On the other hand, he’d had the ability to contact me all this time, and didn’t. Just like Barthol said.
And what was more—he’d been banging a goddess. A goddess. What did she look like now that she was alive? Beautiful, I imagined.
I stared for far too long at the way he’d signed it. Not a love, not even a yours. Just a slash across the page. I gritted my teeth and lifted my eyes to the others, forcing my emotions under the surface.
I’d done this. I’d severed the mating bond. What did I expect? It was the magical version of a break up. And now he was banging a goddess.
My fists clenched. Stop thinking about Galin.
“Well,” laughed Sigre. “No one living knows how to get to Hel. Clearly this is a forgery.”
“Actually, I have visited Hel,” I said quietly.
Sigre’s eyes widened, and she stared at me like I might be a draugr in disguise.
“That’s impossible,” said Harald.
I held up Levateinn. “Where do you think I got this?”
Sigre crossed her arms. “Even if she visited Hel, she did it with the sorcerer’s help.”
“That is true,” said Bo.
My throat felt tight. “We are being offered help by the King of Hel. I think we should take it.”
Only Swegde spoke. “It’s extremely risky …”
“Does anyone else have a better idea for defeating the draugr?” I asked.
Barthol’s eyes lit up. “I’ve been thinking we could build enormous catapults. Then we could launch Molotov cocktails …”
But as my brother spoke, I found myself thinking about Galin again.
If you free me …
So he’d chosen not to contact me, but maybe he didn’t have a choice about much else. Clearly, he was trapped there—and he needed us to let him out.
We needed him, too. If anyone could stop the draugr hordes, it was him. He’d been able to imprison the Night Elves behind a magic wall for more than a thousand years. If I freed him, maybe he could do the same thing to the draugr. Or he could help kill them. He was the only one who could really use Loki’s wand.
“I should go to Hel,” I said, interrupting Barthol’s in-depth description of a Molotov cocktail.
Barthol stared at me. “But it’s impossible. Last time you visited, you nearly drowned on the way. You were attacked by the Nokk and had to climb over the iron wall. Why would you go back?”
This was the point where I really began to regret telling Barthol about my adventures with Galin—back when Galin had been Marroc. The journey sounded terrifying, when in fact—
Actually he was right. It had been terrifying. But still, I had to try.
I heaved a deep breath. “Traveling over the waterfall and through the subterranean lake would be risky.” I bit my lip. “But I don’t have to travel that way this time.”
“What do you mean?” asked Barthol.
“Well, we were on our way to steal Levateinn last time.” I held up the wand. “But now that I’ve got it—I can create a portal. It’s one of the only things I know how to do with this wand. I might as well put it to use.”
“You can make a portal into Hel?” Sigre gasped with terror. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“I think I can make the portal. I mean I’ve never actually tried—but it shouldn’t be any more difficult than making any other portal. The crucial thing is that I’ve been there before, so conjuring the portal is possible.”
“But what will happen after that?” asked Barthol.
My nerves buzzed at the thought of seeing him again. “I’ll step through and go find Galin. I’ll try to avoid his … queen. I’ll have the wand, so I can return to Vanaheim any time.”
Dangerous as it was to steal a consort from a death goddess, this idea was making more and more sense. In fact, the fear in my gut had been replaced by a thrilling excitement. Across the table I could see Barthol’s eyes gleaming as well.
“I’ll go with you!” he exclaimed.
“Absolutely not,” said Swegde.
“Why not?” Bo leaned forward. “I don’t think it’s a good idea if she goes alone.”
“Clearly,” said Barthol. “And I should be the one to go. I’m her brother. We’ve done plenty of jobs together already.”
Like the time you left me in the Silfarson’s bank to be nearly eaten by a draugr, attacked by a troll, and imprisoned by the High Elves.
But really—Barthol had a point. “Having a second person along could be helpful,” I said. “And I trust Barthol.”
“What if you get separated?” asked Swegde. “And one of you can’t return?”
“Then this could come in handy.” Lynheid drew a vergr crystal from under the folds of her dress. “I can bind it to Barthol.”
I grinned. “Oh brilliant idea.”
“I don’t understand,” said Harald.
“Vergr crystals allow for teleportation,” I explained. “We can leave it here in Vanaheim, so that if we run into any trouble he can be instantly transported out of Hel. And I’ve got my own crystal, and Levateinn. I’ll make a portal back here when it’s time to go.”
“I don’t like this idea,” said Harald, his voice icy. “Can we really trust this traitor—someone who turned against his own family? I think he’s more likely to murder us than to help us.”
“Yes,” I snapped. “We can trust him.”
“Ali’s right,” said Swegde. “His skills as a sorcerer are legendary. We need his help, or the draugr will overwhelm us eventually. We need to close the doors to Hel. The dead outnumber us by legions, and we can’t throw Molotov cocktails forever.”
“Then it’s settled,” I said. “As soon as Barthol is bound to the crystal, we’ll leave—”
“No,” Sigre barked. “It is not settled. I object.”
Harald straightened. “As do I.”
“On what grounds?” growled Swegde, clearly out of patience.
“He can’t be trusted,” Harald hissed.
As I stared at him, it hit me like a fist. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? Galin was the rightful ruler of Midgard. Harald was only ruling in his absence.
“Obviously, the council must vote.” Sigre flicked her pale hair over her shoulder. “You are, after all, not a dictator. Isn’t that what you said? Those are the rules. And since it’s your proposal, you must abstain from voting. Or have you changed your mind?”
“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. Clearly, being a dictator was easier.
“All right.” Swegde held up his hands. “Harald, how do you vote?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Sigre?”
“No.”
Swegde looked to Lynheid, who seemed to be hiding behind her silver hair.
“Yes,” she said quietly.
“And I’m also a yes,” said Swegde. That made two No’s and two Yes’s. All our eyes turned to Bo—the tie-breaking vote.
Bo adjusted his lapels. “Is this perhaps because you’re hoping to mate with him again? Are you sure you’re doing this for the right reasons? You’re not letting your emotions get the best of you, are you?”
Anger erupted in my mind. “The Norn severed the connection between our souls. I feel nothing for him. I am the Empress of the Vanir, leader of the elves. My only duty is to my people. Galin means nothing to me anymore.”
I held my breath as Bo stared at me for a long time, then looked to Swegde. “Well I don’t have any better suggestions. I vote yes.”
I exhaled, wondering why I felt this wild sense of giddiness.
After all—I had severed the bond. What was left?
Chapter 5
Ali
Two hours later, Barthol and I stood in the main hall of the Vanir temple, sandstone vaults in sharp peaks high above us.
I was dressed in my full assassin’s outfit: close-fitting leather pants and jacket, Levateinn at my hip. Barthol also wore leather pants, but instead of a tight jacket he’d chosen to go with hi
s cave bear coat. Because of course he did.
He’d also grabbed a small sword, even though I told him it would be useless against the shades.
Rolling my shoulders, I drew Levateinn. I studied the silver wand for a long moment. I had spent every day of the last month practicing the two spells I knew: fire and portal.
I glanced at Barthol. “Do you remember how to invoke your vergr crystal?”
He nodded.
“Good. If anything goes wrong I want you to call it right away, okay? We are basically stealing from a death goddess.”
“I got it Ali.”
I wanted to say that Barthol wasn’t nearly as experienced as me, that Hel was extremely dangerous and he needed to do exactly what I said, but I bit my tongue. I needed to trust him, not distract him with being patronized.
I took in a deep breath. “All right, I’m going to open the portal now.”
As I scribed the portal spell, and streaks of light beamed before me, Barthol stepped back.
I sharpened my focus. The trick to making it work, I’d learned, was to envision exactly where you wanted to go. It was why you could only go someplace you’d already been. So as I incanted the runes, I tried to remember the tunnel that led to Hela’s tomb. I mostly remembered that it had been at the base of the cliff—a crack in a sheer cliff of stark gray rock.
And this was where the first problem presented itself.
As much as I tried to recall specific details, I wasn’t sure I’d gotten a good look at that part of the cliff. Had I?
I squeezed my eyes tight, trying to bring up the image: gray clouds, black mud, jagged stone rising high, high above me.
Then, with an electric pop, the portal appeared in front of me. The wand thrummed in my hand, strangely heavy. I didn’t know how long I could keep the portal open.
“You go first, I’ll be right behind you,” I said to Barthol.
I concentrated as my brother stepped through and disappeared with the sound of crackling static.
I stared at the shimmering surface of the portal. This was it; I was going back to Hel. The realm of mud, mist, shades, and death. I should have been worried, scared even, but instead I was strangely excited. A sort of nervous energy radiated through my body—a bit like when I’d first opened the note from Galin.
For an instant I pictured his face vividly: square jaw, sharp cheekbones, golden eyes. What would it be like to see him again? Had he missed me at all?
Only one way to find out.
Gripping the wand, I stepped through the portal.
I gasped as cold rain sprayed my face and instantly soaked my hair. All around me rain poured down, like being under a shower that was set on cold and turned up to max spray. My feet squelched in black mud when I stepped forward.
“Ali, over here,” Barthol called out.
In the icy deluge, I tried to wipe the water from my face with the sleeve of my leather jacket. Already I regretted my decision to wear it. I pressed a hand to my forehead like a sort of visor, trying to look for my brother in the dim light.
“Here,” he said again.
At last, I saw him. He stood with his back against a wall of gray rock. Jagged stone jutted out above him, giving him some protection from the rain. But on either side, streams of water poured down from the top of the cliff high above.
Bingo. I’d got us to the right spot. At least I thought so.
I hurried over and squeezed in next to him under the overhang of rock.
“I didn’t realize it rained so much in Hel.” Barthol hugged himself, teeth chattering, his cave bear jacket giving off a dead-animal smell.
“Neither did I. Last time it was mostly just a thick mist and fog.” I shivered as an ice-cold rivulet of water dripped down my back.
“Do you know where we are?” he asked.
I grimaced. “I tried to send us to the entrance of Hela’s tomb.”
“What’s it look like?”
With a growing sense of unease, I peered around. The rain was pouring down in thick sheets, pooling in deep puddles on the black mud. “The entrance was a big crack in the cliff.”
“I don’t see anything like that,” said Barthol. “Just rock.”
Neither did I. Shit.
Already I was nearly soaked through, my leather pants sticking to my legs unpleasantly. I really wanted to get out of the rain.
“Do you know the way?” Barthol asked hopefully.
Again, I looked in either direction along the wall of rock. I didn’t recognize anything. “No. But let’s try going right and see what happens.”
Slowly we began to walk along the base of the cliff. Black muck sucked at my feet, and I wished I’d thought to wear rubber boots. My shoes were already soaked through.
“Ali.” Barthol grabbed my shoulder. “What is that?”
He pointed behind us to a dark shape in the mist, and my stomach dropped. It hung like a dark stain over the ground, and the rain simply passed through it. Unquestionably, one of the local denizens.
“It’s a shade,” I whispered. “Don’t give him any attention.”
I grabbed his wrist, pulling him forward, away from the shadowy spirit.
We continued along the base of the cliff, but found only sheer rock. Where was the entrance to Hela’s tomb? I stopped to look back, hoping the shade had wandered off, but the thing still lingered in the air. Was it following us?
I turned to walk again, but Barthol called my name.
“Ali, look.” He pointed at something in the rock farther ahead—a dark space at the very bottom of the cliff. I hurried until I reached it.
There, at knee level, was a small entrance, large enough for a child. It definitely wasn’t the crack I remembered, but it was an opening nonetheless.
“I think it’s a cave,” said Barthol.
If there was one thing the Night Elves understood, it was caves.
I nodded, crouching down to poke my head inside a dark, narrow tunnel. It wasn’t the path I’d taken before. But what I liked about it right now was its distinct and total lack of ice-cold rain.
“I think we should try it,” I said, pulling my head out to talk to Barthol. “Maybe it will lead to Galin.”
My brother nodded. “I just want to get out of this rain.”
I crawled inside. Barthol grunted as he squeezed in behind me.
I pushed my wet hair off my face. The cave was even narrower than I’d anticipated, with a ceiling so low, we were forced to crawl on hands and knees. But it was dry! In fact, it was strangely warm. Bonus.
As Night Elves, we were basically at home here in the claustrophobic dark, able to see in the pitch black.
“Just to clarify,” said Barthol. “You have no idea where this goes?”
“No idea,” I said.
As I crawled forward, the cave remained narrow. I realized it was nearly circular, like a tube. Was it man made?
After another hundred yards, nothing had changed. Just as I was starting to worry that we’d have to turn back, I saw a light.
“There’s something ahead of us,” I whispered.
“I see it too.”
I wriggled on my stomach, until I was able to see a sort of grate in the floor. Light streamed through, drawing lines of light and shadow on the ceiling of the tunnel. We were in some kind of air vent.
I carefully peeked through. Below me was a lavishly decorated bedroom. A large king-sized bed with a white duvet, a fireplace at the far end, and a sofa that faced a row of tall windows. Biting my lip, I wondered if this was where Galin’s goddess-consorting duties took place …
Had he been a willing participant?
I clenched my jaw. It didn’t matter. That wasn’t why I was here.
Yet the prospect of seeing him again got my heart racing. Peering around the room, I saw two doors, one across from the bed and another closer to the fireplace.
Barthol brushed against me, trying to get a look. “What is it?”
“A bedroom.”
“Galin’s?” Barthol said, a little too loudly.
I clamped my hand over his mouth and pointed at the door by the fireplace. Just as he’d started to speak, I’d seen it move.
His eyes widened. Together we watched as the door slowly creaked open.
I couldn’t see anything at first. Just a huge cloud of some sort of ghostly white mist. The scent of lavender floated through the air, and the sound of a faucet running. The mist was steam from a shower or bath.
The steam billowed into the bedroom. Then, silhouetted within it, a tall figure appeared. Not large and broad shouldered, but lithe and thin.
I nearly gasped as I saw blue, swirling tattoos against icy skin. The Goddess of the Dead. Strangely beautiful, she stepped into her bedroom.
Jealousy and a kind of possessiveness pierced my heart. Had she seduced Galin? Or trapped him?
Interlacing her fingers, she stretched her arms above her head, looking at herself in the mirror.
When I’d seen the goddess before, she’d been basically mummified. A desiccated corpse in moldering robes propped up on an old throne. Now she was stunning, her body perfection, her hair a silky onyx.
I stole a glance at Barthol. He had gone completely still, and his eyes bulged so wildly they looked like they might pop out of his head.
Hela slipped a thin robe of pale silk over her shoulders. She shook her hair out, then strode from the room.
“Woah, woah, woah,” Barthol breathed out. “Who was that?”
“Did you see her blue and ivory skin?”
“Hela,” he whispered. “She is perfect.”
“I mean, she’s okay, I guess,” I said sourly. “She may have trapped Galin here against his will, you know.”
“Hela …” Barthol echoed, his eyes wide as dinner plates.
Rolling my eyes, I started to crawl forward. When I’d gone a few yards I twisted around to check on Barthol. He still stared through the grate.
“Barthol,” I whispered sharply, “we have to keep moving.”
“Hela …” Barthol said again, in a slow monotone.
“Snap out of it bro,” I said in my best big-sister voice. “She’s a goddess, and she’s out of your league.”
At last, he started moving again.
Shadow Empress (Night Elves Trilogy Book 3) Page 3
