Ruined King (Night Elves Trilogy #2) - C.N. Crawford Page 0,81
to follow its course. But as I looked into Ali’s eyes, I knew I had to fight it.
I was supposed to be King of the High Elves. I was supposed to be the one to usher in a new era, a golden age where the High Elves ruled with justice and morality.
Instead, I’d been shot in the neck by my own sister, and I found myself drifting in the astral plane. Death in battle meant Valhalla. I wondered what that might be like now, after Ragnarok.
But maybe it wasn’t Valhalla I needed.
What if I could live? Hela had said I would rule as king.
I had one last deal to strike, and as I let myself drift through the astral plane, I summoned the shade.
Ganglati’s voice rose in my mind. Hela wants you by her side. She believes you will reign as king of Helheim.
“Tell her I will accept her deal.” For now. “But I stay alive. I keep my body, my beating heart. I keep my memories and my soul.”
But Ali was my true fate. And even if I could feel that she’d managed to sever our entwined threads—even if we were no longer mates—Ali was the beginning and the end for me. Soul bond or not, I loved her. Not Hela.
What was the price, I wondered, for betraying a goddess?
I snapped back into my body. Warm blood filled my mouth, and my thoughts drifted back to another time, when the gods had been alive and the verdant lands had spread out around us. I felt myself flickering between life and death.
For one moment, swords clashed around me, mountains rose into the mist, and thunder rolled over the horizon. The great mead hall of Valhalla rose above me, the place I’d always yearned to see, with a ceiling made of shields and the scent of roasted boar floating through the air. The final resting place of the Sword of the Gods; a realm that called to my soul. And I could stay there, forever, in the magnificent battle of the dead.
But that wasn’t what I truly wanted. Not yet. I wanted Ali.
And that meant striking a deal. So, I was on my way to Helheim once more—the afterlife for those who died ingloriously. I would sit on an obsidian throne, with a black crown on my head, surrounded by gloom and shades. But I would keep my beating heart. And I would find my way to Ali again.
My soul drifted on psychic winds in a stygian darkness. It snapped back into my body, now fully healed. Frowning, I touched my throat where the arrow had ripped it open. Not even a scar to mar my skin.
A floor of gray stone spread out beneath me, and violet candlelight cast dancing shadows back and forth over the room.
My eyes flicked up, and there, I saw her reclining on her throne—Hela. Resplendent in all her glory, she shone with divine light. When she saw me, she tilted her head back and smiled. Her smile was stunning and terrifying at the same time, and I felt her dark power slide down to my very bones. Her magic rumbled over the room like thunder, eyes gleaming black as onyx. My breath left my lungs.
A living goddess before me.
I fell to my knees. “I hail the goddess of the harrowing, Lady of Death, daughter of Loki. Wielder of famine and disease, mistress of death in beds of straw. Thank you for accepting me as a living liege in your court of death.”
“Rise, Sword of the Gods.” Her deep voice echoed off the walls. “You have brought me back to life. For this, you will rule with me as king.”
I stood, momentarily awed by her as I looked into her impenetrably black eyes.
Already, though, I was thinking of how I could get back to Ali.
Perhaps this was what Wyrd had written for me, and this was the kingdom where I was meant to rule. But I would fight this fate with all my strength.
I was going to forge a new fate. And once that was done, I was going to do whatever it took to win back my mate.
Chapter 48
Ali
Barthol was silent as he walked beside me, running his fingers through the waist-high grass. “Is this really real, Ali?”
“Yes, it is.”
Barthol shook his head in disbelief, and I understood the sentiment. A few hours ago, he’d been living underground—then he’d stepped through a portal into another world.
After serving him some venison stew, I’d led him along the river path, into the vast plains. Intermittently, a breeze would build into a little gust, and the grass would blow and sway like waves on a golden sea. As we walked, grasshoppers leapt for us, and pale-blue butterflies flitted in the air. Overhead, birds soared in a powder-blue sky. Beautiful, and perfect, and hard to enjoy at all without Galin here by my side.
Barthol stopped, turning to look at me. “I just can’t quite believe you’re actually an Empress.”
My throat was tight. “Turns out I was always destined to become the North Star, just not in the way Mom expected.”
“So, does this make me a lord?” He cracked a grin.
I think he’d expected me to say No, of course not, but I wasn’t in the mood for moderation, so instead I said, “Sure. If you’d like, I can dub you Barthol, Lord of the Drunken Goats.”
He laughed. “Would that come with a lifetime supply of mead?”
“Of course, dear brother. And all the goat milk you can drink, too.”
Barthol shook his head. He’d started to turn back to the vista of grass when his eyes fell on Levateinn at my hip. “And that’s the wand?"
“Yes.”
He whistled low. “Can you make it do magic?”
I knew Galin could, and that he should be here. “Not yet. But I’m going to learn. I have a very important task. I have to find the prince.”
“Let me have a go …” Barthol reached for the wand.
I slapped his hand away. “Too dangerous.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You really don’t trust me. Then you should try it.”
I heaved a sigh. Carefully, I unclipped the wand from my belt. Based on its shimmering silver color, I’d expected it to be heavy and awkward, but it was surprisingly light and well balanced.
“Stand back,” I said to Barthol.
Then, I waved the wand around in front of me with a few delicate strokes, as if I was conducting an orchestra.
Nothing happened. I shrugged. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I need Galin. Except, I can’t get to him unless I learn how to use it.”
Barthol gave me a pitying look, and I knew what he was thinking.
“He’s still alive,” I snapped.
He held up his hands. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking it.” I bit my lip. “Wait, I might have an idea.”
I waved the wand again. I’d seen Galin inscribe the fire spell lots of times, and I was pretty sure I remembered how he’d done it. I said kaun under my breath as I traced the shape of the rune with the end of the wand.
For a moment, nothing happened, until I felt a sort of heaviness in the wand and a building of pressure along my arm. Then, for the briefest of seconds, a tiny flame appeared in the air, three feet in front of me. I grinned, hope stirring again.
“Amazing,” said Barthol awestruck.
I stared at the wand. I had done magic. I could do magic.
And that mattered more than anything right now.
Because even if I’d severed our soul bond, I still felt like Galin was connected to me. And if he were dead, I’d simply know it. I’d feel it down to my bones, and blood, and every nerve in my body. But he was a part of me, and he was alive. Somewhere.
And I was going to do everything in my power to find him.
Thank you for reading Ruined King.
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Acknowledgments
Thanks especially to Christine all her edits and assistance. Bella and Jen both 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!