Chapter 16
16
Shalendra glanced around her in complete awe. They were surrounded by a room of ice—and what a room!
Cradling Cyran to her as they sat on a thick white pelt in front of a massive stone fireplace, she studied the room. The house was something straight out of a Victorian fairytale.
A diamond-encased silver filigreed mirror hung over the mantle, decorated with crystal candlesticks and adorned with simple white candles. A dark evergreen bough, long enough to drape halfway to the floor, was threaded through a grouping of silver and gold picture frames with a few glass vases scattered among them.
“Oh, this is exquisite,” she whispered to the empty room. Her gaze traveled upward along the walls to the high ceiling. Everything glittered in the soft firelight; however, the fire’s warmth seemed muted somehow. She raised her hand over her head, and the room’s chill created a film of ice over her skin.
Lowering her arm, she splayed her fingers as the subtle heat seeped through her palm. "Amazing. We are wrapped in toasty warmth, yet the ice walls and ceiling are unaffected. There isn't even a hint of melt-off. I wonder if my father has been here? He hates the European winters. Probably because it reminds him of Niflheimr."
She rested her palm against Cyran’s face, her thumb caressing his cheek as her gaze drifted back to the room. The dim firelight highlighted the shadowy gray mist that seemed to fill the center of each ice wall and the ceiling, allowing for privacy. Seeing through the walls and into bedrooms or bathrooms was a dreadful thought.
Tilting her head back, she guessed the ceiling height to be more than twenty feet. The burning wood crackled then snapped, and the flames flickered, growing in a mesmerizing dance, then died down again. At that moment, a flash of light moved across the ceiling, drawing her gaze away from the fire, creating a beautiful illusion as if the ice were diamond-filled waves.
Turning her head, she stared at the tapestries on each wall, losing herself in the scenes, reminding her of life long ago on Helheimer or even Asgard when she had stayed with Freyja as a child. The craftsmanship was exquisite. “I wish you could see this, although you probably already have since you are a favorite of the Frost king.”
Cyran jerked, and she glanced down, the subtle sideways movement of his eyeballs behind his closed eyelids visible. Hope welled and her heart raced. She laid her fingers against his neck, trying to feel his pulse. Against the pads of her fingertips, there was a subtle flow of blood as his heart beat once but then stopped.
“I don’t know much about Elvish bodily functions, but I hope you are slowing your heart until we can heal you. Please fight whatever has you in its grip. Fight so you can defeat Haman and save the many lives he would take.
Fight for me. This last plea she could not say out loud. She did not think her heart could take it if he refused her. So, in her usual manner, she did what was safe and stayed silent.
A cool breeze hit her back, strong enough for her loose strands of hair to fly forward. Turning her head, the large double ice doors on the other side of the room slid open. Loki stood in the doorway, his hands behind his back and his forearms held by Badoch and Kubrel. The two giants greeted her with friendly grins.
“And the prodigal grandfather returns.” She tried to cover her chuckle with a few coughs. Even Loki’s disgruntled expression made her want to break out into a loud belly laugh.
“Don’t rub it in. It’s beneath the daughter of a goddess. Now, what am I doing here?” He glared at her. “Surely, you don’t expect me to save him now? You didn’t keep up your end of the bargain.”
She returned his stern gaze. “I never mentioned when . Whether I rescue you ten minutes from now or ten years, the terms are mine, not yours.”
His brows rose, and the hint of a smile appeared on his thin lips. “Touché, granddaughter. Touché.” He stepped inside, his gaze moving around the room, touching everything and missing nothing, including the protective way she held Cyran to her.
“I take it he isn’t responding to your loving care?” He glared at his guards. The cousins' gazes met, and Loki's arms were freed.
With a haughty expression, her grandfather crossed the room to her, his feet almost floating over the wooden floor planks with barely a sound. Once he reached the thick fur rug, he stopped, his narrowed gaze staring at Cyran’s face.
Without seeing his actual thoughts, Loki’s expressions told her everything. She raised one eyebrow. Of course, he would try…he was Loki. Behind him, Kubrel and Badoch eased closer, not giving Loki a chance for freedom, should he choose to try. But they, too, were concerned about their friend.
She dropped her gaze to Cyran, sensing a subtle change, as if he were fighting whatever held him in its grip and at the same time feeling more distant. “I don’t understand what is wrong with him. He doesn’t seem sick…” She met her grandfather’s gaze. “Please…”
He rolled his eyes and squatted in front of her. “Fine. Just stop asking me, all right?”
A slow grin spread across her face, and she leaned forward, hope surging that Loki would see reason and heal Cyran for her. “You bluster too much. You want to help, and you know it. You don’t want anyone in this room to realize you care,” she whispered.
His twinkling black gaze met hers. “Just keep that tidbit to yourself.” He covered Cyran’s forehead with his palm and closed his eyes. Shalendra held her breath, praying whatever he discovered was reversible.
She caressed Cyran’s cheek, missing his gruffness and aloofness, which, surprisingly, reminded her of Loki. Of course, once Cyran was cured and back to his usual standoffish self, she had no clue how she would feel about the man. Her heart told her, though, he still had a part to play in all of this. Without him, their quest would fail.
Loki pulled back his hand and let out a long exhale, raising his bleak gaze to hers. “Was he shot? I’m getting the impression of his skin being ripped open on his back and neck.”
She frowned up at him. “I’m not sure. The soldiers fired their guns at us as he apparated us out of Midgard…” Then she remembered his ice-covered shirt.
She pushed against his hip hard enough to glance at his back. Sure enough, his shirt was blood-soaked. “Oh my gods, how did I not think to check sooner? He’s in this state because of my carelessness.”
Loki kneeled beside her, shaking his head. “No, granddaughter. You were trying to save him and yourself. There is always a tradeoff in battle. No one, not even the best warriors—including your father—can be everywhere at once or accomplish all tasks. You could not have known. Elf lords are incredibly stubborn. He didn’t want you to know.”
“Cyran is only the royal healer, not an elf lord.”
Loki smiled. “He may not know his past, but he is, undoubtedly, an elf lord. I can sense the royal blood running through his veins, but don’t take my word for it. He will discover his history soon enough. As for healing him, I’m sorry, Shalendra. He has moved beyond my abilities. The only god I know who might still have a chance is Idunn, but the portal into this world is sealed and cannot be breached.”
“But we breached it—surely, she can?—”
“No,” Kubrel moved into her line of sight, his cousin mimicking his movements. “Our king has verified the only way you and Cyran were allowed to enter is because Loki’s curse overrode the seal. Cyran is also a favorite of our king and his cousin, Brath. He would have been allowed in J?tunheimr as one of us. I know of no one else who has that honor. Not even the goddess who gave us immortality. I am sorry, Shalendra. Cyran was our friend too and will be missed.”
Loki leaned forward and placed his hand over hers, which squeezed Cyran’s forearm. “You are of my blood, which holds a lot of power. You are also the daughter of émilien, the guardian of the Shadow Lands, which gives you an advantage. I feel the power emanating from you, Shalendra.”
He leaned closer, his black eyes glistening as he held her gaze. “There is no greater power than love, granddaughter. Not even magic can change that. If you love him, use that power and bring him back,” he whispered.
A battle raged inside of her. She could not bear the thought of life without Cyran. Somehow, the elf had worked his way into her heart, but to let out the power she had locked away so long ago… The one she had not even let loose for Castien. For him, she had only healed his body. Cyran needed her to call back his soul. Did she dare?
She dropped her gaze to his face. Love had taken away all choice, but doubt crept in. “I don’t know what to do.”
“My blood is unique, as is yours,” Loki said. “When the source of your magic starts flowing, you need not do anything. The magic is a part of you and knows what you want.”
“I’m scared. I always have been. I have always thought of what’s inside of me as bad, and if I let it out, it will consume me.” She studied her grandfather’s face, noticing the scent of limes for the first time. Strangely, Loki smelled like a freshly baked key lime pie. “Will it?”
He frowned. “Why are you giving me that quizzical expression and will it what?”
She tried to smile. “You smell like my favorite pie—key lime. And will my magic consume me, leaving nothing of me once I release it?”
He chuckled. “Key lime is my favorite, too. Centuries ago, Idunn gave me her recipe.” His voice rose in volume, sending a dark scowl at his two guards. “I was rudely interrupted while baking one, and now it’s nothing more than a pile of ash.”
Turning back to her, he shook his head. “You will always be in control. Spells may go haywire sometimes, but your magic is a part of you, and only you can wield it. You are of the light, and your soul is filled with goodness and love. No, my dear, it will not consume you. Now, before Cyran's soul travels too far into your mother’s realm, you must retrieve it.”
A mixture of emotions whirled through her, and she tightened her grip on Cyran’s still chest, knowing his heart had not beat during their entire conversation. Fear for what she was about to do swamped her. Overriding that was the terror of losing him—as if she stood at the edge of a high cliff.
Her body swayed, and the mist-covered valley so far below sharpened until she could see the icy ground through the thick clouds. Gathering what was left of her fragile strength, she stepped over the precipice and drew on the powers she had kept bottled up for so long.
Instead of overwhelming her and taking over, it flowed through her like a soothing summer breeze, filling every empty nook and cranny inside her. Memories of her youth flooded her mind, and the few times her mother had spent with her in Helheimr surfaced.
Turning wide eyes to her grandfather, she inhaled a stuttery breath. “I remember… Why did I forget? How could I forget my mother’s touch—her loving embrace?”
“The magic you are drawing on is tied to her. Your father gifted you a different type of magic, which is equally strong to your mother’s, but his comes from the light while your mother’s is that of death. You are the best of both your parents—maybe stronger. What I sense flowing from you might rival my own, which is saying something.”
“Help me,” she begged, unsure of her abilities and not wanting to jeopardize Cyran’s life.
Loki smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes. “I’m sorry, my dear, but you will have to conquer this on your own. Each of us has that one moment in life where we must dig deep into our souls to overcome whatever is holding us back.”
His smile turned to a grimace. “Some of us, I'm afraid, must learn this lesson more than once. I think my brain is broken and refuses to accept those events that should have shaped who I am today.”
Shalendra chuckled. “You are not broken and are as you should be, although a little less orneriness might be helpful in your familial relationships.”
Not giving in to her fear, she opened her mind. The magic flowed through her, sharing the exhilaration of complete freedom. For the first time, she became who she was meant to be—a perfect blend of life and death.
She turned her thoughts to Cyran, filling her mind with everything they had been through together and who he was. His handsome face faced her with a hesitant smile. The rightness of his touch and how he protected her. Even his sarcastic droll made her want to laugh, but his need for acceptance and love, like hers, won her over and filled her heart.
She willed his heart to beat again and his lungs to draw in the much-needed oxygen, their rise and fall beneath her arm in perfect sync with her own. She bathed his mind with warmth and power, knowing the exact moment he reached out to her, his healing magic blending with hers and seeping into her.
To her amazement, vignettes of his life played through her mind, starting when he was a child when his mother showed him how to use magic to heal a bird’s broken wing.
The next memory was much later as his stepfather chastised Cyran for not recreating a spell precisely to his specifications and Cyran’s reaction of folding in on himself, hiding the pain as he ran away to be with his two best friends, Lamruil and Ailuin. The younger twin, Ailuin, soothed Cyran’s inadequacies and self-condemnation and turned them into a strength, fueling Cyran’s intense need to nurture and heal others.
She was surprised when his next memory was of meeting her. She almost didn’t recognize herself. While she knew she was okay to look at, she was nowhere near as pretty as he thought.
Yes, you are—more so. You are beautiful, nín meleth, inside and out. Your heart is pure and loving, and you fill the world with such a brilliant light. Look at what you are doing this very minute. You are risking yourself, facing fears you never wanted to face, to save me. Someone you just met and what you do know of me isn’t flattering.
The moment my gaze touched on you in the prison, your beauty and goodness stopped me in my tracks. Your soul sang to mine. It was such a shock. I’m afraid I didn’t react well at all, and for that, I am forever sorry.
Cyran? How is this possible? Confused about what was happening, she focused on the two words that grounded her. Nín meleth , which in ancient Elvish meant my heart . Cyran’s heart. It meant everything to her.
Only you can answer that, Shalendra. I felt your soul brush mine. It drew me away from wherever I was. I was lost and alone, as if nothing but time was left to me. Surrounded by darkness, all I could do was float along wherever it took me. I know a few gods who can mentally talk to one another, but there are even fewer with that ability in other races.
Elves are no different. While Lamruil and Ailuin can speak to each other, they are both twins and royalty. Their gifts are unique. You and I shouldn’t be able to talk this way. I think you are the miracle—your healing touch is more magical than anything I have ever experienced, and I have seen a lot in my long life.
What is the last thing you remember? she asked, not understanding what was happening to him nor what to do next. How was she supposed to bring someone back from the netherworld?
I felt a sharp pain in my back and neck as we traveled through space. I remember we were returning to Alfheimr. We should have been safe.
Moving her hands to cradle his face, she pressed her forehead to his, his skin almost warm. Holding on to that more positive thought, she pictured the warrior, his handsome face cold and ready for battle, emotionless…except for the smoldering heat in the recesses of his light green eyes when he looked at her. His color of love for her.
The depth of that feeling was breathtaking, and the wondrous emotion directed her movements now. She reached out, trapping that warmth between her hands, and with a single exhale, gave him her soul. Her only thought was having him beside her, hearty and whole once more.
Behind her, two gasps sounded, and she opened her eyes and found herself trapped in Cyran’s teal gaze. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead with a smile, relief pouring through her.
“Welcome back,” she whispered, helping him sit up. Cyran frowned at Loki and then turned his attention to their surroundings.
“Where in the hell are we, and why is Loki here with us?” He cleared his throat, his voice hoarse. Glancing at her with confusion, worry darkened his blue-green eyes. “Shalendra?”
“J?tunheimr,” she answered.
“We shouldn’t be here.”
“No,” she shook her head. “We shouldn’t be here, but somehow I breached the king’s ward, and violà, we’re here.”
His gaze narrowed as he stared at her until she wanted to fidget but forced her body to remain still. Finally, he turned to Loki. “And why are you here?”
Her grandfather shrugged. “Fate.”
“Not to mention, this is Loki’s prison.” Kubrel moved around them and squatted beside the god as he clapped Cyran on the shoulder. “It is good to see you, my friend. We feared the worst.”
“What happened to me?”
Shalendra brushed a strand of hair behind his ear. “I have had nothing but time here to replay our escape from Midgard, and I believe the German soldiers had magic-tainted bullets. They were guarding the dead Haman used for his experiments, with werewolves as guards, too, so it makes sense that they would have magic bullets to help control the werewolves. I’m just surprised we didn’t run into any of the creatures while we were there.”
Badoch moved behind his cousin with a crooked grin on his face. “Now that the mystery is solved, we thought you were gone. Brath and the king will be happy to hear you’re back with us. Thankfully, you never were a rule follower. Defeating death is a notable achievement, even for you.”
Cyran shook his head and glanced at Shalendra. “I’m afraid this fight wasn’t mine alone. I had help.” He smiled and reached for her hand.
Raising it to his mouth, he kissed the back, the soft touch of his warm lips sending a tingling sensation up her arm. Breathing seemed difficult as her lungs refused to pull in any air.
“Thank you, my lady, for bringing me back. There are too many things I must do before seeking eternal rest in your mother’s realm. There is one thing, though, that cannot wait.”
He wrapped his hand around her neck and pulled her forward, pressing his lips firmly against hers. The sweetness of her second kiss filled her mind and body, surrounding her heart with the most wondrous emotion.
“Well, that’s a first. The great Cyran finally noticed a female.” Badoch laughed, breaking the serene moment. Cyran broke the kiss and growled at the Frost Giant. Neither seemed too intimidated as they both laughed, Badoch clapping his still-kneeling cousin on the back, almost knocking him over.
Shalendra glanced at Loki, who regarded them with a disgusted scowl as he crossed his arms. His gaze dropped to hers. "It’s as I said earlier, and now you’ve gone and ruined everything. You will be insufferable from now on, mooning over him and following wherever he goes. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
Cyran readjusted his position, his slight grimace telling. While she had healed him, he was not at full strength. He pulled Shalendra onto his lap, hugging her close against him. His body was chilled, not warm like it should have been, so she continued to pour her heat into him, sharing her warmth and everything her heart held for this irritating, stubborn, and fantastic elf.
She frowned as something niggled at her memory. Something she was supposed to be doing… With a disgusted huff, she turned to her grandfather. “What do you know about Uncle Olivier and Aunt Jessica?”
Loki’s gaze narrowed. “Why do you ask?”
“Freyja sent me on a quest to find them. They have been missing since the second world war on Midgard. We thought they were in Niflheimr, but by the time my parents discovered where they were being kept, they were gone. I was then sent to Svartálfheimr, where the fake dwarf king imprisoned me.”
Loki frowned. “Fake dwarf king? I can assure you King Windsword is a true regent.”
I was told by someone I trust that a demon was impersonating him, and the real king was dead.”
Loki paced in front of the massive fireplace with his hands clasped behind his back. “The last time I was there, King Windsword was as fit as ever, working next to dwarves half his age as they constructed a new…medical facility.”
He spun around, facing her, his brows drawn together. “Dwarves are elves and rarely get sick. I didn’t think of it then, but why would they need a facility for sick people?” He raised his hand, and she closed her mouth. “Here me out, but when I was banished, Haman had made a deal with a Fae named Fer-Diorich?—”
Cyran groaned and laid his head on Shalendra’s, the deep rattling sound vibrating her head. “Cyran? What is it?”
“We have had several run-ins with him. He is the one who cursed émilien into the body of a wolf. It was his magical recipe Heinrich Himmler used to create the werewolves Raisa is now the queen of.”
Her stomach knotted. “I thought the name sounded familiar. I am also aware of Raisa’s new title, which fits with her husband’s as co-regent of Alfheimr, I might add. She doesn’t have an easy job, though. They are a rowdy bunch.”
“Well, they lost their normal bodies, families, and their entire lives, so a rough transition is to be expected,” Loki added.
Shalendra smiled. “Very intuitive of you, grandfather. Now, what does any of this have to do with my aunt and uncle? Do you know where they are?”
Loki stared into the fire a moment, then faced the group. “Humor me, but I may have an idea. However, to find out if I’m right, I must be released to find a demon.”