Chapter 23 #2
After the teratorn attack, Ryder had told me that demons were the souls of corrupted angels, but I had been so wound up by everything else at the time, I hadn’t fully digested the details. I also hadn’t realized that applied to Nephilim—beings that were born of this world.
“What—” Despite the high, a chill ran down my spine. “What was it that turned him?”
“Bloodlust.” His eyes, all pupil now, pierced me like daggers, roving over every inch of visible skin. “Elves. Female, specifically.” Bile shot up my throat. I was going to be sick. “Don’t look so scared. You aren’t his type. He preferred them when they weren’t breathing.”
I glanced back at the building. Shadows flittered behind the small, circular, windows, but they were stained glass—no one could see us or hear us—and his words pressed in like the night, drawing goosebumps all over my skin.
“So, this demon,” I said. “He’s still alive.”
Flóki nodded.
“Why?” A rush of anger slurred my words. “Why not give him the death he deserves?”
His cold fingers lightly touched my shoulder. “Because sometimes information is more important than justice.”
Flinching, I shuffled out of his reach. “Hard disagree.”
“Kistuleitarinn’s older than Hildur—older than this kingdom.
He’s witnessed the rise and fall of many royal families, the bloody fights for the throne.
He’s lived through the Cross-Realm War, and the ones that came before that.
Some say he came from a completely different realm.
” A vein pulsed in his neck. “And some say he has the gift of Sight.”
“So, what?” I said, crossing my arms. “The queen uses him as her own personal oracle?”
He folded his lips. “You didn’t hear it from me.”
My mind was racing. The coincidence… it was weird. What were the actual chances that the only person who’d successfully been to Jarearbaeli was a demon who happened to be trapped in a cell beneath the castle I was staying in?
For a moment, nothing but the wind blowing over the frozen dirt and grass filled the quiet space. And in that silence, a wild idea took hold…
“No,” I said out loud. “It’s not worth it.”
“It could be,” Flóki answered, as if he knew where my mind had strayed. “He’s seen things, knows things, and like I said, he literally can’t escape. He’s a captive audience.”
“Isn’t his cell going to be, like, heavily guarded?” I couldn’t believe I was asking that.
“They gave up on stationing Eyes there long ago. Too many things down there with a thirst for blood.”
My pulse shot up.
“The entrance…” He dipped his chin, like he was weighing the words. “Different story.”
“Well, that settles that.” I scuffed my heel in the dirt. “There’s no way I’m sneaking past an elven guard and not getting caught.”
“Lucky for you, I’m part of the royal army,” he crooned. “And I happen to know every hour a new soldier takes up position. I can distract them.”
“That’s an awfully short shift.” Conveniently short.
“It’s the darkness. It’s all-consuming.” A glimpse of that darkness flashed across his face, fluttering in my heart.
Suddenly I remembered the stairs in the courtyard, the ones leading down… The forlorn wails, the drafts of ice, the shadows seeping out: the ice dungeons.
“This is a horrible idea,” I said, even though that same dangerous spike of interest that had flared through me back then tempted me now.
“I’ll keep watch, distract whoever’s working.”
“And risk your job? Why?”
“You deserve to know what awaits you. Meet you beneath Tofratré at two forty-five?”
The back door flung open, crashing against the grassy wall.
“Riverrrrrr!” Freyja drew out my name in a way I found equally annoying and endearing. “We need you! Ragnar just bet against Zulkis you can turn water into wine.”
“Who?”
“The guy who drove me and her here, her boyfriend—at least, the one for this week,” Flóki hissed under his breath.
My head snapped towards him. That was uncalled for.
“What are you guys looking at, anyway?” Freyja said, stumbling over the gravel.
He shot me a look, like we were in on some secret.
“Nothing,” I said quickly, backing away from the statues, from the elf, from the darkness. Music and laughter floated over the threshold in a steady stream.
Grabbing Freyja by the arm, I dragged her inside. Surprisingly, I was met with laughter, not a punch to the gut—could have gone either way.
We wove through the crowd, which had swelled to at least quadruple in size; there were definitely some broken fire codes here, if they even had those sorts of things in troll country.
“Nice night to look at the stars,” Freyja teased.
I rolled my eyes, releasing my grip. “What’s Tofratré?”
“The tree in the courtyard?” She batted her lashes. “Why, you meeting him there later?”
“Frey!” Cheeks swollen and red, Ragnar waved us down. “Perfect timing.”
Gunnar shot me a playfully crooked grin as he scooted over to make room.
Four glasses of water sat in a perfectly straight line down the center of the table.
“You weren’t kidding, were you?” I groaned.
“This’ll be fun—this’ll be easy.” Sliding her arm around my shoulder, she whispered, “And I really need to drink something other than beer.”
Huffing out a breath, I slid onto the bench, my mouth set in a tight line. I took in the faces of those gathered around—their crinkled eyes, toothy grins and infectious laughter, reminders of why I’d begged Gunnar to come. To let loose. To have fun.
So… I leaned back and got to work on the impossible: making wine out of water with my mind.
But the biggest miracle? Managing to avoid Flóki for the rest of the night.
At least, until we got back to the castle.
I was waiting at the tree when I heard the whispers.
Two tall forms entered the courtyard, shafts of moonlight showering their silver chainmail and strawberry-blonde hair.
Careful not to brush against the leaves, I slithered between the dangling branches to get a better glimpse. My stomach dropped—it was the queen and a guard.
What was she doing out here, wandering the halls close to three AM?
“Someone breached the kingdom’s defenses.” The man’s voice was stifled by the curtain of ice, but clear enough for me to catch his stressed tone.
I took a tiny step closer, the fronds clinking at the movement. The elves paused, turning towards me. Hildur’s lavender eyes flared. I froze.
“What do you mean?” she asked finally. They resumed their walk.
I dared a step after them, keeping to the shadows of the sweeping willow.
“We found him stumbling about on the tundra nearly frozen to death. He’s convinced we have something of his. We tossed him in the dungeon,” the guard said, and my heart thumped in my chest. “That shut him up.”
The air seemed to grow colder, my breath a wisp in the air, with just the mention of that wretched place.
“You did the right thing coming to me. This stays between us.” Her words were light, but vitriol sharpened her tone. “I’ll pay him a visit tomorrow. For now, no one can know—it’ll only cause panic that the Galdur wasn’t enough to ward him off.”
“Yes. About that…” He cleared his throat. “There’s been another breach, on the western end of the castle.”
“Creature?”
“Ice.”
“How odd.”
“The glacier,” he pressed with no absence of concern, “it’s melting. The Galdur can’t seem to stop it.”
A moment of silence. Thinking they might have turned down a corridor, I left the safety of the branches, ducking when I saw their silhouettes.
“Gods.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Shall we send in the Druids?” the guard suggested.
“No, no.” She waved a hand, her thick mantle hissing across the ground. “I have a plan.”
They disappeared down a hall, the rest of their conversation muffled by the thick stone walls. Worry burned my throat and curdled my gut. If the Galdur wasn’t enough to keep someone from trespassing, who’s to say it had the capacity to keep these people—these demons—in their cells?
Cold fingers grazed my spine.
Shoulders stiffening, I turned.
Flóki’s translucent blue eyes shone in the dark. “You made it.”
I barely heard the words over the rush of my blood. “Where did you come from?”
“You ready?” he asked, ignoring my question.
With a slight nod, I sucked in a breath.
“Let’s go.” He offered his hand.
I didn’t take it.
Instead, I busied my hands tightening my bun and wove behind him back through the foliage, the icy world passing by me in a blur. At the threshold of the branches, on the opposite side of the massive tree, he put his hand up.
A silent instruction to hold.
Footsteps echoed in the hall. A tired curse was muttered beneath breaths.
It was happening now—the change of the guards.
Flóki reached into his pocket, then chucked a circular object into the courtyard. It arced across the room. I only counted two heartbeats, but it felt like a lifetime had passed by the time it reached the incoming soldier. It landed with a hard bounce, rolling to a stop at their feet.
They stooped to examine it, jumping back a second too late as the object exploded in a burst of powdery white.
“Snow bomb,” Flóki whispered. “More annoying than anything. Popular prank with the youth. It’ll keep him busy for a second, but most importantly, it’s our cover.”
Following his lead, I dashed across the open space, the guard cursing and angrily waving off the flurry, and we crept through the castle. We were at the ice dungeon’s stairs before I could comprehend it, as silently and smoothly as if we were nothing but a swift-moving draft.
Ice coated the steep slabs of stone, and the temperature dropped with each step.
The gaping arch of a doorway was covered in shadows so thick, the moon couldn’t even penetrate the darkness.
Our shoulders grazed when we reached the landing, and we stared into the abysmal black.
Words framed the entrance, etched into the pumiced stone: Hér byr hie illa. Gefeu gaum ae sál tinni.
“What does it mean?” I asked, barely daring to whisper.
I felt him turn to me, that preternaturally blue gaze heating my cheeks. “Here lies evil. Heed your soul.”
“How welcoming,” I whispered sarcastically.
“Here.” He shrugged off his black bomber jacket, placing it around my shoulders. “Take my jacket. It’s cold in there.”
I slid my arms into the silk-lined sleeves. Rolling the cuffs five or so times so the fabric didn’t devour my wrists, I drew a deep breath and tried something earnest: “Appreciate it.”
“The Coffin Seeker is in the basement.” My nerves twitched at the way his name rolled off Flóki’s tongue, as if he weren’t a devil but something to be revered. “Seven floors down. Access to his oubliette is through a hole in the ground.”
“Got it.” I fought to keep my voice steady.
“Take this.” Grabbing a torch out of its bracket, he handed it to me.
“Thanks.”
“Think of it like a practice run for Jarearbaeli. Take your time. I’ll be here when you’re done.”
“Yeah, it’s not like I’m in a rush to get out or anything,” I tossed over my shoulder before crossing the threshold.
Immediately, the sphere of black swallowed me whole. It was like disappearing behind a veil; in a step or two, Flóki was nothing but the murky outline of a person—noise, details, scents, air were all muffled by the abyss.
I breathed in must and something… rancid. The smell turned my stomach.
The path sloped down, veering to the left and getting darker, colder—if that was even possible. I faltered down the slick staircase, fighting to keep my footsteps quiet, my breathing silent. The torch barely burned back the darkness, and I had to guess at where the next stair would take me.
After nearly half a minute, I stumbled when the pattern broke. I had reached a landing, a break in the stairs. I had made it down one level.
Six more to go. That’s all there was. I could do that.
Eyes stinging from the frigid cold, I held up the burning wood, the flames dancing off the ice-bound cells. Wet cobblestone made for a slippery walk, the tips of my shoes already soaking.
Thick frozen walls separated the prisoners, the floor padded in snow that helped throw the light.
Most remained silent, but I knew I was no longer alone by the itching feeling of eyes on me. Some crowded towards the torch’s flame, shedding tears, prayers, vows. Some had written final messages with their nails, old blood streaking the walls.
Nothing in here resembled elf or human. They were only the shells of their former selves—and broken ones, at that. A low moan erupted from one of the lumps shivering on a bed of hay. I kept my eyes forward, my footsteps light. Nothing good would come from poking around.
Another sigh, and the shake of metal. My traitorous eyes drifted to one of the cells.
Tattooed fingers wrapped around the steel. A lean upper body curled over knees, black jeans digging into the powder. The crown of their head rocked against the barred door, dark hair a flat curtain over their features.
The realization wrenched the air from my lungs. All feeling left my limbs.
Even my pulse was lost to the shock.
It was him.
“Ryder,” I whispered.