Ruined King
Night Elves Trilogy - Book 2
C.N. Crawford
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Also by C.N. Crawford
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Ali
This was how I spent my days now: shackled to a mine cart at the end of a narrow tunnel. Life in the crystal mine—just me, my shovel, and my thoughts. I dug into the pile of rock. With a grunt, I dumped the chunks of granite into an old mine cart. Then, I jabbed the shovel into the pile of rock again. I’d been here three weeks and hadn’t uncovered a single crystal yet. I wasn’t sure they even existed at this point. So, it was just me and the dust and the granite.
My only consolation was that Barthol wasn’t here with me—that my brother was free, at least.
Lift, dump, lift, dump, lift, dump …
Sweat dripped from my brow, and my muscles ached. Ahh, here, I had the pleasure of an oppressively low ceiling, suffocating humidity, and dust coating every inch of my skin.
Lift, dump, lift, dump …
I tossed two more shovelfuls into the cart.
When things were really grim, I entertained myself with thoughts of slitting Galin’s throat. After all, his betrayal was the reason I was here.
I wanted Skalei, my shadow-blade, desperately. I missed her familiar steel, the razor-sharp edge that could slice an elf’s throat to the bone. That could cut through anything, really. If I had Skalei, I’d hack off my shackles and be on my way to the surface in seconds. I’d literally carve a path if I had to. A few dead guards would be a small price to pay for my freedom.
Too bad all I had was a rusty iron shovel. I doubted it could even bash an elf’s head in.
Lift, dump, lift, dump …
Rage gathered within me at the thought of Galin. I’d kill him someday. That thought perked me up.
I hummed as I worked. Not entirely in tune, but still recognizable: “Single Ladies.” The music of the Great Queen Beyoncé, who’d once ruled before Ragnarok.
Sweat mixed with the dust on my body, and I jabbed at the rock pile like my shovel was Skalei delivering the coup de grace. Beyoncé represented strength, honor. The very qualities I needed to possess if I were to achieve my destiny. I’d make up for allowing Galin to trick me into helping him—him, of all people. The vilest enemy of the Night Elves.
I continued to jab the shovel at the pile of stones. I was the North Star. The one destined to free my people. I would escape, retrieve Skalei, and then I would pierce Galin’s heart. He was mortal now. I could hurt him. A single stab to the aorta and his blood would pool at my feet. Game over.
Lift, dump, lift, dump …
Dust rose from the rocks, nearly as thick and dark as the anger that clouded my mind. I hummed “Single Ladies” as loud as I dared.
When I saw him again, I wouldn’t let his infuriating beauty blind me to what he really was. And when he was dead, I’d feel the sun shining on me again. Because I knew that when his soul was in Hel, I’d finally be free of him, redeemed in the eyes of my people.
“Ali?” a voice cut in, wrenching me from my daydream.
Even without looking over my shoulder, I recognized the voice. Her name was Hulda. Technically, she was another Night Elf prisoner like myself, but while I was becoming thin and wiry from shoveling rocks, Hulda was healthy and beautiful from all the time she spent eating raspberries and cream and pies. While most of us starved, the guards gave her extra food and easy work. In exchange, she fed them information. She spied on us.
Unencumbered by leg shackles, she sauntered up to me. She leaned over my shoulder, crowding my physical space, and looked at my rock pile through tired eyes. “Whatcha doing?” she asked, as if shoveling rocks was some sort of novel task she’d never heard of before.
“It’s this amazing new hobby I have called shoveling rocks. Really tones up the arms and the abs. Want to try?” I slung another shovel-full of granite into the mine cart.
“Why were you making that horrible noise?”
“What are you talking about?” If there was one thing I’d learned since they sent me down here, it was to never admit guilt. It actually made the punishment worse.
“You were moaning. It sounded like words, but I couldn’t understand them.” Hulda’s eyes narrowed. “Was that horrific noise supposed to be singing?”
Not sure I liked her tone. “Hulda, I’m sure you have more important things to do than review my musical talent.”
I didn’t bother to ask why she was here. I knew the guards had sent her. They kept close tabs on me. Made perfect sense. It wasn’t every day a Night Elf committed high treason.
My entire life, I’d been raised to believe it was my role to kill Galin, Prince of the High Elves. I was the North Star—destined to lead my people to freedom. And with every breath I’d taken, I believed our emancipation began with that bastard’s death. It was my job to make it happen.
But somehow, after a long-ass journey together, Galin had managed to convince me otherwise. According to his pretty stories, I had it all wrong; his death wouldn’t free my people. And the magical wall that had trapped us underground wasn’t the wall of a prison—oh no. It was there to keep us safe.
Or so he said.
When I’d left him, he’d promised to help me, that he was going to be our savior now. We’d had a deal, I thought. I’d helped him and he’d help me. He’d make it all right.
Except that was a giant crock of shit, because of course it was.
Never trust a High Elf. They feast on deceit, bathe in lies, and sleep on a bed of mendacity.
I gritted my teeth, shoveling the granite with an aggressive ferocity usually reserved for the insane.
Instead of coming to help me, as promised, Galin had personally seen to it that I was locked up, under the ground. Three weeks ago, he’d sent a letter to the Shadow Lords. He explained that I had lied to them. He said I was a traitor, and that we’d traveled together. He told them I had helped him escape the Citadel. It was information only Galin could know.
He expected me to die here, because that’s what people did in the mines. He’d ratted on me, knowing what the consequences would be. Because, apparently, I was an inconvenience. He had no intention of helping the Night Elves. He never had.
And as I sweated down here in the dark, shoveling granite, I started to realize he’d probably lied about everything. That story abo
ut how I didn’t need to kill him to free my people? Another crock of shit. Pretty lies, as pretty as his face.
And perhaps—just as I’d been taught my entire life—our freedom began with his death.
He thought I’d die down here, but I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. No, the Night Elves would fertilize our new lands with his blood.
After Galin’s treacherous letter, my punishment had been swift and brutal. No trial. No chance to defend myself. The Shadow Lords simply sent a contingent of guards to my house and seized all my belongings. They took everything: my iPod, my vergr crystal, even Skalei.
The guards dragged me into Sindri. I fought them, but there were too many. They pinned me down, and then the Lords used a magical spell to pull the runes from my forearms. I could shout for Skalei as much as I liked, but she wouldn’t come for me anymore. Trust me—I tried.
And finally, they banished me to the Audr Prison Mine.
No one had spelled it out yet, but once they’d used up my strength in the mines, once I’d been driven mad by the confinement, I imagined they planned to execute me. People tended to lose their minds down here.
Except I wasn’t growing weaker. Despite losing weight, I was getting strong with all this shoveling. And I knew I wouldn’t be down here forever.
“Ali, you’re slowing down.” crooned Hulda. “The guards will come if you don’t shovel fast enough. They’re still annoyed about what you did yesterday.”
Yesterday, a guard had smacked my ass. So I did what any assassin would do: I broke his wrist and his nose before they pulled me off him.
“Oh, that? It was an accident,” I lied. “I just fell into him.”
“Sure.”
Hulda skulked away, down the tunnel that led to the prisoners’ quarters. When I finished shoveling my pile of rocks, I could join her. Drink a little water, slurp down some gruel, then sleep. I’d let my body rest until tomorrow, when there’d be a fresh pile of rock to move. But this time wasn’t wasted. Every time I lifted that shovel, I was only growing stronger.
I hefted the shovel and bore down. Dust filled the air as I hurled chunks of granite into the mine cart. I was certain of only two things: I was going to escape, and I was going to kill Galin. Because not only had he betrayed me, but he was now powerful as Hel—and I was sure he was conspiring to keep the Night Elves trapped forever, where he’d put us in the first place.
Killing him would be the first step to gaining our freedom once and for all. Then Gorm, then the rest. I’d pick them off, one by one.
Chapter 2
Galin
Earlier in the night, a storm had rolled in. Now, a cold wind rattled the windowpanes. I cracked my knuckles, then loosened my shoulders. Everything was ready. For nearly three weeks, I’d worked in secret to prepare this spell, and I had one chance to get it right. When I glanced in the mirror, I made sure the runes were painted exactly as they should be on my bare chest, the runes glowing in the dim light.
The embers in the hearth were the only thing lighting my room, allowing dark shadows to collect in the corners. My furnishings were sparse—a bed, a sofa, and an old mirror hanging on the wall. I caught a glimpse of my reflection and found myself still startled at my appearance, after a thousand years of looking like someone else. I was alive, a High Elf now. My hair and eyes were gold, my skin tan.
I got up and checked my door. It was locked, just as it had been five minutes earlier. Convinced I wouldn’t be disturbed, I returned to my desk and whispered, “Finnask.” The tabletop shimmered, then transformed from a pile of books and papers into a meticulously organized workbench.
Honestly, there wasn’t much: a few jars of herbs, some scavenged bowls and cups, a cluster of tallow candles. Not my usual setup, but my glass alembics and cucurbits had all been destroyed when the High Elves raided my home in Cambridge. The only things I’d managed to save were my grimoires, which I’d magically hidden. Still, I had what I needed to remove the Helm of Awe. Perhaps it stopped me from trying to hurt my family, but nothing stopped me from trying to take it off.
Still, the blasted circlet remained affixed to my head. If I so much as touched a finger to it, it zapped my brain. It wasn’t just that I couldn’t hurt King Gorm, it was preventing me from rejoining Ali. I could open a portal into the Shadow Caverns, but as soon as I tried to cross into it, bolts of white hot magic sizzled into my skull. Try as I might, the helm had kept me in the Citadel.
In the last three weeks, one thing had become clear: I’d exchanged one prison for another. I might have a soul again, but my body was not my own. I had no free will.
But after tonight, things would be different.
I’d collected all the tools and ingredients for a salve of unbinding. I had horse hair from the stables, mugwort and nettle from the Citadel’s kitchens—I’d even pinched a small piece of ambergris from the vanity in Revna’s room—something she used to soften her skin, I think.
I arranged the ingredients before me, going over the protocol a final time.
In an earthen pot, melt sea-incense, powders of snakes-bane, the oldest herb, and Sleipnir’s hairs. Apply the salve with Odin’s plume. When all is prepared, sing the song that frees.
Already, the runes on my chest glowed brighter. Scribing kaun, the rune for fire, I lit the candles. As they guttered in my drafty room, I warmed an old, broken teacup in their flames. Carefully, I placed the ambergris in the makeshift crucible. It melted slowly, emitting a musky aroma.
Next, I added the rest of the salve’s ingredients: snakes-bane, the oldest herb, and Sleipnir’s hairs—or, more simply, nettles, mugwort, and horse hair. Carefully, I swirled them with the end of a raven’s feather—Odin’s plume—until they formed a greenish liquid. After a minute or so, I sniffed the liquid experimentally. It smelled of pine and earth.
Finally, using a fresh raven feather, I dabbed the salve around the edge of the helm. I held my breath, expecting a magical zap to shatter my consciousness, but none arrived.
The salve applied, I slowly began to incant the words to the unbinding spell. As I chanted, the leftover liquid in the crucible began to glow with a green light. When I spoke the last word of the spell, it flashed, nearly blinding me.
Quickly, I crossed to my mirror. Just as I had hoped, the salve glowed brightly along the edge of the helm, too, and the runes on my chest lit up like stars.
“This better work,” I murmured. I reached for the helm, but as my fingers touched the gold, a bolt of searing heat cracked open my mind. I doubled over, gripping the table, and a voice rang in my skull.
“I pledge my life, my ambitions, my desires, and my soul to Gorm, King of the High Elves.”
The words of my oath.
Disappointment tore me apart. The spell had failed. I remained under my father’s thumb, trapped within the walls of the Citadel. And that meant I could not get to Ali. Would she imagine I’d abandoned her?
When the pain subsided, I straightened. There had to be another way.
I was not going to give up. This was only a minor setback. I’d given Ali my word. I’d promised her that I’d come for her, and so I would do whatever it took to get to her.
For a thousand years, as a lich, my past had been erased from my mind. But now that my soul was returned, my memories had come roaring back. And, I now remembered what I’d once been: the most terrifying warrior of the High Elves. With magic and my sword, I’d served the gods by cutting down my enemies one by one, following my fate. In my vision of the future, it looked as if I would become a fearsome warrior once again—a king, even.
I’d seen the vision—the crown on my head, the royal scepter in my hand. I would take the throne of the High Elves, the throne that was rightfully mine. I’d foreseen it.
The only thing that twisted my heart was that Ali hadn’t been in the vision.
There must be a way to change my fate, to make it so that she ruled by my side as my queen. A loophole of some sort. Anything to have her with me again.
&
nbsp; Whatever it took, I would do it.
Six hours later, I peered blearily at a manuscript. My head still throbbed from the Helm of Awe’s magical attack. More than anything, I wanted to sleep, but I had to keep working. I had to convince Gorm that nothing was amiss, that I was willingly doing his bidding. That I had no plans to end his long life.
The morning sun was rising, staining the sapphire sky with rosy gold. I looked up from my writing desk. Spread out below me were the ruins of Boston, entombed in a thousand years of ice and snow. The sight pierced my heart; the icy light was enough to remind me that the ravages of Ragnarok endured. I’d been dead and imprisoned for a thousand years, which meant it felt like only yesterday that the world had been alive and the gods had still ruled.
Only yesterday the world had had meaning. Now, we had to make our own.
I refocused on the page, staring at the beige vellum as I carefully inscribed a rune on the paper. It was a tricky fortification spell. A thousand interlocking symbols that together created a powerful barrier.
After I finished inking the rune, I put down my quill and rubbed my eyes. It took all my mental capacity to see how the runes connected, building and supporting one another like the stones of a castle wall. Each had to be carefully placed, taking into account their strengths and weaknesses. Together, they became unbreakable.
Ruined King (Night Elves Trilogy Book 2) Page 1
