Ruined King (Night Elves Trilogy Book 2)

by C. N. Crawford

  “Wait, you’re saying Barthol is—"

  “Working as a smuggler? Yup.”

  It didn’t make sense. Barthol did things by the book; he wasn’t one to break laws unless ordered to by the Shadow Lords. If anyone accidentally overcharged him in our market, he let them know immediately. “But why?”

  “After you got sent to the mines three weeks ago, Barthol was kicked out of Sindri. No one would hire him. Except for my boss. Barthol has some valuable skills.”

  I narrowed my eyes at Bo. “You’re blackmailing me, aren’t you? If I don’t tell you about Galin, you’re going to rat Barthol out? Get him sent to the mines, too?”

  Bo’s grin widened. “How little you think of me! But yes, your low assessment is entirely accurate.”

  Fucker. I didn’t know if this was true or a lie, but it had unnerved me anyway. I took another sip of my coffee, forgetting that I’d spit into it. “Skalei.”

  In one graceful swing, I slammed the blade through the center of Bo’s mug. The ceramic shattered, and hot coffee sprayed all over his shirt.

  “Look, you conniving shit. I work for the Lords of the Shadow Caverns. I am a trained assassin. Fuck with Barthol and it’s not coffee that’ll be soaking your chest. There will be no more talk of Galin. No more talk of Barthol. Are we clear?”

  Bo simply gawked, his mouth half open.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. Now, let me drink my disgusting coffee in peace.” I took a long sip, indicating that the conversation was over.

  I was beginning to understand the humans’ infatuation with this bitter drink. It was starting to make me feel alive.

  Bo left, ostensibly to change his shirt, and I was able to eat my breakfast in peace. A few minutes later, a group of guards entered the hall and announced the arrival of King Gorm. He, Revna, and Sune sat at their usual table on the dais. I didn’t see Galin at all.

  When someone called my name, I looked up to see Thyra beckoning me. After grabbing a roll and refilling my coffee cup, I hurried to join her.

  As I sat, she stared at the mug in my hand. “Are you drinking coffee?”

  “Yup. It’s actually amazing. I could eat nails.”

  Thyra shook her head. “Well, I guess it’s better than espresso shots.”

  Before I could ask her what an espresso shot was, Gorm spoke. “Thank you all for coming to breakfast. I hope everyone slept well. The Night Elves will be holding the next contest. Lord Thyra will explain the details.”

  Next to me, Thyra stood. “Thank you, King Gorm.” She turned to face the assembled elves. “I have already told your leaders the details of the contest, but fortunately, it is quite simple. A short footrace. We will run from Bunker Hill to the Old State House. I will reveal the exact route at the start of the race. As with the melee, hand to hand combat will be acceptable, but ranged weapons will not be allowed. Magic is strictly forbidden. The first two hundred twenty-five elves to finish will go on. The rest will be executed.” A heavy silence fell over the hall. “We will race tonight at sundown.”

  “Tonight?” King Gorm interjected. “You told us in three days.”

  Thyra shrugged. “I changed my mind.”

  He spluttered before finally saying, “You can’t do this.”

  Thyra smiled. “Oh, but I can.”

  And as she sat down again, I found myself hoping with a shiver of dread that neither Galin nor I would be among those executed tonight. I may have come up with the plan, but it was going to be a close thing to survive the race.

  Chapter 26

  Galin

  By the time I got down to the mead hall, it was nearly empty—just a few servants putting away dishes and pastries.

  “Where is everyone?” I asked a servant as I snagged the last black currant scone.

  “On the roof, Your Highness.”

  “On the roof?”

  “They’re exercising or something, my lord. Didn’t you hear? There’s going to be a contest tonight. A race.”

  “Tonight,” I repeated, still not quite making sense of it. It seemed too soon.

  With the scone still in my hand, I hurried up the Citadel’s many flights of stairs until I reached the roof.

  I found it awash with elves. A group of High Elves fought with practice swords, while Night Elves sparred bare-handed. Elves of all three tribes could be seen jogging around the path that ringed the parapets, warming up their legs.

  “Galin!” I heard Revna shout.

  I spotted her and Sune stepping down from the running track. Revna was dressed like an athlete, in shorts, and a bejeweled dagger hilt protruded from a sheath at her waist.

  She sidled up to me. “Have you learned anything about tonight’s contest?”

  I shook my head. “I was sleeping.”

  She rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Well, why don’t you ask your little tunnel swine girlfriend?” She pointed to a group of Night Elves standing on one of the walkways. In the center, Ali was talking quietly with Thyra and Ilvis.

  “How about I throw you into the Well of Wyrd?” The shock of heat to my skull was worth the fear in her eyes, even if it was just for a moment.

  I turned to walk away from her, prowling over the parapets, but my gaze was on Ali. Her tight black leather showed off every curve, and she’d pulled her hair into a ponytail. I watched as she called Skalei to her. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the blade high into the air. It spun and sparkled in the sunlight like a majorette’s baton. When it fell back down, she effortlessly caught it.

  She wasn’t like any of the High Elves. She was strong, confident, lethal, and determined to make her own way. She would also kill me if it weren’t for our bond. She seemed to feed off a yearning for vengeance.

  She flipped the dagger again, even higher this time. If she miscounted the rotations, reached out at the wrong time, she could cut herself deeply, but she didn’t. Her hand flashed out at just the right moment, effortlessly snatching the blade from the air.

  I could have watched her all afternoon, but I knew this was also a chance to study the opposition.

  I began to scan the contingent of Vanir, practicing on the dark stone cap that covered the Well of Wyrd. They’d split into two groups and were taking turns throwing a javelin back and forth. One group would throw the javelin, and as it arced through the air, the other would stand in its path, diving out of the way at the last moment like they were playing a strange game of chicken.

  Why were they throwing javelins when ranged weapons weren’t allowed? My spine stiffened as I wondered if they were going to come after Ali again. They still wanted revenge for their slaughtered Emperor.

  A hawk—the one I’d seen perched on the Regent’s shoulder—circled above the Vanir and watched as they tossed the javelin back and forth. Studying them, I noticed another subtlety to their game: each time they threw the javelin, the two groups moved a little closer together, increasing the difficulty.

  Then, a particularly large Vanir picked up the javelin. Rearing back, he hurled it at the other side. It spun, shooting through the air like a missile, and the Vanir on the opposite side barely had time to dive out of the way. They leapt up, shouting obscenities. Apparently, this was a bridge too far, even for them.

  The hawk swooped, screeching. Without warning, a Vanir warrior hurled the javelin at the opposing team, and he narrowly missed impaling another of his tribe.

  More shouting and cursing. The hawk continued to screech.

  They are insane.

  I started towards the Vanir. By the time I approached, they’d set aside all pretext of sportsmanship and simply launched into a brawl. The two sides charged each other. A warrior snatched up the javelin and hurled it just as another Vanir tackled him.

  The javelin flew out of his grip. Aimed much too high, it spiraled into the sky like a rocket. The two groups of Vanir clashed, and I heard the crack of a jaw shattering as the big Vanir punched a smaller warrior. Thinning the competition for us. What did they think they were doing?
<
br />   Around the brawling Vanir, the Night Elves and High Elves watched, engrossed.

  Movement flickered above me as the javelin descended again. And something else, I realized, squinting. The hawk racing after it. Diving, silent as a ghost.

  In a blur, the hawk intercepted the javelin, knocking it, redirecting its path with a flash of talons.

  Now, it flew directly towards Ali. My heart went still.

  “Ali!” I shouted.

  Too late. She spun, but there was no time to dodge, and the javelin plunged into her thigh.

  She screamed, clutching her leg. Around her, Night Elves stood in shock.

  I charged across the rooftop, my heart in my throat, blood roaring in my ears. “Keep her still! Don’t let her move!” As I passed a guard, I yelled at him, “Get the royal doctor!”

  I was almost to Ali’s side when a trio of Night Elves cut me off. Thyra, Ilvis, and a large Night Elf I didn’t recognize.

  “Not one more step,” said Thyra.

  Anger roiled. I wanted to rip their heads off. “She’s going to bleed out!”

  Thyra held up a hand. “We’ll deal with this on our own.”

  I wanted to fling her off the roof to get to Ali, but my interference could make things even worse. They already suspected her of consorting with the enemy.

  The large Night Elf pointed a sword at my chest. I sized him up. He was large, but not as big as me. I wanted to shove him out of the way—into the Well of Wyrd, preferably.

  Don’t cause problems for your Night Elf, whispered Ganglati. If you’re distracted by her misfortunes, you’ll never steal the wand.

  Fuck off, Ganglati.

  A group of Night Elves surrounded Ali, blocking my view of her. My heart ached. I desperately wanted to be by her side, to do something to help her.

  I spoke to Thyra, using the calmest voice I could manage. “I’ve sent for a doctor. Will you at least allow her to get medical help?”

  Thyra nodded. “I’ll permit it.”

  I let out a long breath. The royal doctor was highly trained. I felt a sense of relief knowing that Ali would be in her care.

  I turned away from the Night Elves, shadows sliding through my thoughts. I’d seen the hawk interfere with the javelin. That could be no coincidence. This had been a second assassination attempt. The Vanir were determined to kill Ali; they didn’t give a fuck about the Winnowing.

  I would find the ones who had given the order. The Regent could run now, but when I caught him, he’d regret the day he was born.

  Chapter 27

  Ali

  When I first opened my eyes, I didn’t know where I was. All I knew was that I was in a bed, but it wasn’t a familiar one. The paint on the ceiling was a deep blue flecked with stars, and the air smelled strangely antiseptic.

  I lifted my head high enough to see windows framed by white muslin curtains. I wasn’t in my room, and the sunlight meant it wasn’t the Shadow Caverns.

  “Hello?” I called out.

  No one answered.

  I was very tired, but I tried to sit up anyway. Instantly, pain lanced up my leg, and I flopped flat on my back.

  I remembered bits and pieces of the morning—drinking coffee for the first time. Then, a few minutes later, I’d had to threaten Bo. Again. After that, it went fuzzy. My mind felt mushy, like half my brain had been replaced with stale porridge.

  I concentrated and managed to scrounge up a few more memories. They were hazy, but I was certain I’d been outside. There had been lots of elves. I was pretty sure Galin had been shouting …

  I shut my eyes tight as I tried to bring the thoughts into focus, but all I could see was his golden hair, his piercing eyes. He’d been worried about me.

  “Miss?” said a melodious voice.

  I opened my eyes. An elf stood beside me. She wore a gray cotton smock, and her golden hair was pulled up tight against her head. A High Elf.

  Am I a prisoner? Do I need to call Skalei?

  I tried to sit up, but the same excruciating pain kept me from moving more than a few inches.

  “Stay still,” said the High Elf in dulcet tones.

  Considering I couldn’t sit up, I decided to opt for a less bloody approach. “Who are you? What happened to me?” Gods, it even hurts to talk.

  “My name is Budli. I’m the royal doctor of the Citadel. I’ve been looking after you since the accident.”

  “What accident? Where am I?”

  “You were injured on the roof of the Citadel.”

  The mention of an injury and the roof of the Citadel brought forth a rush of fresh memories. Now, I very clearly remembered standing in a group of Night Elves. Something had fallen from the afternoon sky and slammed into me like a bolt of lightning. Galin had been shouting. Thyra had been there …

  “I need to speak to Thyra,” I said.

  “Not yet. You need to sleep.”

  I could feel panic growing in me. “What time is it?”

  “Nearly six in the evening.”

  I gasped, the foot race was going to start in less than twenty minutes. “I have to get up. I can’t stay here.”

  “Absolutely not. You must rest. Your tendons are shredded. That is my medical assessment.”

  “If I don’t go to Bunker Hill, I’ll be out of the Winnowing.”

  “That’s nice, dear.” The doctor leaned over me and placed a hand firmly on my shoulder. Despite her words, her voice had taken on a malevolent tone. “But you’re staying here.”

  Behind her, the air began to flicker. I struggled to sit up even as the doctor leaned over me, both of her hands on my shoulders, holding me down. Pain screamed up my thigh.

  “Tunnel elf,” she whispered. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  Light flashed behind the doctor, and the scent of ozone filled the room as a portal split the air. She spun with a shriek.

  Galin stepped from the portal, his blond hair whirling around his head like a lion’s mane. The doctor began to step back towards the door.

  “Prince Galin,” she sputtered.

  “Get out.” His voice had a lethal edge.

  The doctor turned, fleeing. Galin followed after her, and I heard the sound of a struggle, then a door being slammed shut. A moment later, he stalked back into the room, slammed the door, and bolted it.

  “What did you do to her?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Locked her in a utility closet.” His eyes fixed on mine. “Sorry about that. I thought she was trustworthy. What did she do?”

  “She was aggressive and weird, but I’m fine. What exactly happened today?”

  “You don’t remember?” he asked, blinking.

  “Was I hit by a bolt of lightning?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Don’t be absurd. What are the chances of that? No, it was a hawk interfering with the trajectory of a javelin to injure you. Much more normal.” He dropped the sarcastic tone and sighed. “I really don’t know what the fuck is happening, but I think it was another assassination attempt from the Vanir.”

  “A hawk … what?”

  “The Vanir tried to kill you, again. They threw a javelin. A hawk swooped in and knocked it off course. The javelin hit you in the thigh, and you nearly bled to death.”

  As he spoke, more memories jogged loose. Tossing Skalei. A wet thunk. Stumbling like I’d been kicked by a horse. But there had been so much blood and pain … I remembered my people standing over me, telling me to stay with them. And, distinctly, from across the parapet, a Vanir warrior had grinned at me.

  Galin strode to the edge of the bed. “Do you think you can stand?”

  “Hel if I know,” I mumbled, trying to sit up again, but pain shot through my leg, like it was being ripped open again. I stifled a moan, biting my lip. I’d trained to work when I was hurt, but I wasn’t sure my leg was even functioning properly.

  “Wait. I’ve got something that might help.” Galin reached into his jacket pocket and produced a small orange container. Twisting off the cap
, he dumped two pills into my palm.

  “What is it?”

  “Vicodin. It’s like lidocaine but for the whole body.”

  “Oh, right … stuff that makes you go numb.” I quickly swallowed the pills. As I waited for the medicine to take effect, I asked, “What else did I miss?”

  He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Not much, actually. Apart from your attempted murder, the day was uneventful. There was the avian assassination attempt, then people ate lunch, and now all the elves have traveled to Bunker Hill.”

  “I have to join them. If I stay in bed, I’m out of the Winnowing. If I don’t participate, I’ll be executed.”

  “I know.” He nodded grimly. “That’s why I’m here. Try testing your leg now.”

  This time, when I sat up, the pain wasn’t as sharp. More like a dull throbbing than a dagger jabbed into my femur. I gritted my teeth. “It hurts, but it’s manageable.”

  I began to stand, but my leg wouldn’t work properly. I flapped my arms as I started to lose balance, but Galin caught me before I fell, and I slumped against his steely chest. He looped a powerful arm around my waist, then held me firmly as I tried to walk. But my leg kept buckling.

  “Galin.” My voice cracked as I realized the implications of not participating. “I don’t think I can do it. My leg is shredded.”

  I felt a tear sliding down my cheek. The Vanir had won. If I didn’t participate, I was as good as dead. The bottom fifty percent of runners were to be executed.

  Carefully, Galin helped me sit on the edge of the bed. Then, he knelt. “Let me see.”

  He pulled the hem of my hospital gown up, lifting it above my thighs. In the center of my leg, a jagged gash had been stitched shut with black thread.

  “Let me have a look at the wound.”

  I nodded.

  He grimaced. “Looks deep, but it doesn’t seem to be infected, just inflamed, I think. If I wrap it up, that’ll help.” He looked up at me with pain in his eyes. “But even with the Vicodin, it’s going to hurt a lot. Are you sure?”

  “Go for it.”