I snarled, my blood running cold. “That was against the rules of the Winnowing.”
She turned to look at me, glee dancing in her eyes. “Haven’t you heard? Nothing matters except for winning. And I like it that way.”
I leaned close so no one could hear me speak. “Your lack of honor is an embarrassment.”
In a flash, Revna had her dagger at my throat. “But you wouldn’t turn me in, would you, brother?”
I reached for her wrist, but before I could pull her hand away, the Helm of Awe hummed, and a blazing gout of magic hit me like a sledgehammer between my eyes. Pain split my mind. Even with the helm weakened, I felt like it was ripping my skull open. I clutched my head.
“You see?” she trilled. “You cannot hurt your own flesh and blood. Do not tell me what I can and cannot do.”
I curled my lip, a low growl in my throat. I would kill her when I killed Gorm.
At the top of the hill was an ancient carousel buried under the snow. It looked a bit like an enormous frosted cake, though the effect was disturbed by the weathered faces of wooden horses poking out from under the drifts.
In front, I found Gorm stomping around in the snow, Sune next to him. The king’s face was beet-red with anger.
“What in the darkest Hel happened? We were gods-damned slaughtered out there.” He glared at me. “Galin! How did you not foresee this?”
I shrugged. “I’m not omniscient.”
The king stalked towards me, his sword gripped tightly in his hand. “Who in Hel were those saber wielding elves?”
“As they said when they arrived, they’re the Vanir.”
He kicked a snow drift. Spittle flew from his mouth. “Loki’s blood! I want to destroy them.”
I’d never seen Gorm quite like this. Nearly unhinged. Raging. He paced back and forth before the carousel like a caged lion. It delighted me.
“What are we going to do?” He swung his sword, carving it through the head of a wooden carousel horse. Suddenly, he spun, pointing the sword at my bare chest. “I asked you a question.”
I flashed him a smile. “You are the king. Surely, in your infinite wisdom, you foresaw this possibility and have already devised a plan.”
With the back of my hand, I slapped his sword away, and fear flickered in his eyes. I didn’t think I would have been able to do that before I’d weakened the helm.
He turned from me, ranting again, shaking the sword with frustration. “This was our chance. We designed the agreement with the Night Elves so that we would have the advantage. Now, we are completely out of options.”
Now this was interesting. “What do you mean advantage? What did you agree upon?”
He swung his sword again, decapitating another horse. Splinters of wood flew into the air. “The contract states that Night Elves get to choose the second battle—the next contest. It could be anything. We were supposed to have an overwhelming lead after this. They are going to pick something that plays to their strengths.”
It took every ounce of my willpower not to smile.
The Night Elves were succeeding.
Chapter 15
Ali
I picked Skalei from the snow, cold and slick with blood. I clutched her to my chest like a child might hold a teddy bear.
Dazed, I staggered through the snow, pacing back and forth near Bo.
I was still trying to take in what Galin had said. Soul mates. None of this fit with my training.
My training was unequivocal. Suppress any sorrow, smother your sadness. Only hatred was acceptable. Become the North Star; avenge your people. Bring down the wall with his death. Channel rage, feed on it, bathe in it, use its power to guide your hand.
And he’d betrayed me, hadn’t me? I still didn’t understand why he’d wanted me sent to the mines. Why screw me over one moment and try to whisper sweet nothings in my ear the next? Was he simply messing with my mind for kicks? It was the sort of thing his warped sister would do.
I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.
For a moment, the mantra worked. Until it didn’t.
I was staggering now, like I’d been hit in the head.
I clutched Skalei tighter. She’d been through it all. Minutes ago, she’d cut down a Vanir out for my blood, and in the past few months, she’d killed a nokk, slew the Emperor of the Vanir, and carved a hole in Nidhogg’s gut. I’d lost track of how many times she’d stabbed Galin when he’d been a lich.
I needed to focus and stop feeling sorry for myself. I drew the pad of my thumb along Skalei’s edge until fresh blood dripped on the snow. The burst of pain sharpened my mind.
I stared at Skalei. Razor-sharp and unflinching. With this little dagger, one way or another, I was going to lead my people to freedom. Today, I may have failed as an assassin, but I wouldn’t give up.
I turned back to look at Bo. Corpse-stiff, he lay flat, up to his ears in mud. Only his eyes moved, staring at me.
I knelt again. “Are you okay?”
Bo moaned. A strange gurgling sound.
“You’ll recover.” I sat back on my heels. What was I going to do with him? Thyra had told everyone to spy on me. He was supposed to report back if he saw me do anything treasonous. And I wasn’t exactly sure what it had looked like when Galin pinned me up against the tree, but it clearly hadn’t looked like me killing him.
If the Shadow Lords thought I’d been consorting with Galin, they wouldn’t throw me back into the mines. No, Thyra would take my head off right here in the Common.
My gripped tightened on Skalei’s hilt.
I leaned close. Anyone watching would only see that Bo was injured and that I was tending to him. I pressed Skalei’s cool steel to his neck—not hard enough to cut the skin, but an obvious threat. His eyes widened.
Keeping the blade to his jugular, I held a finger to my lips.
He stared at me, his eyes filled with terror.
“Did you see anything you feel the need to report to Thyra?”
He didn’t speak, but the rapid dilation of his pupils told me all I needed to know.
“Well, then, here’s what’s going to happen,” I said in a sharp whisper. “You’re not going to tell anyone what you saw, and I’m not going to kill you. Okay?”
Bo’s response was an unintelligible gurgle.
“Move your eyes back and forth if you agree.”
Bo’s eyes darted like he was reading the hottest scene in a romance novel.
“Good. Now, don’t forget that later, when my knife isn’t at your throat. It doesn’t mean it couldn’t be again. Understood?” I paused and sighed. “I’m still on your side. Galin was simply using some kind of magic on me. That’s all. But I will fight for the Night Elves until my last dying breath, and that is the truth.”
Bo’s eyes shifted again.
“All right. Now that we have an agreement, I’m going to get someone to help you with this paralysis spell.”
I stood and began making my way toward a large group of Night Elves. The Shadow Lords stood in the front. As I walked toward them, my thoughts returned to Galin. During the fight, I hadn’t thought to get any answers out of him, like what the fuck had motivated him to send that letter.
And I had to wonder if what he’d said was true. Had the Norns bound our souls together with fate?
All I knew was that Galin now consumed every one of my thoughts—every heartbeat, every breath of air—and I needed to burn him out of my mind.
Chapter 16
Ali
It seemed impossible, but after a bloody battle, we were now waiting for the High Elves to serve us dinner.
After the battle, things had started moving quickly. King Gorm had led us through the streets of Boston in a sort of grand parade. High Elves had lined the streets, morosely “cheering” and throwing snow into the air like confetti, their expressions murderous.
Then, the High Elves had brought us to the Citadel as guests of honor. Once inside, we’d been given a few hours to bathe and put on fresh
clothes. After that, we had been led to an enormous mead hall.
The Citadel kitchens must have been working overtime, because when we arrived, the mead hall was filled with tables, enough to seat every elf in the Winnowing, including the Vanir. Ivory tablecloths, gilded place settings, and crystal wine glasses were laid out in neat rows. Above us, candles flickered in gilded chandeliers.
We were arranged by tribe in three long rows—the High Elves in the middle and the Vanir and Night Elves on either side. At one end of the hall was a low stage. I sat with the Night Elf leadership just in front, squeezed between Thyra and Ilvis. I would have liked to think this was an honor, but I suspected instead that they were keeping a close eye on me.
I didn’t see any signs of Gorm or the rest of the High Elf royalty. Probably for the best. I wasn’t sure what I would do if I had to eat dinner ten feet from Galin.
“Ali, are you alright?” Thyra asked.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just really tired.”
That much was true. I was exhausted. Not only had I fought in a battle, I’d been up for nearly twenty-four hours, much of it spent shivering in the snow. My body ached.
Thyra touched my shoulder gently. “You did well out there.”
I looked down at my empty plate. The Shadow Lord was kinder than I’d expected. She wouldn’t be kind if she knew I’d had a chance to kill Galin and thrown it away. I felt like I’d thrown something else away, too, but I couldn’t quite piece my feelings together into anything coherent.
I wanted to change the subject. “How long do you suppose it will be before they feed us?”
The faintest hint of a smile wrinkled the Shadow Lord’s face. “Who knows? I don’t think the High Elves expected this many guests.”
“And they will house us?”
“Yes, the contract states that the High Elves are to house and feed all participating elves until the Winnowing is complete.”
I let out a low whistle. “Fancy.”
Last time I’d visited the Citadel, King Gorm had tried to have me killed, and I’d nearly been thrown down the Well of Wyrd. Now, I was about to be served a feast in their main hall as a guest of honor.
“Excuse me?” A golden-haired elf appeared between us. Dressed in a black and white servant’s outfit, she held a large pitcher of golden liquid. “Shall I fill your cup?”
Thyra shook her head.
“And you, miss?” she asked me. “Would you care for some mead?”
After today’s events, there was no way I was going to say no to free booze. “Hel yes. Please.”
The server filled my glass with the golden liquid. It smelled herbal and faintly sweet, and I eagerly took a sip. Crisp and dry, with only the faintest taste of honey. Gods, I could get used to this. We don’t have this sort of thing underground.
When a trumpet suddenly sounded, I jumped, nearly spilling the mead across my plate. Seemed I was still a little tense from the battle.
A herald dressed in golden stockings, a cream doublet, and a gold embroidered coat stood in the center of the stage. He pressed a calf’s horn to his lips and blew a long note until the hall was silent, then he spoke. “Announcing his Royal Majesty, Ruler of Midgard, Leader of the High Elves, King Gorm, accompanied by his family: Princes Galin and Sune, and lovely Princess Revna.”
So much for a Galin-free dinner.
From a side door, King Gorm appeared and strode onto the stage, chest puffed. He wore gold velvet and a white fur mantle, which certainly lent him a regal appearance. Behind him followed Revna, Sune, and Galin. Like their father, Revna and Sune wore golden outfits.
Galin, however, wore a tailored indigo suit, so dark it might have been black. Atop his head rested the Helm of Awe.
“Thank you all for coming,” said King Gorm. His voice seemed strained, not the usual bold, melodious tones he’d used when I’d seen him previously.
I could guess why. This was supposed to be his time to gloat. If the melee had gone as he’d intended, there would only have been a few dozen Night Elves left alive. In that scenario, he’d have played the part of a benevolent ruler generously serving a huge feast to his captives, using the dinner to demoralize us with a grand show of the High Elves’ wealth. Reminding us that we’d soon die.
Instead, the High Elves had been caught off guard and soundly beaten. He’d had to scramble to find room for all of us.
Gorm took a seat in the center of the table, with Revna and Sune on one side and Galin on the other. Galin sipped his mead, and it seemed he had no interest whatsoever in looking in my direction.
The servers began to hurry around, placing steaming trays of venison, salmon, and turkey on the tables. My stomach growled when they brought out the side dishes. Platters of potatoes slathered in butter, bowls full of asparagus and broccoli, and great boules of fresh bread.
I filled my plate, then turned to Thyra. “So, what’s the plan now that the Vanir have joined in?”
“The Winnowing is always the same, each tribe chooses a contest.”
“So”—I did some quick math in my head—“we stop when there are only one hundred and thirteen elves left.”
“Correct.”
“Is it true that you’ve done this before?”
Thyra nodded. “Before Ragnarok, the High Elves and Night Elves fought in a Winnowing to end centuries of battle.”
“What happened then?”
“Lots of elves died, but it ended in a truce. Until Ragnarok, when they defeated us completely,” said Thyra in an unusually quiet voice. I got the impression she didn’t enjoy this topic of conversation. She speared a piece of salmon and popped it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “But now, we feast, and in the next round, we choose the contest.”
That was good news. “Have you decided what it will be?”
“No, not yet.”
But an idea was starting to form in my mind, a seedling of a plan blooming larger.
Chapter 17
Galin
Next to me, my father cut into his turkey, alternating his ravenous eating with gulps of mead. Strange. A normal man wouldn’t have an appetite after what had happened. He’d been ranting on the battlefield, but now that there was a plate of food in front of him, all was forgotten. And that made me wonder what the fuck he was up to.
Worry quelled my appetite. Ali was less than twenty feet away, sitting between a pair of Shadow Lords. She looked thinner than when I’d last seen her, starving as she wolfed down her meal.
And worst of all, as soon as Gorm recognized her, he would know the truth. She was a high value target, one he never should have given up. And that would provoke his rage, directed at me.
I’d tried to keep Gorm away from the feast. I’d told him that he would look weak parading the royal family across the stage, especially after we’d just come in last place. But his desire for adulation was too much, and he’d insisted on making an appearance.
I needed a plan. The reality was that Gorm was going to find out who Ali was. Either he’d recognize her himself, or Revna would tell him. Even though Ali wanted to kill me, I would find a way to warn her. Her life was in grave danger, and whether she loathed me or not, I wanted her alive.
And most of all, I needed to redouble my efforts to get the helm off my head. The magic was weaker, but I needed to be completely free of the infernal crown.
I surveyed the mead hall, taking in the scene.
The Vanir leader sat at the head of his table, the hawk I’d seen at the battle still perched on his shoulder. He caught my eye, then tossed a piece of meat to the bird. As the creature devoured it in messy bites, its master stared me down like he wanted to murder me.
Perhaps he and Ali could bond over that particular fantasy.
“Galin,” said my father suddenly. When I turned to look at him, I saw a little flash of apprehension in his eyes. “I want you to stay after the meal. I’m taking the leaders of the Vanir and Night Elves on a little after-dinner outing. But perhaps you could act as host as
well.”
“I suppose.” Inwardly, I was relieved. I’d have a chance to warn Ali.
Gorm returned to his plate of turkey and mashed potatoes.
Later, when the servers cleared our plates, the king rose from his seat and spread his arms.
“Thank you all for coming to dinner.” He pointed to a group of guards dressed in gold embroidered uniforms. “These elves will lead you to your rooms.” As the Night Elf leaders and Vanir began to stand, he spoke more softly, in his usual melodious tones, “Leaders of your tribes, please stay. I have some evening entertainment planned, and we have much to discuss. Please, join me on the dais.”
While the elves continued to file out, Ali started to make her way to the dais, flanked by two Shadow Lords. I had the impression they were guarding her somehow. Behind them trailed the Vanir leader.
And then it was just us—the High Elf leadership and a handful of our greatest enemies. Including my mate.
Ali shot me a sharp look, and I tore my eyes away from her.
“Thyra,” said King Gorm in his deep baritone. “Let me congratulate you on your success today. One hundred sixty-one of your elves survived. That is quite the feat.”
Thyra’s expression remained unchanged. “Maybe, but I lost one hundred and thirty-nine of my elves.”
Gorm waved away her worries. “Come, come. It is a great honor to give your life in battle. Surely, your elves ascended to Valhalla. Tonight, they are drinking Heidrun’s mead and singing with the valkyries.” He was just lifting his glass, when he suddenly stiffened, nearly spilling his mead. “What are you doing here?”
I followed his gaze to Ali. Tonight, she looked every bit the Night Elf assassin. Tight leather pants and shirt, hair pulled up, a shadow dagger at her hip. My pulse raced at the sight of her. And I felt my heart breaking, too.
“Oh, hello again.” She held out her hand. “I don’t believe we were ever properly introduced. Every time we met before, you seemed rather intent on throwing me into your well. I’m Astrid, daughter of Volundar, Chief Assassin of the Shadow Lords.”
Ruined King (Night Elves Trilogy Book 2) Page 8
