Cursed Prince (Night Elves Trilogy #1) - C.N. Crawford Page 0,59

and hunger that caused me to close my eyes. I drifted off, dreaming of Mom and Dad and Barthol, their faces shining over the birthday cake they’d made for me. Ten candles gleaming like stars. A tradition left over from the humans. Barthol and Mom looked so much alike—same pointed chins and delicate features. Same cupid’s-bow lips.

In my dream, Mom leaned over my cake, and the candles warmed her features.

“Avenge me, Ali,” she whispered.

Chapter 41

Marroc

I straddled the wall as I got my first look into Helheim itself. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to see.

Like the gateway, the surface of Helheim was entirely obscured by fog. Sooty clouds pressed low to the ground and roiled in unnatural twists and swirls. Behind me, a plain of brown mud and mist stretched out as far as I could see. Only the dark curve of the road, like the back of a giant serpent, interrupted it.

I looked straight down the wall. My eyes followed the crack, but I couldn’t see Ali from here. I didn’t like the idea of her alone so near the road of dead. I wanted her close to me.

Best get this over with fast, then. I rolled my shoulders.

Time to get moving. I turned and jammed my hand into the crack on the Helheim side of the wall. Then, drawing in a deep breath, I began to descend. The crack cut clear through the wall, so climbing down was only a matter of locking and unlocking my fingers. As I slowly lowered myself, mist began to surround me.

With a creeping sense of dread, I quickly realized it was more than mist. Much thicker and darker, it wrapped around me like a funeral shroud. In moments, I could barely see my hands where they touched the wall.

Though I’d seen the stygian fog moving from my perch on the top of the wall, now that I was within it, the air felt oppressively still, like a creature holding its breath.

I continued climbing downward, one hand at a time. Everything was going smoothly until the crack stopped. I paused, confused. I couldn’t see a thing; the crack had just disappeared.

Hanging by one hand, I pulled myself close to the wall.

A low growl rose in my throat. The crack was there, but it had been welded shut. I drew one of my daggers and scratched at it, but it wasn’t doing much good.

How high was I in the air?

Maybe I could just drop and deal with the pain of bones shattering. I’d recover. Eventually.

As I was steeling my resolve to let go, the fog grew even thicker, until it had a wet texture over my skin. The temperature dropped.

Worse, my skin prickled with the sensation that I was being watched. Suddenly, a dark shadow passed above me, and I realized something was in the fog with me.

I growled softly, more a warning than a threat as I craned my head around, trying to see what it was. But the shadow had disappeared. The chill deepened.

What the Helheim was it?

Suddenly, something ice cold wrenched my hand from the wall, and dread clamped a hand around my heart. In the next moment, I was falling.

I hit the ground with a smack. Mud sprayed around me, thick and black as tar. Pain shot through my limbs, but there was no cracking of bone. I wasn’t seriously injured.

I lay on my back for a moment, then crawled to my feet, holding my daggers in front of me.

I could see nothing beyond the ends of my blades in the fog. Silent as a grave, here.

Frowning, I tried to brush some of the mud off myself.

As the temperature dropped even further, a chill washed over me. Condensation on my skin froze. Ice formed on the tips of my daggers. A shape flickered in the periphery of my vision, and I spun, trying to see what it was. In the swirling fog, it was gone.

And there was that sense of eyes on me.

Then the fog began to thin around me, revealing a shadowy figure hovering at the edge of the fog, tall and thin like a scarecrow. It stayed just out of sight.

I knew what it was now—a shade—a soul of one in Helheim. They weren’t necessarily good or evil, but they always told the truth.

I raised my blade as more shades appeared around me. One stepped forward, out of the swirling vapor. It was completely black, but its outline continually shifted as though stirred by an invisible hand. I couldn’t quite

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