Page 24 of Soul Forge

“Of course it is,” the Spirit laughed, taking her arm and pulling her back towards the hall. “There hasn’t been a new wielder for almost three centuries. The people will need proof of my involvement.” The sideways glance she threw made Elda tense.“EspeciallyHorthan and his entourage.”

“Why?” the princess asked warily.

“He doubts you,” Irileth replied simply. “He told his envoy that Sypher’s interruption was planned to avoid making an alliance with Falkryn. I heard him complaining about it while I was exploring your lovely home. It’s very different to Saeryn, you know. Artan favours white marble and flat roads to your grey granite and cobbles–”

“Horthan told his entourage that Sypher and I planned this whole thing?” Elda interrupted.

“Yes.”

“Wonderful.” She passed a hand across her eyes to try and stem the budding ache behind them. “If he keeps running his mouth, we’ll haveseveralangry monarchs to fend off.”

“Which is what I’m here for,” the Spirit beamed, tossing her pale hair back. The sunlight coming through the windows caught her frosted skin and shone right through in a mesmerising pattern.

“Well, there’s no doubt about you being a Spirit,” Elda agreed. “Maybe it isn’t such a bad idea.” At least a real Spirit might be enough to convince everyone Horthan was simply a liar. Having to handle the protests of several spoilt rulers wasn’t something Elda was sure she could manage without insulting them.

“Sypher tends to behave himself when I’m around,” Irileth winked. “My presence might make him a bit nicer to you.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Elda muttered darkly. “Let’s get this over with.”

They entered the banquet hall arm in arm to a chorus of gasps and shouts. Irileth’s grin stretched almost from ear to ear as she proudly led her wielder to the dais to greet the king.

“Stars above,” he muttered when he saw them approach, immediately bowing his head in respect. The rest of the guests followed suit.

“Now, there’s no need for that,” Irileth chuckled. “Rise, all of you.” Everyone in the room straightened up uncertainly. “My name is Irileth, and I am the Spirit that has selected Princess Elda as my wielder.” Hrothgar straightened to peer up at the seven-foot-tall ice woman. She smiled serenely back at him and the queen. Elda wondered if she knew what the king was really like. She didn’t seem like the type to smile at someone if she had a reason to dislike them.

Hrothgar’s eyes were rounded, his tone awed. “Thank you for joining us, creator.”

“Oh, come now,” the Spirit chuckled. “This is a celebration! I simply want to be a part of it.”

“Very well.” He nodded, motioning for the bard and his band to continue the music. “Welcome, Irileth. Where’s Sypher?”

Elda sighed. “Sulking.”

“Hmm.” The look he gave Elda told her he’d already assumed she was to blame. “Why don’t you both take a seat while you wait for him to return?” Hrothgar waved towards the two empty chairs meant for the married couple. Elda took one, but Irileth hesitated.

“Actually, I’d very much like to mingle if you don’t mind? There’s one person in particular I’m justdyingto meet,” she admitted.

Elda frowned at the inflection in her words but nodded to show it was fine. The Spirit beamed and sauntered over to where Horthan sat at one of the long benches with a tankard in his hand. Irileth took it from him and dumped it over his head.

“If you ever touch my wielder again, shifter, I will wipe you and your entire bloodline from existence.” She smiled sweetly. “Enjoy the celebration.”

Elda gawked, both mortified and impressed, as the Falkrynian spluttered and wiped ale from his eyes. His entourage hovered around him, looking far less intimidating when they were trying to pat his tunic dry before the ale could soak in and ruin it.

A quiet chuckle made Elda turn. Sypher watched the exchange from behind her chair with an amused grin, the expression a sharp contrast to his usual frown. With his princely outfit and no sword across his back, healmostlooked friendly. And her traitorous heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

“I thought you’d be gone longer,” she dared to say.

“And miss Lord Asshole getting a drink in his face? No chance.” He took the seat beside her, watching Irileth flit between the various groups of people in absolute fascination. She made no secret of her excitement, reaching out to touch the smooth blue skin of a fae warrior and loudly pointing out Heir Thurla’s rounded ears. To their credit, nobody seemed offended by her invasion. Then again, Elda supposed it would be pointlessto be offended by somebody who could unmake them in a heartbeat.

When Elda focussed back on her new husband, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. She tried to think of something to say to him. He made no attempt to speak first, keeping his eyes on the Spirit. She ran through several ways to phrase her thoughts before she found one that seemed to fit. Her head dipped, shoulders hunching so she didn’t have to look him in the eye.

“I know you don’t like me. And I understand why,” she mumbled, hands bunching her beautiful skirts. “But I fear for my safety. My experience of men is both minimal and decidedly negative. You’re a stranger to me, Soul Forge. How do I know what sort of man you are if you refuse to know me?”

“You meet one man who treats you like meat, and now you’re convinced I’m going to do the same?” He didn’t look at her when he spoke, but the irritation in his tone was thick enough that she knew he was scowling.

“Isn’t that the same as you assuming I'm like the other wielders?”

“Just answer the question.”

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