Page 24 of The Elves and the Shoemaker (The GriMM Tales #4)

Eighteen

Elias

F

rustration bubbled beneath Elias’ skin as he and Johan walked away from the cabin, leaving Henrik behind.

“You know what really infuriates me?” he asked without pausing for a response. “He goes from being rotten to me to acting like some sort of martyr when all I want is for him to be less of a miserable shrew!”

“Sometimes… you seem like you… enjoy the fight,” Johan said.

“Yes, when it’s playful. But Rik knows the difference, and lately it is never playful. He only has negative things to say about everything I do, and I am sick of it, Johan. I want to enjoy my life and not be punished for that.”

Johan paused on the path and pulled Elias into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Sorry for what?” Elias mumbled into Johan’s warm chest.

“Sorry… you feel that way.”

Elias took some deep breaths in Johan’s embrace and tried to calm himself down.

“Why do you put up with us?” Elias asked.

“Hmmm. Very sweet.”

Elias leaned back so he could peer up at Johan. He grinned impishly. “Was I sweet when I came all over your face the other night?”

Johan turned a shade of crimson. “Sweet… and a little… wicked.”

They both laughed before continuing on their way.

By the time they’d snuck back into the shop, they were both exhausted.

They’d already taken the mattresses to the cabin and so had to make do with a thick blanket on the floor.

It was more unfortunate for Johan than for Elias, who preferred to use Johan’s body as his mattress regardless of what they were laid on.

Nothing settled Elias like bare skin against bare skin and the lullaby of rhythmic breathing and steady beats of Johan’s heart under him as his shoemaker drifted off to sleep.

He couldn’t help but think of his missing lover, though.

He hoped Henrik was okay. Elias actually hated the thought of Henrik alone in the Dark Forest and was kicking himself for not actually encouraging him to return with them.

Most of his anger had dwindled on the walk back, and now he felt sad that they were the farthest apart they had ever been since the day they had met at the silk mill.

Elias wished desperately that Henrik could find a way to be happy.

For a while, Elias thought he could be that for Henrik.

That he could brighten up each of Henrik’s days and love him hard enough to erase some of the pain from the heavy clouds that hung above him, but he feared that only Henrik was capable of choosing happiness for himself.

In the meantime, all Elias could think to do was sometimes keep Henrik company in the rain.

E

lias woke to a hand clamped over his mouth, though with the faint light of dawn peeking in through the window, he could see that it was Johan.

“Shhh.”

The sound of glass smashing made its way up the stairs, and suddenly Elias was incredibly grateful that Henrik was nowhere near.

Elias' heart pounded loud enough that he was sure it could be heard by their intruders. If they’d been elves, they actually might have heard. He took a deep, steadying breath. They had planned for this.

And Elias had made his own plans too.

They shoved on their clothes and crept as quietly as possible over to the back window, where a thick length of rope waited for them.

Heavy footsteps thudded in the shop below, and it sent a jolt of nervous energy buzzing beneath Elias’ skin, making him feel like he could run for miles and not tire or climb a mountain without breaking a sweat.

Despite his larger frame, Johan gracefully and near silently clambered out of the window and made the descent first. When he reached the bottom, Elias threw him the last remaining bags before deftly climbing down the rope himself, and he prayed this wasn’t how he would meet his demise.

Near to the bottom, he jumped into Johan’s waiting arms and silently begged for the larger man’s forgiveness for what he was about to do.

Back on his feet, Elias held his hands against the brick wall that had been his first home in over five years, possibly the only home he’d ever felt safe, welcome, and loved in.

Yet he continued anyway. Closing his eyes, his arms trembled at the effort as he gathered some magic to the surface and let it spread through his fingers and into the bones of the building, weaving its way into every bit of material it met like a spreading disease.

This was not part of their plan.

“What are you doing?” Johan whispered frantically.

Elias finally peeled his fingers from the wall and replied, “Follow me.”

Now with a practised efficiency, they quickly used the boxes to climb over the wall, kicking them over behind them to slow any potential assailants down. On the other side, Elias ran like his life depended on it.

Johan’s heavy footfalls were close behind him, and they continued in a loop until they were at the top of an embankment that had a view of the front windows to the shop.

The ground was muddy beneath their feet as there had been a lot of rainfall in the last few days. Elias would have to be careful not to slip.

“I knew it,” Elias said on a gasp.

“Knew what?”

Elias pointed to the shop window where several of the Queen’s men were fighting to escape the invisible barrier he’d created, trapping them in the confines of the empty building.

A darkness took over Elias then. A part of himself he kept hidden and buried from the people he loved, lest he taint them with it. But it arose inside him then, and there was no turning back. Elias had waited for this chance. He wasn’t going to let it slip through his fingers now.

“There is a man by the front window,” Elias explained to Johan who could not see as far as he could.

“He’s a slaver. Makes his living delivering and abusing slaves…

like me. He was the man who chased us the night we escaped.

He used me as a… a toilet.” Elias gulped past the shame which he knew had no right to belong to him.

“He is the one who chased us through the forest. We thought we might die. He threatened to get dogs to track us down like prey,” Elias spat.

“I was sure I had spotted him watching from the alley across the road yesterday!”

Johan reached out and took Elias’ hand in his own. The look on the shoemaker’s face almost stopped Elias in his tracks. Almost .

“Please don’t hate me, Johan,” he pleaded.

“Could… never… hate you. But we need to leave,” Johan said with some urgency.

Elias spun to face Johan and kissed him. He held Johan’s face between his hands, felt the familiar rough stubble of Johan’s beard against the palms of his hands, and let the magic surge.

“Forgive me,” he whispered as the shoemaker’s eyes closed and Elias tried his best to lower him gently to the ground.

“Take care of Henrik. I know you will. But he thinks you are the soft-hearted one, but it is him,” Elias added as though Johan’s limp body might hear him.

He knew what he risked in continuing with his plan, but he’d already passed the point of return.

Determined, he set off running back towards the shop to finish what he’d started.

What he found was surreal. The mouths of the men in the window opened and closed like goldfish. They were screaming and yelling inside, but the magic he’d imbued the building with had muted their shouts, making them appear almost comical, like mimes from a fair.

The sickeningly familiar, soulless eyes of the slaver who’d urinated on Elias represented everything that he sought vengeance for.

The man, for a moment, looked like just a man.

Not evil. But frightened, terrified even.

And Elias almost hesitated. But then he saw the moment recognition flickered across the slaver’s face, and the menacing stare that took over his features told Elias everything he needed to know.

Given the chance, he would kill Elias. Kill him, and Henrik, and any elf who dared expect more from this life than to be a mere belonging. A replaceable part in a factory.

Good, that look in your eyes will make this easier, Elias thought.

Gathering every last drop of strength he possessed, tainting magic and twisting it into something it should never have become, Elias willed magic to form globes of hot blue fire in the palm of each hand. Fire not to create like it might in a forge. No, fire to destroy. Fire to kill .

Elias had once explained to Johan that elvish magic was inherently good.

He’d discovered that it could be manipulated, though.

It turned out, if their souls were as battered, bruised, and hacked to pieces as Elias’ was, they could bring forth those flames meant for the forge and use them for what Elias considered justice instead.

Elias launched the flames through the open upstairs window, where the drapes immediately caught fire. Fiery tongues spread quickly, eating through the wood even faster than Elias had anticipated.

The upstairs was engulfed in what felt like a matter of minutes, and Elias was relieved that the magic he’d infused into the building earlier had worked, preventing the spread of the fire into the neighbouring shops.

He’d grown fond of the baker and his wife, and Elias had no intention of making their lives any harder than they already were.

Hypnotised, Elias couldn’t look away as the fire swept through the building, filling the place with smoke and devouring everything and everyone in its path.

Smoke made it difficult for Elias to see inside, but he dared not blink. The scorching heat coming from the building had sweat beading along Elias’ brow.

Like the shop was angry with him, it spat hot ash out, littering Elias’ skin with burn marks and dirt. But he didn’t look away. Didn’t move a muscle.

It wasn’t until Elias spotted a flayed hand slipping down the window as the final man met his end that he finally collapsed from exhaustion onto the pavement.

He’d expected relief. But the great, chest-heaving sobs that escaped him as he choked on the smoke were a fierce storm of anger, grief, and worst of all…

guilt. Not for the men inside, no. Guilt for destroying the only home he and the men he loved had ever felt safe in.

Like a mantra, he’d told himself repeatedly that it would be worth it.

The cost was worth it. It had to be. And it was. Wasn’t it?

Part of him wished that they had suffered for as long as he had, but the closure of revenge would have to suffice. The horrific nature of their death Elias’ compensation for the quickness of it.

Elias knew that he should run, that it was only a matter of minutes until people would be out in the street to see the spectacle he’d caused, but he was glued to the spot.

It was selfish of him to do this, selfish of him to prioritise his own closure over the home and shop that Johan had grown up in.

But Elias decided this would be his life’s most selfish act; he hadn’t had many, after all. Years in slavery had stripped him of his autonomy, but this decision, this choice, the good and the bad of it, were all his to make.

His arms burned from where the hot ash had landed on him and singed holes in his clothes. Elias coughed from the smoke until his eyes watered, then he closed them. And that was the last thing he remembered.