Page 19 of Revenge of the Elf Lord

“Well, the king is dead, and the being impersonating him is a demon.” She waited for the outburst and was disappointed when all she got were raised brows from both gods. “I figured you would be more surprised.”

Arawn shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint. Daily occurrence in our lives. Do you, by chance, know which demon we’ll be dealing with?”

Off to the right of where Osiris stood, she caught Castien’s quick frown. He didn’t want her to mention Ashia. “Nope. Just that he’s a demon.”

“Not helpful,” Arawn grumbled.

“Hey, the lady was imprisoned without a way to get information, so maybe you should cut her some slack. Besides, isn’t it your job to figure out what demon is causing issues? She isn’t even supposed to be here,” Cyran said in a tight voice.

His gaze darted to Castien before moving back to the Celtic god. “The dwarf was there longer and might know more. Maybe you should ask him?”

Everyone looked to Castien, who tried to stare back but failed and dropped his green gaze to his new black boots. “All I can tell you is that our king began acting odd several weeks before my imprisonment—close to a year ago. His father went through bouts of mind sickness, so we all assumed he had the same affliction. Little did we realize…”

He shrugged. “I can't tell you anything else. I’ve been held in a lower-tiered cell and never interacted with other prisoners. I managed to talk to a couple of the guards, but they were idiots, so I never paid much attention to what they said. Dwarf guards are notorious liars.”

Osiris’s black gaze narrowed. “You speak mostly the truth. What are you leaving out?”

Castien’s eyes widened. “So the legends are true? You can tell when someone is lying?”

A droll expression crossed Osiris’s face. “Well, thatismy job. Hearts only speak the truth, whether good or bad.”

“So amazing.” The dwarf’s head jerked as if redirecting his attention. “What I didn’t say was that an illness had been unleashed?—”

“Wait,” Cyran interrupted. “Several villages along the border of Alfheimr contain a few people who are sick. Is this the same malady?” Cyran stepped closer to their small circle. “I am a healer and was asked by the leader of one of the villages to help find a cure.”

Castien nodded, his expression thoughtful. “More than likely. The guard who mentioned it said the orders were for whoever created the illness to spread it along both sides of the border, making it easier to breach. Another guard told me soldiers were being summoned from all over Svartálfheimr. They were to report there for training before marching on the Elven realm.”

He shrugged. “I don’t understand why, though. We were enslaved a long time ago. Surely it still isn’t happening? I can’t believe hatred is still so prevalent against the Elves.”

Cyran’s lips thinned. The sudden flair of his nostrils reminded her of something her father had said to her long ago. “Émilien—my father—told me when I was young that elves have memories like female elephants. The amazing animals travel from water hole to water hole, the matriarch leading her family to the most remote places. He said he once studied a herd as they arrived, only to find a dried-up riverbed. The herd’s leader wasn't thwarted and started to dig. She dug until the water bubbled out of the sandy, windswept ground. The matriarch was able to keep her family alive because that knowledge has been passed from mother to daughter since the dawn of time.”

“Are elephants the large gray animals with large ears and long snake-like noses?” Castien's eyes glistened with excitement.

“Yes. My father took me to Africa when I was younger. They are magnificent creatures. The point of my story is that if a culture passes down only the bad history, that's what is remembered, and the reality is lost to time.”

Shalendra smiled as her friend’s eyes widened in revelation. “When we’ve figured out where my aunt and uncle are and rescued them, I will take you to Africa and introduce you to my favorite herd. The matriarch is a wonderful soul, and she has the cutest great-grandbaby.”

Her smile slowly disappeared. “What I was leading into with that story is that no creature forgets. Dwarves and elves are the same race, yet because of one fateful decision made by an ancient king, the dwarves were forced into slavery. I do not blame them for wanting vengeance. Your people have suffered horribly. Few remain from those days, but some are living, and the memory of what happened is still very much alive.”

The two death gods smiled at her. “Wise beyond your years, young elf goddess,” Arawn whispered. “Your mother would be so proud if she heard you now.”

Shalendra’s face warmed as a soft blush stole across her cheeks, but she grinned as if nothing had changed. She hated it when she blushed like a naive youth. Soliana always told her to play the situation as if she owned it, and no one would notice her discomfort. She hoped her best friend’s advice was solid. “Thank you. Although I don’t know my mother well, I hope you're right. I grew up with my father.”

Osiris smiled. “Many a time, we have listened to her bragging over something you had done or wailing about how unfair life was because you had to live on Midgard with your father.”

“Not to change the subject, but I'm changing the subject." Cyran glanced at the gods, then turned his blue-gray gaze on her, holding her hostage.

She could have sworn his eyes were more teal… His glance slid back to Castien. "To verify, you believe the dwarves are attacking Alfheimr by making people sick? Why do that? Why make the dwarves sick if the sole reason is to attack Alfheimr? It doesn’t make any sense. Outright war makes more sense than this does.”

“It does if whoever is behind this doesn’t care what the outcome is as long as they come out on top and there’s no one left to fight. It would be a total annihilation of all elves or, at the least, be ruled by this being for those who survived.” When everyone turned to face Castien, he shrugged. “It makes the most sense.”

7

Shalendra scowled, disgusted with the entire situation. She just wanted to go home, but her promise to Freyja and her father was getting in the way. How could such a simple thing as searching and finding her aunt and uncle turn into a sinister adventure? She didn’t sign up for realm-crossing diseases or an irritable elf who refused to listen.

He has good reason for his anger, but that is his story to tell.Ashia’s voice whispered through her mind.

Aren’t you taking a risk of being overheard by Arawn and Osiris? They are gods who speak with spirits, which is what you kind of are in your stone form.

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