sun, smooth and unlined. … My heart ached to see her again.
“Well?” Revna snapped, bringing me back to the present. “Wouldn’t it be better to just slaughter them, rather than expend all this energy trying to keep them contained?”
“Revna,” I replied coldly. “You do remember, long ago, how easy it was for me to kill those around me? As you have pointed out, I can no longer do that. But are you so sure that will always be the case?”
She paled. “Fine. I’ll leave.” She walked to my door, back stiff. I was just turning back to my work when she spoke again in a fluting voice. “I almost forgot. Father told me to tell you that we’re having a meeting after dinner. He said not to be late. But I should warn you. He has news that will make you want to murder him.” She cocked her head. “Too bad you can’t.”
Chapter 3
Galin
The pair of guards were dressed in light armor, and they each gripped a wand buzzing with a killing hex. Together they flanked a set of gilded doors. Even though I was next in line to the throne, they glared at me. Probably because I’d eaten some of their friends while in prison. Not that I particularly cared.
“I have a meeting with the king,” I announced as I approached.
Without speaking, the guards pushed open the golden doors.
The resplendent doors were only a prelude to the inside of King Gorm’s apartment. My father’s approach to interior design could be summed up in one word: gold. If it could be gilded, it was: the chair legs, the drapes, the velvet of the sofa. Even the toilet seats in the bathrooms were gold plated.
Only the ceiling had been spared, and that wasn’t saying much. It was lavishly painted with frescoes of Elfheim: snow-capped mountains, primeval forests, and golden-haired elves in varying degrees of undress. Perhaps three words were needed to describe my father’s approach to interior design: gold and nudity.
Instead of ruling to protect the best interests of his people, Gorm served only to enrich himself. In the ancient days, traitorous kings had been killed by being thrown from a tower. I thought that would be a fitting end for him.
“You’re late.” My father’s voice tolled like a church bell as I stepped inside.
He wore his usual shining robes and crown. At his hip hung the only non-gold metallic object in the room. Levateinn, a shimmering silver wand that had once belonged to the god Loki. That wand had saved me, but it had also forced me into my current situation.
Flanked by Revna and Sune, the king stood with his back to a row of massive windows. The remains of Boston’s frozen skyline spread out behind them, a constant reminder of what had been lost.
I remembered how Boston had looked before Ragnarok. Sunlight had sparked off the water of the Charles River, Newbury Street had bustled with shoppers, and crowds of Red Sox fans had swarmed Fenway Park most every weekend. Granted, the Red Sox fans had been irritating, but I’d have been willing to tolerate them again if it meant smelling fresh grass and hearing birds sing again.
Now, the river had long since frozen solid, and the only balls thrown in Fenway were made of snow. Even Boston’s iconic skyscrapers had crumbled under the weight of Ragnarok’s frosty embrace. Only the Prudential Center remained standing, an ice-encrusted reminder of a warmer time.
“The spell?” the king prompted.
“I have it. It will keep the Night Elves from breaking free of their dark caverns.” I strode towards my father, ready to press the parchment into his hands, but he stepped back.
Even with the helm on, I scared him.
It was instinct, and he was right to fear me. I was, after all, the most powerful sorcerer alive, and he had tried to kill me, then thrown me in a prison for a thousand years without a soul.
“Sune will take that,” he said curtly. “I’ve been thinking we need a new approach to the problem of the Night Elves.”
Revna’s eyes flashed with excitement, and Sune grinned. Icy fear began to crawl up my spine. That was a strange sensation; one I’d never felt until I’d met Ali. I’d never worried about my own life, but I feared for hers.
“What new approach?” I snarled.
Revna cut in, positively bursting with glee. “We’re going to call for a Winnowing!”
Fear now stiffened my back. A Winnowing was a form of combat that would take thousands of lives—Night Elf