Slowly, I pulled back.
“Daella,” Rivelin said, snapping my attention away from Aska and those flaming eyes that seemed to see through me, right into my soul. “Is your hand all right?”
“What? Of course it is. She wanted my food, not my fingers.”
“I meant your skin,” he said so intently, a chill caressed my bare arms. “No one can make contact with dragons. It burns. That’s why I can’t get close.”
I blinked. “Oh. I’m fine. I suppose that’s not much of a surprise since I seem to be immune to fire in general.”
“Yes, but I do wonder…” He stared at the dragon for a good long while, then blinked and shook his head when Aska suddenly pushed off the ground and returned to the skies, leaving behind a whirlwind of leaves and dirt. “Your mother was an orc, and she died in a Draugr fire, you said?”
I frowned. “Yes, that’s right.”
“That’s what I thought. I’d hoped, perhaps, Aska’s fire might melt your ice shard, but it’s too much of a risk to try.” He sighed. “We best return to Wyndale. After the past few days, I think we could both use a good night’s sleep.”
* * *
The next week passed quickly. Gregor never showed himself, and we focused our attention on the trial when we weren’t working on commissions in the forge and Rivelin wasn’t digging around the Archives for a way to melt my ice shard.
For the Jordur Trial, we were to use the elements of the earth to create something truly remarkable. Unfortunately, this task didn’t line up with Rivelin’s strengths the way the last two had. Every morning, I’d catch him at the dining table, surrounded by piles of sticks, rocks, and flowers, looking completely helpless. Truth be told, I wasn’t much help.
“Perhaps we could make a rock formation.” I poked around at the pile of stones. It was one day before we were to present our creation to the spectators. So far, we had little to offer.
“We could. And then we would lose,” Rivelin answered dryly.
I dropped into the chair across from him and tried not to stare at the way his freshly washed hair curled across his ears. The past few days had been fraught with tension between us. I hadn’t mentioned our intimate moments, and neither had he. Every now and then, I’d catch him staring at me from across the forge, sparks and heat dancing between us. But he never took it further than that, and neither did I. As far as I could see, whatever this was between us was doomed. Soon, I would be forced to leave this place, and I’d never find the freedom to return.
All I could do was ensure Wyndale was protected before I went.
“Right.” I flattened my hands on the table. “From what I can tell, the Games tend to follow the same pattern each year, yes? You always do something with a boat for the first task, and then you have to create something using fire for the second one. And now we need to present something earthen for the third. Is that the same every year?”
He nodded. “That’s right”
“So what have others done in the past?”
Rivelin drummed his fingers on the table. “Nature wreaths, bug hotels, flower arrangements, art using stones. Some have crafted bowls or plates. The truth is, all of these work just fine, but none of them are spectacular enough to guarantee a win. After that fireworks display, Viggo will have something up his sleeve, I guarantee it.”
A thought occurred to me, and I leaned forward. “Has anyone ever baked something?”
Rivelin went still. “I don’t know the first thing about baking.”
“Oh, but I do.” I smiled.
* * *
Rivelin headed to the market to collect a list of ingredients from the grocer—flour, eggs, butter, milk, and sugar—along with some sweet spices from the apothecary. He returned just as I finished clearing the dining table of earthen debris and scrubbing it with a saltwater dishrag.
He dumped his cargo by the sink and eyed me warily. “Are you certain you know what you’re doing?”
“I grew up making these.” I motioned at the satchel. “Did you get the muffin tray from Mabel?”
“Yes, she had one, just like you thought.”
“Good. Get me a bowl, then fire up the hearth. I’m going to need some gloves, too.”
His lips twitched as he moved to the cupboard. “Someone is feeling bossy.”
“You best believe it. We have a lot of cupcakes to make.”
