Chapter 27 #2
“This lesser demon comes from the same classification as a hellhound, riding into battle alongside the Scale of Six. Its mane burns with a hellfire that can never be extinguished, and its dozen eyes mimic the swirling depths of the Abyss. The jelmadag’s claws can pierce stone and bone.
And its head swivels like a serpent, elongating as it hisses a cloud of steam so hot it can melt skin.
It is the opposite of its Empyrean origin—a griffin—in every way, aside from its wings.
The feathers slowly fall out over the course of eternity. ”
Olivia blew air out of her lips, scanning the text, speaking quicker.
“Okay, let’s see… Mortal weapons cannot breach its barbed fur…
” Pointer skimming the page, she jumped to another section.
“There are four in existence… Hold on, there’s an addendum.
Huh.” She met my gaze. “One went missing during the Cross-Realm War.”
My hand flew to my chest, as if it could stop my heart from dropping. That sweeping rush of familiarity shot through me once again.
“Where would one of those be after all this time?” she wondered out loud.
“Olivia, what do you know about the ice dungeons?” The question burned in my throat.
She studied my face. “Not enough, it seems.”
I’d been holding back, but right there, I broke. The tavern, Flóki, the Coffin Seeker, Ryder, the fire nymph trapped in my hearth; every secret I’d been keeping close spilling out.
And as I spoke, Olivia listened—like we were back in her cozy office in Santa Cruz, me sprawled in that leather chair and her sitting across the room, cool and composed.
“First of all,” she began after my words ran their course like a rainstorm, “I will ship you back to California and deliver you to Corbin myself if you ever step foot in that dungeon again.”
Despite it all, a smile lifted the corners of my lips.
Forget Kistuleitarinn, I knew the real reason behind her fiery order, and it had nothing to do with the demon—it was Ryder’s knuckles wrapped around the cold bars, strands of his dark hair iced against his forehead.
It was his voice, a weaker, more desperate version of the real thing…
I could see it. Hear it. So, so vividly. If I went down there again, the worst monster of all might be let out. Him. Me. Us.
“Speaking of…” The lines furrowing Olivia’s forehead smoothed out. “How’s your dad?”
“He…” The question snapped me out of the dungeon, bringing me back to the archives. “Shanley’s been covering for me. He doesn’t know I’m here.”
“River.” Her face fell. “How’d you get to Iceland, then?”
“Savings and a cheap last-minute flight.”
“What about summer school?” Suspicion cast off her in waves. “The semester doesn’t end for another few weeks.”
“Failed.” That one stung. “Again.”
Tucking her lips inward, she shut her eyes, and I could almost see her arranging her thoughts. “When you get back to Santa Cruz,” she said finally, opening her lids, her gaze a burning midnight, “things are going to change.”
I nodded, picking at my cuticles, fixing my attention on the dried skin. Anywhere but her face, draped with disappointment.
“I’m serious, River.” Very much a look at me tone, so I did. “You know, at first…” She tapped her fingers against the table. “I was going to say this is an elven problem—that our focus should be on getting you to Jarearbaeli and being on our way.”
“And now?” My heart skipped.
“And now… If the Galdur fails completely—which, by the looks of these reports, it will—and this glacier melts and the things in that dungeon get loose…” She chewed on her bottom lip. “That spells trouble for all of us.”
“So, what do we do?” I pressed down on my knuckles, focused on the slight pressure.
“I think we need to confront the queen. But we need more evidence. In the meantime”—she whirled on me—“go to the pools, wash off and heal up, and maybe think about calling your dad?”
Horror seized my face; I could only imagine the look. Call him? I blinked.
“Text?” she amended. “Fine, I won’t push it.” Her cheeks tightened with the trace of a smile. “I’ll meet you for breakfast first thing tomorrow. Demons, ogresses, doppelg?ngers,” she tsked. “I’m about to pull an all-nighter.”
“I’ll bring you a midnight snack.” My stomach gurgled. “Milk and cookies?”
“Okay, sure, but in this case, self-care comes first.” She shooed me, flapping her hands until I hustled past her.
After crossing the elaborate fresco—the faces stamped by my dirty soles—I paused at the door. “Are there any spells in there for summoning a massive swell for surfing?”
“I’ll check.” Setting a pair of glasses on the bridge of her nose, she peered at me over the cat eye frames. “That your final request?”
“Are you open to more?”
Her eyes crinkled, her whole face softening. “Go.”
Biting back a smile, I crossed the threshold, the golden light from the archives pouring into the stone hall. As I briskly walked down the spiral staircase, with no one to talk to, my thoughts ran wild with questions, with theories, with hunger.
When was the last time I’d eaten?
Pushing that nagging ache aside, I let another force drive me before I ended up in the pantry: intuition. It guided me like the magnet of a compass, pointing towards the ground level—below it.
If I really wanted answers, I had to look for them.
They wouldn’t be stuffed between the pages of an old book.
They’d be kept out of sight, in a place deemed untouchable, dangerous, an area no one dared to go.
I reached the landing. All remained quiet, still.
The gut-rumbling chime of a clock rang out, signaling the start of the hour.
I had to do it now—when the events from this morning still turned conversations, still demanded the support of every quick-moving hand—but mostly because not knowing was even more dangerous than taking the risk to find out. And I was convinced the queen was holding that missing jelmadag.
Slipping through the unusually empty courtyard, I kept close to the shadows cast by the afternoon sun dipping below the castle’s skyline.
A tendril of heat crept up from a stairwell, the salt-infused air heady, beckoning. If I were smart, I’d follow it down to the healing pools, but I wasn’t craving calm, warmth.
I was craving cold, darkness, and most of all, answers. So, I left the geothermal sanctuary behind, cutting across the atrium until the slick concrete steps rose from the ground.
Shutting out the fear, the doubt, the silhouettes moving in my peripheral, I descended into the dungeon before the change of the guard was complete. At the foot of the stairs, I snatched the torch from its bracket and disappeared behind the veil of blackness.