Chapter 14
14
The moment Shalendra laid her hand in his, the difference in Cyran was immediate. The sensation was subtle, but there all the same.
One second, he was aloof, keeping himself at arm’s length from the world, and the next, he was surrounding her, pushing her in a direction she did not want to go, and it confused her.
“Are you ready to go into the room?” She tried to pull back her hand, needing to move away from his commanding presence.
He nodded and stepped over the threshold, pulling her with him. The minute her foot touched the dividing line between hall and room, she walked through an invisible force, as if someone put up a wall of congealed air.
While unsettling, she pushed her way through and into the room. “That was a guarded barrier, wasn’t it? I felt the vibrations as I passed through.”
“Yes—a specialty of Haman’s. We only have a few minutes until the guards arrive, so I need you to help me search for any possible clue. Look for a notebook, bound papers of any kind—anything handwritten notes might be written on. He could never remember his spells and had to write everything in journals. Finding them is our only chance to discover his disease concoction.”
She glanced around the room, taking in the two long tables in the center of the ample space. Along the nearby wall were all kinds of scientific and medical instruments, some she had never seen before.
She walked closer, wanting to reach out and touch a few of the stranger-looking ones, but with the healer's dabbling in dark magic, touching even one would not be a good idea—maybe even a death sentence. “I wonder what some of these are used for. Look at this odd contraption. It’s half microscope and half robot.”
“Just don’t touch anything. Who knows what kind of security spells he has left in his absence? Haman trusts no one.”
“I gathered that from how you’ve described him. I’d say he is paranoid, egotistical, and diabolical.” She walked to the far end of the room, where someone had chiseled a spot for a cabinet. She peeked between the partially open doors. Inside was a mess of paper scraps thrown in every which way.
Looking around the neat room, she realized the stash of messy papers was unimportant to Haman. Not a speck of dirt anywhere, and each instrument had been placed precisely on the shelves, so messy piles of anything would be inconsequential.
Her gaze narrowed on the drawer’s contents. With a single thought, gloves appeared on her hands, and she rummaged through the drawer, finding wadded papers and food wrappers. It really was filled with trash.
A nasty odor wafted from the next drawer. Swallowing her disgust, she continued searching, but it was also stuffed with trash and pieces of rotting food. The following two drawers held the same mess.
Staring at the last drawer, she wondered if she should mess with it. She would have wasted precious moments if this one was like the others. Not wanting to give up, she jerked open the last drawer and found papers again. This time, however, they seemed to be arranged as if trying to cover something.
She pushed them aside and, in the bottom, lay four jars. Two contained some thick, murky substance, and the other two were filled about a third of the way with a golden liquid.
“Cyran? I may have found something you can use.” She glanced up at him, noticing how he shoved one of the books from the small bookshelf he had been searching into his magical satchel that appeared and disappeared on command. She wanted one of those—at least to carry a few necessities.
He strode toward her and glanced down, then jerked his gaze to hers. “You didn’t touch them, did you?”
She raised one eyebrow. “Do I look that stupid? No, I did not touch them. Haman’s probably coated the outside glass with the very disease we’re trying to stop.” She showed him her hands. “I summoned protective gloves.”
“Good. Because I believe he has done that very thing.”
Her blood chilled. His satchel reappeared, and he muttered something in an ancient language she didn’t recognize. A smaller, glistening silver bag floated out and into his hands. He spread the opening wider and whispered in the same language as a few moments ago.
The four jars rose from the bottom of the drawer and drifted into the bag. He pulled the drawstrings tight and placed it in his satchel, which once more disappeared.
“Will they not break? You didn’t individually wrap them with anything.”
“The bag is special. The moment I closed the drawstrings, the unique fibers wrapped around each jar, thickening so the glass and contents would be protected until I speak the counterspell.”
“That’s amazing. You’re part healer and part mad scientist, aren’t you?”
“Quite possibly. My brain never stops. Ideas pop in, and I am compelled to create whatever I think about. Some ideas are easier to design than others, but it’s like a puzzle. Finding the pieces that fit is what excites me.”
“Your life sounds so much more exciting than mine. At first, living on Midgard was fun and adventurous—an amazing new world I could explore. Now, though, it’s just somewhere I live. I don't often leave the chateau in France, which makes me feel so reclusive, and that’s not my personality at all.”
She frowned as a stray thought fluttered in the back of her brain. “As I've said, I only recently learned émilien was my father, but I still think of him as my brother—in the haven of our own home. You, however, have been around him on the outside, planning and fighting by his side. Would he have placed a spell to keep me like that if he didn’t want me to explore on my own, content with the comfort of my books and home?”
Cyran shrugged. “I am not a brother nor a father, so answering you would be conjecture on my part. That said, if I had a beautiful daughter who needed my protection, and I couldn’t be there all the time, then that is what I would do.”
Her eyes widened as she struggled to control her angry outburst, and he held up his hand. “But, before you start yelling at me, I would remove the safeguards while I was with her because they would no longer be necessary. I would also tell my daughter what I was doing. No one likes feeling controlled and imprisoned, most of all an elf. If, and I do mean if , he warded you to stay within the confines of your home, then I am certain he did it out of worry and love for you.”
With one last glance around the room, he held out his hand for her to take. “From what you have told me about your history, émilien had no clue how to be a single father, much less a cursed elf who could not shift from the body of a wolf. I can’t even imagine caring for a small child with claws. Now, we must go. The longer we remain, the risk of being discovered increases.”
She placed her hand in his as a male voice shouted at them from the hallway. Four German soldiers rushed into the room.
“Stoppen! Beweg dich nicht!” The first man yelled, telling them to stop and stay still as he skidded into the room. His pistol steadied, aiming at Cyran as three other soldiers fanned out around them.
Out of the corner of her eye, the soldier closest to her raised his pistol. His eyes swirled with fear, but his mouth was set in a determined grimace, and time slowed as his finger pulled back the trigger.
One second, she stared at the bullet as it exited the barrel. The next moment, she was twirled around with Cyran standing between her and the other soldiers.
He jerked her to him, her body fitting perfectly against his as everything went silent, and the room faded from view. “Hold on tight so you don't freeze. I do not have a warming spell as powerful as Freyja’s, but what I have will keep us warm enough until we reach Alfheimr.”
She shivered, the freezing temperature of space covering her exposed skin with a thin sheen of ice, but as it landed on her, it melted, proving Cyran right. His spell was enough. It did not allow the deadly crystals to encompass their bodies as they flew through the multiverse toward his home.
“I understand the warming spell, but how can we breathe?” she asked. “My father told me about space travel but never explained why he could breathe without oxygen.”
“Only a few of us can travel this way, and when we begin our training, one of the first lessons is a breathing spell. Some, like Freyja, used a large oxygen-filled bubble, but new spells were created as more research was done. With the new spells, we don’t need to breathe as often, making the small amount of oxygen our bodies create usable for longer periods.”
“And before you ask, I have no idea how our bodies create the oxygen. It just does. When I was a child, I overheard a group of gods discussing the process, but Heimdall came up with the original spells, so you will need to get your answers from him.”
Without thinking, she snuggled closer, her head cradled against his chest. Every word he spoke sounded like a nearby train, the low rumble growing louder in her ear.” A fire would be nice about now.”
He chuckled and the rumbling turned into tumbling rocks. “I wouldn’t suggest it. Introducing flames out here would light the gases all around us. People on Midgard would look to the heavens, observe the glow of the outer event horizon surrounding the resulting black hole, and wonder how it appeared so suddenly without an exploding star.”
“How romantic,” she sighed. “It would be like the stories the humans created behind star constellations, like Perseus and Andromeda or Vega and Altair. They are beautiful stories.”
“And very false. I have talked with Perseus, and he is appalled at the tale. The human, Ovid, had it correct that Cassiopeia was incredibly proud of her daughter, as she should have been. Still, the Romans had to make it about glory and battle and incorrectly added that Neptune was furious at her for putting her daughter above his Neirids, so he sent a monster, some say the Kraken, to punish the queen. The Roman sea god then demanded Andromeda be chained to the rocks as a sacrifice to the beast and their country saved.”
His arms tightened, holding her closer, a slight shiver moving through him. It took a moment of careful maneuvering, but she managed to wrap her arms around his waist. As her skin touched the back of his shirt, she realized the material was frozen stiff.
“Why was Perseus so upset? Isn’t that the story?” She splayed her fingers across the lower part of his back and subtly let her healing magic flow into him, but it did little to melt the ice. Her worry grew. With wet clothing, he would not last out here much longer.
“No, it isn’t. Perseus rescued Andromeda as she was falling from the top of the rocks. She loved walking along the craggy ridge every afternoon. That day, though, her foot slipped on the well-worn rocks. It rained a few hours earlier, and water still pooled along the rocky cliff. Perseus saw her fall, and instinct told him he was meant to rescue her. It had nothing to do with an angry ocean god or the disrespect of her mother.”
“Well, it’s still a beautiful story. How much longer will we be out here?” His body was constantly shivering now and fear overrode worry. If he lost consciousness, they would both die, and that was not how she wanted her life to end.
She increased the flow of power from her core into his, willing his body to warm up long enough for them to arrive at Alfheimr. At this point, she would take any destination.
“We are about five minutes away.” His voice sounded far away; the words slurred.
“Cyran!” she yelled, squeezing her arms around his waist as tightly as possible. “You can’t fall asleep!”
His head jerked, his eyes already closed. “I’m not sleeping.”
She unwound one arm from his back and reached up to cradle his cheek. Before she lost her nerve, she pressed her feet against his, using them as a stepping stool, and raised herself high enough to press her lips to his. Since meeting him, she often wondered what it would be like to kiss him, but those thoughts paled in comparison.
His lips were soft but firm as he responded. His embrace was so tight she had to drop her arm to his to make breathing easier. But, as his kiss intensified, something profound inside her broke apart and blossomed. One strong hand cradled her head, his thumb stroking her cheek, each pass sensitizing her skin and driving her crazy.
She had no idea what she needed, but an exciting maelstrom was building in her core, and she did not want him to stop. She wanted so much more.
As the overwhelming sensations heightened, a subtle change pierced through the pleasure. She felt the agonizing pain spreading through his body and pulled away. His skin was paler than usual for an elf, and he had tiny white lines around his eyes and mouth.
She had seen such scoring on her father’s face many times after he returned from a battle, injured and tired. Cyran’s handsome features had that same strained look.
“Cyran?” His gaze touched hers, but she saw no recognition in his eyes as his lids slowly closed. His head tilted to one side, and she framed his face with her hands to hold it up.
“Cyran! Wake up—answer me!” His eyelids remained closed as if he was in a deep sleep. Patting his cheek, she repeated his name like a mantra, patting his cheek and shaking him—anything to wake him.
Their steady forward pace slowed, and their bodies moved in a downward projection. Fear gripped her heart as they dropped faster through space.
“Cyran, I need you to wake up now. I’m not like those women in romance books who must prove themselves to the world—showing everyone they are just as capable as the men in overcoming whatever dramatic moment they need to move beyond.”
Her hand slapped his cheek, trying to trigger a reaction. A massive jolt shook them as they fell in earnest, hurtling by several giant planets.
“Cyran!” In the distance, a blue and white planet appeared, small at first but growing as they sped toward it. She pressed closer to him, the temperature much colder than a few minutes ago, and squeezed her eyelids shut, sending out a prayer to the universe—willing anyone or anything to help them.
Time seemed to slow and her body warmed. Jerking her head up, she glanced at Cyran, but he was still unconscious, his head lolling to one side. Confused, she glanced around and realized they hovered several hundred feet above what looked like a massive sheet of ice.
Along the horizon stood a long line of white-tipped mountains. Their tall, slender spires reminded her of gnarled fingers as they reached upward into the hazy, purple-blue sky. The rocky outcroppings were shielded in a thick expanse of evergreens, their boughs heavy with snow.
Jutting outward from a few of the mountains were massive boulders, as if used like spears, while others lay scattered along the bases, their sizes at or more extensive than her chateau back home.
A strange sensation settled in her gut, and she stilled. They were being watched. She glanced around, her gaze touching everywhere, seemingly alone in the barren landscape. Not a single animal, bird, or plant in sight.
“At least we aren't falling through space—most likely to our deaths, I might add.” Her gaze dropped to the icy ground beneath them. “I wonder where we are?”
“You are in J?tunheimr, although I would like to know how you managed to get here,” a male voice said, sounding as if he were all around them. His words carried on the air, yet his body remained invisible.
“Who are you?” she asked, not liking how exposed they were. While she could defend herself, Cyran was utterly vulnerable in his current state. To make matters worse, her powers were nowhere near strong enough to deal with an unknown Frost Giant if that’s what this being was. She refused to think of even worse creatures. Frost Giants were scary enough.
She tried to recall everything she had learned or heard about this world and realized she knew very little. While a few people from Asgard and even less of her race had traveled to this ice-covered planet, J?tunheimr was home to the Frost Giants and lesser-known Rock Giants, although she had been told the term giant was a bit of a misnomer.
She knew nothing about the Frost giants except they were almost invincible in battle. She could only assume the Rock Giants were somehow related.
“I would ask you the same question. Who are you? How did you break through the king’s wards?”
Why did this person’s voice sound so familiar to her? She tightened her grip on Cyran’s limp body, which seemed to grow heavier by the moment. “I refuse to discuss anything with someone I can’t see. It’s not a polite way to treat guests, not to mention rude.”
The invisible being chuckled. “I have never been accused of being polite, so this is quite normal for me. However, you seem innocent enough, and your companion is all but dead, so I will gift you the honor of seeing me.”
Her heart froze at the man’s callous words, her mind refusing to acknowledge how badly Cyran was hurt. “Cyran is not dead—only injured, and I would ask for your help.”
The chuckle sounded again. This time, it came from behind her. Twisting in mid-air with an unconscious and rather large elf was not easy, but her desperation gave her strength she did not know she had as their bodies turned in the sleet-filled sky.
Her heart shattered. Floating in front of her was the man who had destroyed her family. The god her parents had hidden her from for centuries. Loki.
Looking as young as she, her grandfather’s black eyes were piercing as they studied her. His black hair was loose and hung just past his shoulders. Under a long black cloak, he wore a black shirt and tight, black trousers, showing off his slender physique. The fur-trimmed cloak floated around him, subtly moving in the light breeze, and reminded her of a lion.
She wanted to scream in frustration and anger. They had gone from a bad situation to an even worse one. This time, there would be no escape. Very few ever left J?tunheimr unless the frost king allowed it. Since the last Ragnarok, this world had been closed to the rest of the multiverse, especially from Asgard and Alfheimr.
Reigning in her terror, she swallowed and willed her heartbeat to slow down. Her father had taught her long ago that showing fear was the worst thing to do in times of trouble. She had to use her mind, which he always said was her best asset, but at this moment, she would give just about anything for her father’s or mother’s presence.
With a deep exhale, she steadied her gaze on the handsome trickster god in front of her and smiled. “Hello, Grandfather.”
His eyes widened. She had surprised him, which had been her only plan. Surprise had always been Loki’s Achilles heel—and the only way to survive his games.
A slow smile spread across his face. “Finally,” he whispered.