Chapter 18
18
Cyran crossed his arms and gave the demon a droll glare. “I guessed as much. You look nothing like Shalendra’s uncle, so you were the obvious other choice. We were brought here for Olivier and Jessica…with a side trip to stop Haman, so if you thought to scare us with theatrics, it won’t work.”
Zel’s brow rose and smirked at Shalendra. “Is he always this accommodating and friendly?”
She chuckled. “No. You caught him on a good day. Regarding your previous question as to why your blood didn’t burn me, I am the daughter of émilien and Hel Elasalor, the sister to Fenrir, and the goddaughter to both Freyja and Idunn, not to mention Loki’s granddaughter. Heimdall is also particular about what happens to me.”
The demon's genuine smile lightened his black eyes to a smoky gray. “I would say you have a very protective family, then. You are lucky to have them.”
“It is most definitely the other way around. I would never do anything to hurt them, and that includes my aunt and uncle. I was given the quest to find them and bring them home. My father has searched for his brother since Olivier disappeared.”
“It won’t be easy. Haman has the doorway guarded by the few werewolves he and the Dark Fae have managed to keep alive. It's also magically warded. While I may be a demon, my current situation with Olivier as my host leaves me limited in what I can and can’t do. As long as Jessica is alive and well, we are stable together, but I am not a mage, so I cannot counter his warding spell.”
Cyran frowned. “What happens when Jessica isn’t well?”
Zel met his gaze. “I can separate from Olivier. Unfortunately, when this happens, Haman can also control me as he did during the war on Midgard when Olivier and Jessica were captured, as well as my recent haunting in Svartálfheimr. I’m unsure as to why he isn’t controlling me now. It’s…unusual.”
“You impersonated the dwarf king,” Shalendra added.
Zel’s gaze snapped to hers. “You were there—as a prisoner.” She nodded. “I thought I recognized you, but when I see someone through another’s eyes, most times, they are distorted and unfamiliar. Possessing someone is one of my least favorite things to do.”
“There are more?” Cyran asked. “Surprising, for a demon.”
“Don’t ask what you don’t want to hear,” Zel said. “Besides, how many demons have you known during your life? I lived with them and can say I know only a few. They run and live in small bands—no more than ten-to-one groupings. Demons aren’t known for their camaraderie or getting along with others.”
“That’s so sad.” Shalendra placed her hand on his arm.
I would appreciate it if you didn’t touch him.
She threw a glare at him over her shoulder. He’s a demon, not a contagious disease.
I’m saying this because I evidently have a jealous streak, which isn’t very flattering. I don’t want you touching any male, but handsome demons are definitely not allowed.
Did you ever think I may be touching him to help him? As a healer, you should be able to feel the emotions beating at him. Aren’t healers empathic?
Cyran opened his senses and was hit with a cacophony of emotions. Dear gods, how is he sane? Anyone with that much fury and chaos in them… He should have combusted by now. I would have.
No, you wouldn’t, silly elf. You would be stoic and deal with the fate given to you, just like Zel is. Would he allow us to combine our magic to try to help him? It might provide Jessica the time she needs to heal as well. We can give her another healing session once we free them from Haman.
He might if you’re the one asking. I get the sense he could be a bit pig-headed when it comes to other men helping him.
She smiled at him, her beautiful aqua eyes twinkling with humor. “So, he’s male.”
Zel’s gaze moved back and forth between them. “I know you’ve been talking to one another. The buzzing inside my head is driving me crazy. If you have something to say to me, say it.”
Cyran caught the quick hint of self-doubt and hurt before Zel erected a barrier between them, and all emotions disappeared. Outwardly, he seemed unconcerned, but he should have been able to sense the rioting emotions.
“Zel, Shalendra has something she wants to ask you.”
“Chicken,” she whispered. Cyran only smiled.
“Zel, as you may have guessed, Cyran and I are both empathic and healers. Until you closed yourself off, your emotions beat at us. I’m sorry, but when you heard my father’s name, the first emotion you had was guilt. Why?”
For the first time, Zel fidgeted. “Prior to the Dark Fae’s disappearance, he could use his magic to control me. I have no idea what his end game was, but I did not like what he made me do. One of those acts was to attack émilien in the Shadow Lands while the Fae sealed the border. I am sorry for that.”
She smiled. “Well, that’s one mystery solved. My father will understand once you explain the reason behind the attack. Now, as to your other emotions, no one should carry that much pain and anger. Not and remain sane. Please let us try to help ease your load.”
He opened his mouth, but she raised her hand, stopping whatever he was about to say. “Healing you, even a bit, might also help Aunt Jessica heal. Her mind and body need to rest so she can hold on.”
She glanced over her other shoulder to Loki, who had moved back into the shadows to watch them. Knowing the god, he probably hoped they would forget he was even there.
“Loki can aid us as well.” She narrowed her gaze at him. “ Won’t you, grandfather?”
Loki stepped forward, his gaze never leaving Zel’s. “For not being here when you needed me to—after I gave you my word to return—I will do whatever I can.”
He shook his head and gave his granddaughter a rueful smirk. “Since meeting you, Shalendra, I have done more out-of-character things than during my lifetime. My entire long lifetime. I do not help people or give favors. I’m the one causing the grief and chaos, so this is unsettling, to say the least.”
Loki’s gaze touched each of them one by one. “And no one better find out about any of this either. Pain comes in many forms.”
Zel smirked and pointed to himself. “Demon. No matter how hard you try, you can’t harm me, god of mischief.”
“Don’t tempt me. I have many all-powerful people who owe me favors. I’m sure one or two of them would make a dent.”
“Oh, stop it,” Shalendra muttered. “Loki, you aren’t going to hurt anyone, so quit blustering. We won’t say anything to anybody about this because, quite frankly, no one would believe us.”
Cyran chuckled. “True. They wouldn’t.”
“Why would you do this?” Zel regarded them with curiosity.
“Because everyone deserves help and a second chance,” she replied. “Everyone.”
The demon’s face gave nothing away, but the gratefulness in his eyes said everything. He cleared his throat, adding, “None of this helps us get into that room, though. Any ideas?”
Cyran met Shalendra’s worried gaze. “I have no choice. If we need inside that room to stop him, then that’s where I will take us.”
Before Zel could refuse, Shalendra once more laid her hands on Zel’s arm, followed by Cyran, and then Loki, who rested one hand on his shoulder. Cyran followed her direction, letting only his healing energy flow into the demon.
With every second, he felt the fury raging inside Zel lessen until the demon placed his hand over Shalendra’s and gently pried it from his arm. Loki and Cyran dropped their hands to their sides and stepped away.
“No one has ever given me such a gift,” Zel said, gratefulness shining in his silvery-gray eyes. “However, if we go up against Haman, I will need some of that fury to fight.” He met Cyran’s gaze and nodded his thanks.
“It’s now or never.” Cyran moved to the closed door and splayed his hand in front of the worn wood, sensing the magical barrier. Haman was also no stranger to adding a few surprises within his wards. Nasty surprises.
Centering his emotions, he cleared his mind and searched for the right spell to reverse the ward. If Haman felt his presence, which he probably had, Cyran could not make a mistake. While he was willing to march into a trap, keeping Shalendra safe was paramount. Obtaining someone as powerful as she would be a bonus.
Regarding Cyran, his stepfather always focused on the wrong things and never saw him or how powerful he was. Haman also never understood the ancient healing magic his mother taught him, which was a bonus in this fight.
During his apprenticeship, attention was paid only when Cyran wasn’t following Haman’s convoluted spells. The punishments for failing to break them down led to his spending so much time with Lamruil and Ailuin. The time away allowed him a brief respite. However, when Cyran saw how King Glanduil was with his two sons, he longed for more and to be a part of a family. He, too, wanted a loving father.
Exhaling, he knew what spell to use. Illumino. Resigno. Libero. He said in a clear voice. A soft green light illuminated the bottom corners of the door, then moved up each side until meeting at the center on top. The latch clicked, and the door opened about an inch.
“What kind of spell was that?” Zel asked.
Cyran heard a hint of appreciation in his tone, which made him want to smile. “I learned a long time ago to keep things simple when dealing with Haman. His spells are layered and convoluted, but he never realized they canceled themselves out. Or at least parts of them did.”
Zel’s eyes narrowed. “And you know this how? Did you study under him?”
Cyran hesitated, not wanting even this demon to judge him because of who his stepfather was, but, in truth, it didn’t matter. Rejection and revilement were the difficult things to deal with. “My last name is Daralei. Unfortunately, Haman is my stepfather.”
Shalendra stepped between them, her body rigid with a determined expression. “Before you open your mouth and accuse him of doing horrible things, Cyran is nothing like his stepfather. He is an amazing healer who believes in life's sanctity and helping others. He is also the best friend of Lamruil and Ailuin, the co-regents of Alfheimr, and their father, King Glanduil, loved him like a son. Freyja, Idunn, Heimdall, and many other gods are fond of him, so don’t even think about harming him!”
A grin played over Zel’s lips as he tried to remain serious, which should not have been difficult for a demon. Witnessing the subtle emotion, Cyran realized Zel had more good emotions than most other demons, or he had unintentionally embraced a few of Olivier’s during the time he had been possessing his body. Either way, it settled Cyran’s nerves about having him around.
Zel nodded, reminding Cyran of a prince or king acknowledging his subjects. “Have no fear, my lady. I wouldn’t think of harming your mate. I am usually a good judge of character, and Cyran doesn’t strike me as having anything in common with the sadistic individual inside that room, if he's there. Now, before more werewolves show up, we need to go inside. I don't sense Haman's presence, but I have been wrong before. He has become quite adept at hiding, even from me.”
Shalendra relaxed and, with a shy glance at Cyran, moved to stand behind him. No one knew what they would find in the next room, and an unsettling sensation coursed through him at the thought of her being touched by anything evil.
I'm stronger than I look, my warrior. Besides, you will protect me if something happens. I have complete faith in you.
He glanced back at her. Reaching out to her, he slid his curled finger along the soft skin of her cheek, wishing they were back in Alfhiemr and not here, getting ready to confront his stepfather and his mutated soldiers. She was so beautiful, with an innate elegance and gentleness. The battle was no place for someone such as her.
I am still reading your mind, silly elf. All my life, people have pigeonholed me as a dainty princess. I don’t need you doing that too.
Cyran moved toward the door. I’m sorry. I will not apologize for wanting to keep someone I care for safe. I hope you can understand that. He reached out with his left hand and eased it open with the tip of one finger. His other hand gripped his sword and stepped into the room, only to find it empty.
A narrow worktable hugged the wall to their right. Shelves hung overhead filled with colored and clear liquids and herb-filled baskets. Where the table pushed up against the wall, there was a neatly arranged row of tubes, lit candles, and half-filled flasks in various states of potions. At least, that’s what Cyran hoped Haman was making.
He inhaled, his lungs drawing in the mixed odors throughout the room—the stench of the creatures, the sickly sweet, cloying scent of Haman’s tobacco, and, strangely, the very slight fragrance of lilac. “The werewolves and Haman were here—I smell the stench of his pipe tobacco.”
“It's an acquired taste. One I do not have,” Zel agreed.
Shalendra walked to the center of the room. She glanced at Zel, a confused expression on her face. “I sense them, yet not. As if they are near…” She took a few more steps toward the far wall of the room.
Zel stood behind her, staring at the wall in front of them. “I understand you were sent here to find your aunt and uncle, but are you certain they wish to be found?”
She turned to face him. “Why do you say that? Why wouldn’t they? My father has searched for Uncle Olivier and Aunt Jessica for years and misses his brother. When my father was cursed into a werewolf, my uncle kept him sane, especially after we left Niflheimr and my mother. I don’t understand why they wouldn’t want to come home.”
Zel studied her face while Cyran studied him and recognized the indecision warring inside the demon’s mind, the intense emotion subtly sending an agitated shiver over his body. Cyran couldn’t help but wonder what he was trying to hide.
With a large exhale, Zel let go of whatever was bothering him. “I have been with them and understand their reasoning. They have been away from everyone and gone through a difficult time. Maybe they aren’t ready to be with many people or explain what happened. Maybe they aren’t ready to settle back into their lives—lives, I might add, that were viciously torn from them. Maybe they want to be rescued but also require time alone to figure out what they want their lives to become.”
Shalendra closed her eyes and let her head fall forward. “I never thought about it that way. I thought I was helping them. I will do whatever they need. I only wish to love and care for them.”
Zel placed a finger under her chin and lifted her head. “You were acting out of love, and they know that, but more issues are at stake than just them. Unfortunately, I am now a part of the situation. It takes a lot of power to separate a summoned demon from his host, but it is nearly impossible when a long time is factored into the equation. On Midgard, Olivier and I briefly have been together, but it has been centuries in your world.”
“What might happen if you are separated from one another?” Cyran asked.
“Honestly, I'm not sure. We could get lucky and go our separate ways, each as we were before, or our bodies and minds will be damaged since we function as one. Worst case, we both die.”
Shalendra’s chin shook, and her tear-filled eyes met Cyran’s. “This wasn’t supposed to turn out this way. Freyja wouldn’t have sent me on a hopeless mission. She must have seen something in the God’s Glass…she must have.”
Cyran stepped forward, the need to comfort her beating at him. He had never been comfortable around tears, but seeing the watery pools in her beautiful eyes broke his heart. She straightened as he reached her, her eyes wide and fearful.
“Oh, gods…” she whispered.
“What—” A heavy whiff of tobacco hit Cyran in the face. “Haman!” He peered around her now trembling body to find his stepfather stooped behind her, an evil grin on his face as he pulled a long syringe from her back.
“Just the candidate I needed to make sure my formula was complete,” his thin voice said, morphing into a cackle. “Now, everyone will see that even the royals can fall. This is a strong dose, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you were already feeling ill, my dear. Sickness finds everyone, but it isn’t everyone I want to fall, now, is it?”
He jerked his head, but before Cyran realized what was happening, two massive werewolves snuck up behind him, grabbing each arm, their iron grip unmovable.
His stepfather preened, thinking his goal was achieved. “Now, you will watch your woman die, just like all elves and those disgusting dwarves.”
Forcing his mind to calm down, he considered his few options. He hated to admit it, but their ace in this game lay with Loki. Haman did not have the powers to go up against such a powerful god. Even crazy, Loki could best him in his sleep.
But did he trust the god of mischief and deception? He had to.
Shalendra, how do you feel?
I want to curl up in bed and shut out the Nine Worlds. My skin is hot and itchy, my joints are achy, my head is pounding, and I feel as if I could throw up.
So…horrible. Can you mentally reach out to Loki? He is your grandfather, and if you are powerful enough to talk to me like this, you may also be able to speak to him. Tell him to do what he must so I can get to you—unless he can heal you.
She closed her eyes, her head drooping lower. I sent him the message. Cyran, whatever you do, please hurry. I really don’t feel well.
Cyran did not like how flushed her usually pale skin was. Whether she realized it or not, her body was shivering. She seemed so fragile.
Behind him, a low voice muttered, but he could not understand the words. Whatever Loki was doing, though, seemed to be working because the grip on his arms eased. He jerked away from the creatures, whirling on his heels as he summoned his dagger, which appeared in his free hand.
As he moved the blade forward, the two creatures toppled to the floor, landing on each other. The one on top had a growing bloodstain covering his back. Blood pooled from a jagged wound over where the beast’s heart was, saturating the fur and then dripping onto the floor below, where a second blood pool expanded from the werewolf lying beneath him.
Cyran’s gaze met Loki's, and he raised the blade to his forehead in deference before turning back to Shalendra and his stepfather. Neither moved, their bodies frozen in place. He turned his gaze back to Loki. “You stopped time?”
“It was the only way to change the course of events so Shalendra would not die. I cannot save her from whatever Haman injected her with. My powers would only kill her faster, but I can aid you. From the few visions I do have, you alone save her. You have the power to both stop your stepfather for all time and save my granddaughter if you can figure out what you need to do.”
Loki stepped closer, staring into Cyran’s eyes. Up close, Cyran realized Loki’s eyes were not black but such a deep blue the color fooled everyone. “Think about your childhood and how Haman was then compared with how he is now. You know him better than anyone else. What makes him tick? Does he want something more than everything and everyone? How does he wield magic? What is his breaking point?”
Cyran thought back, replaying his childhood events. He was just a toddler, sitting on his mother’s lap as she watched her new husband work. Cyran, too, paid attention to the preciseness of each spell and the hours Haman took for an experiment.
“I remember how specific he was with every word, motion, and ingredient when he created his spells. I always wondered why he had jars of small animals—even a few pixies and other tiny creatures found throughout the Nine Worlds. He always said they were for verification but never elaborated.”
He scrubbed his face, the haunting memories so difficult to relive. “Later, when I became his apprentice, he expected perfection and would become furious if I made a mistake. My punishment would be an ancient spell thrown at me to counter. If I reversed it, he would send another and another until I was so exhausted, I couldn’t think straight.”
“So, he is a perfectionistic sadist? I might have liked him under different circumstances,” Loki chuckled. “So, he wants control, but control of what?”
Cyran stared at his stepfather’s unkempt appearance. His long, untrimmed beard had bits of food tangled in the strands. His heavily lined face made him look much older than he was, and there was a maniacal look deep in his brown eyes.
He looked nothing like the man who raised him. Haman could have been such a talented healer. Instead, had he chosen to throw it away on something as fleeting as control?
“For decades, he spouted nonsense about how King Glanduil was destroying the legacy and future of our race. He began disappearing for long periods instead of healing those who needed help.
My mother stepped in to help those in need. She finished my apprenticeship and taught me more than Haman ever could. Her talent was natural, not learned, passed down through generations of her family. When Haman returned and discovered what she had done, he killed her for it.”
He turned his gaze to Shalendra, needing the solace she gave him. “I know what Haman wants. His goal is not just the ruination of the Dwarves but the entire Elven race.”