Shadow Empress (Night Elves Trilogy Book 3)

by C. N. Crawford

  “She was totally naked,” he whispered.

  “I noticed. Can you get a grip? We both know you’ve had plenty of women. What was that elf’s name, the one you met at the mushroom harvest last year? She was totally cute. I know you and she had a little thing together. Hela is forcing Galin to be here against his will, and unleashing draugr into the world of the living. Red flags, my friend. Red flags.”

  Barthol nodded, even as his expression remained vacant. “Do you think I’ll get to meet her?”

  “No,” I snapped.

  Because if we met Hela, that would mean that something had gone very wrong, and our chances of making it out of here would dwindle to nothing.

  Chapter 6

  Ali

  Barthol and I continued through the tunnel, crossing over more grates—none with naked goddesses, much to my relief. Barthol stopped to peer into each one of them just in case. We passed a couple of storerooms, and an empty hallway lit by purple flames.

  As we moved deeper into the ventilation tunnel, the air got warmer. My pants and jacket began to dry, which was nice. Assuming we weren’t heading for a giant flaming fireplace.

  My chest tightened as I saw a barrier up ahead—a horizontal grate at the end of the tunnel. If anyone looked through at this point, they would see us.

  Crawling on my stomach, I inched towards it until I could peer through the metal.

  This time, I recognized the room on the other side. It was Hela’s tomb, the place where Ganglati and the shades had taken Galin and me when we first entered Hel—a hall of enormous rock and vaulted ceilings. Warm light from candles in alcoves danced back and forth over the stones and the piles of bones. What a gloomy place.

  Hela’s crumbling throne was empty, but standing in front of it, his back to me, was a familiar form. I would have recognized his powerful warrior’s body anywhere. And yet he wasn’t the same Galin—not at all.

  Shirtless, his chest was marked with inky runes that snaked over his thickly corded muscles. Instead of the golden blond hair I’d last seen, his hair had returned to black. But the most concerning thing about him was the dark vapor drifting around him—like the shadow magic around the raven.

  He turned and strode towards a door beside the throne. For an instant, I caught a glimpse of his profile, and I drew in an involuntary breath at his unearthly beauty. There were the familiar sharp cheekbones, sculpted by shadows, his masculine jawline.

  I wanted to talk to him. Why did this dark sorcerer in Hel still feel kind of like home?

  Staring at his beautiful face, all the time we’d spent together came back to me in a flash: climbing the wall of the Citadel, the battle in Boston Common, running my hands over his chest in the Well of Wyrd.

  He seemed so familiar, and yet entirely alien. Back then, we had a soul bond, and I’d been inextricably drawn to him, like the proverbial moth to a flame.

  Now—I reminded myself—he was just another elf. Not my mate. He was just a very, very beautiful elf who I felt nothing for except a sharp squeezing in my heart and extreme excitement, a racing pulse—

  Stop it, Ali.

  I wondered again if I’d done the right thing, but the bottom line was—if he didn’t love me without magic, then it was never real, was it? It was like mind control. I’d needed to know the truth.

  Forcing myself to focus, I scanned the empty hall. Unfortunately it wasn’t empty; shades drifted about slowly, like motes in still air. As much as I wanted to jump down and run after Galin, that wasn’t possible.

  Barthol slid up next to me. “Hela seemed lonely,” he whispered.

  “I will murder you with the wand if you don’t stop talking about her. She’s had Galin to keep her company, anyway. She would chew through you like a starved leech. There’d be nothing left but a dried-up corpse. She’s bad news. Anyway, our goal here is to talk to Galin. I just saw him slip through that door next to the throne. We need to find a way to get over there to follow him. Any ideas?”

  He stared through the grate. “We could just make a run for it?”

  I shook my head, wondering why I’d brought him. “The shades will see us as soon as we step out of this tunnel. And if I create a portal to where he was standing, they’ll notice. What about a diversion? When the shades are distracted, I can create a portal that opens near where Galin was headed.”

  “Oh good idea.” Barthol’s eyebrows flicked up, and I hoped his next idea wouldn’t involve Molotov cocktails and catapults. “What if you made a fire?” He pointed at Levateinn on my hip.

  Not a bad idea. “That works.”

  I drew Levateinn and began to conjure the fire spell. A moment later a small gout of flame burst out of the wand and into the great hall. It began to burn on the stone just in front of our vent.

  “It’s working. The shades are coming,” said Barthol, while I quickly scribed the portal spell. As I did, I pictured where Galin had been standing. I smiled as a portal crackled into existence in the tunnel.

  “Be careful,” I said as I started forward. “It’s going to be a tight fit.”

  I slipped through the portal and into the hall near the thrones. From here, I looked across the great expanse of stone. The shades had gathered around the fire, ignoring us completely.

  Barthol grunted quietly as he dropped through the portal. His bear fur jacket looked slightly singed.

  I pointed at the arched door Galin had gone through—wooden, with sharp metal studs jutting out—and we hurried toward it.

  When we reached it, I paused. I might be an Empress now, but I hadn’t forgotten my years of assassin’s training. What if all this was a trap? Galin, after all, hadn’t looked quite himself. I glanced back around the cavernous tomb, at the shades bustling frantically around the fire. In the ancient stone walls, the blocks were dusty and chipped. I slid Levateinn into a gap between the stones, a plan already forming in my mind.

  I reached for the door, ready to push it open, but before I could touch it, it swung towards me. At the first glimpse of his godlike face, I stepped back, like I’d been struck with an arrow.

  “Galin?”

  The sorcerer stood before me, arms crossed. His hair and eyes were now the color of the midnight sky, his chest tattooed with sharp black runes.

  His expression was completely unreadable, like he was made of marble.

  “Galin,” I began again. “I got your message—”

  I stopped short as a shadow moved in the passage behind him. The shimmer of a silk gown, blue skin, a pair of gray eyes that gleamed in the darkness. My heart leapt into my throat as the Goddess of the Dead stepped from a hidden alcove to join Galin.

  Behind me, Barthol exhaled sharply.

  For a long moment we all just stared at each other. Then Hela spoke in a husky voice, so quiet it was almost a whisper. “You must be Ali.”

  Dread shivered over my skin.

  Chapter 7

  Ali

  You got this, Ali.

  “Not Ali.” I straightened, clearing my throat. Adrenalin was filling my veins, making my body feel shaky. But I would compose myself. “I’m Empress of the Vanir.”

  Hela didn’t reply, just stared at me—held my gaze too long, her gray eyes glittering. I stepped back, unnerved by the feeling that she was inspecting my soul. It took all my willpower not to look away.

  If I were in her shoes I’d have been triumphant, exultant. I’d just caught my enemy in the middle of my stronghold, surrounded by my guards, with my most powerful warrior only feet away.

  And what was Galin doing? Had he tricked me into coming here? Had he turned on me—or was he only pretending to be a shadowy weirdo?

  Hela’s expression remained placid, morose even. What was wrong with her? Were all the gods like this? Beautiful but dour?

  Galin cocked his head, his expression a million miles away. “Is that how you address the daughter of Loki, the Goddess of the Dead? The only living god?”

  My breath left my lungs. I was starting to think perhaps Ga
lin hadn’t told me to come here at all. He certainly didn’t look happy to see me.

  What if Hela had summoned me?

  My plan had failed. We’d been caught, and unless I could speak to Galin alone, I had no idea what he’d actually intended.

  By his lack of expression, I guessed I had my answer to how he felt about me without the mating bond. He felt—nothing at all.

  I tried to ignore the feeling of my heart shattering, so I could focus. That was what Swegde would tell me to do—push the emotions under the surface. I tore my gaze away from Galin, then dodged back from the doorway.

  “Barthol, use your crystal,” I shouted.

  Except—Barthol didn’t move. When I glanced at him, he seemed transfixed by Hela. That same expression that I’d seen in the tunnel was on his face again. I wanted to murder him. Absolutely murder him.

  “You have something I want,” said Hela in a low voice, her eyes fixed on me.

  Definitely a trap, then. She’d lured me here—and like an idiot, I’d come running.

  “And what would that be?” I said, feigning innocence.

  “Give me the wand.”

  I shrugged, relieved at the one good decision I’d made—to hide it. “I don’t have it.”

  Finally the goddess took her eyes off me. “Galin, darling. Search her.”

  Galin stepped in front of me. He towered over me, close enough that I could have run my fingers over the strange runes that covered the taught skin of his stomach. I could smell him too, sage and smoke. That part of him hadn’t changed.

  He reached for me. I went tense as his fingers brushed my shoulders, then traced along my arms.

  Disappointment bloomed in my chest. He didn’t look at me as he moved his hands along my ribs, down my hips. He ran his fingers over my legs, from my thighs down to my ankles. I stared at his queen as he did, and her gaze pierced me to the core. Gritting my teeth, I wished I’d never come here.

  After confirming the wand wasn’t hidden under my leather pants, Galin straightened. “She doesn’t have it.”

  Hela took a step closer. “Where is my wand, Empress?”

  “Back in Vanaheim. I couldn’t risk bringing it with me.”

  Galin still loomed over me. “That’s impossible, she couldn’t have gotten here without it.”

  Anger roiled in my mind. Screw you, Galin. Shadowy prick.

  And this was why I’d needed to sever the mating bond. Because without it? He didn’t care for me at all. He’d written the letter to trap me here. That was all.

  “I had one of the seidr send me here,” I said sharply. “I didn’t use the wand.”

  Galin’s body was eerily still, shadows curling from him. “One cannot create a portal to a place they haven’t visited. You and I are the only mortals to have toured this realm in thousands of years. The seidr did not send you here.”

  My fingers tightened into fists. Had I actually thought we might have something without the mating bond? Absolute idiocy.

  “I described the realm in great detail.”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. “The Night Elf lies. It’s close by.”

  But Hela didn’t appear to be listening to Galin. Instead she was looking past me.

  She was staring at Barthol.

  “Who is he?” Her voice was a quiet murmur.

  He gazed at her with wonder. “I am Barthol Volundar, the Empress’s brother.”

  Gods, what was Barthol doing? Telling Hela he was my brother gave her leverage over me. This was a basic assassin no-no.

  “Yes, her brother,” Hela murmured, gliding towards him, her silk robe shimmering. “And what brings you to my kingdom?”

  “Well,” Barthol stammered, “I was looking after Ali.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “You mean the Empress of the Vanir?”

  “Err, yes.”

  “I see.” Hela’s voice was buttery smooth. “And does that mean you know where the wand is?”

  Barthol stared at the goddess like he’d been hypnotized. It didn’t help that the sheerness of the silk hid absolutely nothing.

  “I don’t … I haven’t …” Barthol’s throat bobbed.

  “Why don’t you just tell me the last time you saw the wand?” whispered Hela, catching Barthol’s chin in her long fingers.

  Barthol had gone completely rigid, his eyes fixed on Hela’s. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

  “Silly boy,” said Hela. “You don’t need to be scared of me.”

  “I’m not scared of you,” he whispered.

  The death stare I was giving him had no effect, since he wasn’t looking at me.

  “Then tell me where the wand is,” she purred.

  “It’s …” Barthol stammered again. Hela leaned closer, drawing a finger along the edge of his jaw.

  I glanced to Galin. He was watching Hela intently. This was my chance.

  Leaping past him, I snatched Levateinn from the crevice in the stone. Before Galin could stop me, I leveled the wand at Hela.

  “Step away from my brother, goddess.”

  The goddess turned to look at me. Her movements were slow, like a reptile just warming up after a cold night, her dark eyes expressionless. Was it possible she didn’t actually care about the wand?

  She held out her hand. “Give it to me. It is mine.”

  Her body went preternaturally still, and it took all my willpower not to look away. A cold dread was spilling through me. My tongue felt heavy in my mouth, and my jaw didn’t want to open. Still, I somehow managed to say, “No.”

  If the goddess was surprised to hear that, her expression didn’t show it. As she studied me with her dark eyes, I felt a deep foreboding. A clammy chill spread over my skin, and my heart seemed to beat more slowly in my chest.

  It had to be magic. Whatever she had done to Barthol, she was doing to me now. A death spell?

  “Is this the wand, Galin?”

  “Yes, Goddess.”

  “Please bring it to me.”

  Galin stepped forward, ready to take the wand. With an iron will, I forced myself to step back.

  “You cannot run, Empress,” Hela hissed.

  “Barthol,” I gasped. “Help me.”

  Across from me, Barthol remained focused on the goddess. He took a step towards her. Slowly his arms spread open. Then, grinning like an idiot, he wrapped the goddess in one of his massive bear hugs.

  Galin moved for me then, but the goddess’s gaze had shifted from me. Free of her magic, I dove hard to the side, evading him with a roll to the ground.

  As I leapt to my feet, I dodged him again, farther away this time. Shifting out of Galin’s reach, I cast a portal spell with a crackle of electric magic.

  The portal opened a foot to my right, no more than eight inches wide—a direct conduit between Hela’s tomb and my chambers in the Vanir temple.

  Static electricity crackled round my wrist as I shoved the wand through.

  “Get any closer and I’ll drop it,” I shouted.

  Galin went still—five feet away from me. Behind him, Barthol still hugged Hela. What in gods’ name was he doing?

  “If you drop the wand, you’ll be trapped here.” A sharp edge undercut Galin’s voice.

  “Do you really think I’m that stupid?” I shot him a bitter smile. “I’ve got my vergr crystal back in Vanaheim. I can leave at any time—wand or no wand.”

  For the first time since we’d been talking, I saw an emotion on Galin’s face: worry.

  “Didn’t anticipate that, did you?” My smile deepened. “So here’s the plan. You’re going to take a little vacation with Barthol and me. I’ll return you when the draugr are actually trapped in Hel once more. Then you can have your queen back.”

  Hela’s monotone voice cut in, “And what do I get in exchange?”

  “This isn’t a negotiation.” I kept my eyes on Galin as I spoke, in case he made a move for me.

  “But I think it is,” said Hela coolly.

  “You have nothing to neg
otiate with,” I shot back.

  “But I do.”

  I peeked at Hela out of the corner of my eye. She’d extracted herself from Barthol’s embrace. Now he stood beside her, staring at her again with puppy-dog eyes.

  She stroked his cheek, and something like panic started to steal my breath.

  “Barthol!” I shouted. “Use your crystal.”

  Barthol didn’t move, didn’t even seem to hear me. He continued to gaze rapturously at Hela.

  Bringing him here was the worst mistake I’d made in a long time.

  “Barthol,” I shouted again, “your crystal.”

  “Barthol,” crooned Hela. “I am the Goddess of the Dead. You love me.”

  Barthol’s eyes widened, as if this were the first time he’d heard that. “You are the Goddess of the Dead,” he intoned.

  “Kneel before me,” said Hela.

  “Barthol! Don’t listen to her!” I was practically screaming. But if Barthol heard me, he didn’t acknowledge it. Slowly he knelt in front of Hela, his eyes locked on hers.

  “Draw your sword,” she purred.

  Barthol did as he was commanded.

  I screamed at him, but he continued to ignore me.

  Hela smiled, her eyes ice cold. “Now, press it against your neck.”

  He pressed the blade against his own neck, and nausea rose in my gut.

  “So you see,” said Hela, turning to look at me again. “I do have something to negotiate with.”

  Terror wound through me. Just like the Nokk had done to Galin, Barthol was completely mind controlled.

  “Barthol,” I shouted again, vainly hoping to get through to him. “Use your crystal.”

  “Give me the wand.” Hela held out her hand. “And I will release your brother.”

  I looked to Barthol, my heart slamming against my ribs. I had to make a choice.

  I could let Hela kill him, or I could give up the wand. But if I left the wand, then I had no way to get back to Hel.

  My people—all elves—would die at the hands and teeth of the draugr. I’d have failed completely as Empress.

  It might take months, or years, but I knew in my bones we’d be overrun. I could save Barthol now, but in the end? He’d die with the rest of us.