Chapter 21

The operation took place in complete routine choreography. Agents Hellboy, Sherman, Sapien and Krauss traveled along with the Elven twins and a handful of human agents from the agency to Brooklyn in the feigned garbage truck. They entered the Troll market escorted by the Prince, opened their way through the busy underground bazaar until reaching his private chambers. They crossed the installations, curiously observing the singular residence of His Highness until they arrived at the section where the druids had Loreto Clair under a spell. It was a high cave under a narrow skylight through which the light of street lamps on the surface entered. The agents were left open-mouthed. The space was the closest to a miniature forest in the middle of the New York sewers. An underground winter garden. The darkness of rocks and city foundations highly contrasted with the lively green of the dense botanical spot. Even the normally foul and moist air underground smelled light and fresh in this place. Five elves considerably taller than the Prince neared and closed the road to the strangers. The host quickly explained who they were and what they were doing there. The druids took a dramatic bow before both royal twins and guided them towards the main platform. The human agents displayed the foldable medical bed next to the platform and like a hospital patient, they took Loreto Clair by the arms and legs to move her. The Prince ordered the druids to pack everything required for Loreto's treatment and to come along with them to the agency. The wise ones obeyed, puzzled, and the group left the Prince's residence, opening their way through the Troll market to exit to the abandoned warehouse at the Brooklyn bridge.

As they made it to the agency, Agents Sapien and Krauss guided the druids towards the medical department where they immediately took Loreto. She was still unconscious. The Prince walked behind the group, but his sister grabbed him by the arm.

"Let them do their job," she said with a soft tone in their native Gaelic. "You've already done yours."

Nuada remained in the same spot halfway down the main aisle as he saw the group of agents push the medical bed where Loreto laid. They disappeared behind a corner. He swallowed hard. Agents Hellboy and Sherman passed them by and retired to their private rooms. Nuala walked towards the grand library. Once she was before the door, she turned. Her brother was still standing motionless in the same place. She called his name and opened the doors for him. The Prince blinked several times as if trying to wake himself up. He looked at his sister and mechanically walked towards her.

The last time he'd been in this room was when Nuala gave her crown piece to the pynokinesic agent. The millenary piece of gold forged in the guts of Northern Ireland could not resist the blazing heat of her flames and melted drop by drop on this very floor. Reluctantly, Nuada walked through the library and reached its center along the couches. Nuala seemed to feel at home. She went to the counter and poured two glasses of wine. She extended one his way. He stared at her puzzled. His sister rarely drank alcohol.

"Last night in the small hours I woke up feeling dizzy. I knew it was you," she said amused and clunk her glass with his. "You were with her, weren't you?"

Nuada looked into her eyes. He remembered the hours in Loreto's residence. Neither did he drink frequently nor excessively. The wine tannins had taken him by surprise. He had kissed her. For an instant, drunk by her perfume and taste, tangled in her arms and with his eyes closed tight, he had forgotten about it all. About the fact that Loreto was a human, about Nuala's betrayal, about his father's death pierced by the edge of his own sword. Trapped in between her lips he had forgotten about the pain of ultraviolet sun rays on his skin, about the sentence of living underground, about the agony and injustice of seeing his people swept to the roadside of history, about the rage of seeing the magical creatures of Bethmoora lose their beautiful furs because of the lack of sunlight. For a few minutes he could be an elf without the weight of the crown awaiting his ascension to the throne. Loreto was an antidote to the venom eating him away for eons. The Prince drank a long sip of wine and tumbled down on the couch with the glass between his cupped hands and his elbows supported on his thighs. His sister sat down before him. He faced her. There were no secrets between them. The second they made visual contact Nuala knew what was going on in his heart.

"She will die," the Princess said in a low voice. "Not today, nor tomorrow. She'll recover from this disease, I'm certain of it. But one day, in the blink of an eye, she'll be gone. She's human. Life drains through their fingers. You'll end up alone and time will pass mercilessly for you and I until the distance will be such, the wound of her loss will have healed in your heart."

His view clouded by the tears. Nuada blinked and let them roll freely down his cheeks. He swallowed hard and clenched his jaw. He drank the rest of wine in one sip. The dry sweetness of red wine burned his tight throat.

"I know," he mumbled, rasping. "Do you remember what mother used to tell us about time?"

Nuala blinked, surprised, and drew a weak smile on her lips. Her demeanor shrunk with melancholy.

Time is irrelevant to the truth of the heart. In its center dwells the compass that ought to guide you through life. Its arrow always shows the right way and the right time. It doesn't obey logic, for it is useless to fight against it. Turn a blind eye and deaf ears to its command, and it shall return like sea waves time and again until fulfilling its purpose. Never question what you feel in your hearts but honor its beats consciously.

"Father is no more, now you may start your family and assume the throne of Bethmoora," Nuala said. "Once you produce at least one heir of pure blood for the throne, I may start mine. It is tradition."

"What tradition, Nuala? To take an oath on my life for Bethmoora on an incomplete crown?," Nuada said out loud and on an impulse, stood up from the couch. "There is no elf in the kingdom who wants to give me an heir. They fear me. I've turned into a monster, even for my own people. They won't allow the murderer of King Balor to rule, Nuala. That's reality. Bethmoora shall stay as it is. Without a king and underground and in that we both share the blame."

His sister stood up and adamantly rubbed her hands against her abdomen. She gave a turn to the room, lost in thought. She touched the cavity in her corset where for thousands of years she had carried her crown piece. She had sworn her father to protect it with her life and to ensure it wouldn't fall in the wrong hands. Wasn't that what she had done? However, in the process she had altered the order of her kingdom forever.

"We're in a unique situation in Bethmoora's history," the Princess said as a thought out loud. She faced her brother at the other extreme of the library. "I couldn't allow you to awaken the Golden Army and wage the massacre against humans once again. What's the honor in rebuilding Bethmoora on mountains of corpses and rivers of blood? We're not murderers. It's not our nature. We're protectors of everything and everyone. Mother Earth gave us immortality to be the guardians of life, not to become the executioners of the oppressor."

The Prince clenched his fists and let his head fall. Nuala crossed the room and arrived before him. She took his hands in hers and they looked into each other's eyes. He was divided in two. He wanted to renounce everything and at the same time, he didn't know what to do to save the kingdom.

"Perhaps it's time we reconsider our traditions for the betterment of Bethmoora," the Princess said.

A human agent suddenly erupted in the room.

"Miss Clair woke up," he announced with emotion in his voice.

The Prince ordered him to take them to her. The Princess took the border of her tunic and jogged to follow them. They entered the medical section. Abraham, Agent Krauss, a team of human doctors and the Elven druids were standing around the bed where Loreto laid. Nuada ran to her side. He took her hand in his and kissed it repeatedly. They looked into each other's eyes. Loreto caressed his cheek with her free hand and gave a weak smile. The fear and uncertainty still shone through her hazel eyes. The Prince noticed the intravenous catheter still connected to her. He stood up and questioned the team. Agent Krauss took a step forward.

"We made it," he said triumphantly.

Nuada looked at Abraham. Tell me it's true, he pleaded telepathically.

"Miss Clair is out of danger. The cancer has been eradicated."