White Stag (Permafrost #1)(47)

I muttered some choice words under my breath. Frustration bloomed inside of me, bursting like an ugly sore. Of course the svartelf wasn’t going to give me a straight answer. Still, for all the dire warnings mixed in with riddles and nonsense words, I had the unshakable feeling that everything that had happened to me in the dreamland limbo was real. And the warning he gave me before he disappeared—if it was one at all—chilled me to the bone.

I stood and started through the cavern. I’d made my choice, and now it was time to live with it. The passages around the svartelves’ caverns wound and twisted deeper into the earth until there was only me and the dark silence, not even the trickle of water or the crunching of bones underneath my feet. The sides of the caves glittered with iridescent stones, enthralling in their beauty. In some places bits of the regular wall had been worn away with what looked like a miner’s chisel. But none of the stones were missing. Perhaps a miner had come down here years ago to take the jewels and ended up losing his sanity. Perhaps his corpse was still down here.

Perhaps the corpse of Soren’s relative was down here somewhere, undisturbed and unseen. I would have to ask Soren after if he knew of any family member who perished in these caverns—that was, if there was an “after.”

Donnar was right about one thing: A war was coming. On one side there was me, and on the other, Lydian. My blood was hot with the desire for revenge, and I pictured myself standing over him, the axe hanging over my head gone forever. One thing was certain: Lydian and Soren were the ones who split the marble floor. If one of them became the Erlking, the other would not be allowed to live. If Lydian survived, Soren was done for and I was as good as damned for eternity. Even after the Hunt ended, even if we all survived unscathed, I would never be safe until Lydian was dead.

I curled my fingers into fists to stop my hands from shaking. He has no power over me. He didn’t. He didn’t, and I had to believe it with every ounce of faith, even if his mere name made me quiver with fear. If I remembered those nights with the pain and the blood and the soft, crooning voice, I would be lost. The spiral walls of the underground pressed heavily against me, until the breath was crushed from my lungs. No wonder people went mad in places like this; even without the svartelves, being alone in the dark, utter silence with just your thoughts was deadly. I stopped to gasp for breath, leaning against the slick stones. Each breath of air I sucked in cleared away the darkness in my mind. I focused on the coolness across my tongue and nothing else, until the shiver of my body came to a halt and the panic seeped out of my skin.

Finally, the passageways opened into a wider tunnel, and the tension in my body eased. Up above, bits of light shone through the cracks of stone. They were dark purple now, casting a haze of violet inside the tunnels. I’d have more luck falling off a cliff to my death than finding Soren now. The air below turned icy and the shivering returned.

I found a small alcove carved into the side of the stone; the hole was just big enough for me to squeeze in if I curled into a ball. Wintry blasts chilled me to the bone, and I hugged my knees to keep in what little heat I had. Eyelids drooping, I wished for a bearskin cloak and a warm body beside it. Exhaustion overtook me, and I fell into a deep sleep.



* * *



I WOKE WITH the morning lights shining from the stones. Their iridescence glittered in the daylight, swirling with greens, blues, and purples. Above me, pieces of a blue sky and the cold sun broke through the cracks in the stone. My body ached in places I didn’t think could ache, and a dark, troubled feeling had settled in the pit of my stomach. Pushing it away, I got up, checked that all my equipment was in place, and continued on my journey.

The route I picked took a sharp decline. Doubt gnawed in my belly, churning like acid inside me. I wanted to go up to the surface, not down to gods knew where. Before I could turn back, a familiar voice stopped my heart.

“You should really stop this self-denial horseshit.” Using some dark magic, Tibra managed to sound harsh and bubbly at the same time.

“I’m not in denial,” Soren snapped. A joy so fierce it was frightening filled me as his growl rumbled throughout the caverns, and I could barely stop myself from hurtling down the cavern. Last night, alone in the cold, I had wished for the now-familiar warmth and protection his body provided. It hadn’t dawned on me until now how much I missed him.

“Does it frighten you?” Tibra asked. “She’s very pretty. Does that frighten you? You could hurt her. Do other goblins act this way when this happens? I’ve never known. Is it just you? Are you different?”

“I won’t ever hurt her. Which is much more than I could say for you.” Soren growled a low warning.

“You can already feel the effects of the potions wearing off, can’t you? You knew you couldn’t make them yourself; it was quite risky bringing her along. Unless you wanted something to happen.”

Soren snapped at Tibra. “Yes, you’ve found out my master plan. Take Janneke with me on a ceremonial competition involving hunting one another to the death and hope romance blossoms between us so we can take each other in the throes of passion. You are such a good detective; you should get a medal.”

I stumbled down from where I stood above them, legs half-numb with shock. The goblin and the svartelf stared at me, caught totally unawares by my fall. So many words bubbled on my lips, but the ones that came out were: “Did you just use sarcasm?”