by Lori Devoti
She folded her fingers into her palms, then hardened her resolve. She needed to see.
“The house is empty.”
Raf’s voice caused her to jump. She slammed the lid closed and turned.
He frowned. “Is everything okay?” His gaze moved to the box she held pressed against her stomach.
She nodded. “I just…the questions…but I’m getting used to them. I can handle it.” She smiled and pulled the net around the box. “I thought the net might be amplifying them, but I was wrong.”
Her hands shaking, she slung it back over her shoulder. “Let’s go. Let’s leave Alfheim.”
If she left Alfheim, she wouldn’t sit on the throne and she wouldn’t betray Raf—again.
When Marina and Raf arrived at the portal, the crowds crushed around them immediately. Raf didn’t believe the crazed citizens even realized a hellhound and Alfheim’s princess had magically materialized in their midst. The elves were too caught up in chanting and holding images of elf lords and royals alike over their heads.
Smoke clogged the air. Raf pulled Marina against him, encouraged her to breathe through his shirt.
“What’s happening?” she asked, her voice breaking and her eyes darting back and forth in her face.
Taking advantage of his height, Raf scanned the area. “There’s a fire. I think they’re burning those…” He pointed to a straw-stuffed image of what could easily have been Lord Sim that a group of boys had pinned in the gutter and were pummeling with their fists and feet.
“Oh.” A tremor went through Marina. Raf ran his hand down her spine and pulled her closer against him. With the crowds as crazed as they were, he didn’t want anyone to recognize her.
Two teens who had been watching the boys with the effigy and laughing, turned and gestured toward Marina. Both wore simple denim pants and T-shirts not that different from what Raf wore. One had a black cap pulled low over his brow. He mumbled to his companion. Raf read his lips, something about Marina and the silk she wore.
The teens stalked forward.
They stopped a few feet away, just out of Raf’s reach—if he had been dependent on his arm’s length to grab them. Unfortunately for the boys, he could at any time shimmer and be inches away, rather than the three feet they seemed to think was a safe distance to taunt him.
The one in the hat made a loud sniffing noise. “I smell a royal. How about you El?”
El made a point of inhaling until his nostrils collapsed against his nose. “Yeah, royal. You think she’s one of the ones that killed the Adals?”
At her parent’s name, Marina jerked, but Raf held firm. The teens weren’t interested in hearing reason. They were looking for someone to bully.
Too bad for them they’d come across a hellhound. There were no bullies in a hellhound world—there were alphas and everyone else, and these boys fell clearly in the everyone else group. It looked as if it was going to be Raf’s job to make that clear to them.
He pushed Marina behind him and stepped forward. “Go away.” He didn’t move, stood tense and ready…for anything.
“You a royal-lover?” The capped one asked. He rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, then back on his heels.
His friend grinned.
Raf smiled back—then he grabbed them by the fronts of their shirts and held them overhead, one in each fist.
The smug expressions on their faces disappeared. They didn’t even have the sense to struggle, just hung there, shocked that someone would call them on their idiocy.
Raf growled and jerked them both close. “Don’t make threats you aren’t willing to back up.”
“We didn’t…we just…” The capped boy stuttered.
Raf didn’t have the patience or time for lies. He had to get Marina to the portal. He dropped both teens onto the pavement and turned.
But she was gone. As was most of the crowd, they were flowing through the street, past the building that housed the portal and toward billowing smoke.
With a curse, Raf jogged after them.
The smoke was thick and black. Tears ran down Marina’s cheeks as she was pushed along by the crowds. She had to breathe through her sleeve to keep from coughing.
She should have stayed with Raf. She could have, but the smoke and the elves swarming toward it reminded her of another scene, from Gunngar.
That day she’d been the one calling the crowds. She’d been the one holding the torch. Her heart had pounded, like it did now, but she hadn’t cried. She’d had to act her part, pray that the plan she’d worked out with Gal, the one elf she trusted, would play out correctly—that the smoke would cover the trapdoor opening. That no one but she would realize there was a portal there that lead to the uninhabited part of Gunngar. That the witch would be separated from her family, but alive.
The plan had worked and the witch had survived. Marina knew that now, but that day she didn’t know for sure. The portal left no record of what it had done, and the fire had burned too hot to leave behind any sign as to whether a witch had really died there.
So, Marina had stood there feeling sick and hating herself, but she had still dropped the torch.
If she hadn’t. If she’d refused to do what the elf lords had asked…
A female elf knocked into her, causing the net-wrapped box to bounce against her back. She winced as the corner gouged into muscle.
She lowered it from her shoulder, let it drag on the ground. If she hadn’t done what the elf lords had wanted, they might have killed her. But was that an excuse for the risk she took? What she put the citizens of Gunngar through?
No. It wasn’t.
Another elf bumped into her, this one shot her a look, let his gaze linger on her silk clothing.
She glanced around, realized she was alone—surrounded not by royals as she had been her entire life, but common elves dressed in cotton, wool and even cheaper synthetics.
Another stopped and stared at her, then another, until there was a small circle surrounding her. One by one they started to whisper, until their low words changed, became almost a chant. “Royal. She’s a royal. Add her to the pyre.”
She’d heard the words a dozen times before their meaning sunk in. The pyre. They weren’t just burning straw images. They were burning elves.
She spun and raced toward the thickest part of the smoke. The elves who had surrounded her broke into a run, too. They were chasing her, she realized. Like dogs driven to hunt her down simply because she had run.
But she wasn’t running from them or anything. She was running toward something—the fire she could now see blazing in the center of the street.
Flames lapped against dry wood that had been piled so haphazardly she wondered that it could burn. But burn it did. The flames had started on the outskirts of the pile where the citizens of Alfheim had tossed matches and torches; the center and what stood there—three elf lords tied back to back—were as yet untouched.
At the edge of the flames, Marina ground to a halt. The fire had formed a fence that circled the lords. The three males slumped forward; only the pole they were lashed to kept them from falling.
She screamed at them to look up, to acknowledge that they were still alive, but either they weren’t or the roar of the fire and sound of the crowd drowned out her words. She glanced around, looking for something to throw at them, some way to get their attention.
Her gaze dropped to the net that seemed to cling to her fingers. She lifted it over her head and began to spin her arm, like a cowboy preparing to throw a lariat.
Then someone hit her from behind and she fell, the box hitting first. The wood cut into her abdomen, and the doubts she’d felt when she’d first seen the thing slammed into her.
These elf lords were going to die—because of her. The citizens of Alfheim were running wild because of her. Everything, every bad thing that had happened was because of her.
And she, selfishly, was choosing her own happiness over all of them, was choosing life with Raf away from Alfhei
m over all of them. If they died, if Alfheim died, it would be her fault.
She gritted her teeth and tried to block the thoughts from her brain. She shoved her palms against the pavement and pushed herself up, off of the box. The doubts subsided, but only slightly. The truth of her situation didn’t go away.
The world whirled; someone, or many someones, grabbed her around the waist and dragged her toward the fire. “A royal! Add her to the pyre.” She flipped and the faces of her attackers flashed in front of her. They blended into one mass. Young, old, male, female—they all had one thing in common, anger.
They wanted her dead. Like the citizens of Gunngar had probably wanted her dead. And this time she was the one who was going to be tossed on the fire.
It seemed right—just.
She went limp, let them carry her. Her fingers went limp, too, slipped free of the net’s weave. The box fell from her grasp and dropped onto the ground. The fog that had surrounded her since taking hold of the thing lifted, but her outlook didn’t change. Things still looked just as bleak, perhaps more so.
Heat flickered out toward her; she stared sightlessly at the sky. She had failed everyone, and by running away with Raf she was doing it again.
Her feet had reached the fire. Flames warmed the soles of her shoes until they burned against the bottoms of her feet.
Then somewhere behind her, muted by the crowd, there was a roar. Her eyes flew open and everything zoomed back into focus.
Raf or Alfheim? She owed them both and lying here, letting a crazed crowd toss her onto a fire wasn’t the way to repay either. She sat up, startling the elves. Their eyes rounded and for a second alertness flickered behind their gazes—reminding Marina that they were victims, too, not cognizant of everything they were doing.
Then Raf solidified beside her and all hell broke loose.
The elves didn’t move when Raf materialized behind them—just kept feeding Marina toward the fire like so much more fuel. He grabbed two and slapped their heads against each other. Those remaining stumbled—but, he sensed, not so much from fear as momentum. Still, two more moved in from the crowd to replace the ones he’d downed.
He stopped. What had at first seemed a crazed crowd, looked different up close—robotic rather than frenetic.
He frowned, not understanding what they were doing or why. They should be afraid, terrified. He had every intention of destroying each and every one who had placed a hand on Marina.
He reached for another elf, had his hand on the male’s shoulder when Marina yelled.
“Save them.” She pointed toward the center of the fire. Almost hidden in the smoke were Lord Sim and two other lords. It took a second for Raf to realize they were tied there, unable to escape.
He glanced at Marina; she’d sat up when he’d first arrived. Her upright position was deceptive, made it look as if the elves below her were carrying her, honoring her instead of toting her to her death. Or planned death. She was in no danger from the zombie-like elves whose hands shuffled over her legs as they tried to move her into the blaze.
He should have realized that from the beginning—known that Marina could take care of herself, but he’d panicked, forgotten everything he knew about her abilities.
“Save them,” she called again, begged. Her eyes were huge and filled with pain.
He glanced at the lords, the fire and Marina—realized she was reliving the day she’d burned the witch, or pretended to.
Was that why she’d allowed the elves to carry her so close, hadn’t fought back?
With a sweep of his arm, he knocked four more elves to the ground, catching Marina as they fell. With her clasped against his chest, he murmured in her ear, “Why don’t you?”
She stiffened and her eyes rounded.
“Show yourself, Marina. Not the princess or the elf lord’s pawn—you. Show who you are to everyone including yourself.”
He straightened the arm that held her legs and let her slide to a stand. For a second he thought she wouldn’t do it, that she’d fall back on one guise or the other, but with one last glance over the crowd, she strode forward her hand held out in front of her and power, green and alive, pulsing against her palm.
“Stop!” she yelled. “In the name of the throne of Alfheim, stop!”
The elves parted. Their clouded gazes began to clear. Raf let out a breath, relieved for her. Marina was doing it—showing her powers to all of Alfheim. There would be no hiding them now, no denying what and who she was beneath the guises that had been forced on her in the past.
Now she could relax, accept herself.
While Marina held off the elves, Raf shimmered to the center of the pyre. The flames had crept inward. He materialized on flames. Fire lapped at his clothing. His pants began to smoke. He ignored the flickering heat. He was in no danger from its touch.
The same, however, wasn’t true of the elves, and the fire had reached the three lords. Raf strode forward, grabbed the three in a giant hug and shimmered.
He dropped them at Marina’s feet. They lay pale and still. For a moment he thought the effort was wasted, that the smoke had already done its intended job.
Then they started to cough.
Sim was the first to recover. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the crowd surrounding them. Raf knelt beside him and wrapped his fist into the lord’s shirt. “It appears someone took up the sword.”
Sim blinked and started to speak, but a fit of coughs stole his words. Raf dropped him back onto the pavement and stood. He shimmered to where Marina had dropped the box and slung the net over his shoulder. Then turned to walk back to Marina.
She was standing with her hands at her sides, her face pale and unsure. Surrounding her were elves. Thousands of them, kneeling with their foreheads on their knees.
Raf froze. The stone’s questions started pounding into him again, but he ignored them. It was easy this time. He was too focused on what was happening around Marina for the stone’s questions to shake his concentration—too filled with his own questions.
He didn’t know where the elfin masses had come from so quickly or what their appearance meant. Then he caught Marina’s gaze, and saw the apology in her eyes.
He knew…somehow he’d lost her.
Chapter 22
M arina turned from Raf. She didn’t know what else to do. She had no explanation for what had happened. But she knew she had made a decision—a commitment.
She stared out over the sea of elves. When she’d made her announcement, called for peace in the name of the throne, they’d flooded out of houses, stores, everywhere—and they were still coming. The streets leading to the pyre were packed. Elves had climbed onto the tops of cars and rooftops. They were everywhere and they were all kneeling.
She swallowed. She hadn’t thought…hadn’t meant….
The words had just come.
She folded her fingers into her palms. She could feel the power pulsing there—or was it her heart beating? The two seemed the same. Her magic was just a part of her now, like any other part, and it felt natural.
She put her hands over her face and sucked in a breath. She didn’t want to understand why the elves had dropped to the ground before her. They’d never done that to anyone, not even her parents.
She turned to glance at Raf. He hadn’t moved; he was watching her, as was everyone else. Even with their heads down, the citizens of Alfheim were watching her, waiting for her to do something.
Her heart sped. What had she done? She didn’t want to stand out. She didn’t want to matter. She just wanted to be swept along the river of life, unimportant as a leaf caught in the current.
As the thoughts pinged through her head, the place grew quiet. No one moved; nothing moved.
Then the trill started—a high ringing noise like a hummingbird with metallic wings flitted around her. She spun, searching for the source. Silver flashed around her. She reached out to swat it away, but her fingers found only air.
Then the sound was gon
e and a heaviness settled over her, like a mantle had been thrown over her shoulders…weighing her down.
She looked up.
The Paladin stood twenty feet away. A circle of elves kneeled around him. An aisle of bowed heads had formed between them.
He stared at her, obviously waiting for her to do something. She didn’t move. Despite what she’d said, she didn’t want the throne. She wanted Raf. She opened her mouth to scream the words, but only a croak escaped.
She tried to see behind him. The throne…it had to be here, too. Panic built in her chest. She wasn’t ready. She wouldn’t do this.
Her hands wrapped around her throat as she tried to force her voice to work. But nothing came out.
“Marina?”
Raf’s voice. She swallowed, but didn’t turn. Tears forming in the back of her eyes, she faced the Paladin. “You can’t ask me to make this choice. It isn’t fair. I shouldn’t have to trade my happiness for the safety of Alfheim.”
He shrugged, a strangely casual gesture for a moment that felt almost formal, processional. “Important choices are never easy. But the throne only does what is best for Alfheim.”
In other words, it didn’t care about her—just like Alfheim had never cared about her, or so she’d thought. She glanced over the crowd…saw old and frail, young and strong, all on bended knee for her. It was a lie, though, wasn’t it? Alfheim had done nothing for her before this. They’d watched her, used her for entertainment, but none had ever tried to challenge her uncle’s hold. None had ever asked who killed her parents. They had all just gone along the easiest path.
She clenched her fists. “What if I refuse?” she asked.
The Paladin cocked a brow. “You already made the choice. If you hadn’t we wouldn’t be here.” He motioned to the elf lords lying on the ground behind her. “This would have ended very differently, but if you’re asking what will happen if you back out….” He shook his head. “Look in your heart.”
She dropped her gaze. She didn’t want to look in her heart. She knew what was there—Raf, but Alfheim, too.
