“I didn’t destroy his shop and steal his tools,” Gregor called after me.
I froze. “You don’t actually expect me to believe that.”
“Think about it,” he said, moving to stand beside me. “Why would I be so blatant about it? Wouldn’t I hide the tools if I stole them so that it couldn’t be traced back to me?”
“You provoked Kari in front of everyone,” I pointed out. “Don’t forget. I was there. And she wouldn’t be alive if I hadn’t been.”
He folded his arms. “All right, I did provoke her. I didn’t outright attack her, though. Not until she attacked me. Because I play the game within the rules. Leaving stolen tools lying around is something only a fool would do.”
“So someone framed you, is what you’re saying.” I patted his arm. “Nice try.”
“Wait,” he said quickly, digging into his pocket and producing a folded piece of parchment. “I thought you might want to see this.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What’s that?”
“I’ve got friends in Fafnir. I sent them a letter via raven when you first got here, asking them about you.”
“You didwhat?” I advanced on him, horror snaking through me. If Isveig got wind that I was here and very much alive…
“Don’t worry. They’re loyal to his sister, Thuri. Turns out she survived the whole ordeal.” He passed me the parchment.
I didn’t want to look at it, fearing this was some kind of trick. But the roaring in my head was too loud for me to ignore. Without another word, I unfolded the note.
The heir is alive.
That was all it said. I lifted my eyes and looked at Gregor. “You expect me to believe this is from Fanfir, and it’s talking about Thuri?”
He shrugged. “Take it as my truce. I made a mistake, but I’m trying to make it right—starting with warning you about Rivelin.”
I backed up and shook my head. “I’m returning to the celebration now.”
“Just think about it,” he said as I parted the bush. “Why didn’t Rivelin hear someone destroying his things? Who wants to win this competition more than anyone else? Perhaps Rivelin sabotaged his own damn shop to set me up. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s tried to get rid of me, especially after I tried to romance his sister. He holds a grudge.”
“I’m done listening to this.” I shoved through the shrub, ignoring the scratches along my arm. When I stumbled back into the celebration, I searched the crowd for Rivelin and found him beside the stage frowning at the glass jars. It looked like everyone had cast their vote now. As expected, Viggo was still in the lead.
With narrowed eyes, Rivelin shifted his gaze from the jars to where Viggo stood surrounded by a gaggle of pixies. He glowered at the fire demon in a way that sent a chill down my spine. I recognized that look. I’d seen it on Isveig’s face before. He was angry, and he was out for blood.
24
RIVELIN
Daella was contemplative for the rest of the night, and when we returned home, she went straight to bed. I’d hoped to continue our earlier encounter, but I had to admit my mind was elsewhere, too. Viggo’s spectacle was odd. Where had he come up with something like that? It didn’t sit right in my gut.
After checking the lock on my weapons closet, I settled onto the couch, tossing and turning for a good hour before I finally abandoned sleep. There was far too much on my mind.
And so after donning a shirt and downing a pint of water to clear my head, I stole out the front door toward the square where I knew I’d find my quarry.
* * *
“Rivelin, fancy seeing you here,” Haldor said with a slight smile as I settled down beside him. The square was subdued this night, compared to the others. Those still celebrating the end of the Fildur Trial were out in the meadow, where most would remain until dawn. Not Haldor. Every night, he brought fresh flowers to lay at Freya’s stone feet. The fire demons still worshipped the Old Gods. They’d never become part of the Grundstoff Empire, though Haldor had lost everyone dear to him in a battle against Isveig. He’d been a lonely, quiet man when he’d arrived in the Isles, until he’d met Lucien. They’d married each other a year later. Still, Haldor came here every night without fail to remember those he’d lost all those years ago. Many of us here in Wyndale had similar stories.
“How are the memories?” I asked him quietly.
He sighed. “Same as they always are. Fresh as the day they were made. It’s both a blessing and a curse, a demon’s mind. I can remember everything I’ve ever seen and heard and tasted. But the horrors of my past echo with an almost-crushing vibration.”
“And yet you’re one of the happiest folks I’ve ever met.”
“Yes, well.” His eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled. “Love changes everything.”
