Page 36 of Revenge of the Elf Lord

He pulled her hands away from her face and held her wrists. A cleansing sensation flowed up her arms, easing some of her anxiety. “You have no need for secrets, nín gilgalad. You have been surrounded by people who love you for who you are. Use that as your strength. And I would be honored to teach you how to master your magic, but as for being a better elf, you happen to be one of the best elves I have ever met.”

Her face warmed more from his praise. “Thank you. Although, as to the part about using my strength, that’s easier said than done, but I will try.” His grip around her wrists eased, and she pulled back her arms, liking how the heat from his hands seemed to stay, wrapping her in safety. “So, which door do we go in first?”

He glanced at the nearest door, but he shook his head. “The room is empty. It hasn’t been finished yet, and the workers’ tools are still inside.”

He crossed to the opposite side of the hall and raised his hand, letting it hover just over the metal surface. “This one has been used and shows promise, but our stay here is brief. I want to scan the other two rooms before choosing which one to enter. It has been my experience to obtain as much knowledge as possible—fewer mistakes later.”

“Smart. Unlike my father, who barges in without thinking and mops up afterward.”

His low chuckle filled the hall. “That describes Émilien to a T. If he had studied the situation regarding his servant in the Shadow Lands, he would have saved himself a bit of pain and embarrassment. As it turned out, he got himself locked in.”

Once again, he hovered his hand over the next door but dropped his arm back to his side after a couple of seconds and moved toward the last door in the hallway. “Did he ever figure out who was behind locking the portal?”

“Not that I know of, but he tries to keep me closeted away and, according to him, safe. From a conversation with Freyja, she believes it has something to do with the demon and my family, although no one can figure out why. Why would a demon align himself with my aunt and uncle? Everyone likes them and has stood by them as good people whose only flaw is putting themselves in danger by helping others. Well, maybe not theironlyflaw, but I didn’t know them well. That’s what they did during the war on Midgard—helping the Allies.”

He scanned the last door and, like the previous ones, dropped his hand back to his side and turned to face her. “It depends on the demon. Their hierarchy is much like any pantheon’s. The more powerful the demon, the higher they are on the chain of command. They also have varying levels of emotions, including love, hate, greed, and goodness, although those with the gentler emotions tend to fare the worst in the Dark Realm—or Dark World as they call it.”

She frowned, an unsettling sensation crawling over her skin. “How do you know so much about demons?” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms to dispel the disturbing feeling.

“It was one of my more interesting lessons as a healer. To recognize all methods of disease, viral and bacterial, I had to learn about every world, including the subworlds such as the demon realm. Lesson number one, plague can come from anywhere, and a healer must be able to recognize all manner of pestilence to counteract it—especially with magic. Spells are linked to whatever the base cause is. Without that knowledge, magic will not work.”

She gave him a crooked smile. “That explains why my father made me study everything in our home library before I could summon anything. If I wanted to read a book, I had to comprehend its basic information. Otherwise, I might have summoned something, like the author or a fictional character. And, I will say, not all the characters I read about in our home library would have been appropriate for summoning. It’s much safer to experience evil when it's only words locked into the pages of a book.”

He smiled, and her heart raced. The man in front of her was breathtaking—when he wasn’t scowling. “I found the room,” he announced, “but I do not want you to go in with me. The emotions inside are dark and…bleak, for lack of a better word. I don’t want you to experience Haman’s depravity, if that is what I am about to witness.”

Something deep inside her pushed her forward, and she stepped closer to him. “Do not try to instruct me one minute and then shield me the next. If I am to be part of this team and learn to use my magic, then I must follow whatever fate has in store for me.”

She held his piercing gaze, letting him see her stubbornness as she stuck out her chin. She was not going to let him wrap her in a protective cocoon. She had had enough of that from her parents. She was long past her formative years and was bound and determined that everyone would realize she was an adult elf and not an elfling.

“I am not trying to treat you like a child, Shalendra. This is a matter of sensibility. You are a female and have been sheltered your entire life. I’m guessing, but I believe you are empathic as well. Witnessing something Haman created or the results thereof… Let’s say I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. No one should witness depravity on that level.”

“Then let me judge what I can and cannot handle.” She insisted and ignored the twisting sensation in her stomach, which usually meant she was about to experience something horrendous. Instead of listening to her instinct, she gave him a simple nod, signaling her readiness.

He opened the door and stepped inside. Before she lost her nerve, she followed and immediately wanted to turn back.

The large room was filled with human corpses. Everywhere she looked, huge piles formed massive pyramids, the top bodies pressing against the ceiling while hundreds were piled in all directions upon each other, creating the bases. There was no decency in how they had been tossed onto one another, naked and broken.

A sob broke free, and the horrendous odor of death filled her lungs. Retching, she turned to Cyran and buried her face against his chest as she struggled to calm her stomach. She breathed him in, his fresh scent a foresty balm to her senses.

Rubbing her back, he kissed the top of her head.

“Cleanse the air, remove the stench.

Rinse away and leave refreshed.”

His warm breath caressing her hair soothed her shattered nerves. “I am sorry, nín gilgalad. You are too innocent for this.”

She lifted her head, still struggling with the overpowering sense of death. His spell worked, and the basement's horrific odor and musty scent were replaced with lavender and pine, reminding her of the garden she lovingly tended back home.

Her gaze met his. “I may be innocent, but my mother is the queen of the Norse Underworld. I should be able to handle this.” She had never been so wrong before in her long life. She would never be ready for death, much less at this level. She was not sure even her mother could handle this magnitude.

Cyran’s hand moved on its own, cupping the elegant contour of her cheek, his thumb caressing her soft skin. Even with death surrounding them, he could not help but notice her purity. Her beauty. It was like a soothing balm in a sea of chaos, calming him like nothing else.

“Yes, my starlight, you are Hel’s daughter but you are not Hel. You were not raised for such things.” He glanced around the room. People of all ages and ethnicities had been collected, but for what? What was Haman’s motive?

“You are probably thinking the same thing I am,” she mumbled against his chest as he continued to smooth her long, silky strands. “Why? Why would someone do this to so many people? They were all so sick, mentally and physically. They couldn’t fight back, Cyran.”

“I think we are seeing the start of the Holocaust right here at Schloss Hartheim. I believe it was Haman who influenced the Nazis’ behaviors. It was his depravity and sickness fueling theirs. Now you see why I had to lock him up. I had to end his murderous campaign. I couldn’t let him continue killing for the sake of killing.”

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