“All right, Astrid,” he said. “Come with me.”
The guard led me into the entrance tunnel. It was just as I remembered. Even so, my breath caught when we stepped from the tunnel into the audience chamber, the ceilings as tall and grand as a cathedral.
Lit only by candlelight, the chamber was solemn and stark. Three stone thrones stood on one end of the hall, each carved directly from the bedrock. They might have been beautiful once, but a thousand years of dripping water had left them covered in strangely rippling deposits of calcite.
Seated in each throne was a figure dressed in thick gray fabric, only slightly darker than the stone itself. The ancient elves had long silver hair and skin lined with wrinkles. Their eyes shone brightly in the darkness. Ilvis, Thyra, and Lynheid. The eldest of our kind.
“Where is the safe deposit box?” said Ilvis, who sat in the center throne. “The one we sent you to fetch. You took longer than expected to return.”
It took me a second to realize that he was asking about my original assignment. That seemed like years ago. “I’ll get to that in a second.” I was taking an enormous risk with this, but I needed to know this now more than I needed anything: “Did my brother Barthol return here?”
“Insolence!” shouted Thyra.
Ilvis sighed. “Yes, he did. The box?”
Relief flooded me. Barthol was alive. Somehow, he’d escaped, made his way back to the Shadow Caverns. “Okay, well, I was attacked while trying to break into the bank. I’m sure Barthol told you that.”
“Yes, but what about the safe deposit box?” asked Thyra, sounding impatient. “Barthol had nothing to report. He thought you might have it. He’s been frantically asking for permission to find you, but we refused to give him another vergr stone.”
“I managed to get a hold of the contents. The golden ring.”
Ilvis gave me a look that said I shouldn’t know about the ring. “Where is the ring now?” he asked slowly.
“Right here,” I said, reaching into my pocket. I held up the ring so the Shadow Lords could see it. It glinted faintly in the candlelight.
“Give it to me,” said Ilvis, thrusting out a hand.
I walked to the base of his throne and handed up the ring. He slipped it into his pocket.
“That was good work,” said Thyra. “But what took you so long to return?”
“I’m sure you heard about the troll. He managed to steal the box, but I located it again.” I forced myself to smile. I hated having to lie to them, but if they suspected I’d failed to deliver what they really wanted, I could find myself in prison.
So I’d leave out a few details—my descent into the Well of Wyrd, my journey to the Helheim. The fight with Nidhogg. The bit about where Galin’s soul had been returned, and how he was controlled by Gorm.
If they knew that, they’d strip me of my commission and send me to the Kolar mines to work myself to death shoveling coal. So let them wonder at why the ring didn’t work the way they hoped. It would keep them distracted while I worked on a real solution.
Ilvis smiled at me indulgently. “Well done, Astrid. You will, of course, be heavily rewarded for your efforts.”
I’d done what they’d asked, hadn’t I? And in my own way, I was certain I’d achieve my destiny—that I was the North Star, and I would lead us out of here.
Chapter 62
Ali
I slipped through the shadowy streets of Myrk. I knew this town like the back of my hand. I’d literally been forced to memorize its every alley and passageway as part of my assassin training. Not that I was making use of any of those shadowy routes tonight.
I hung a right down Stone Cave Lane then a left at Batfoot Road. Before I knew it, I was just outside my family home. A light glimmered inside.
I peered in through the front window. Barthol sat in his chair, his legs up, his eyes closed. The remains of a fire glowed in the hearth. Old pictures of Jeremy the Alcoholic Goat gleamed on the walls, but he hadn’t drawn any new ones. He must’ve been worried out of his mind about me.
I grinned wickedly. Then I slipped round back, to the rear of the house. My key was right where I’d left it, hidden under a rock.
And next to the key, I found a long, flat rock. I had an idea for that, too. As quietly as I could, I unlocked the back door and slipped inside.
Gripping the rock like a knife, I tiptoed into the living room. Some strange music was playing on his antique boombox.
Barthol hadn’t moved from his chair. He was fast asleep. Snoring softly. Gods, he was a terrible assassin, but I loved him anyway.
I slipped behind him and pressed the stone to his neck.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I said in my best impression of a High Elf singsong voice.
Barthol’s eyes flashed open. “What?”
He tried to stand, but I kept the stone at his neck. “Is it true that you pissed your pants when you saw the troll?”
“I absolutely did not!” Barthol stammered. Then he twisted his head around and looked at me. His jaw dropped. “You asshole.”
I held up the stone. “I may be an asshole, Barthol, but I’m the asshole who’s going to teach you to stay on your toes. I’m the asshole who will keep you alive.”
A grin split his face. “You’re back!” he shouted.
“Shh. You’ll wake up the neighborhood.”
But Barthol had wrapped me in a suffocating bear hug. “You’re okay. I knew you’d be okay. I mean, I wasn’t sure. I wanted to get a vergr stone to find you, but they wouldn't give me one. Where were you?” He was practically shouting, shaking me up and down with excitement. “When the troll appeared, I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer. Oh my god, Ali. The only reason I knew you were alive was because I was sure I’d feel it if you died.”
“Also, because I am a chief assassin for a reason. I don’t die that easily.”
Barthol put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me back. He frowned slightly.
“What are you wearing?”
“What do you mean?” I followed his eyes down. I’d forgotten that I was still wearing Galin’s shirt. “I had to steal some clothes in Midgard,” I lied, before changing the subject. The less Barthol knew, the better. Ignorance would keep him safe. “What’s this music you’re playing? I like it.”
He grinned. “You like it too? This album is so good. Super rare. I had to sell my coat to get it, but it was totally worth it. It’s called Best of Nickelback Vol 1.”
Chapter 63
Galin
I sat in my chambers in the Citadel, staring out the window onto a city covered in snow. White-blanketed Boston. Happiness warmed me at the thought that I’d managed to slip the golden ring to Ali. With her mission achieved, she’d be celebrated as a hero in the Shadow Caverns.
I ran a fingertip over the crown on my head, where the words Helm of Awe were carved into it. My situation wasn’t quite as rosy.
My mind whirled darkly with the power my father now had over me. The crown stopped me from hurting the king or from escaping the Citadel. When he was near me, he could control me completely. But on my own, I could conduct spells as I wanted, and speak freely.
I just needed to pick the right time to get to Ali. If I appeared when others were around her, I could land her in serious trouble. Right now, she had the ring, and that should keep the Shadow Lords happy for the time being. I needed to find a way to send spies into the caverns.
With my soul returned to me, memories of my past life had come flooding back. At last, I remembered who I’d once been. As prince of Elfheim, we’d ruled the world of elves before it had been destroyed in Ragnarok. A palace called Gimli had towered over the kingdom, and we had worshipped the gods when they were still alive.
I’d revered Odin. With his power igniting my veins, I’d learned magic in the mountains and forests. I’d kept wolves and ravens as my pets, honoring him.
Revna, Sune, and my father had been a cruel little unit, but I spent the year
s practicing sorcery until even they feared me.
And then Ragnarok had descended on us—the end of the Worlds. First the floods, then disease had spread through all the realms. The High Elves had never known disease before, but we found ourselves sickening. The gods battled giants; the gods died. Elfheim had been destroyed completely, nothing left but rubble and the dead.
This was what fate had foretold, and it had come to pass.
But after losing so much, the High Elves wanted blood. So they blamed the Night Elves, and my father proposed a game—we were supposed to hunt the Night Elves to extinction. One by one, the High Elves began to run down the Dokkalfar. They’d be tortured in public, in excruciating ways. I remembered how it had delighted my sister when they screamed.
Because when something terrible happens, there’s only one way to make it right, isn’t there? Make something worse happen to someone else.
But the truth was that Ragnarok wasn’t their fault. Because it had always been foretold, and it was written by fate. That was why I had intervened to save them. I’d done what I could to keep them safe. I’d cast a spell, hiding them in the Shadow Caverns. I knew it had to be terrible in there—no light, no fresh food. But they were alive, at least. If I hadn’t acted, they’d all be dead by now. Ali wouldn’t exist.
I still remembered my father’s fury at what I’d done. An anger powerful enough to level a city.
As I stared out onto the darkened city, I felt the power of Wyrd speaking to me like a voice: You will rule this Citadel as king.
When I closed my eyes, I saw myself as the king of the Citadel. But that wasn’t the vision I wanted. The one I wanted was one where I found Ali again, and we freed the Night Elves together.
It didn’t seem to be what fate was most interested in, but it was what I most desired, because that was what she needed.
So right now, maybe I didn’t give a fuck about what fate wanted. I would make my own vision come to pass, one way or another. And then I wanted Ali alone with me. My blood heated at the thought of having her close to me.
And yet clearly, Ali had her own vision for the future. I would do what I could to help make it come to pass.
I had told her I would come for her, and I would. With my soul returned to me, I could pull the spell from the Shadow Caverns, bring down the magical wall. It was just a little matter of finding a way to do it without the High Elves immediately instituting another gruesome hunt. And yet I was sure, if we were careful, Ali and I could find a way to fight them together.
Thank you for reading Cursed Prince.
While you wait for Book 2, we suggest you checkout Dark King.
Also by C.N. Crawford
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Acknowledgments
This book was a bit of a struggle, so many many many thanks go to Christine for helping me become a better romance and first person POV writer (I love you Chunky)!
Robin, Bella, and Arran all contributed to the extensive editing and polishing that got this book ready for publication. Carlos made us another beautiful cover. And last but not least, thanks so much to our advanced reader team for their help, and to C.N. Crawford’s Coven on Facebook!
Cursed Prince (Night Elves Trilogy Book 1) Page 21