Shadow Empress (Night Elves Trilogy Book 3)

by C. N. Crawford

She’d come for me as I breathed my last breaths. She healed me, brought me to Hel to join her on the throne as king.

  And that’s exactly what I’d become: the King of Shades, the King of Darkness … the King of Nothing. That last title was most accurate—my heart was empty, my soul lost. There were times when I’d thought of sending a message to Ali, but what would be the point? She’d severed our soul mate bond. It was over now.

  As I tried to recall that sharp pain I’d felt when I first arrived here, I felt … nothing. My heart had started to turn dark and withered. I wasn’t a lich, but I might as well have been. My body was a husk—ashes and dust in my chest.

  “Galin?”

  I opened my eyes to see the Queen of Hel peering at me from her throne.

  “Yes, your Highness?” I might be the King of Hel, but Hela was a goddess—a daughter of Loki.

  My queen was beautiful and terrifying to behold—swirls of dark blue tattoos over the right half of her body. The other half was white as a lake of ice. Long, black hair draped over a white gown. She was stunning in an eerie way. Elegant. Her dark eyes shone with ruthless intelligence.

  She was more dangerous than I ever could have imagined.

  “I need satisfaction,” she breathed in a husky voice.

  Hela was my queen, and I was her king, but I didn’t desire her.

  “I am indisposed.” An obvious lie. I hadn’t done anything in weeks, and I’d been telling her this lie since I got here.

  Fortunately, Hela never seemed to care.

  She shrugged. “Then entertain me, King.”

  I sighed. “How shall I do that, my Goddess? I am not an entertaining person.”

  “I don’t care. Get out of your chair. Tell me a story, sing me a song, take off your shirt and dance for me. It doesn’t matter, as long as you do something to end this monotony.”

  I gripped the stone arms of the throne. “If you could visit the Nastrand, you could breathe in the scent of the sea.”

  “You know I cannot leave this place. The iron walls, they are the prison of the gods. Their magic binds me to these stones. And besides, I must rule over my people—”

  “The shades?” The shades were hardly people, and they definitely didn’t need ruling. They seemed happy to float over the cold mud, or hover above the stones of Hela’s throne room, whispering quietly to one another.

  “They are people to me.”

  “Perhaps you could ask them to entertain you, then.” Irritation laced my tone.

  She turned away from me. “Ganglati,” she said sharply. “What news do you have?”

  My old friend appeared in front of us, a large shade with pale eyes.

  “The shades report mist and rain, and eight hours ago a stone fell from the ceiling.” He spoke in a hushed, reverent tone. “The first in a hundred years. There was quite a to-do about it.”

  “No, you fool, tell me of the worlds beyond the iron walls.” Her voice boomed, echoing in the vast hall. “What do you hear from Midgard? What about Vanaheim? What of the humans and the elves?”

  Ganglati seemed unperturbed by Hela’s tone. “Ah. My Queen, terror reigns in the worlds of the living. Since you closed the gates to Hel, the dead that walk Helvegr have been turning round. Great hordes roam the plains of Vanaheim. They are hungry, and they feast on men and elves alike.”

  A thin tendril of dread curled through me—concern for the living. Was I actually feeling something again?

  “Good,” said Hela, her affect flat. “The more we send away, the more quickly they will grow in number—”

  “Hela,” I cut in, my blood heating. “Why do you torture the mortals by letting the dead lay waste to their lands?”

  Hela laughed, a strange guttural sound that set my teeth on edge. “You underestimate me, my King. I have a plan to escape, to rule the nine realms. My father’s wand—”

  “No,” I interrupted. “Even if you had Levateinn, it would not be enough to break you out. It cannot tear down the walls. You are trapped here until the end of time.”

  “You are right that I am trapped here.” Hela’s dark eyes searched my own.

  A strange sensation trickled down my spine, one that I rarely felt—it took me a moment to recognize it as fear.

  She crossed to me, stepping up onto the dais, then leaned down and gripped the collar of my shirt. She ripped it open. “But I wasn’t thinking Levateinn was the only tool I’d use to escape, or that I’d be the first to leave these walls.”

  Chapter 3

  Ali

  With Barthol by my side, we crossed through the towering halls of golden stone. Arches swept high above us, and moonlight spilled onto the floor.

  My brother flashed me a tired smile. “You could have been a dictator instead of bothering with the council.”

  “No, Barthol. I’m trying to do things differently. I don’t want to be an asshole leader. I’m not King Gorm.” When I took over as high leader of the tribes of elves, the first thing I’d done was create a council of advisors, so every tribe would be represented. I asked each one to send me two members to represent their interests—the Night Elves, the Vanir, and the High Elves.

  My footfalls echoed off the stone, and I glanced at my brother again. He looked exhausted. His hair lay matted to his forehead, and his boots were caked with mud. I knew I should let him shower and clean up, but I wanted to talk to him before the meeting.

  “I was worried about you,” I said, touching his arm. “That was way too close. If Swegde and I hadn’t been waiting for you, you’d be draugr food now.”

  Barthol laughed. “You don’t need to worry about me, sis.”

  I glowered at him. “You were wearing your cave bear jacket. It was hot out. Someone needs to teach you common sense.”

  “I know what I’m doing. It’s my lucky jacket.”

  “Look, I know you want a role for yourself, but getting eaten by draugr is not the one I had in mind.”

  Barthol’s jaw tightened. “Can I have a role on the council then?”

  I shook my head. “You’re my brother, it will be nepotism if I put you on the council.”

  “Harald and Sigre are brother and sister representatives.”

  “Yes, that is true, but they’re High Elves, and you’re a Night Elf. We need Vanir to represent the Vanir. Obviously.”

  “They trust me to scout for them,” he said irritably, picking up his pace toward the council hall.

  “Barthol.” I hurried to catch up. “I’m the Empress, and I have to lead in a way that builds trust.”

  “And I’m your humble servant.” He opened the door, giving me an exaggerated bow.

  “Please do not be melodramatic right now. You’re embarrassing me, as usual,” I muttered.

  I stepped into the council chamber, a large room with a heavy oak table in the center and a large fireplace at the far end. Swegde sat at the table, drinking wine with the Night Elves—Bo, and Lynheid.

  Barthol dropped into one of the chairs by the fire, sulking.

  Ignoring him, I turned to one of the Vanir guards at the door. “Can you see that Barthol gets something to eat and drink?” I said quietly. “He’s had a very long day.”

  The guard nodded and slipped into the hall.

  As I crossed to the council table, Bo straightened. “What’s this all about?”

  “When Harald and Sigre arrive I will explain everything.”

  Bo yawned, rubbing his eyes. “It had better be important. I was sleeping.”

  “It is, trust me.”

  I sat, but only briefly, as Harald and Sigre pushed open the door a minute later. Even though I saw them frequently now, I couldn’t help but stare. It was nearly three in the morning, but both were immaculately dressed, in black velvet robes that shimmered slightly in the firelight. While King Gorm had been flamboyant, with an obsession with food and gold, these elves were considerably more austere.

  Harald was an unusually tall elf, thin and narrow, like he’d been born small and subsequent
ly stretched out on a rack. Sigre had pale gold hair that she wore in a tight bun on the top of her head. While not as tall as her brother, she had long arms and legs, which made her look a bit like an insect.

  From the other side of the table, she stared at me with narrowed eyes. A praying mantis, I decided. If I turned my back I was certain she would try to bite my head off.

  “It appears we now have a quorum,” said Bo. “What is so important you needed to rouse me out of a dream about my harem?”

  Bo had become a thorn in my side. And of course he had—even if we’d been in prison together, he’d never forgiven me for threatening his life. And now, he looked absolutely ridiculous with his slicked-down hair and black suit—full of self-importance.

  “One of my scouts—”

  “Your brother, you mean,” Bo grumbled.

  Gods, this man clearly needed a solid eight hours of shut-eye.

  “Bo, why don’t you drink some of this nice wine? You are clearly cranky.” Everyone was cranky.

  “Don’t patronize me Ali—”

  I leaned forward, meeting his gaze. “Don’t patronize me Empress. And I would not have woken you up unless it was deadly important. Barthol has returned from a scouting mission. He’s brought with him urgent news you all need to hear.” I gestured to Barthol, indicating he should speak.

  Barthol rose from his chair by the fire. He rubbed a hand across his face, looking absolutely exhausted. “I just returned from the western plains.”

  “On your own?” Bo said sharply.

  “There were three of us—”

  “Then where are the other two?”

  “Dead. I will explain if you let me speak, Bo.”

  Bo smoothed his slick hair. “All right. Tell us what happened.”

  “We traveled west for two days, but then the draugr became too numerous to continue.” Barthol drew in a deep breath. “We rode until we reached the Sapphire Hills. When we climbed to the top, we saw a great horde of draugr gathering, hundreds of thousands of them, grunting and calling.”

  “How do you know they were draugr and not elves or men?” said Bo.

  Barthol’s throat bobbed. “Well, for one thing they ate the elves and horses I was with.”

  “All right.” Bo’s voice cracked. “So we’ll send an army to fight them. The creatures aren’t intelligent.”

  “If I may speak,” Harald cut in, “part of Boston is overrun with draugr. We’ve been sending soldiers armed with torches to burn them for years, but we’ve only succeeded in losing men.”

  “What have you heard from the Shadow Caverns?” Sigre asked. “Our spies have all gone silent.”

  “Your spies?” snapped Bo. “What are you doing spying on Night Elves when we are allied?”

  “Bo,” I snarled. “Just answer her question.”

  Bo crossed his arms over his chest, but he answered Sigre. “The Shadow Caverns have gone silent. I’ve sent a number of messengers, but none of them have returned.”

  I raised my hands. “It is clear we have a serious draugr problem. Both here in Vanaheim and possibly in the Shadow Caverns too. I brought you all here, not because I wanted you to fight with each other, but because I wanted to develop a plan to fight the undead. Does anyone have any suggestions?”

  The table fell silent, and Bo glared at the High Elves.

  At last Swegde leaned forward. “We need to join forces and defend ourselves. Together we might stand a chance. Fighting alone, we’ll all be overrun. We need to pick a single defensible position, one that the draugr can’t easily penetrate.”

  “The Citadel,” said Harald.

  I nodded. The Citadel had kept Marroc caged for a thousand years, it could keep the draugr out.

  When I thought of him, I felt as if my heart were twisting, and I could no longer focus.

  “The Citadel,” I repeated, thinking of how Marroc had looked when I first met him.

  “Then it’s decided.” Harald stood.

  “Actually I was thinking of the temple,” said Swegde. “The city walls can easily hold all three tribes of elves. The Citadel is already surrounded by bloodthirsty draugr, as you have mentioned, Harald. Our temple is not.”

  Of course, that made sense. And I would have thought of it if I hadn’t been distracted by thinking of Galin—Marroc as he’d been known then. This was why Swegde was right: to be an effective leader, you couldn’t let your emotions rule you. You had to smother them, or people would die.

  I cleared my throat. “Of course. Good point. I suggest we plan to relocate our tribes here. But then we need to figure out what to do about the draugr.”

  Swegde frowned. “We’ll fight them.”

  “Right,” said Bo, “but for how long? Months? Years? If we want to defeat them we’ll need to learn where they’re coming from, and why there are so many.”

  Swegde shrugged. “There’ll be time for that. For now we try to kill as many of them as possible.”

  “No,” I said. “Bo has a point. Just killing the draugr may not be enough to defeat them. We should find out where they’re coming from, or they may not stop.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes to try to think clearly. “We can’t cross the western plains. There were too many of them. But there has got to be a way …”

  I cursed under my breath. If I knew a bit more magic, I could ascend to the astral plane, or whatever Galin had called it. I could search for the source of the draugr hordes from the safety of my room. But I didn’t know how to do that. In fact, I only knew two spells: fire and portals.

  Just as I was trying to formulate my thoughts, a strange scratching noise rose from the fireplace.

  Barthol whirled to stare at it.

  “It sounds like an animal,” whispered Sigre.

  “Probably a bird,” said Bo. “They fly down chimneys sometimes.”

  “But not when there’s a fire burning,” said Harald. He stood next to Sigre, a silver dagger gleaming in his hand.

  A great cloud of soot and sparks erupted from the fireplace, and a large raven burst into the room, with dark magic spilling from its body.

  Chapter 4

  Ali

  The raven circled the room, squawking. Then suddenly it landed in the center of the table. It cocked its head, fixing me with a beady eye.

  Swegde drew his sword, and it glinted in the firelight.

  The raven began to hop towards me, its talons clacking on the old wood. I pointed Skalei at it. Ravens were sacred, but the stench of decay curled from it, and shadows thickened the air around it.

  With a shout, Swegde lunged, slashing with his sword, but the bird hopped above the blade and began flying around the room again.

  Barthol sidled up to me, as Sigre began screaming, “It’s a harbinger of death. We’re all going to die!”

  The raven landed on the top of a door frame, squawking angrily at Swegde. Swegde stalked towards it, ready to slash at it again. But even as he did, the bird fixed its gaze on me, black eyes flashing with a keen intelligence that did not belong to a bird.

  The hair on my arms stiffened. I stepped back. And yet, even as I did so I felt my fear wane.

  Something about the bird seemed familiar. Ravens were the messengers of the gods, and Galin had once told me that he’d kept them as pets. And as for the dark magic? Maybe that reminded me of Galin, too.

  Stop thinking about him, Ali. Stop. Thinking. About. Galin.

  As I tried to collect my thoughts, Lynheid stepped forward. Her silvery Night Elf eyes shone as she stared at the raven. She pointed to it. “I believe the creature has a package tied to its leg.”

  I frowned. Sure enough, tied just above its right foot was a small leather pouch.

  “Just give me a moment to kill it,” said Swegde, lifting his sword over his head.

  “No, wait!” I shouted, and Swegde lowered his sword. “Killing isn’t always the answer to everything, Swegde. Put your sword away.”

  The bird cocked its head, and I had the disturbing sense t
hat it could understand what I was saying. Fixing me again with its beady black eyes, it flew across the room and landed on the table in front of me.

  It stared at me unblinking, darkness staining the air around it.

  “I promise I won’t hurt you,” I said softly.

  The raven moved closer. It squawked again, so loudly I winced. Then, as delicately as a house cat looking to get petted, it stepped into my hand.

  I heard Sigre breathe in sharply, but the bird curled its head under a wing.

  Carefully, I undid the leather ties that held the pouch closed. Inside was a small piece of parchment. As soon as I drew it out, the raven leapt into the air, flying around the room and screeching. Then, it flew into the fireplace, leaving us once more in the quiet.

  “That raven was cursed,” Sigre whispered. “Someone in this room has a black hex.”

  Ignoring the High Elf princess, I unrolled the parchment. As I read the letter, a strange sensation washed over me. It was as if I couldn’t quite breathe; my heart pounded too hard in my chest.

  “What does it say? Who sent it?” asked Bo, leaning over my shoulder.

  I shifted away from him. “It’s from Galin.”

  A hush fell over the room. Sigre and Harald exchanged a look. Bo cursed under his breath.

  “The sorcerer is dead,” said Harald at last. “We all saw Revna stab him before he fell into the Well of Wyrd. There is no way he could have survived.

  “But he’s Galin.” An edge undercut my voice. “Of course he isn’t dead.”

  I read the letter out loud.

  Dear Ali,

  I rule here as King of Hel. I am consort to Hela, Goddess of the Dead. She is the reason the draugr invade the mortal lands. She will stop at nothing until she escapes Hel’s iron walls. If you free me, I can help defeat the draugr.

  —Galin.

  “Consort?” I shouted at the end.

  “Ali,” said Swegde. “Focus.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, my emotions whirling. On the one hand, Galin was alive, and he was offering to help us. This was what I’d been waiting to hear all this time.