Chapter 32
M yrkheim was big enough to rival Alfheim, and that was impressive.
After disembarking, Aelrie paused at the cliff’s edge to take it in.
Far below, the city sprawled across the cavern floor.
Without the glow of its magical crystals, the cavern beneath Yggdrasil would’ve been swallowed in darkness, but Myrkheim was radiant in bright violet lights.
Spires shaped like jagged stalagmites pierced the air, and black stone facades glittered with precious gems.
She hadn’t grown used to this architecture yet. It all seemed so daunting and imposing. But perhaps that was just from her perspective. What would a Dark Elf think of the crown jewel of Light Elf society, Alfheim? She should ask Fyn sometime, but then again, it might dredge up bad memories.
Winding, steep steps cut from the rock led to the city below. She moved with care, wary of the slippery ground beneath her “requisitioned” boots that were too large for her. A fall down these steps would do more than give her cuts and bruises.
How did Fyn make this journey with his mother? It must have been terrifying with his father’s assassins after them, and his mother had to make the descent with a child.
She looked around at the other Dark Elves making their way down: mothers and fathers carried their children and belongings as they slowly and cautiously made their descent.
Yet other Dark Elves waited above them, lined up beside a platform. A Dark Elf male, first in line, stepped up. His body then lifted, and he floated to the city below. She used the same magic, the elevator, when she followed Fyn down to the Evergloom.
“Why couldn’t we have taken that?” she asked Fyn as she climbed down the steps behind him.
He didn’t even look at what she was pointing at. “That is only for nobles to use.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Much is not fair in this life.”
“But I used that ‘magic’ to follow you down here.”
“Because you have magic. The only Dark Elves who can use powerful magic are those born to the great Houses. The elevator needs great magic to use, and simple knowledge of household spells will not work.”
“So, the ‘elevator’ thought I was a noble?”
He just nodded his head as if the answer was evident.
She then remembered Briza’s story about her parents. “But runners aren’t wealthy.”
“No, but they benefit the great Houses and keep the markets open, so they are given special charms to activate them. It takes a lot of magic to keep the elevator up and running.”
“But you and I can take the elevator. Why not do so now? ”
He shook his head while still making his way down the steep steps. “I don’t want the attention on us.”
She didn’t respond, understanding his intentions.
After a moment of silence, he spoke again and explained more about his world to her.
“Normal elves cannot travel on them, let alone make trips to the surface, only nobles on leisure trips protected by their armed guards and secured by their wealth, and runners, who have a much more dangerous journey into enemy lands. Over ninety percent of my kind have never seen the sunlight.”
“But you have.”
“I am not normal.”
A seed of curiosity was planted in her mind. “How many times have you been to the surface?”
“Too many times. I lost count.”
“What for?” But she already knew the answer to that once she’d said it. Why else would he travel to the surface?
“Marks.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Mostly on her end. Desiring to get rid of this feeling, she changed the subject. “What do you think of it? I mean, of the sunlight.”
He stopped his trek down the steps to turn and look at her.
An ache lodged in her heart.
There was longing and a flicker of sadness in his eyes. “Painful,” was all he answered. He then turned around to continue down the steps.
“But why?”
“It gave me hope. ”
She watched his long white hair glisten like silver thread through black velvet.
His Dark Elf features helped him fit in down here.
She, on the other hand, with her pale skin and light-colored eyes, stuck out.
And she was very much aware of the stares and spiteful looks she got.
Even though she was seen as a slave, she was still their enemy.
Light Elves and Dark Elves, enemies as old as time.
How, in the short span of a week, did she come this far with him, the assassin who killed Lindana?
Her own personal enemy.
Now she’d heard the sad story of his childhood, learned his true name, seen his naked body that was nothing short of perfection, and trusted him more than she trusted herself.
There was much more to Telfyn Shadowblade than at first glance, and she had a feeling she merely scratched the surface of his depths.
An assassin who was so afraid of despair that he didn’t allow himself to hope. What was it like the first time he gazed upon sunshine, and why was that painful for him?
It took them a while to descend. She’d forgone the wool blanket on the ship, not needing it here. The air was not warm, but it was not cold either. The Evergloom was the temperature of rock when not exposed to the elements, neither hot nor cold.
Once on level ground, she was able to see the city in a more intimate way than she could have from a distance, only seeing its dazzling lights and soaring towers, but not its beating heart.
It breathed life of its own as cities usually did.
Dark Elves in sumptuous robes in purples, black, and reds walked by, busy enough with their own affairs that they paid no mind to her.
Purple crystals hung suspended in streetlamps along both sides of the marble road and in the windows of the houses and buildings they passed, emitting the same crystalline glow.
It was bright enough in the city for her to discern how different it was from her own home, but beautiful in its own way.
Myrkheim was not as dark as the rest of the Evergloom, with its pockets of gloom and shadow.
It wasn’t as loud as cities usually are, either.
Elves spoke in low voices to one another when they even spoke at all.
Most seemed so concerned with their own lives that they didn’t give passersby a glance, whether they hurried off to whatever they had to do or strolled leisurely by.
This was because they were in a large cavern. Noise traveled far here.
A rainbow glow of lights caught her attention. Gardens stood outside houses behind low fences, not full of the scented flowers, fragrant herbs, and sacred trees like Light Elf gardens, but ones of mushrooms and rocks.
It was nice to see Dark Elves living like this, so different from her kind, but similar in the same way.
They both appreciated the finer things and the beauty found in the natural world, taking pride in what they created.
All elves strived for saireene , perfection found through the creation of beauty in nature, heretofore only the domain of the gods.
To be as gods themselves. Although none have been able to attain saireene yet, no matter how much of their magic they spent on it.
An idealistic blight on the elves. To constantly strive for something that is never possible to attain.
Just when she was thinking about this, though, a pair of pale blue eyes caught hers. She stared back at another Light Elf walking down the road opposite her. The female elf almost blended in with her silver hair being so similar to Dark Elf white hair, but her pale skin and eyes set her apart.
They stared at each other as they got closer. A glint of metal drew her eyes to a collar around the female elf’s neck with her jealous master’s name etched in runes on it.
She was a slave.
Her heart broke instantly.
The elf’s eyes held immense sadness. She looked like she wanted to say something to Aelrie, but couldn’t.
Something grabbed her. Fyn held her arm. “Don’t get involved,” he told her in a low voice.
She looked back at the Light Elf, but she had already scurried away, scared off by Fyn’s intrusion.
She did not know that elf, but her melancholy face and the way she looked at her, a mix of despair and pity, for she thought Aelrie a slave too …
“Come, it’s not far.” He held her hand, taking her down an alley off the main road, or more like he dragged her. Her thoughts were still on the Light Elf she saw, though.
He walked her up to an extremely narrow building, unremarkable and cheerless in its exterior, with plain black walls and windows.
“This is a safe house,” he told her as he opened the door with a magic spell.
Inside, it had only enough room for a lone set of stairs and an area to the side that served as a storage space for crates and boxes.
They climbed up three flights of stairs, and he stopped at a door on the fourth floor. He opened it with another magic spell of opening, and it swung open with a creak.
The room was longer than it was wide, but crystals in fixtures sprang to life once they came farther in. There was room for a bed, a small table with one chair, and a stand with a wash basin, and that was it.
Sitting on the bed, she looked out of the only window and saw nothing but a black wall for a view. “I wanted to help her,” she said in a small voice.
“I know you did.” His voice was soft and sweet like honey, comforting her with his tone.
“Is it … common?” She dipped her head.
He sighed. “Not really. Light Elf slaves are expensive and seen as a rarity. They rarely ever venture down to the Evergloom. Wood Elves, you’ll see them more often, and orcs.” He said this to make her feel better, but it didn’t.
“Why do they come here?”
All elves knew not to wander deep into the Evergloom, knew it was dangerous. But then, why had so many come? Why were the Dark Elves able to keep other elves as slaves?
“Surely you saw the many precious gems glittering about,” he replied. “The Evergloom is treacherous for your kind, though that does not stop those seeking wealth. ”
Like the labyrinth they encountered with the murderous minotaurs, conjured by the magic of a vengeful tree spirit unwilling to share his precious treasure.
“Do you feel sorry for them?” she asked, but then remembered how he responded to that statement before.
He seemed to remember what he’d told her about hating the phrase “feel sorry for” because he took a minute to collect his thoughts before answering her. “Yes, I pity them.”
Pity and empathy were different things, though. “You make it sound like they are at fault for their own misfortunes.”
He sighed, sounding like he didn’t want to debate her on this, but still humored her with a response. “It was their weakness that put them in that state, and a brutal acceptance of things they cannot change.”
Placing her hand on the bed so she could twist her body to face him, she gave him a glare. That was callous.
But there was more to it than that. He’d once said that everyone is a slave to someone or something.
“Oh,” she then countered him, “what’s the thing you cannot change?”
He blinked at her. She’d caught him off guard. It took him a moment to recover.
“Stay here. Don’t leave,” he said, disregarding giving her an answer to her previous question. “I will put a spell on the door; no one but me will be able to enter.”
So, he was just going to ignore her question?
“Where are you going?” she asked, relenting, at least for now .
“You’re hungry, aren’t you?”
She nodded.
“Then I won’t be gone long.”
He left.
She took off the leather boots, which were not hers, and placed them beside the bed, and then walked over to the water basin to look for a water spigot. There was none. It must be downstairs.
She tried the door, and it opened. It seemed his magic kept anyone from entering, but she was free to leave.
She picked up her boots and placed them in the open door so it wouldn’t shut behind her and leave her unable to open it.
Taking the basin with her, she walked down to the first floor.
There was a spigot hidden behind the crates.
She called the simple spell to draw water until the basin was filled.
The black stone stairs were cold under her feet as she climbed back up to their room on the fourth floor.
Dark Elves almost exclusively used stone for building, and something else, something that resembled wood.
She realized now that it was giant mushroom tree stalk that was curiously similar to tree bark.
It’s what the ship they traveled on was made of.
There were no trees in the Evergloom, except for that magical, golden light-giving tree. Why that tree had chosen the Evergloom for its home was beyond her.
Maybe the tree spirit was territorial and didn’t want to be found?
Her thoughts then went to the spirit of the Tree of Light disguised as a Wood Elf and what he told her of the great God of all Elves, Freyr, and the prayer of Reelia. She wasn’t that dense; she knew what he was insinuating. That she had performed a miracle as Reelia had.
But how could she believe such a thing?
Reelia of Faelorian was considered a Light Elven goddess and was revered in the temples.
How could she compare herself to a goddess?
She had humble beginnings and was raised in a forest and not the city.
Also, she was a soldier, a mere commoner, not a noble.
It was ridiculous to even assume she held the same power as Reelia.
Aelrie removed her clothes and used soap and a cloth from the basin stand and the water she’d retrieved to gather a lather and lightly washed her body, starting with her face. The water turned pink from her red lipstick.
She groaned.
Not feeling like going downstairs again, she made do with what she had and washed her body the best she could.
With nothing to change into besides the dancing costume again, she begrudgingly put it back on and sat with her knees to her chin upon the bed and started chipping away at the red paint on her nails.
But … how could she explain what happened back at the labyrinth? If not a miracle, what was it?
Why would Freyr hear her prayer? She was nothing special.