only sunk deeper, dyeing Pyry’s collar a deep red. “It’s quite simple. Tell King Einar what he wants to know, and I won’t carve your seluri into ribbons.”

Pins pricked at her eyes as she held back a gag. “I don’t know anything!” The guard removed his sword, and she drew in a long breath. Finally, someone willing to listen. “They have it all wrong—” She choked on her words as Pyry’s scream of agony tore through the cell. The guard had forced him to his knees and begun slicing the blade down Pyry’s back, flaying both fabric and skin. His blood gushed like the horrific river of Helvahem.

The world spun in a nauseating blur of crimson.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.