Page 5 of Revenge of the Elf Lord

She remembered only bits and pieces of that time, but what she did remember wasn’t pleasant. Sickness had plagued her. No matter what her mother tried, nothing worked. She stayed in bed most days, curled up as high fevers stole what little strength remained. Breathing hurt, and movement had been unbearable. Émilien had once told her they believed the death realm’s magic had somehow affected her, but even her mother’s incredible magic had not helped.

One of her last memories was hearing voices, a man and woman, arguing. Angry words were thrown back and forth. She heard her mother yell at her father one final time—telling him to go and take Shalendra with him. The voices faded and time passed. The familiar scent of her father’s leather jacket comforted her as he held her.

She pictured her hand reaching for the tarnished brass doorknob and letting the front door swing open. A brilliant blue glow filled the library. Making her way across the entryway, she stepped inside the room.

Standing just in front of her favorite reading chair was the most ethereal woman she had ever seen. Long, raven-black hair framed her slender face and was the perfect complement to her elegant topaz-blue gown, which matched her eyes. She reminded her of the medieval-style dresses the goddesses Freyja and Idunn wore. What surprised her, though, were the gossamer wings flittering behind the woman.

Smiling, Shalendra stepped forward. “You must be Ashia. You are gorgeous—and wings! You have wings. Didn’t expect that.”

Ashia smiled and tilted her head to one side as if she were of royal blood. “Thank you. Since my other form is a rock, I’m guessing you expected someone more troll-like in breeches?”

Shalendra’s lips twitched as she tried to hide her laughter but failed as a tiny giggle escaped. “Well, if you must know, yes. You would make a perfect Elven queen. Maybe I should introduce you to Lamruil Vakas. He’s the gorgeous co-regent of the Elven Kingdom and in need of a wife.”

“Although I do appreciate male beauty, I’m afraid this form is the only way you and all races but my own will ever see me. And speaking of the male form, Castien is a fine specimen, isn’t he?”

Shalendra grinned. “Yes, he is handsome.” She moved to her father's chair near the fireplace and sat. “So, to include you in our conversations, I’m supposed to imagine you? How do we include Castien?”

“You and I can converse here, as we are now, but for all three of us to hear one another and respond, all you need to do is think of me, picture me in this form, and I will do the rest.”

Shalendra frowned. “Which is?”

“The three of us will link together through my magic.”

She thought a moment, then nodded. “All right. It doesn’t sound painful, so I’ll go along.” She glanced around the spacious room, wishing she was there and not stuck in a filthy dwarf prison. “How do we return to my cell?”

“You never left, my dear. This is but your imagination—a mere dream, if you will. Close your eyes, still picturing me, and then open them.”

Shalendra closed her eyes, still seeing the beautiful woman, then, before losing her nerve, forced her eyes to open. A wave of depression moved through her, her shoulders curving in a more pronounced slump. She was back in her cell, but the dark space was bathed in the bloodstone’s ethereal blue light this time. “An improvement, but I still wish I was back home curled up in my comfortable chair and reading my favorite book.”

“I know what you mean,” Castien agreed. “The first time I saw Ashia, I was in a worse position than this.”

Shalendra’s brows rose. “There’s something worse than prison?”

“Believe me, you don’t want to know. Now, what do you both want to discuss?”

“Leaving,” Shalendra said.

“Breaking out,” Ashia said.

Shalendra chuckled. “I like her topic better. It’s more forceful and makes a definite statement. I don’t like the demon interloper.”

“The who?” Castien asked.

“The king. When I was summoned to his throne room, Ashia said he wasn’t the real dwarf king but an imposter. A demon, actually.”

“Well, that’s not good,” Castien muttered. “No wonder everything in this realm has gone haywire. Before I was arrested, normal dwarves who ran their businesses as they had done for centuries were being forced into more manual labor by order of the king. One day, the village had a baker, weapons maker, and low-level healer. The next, the businesses were boarded up, if not gone altogether. It was as if someone had come during the night and erased the buildings from existence. I later heard that the owners had been taken to the mines to search for certain stones of power that hadn’t been seen in over a thousand years.”

Shalendra pursed her lips in thought. “One of those stones wouldn’t be a bloodstone, would it?”

Castien sighed. “It would. I tried to tell our local magistrate, but he wouldn’t listen and, instead, arrested me. He’s been out to get me since his son had a crush on me.”

“Well, that’s just stupid. His son is gay and he blames you? Why?”

“He said I influenced him, even accused me of putting a spell on him. While a spell isn’t out of the realm of possibilities, it’s devilishly hard to sway a person’s heart away from its true love type and even more so if it’s the opposite sex.”

She extended her legs from their crisscrossed position, groaning as her cramped muscles relaxed. Twisting her torso from side to side, she popped her back and stood, using the wall as a brace to hold herself up after sitting too long in one position. “We need to devise a plan to get out of here. Now that we know the truth about the king, we should try to get a message to the co-regents, Lamruil and his twin brother, Ailuin. They will know what to do.”

“And how do you propose to break out of a prison meant to hold people until death? We are magically sealed inside, the wards gifted to the dwarf king by a sorcerer who practices the ancient black arts.”

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