Chapter 50 Aerin
AERIN
When Aerin enters the dining hall on the arm of the Hale King twenty minutes later, exhaustion tugs at her bones.
Thirty or so creatures are seated along one long table.
The first course is already plated, wine poured.
The creatures pay little attention to their entrance and for this Aerin is grateful.
About halfway down the table, between Khortland and Malice, is an empty seat.
The hand on her arm squeezes. “Thank you for a lovely afternoon, my dear.” Aerin brings her gaze back to Vitus. He is a mirror image of Khortland in so many ways, yet… cruel. Vacant.
“It was my pleasure,” Aerin lies giving him a tight smile.
“It truly is such a shame I’ve already agreed for you and my son to reside in Valtara after your binding. How I would enjoy having you and your collection here with me,” the old King muses. Aerin, for once in her life, is a tiny bit thankful for her father’s possession over her.
“I’m certain your son and I will find time to visit,” Aerin replies as they approach the King’s seat.
Finally, the King’s hand and arm release her as servants pull back his ornate chair at the head of the long table.
“Let us feast,” the King booms after sitting down in his chair, lifting his already full wine glass. The table murmurs in agreement as Aerin strides down the length of the table to her seat.
Every seat around hers is filled with the creatures she holds closest: Malice, Khortland, Emrys, Vyx, Quinn. Each set of eyes dig into her with an intensity of care she isn’t sure she wholly deserves. Not with the sick echo of Vitus’s words ringing in her ears.
“I’m fine,” Aerin says lowly over her own wine glass. She finishes the bitter red in a few gulps.
[If he hurt you, I will roast him alive at his own table.] Reikan’s voice burns through Aerin’s brain abruptly. She locks eyes with the Fae next to her, his ice blues dancing with orange in the center.
[There is no need for such dramatics, Reikan, though I don’t hate the image.]
The orange in Malice’s eyes fade, but he looks at her like he agrees with the sentiment. He hardly takes his eyes off her as she manages a few mouthfuls of food. Emrys, who sits on the other side of Malice, seems slightly more relaxed than the rest of them. For that, Aerin is grateful.
Vyx and Quinn across from her still for only seconds when Aerin sits down, before falling quickly into their roles of distraction. Khortland is stabbing his food a bit too forcefully to be entirely calm.
Aerin stays quiet, letting the day play through her mind. She does her best to keep her head out of the dungeon. Away from the sad eyes and ice collars. Away from the empty cell, Vitus’s words echoing in her mind.
Leaning into Khortland, Aerin asks quietly, “What do you know about a golden Wolf in the dungeons?”
Those dark eyes look at Aerin in surprise.
“He took you to the dungeons?” Khortland hisses. Aerin only nods.
“He rarely lets us down there, but I know he keeps a ledger in his personal study,” Khortland says, playing with his second course. Aerin nods. One more thing to add to her to-do list for the trip.
Malice gives Aerin a final nod before she shrinks herself down into the shape of a mouse.
It’s late. Aerin managed an hour nap between one and two a.m. after they finalized their plans for the remainder of the evening.
She is annoyed but not at all surprised that Malice and Emrys refuse to let her go alone.
One perfectly placed comment while servants refilled their wine cart and the whole village is aware Aerin’s Wolf is off wandering the halls.
There won’t be any suspicion seeing him out and about now.
Carefully lifting Aerin in her mouse form, Malice places her fuzzy body between Emrys’s shoulder blades. The white of her coat matches his perfectly.
“Remember, she only has thirty minutes,” Malice says for the fifth time.
Aerin rolls her little mouse eyes even though she knows he can’t see them.
She probably has closer to forty-five, sometimes even fifty, but her exhaustion isn’t helping her control.
Shifting into something non-magical is hardest to hold onto.
A mouse or a cup or a bird is so distinctly separate from Fae it takes significant mastery to achieve.
She honed her skill over the years with various Fae in the Valtara Royal Village, including her own siblings at times.
Malice opens the door to the suite. “Get in, get the pictures, and get out, Princess,” he instructs, again.
Aerin is certain she’s done more dangerous things on this trip alone, than breaking into the King’s study. If she’s caught, there are a million ways she can play it. And Vitus can’t do much to her without inciting the wrath of her father.
The halls are silent, various dim lights still on, only partially illuminating their surroundings. Though, as Emrys trots the path Khortland laid out for them, he doesn’t seem to mind the partial darkness.
It takes six minutes to find the study, another four for Aerin to find a way inside after Emrys takes his place in an alcove halfway down the hall.
The room is empty, just as they’d predicted.
Aerin shifts into a non-descript Fae and starts her search.
Khortland is certain his father keeps the ledgers here, thick tomes with black leather covers, he told her.
Where they are exactly, not even Vitus’s son knows.
The room is dark and cluttered, filled on every surface with things: books, knickknacks, empty bottles, scattered papers. There is a desk, three floor to ceiling bookshelves, a second table against the far wall, a hearth, and two chairs. The fire flickers, at least keeping the space warm.
Aerin is careful not to touch anything that doesn’t need to be touched. She rustles through drawers, unlocking and re-locking things as she goes. The desk is empty. She checks the large table in the corner. Aerin’s brow furrows.
Laid out on the table and held down by various glassware and bookends is a map of Novhelm.
Zeneith, Valtara, and Keylar, the abandoned city of Altrios, the tube, and small Rogue townships are all identified.
Scribbled in pen are other places, circles or stars with names underneath—Kaja, Felix, and the others Aerin was introduced to in the dungeons.
There are more, too, other names she doesn’t recognize—Iola, Tsarra, Draven, Myrin, Azule.
Each name has its own circle, most deep in the woods except for one.
The name Draven is scribbled close to the border of Keylar.
There are also four markings in red, each an X marked along the border walls of Keylar.
Aerin snaps four pictures of the map before moving on.
She moves methodically through the bookshelves, though a cursory scan does not reveal any black tomes.
She pulls out books at random, wondering if there is a hidden room but she finds nothing.
Aerin spins; she’s been in the room, for over ten minutes now.
The coffee table catches her eye. Or rather, the realization that the coffee table is a trunk.
The surface of the trunk has significantly less clutter than the rest of the room.
Aerin takes a picture before removing the few glasses, books, and papers laying on top. When she discovers the trunk is locked, her heart soars. This has to be it. Aerin fashions her own nail into a key, adjusting it until the contraption clicks. Another trick from her devious youth.
This type of thing is something she and Bruin would have done together when they were Faelings. Something they found delight in, whispering and giggling, knowing their father’s servants surely would catch them.
Ignoring her nostalgia Aerin pulls open the trunk. Inside sits black leather tomes, at least twenty of them. They are all placed spine up, two rows running the length of the trunk. Aerin grabs the first, carefully unwinding the leather strings that hold it shut.
The top of the first page contains a date, name, and species.
The date is over three hundred years ago.
The name listed is Myrin, a name from the map, and the species is listed as dryad, an extremely rare Rogue species.
Aerin swallows, flipping the pages. The scrawl is barely legible, but Vitus outlined everything.
The book reads like a diary, like a love letter.
Aerin flips to the end; the date at the top of the page is sixty years later.
The healers state Myrin is too weak to recover properly from the wounds inflicted. The Dryad was thus terminated, though leaves remain in my personal collection.
Aerin’s stomach churns as she quickly re-ties the book and returns it. She methodically goes through the next ten books, opening, checking the species, and replacing the book when she reads something other than Wolf.
In book twelve, Aerin finds what she is looking for, though she isn’t certain she can stomach the pages.
Aerin starts the tedious work of snapping pictures of every single page of Vitus’s scribbles.
She does her best not to read, well aware she’s been in this room longer than thirty minutes and Malice is likely going out of his mind.
Aerin finally reaches the last page with scrawl.
My guards found Tsarra’s body in her cage this morning. Oberyn swears it wasn’t him, however, I know Tolvare rage well. Losing Tsarra is a shame. I’ll never find another Wolf like her.
A wash of pain rolls over Aerin. She quickly ties the strings back together and replaces the book. She can find out the rest later, read the flippant passages about the Wolf Vitus trapped here—the Wolf her own father murdered.
After relocking the trunk Aerin carefully places the items back on top using the picture she’d taken as a guide. She scans the room to ensure nothing else seems out of place. While it’s hard with the mess to know for certain, Aerin is comfortable enough to leave it.
Emrys grumbles when she finally finds him in the hallway, clad with her white fur and whiskers. She scurries up his leg and onto his back before the Wolf trots back to their guest suite. Once safely inside they both shift.
Malice is visibly relieved to see them.
“So? Did you find it?” Emrys asks before Malice can launch into a lecture about how the whole adventure took fifty minutes instead of thirty.
“I found it,” Aerin says, pulling her phone from her pocket. She pulls up the last photo and holds out her phone for them to see. “Vitus believes my father murdered her.”
Khortland lounges on the sofa across from Aerin and Emrys, looking far too relaxed.
Malice hovers by the door to Khortland’s personal suite, arms folded over his chest. Khortland is shirtless, his well-formed abdominal muscles on display, his hair mussed from the sleep.
They had woken him after Malice read the pages from the Journal and summarized them in a palatable way for Aerin. It’s just passed three in the morning.
“So,” Khortland says, “You think the Wolf my father held in his dungeons is your mother?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Aerin replies.
“No, the only thing that makes sense is that Esalin Tolvare is your mother,” Khortland rebuts.
“She has Pack magic. The Wolves are only aware of eight packs. An Alpha died here, and your father blames Oberyn Tolvare,” Emrys says, laying out their argument again.
Khortland gives him a look of petulance. He looks again to Aerin.
“To imagine your father fraternizing with a Wolf is laughable, let alone fornicating with one.” Aerin opens her mouth to argue but Khortland holds up a finger.
“It’s much more plausible he murdered the Wolf out of whatever ethnocentric vendetta he carries against them.
He arrests Wolves on sight in Valtara, have we forgotten this? ”
“Perhaps this Wolf started that vendetta,” Malice suggests from the other side of the room. Aerin nods in agreement, but Khortland adamantly shakes his head.
“No,” he disagrees, sitting forward. “The Tolvare King has been slaying Wolves for hundreds of years, since he took the crown in his youth. He’s always considered full-magic creatures superior and advocated for separation.
He and my father have argued on many occasions over it.
Oberyn has always been disgusted by my father’s collection; I promise you that,” Khortland says, flopping back down onto the couch.
“And say your father did interact with this Wolf, have sex with her even, why would he keep her alive through the entire pregnancy? She certainly couldn’t have kept it a secret.
Why wouldn’t he end the pregnancy? Why kill her after you were born?
Why risk Esalin’s wrath? Why risk Bruin and Cisera’s claim to the Tolvare throne?
” Khortland runs holes through their theory easily. Aerin deflates.
Smirking and knowing that his argument has won, he adds, “And lastly, in what world would Esalin Tolvare agree to take in and raise a bastard child? She is the most jealous bond-mate to ever exist, just ask Fyton.” Khortland scoffs, familiar with Aerin’s family dynamics.
“She would have had you killed simply out of spite.”
Aerin thinks about the blonde-haired blue-eyed queen, the woman who she believed to be her mother her entire life.
She has always been cold to her children, though not just Aerin.
In fact, the only creature Esalin Tolvare ever seems to like is her bond-mate, Oberyn.
No one can deny their devotion to one another, extending beyond what is expected between bond-mates, and the subject of many inquisitive books and scathing articles.
“Okay, I concede. I don’t fucking know,” Aerin whines, collapsing back into her chair.
“Explain the Pack magic,” Malice says, still standing away from the group. It seems to Aerin he is analyzing each of them, but she isn’t sure what for.
Khortland simply shrugs. “Magic doesn’t always have an explanation.”
Aerin rubs her face.
“But why would your father go out of his way to show me her cage? To bring up my own father in relation to her?”
Khortland stands. “My father is off his rocker in case you forgot. He’s passed all responsibilities to Redlam at this point, the only thing left to secede is the crown itself.
You said he talked about you as a Faeling, right?
Perhaps he is just nostalgic.” Khortland moves to the bed as he speaks, pulling back the covers for good measure.
“Now, if you would all please exit my room.” He shoots a glower at Malice and then Emrys.
“See if you can find out anything more, about my father and the Wolf.” Khortland opens his mouth to object, but Aerin keeps talking. “And I will see to it that the locket is imbued by the Witch tomorrow.”
Khortland snaps his mouth shut, his eyes narrowing. “I’ll make my best attempt,” he grumbles, climbing into the bed as they exit the room.