Shadow Empress (Night Elves Trilogy Book 3)

by C. N. Crawford

  I stared in wonder as Thor escorted Hela away, and the gods began the work of bringing the world alive once more.

  Once, I’d believed nothing was more important than the gods, than fate. That reversing Ragnarok was more important than anything—bringing the world alive again. Raising the gods from their sleep. Now, I’d send them all back to the grave to keep Ali safe.

  I’d live in a frozen Hel if it meant she was keeping my bed warm at night.

  Chapter 42

  Ali

  Galin and I drove along the banks of the Charles River. He’d found a thousand-year-old car rotting in a parking garage, and we’d healed the thing using magic.

  Now, as I looked at the sun sparkling on the water, I was reminded again of how much had changed in Boston and Cambridge since the gods’ return. The snow had melted, the cold wind had been replaced by warm sun. In places green grass was growing.

  Odin had lifted the curse that created the draugr. They’d all become alive again. Suddenly, Cambridge was teeming with young humans. I’d been helping Galin and the High Elves get them fed and housed, which was actually pretty fun.

  “Hello? Testing. Testing,” a voice boomed from part of the car. It took me a moment to realize it was the radio. “Testing. Testing. One. Two. Three.” A pause followed, then a man said, “Guys I think this is actually working.”

  “Galin,” I said, “this must be one of the humans brought to life again. They are fascinating, aren’t they? And they’re getting all this old technology functioning again.”

  Before I could continue, the most glorious music filled the car. It was a song I’d never heard before, and I listened transfixed until it was finished.

  I waited for another song to play, but the voice was talking now about how amazing it was to be back now that Ragnarok was over. Galin poked a knob and the voice quieted.

  I turned to him, my heart full of excitement, and he pulled over so we could have a view of the dazzling sun setting over the river. He leaned back in his seat, and the look he was giving me suggested he wanted to do filthy things with me.

  “That song was great. Did you hear the lyrics? All about not getting pushed around. If you fail, if you falter, you get back to your feet. Galin, it was like what happened to us. I truly thought you’d abandoned me. When I woke up and saw the note, written in your handwriting. I thought you were gone. I thought without the mating bond, you felt nothing. I’d never been that down before. But do you know what? I didn’t give up.” Tears filled my eyes. “I saw you, and I knew I shouldn’t give up hope. If life crushes you, you have to fight.” I wiped a tear away. “That’s what that song means. You keep going.”

  Galin nodded, an amused smile on his face. I had the faint sense that he thought I was ridiculous, but that he loved me too.

  “Do you know what the song is? The name of it?”

  His expression grew resigned. He picked up his notebook and wrote in it, then handed it to me.

  I frowned. The name made no sense. “Are you sure this is right?”

  Galin nodded vigorously, his lips still curled in a smile.

  I shook my head in disbelief. Humans from a thousand years ago were really strange.

  “Do you have this song in your record collection?”

  His face looked pained, like I’d just told him I wanted him to try my pickle and mayonnaise salad. But, slowly he nodded.

  “Yes!” I grinned. I was definitely going to listen to “Tubthumping” by Chumbawamba a whole bunch more when we got home.

  The sun dipped lower in the sky. I wanted to stay in Midgard forever, but I had to return to Vanaheim soon, too.

  Whenever I returned, Swegde was there waiting for me, with news about cattle and crops.

  Galin wrote in his notebook. How is Barthol doing?

  I frowned. “Surprisingly fine, considering what he went through. He’s opening a nightclub in Midgard called To Hel and Back.” I sighed. “Galin? Do you miss having your voice?”

  He shook his head. Then, he wrote in his notebook. I peered over his shoulder as he wrote.

  From the first day we met in the Citadel’s dungeon, to when you saved me from the Nokk—because and in spite of your terrible taste in music—I’ve been yours. The mating bond does not matter, fate does not matter. My voice and my magic do not matter. We belong to each other.

  And I was not whole until I met you.

  When we raised the gods, when you pressed your hand to my chest and channeled my love into your heart, I felt more perfectly whole than I’d ever felt. Love filled me, and that was because of you.

  Fortunately, I do not need a voice to make you shudder with pleasure and claw your fingernails down my back. I don’t need a voice when I can make you scream my name over and over. And I plan to spend the rest of my days doing just that.

  My eyes went misty, and I smiled at him. I’d be saving that piece of paper.

  Galin, like all great warriors, knew that when life kicked the shit out of him, you didn’t give up. And that was why we belonged together.

  Epilogue

  Swegde

  I stepped out of the portal into Valhalla, not sure what to expect. Ali had told me that the valkyries were wild, but the sheer quantity of filth and destruction was unlike anything I’d ever seen.

  In the middle of a great marble hall they’d scratched out a fire pit. In one corner hung the gutted bodies of four stags, while next to the fire was a giant oak cask; this must be the mead that Ali had told me about.

  Around the borders of the hall, through arches, servants bustled around, cleaning, ferrying food to the gods. Most of the hall gleamed with gold and burnished marble, the sun rays lighting up the room. It seemed that Hela’s magic had revived not only the gods in Valhalla, but every living servant as well.

  Only, none of them came near the valkyries’ fire pit, and it was the one patch of filth within the realm. The servants, I imagined, were terrified of the valkyries.

  Feeling lost, I sat down on a tree stump someone had left by the fire pit.

  For a thousand years, little in my life had changed—until Ali showed up. Then, I was teaching an Empress how to throw a blade, the names of the trees in the great forest. Helping her learn how to rule.

  Seeing Vanaheim through her eyes had stirred something within me that had been dormant for years.

  Not love, but something like it—the feeling of being close to someone. But with Galin taking a permanent place at her side, we wouldn’t be as close anymore.

  I still had plenty to do. I’d been sent to collect the horses Galin and Ali had ridden across the desert. After that, I was the one to tell Harald and Sigre that Galin was now King of Midgard. Then I was the one to arrest them when they tried to murder me.

  I’d even tried to organize homes for all of those brought to life again. That was, perhaps, the hardest thing I’d ever done, and everyone had complaints.

  And now, I had a delivery for the valkyries. And I had no idea what to expect.

  I rose again, surveying the hall of the gods. What was I supposed to do here? “Hello?” I called out, gripping Gjallarhorn. “Anyone here? I have a drinking horn to return to the valkyries.” I couldn’t exactly just leave it on the tree stump. It was far too valuable.

  No one responded. Were the valkyries out for a ride?

  I stared at the detritus strewn around the fire pit. Drinking horns, gnawed bones. Then I heard the sound of feminine voices.

  “Gondul.” The voice echoed off the walls. “Can I play with Mimi? He’s such a good listener.”

  “No!” came the sharp reply. “You know he’s been confiscated.”

  “Awww …”

  Then I saw them. Six statuesque women, with long braids that cascaded over their armor. True warriors.

  I cleared my throat, gripping the drinking horn. “Hello.”

  The valkyries stopped and stared.

  At last the largest one said, “Who are you?”

  “I’m Swegde.”

&nb
sp; “I’m Gondul—”

  “And I’m Hildr,” said the valkyrie standing just next to her.

  “What are you doing in our home?” asked Gondul.

  “Empress Ali asked me to return this.” I lifted the horn.

  But Gondul didn’t seem interested in Gjallarhorn. “What is that outfit you’re wearing?”

  Confused, I looked down at my clothes. I was wearing a leather vest and buckskin pants. My usual clothing. “Is there something wrong?”

  The big valkyrie’s brow furrowed. “Where are the sleeves?”

  I don’t know what came over me at that moment, but I found myself flexing my muscles, a smile on my lips. “Sleeves get in the way when I wrestle with bears.”

  The valkyrie’s mouth dropped open. “You wrestle with bears?”

  I did once. “All the time.”

  The valkyrie quirked her eyebrow. “So you like to fight? You are a warrior?”

  I wasn’t sure whether to be intimidated or not, but I sensed that these women didn’t appreciate weakness. “I am, truly, a warrior.”

  “You hear that, ladies?” Gondul raised her hands to the ceiling. “This one likes to fight.”

  Oh gods. What had I gotten myself into?

  Gondul stepped forward, a wicked grin on her face. “Wanna fight and wrestle with us?”

  I blinked, unable to come up with a reasonable response. At last, I said, “I guess so.”

  The valkyries cheered excitedly, swarming round me. They smelled of sweat and stale mead, but I didn’t mind. These were women of the earth, fighters like me. Gondul slapped me on the shoulder. “We wrestle first, then we fight. Then we drink.”

  I found my eyes fixed on the big valkyrie. She was, I decided, one of the most beautiful women I’d ever met. Strong callused fingers. Thick ropes of braids. And she wanted to wrestle with me?

  She began to peel off her armor. I wasn’t sure why, but I was transfixed by her skin—smooth and unscarred. She kept her eyes locked on mine. Blue as the sea.

  “Should I …” I cleared my throat. “Undress?”

  She shook her head. “No, keep your clothes on.”

  “But it’ll give me an advantage.”

  “Don’t worry about an advantage.” The valkyrie stalked towards me, and I glanced at the others. I’d been so focused on Gondul, I hadn’t noticed that they’d also stripped down. Six athletic, half-naked women stared at me hungrily. Instinct kicked in, and I stepped back.

  “You see,” said Gondul, “it’s six to one.”

  Then, shouting to the other valkyries, she leapt into the air.

  As the valkyries threw themselves on me, I couldn’t help but think of Ali.

  This was why she had sent me to return Gjallarhorn.

  Thank you, I thought. Thank you so very much.

  Thank you for reading! If you want to discuss the book with others who read it, you can click here to join our Facebook reader group, C.N. Crawford’s Coven.

  If you enjoyed the Night Elves series, please check out The Fallen, a paranormal angel romance, and read on for a sample chapter from the Hades Castle series.

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  The Fallen

  Sample Chapter

  When I was a kid, I dreamt of living in the castle that loomed over our city, a place of magic and intrigue. As I got older, I started to learn that even the slums had their own kind of magic. If you knew where to look, you could feel the power of ancient kings thrumming under the stones beneath your feet.

  Tonight, warm lights shone through some of the windows through the fog, and the sound of a distant piano floated on the wind, winding between narrow alleys. No one was out here, just me and the salty breeze, the shadows growing longer as the sun slid lower in the sky. The mist curled around brick tenements that groaned toward each other, crooked with age. Fog skimmed over the dark, cobbled street.

  I didn’t care what anyone thought—this city was beautiful.

  I shoved my hands in my pockets, glad the day was over. Like every Friday night, I was heading for the Bibliotek Music Hall. Some lovely chap would buy me a drink. I’d dance till the sun came up and the blackbirds started to sing.

  I knew every alley, every hiding spot, every haunted corner where pirates once hung in gallows. I’d grown up to the sound of the seagulls overhead and the lapping of the Dark River against the embankment.

  But tonight as I walked, the sense of wonder started to darken a little. The shadows seemed to thicken.

  Every now and then, the crowded streets could feel like a trap. Because as much as I loved the place, it wasn’t necessarily populated by gentlemen.

  And right now, the familiar magic was being replaced by a sense of menace. It lingered in the air, making goosebumps rise on my skin, but I wasn’t sure why.

  I picked up my pace, envisioning the fresh bread and cheese I’d get at the Bibliotek Music Hall. Maybe I just needed a proper snack.

  But why did I feel like someone was following me?

  When I sniffed, I smelled whale oil, pitch pine and turpentine. Ah. Bloody hell. That was what had me on edge. The Rough Boys—a gang who lived on an old boat in the docks—always reeked of their ship. I could smell them from here, even if I couldn’t see them yet.

  Were they following me? Had I stolen something that belonged to them? I spent my days on the docks, in and out of ships and warehouses. I pilfered tea and other valuables, passing them off to a network of thieves.

  Not glamorous, admittedly, but it was honest work.

  Okay, fine. It wasn’t honest either, but it meant I got to eat.

  I glanced over my shoulder, and that was when my pulse kicked up a notch. I swallowed hard. Three of them stood at the end of the street, fog billowing around them like ghost ships on a misty sea. I recognized them right away by their signature look—shaggy hair and pea coats.

  “Oi! Pussycat!” One of them shouted for me, voice booming off stone walls. “I got a message for your mum! She needs to pay up.”

  “No thanks!” I shouted.

  I knew how they sent messages—with their blades, carved in skin. Mum owed them money, which meant I owed them money. And if I didn’t pay up they’d take a knife to me fast.

  I whirled and raced through the narrow street.

  “It’s not exactly optional!” One of them shouted after me.

  Where were the bloody coppers when you needed them? Always around when I pinched something, but never when cutthroats were after me.

  At least I knew these streets as well as I knew my own body. If I could keep up the pace, I could lose the bastards.

  My feet hammered the pavement, arms pumping as I ran. My brown curls streamed behind me. Puddles soaked into my socks through the holes in my threadbare shoes. I wanted to look behind me, to see how close they were, but that little movement would cost me. I knew if I slowed down, there’d be more of their gang crawling from the shadows. Fear was giving me speed.

  The Rough Boys took people’s noses, eyelids, ears. If I could avoid it, I’d prefer not to walk around like a mutilated horror show for the rest of my life.

  So as they chased me, I dodged from one dark alley to the next, rounding the labyrinthine corners, keeping to the shadows, trying to lose them.

  But the Rough Boys were taller than me, and just as fast, sprinting like jackals over the stones.

  “Lila, is it? Pretty lady.” One of them shouted. “We just need to have a little chat.”

  Did they think if they called me pretty I’d simper over to them, blushing?

  I was good in a fight—better than most men, even—but a fight with a gang in their territory was always a losing prospect. There were always more of them ready to slink out of alleys. My sister Alice taught me never to draw your knife unless you knew you could win.

  Except I couldn’t run forever, and I needed just a moment to catch my breath. At twenty-five, I was already getting slow. Embarrassing.

  Breathless, I
took a sharp turn onto Dagger Row. Then I darted into a shadowy alley between two brick walls. I hid deep in the darkness, listening with relief as the cutthroats ran on past. Oblivious.

  A smile curled my lips. You lived another night.

  Perhaps I’d make it to twenty-six with my face intact.

  For just a moment, I rested, hands on my thighs. Crowded tenements rose up on either side of me. Dirty water ran in the gutters. I straightened again and peered out from the alley.

  No one around.

  I pulled the hood of my coat tight, then started walking at a fast clip.

  The winding streets had taken me on a jagged path back toward the river. Before I crossed onto the next street, I peered around the corner to the right. I shivered at the sight of Castle Hades.

  The ancient fortress was still breathtaking, every time I looked at it. Its dark stone loomed over a bustling city of merchants and beggars, holy sisters and street crawlers. We all looked up to it with awe.

  The castle’s four central towers rose up like ancient obelisks against the night sky. Two enormous rings of stone walls fortified the exterior, and a moat surrounded it. Once, the castle had gleamed white in the sun, and lions roamed the courtyards. Just fifty years ago, ravens had swooped over its twenty-one towers, and true Albian kings and queens danced in the courtyards.

  Back then, we used to think the ravens protected Dovren. That they were good luck.

  But the ravens had done nothing when invaders arrived on the Dark River—an army of elite warriors, headed by the ruthless Count Saklas. The ravens didn’t help at all when Count Saklas beheaded our king in his own dungeon.

  Now, the count ruled the whole kingdom from the castle’s stone walls. Our citizens hung from gallows and gibbets outside, macabre warnings. Anyone who opposed his rule got the death penalty.