While he had loved and admired his stepfather as a child, that changed when he began training under him. He saw the changes in Haman firsthand and despised what he had become. Cyran couldn’t let the common elves suffer for his stepfather’s poor choices any more than he could turn down the twins’ offer. Healing was in his blood and as natural to him as breathing.
“I can’t lie. It has not been easy to decide. For a time, the anger I held against Haman clouded my judgment. Perhaps I've forgotten who I am meant to be, but, truthfully, I cannot accept the position yet.”
He held up his hand, effectively stopping the arguments he knew the twins were about to throw at him. “I saidyet. I am not declining your offer, but I must take care of something before settling down as the royal healer.” He forced the mask of humor back onto his face and gave his friend a crooked grin, wiggling his eyebrows. It was easier to be the lighthearted playboy everyone knew, but something inside of him died each time he played the part.
Lamruil turned to face him, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression serious. “Take your time, but there is one more thing I need you to do—more important than whatever you’re doing, I’m afraid. I need your investigative skills. Other than Ailuin, I don’t trust anyone else with this. Émilien recently had trouble in the Shadow Lands.”
Cyran frowned. “First, may I ask why you summoned me? All you had to do was reach out to me through our link like usual.”
Lamruil’s bright blue gaze speared his. “We did, but you didn’t answer. We’ve been trying to reach you for days.”
Cyran shrugged. “That makes no sense. I’ve been giving medical aid near the border between Alfheimr and Svartálfheimr. The doctors there are in short supply, so I agreed to help a few villages. You should have been able to reach me just fine.” He gave them a wry grin. “You know how I am, though, when I’m healing. I guess it is possible I tuned you out.”
Ailuin grimaced. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself when you say that. It’s insulting.”
Cyran chuckled. “Now, back to the investigation I’m supposed to do for you—Émilien’s a badass. Who would dare go up against him?”
The older twin raised one blond brow. “I asked myself that same question. Whoever it was, though, was powerful. Not just anyone can close the borders of one of Hel’s regions. As the ruler of Helheimr and the daughter of Loki, Hel is another god who shouldn’t be messed with, yet we also believe this same entity managed to infiltrate the Norse death realm. They accomplished the same feat with the Egyptian, Celtic, and Greek death realms. We need to discover who is behind this and why. What are they after? There are beings in these realms that, once released, could end all worlds, so this is of utmost importance.”
“Lamruil, don’t forget about Shalendra,” Ailuin added. “Émilien and Hel’s only daughter was attempting to help Freyja search for Émilien’s brother and his wife, who disappeared several centuries ago—at the onset of Midgard’s Second World War. Freyja’s last contact with Shalendra was just before she and her best friend, Soliana, left a small village on the outskirts of the Dwarven lands of Svartálfheimr. She hasn’t been heard from since. Hel and Émilien are frantic. They have tried to penetrate Svartálfheimr’s boundaries but have been unable even to put a toe on the other side.”
Cyran frowned. “All worlds have some kind of patrol or use protection spells on their borders, but to not be able to cross at all?” He stared down at the village, shaking his head. “Highly unusual, that. So, how can I help if no one can transverse the border?”
Ailuin smiled. “Healers are like the Red Cross on Midgard. They are untouchable and allowed on all lands, regardless of borders. We believe you are the only one who can get into Svartálfheimr and search for the two girls.”
“Technically, I’m not the royal healer. Last I knew, no one had been reappointed since Haman.”
“True,” Lamruil agreed. “But I have the authority to make you the interim healer—until you decide to accept our offer, which you will, so it’s a moot point.”
Cyran smirked. “Kind of presumptuous, aren’t you?”
Lamruil stared at him a moment. “No. I have never doubted you would become our healer. For now, though, I’m granting you the interim title of royal healer. That will give you the ability to cross into dwarf lands.”
Cyran gave them a quick salute and then bid the brothers farewell. He left the palace courtyard and headed toward his home, high in the mountains. The expansive house had been in his mother’s family for as long as the elves existed and was his only sanctuary. Thankfully, his stepfather loathed the place, preferring to live in the depths of the previous king’s palace to create his potions and treat patients.
Cyran needed the outdoors. Learning magic underground in Haman’s lab had been difficult. Cyran preferred to be in the high places, thick with trees and animals, studying living plants and observing the world in real time, not from pictures and words in ancient texts.
Stopping at the base of the long stone stairway winding up the mountain, his gaze followed the wall as it led upward. Sunlight filtered through the treetops and glistened along the rocky face, creating an illusion of golden sheets of ore instead of rock walls.
The stress he had harbored the past few months eased with each step up the mountain. Halfway up the trail, he heard the welcoming call of an eagle from overhead. Looking up, the bird glided through the blue expanse, its long, white-feathered wings outstretched as he headed to his pyre on the other side of the steep valley below.
He remembered the day he rescued the injured bird of prey on Midgard. He and Ailuin had been joking around, and Cyran carelessly threw a rock into the sky, unaware that the eaglet was about to drop from its nest on its first flight.
Unable to bear the thought of the beautiful bird dying from his careless action, Cyran healed the wing. Throughout the war, the young eagle appeared before an attack. His cry echoed through the glens as he soared up into the heavens. Then, a few minutes later, the German planes arrived.
The unique bird saved thousands of lives, and by the war’s end, he didn't want to leave him on Midgard and named him Hermaðr, meaning warrior. Cyran gave Hermaðr the option of returning to Asgard with him, thankful when the eagle agreed.
Cyran whistled, the sound piercing the air. In the distance, Hermaðr answered. A minute later, he reappeared with a tiny eaglet by his side. Cyran smiled at the wondrous sight of his feathered friend flying through the sky with his son.
He blew out a couple of short whistles and then continued walking along the pebble-covered path where sparse patches of heather grew between the narrow cracks of the limestone ledge of the mountain. Stopping to smell the thick honeysuckle vines, he filled his lungs with the heavy scent before climbing the last few stairs.
Crossing the small yard, he strode into his home but stopped in the open living space. A familiar sensation crept over him, the tiny hairs on the nape of his neck and his arms rising. He frowned, getting the sense something wasn’t right. He turned, his gaze taking in everything in the room.
His mother’s collection of healing rocks, their colors dancing in the sunlight, filled what once had been her reading nook. Her library of books stood untouched in the three hundred years since her death. He could still smell her lavender perfume on the pages and didn’t want to ruin that last remaining link to his mother.
Inhaling, he smelled a malodor, almost like something was rotting. Hunting for the culprit, he searched the entire house but found nothing. He didn’t even have food in the kitchen, so where was the stench coming from?
He shook his head and headed upstairs, walking to the end of the long hall. Pushing a series of knots in the ceiling trim, the wall slid open, revealing a set of metal stairs spiraling upward to the far tower, his domain since childhood. The space had been a gift from his mother when he decided to become a healer. He treasured their time together, mixing potions and drying herbs in the upstairs room.