Nicholas’s pacing sped up. “I don’t know, but I received a message from Ljósálfheimr. Dagrun and Alfr both want to talk toyou.
The elf instinctively reached for the sword he no longer wore at his hip. “If Alfr wants my head, he’ll have to fight me for it.” He wouldn’t surrender to his own execution without a struggle. He had too much to live for. One woman, one child. He’d slaughter his way across Ljósálfheimr if he must to stayalive.
“Peace, son.” Nicholas laid a hand on Andor’s arm. “I don’t think you’re being summoned todie.”
Every muscle in Andor’s body had gone tight, readying for battle. “When do wego?”
“Now, if you’reready.”
* * *
The royal palacewas unchanged since he’d last seen it a thousand years earlier. The fact shouldn’t have surprised him. A thousand years was merely a breath in time to the near-immortal ljósálfar. Yet, Andor paused before entering the soaring structure whose crystalline walls gleamed in the shifting, multicolored light from far-off Asbrú. The static sameness weighed down on him, a claustrophobic stillness that had watched time pass and never blinked. How had he ever lived in such stagnancy and not been driven mad byboredom?
Beside him, Nicholas cast an admiring gaze on his surroundings. “I will never adjust to how beautiful this palace is.” He glanced at Andor. “Are you glad to beback?”
“No.”
The saint’s eyes widened in surprise. The king and queen’s arrival forestalled any reply. Elf and bishop bowed before the ljósálfar monarchs who took their seats on the two great thrones set on a raiseddais.
“Rise.” King Alfr’s single-word command formed icicles on the windows lining the throneroom.
Judging by his tone, the king had not summoned Andor back to share ale and good company. Andor glanced first at the elf king. Tall and striking, he was an equal counterpart in appearance to his blindingly beautiful queen, except for the reptilian coldness she lacked. That alone had always made Andor’s hackles rise anytime he was in his king’spresence.
Dagrun spoke, her voice the sweetest music. Beside Andor, Nicholas sighed. “We have missed your presence at court, Andor.” The king snorted and wasignored.
She was his aunt and his liege. And a thousand years earlier, she’d been his judge and savior. Andor loved her as much as ljósálfar could love each other and prayed that whatever spurred this unexpected meeting between them, it remainedpeaceful.
“I treasure your affection for me, my queen,” hesaid.
She smiled, and where ice had hung on the windows at Alfr’s voice, crimson roses grew and spiraled around the columns. “Nicholas tells me you’ve been exemplary during your exile withhim.”
Andor glanced at Nicholas who winked. “He has been a mentor of great wisdom.” And unstinting patience for the elf under hischarge.
“Do you regret the actions that sent you to him in the first place?” Alfr’s serpent gaze did its best to strip the skin off Andor’sbones.
He could say he didn’t regret them in the least. Alfr’s favorite concubine was a lustymarabetween the sheets but hardly worth a thousand-year punishment. Midgard, with its joys and its struggles, its short-lived humanity that embraced chaos, pondered the existence of gods and strove to conquer the stars, had bound him in both heart and spirit. Those tethers had drawn tight and fast when he met Claire for the second time in her life and fell in love with her. He regretted nothing of hisactions.
That long answer would see his head separated from hisshoulders.
“Yes,” he said. “I regret them deeply.” No doubt Alfr’s colossal vanity would blind him to Andor’s blatantlie.
Nicholas coughed and cleared his throat but otherwise stayed silent and kept his gaze on Alfr andDagrun.
The king settled back in his throne, his approval of Andor’s answer written in his posture and the relaxing of his mouth. He still made Andor’s blood run cold. “I can be forgiving,” he said. “You may return to Ljósálfheimr.” His eyes narrowed. “My mercy isn’t limitless. Another mistake like the first one, and death, not exile, will be yourpunishment.”
Having offered his judgment, Alfr stood and strode out of the throne room. When Andor straightened from his bow, he discovered Dagrun still seated on her throne, watching him. She motioned him and Nicholas closer. “Welcome back,nephew.”
Andor didn’t want to come back. Not any longer. A decision loomed before him, one that would change the course of his existence. He’d pondered the question in the darkness when he was alone in the bare garage apartment he rented as simply a roof over his head while he stayed in Houston. Then he’d assumed he had another twelve years of exile. In human terms, it was a long stretch in which anything could change, and he’d grown to see time in the way humansdid.
He’d forgotten that ljósálfar could be fickle in many ways, as quick to forgive as to punish. Alfr’s anger had cooled a little sooner than anticipated, and his pardon had caught Andor off guard. He would have to leave Claire and never see her again. The thought made his chest burn and his stomach roil. If he stayed in Midgard, he’d sacrifice something just asimportant.
Andor inhaled slowly, exhaled just as slowly and made his choice. “You have my gratitude, Your Majesty, however; I have no wish to return toLjósálfheimr.”
Nicholas’s robes sent a draft swirling up from the floor as he spun to gawk at Andor. Dagrun’s surprise was less obvious—the twitch of her hand where it rested on the throne’sarm.
“Why ever not?” she asked. The roses on the soaring columns began towither.
Andor edged closer to the throne. “I’ve grown to enjoy Midgard and all itoffers.”
