Chapter 10
Aeryn sat in one of the gathering rooms with her embroidery hoop balanced across her lap. The space was smaller than the great hall, but still spacious enough to accommodate the dozen people scattered throughout.
Malkor occupied the chair beside her, his pale fingers gripping an embroidery hoop.
The fabric stretched across the frame showed a simple leaf pattern she’d drawn for him, a basic stem stitch and satin stitch.
Nothing complicated, but his jaw was set as if he were attempting something far more treacherous.
“You’re pulling too tight,” Aeryn said, leaning closer to examine his work. “See how the fabric puckers? You want the thread taut enough to lie smooth, but not so tight it distorts the weave.”
Malkor’s brow furrowed deeper, his black tongue darting out to wet his lips in concentration. He loosened his grip slightly, and the next stitch came out marginally better.
“Better,” she said. His technique was improving, but slowly. “Try another.”
Bending over the hoop again, Malkor pushed the needle through the fabric. The thread slipped through cleanly this time, forming a neat loop that followed the curve of the leaf.
“Much better,” Aeryn said before returning her attention to her own work.
The door to the gathering hall opened, and Essa entered with Odelina close behind, along with two other women Aeryn had seen around the mountain but hadn’t formally met.
Essa had what looked like a half-finished basket; Odelina held a crochet project, and the other two women each carried fabric bundles.
“Aeryn!” Essa called when she spotted her. “It’s been a few weeks since we’ve seen you.”
Aeryn set down her embroidery hoop and rose to greet them. “It’s good to see you both.”
Essa’s gaze swept over her. “Oh, you’re wearing one of Malkor’s pieces!”
Aeryn glanced down at the linen dress she was wearing. The hem barely reached mid-thigh, and her shoulders were bare. But the fabric moved with her now, breathable and light, nothing like the restrictive layers she’d worn at court.
“I’ve been wearing his garments almost exclusively now,” Aeryn said, smiling as she glanced away.
Odelina settled crossed from them. “Your craftsmanship is exceptional, Malkor,” she said.
Malkor’s head lifted from his embroidery with pride flashing across his face. “Thank ye.”
Essa moved to one of the cushioned seats, settling her basket in her lap. The woven reeds were pale and flexible, still holding the faint scent of the hot springs where they’d likely been soaked. Her fingers worked quickly, threading a new piece through the existing pattern.
Odelina drew yarn from the skein beside her as she worked the hook through loops already formed.
The rhythm was steady, almost meditative; a soft clicking sound blending with the indistinct murmur of conversation in the room.
The crochet piece draped across her lap showed an intricate lace pattern, delicate despite the sturdy wool she’d chosen.
The other two women settled nearby, one unfolding what appeared to be a partially completed tunic while the other unwrapped a length of undyed wool and a spindle.
“That’s beautiful work,” Aeryn said to Odelina. “What are you making?”
Glancing up, Odelina smiled. “A shawl for my clan-sister. She gets cold easily, even here in the mountain.” Her fingers never stopped moving as she spoke. “I thought something with an open weave would be practical without being too heavy.”
“That’s very kind of you. How long does something like that take?” Aeryn asked, settling back into her chair and retrieving her embroidery hoop.
“A few evenings, perhaps.” Odelina’s hook caught another loop, drawing the yarn through. “Less if I had more time to work on it.”
Essa laughed, her attention still on her basket. “You’re faster than most. I’ve seen you finish a blanket in three days.”
Odelina smiled. “It’s hardly impressive. Just practice.”
“Practice and natural talent,” the woman with the spindle said, her fingers drawing out the wool into a thin, even strand.
Malkor cleared his throat, drawing Aeryn’s attention back to him. He held up his embroidery hoop, angling it so the light caught the threads. “Leaf finished.”
Aeryn leaned in to examine his work. The stitches were still uneven in places, some looser than others, but the overall shape held. He’d kept the satin stitch smooth along the body of the leaf, and the stem showed only minor puckering where he’d pulled too tight.
“That’s excellent progress,” she said. The difference between this attempt and his first clumsy efforts three weeks ago was remarkable. “You’ve gotten much better at controlling your tension.”
Malkor’s eyes brightened, and he turned the hoop to study his own work with obvious satisfaction. “Thread behaves differently than expected. It has its own... personality.”
Aeryn smiled. “It does. You’re learning to read those qualities.”
“How is your family doing, Aeryn?” Essa asked, her fingers continuing their steady work on the basket.
Aeryn’s hands stilled on her embroidery hoop. She looked down at the half-finished rose taking shape across the linen. “I…” She paused, searching for the right words. “I haven’t received any letters.”
Four months. Nearly four months since she’d arrived at Beinn Ork, and she’d sent letters every week for the first month, then every other week when no replies came.
She’d told herself a dozen different reasons.
Letters took time to reach the mountain, perhaps they’d been delayed; perhaps her family was simply too busy.
But four months?
“I’m sure they’re just preoccupied,” Odelina said, her hook still moving.
Aeryn nodded. The mountain passes were clear. She knew that much. Traders arrived weekly, their wagons laden with grain, spices, and news from the human kingdoms. “Of course. I’m certain that’s all it is.”
The conversation drifted to other topics; they discussed the harvest preparations, a wedding being planned between two orcs from different clans, and the progress on a new forge being constructed in the lower levels.
Aeryn listened, offering occasional comments while her needle moved through the fabric. The rose was nearly complete now, its petals rendered in deep crimson thread.
Eventually, the gathering dispersed. Essa picked up her basket; the woven reeds now formed a nearly complete bowl. Odelina rolled her crochet work carefully, securing it with a bit of yarn. The other women gathered their projects, exchanging farewells as they filtered out into the corridor.
Malkor stood, folding his embroidery carefully. “Same time next week?” he asked.
“Yes,” Aeryn said. “And practice that leaf pattern again. Try it with different colored threads this time.”
He nodded, tucking the hoop under his arm before making his way toward the door.
Aeryn gathered her own materials, winding the remaining thread around its spool and tucking her needle into the small leather case she kept for that purpose. The rose was nearly finished—perhaps one more evening’s work would complete it. She folded the linen and stood.
The corridors were quieter now; the afternoon settling into that lull before the evening meal, and she’d just rounded the bend when she spotted Garran.
“Garran,” she called, adjusting her grip on the folded linen and supplies. “How are you?”
“Princess.” Garran inclined his head. “Well enough. Headin’ to the yards now.”
“Oh, actually,” Aeryn said. “I was wondering if you might train me?” She’d been meaning to ask him about learning to defend herself. Khaeric was busy with his own responsibilities.
“Train ye?”
“Yes.” She straightened her shoulders. “I’ve been meaning to ask. I’ve been here for four months now. I’ve learned the language, the customs, but I don’t know how to defend myself.”
He studied her for a long moment. “Ye have a weapon?”
The dagger. Khaeric’s offering on their wedding night that held the promise of choice. “Yes,” Aeryn said. “I have one.”
Garran’s eyes narrowed, assessing. His gaze traveled from her face down to the embroidery supplies in her arms, then back up. “Main trainin’ yard. Tomorrow mornin’, just after dawn. Dinnae be late.”
“I won’t be.”
He nodded once, a sharp jerk of his chin, then continued past her down the corridor.
Aeryn turned and continued down the corridor toward the bedchamber she shared with Khaeric, her embroidery supplies clutched against her chest.
Four months, and not a single letter.
Caeryth would have answered by now; she’d always been the most faithful correspondent, sending small notes hidden in books or slipped beneath pillows even when they lived under the same roof. For her to remain silent seemed impossible.
The weight in her chest grew heavier with each step toward the bedchamber. The embroidery supplies pressed against her ribs, a tangible reminder of the hours she’d spent trying to fill the emptiness that gnawed at her.
She pushed open the door.
The chamber was empty.
Aeryn stood in the doorway, her grip tightening on the folded linen until her knuckles ached. Of course, Khaeric wasn’t there. Why would he be? He had duties and responsibilities that extended far beyond entertaining a wife whose own family hadn’t thought to write in four months.
She closed the door behind her with more force than necessary and crossed to the bed. The embroidery supplies tumbled onto the furs in a careless heap—the linen, the thread case, the nearly finished rose that had taken her weeks to complete.
Sighing, Aeryn moved to the writing desk and pulled out a blank parchment before dipping her quill in ink.
The quill scratched against the parchment in the silent chamber.
This time, she did not address the letter to her family but to Lareth, her mother’s former captain.
No longer in the Crown’s direct service, he was the safest intermediary she could think of.