Chapter 10
10
“You have medical knowledge, Cyran. Help him, please.” Shalendra met Cyran’s teal gaze. She held her breath as he glanced down at Castien, who slithered onto his side, ending in a prone position on the floor beside her.
She scooted closer and rubbed his back with her hand, not liking the warmth of his skin. “He’s burning up with fever.”
Castien rocked back and forth a couple of times, then let out a low moan. Her gaze jerked to his face as a ruby flush darkened his lightly tanned skin. Faint purple spots were barely visible, and after a quick inspection of his arms, chest, and stomach, the rash appeared to cover his body.
He moaned again, and his rocking continued. “I feel horrible,” his raspy voice wheezed. His glassy gaze met hers. “Promise me you will look after Ashia if this doesn’t pass.”
She reached for his hand and laced her fingers through his, rubbing the back with her other hand. “Don’t talk like that. I may have grown up on Midgard, but even I have heard of Cyran’s healing abilities. My father has often mentioned him.” She glanced at Cyran, then returned to Castien's flushed face. “I believe in him and know he will find a cure.”
You are right, young one. Ashia’s voice whispered in her head. I, too, have heard of his abilities. Even we stones talk. The man who raised him, although not the elf who gave him life, taught him much, but his mother held the real power. Blending her life force with his birth father’s is beyond powerful. His blood father also had a true healing gift.
Do you have any idea who Cyran’s birth father is?
I do not, nor would I say if I did. That is his story to tell, young one. He will learn of what’s been hidden before this is all over.
Shalendra leaned close and whispered in Castien’s ear, “Even Ashia believes Cyran will find the cure, so keep fighting. I never give up on those I care for. I’ve always wanted a brother, Castien, so live—for me.”
“That might just be enough to live for—to see Hel’s and your father’s expressions when you tell them they now have a gay son.” Castien coughed. A spot of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth and trickled down his cheek. With a quick swipe of his hand, he smeared the pink-tinged drool across his face. She pushed down his arm, and Cyran loomed over her. In his hand was a tissue.
Castien coughed again, and her smile turned into a cringe. The cough’s depth sounded so painful. She wiped away the drool and then closed her eyes, wishing she knew how to fix him—almost wanting to return to the dungeon where he would have been safe. Safer than he seemed to be out in the world. With tear-filled eyes, she turned her gaze to Cyran. “Please,” she whispered. “Please help him.”
Cyran squatted beside her, his narrowed gaze on her friend. Holding his hand just above Castien’s shivering body, he closed his eyes. His face looked so serene, as if he were doing nothing more than listening to the wind blow through the forest.
She took a moment to study him, really looking at him. Her heart fluttered in her chest, filling the organ with some unknown emotion. His features epitomized her Elven race; he was so handsome—almost beautiful. His long brown lashes formed thick crescents over sculpted cheekbones. His nose was straight, regal in a classical way, but his mouth fascinated her. His lips were sensual, and her fingers ached to touch them…to discover if they were as soft as they looked.
She loved the color of his hair, too. Elves rarely had brown or red hair. Her kind were fair-haired with varying shades of blond or black. Cyran’s hair reminded her of toasted caramel, much darker than most elves' white-blond shade. The soft waves were rich and decadent as they flowed over his shoulder and down his chest.
She found herself leaning closer, his woodsy scent filling her flared nostrils. Closing her eyes, she forced her body to move back, not liking how susceptible she seemed to be to him. He was only there to take her home, nothing more. She needed to keep that foremost in her mind. Her life was on Midgard, and his, she supposed, was on Alfheimr with the co-regents doing who knows what.
“You feel it too?” Cyran asked in a hushed voice. The room's stillness weighed on her, making it hard to breathe.
“Feel what?” she asked, the words escaping before she could stop herself. Something told her she did not want to understand what he meant.
“Whatever this is between you and me, princess. We seem drawn toward one another, and I mean to figure out why. It’s just the thing whoever is pushing us along on this crazy wild goose chase would do.”
“Considering we have no idea who this person is, much less what they are capable of or has planned, that’s a very leading statement. Besides, I haven’t felt anything between us…” she glared at his smirk. “What?”
“Then why are you all but draped over me like a cloak?” he whispered in her ear. Shocked, she realized somehow she had returned to her previous posture. Leaning so near to him, she drew his clean pine scent deep into her lungs, and all she wanted to do was rest her chin on his sculpted shoulder. Righting herself, she scooted on her knees until she was a few feet from him and ignored his soft chuckle.
“Running away won’t work, princess?—”
“Stop calling me that. I am not a princess.”
“I beg to differ. Your mother is the queen of the dead. In my book, that makes you a princess. After all, who will take over her realm when she no longer wishes to.”
She made a derisive sound in her throat. “You don’t know my mother very well then. She lives, eats, and breathes Niflheimr and will never step down. Besides, it would be difficult to rule a place I can’t enter, wouldn’t it?”
“Touché. Now, may I return to my examination?” He scowled at the lethargic dwarf, noticing the large lymph nodes on either side of his neck and the splotchy flush. He pulled down Castien’s shirt collar, untying the laces to study his skin better without actually touching him.
“What?” Shalendra leaned forward, her gaze riveted on the varying-sized red dots forming from under the shirt and spreading up to the base of his neck.
Castien groaned, the sound emanating from deep inside his chest. “I hurt so much. I don’t think there’s anywhere on my body that doesn’t ache, and my insides are burning—like they're cooking.” His eyes cracked open, meeting hers. “Do I still have my skin, or has the fire burned it away.”
Shalendra made a gurgling sound deep in her throat but failed as her laughter broke free. “Dramatic much? You still have your beautiful, rich, light-brown skin, my friend, although you don’t look quite as handsome with red spots everywhere.”
He tried to laugh, which ended in a harsh coughing spell. Cyran reached across his body to turn away her head, but not before she caught sight of the bloody sputum in the corners of his mouth. Her gaze jerked up to meet Cyran’s. “What’s happening to him, Cyran?”
He shook his head, a slight frown pulling at his light brown brows. “I wish I knew. The symptoms remind me of several diseases seen on Midgard. Elves…and dwarves don’t catch human sicknesses. I can’t sense any magic, but my gut tells me it’s there—I just haven’t delved deep enough yet.”
He reached for his bag, which had twisted around, and jerked it forward to rest on his hip. Reaching inside, he pulled out a light blanket, which he spread over the dwarf, who bunched it up in his fists and tucked it under his neck.
“Reminds me of my cloak. I miss my cloak,” Castien whispered.
Standing, Cyran held out his hand. She stared at it a moment, then laid her smaller hand against his warm palm, letting him pull her to a stand beside him. The heat from his body pressed against hers, seeping through her chilled skin. Inhaling his wonderful scent one last time, she forced herself to push away, taking back her hand and clasping her fingers together in front of her.
Not wanting Castien to worry more than he already was, she walked to the far corner and gave Cyran an expectant stare. He glanced down at Castien. Once more, she admired his perfect profile. He was more than handsome, but his concern for a stranger drew her to him more than anything else. He was just as beautiful on the inside as he was outside.
Watching his purposeful stride, she admired his regal stature, yet instead of remaining aloof, she sensed a ready laugh lingering on his lips. Her gaze touched on the tiny laugh lines etched into the outside corners of his eyes.
She tilted her head. “Every once in a while, you remind me of Lamruil and Ailuin. Just a hint here and there, but…”
This time, he did smile, lighting up his entire face. Her breath caught in her chest, filling her with wonderment. “Well, I did grow up with them. When my mother treated the local women, I spent my days and nights in the castle, pretending it was home. She was the only one able to cure the female ailments. I’m afraid my stepfather’s focus was on darker spells and stranger maladies of the Nine Worlds. When he wasn’t hibernating in his lab, he was elsewhere. My mother never figured out where he disappeared to.”
“I’m sorry, Cyran. I can’t imagine not having the love of both parents. For me, my father was always there, no matter what. Even when I thought he was my brother, I never doubted his love for me, and while my mother wasn’t with us, I sensed her love for me as well.”
He slid a lock of hair behind one ear, and she held her breath. “Of course, your mother loved you. What is the human saying, if you love something or someone—set it free? Your mother let you go and prayed one day you would be reunited.”
He smiled, his thumb caressing her cheek as he pulled away his hand. “Fenrir told me this himself. As her brother, he guarded her since émilien took you from Niflheimr. She mourned your absence and threw herself into her work, which is why what’s happening to the death realms now is so problematic. Her world was strong in faith and happiness, as were the Egyptian Everafter and Celtic Otherworld.”
Shalendra frowned. “What about Hades and his Greek Underworld?”
“While each death realm has its opposition within and the worst of the worst buried deep inside their darkest layers, the Greeks are combative. Remember, Sparta was part of the ancient Greek world and were holy terrors on the battlefield.”
“True.” Her gaze touched on Castien. “What can we do for him?”
Cyran glanced over his shoulder and let her see the worry deep in the blue-gray depths. “I’m not sure. I need to go back to Haman’s lab. There are books filled with information I haven’t yet read. Maybe I can find a link to whatever this is and what seems to be plaguing both the Elven and Dwarven villages.”
“Do you think it’s the same disease?”
“Again, I can’t be certain, but the symptoms all seem to progress similarly, but Castien’s are different. His symptoms took him down so fast... Maybe it was the mode of transmission or a mutation?” He shrugged. “At this point, I just don’t have enough information.”
“Go then. Return to the lab and find the answers you need. I will stay here and help Castien as much as I can?—”
“No!” He hissed, his voice deep and filled with power. “I cannot let you take that chance. I will have Banayl come back here and watch over him.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Excuse me? Castien is my friend, and I am responsible for dragging him into this. I will stay.”
“Forgive me, princess, but exposing you to something I may not be able to cure is a sure-fire way to get me cast into the bowels of your mother’s precious realm, and I am not ready to spend the rest of eternity being tortured for pissing off mommy dearest.”
As much as she wanted to argue, he was right. Her mother would torture him for eternity if anything happened to her. It did not feel right, though, abandoning Castien like this.
You are not abandoning him, young one. Ashia whispered. I am with him and will keep him safe and alive until you both return. The draugr is already dead, so whatever this is cannot spread to him. Remember what Freyja told you about your powers? You must look deep into your soul and find a way to let go of past grief.
Castien’s life and the lives of so many others rest on your shoulders and Cyran’s. I sense the power within him. Combined with your abilities, the two of you will be a force we have not seen in the Nine Worlds since the creation days. Believe in yourself, Shalendra. Believe…
She swallowed the fear Ashia’s words created and exhaled. She did not want Cyran to learn about the bloodstone or think she was nuts. I will, Ashia. That is my vow to you. By all the power I have in me, Castien will survive this and thrive, and I will not let anyone else die if I can help it.
A sense of peace stole through her, calming her inner turmoil and terror. A few hours ago, she had worried about killing Castien with her powers, but she hadn't. She would succeed in helping Cyran find a cure and, if needed, using all her powers to save him.
She inhaled, letting the truth of Ashia's words calm her. “All right, Cyran. Banayl can stay with Castien. I will go with you, but first, tell me what the twins said. Any knowledge right now could give us the answers we need, and two brains working together are always better than one.”
He chuckled. “True. Lamruil directed me to a castle in Austria called Schloss Hartheim. He believes we will discover, in part, some of the answers we need.”
Shalendra frowned. “Have you ever been there?”
He shook his head. “Should I have? I have spent time on Midgard but stayed in the larger European cities like Paris, London, and Edinburgh. I spent a couple of days in Vienna, but that was the farthest east I went.”
“Vienna is magnificent, but I prefer Salzburg. Schloss Hartheim is northeast of Salzburg.” She inhaled, letting out the breath as she recalled the horrific details she had been told by her father when they visited the area long ago.
“The terror there began in 1939, two years before the Nazis implemented the Final Solution. Based on their belief in Eugenics, or the ability of German scientists to improve or change the genetic qualities of the German ethnicity since all other ethnicities or cultures were inferior. Instead, they sterilized and murdered their patients, and the psychiatrists began channeling the disabled they deemed unworthy of life to six main hospitals throughout Germany for extermination.”
She swallowed and rubbed her breastbone, trying to ease the pain the story caused. As long as she lived, she would never understand the depravity and atrocities the Nazis and so many others executed throughout World War II.
“Soon after the war began,” she continued, “Hitler canceled the progrom, but the psychiatrists continued killing their patients by the thousands. If memory serves, they butchered more than two hundred thousand disabled people who were as innocent as children and had no way to defend themselves.”
Cyran closed his tear-filled eyes for a moment, then exhaled. Reaching over, he used the back of his hand to wipe away her tears before pulling her to him, which was her undoing. She sobbed against his muscled chest, letting out her bottled emotions from the past and present.
She cried for the loss of not having her mother growing up and the lies they told her about her father’s identity. She cried for her youth and inadequacies, especially since she could not rescue her best friend, Soliana. She cried for Castien’s plight, his agony pounding at her from a few feet away.
Finally spent and exhausted, she tried to sniff, but her nostrils were so swollen from the long cry, she could not breathe through her nose at all. Disgusted with herself and her lack of control, she tried to push away but found herself locked tight against him.
“Umm, Cyran, I can’t breathe.” A low rumble sounded in her ear, and she realized he was laughing at her. With the side of her fist, she pounded his firm chest but only succeeded in hurting her hand. “Let me go.”
“Shhh, nín gilgalad. Y our sorrow still beats at me like a drum. Please let me do what I do best…heal. You must be strong if we go into such a foul place, especially if my stepfather is in residence. Haman can sense basic emotions, and your sadness would give you away in seconds, even to him. Will you let me do this small thing?”
In Cyran’s arms, Shalendra stilled. His starlight —the softly spoken endearment soared through her, soothing her as nothing else could, and it scared her. No one should have that kind of power over another, even if its purpose is only to help.
Her feelings were her own, but something kept her from condemning him. Instead, she found herself giving in. “Thank you. I hate crying and its aftermath. Unlike my friend Soliana, who always looks beautiful, my face swells up something terrible. I don’t think I have ever seen her with a hair out of place.”
He chuckled and pushed her back enough for him to run the pads of each thumb over her forehead and cheeks. “Close your eyes,” he whispered.
A warmth spread over her face as his thumbs moved over the tender skin. He traced the bridge of her nose, and the swelling in her nostrils eased, letting her breathe in the room’s musty scent.
Reaching up, she wrapped her hands around his wrists and moved them away from her, not trusting her reaction to him or the rapid beat of her heart each time he touched her. Too many emotions swamped her confused mind, making her body uncomfortable and so very sensitive at the same time.
She had always been her own person and trusted her ability to make good decisions, but this was something new and beyond her understanding. She was not sure she liked how Cyran affected her.
With a quick upward glance, she caught the warmth swirling in his light green eyes and did not want to think about what this new color implied. Before she did something stupid—that she could not take back—she pushed his arms to his chest and stepped away. “Thank you. I will heed your words, Cyran. I will not fail you while we search for your stepfather.”
“I prefer calling him Haman. He is no blood relation and has never been a father to me, only a teacher, instructing me in the darker healing arts. My mother gave me more love than two parents. Her genes and teachings gave me my healing ability.
She smiled and took another step away from him, the heat from his body pounding against hers, making her want to fidget…or, worse, run back into his welcoming embrace.
“It seems we both have parental issues from our childhood. Now, go ask Banayl if he is willing to play nursemaid to Castien. The sooner we arrive at the death castle, the sooner we can return.”