Page 144 of The Shadow Fae Rhapsody
I become even more bewildered when he bends down to help me remove the weapons from my body. The act punches a hole in my gut because it reminds me so much of my wife, always keen to help a stranger in need.
“Leave it,” I say, leaning back on the cell. “It’s not like I can die a second death.”
He doesn’t listen as he pulls a wooden shaft from my shin. His eyes widen at the way my wound rapidly heals after the removal of the arrow.
“A vampire, huh?” he mutters, wiping blood off his broken nose. “It must have been you then who stormed this fortress days ago?”
I merely nod at his question.
“I get bits and pieces of news from my jailors,” he says casually. The male takes off his vest to protect me from the dwindling light of day. I’m too bemused by his act to tell him that the sun doesn’t affect me. “So how did the elves force you to serve them?”
“I do it willingly,” I admit.
He arches a brow over my answer.
“I married one of them.”
The dwarf barks out a laugh. It’s warm, hearty, and it lights up his eyes. “I guess that makes it all worth it then. But why are you imprisoned here?”
The familiar ache surges in my chest at the question. It must have shown on my face because the dwarf doesn’t wait for my answer.
“A fight with her then, I see,” he surmises on his own. “A little marriage tip, lad. Whatever it is that happened, just tell her you’re sorry.”
Not a terrible advice, but what I did to Nel warrants more than a simple apology.
He continues removing the shrapnels embedded in my body. “You need special tools for some of these,” he mutters grimly.
I’m not one who likes to make small talk, but something about the dwarf intrigues me. I look at the scarring over his calloused hand, one earned from spending hours and days in a forge. “You’re a blacksmith?”
“Yes, the best in Dunrovin,” he replies, beaming with pride. “It’s the reason the orcs let me stay up here. To forge them their weapons. The rest of my people are trapped in their dungeon.”
“They’re over at the west wing,” I inform, relaying to him what I gathered over my last visit to Tavan. “But you can’t go there. The elves would be all over that place by now.”
“I have to try,” he says, his eyes growing serious, haunted. “You don’t know the unspeakable things the elves will do to my kind.”
They will?
A small part of me regrets that I didn’t bother freeing his brethren days ago when I stormed the fortress.
“Things are different now. The elves have a different queen,” I say, certain that Rhianelle will never allow for such injustice.
“The one with the same name as the vile one before her?” He quirks an eyebrow.
I won’t have it if the guy starts mocking my Nel. But he doesn’t. The dwarf merely slumps his shoulders, exhaustion laying heavy upon him. “Maybe things are different. The tight-ass elves of Aelfheim have never mingled well with other kinds before, yet here you are, married to one.”
I hear the clanking sound of boots echoing from a distance. The mercenaries are returning with more forces, adamant to get their gold from this dwarf. I shouldn’t intervene. The strong will always devour the weak. Such is the nature of life.
But Rhianelle’s soft voice filters through my mind.
‘Help me protect the innocent.’
She didn’t just say elves or one of her own.
The innocent.
I glance at the helpful dwarf, still tending to my wounds, completely oblivious to the incoming threat.
“Hrólfr…” I mutter the name carved on the empty scabbard on his belt.
