white fur mantle, which certainly lent him a regal appearance. Behind him followed Revna, Sune, and Galin. Like their father, Revna and Sune wore golden outfits.
Galin, however, wore a tailored indigo suit, so dark it might have been black. Atop his head rested the Helm of Awe.
“Thank you all for coming,” said King Gorm. His voice seemed strained, not the usual bold, melodious tones he’d used when I’d seen him previously.
I could guess why. This was supposed to be his time to gloat. If the melee had gone as he’d intended, there would only have been a few dozen Night Elves left alive. In that scenario, he’d have played the part of a benevolent ruler generously serving a huge feast to his captives, using the dinner to demoralize us with a grand show of the High Elves’ wealth. Reminding us that we’d soon die.
Instead, the High Elves had been caught off guard and soundly beaten. He’d had to scramble to find room for all of us.
Gorm took a seat in the center of the table, with Revna and Sune on one side and Galin on the other. Galin sipped his mead, and it seemed he had no interest whatsoever in looking in my direction.
The servers began to hurry around, placing steaming trays of venison, salmon, and turkey on the tables. My stomach growled when they brought out the side dishes. Platters of potatoes slathered in butter, bowls full of asparagus and broccoli, and great boules of fresh bread.
I filled my plate, then turned to Thyra. “So, what’s the plan now that the Vanir have joined in?”
“The Winnowing is always the same, each tribe chooses a contest.”
“So”—I did some quick math in my head—“we stop when there are only one hundred and thirteen elves left.”
“Correct.”
“Is it true that you’ve done this before?”
Thyra nodded. “Before Ragnarok, the High Elves and Night Elves fought in a Winnowing to end centuries of battle.”
“What happened then?”
“Lots of elves died, but it ended in a truce. Until Ragnarok, when they defeated us completely,” said Thyra in an unusually quiet voice. I got the impression she didn’t enjoy this topic of conversation. She speared a piece of salmon and popped it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “But now, we feast, and in the next round, we choose the contest.”
That was good news. “Have you decided what it will be?”
“No, not yet.”
But an idea was starting to form in my mind, a seedling of a plan blooming larger.
Chapter 17
Galin
Next to me, my father cut into his turkey, alternating his ravenous eating with gulps of mead. Strange. A normal man wouldn’t have an appetite after what had happened. He’d been ranting on the battlefield, but now that there was a plate of food in front of him, all was forgotten. And that made me wonder what the fuck he was up to.
Worry quelled my appetite. Ali was less than twenty feet away, sitting between a pair of Shadow Lords. She looked thinner than when I’d last seen her, starving as she wolfed down her meal.
And worst of all, as soon as Gorm recognized her, he would know the truth. She was a high value target, one he never should have given up. And that would provoke his rage, directed at me.
I’d tried to keep Gorm away from the feast. I’d told him that he would look weak parading the royal family across the stage, especially after we’d just come in last place. But his desire for adulation was too much, and he’d insisted on making an appearance.
I needed a plan. The reality was that Gorm was going to find out who Ali was. Either he’d recognize her himself, or Revna would tell him. Even though Ali wanted to kill me, I would find a way to warn her. Her life was in grave danger, and whether she loathed me or not, I wanted her alive.
And most of all, I needed to redouble my efforts to get the helm off my head. The magic was weaker, but I needed to be completely free of the infernal crown.
I surveyed the mead hall, taking in the scene.
The Vanir leader sat at the head of his table, the hawk I’d seen at the battle still perched on his shoulder. He caught my eye, then tossed a piece of meat to the bird. As the creature devoured it in messy bites, its master stared me down like he wanted to murder me.
Perhaps he and Ali could bond over that particular fantasy.
“Galin,” said my father