A warm mug was thrust into Ingrid’s hands, startling her. Caelya took a seat across from her.
"Are you feeling any better?"
Ingrid shrugged a shoulder.
She took a sip of the warm liquid. It was some type of mulled wine, and it seeped into the cracks of her soul, melting the pieces back together.
"Where were you trying to go?" Caelya sipped from a mug of her own.
“I don't know. It doesn't matter now. Who were those men?” Ingrid asked quietly. She’d been able to settle her nerves slightly and wanted to know. “They were so different from everyone else.”
“Kelvhan has taken them to the dungeons to find out,” Caelya said. “I’m sorry for what happened. I know you feel trapped here, but you're not alone. Many are on your side."
Ingrid continued to stare at the fireplace. How am I supposed to believe that? What has she done except help Jarrick keep me as a hostage? No one is here for me.
Images of Galwain flashed through her mind. An abused dirty queen, in worse shape than Ingrid. Both of them placed there by Urkon. Who would rescue her?
"You tell me I have friends, that you’re one of them," Ingrid flashed a glance at Caelya. "But Galwain is trapped at Montibeo, and nobody cares about her. How am I supposed to believe it’ll ever be different for me?”
Caelya released a long breath and let silence creep over them before she finally spoke. “Galwain is not in as much comfort as you, that's true, but she's not abused. I just saw her yesterday."
"What? You visit with Galwain?”
"Of course. She was my best friend, before she betrayed my brother. She took his son away, and I don't think he'd struggle like he does today if he’d had his family. There's a bond that's created between an elf and their true mate. They communicate with each other's minds. It’s more intense than just speaking. It’s an emotional and spiritual connection that bonds them closer than a fylgia. If that goes away, the pain is unbearable. Jarrick's has lived like that for almost twenty years because of Galwain."
Ingrid understood better than Caelya knew. Jorg had explained it to her the first time she left for Asgard and he couldn't hear her anymore. He’d said he thought his head would crack open because the pain was so intense. Should she consider it a blessing? That while she was in Alfheim and waiting to do the bidding of dark elves, she didn't have to worry about Jorg’s pain?
"So is Jarrick better now that Galwain has returned?”
Caelya stared into her mug and fidgeted her fingers against the pottery’s smooth side. “He has not discussed it with me.”
Ingrid scrunched her brows together. “But the pains are gone? He can hear her again?”
“I don’t know.” Caelya sat her mug on a side table and leaned back into the cushioned chair. “Galwain says he hasn't tried. They've only spoken once since she's been back, and that was briefly when she first arrived.”
Ingrid sipped her wine. “Why is that? When he took her, he said he wanted to put their family back together. Why won't he speak to her now?” Ingrid stood and paced closer to the fireplace. She put her hand on the mantle and stared into the dark cavern.
“I can only guess. If he connects to Galwain again, then he opens himself up to being hurt by her. By keeping their connection from forming, he is protecting himself.”
Ingrid rubbed her temples. Why would he do that? Why would he choose to stay in pain?
Perhaps forgiveness would interfere with his plans.
“Galwain and Jarrick fell in love at first sight. They had no worries, no troubles when they met together in secret. It was youthful and easy. Jarrick is different now. He wants to prove himself a great leader, to have his own realm and not waste away as second to Thelonius,” Caelya added.
Ingrid faced her. “So, you think Jarrick should be allowed to lead, regardless of what he does or what he wants to do with that leadership?”
“Thelonius is a good king. I have no issues with his leadership, nor do I want him to do anything different. But Jarrick's a good leader, too. He deserves to be king.”
“You think that's what he wants? To become the king of Vanaheim? How do you see that working out? Odin, Thor, Tyr, and all the gods are going to step aside and let Jarrick rule? Jarrick wants to usurp Odin. He wants to become a god himself.”
“No! That's not true. At least, not from Jarrick. Who knows Urkon wants?”
Ingrid paced to her chair and back. Caelya defended Jarrick, but he was her brother. She did, however, seem to have a sense of caution concerning Urkon. He’d threatened Ingrid more than once using subtlety and implied threats. Maybe if they could work together and get Jarrick to connect with Galwain again, Urkon would lose his hold.
“Take me to Galwain. I need to speak to her directly. She's the only one with a chance to persuade Jarrick to leave Urkon. They want to use me to start a war. It won’t just destroy Midgard, but all the realms.”
“You’re being overly dramatic. Urkon wants power, I'll admit. But no one is stupid enough to start a war with Odin. I don't know where you got that information.”
Caelya stood up stared off into space after she finished speaking. A pinched expression belied the confidence she projected.
“Do you understand why they want me?” Ingrid asked. “Has Jarrick explained to you what I can do?”
Before Caelya could answer, a knock sounded at the door. “Come,” the princess called out with visible relief crossing her features.
Kelvhan poked his head in before entering. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I thought you should know what I’ve learned right away.”
19
Ingrid
Ingrid raced through the halls, following Kelvhan and Caelya. They’d tried to leave her behind, but she’d insisted on coming. The men who attacked Ingrid were currently in the dungeons only because no one had informed Jarrick, but Kelvhan was sure someone would move them soon. They had to hurry. He wanted Caelya to hear their information for herself, and Ingrid refused to wait alone until they’d returned.
When they reached the grand rotunda, instead of heading to the right as Ingrid had before, Kelvhan rushed them through a small door hidden behind a potted tree and down a darkened corridor. Sparsely placed torches tucked into rings secured into the stone walls illuminated patches of darkness. A slim wooden door, aged by time and use, blocked the end of the passage.
Kelvhan glanced at Ingrid, then focused on Caelya when his hand covered the handle. The princess gave a quick nod. Grabbing a torch, he led the women through the doorway and down a set of stairs that spiraled like the inside of a snail shell.
Cool air mixed with the darkness as it grew damper the farther they descended. Ingrid kept her arms out, bracing her hands against each wall so she didn’t slip on the narrow steps. They had to be inside one of the towers she’d seen when she’d first arrived. From that view on the hillside, everything was light and airy. Nothing spoke of an eerie underground and dungeons.
They reached the bottom, and Ingrid hugged herself. Rubbing her arms as she fell into line between the tall elves.
I don’t need their protection.
But as much as she tried to rally her spirit, it was no use. The attack had left her shaken. Surrounded by those stronger and faster made her feel safe—if that was possible in a dark tunnel with walls so narrow they nearly brushed each side of Kelvhan’s shoulders.
The musty smell of standing water and mud permeated the air, and the only sounds were their footsteps against the stone floor.
The walkway reached an open area with more torches positioned along the walls, giving the most light since they’d left the rotunda above. Several hallways branched off the central space. A distant rattling of chains echoed from one of them.
“Last chance. Are you sure you want to face them, Ingrid?” Kelvhan asked.
Ingrid swallowed and rolled her lip between her teeth. Did she? Was she brave enough?
“Yes, lead the way,” she said, standing taller and meeting Kelvhan’s
gaze.
The hint of a smile sparkled in his eyes before he headed toward the metallic rattles.
With just a few long strides from the king’s guard, each side of the hallway turned into a series of arches with wide columns in between. Under the arches, iron bars formed the front wall of the small rooms. Each cell was empty, but the arches stretched far into the darkness, and the sounds grew louder as they walked.
“I didn’t think Alfheim used iron,” Ingrid stated out loud as she peered into the next darkened space. Stone walls, stone floors, and nothing else graced the cells.
“It’s necessary down here,” Caelya answered. “This part of the palace was built before the ancient war of the gods.”
“Do each of the halls contain this many rooms?” Ingrid couldn’t imagine the need to hold so many prisoners.
“Yes, though only a few have ever been used,” Kelvhan answered then halted before the first occupied cell. He held the torch close to the bars to illuminate the elf inside. Ingrid recognized Beril, the leader of the duo who’d captured her.
She slammed her eyes closed, then caught herself. With eyes open and shoulders back, she glared at the prisoner. He was trapped, and she was safe.
He wore the same grimy clothing as she remembered, but a few welts appeared on his face that hadn’t been there before. Elves healed quickly, and she wondered what—or who—could have caused enough damage to linger that long. She peeked at Kelvhan standing tall and confident. A grin twitched at the corner of her mouth. Yes, she was safe.
“So, what is this information I need to hear?” Caelya asked. Her hand rested on her hip as if she was bored.
“Take these off, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know, princess.” Beril’s gruff voice tried to sound alluring; the absurdity was nearly comical. He was chained to the far wall with a shackle around each ankle.
Caelya inspected her nails and sighed.
Ingrid would have given anything at that moment for a spear. Beril had wanted to ransom her. She would love to feel the sharp point as it pierced his flesh in perfect vengeance.
“I stopped here to show Ingrid what a coward looks like,” Kelvhan said. “The one with the information is farther down.”
Beril’s eyes widened before he growled and lunged toward the bars. Ingrid flinched slightly and clenched her teeth. She would not give such a filthy creature power over her ever again.
“Don’t say anything!” Beril screeched into the air. Slamming his fist against the stone wall. He was pathetic. Ingrid smiled.
“Are you ready to continue, Ingrid?” Kelvhan asked, ignoring the outburst.
She nodded and faced the guard. This time, she truly meant it.
They passed many more empty cells before they reached the next prisoner. This time, Ingrid didn’t recognize his face, but as he screamed out curses, she knew his voice. Quarn, the one who’d held her, touched her. Her eyes fluttered as she fought for control of her stomach. Then she stood tall.
“Explain who you are and where you’ve come from. Though I’m sure my friends would find it entertaining if you wish to proceed as before?” Kelvhan said with authority. This elf also had welts and a few cuts on his cheek and jaw.
“I would, for sure,” Ingrid said.
“I won’t say it again. I’m done talking,” Quarn growled.
Standing there, staring at one who’d overpowered her, Ingrid clenched her fists. Inside, her magic rumbled and flashed. Startled by the feeling, she gasped, and everything settled far away from her again.
Pounding her thighs, Ingrid released a frustrated growl.
Kelvhan handed the torch to Caelya and stepped into the shadows. “I don’t think it’s Jarrick restricting your magic,” Caelya said with a glance to Ingrid.
Well, someone is, and I want it to stop. Ingrid swiped away a loose pebble with her toe.
When Kelvhan returned, Quarn’s eyes bulged, and he waved his hands. “No, no, no! I’ll tell them.”
“What is that?” Ingrid asked, staring at the club-length stick in Kelvhan’s hand and dismissing her earlier frustration over her magic. The weapon’s silver tip emitted a buzzing sound and raised the hair on Ingrid’s arms.
“It’s called a goblin-breaker. We used them to keep the tunnels into Swartalfheim clear before the borders closed. It renders one—helpless,” Kelvhan answered. “Pity he’s giving up so easily. I’d let you try it.”
Ingrid faced Quarn, a dark smile on her face. “There’s no harm in testing it. I’d love to know how it works.”
“I’ll talk! Don’t use that thing,” Quarn cried out, falling to his knees.
Kelvhan handed the goblin-breaker to Ingrid, which she held tentatively in her hands—the energy wafting from it palpable. She stared at him wide-eyed and eager. Did he really mean she could use it?
“Just to hold,” Kelvhan said with an arched brow, then leaned toward her. “For now.” He whispered with a wink and a grin.
Of those who’d been kind to Ingrid since arriving on Alfheim, the guard just became her favorite.
The hum of the club in her hand reminded her of her power when it flared. She held the safe end and tapped the middle against her other palm while she smirked at Quarn. “You were saying?”
Caelya huffed and turned away, but Ingrid noticed the twitch of her mouth before she did.
“Beril and me . . . we wanted to see the royal city. We overheard some of the guards talking about a celebration, and we wanted to see. That’s all.”
Ingrid stepped forward.
“And, and . . .” Quarn waved his hands at her. “We are part of the army up in the mountains. We train at the prince’s castle.”
“You live at Montibeo? I’ve seen no such army,” Caelya said. She glared at the captive with such venom that Ingrid gripped the goblin-breaker harder. If anyone used it, she’d be first.
“We live in the caverns, behind the dragon hive, and we train in the old lava tubes.”
“How did you come to be there? You appear elven, yet I don’t recognize your kind,” Kelvhan said.
“Most everyone is from the smaller towns on the other side of the spirit forest. I was working my farm one day when the guards came through and rounded up all the males. They did that to another couple of communities before we made it to the castle. After we got there, they separated us into groups of ten or so. Then we all had to go through a series of shots. They said it was to ready us for battle. Beril and I haven’t finished ours, but he’s one treatment ahead of me.”
“Tell them who gave you the shots,” Kelvhan said.
“It was Prince Jarrick’s guards. He was there watching, and sometimes Master Urkon, too.”
“This is madness. You have to be lying,” Caelya said. She spun and marched out of the light, but Ingrid could hear her breathing hard in the shadows.
Do you believe me now? Ingrid had tried to tell her before that Jarrick didn’t share her views on slavery, but even she wouldn’t have expected something like this.
A horrendous crash sounded in the tunnel from the direction they’d come, and Ingrid wheeled in that direction. Footfalls, loud and heavy, echoed against the stone walls. She held the goblin-breaker aloft, ready for whoever came for them.
“You’ll need a few more of those if you expect to stop him,” Quarn said. After how much he’d sniveled and cried about the goblin-breaker, he seemed calm . . . resigned. “He’s not himself anymore, and he won’t leave any of us alive.”
“Who? What are you talking about?” Kelvhan asked, his voice tense but commanding.
“Beril.”
At that moment, a figure burst into view. The hallway was at least five paces wide and nearly as tall as two men, yet whoever stood there filled the space. Snarls like a wild animal screeched through the air, and a sulfuric smell, reminiscent of dragon’s fire, burned Ingrid’s nostrils.
Caelya withdrew a short sword from somewhere within her clothing, causing Ingrid to look twice before focusing her attention at the inco
ming creature. She spread her feet and readied to launch herself forward, catching the intruder before he could swing at her. Instead, she was swept aside by Kelvhan and had to let herself fall to avoid the silver tip of the weapon she held.
Screams and grunts filled the walkway. Shadows danced like puppets against the walls as the torch lay on the ground. Ingrid scrambled over to pick it up. Holding it high in her left hand, she continued to grip the goblin-breaker in her right.
Both Caelya and Kelvhan attacked the monster. Between the blur of their speed and the low light, it was hard to see all Beril’s new features. The only thing Ingrid could tell for sure was that he was huge, and he appeared to have some type of armour that flashed when the light hit it.
Ingrid couldn’t rush in without risking the other two. Kelvhan had said the club would render one helpless, but she didn’t know what that meant, so she couldn’t risk it.
Caelya screamed and flew through the air, crashing against the stone wall. She fell into a heap on the ground and didn’t move. Kelvhan did his best, but he was soon on his knees under the weight of one arm.
For the first time, Ingrid could see Beril in full. His features were unrecognizable from what he’d looked like before. His eyes glowed through reptilian slits, sharp teeth protruded from an elongated muzzle when he snarled, and his ears had morphed into lizard-like frills on the side of his head. Ridges of bony spikes replaced his eyebrows, and two tall horns rose from his forehead.
His body was still shaped like a man though he was more than twice as large with a barrel-shaped chest that was as wide as three of Ingrid’s arm-spans. Each limb was the size of a tree trunk and covered in scales!
Unable to breathe for several heartbeats, Ingrid finally forced her feet to move. On the ground between herself and the dragon-looking elf, Caelya’s short sword lay abandoned. Snatching it on the way by, she used the beast’s focus on Kelvhan against him and slammed the sword through Beril’s calf. He roared, the sound echoing off the walls as Ingrid yanked the blade free. Throwing the sword, she used two hands to jam the goblin-breaker into the wound.
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