Page 29 of Revenge of the Elf Lord

Before anyone spoke, he apparated back to the cave. At first glance, he thought it was empty, but turning, he found Shalendra rubbing Castien’s back as he rested on his hands and knees, retching in the corner.

“Shalendra?”

She turned, her pretty features masked in worry as she stood and moved to stand beside him. “I’ve tried every spell I know, but nothing has worked. After you left, he complained of a bad headache followed by his skin flushing.”

She exhaled, the sound loud in the silent space. “I’ve never seen anyone go through so many symptoms so fast. It’s like they were accelerated. The flushing morphed into what you see now. He hasn’t had anything to eat or drink in a year, so where is all the vomit coming from? Cyran, I’m scared. Castien is really, really sick.”

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“You have medical knowledge, Cyran. Help him, please.” Shalendra met Cyran’s teal gaze. She held her breath as he glanced down at Castien, who slithered onto his side, ending in a prone position on the floor beside her.

She scooted closer and rubbed his back with her hand, not liking the warmth of his skin. “He’s burning up with fever.”

Castien rocked back and forth a couple of times, then let out a low moan. Her gaze jerked to his face as a ruby flush darkened his lightly tanned skin. Faint purple spots were barely visible, and after a quick inspection of his arms, chest, and stomach, the rash appeared to cover his body.

He moaned again, and his rocking continued. “I feel horrible,” his raspy voice wheezed. His glassy gaze met hers. “Promise me you will look after Ashia if this doesn’t pass.”

She reached for his hand and laced her fingers through his, rubbing the back with her other hand. “Don’t talk like that. I may have grown up on Midgard, but even I have heard of Cyran’s healing abilities. My father has often mentioned him.” She glanced at Cyran, then returned to Castien's flushed face. “I believe in him and know he will find a cure.”

You are right, young one.Ashia’s voice whispered in her head.I, too, have heard of his abilities. Even we stones talk. The man who raised him, although not the elf who gave him life, taught him much, but his mother held the real power. Blending her life force with his birth father’s is beyond powerful. His blood father also had a true healing gift.

Do you have any idea who Cyran’s birth father is?

I do not, nor would I say if I did. That is his story to tell, young one. He will learn of what’s been hidden before this is all over.

Shalendra leaned close and whispered in Castien’s ear, “Even Ashia believes Cyran will find the cure, so keep fighting. I never give up on those I care for. I’ve always wanted a brother, Castien, so live—for me.”

“That might just be enough to live for—to see Hel’s and your father’s expressions when you tell them they now have a gay son.” Castien coughed. A spot of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth and trickled down his cheek. With a quick swipe of his hand, he smeared the pink-tinged drool across his face. She pushed down his arm, and Cyran loomed over her. In his hand was a tissue.

Castien coughed again, and her smile turned into a cringe. The cough’s depth sounded so painful. She wiped away the drool and then closed her eyes, wishing she knew how to fix him—almost wanting to return to the dungeon where he would have been safe. Safer than he seemed to be out in the world. With tear-filled eyes, she turned her gaze to Cyran. “Please,” she whispered. “Please help him.”

Cyran squatted beside her, his narrowed gaze on her friend. Holding his hand just above Castien’s shivering body, he closed his eyes. His face looked so serene, as if he were doing nothing more than listening to the wind blow through the forest.

She took a moment to study him, really looking at him. Her heart fluttered in her chest, filling the organ with some unknown emotion. His features epitomized her Elven race; he was so handsome—almost beautiful. His long brown lashes formed thick crescents over sculpted cheekbones. His nose was straight, regal in a classical way, but his mouth fascinated her. His lips were sensual, and her fingers ached to touch them…to discover if they were as soft as they looked.

She loved the color of his hair, too. Elves rarely had brown or red hair. Her kind were fair-haired with varying shades of blond or black. Cyran’s hair reminded her of toasted caramel, much darker than most elves' white-blond shade. The soft waves were rich and decadent as they flowed over his shoulder and down his chest.

She found herself leaning closer, his woodsy scent filling her flared nostrils. Closing her eyes, she forced her body to move back, not liking how susceptible she seemed to be to him. He was only there to take her home, nothing more. She needed to keep that foremost in her mind. Her life was on Midgard, and his, she supposed, was on Alfheimr with the co-regents doing who knows what.

“You feel it too?” Cyran asked in a hushed voice. The room's stillness weighed on her, making it hard to breathe.

“Feel what?” she asked, the words escaping before she could stop herself. Something told her she did not want to understand what he meant.

“Whatever this is between you and me, princess. We seem drawn toward one another, and I mean to figure out why. It’s just the thing whoever is pushing us along on this crazy wild goose chase would do.”

“Considering we have no idea who this person is, much less what they are capable of or has planned, that’s a very leading statement. Besides, I haven’t felt anything between us…” she glared at his smirk. “What?”

“Then why are you all but draped over me like a cloak?” he whispered in her ear. Shocked, she realized somehow she had returned to her previous posture. Leaning so near to him, she drew his clean pine scent deep into her lungs, and all she wanted to do was rest her chin on his sculpted shoulder. Righting herself, she scooted on her knees until she was a few feet from him and ignored his soft chuckle.

“Running away won’t work, princess?—”

“Stop calling me that. I amnota princess.”

“I beg to differ. Your mother is the queen of the dead. In my book, that makes you a princess. After all, who will take over her realm when she no longer wishes to.”

She made a derisive sound in her throat. “You don’t know my mother very well then. She lives, eats, and breathes Niflheimr and will never step down. Besides, it would be difficult to rule a place I can’t enter, wouldn’t it?”

“Touché. Now, may I return to my examination?” He scowled at the lethargic dwarf, noticing the large lymph nodes on either side of his neck and the splotchy flush. He pulled down Castien’s shirt collar, untying the laces to study his skin better without actually touching him.

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