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Émilien stared at the canopy-dappled sky overhead. The green was a pretty contrast to the roiling storm clouds he figured Hel had brought in. Thunderstorms always made him think of her. One side of his mouth rose, remembering Hel’s last irritated expression. While others were terrified of her when she was angry, he thought her adorable. Of course, he would never tell her that.
“You’re either smiling because you’re thinking of something pleasant, or you’re dying. Which is it?” Laurent’s white furred face filled his field of vision.
“You’re a smartass,” Émilien grunted, trying to get comfortable, but the never-ending burn filling his entire abdominal cavity said otherwise. “Makes me like you more. You remind me of another werewolf I met recently. Several, in fact. Guess it’s a prerequisite for being transformed.” He hissed, the pain ramping up.
“Are you never going to die?” a new voice scoffed nearby.
Émilien merely glanced over at the handsome newcomer but didn’t recognize the person standing, his arm leaning on a familiar black sword. “Who are you?”
The man’s face darkened, red splotches appearing on his cheeks, his brown eyes filling with anger. “After what you have done, your affront will not be allowed. To accept accolades and walk around as if you are someone is an insult that also will not be tolerated.”
Émilien closed his eyes and leaned back in Laurent’s lap. “I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about.”
Nemain laid her hand on Émilien’s shoulder, helping to ease a bit of the pain and, at the same time, not touching it. He had never felt such excruciating torture, and he had experienced a lot in his very long life. She removed her hand and turned her green gaze to the stranger. “My name is Nemain. I do not believe I know you. Who are you?”
Émilien watched the man through barely slitted eyelids as he bowed to her, his long brown hair falling forward and revealing his pointed ears. When he straightened, he noticed his wide shoulders, thick chest, and muscular thighs. This man wasn’t an elf like he had first thought, he was a dwarf.
This insight confused Émilien even more. Why would a dwarf try to kill him? He couldn’t remember ever doing anything to a dwarf, let alone even talking to one. As one of the Lords to the Elf King, he had kept to himself. His brother was the one with the patience for the people or their problems when they came to court. He was more of an action advisor, not a pacifist.
Since Fer-Diorich cursed him, and he had taken up the mantle of guardian of the Shadow Lands, he had learned tolerance. While he knew he hadn’t been the most genial of elves, he couldn’t remember a single time when he had been cruel or outright abusive. That wasn’t his style now, nor had it ever been.
“I would be interested in learning why you are so angry with Émilien,” Nemain said. “What is it you say he has done to warrant death?”
He bit back a smile at the sultry sweetness in the goddess’s tone. The dwarf, whoever he was, was treading on thin ice if he thought he could win over this war goddess. He tried to breathe through his nose, as the burning pain ramped up even more.
His thoughts turned to the last words Hel had spoken to him.I love you more than my own life. Youaremy life. It just took me way too long to realize it. I cannot live without you again,Émilien, I refuse to live without you, so I demand that you live. I demand that you live for your daughter. I demand that you live for all the souls who count on you as their guardian.They were spoken from her heart. He had waited so long to hear her say she loved him. He had known it, but to hear it was euphoric.
Something deep inside of him blossomed, and the excruciating pain slowed, then suddenly disappeared. He lay there, letting his strength return as the goddess, and he, waited for the dwarf to tell his tale.
“I am Whufak Heldric Hammerborn. My mother was a light elf who fell in love with my dwarf father. Mixing of species before the Great War was forbidden, but she gave birth to me anyway. We didn’t have much and had to rely on friends to keep us hidden. We moved from home to home until we couldn’t find anyone to help, so we lived in a nearby cave. The dampness made my mother sick, so I swallowed my pride and went to present our case to the King. I was never allowed inside. The day I arrived, I was turned away by Lord Émilien Elasalor and threatened with disturbing the peace.”
Émilien frowned, trying to remember the story, but try as he might, he couldn’t. “Kind of presumptuous of you to call yourselfthe one, isn’t it? Even the first Elven king didn’t call himself something so pompous. What was your mother’s name?”
Heldric’s eyes narrowed. “Thalia Keyrel.”
The name rang a bell, but why? He continued to think back. There hadn’t been many times when he had manned visitor’s day, let alone turned anyone away. It had been the Black King’s edict that everyone was heard, no matter their race or their status in life. So, for Émilien to have turned someone away, the situation had to have been dire. He said the woman’s name several times until it clicked. “Thalia Keyrel! I remember her. She was convicted of murdering her mate!”
“My mother didnotmurder anyone! She was sweet and loving. She cared for me when no one else would.”
“No, Heldric, she didn’t. Think back. Have you ever met your father?” The dwarf stared but kept silent, only shaking his head. “There’s a reason you’ve never seen him. During her trial, she admitted to lying in wait one night after he returned from a friend’s birthday party. She tricked him into having sex and expected to be paid off when she told him she was pregnant. When he denied the baby was his and refused to pay her, she poisoned him.”
Émilien slowly sat up, waiting for the pain to return and so grateful when it didn’t. “Your father was murdered by your own mother, and she laughed about it. She admitted to keeping you around because people felt sorry for you and gave you both places to stay, food, and even clothing. She never had to work a day.”
He didn’t like the building fury in Heldric’s eyes, but decided the dwarf needed to hear it all, no matter how angry he got. It was the truth. “In fact, the day your mother was arrested, she had just put poison in her new boyfriend’s drink, thinking to steal his money so she could leave Alfheimr before anyone discovered what she had done. Your mother wasn’t a nice person. The day you came to the king’s court, the light elves had just declared war, so I had to turn you away. I turnedeveryoneaway. We were preparing for battle.”
Sparks appeared from the tips of the dwarf’s fingers, jumping from one to the other and growing in size as his anger increased. “You are a liar! I have spent decades planning on getting my revenge. Because of you, my mother died, penniless and alone! Because of you, I have no one left in my life, but I changed all that.” The sparks decreased. “I decided I wasn’t meant to be a simple dwarf or a commoner, so I took the crown. I am now the king of the dwarves.” The finger sparks disappeared.
“Good for you. Although, I wonder if the rest of the dwarves like your style of leadership. You know, going after an innocent man because of delusional thoughts.”
Electricity arced from fingertip to fingertip, and Heldric’s hair rose. Without warning, Émilien was hit with a solid current, not as much as lightning, but enough to take away his breath and momentarily stop his heart.
Fury radiated through him as his guardian powers flared to life, giving him the much-needed strength to rise from where he sat. In two steps, he wrapped his paw around the dwarf’s neck in a tight clutch, cutting off his oxygen. “You have sinned against humanity and the kingdom of Alfheimr. You have kidnapped and tortured the goddess Hel, queen of Niflheimr and the guardian of the Shadow Lands. For your crimes, you are sentenced to the remainder of your life in the Wastelands.”
“You have no dominion over me! I am the king of the dwarves and will be avenged—!” In a flash of brilliant light, Émilien transported the delusional dwarf to his new prison cell located deep in the undergrounds below the co-regents’ new palace, but behind his fading image, another superimposed. A face appeared, furious and grotesque. Blue fire burned deep in his eyes as he opened in his mouth in a silent yell.
“I am death, Guardian, and you will never win!” The gravelly voice echoed around the small group, and Émilien noticed Nemain scooting closer to his side, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword.
“Is the dwarf gone?” Nemain asked, wiping a few specks of dirt and a leaf off her pants. “And who was the demon?”
