Chapter 1
Ali
This was how I spent my days now: shackled to a mine cart at the end of a narrow tunnel. Life in the crystal mine—just me, my shovel, and my thoughts. I dug into the pile of rock. With a grunt, I dumped the chunks of granite into an old mine cart. Then, I jabbed the shovel into the pile of rock again. I’d been here three weeks and hadn’t uncovered a single crystal yet. I wasn’t sure they even existed at this point. So, it was just me and the dust and the granite.
My only consolation was that Barthol wasn’t here with me—that my brother was free, at least.
Lift, dump, lift, dump, lift, dump …
Sweat dripped from my brow, and my muscles ached. Ahh, here, I had the pleasure of an oppressively low ceiling, suffocating humidity, and dust coating every inch of my skin.
Lift, dump, lift, dump …
I tossed two more shovelfuls into the cart.
When things were really grim, I entertained myself with thoughts of slitting Galin’s throat. After all, his betrayal was the reason I was here.
I wanted Skalei, my shadow-blade, desperately. I missed her familiar steel, the razor-sharp edge that could slice an elf’s throat to the bone. That could cut through anything, really. If I had Skalei, I’d hack off my shackles and be on my way to the surface in seconds. I’d literally carve a path if I had to. A few dead guards would be a small price to pay for my freedom.
Too bad all I had was a rusty iron shovel. I doubted it could even bash an elf’s head in.
Lift, dump, lift, dump …
Rage gathered within me at the thought of Galin. I’d kill him someday. That thought perked me up.
I hummed as I worked. Not entirely in tune, but still recognizable: “Single Ladies.” The music of the Great Queen Beyoncé, who’d once ruled before Ragnarok.
Sweat mixed with the dust on my body, and I jabbed at the rock pile like my shovel was Skalei delivering the coup de grace. Beyoncé represented strength, honor. The very qualities I needed to possess if I were to achieve my destiny. I’d make up for allowing Galin to trick me into helping him—him, of all people. The vilest enemy of the Night Elves.
I continued to jab the shovel at the pile of stones. I was the North Star. The one destined to free my people. I would escape, retrieve Skalei, and then I would pierce Galin’s heart. He was mortal now. I could hurt him. A single stab to the aorta and his blood would pool at my feet. Game over.
Lift, dump, lift, dump …
Dust rose from the rocks, nearly as thick and dark as the anger that clouded my mind. I hummed “Single Ladies” as loud as I dared.
When I saw him again, I wouldn’t let his infuriating beauty blind me to what he really was. And when he was dead, I’d feel the sun shining on me again. Because I knew that when his soul was in Hel, I’d finally be free of him, redeemed in the eyes of my people.
“Ali?” a voice cut in, wrenching me from my daydream.
Even without looking over my shoulder, I recognized the voice. Her name was Hulda. Technically, she was another Night Elf prisoner like myself, but while I was becoming thin and wiry from shoveling rocks, Hulda was healthy and beautiful from all the time she spent eating raspberries and cream and pies. While most of us starved, the guards gave her extra food and easy work. In exchange, she fed them information. She spied on us.
Unencumbered by leg shackles, she sauntered up to me. She leaned over my shoulder, crowding my physical space, and looked at my rock pile through tired eyes. “Whatcha doing?” she asked, as if shoveling rocks was some sort of novel task she’d never heard of before.
“It’s this amazing new hobby I have called shoveling rocks. Really tones up the arms and the abs. Want to try?” I slung another shovel-full of granite into the mine cart.
“Why were you making that horrible noise?”
“What are you talking about?” If there was one thing I’d learned since they sent me down here, it was to never admit guilt. It actually made the punishment worse.
“You were moaning. It sounded like words, but I couldn’t understand them.” Hulda’s eyes narrowed. “Was that horrific noise supposed to be singing?”
Not sure I liked her tone. “Hulda, I’m sure you have more important things to do than review my musical talent.”
I didn’t bother to ask why she was here. I knew the guards had sent her. They kept close tabs on me. Made perfect sense. It wasn’t every day a Night Elf committed high treason.
My entire life, I’d been raised to believe it was my role to kill Galin, Prince of the High Elves. I was the North Star—destined to lead my people to freedom. And with every breath I’d taken, I believed our emancipation began with that bastard’s death. It was my job to make it happen.
But somehow, after a long-ass journey together, Galin had managed to convince me otherwise. According to his pretty stories, I had it all wrong; his death wouldn’t free my people. And the magical wall that had trapped us underground wasn’t the wall of a prison—oh no. It was there to keep us safe.
Or so he said.
When I’d left him, he’d promised to help me, that he was going to be our savior now. We’d had a deal, I thought. I’d helped him and he’d help me. He’d make it all right.
Except that was a giant crock of shit, because of course it was.
Never trust a High Elf. They feast on deceit, bathe in lies, and sleep on a bed of mendacity.
I gritted my teeth, shoveling the granite with an aggressive ferocity usually reserved for the insane.
Instead of coming to help me, as promised, Galin had personally seen to it that I was locked up, under the ground. Three weeks ago, he’d sent a letter to the Shadow Lords. He explained that I had lied to them. He said I was a traitor, and that we’d traveled together. He told them I had helped him escape the Citadel. It was information only Galin could know.
He expected me to die here, because that’s what people did in the mines. He’d ratted on me, knowing what the consequences would be. Because, apparently, I was an inconvenience. He had no intention of helping the Night Elves. He never had.
And as I sweated down here in the dark, shoveling granite, I started to realize he’d probably lied about everything. That story about how I didn’t need to kill him to free my people? Another crock of shit. Pretty lies, as pretty as his face.
And perhaps—just as I’d been taught my entire life—our freedom began with his death.
He thought I’d die down here, but I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. No, the Night Elves would fertilize our new lands with his blood.
After Galin’s treacherous letter, my punishment had been swift and brutal. No trial. No chance to defend myself. The Shadow Lords simply sent a contingent of guards to my house and seized all my belongings. They took everything: my iPod, my vergr crystal, even Skalei.
The guards dragged me into Sindri. I fought them, but there were too many. They pinned me down, and then the Lords used a magical spell to pull the runes from my forearms. I could shout for Skalei as much as I liked, but she wouldn’t come for me anymore. Trust me—I tried.
And finally, they banished me to the Audr Prison Mine.
No one had spelled it out yet, but once they’d used up my strength in the mines, once I’d been driven mad by the confinement, I imagined they planned to execute me. People tended to lose their minds down here.