Page 31 of Revenge of the Elf Lord

She inhaled, letting the truth of Ashia's words calm her. “All right, Cyran. Banayl can stay with Castien. I will go with you, but first, tell me what the twins said. Any knowledge right now could give us the answers we need, and two brains working together are always better than one.”

He chuckled. “True. Lamruil directed me to a castle in Austria called Schloss Hartheim. He believes we will discover, in part, some of the answers we need.”

Shalendra frowned. “Have you ever been there?”

He shook his head. “Should I have? I have spent time on Midgard but stayed in the larger European cities like Paris, London, and Edinburgh. I spent a couple of days in Vienna, but that was the farthest east I went.”

“Vienna is magnificent, but I prefer Salzburg. Schloss Hartheim is northeast of Salzburg.” She inhaled, letting out the breath as she recalled the horrific details she had been told by her father when they visited the area long ago.

“The terror there began in 1939, two years before the Nazis implemented the Final Solution. Based on their belief in Eugenics, or the ability of German scientists to improve or change the genetic qualities of the German ethnicity since all other ethnicities or cultures were inferior. Instead, they sterilized and murdered their patients, and the psychiatrists began channeling the disabled they deemed unworthy of life to six main hospitals throughout Germany for extermination.”

She swallowed and rubbed her breastbone, trying to ease the pain the story caused. As long as she lived, she would never understand the depravity and atrocities the Nazis and so many others executed throughout World War II.

“Soon after the war began,” she continued, “Hitler canceled the progrom, but the psychiatrists continued killing their patients by the thousands. If memory serves, they butchered more than two hundred thousand disabled people who were as innocent as children and had no way to defend themselves.”

Cyran closed his tear-filled eyes for a moment, then exhaled. Reaching over, he used the back of his hand to wipe away her tears before pulling her to him, which was her undoing. She sobbed against his muscled chest, letting out her bottled emotions from the past and present.

She cried for the loss of not having her mother growing up and the lies they told her about her father’s identity. She cried for her youth and inadequacies, especially since she could not rescue her best friend, Soliana. She cried for Castien’s plight, his agony pounding at her from a few feet away.

Finally spent and exhausted, she tried to sniff, but her nostrils were so swollen from the long cry, she could not breathe through her nose at all. Disgusted with herself and her lack of control, she tried to push away but found herself locked tight against him.

“Umm, Cyran, I can’t breathe.” A low rumble sounded in her ear, and she realized he was laughing at her. With the side of her fist, she pounded his firm chest but only succeeded in hurting her hand. “Let me go.”

“Shhh,nín gilgalad. Your sorrow still beats at me like a drum. Please let me do what I do best…heal. You must be strong if we go into such a foul place, especially if my stepfather is in residence. Haman can sense basic emotions, and your sadness would give you away in seconds, even to him. Will you let me do this small thing?”

In Cyran’s arms, Shalendra stilled.His starlight—the softly spoken endearment soared through her, soothing her as nothing else could, and it scared her. No one should have that kind of power over another, even if its purpose is only to help.

Her feelings were her own, but something kept her from condemning him. Instead, she found herself giving in. “Thank you. I hate crying and its aftermath. Unlike my friend Soliana, who always looks beautiful, my face swells up something terrible. I don’t think I have ever seen her with a hair out of place.”

He chuckled and pushed her back enough for him to run the pads of each thumb over her forehead and cheeks. “Close your eyes,” he whispered.

A warmth spread over her face as his thumbs moved over the tender skin. He traced the bridge of her nose, and the swelling in her nostrils eased, letting her breathe in the room’s musty scent.

Reaching up, she wrapped her hands around his wrists and moved them away from her, not trusting her reaction to him or the rapid beat of her heart each time he touched her. Too many emotions swamped her confused mind, making her body uncomfortable and so very sensitive at the same time.

She had always been her own person and trusted her ability to make good decisions, but this was something new and beyond her understanding. She was not sure she liked how Cyran affected her.

With a quick upward glance, she caught the warmth swirling in his light green eyes and did not want to think about what this new color implied. Before she did something stupid—that she could not take back—she pushed his arms to his chest and stepped away. “Thank you. I will heed your words, Cyran. I will not fail you while we search for your stepfather.”

“I prefer calling him Haman. He is no blood relation and has never been a father to me, only a teacher, instructing me in the darker healing arts. My mother gave me more love than two parents. Her genes and teachings gave me my healing ability.

She smiled and took another step away from him, the heat from his body pounding against hers, making her want to fidget…or, worse, run back into his welcoming embrace.

“It seems we both have parental issues from our childhood. Now, go ask Banayl if he is willing to play nursemaid to Castien. The sooner we arrive at the death castle, the sooner we can return.”

11

Schloss Hartheim, Austria

With Banayl uncomfortably watching over Castien, Cyran and Shalendra apparated to their destination and stood at the end of the long, graveled drive. His gaze moved over the horizon behind the white-bricked castle, the landscape bleak and barren without much greenery.

Distant trees traveling along what he assumed was the property’s edge softened the view somewhat, but not much. He preferred the evergreens and lush plants back in Alfheimr.

He glanced at the building constructed in the beautiful Renaissance style. The main structure had four stories, but there were only a few aspects he liked. The flowing lines of the tall bronze spire reminded him of an Italian bell tower and the building’s low corner towers and square structural body, a castle. Several one- and two-storied buildings were not far from the main building, creating a large open area for animals and a garden.

“Not very idyllic, is it?” Shalendra studied the castle, her head tilted away from him. A soft breeze picked up a few strands of her black hair. The only imperfection on her nearly perfect profile, not that he considered it one, was the slight bump on the bridge of her nose, giving her a distinctly patrician look.

“The inside is a bit more ornate with arched doorways and a central courtyard open to the sky,” she explained. “The main staircase was removed and replaced with a bed lift during the renovations. My father said other changes had been made but wouldn’t elaborate on what they were. In Émilien speak, that means they were bad.”

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