Chapter 14
Aeryn’s pulse quickened as she approached the Healer’s Hall, her hand drifting to her belly. Garran stood outside with two other guards, his broad shoulders blocking most of the doorway.
“She’s calmer now,” he said, stepping aside. “Brenn gave her a draught for the pain. Made her drowsy.”
Aeryn nodded her thanks and pushed through the heavy wooden door. The air was warm, filled with the scent of herbs. Caeryth lay propped against the pillows, her eyes half-lidded from the medicine. Someone had combed back her hair and loosely plaited over one shoulder.
“You’re back.” Caeryth’s voice was hoarse. “I thought you’d abandoned me to these…” She stopped herself. “…healers.”
“Abandon you?” She moved closer to the cot. “Why would you think that?”
Caeryth looked away, her fingers plucking at the edge of the blanket. “Because I said terrible things. Because I insulted…” She swallowed hard. “Him. Your... mate.”
Aeryn sank onto the edge of the bed. “You’re my sister, Caeryth. I wouldn’t leave you alone in a strange place, no matter what passed between us.” She took her sister’s hand, relieved when Caeryth didn’t pull away.
“You look different.” Caeryth studied her face. “Not just the clothes or…” Her eyes flicked to the mark on Aeryn’s neck. “Everything about you. You move differently.”
Aeryn’s free hand touched the mark. “I suppose I am different.” She looked at Caeryth, trying to imagine how she must appear through her sister’s eyes.
“How did you even get here?” she asked. “You said Mother sent you, but she wouldn’t have allowed you to travel so far alone.”
Caeryth hesitated. “She gave me gold and hired a guide to take me north. Said he’d traveled the mountain routes before.”
Aeryn frowned. “There wasn’t a guide with you when Garran’s scouts found you.”
Caeryth’s gaze dropped to her lap. “He wanted to wait out the rain, but we were already so close… I didn’t want to lose another day. So, I left him behind. I thought I could make the last climb myself.”
“Caeryth, she didn’t send you to climb a mountain alone.” Aeryn’s voice sharpened. “And what did you think would happen if you did manage to get into Beinn Ork? What was your plan?”
“The plan,” she said quietly, “was to reach the lower paths by daylight. The guide said that the orcs sometimes sent hunters down to trade. I thought if I could find one, maybe he’d take me to you. Or at least carry a message.”
Aeryn pressed her fingers to her temples. “Gods, Caeryth. That’s a foolish plan. That's reckless. That's what I would have done.”
Her sister’s lips curved faintly. “I learned from the best.”
“That’s not comforting,” Aeryn said, though her voice softened.
A sharp rap cut through the quiet. Aeryn turned to see a slender figure enter the healing hall, arms laden with a bulging cloth bag that clinked as he walked.
“Beg pardon,” he said. “Was told ye’d be here.” His silver eyes moved between the sisters.
Aeryn straightened. “Malkor? What brings you here?”
“Heard ye wi’ sister. Lesson still good?” He shifted the bag. “Brought thread. Hide. Cloth. Needles.”
Malkor set it at the foot of Caeryth’s cot. “Ah. Extra things. For sister.” He nodded. “Only if she wants. Malkor. Clan Kairn. Craftsmen. Leatherwork. Stitchin’.”
Caeryth blinked, clearly uncertain. Her gaze traveled over Malkor’s slender form, the intricate braids in his dark hair, and the callused hands shaped by needle rather than sword. “You... sew?” she asked, the word edged with disbelief.
Malkor nodded. “Aye. Leatherwork mostly. But learnin’ finer stitches.” He gestured toward Aeryn. “She teaches. Human patterns. Elvish knots.” His silver eyes brightened. “Good wi’ hands.”
Aeryn smiled. “Malkor is one of our best craftsmen. He’s made many of my clothes since I arrived.”
Caeryth stared at him with undisguised wonder. “I didn’t think orcs would... I mean, I assumed all of you were…” Her cheeks flushed.
“Warriors?” Malkor supplied. “Some. No’ all.” He tapped his chest with a shrug. “Better wi’ needle than blade. No’ just stitchin’. Tannin’. Dyes. Patterns.”
He reached into his bag and withdrew a folded square of supple leather dyed a deep blue. “Made this. For you.” He held it out to Aeryn. “Special dye. From mountain flowers.”
Aeryn ran her fingers over the buttery-soft surface. The color was a deep midnight blue. “It’s beautiful, Malkor. Thank you.”
He nodded once, pleased. “For new garments. When ready.” His gaze dropped briefly to her midsection.
“I appreciate it,” she said. “Have you come to check on Caeryth as well?”
“Bring supplies. For comfort.” He turned to Caeryth, gesturing to her torn and mud-stiffened clothing folded on a nearby bench. “Can make new. Better.” He hesitated, then added, “If want.”
Caeryth struggled to reconcile this gentle craftsman with her old fears. “I…” She glanced at Aeryn.
Malkor tilted his head. “Want to see?” Without waiting, he reached into his bag. “Show ye work. Then decide.”
He pulled out several pieces and spread them across the edge of the cot: a handkerchief embroidered with tiny blue and purple mountain flowers, a leather cuff adorned with intricate knotwork, and a small beaded pouch.
“These,” he said. “My work.”
Caeryth leaned closer, drawn despite herself. “This is…” She reached out, stopping just short of touching the embroidered handkerchief. “Quite lovely.”
“Aeryn taught patterns. Elvish knots.” He pointed to the delicate blue blossoms. “Mountain bluebell. Grows high on peaks. Rare.”
The rigid line of Caeryth’s mouth softened before she schooled her expression again. “I’ve never seen stitches this fine,” she said, looking at Malkor with curiosity. “Did you learn first from your mother?”
Confusion passed over Malkor’s features before understanding dawned. He glanced at Aeryn. His smile faded. “No mother. Orphan. Mother, father—” His eyes dulled as he looked away. “Killed. Humans. When I was young.”
“I’m sorry.” Color drained from Caeryth’s face. “I didn’t mean to—”
He shook his head. “Long past. Raised by clan. All children of mountain.” His hands returned to the embroidered cloth. “Learned craft from elder.”
“What Malkor means,” Aeryn began, “is that he was raised communally. The orcs have different ways of raising their young. The entire clan shares responsibility.”
At court, children belonged to their houses. Their worth was measured in names and alliances, and even with a mother’s love, there had been tutors, expectations, endless instructions in usefulness over joy.
Malkor had no lineage by human standards, yet he spoke of his clan with the pride of a prince.
Caeryth’s brow furrowed. “But surely there must be mothers,” she insisted, looking between them. “Women who bear the children, even if they’re raised by everyone after.”
Malkor’s hands stilled, fingers hovering over the delicate stitches. He drew a slow breath before speaking. “No orc women,” he said quietly. “No’… for many generations.”
“No women? That’s impossible. How would you…” Caeryth faltered.
Malkor’s gaze dropped to his hands. “Human women, sometimes. Mostly. But dangerous. Human men hunt ‘em. Hunt the mothers. Orc sons.”
Caeryth flinched, recoiling. Aeryn’s throat tightened. The child within her felt more vulnerable, more precious. A future son who might inherit the same hatred that had orphaned Malkor.
“But…” Caeryth struggled to piece together the implications. “That would mean every orc is half-human. Or half-elf.”
“Aye.” Malkor nodded once. “And no. All mixed blood now.” He gestured toward Aeryn. “Like her. Like ye.” His hand moved in an arc that encompassed them all. “But only orc. Only sons.”
“But that defies nature.” Caeryth shook her head. “Every race has males and females.”
“It’s a curse,” Aeryn said quietly. She understood her confusion all too well. “From the War of Division. The elven mages ensured the orcs would eventually die out. No daughters, only sons. Each generation thins their bloodline.”
“That’s not true. The elves didn’t curse them. Orcs came after the War.” Caeryth glanced between Aeryn and Malkor. “And if that were true, how would they have survived?”
“Unions.” Malkor returned to his embroidery, fingers tracing the delicate pattern as he spoke.
“Wi’ humans. Elves. Elf-blooded.” A shadow crossed his face.
“No’ always willin’. No’ always kind.” He met Caeryth’s gaze.
“Now, we try new way. Orc fathers seek willin’ mates.
Trade, treaties, some love-matches.” He gestured to Aeryn. “Like her. Mountain-bride.”
Caeryth looked at Aeryn again, her face pale.
“The orcs aren’t monsters, Caeryth,” Aeryn said. “They have laws, customs. Different from ours, yes, but no less worthy of respect.”
“Should go.” Malkor gathered his embroidery, sensing the tension in the room. “Leave ye to speak.” He tucked his work back into his bag. “Will return tomorrow. If want clothes.” He nodded to Caeryth. “Rest well. Heal strong.” With a final glance at Aeryn, he slipped from the room.
Silence settled in his wake. Aeryn studied Caeryth’s face, noting the furrow between her brows, the slight tremble in her lower lip. Caeryth wore her emotions openly, but she’d learned how to soften hers for court, to make her feelings palatable, even endearing.
“So that’s why they raided human settlements,” Caeryth said finally, her voice hollow. “They weren’t just taking supplies. They were taking women. The rumors were true…”
Aeryn had seen enough in Khaeric’s eyes, in Mael’s careful silences, to know there were chapters of their history no one here claimed with pride. The truth was neither innocent nor cruel alone, but both, tangled.
“For a time, yes. But those days are past. The mountain clans have spent years building alliances, finding willing partners.”
Caeryth’s eyes sharpened. “And this treaty—this marriage—it was simply another means to the same end?” Her voice turned bitter. “A more civilized form to secure their bloodline.”
“It’s not that simple,” Aeryn said.
“Isn’t it?” She pushed herself higher against the pillows.
“Sister, stop.” Aeryn’s voice cut sharper than she intended. She took a breath. “The treaty was about ending generations of bloodshed. About finding a way forward that didn’t require more graves. Yes, the orcs need women to survive, but that’s not all this union is.”
“And you?” Caeryth glanced toward the door. “Has he gotten what he wanted from you yet?”
Aeryn’s mouth dried. “It’s not like that. What Khaeric and I share... It’s more than duty.”
“Is it?” Caeryth’s stare was steady despite her exhaustion. “Or is that what you tell yourself to endure it?”
“You’ve only seen a fragment of this place, of these people.” Aeryn rose abruptly, the healing hall suddenly feeling too small.
“Then explain it to me,” Caeryth demanded. “Help me understand why my sister now dresses like them, speaks like them.”
“When I first came here,” she began, “I thought as you do. I was terrified. I expected the worst from Khaeric, from all of them. That’s what we were taught.” She settled back beside Caeryth. “But that’s not what I found.”
Caeryth remained skeptical, but she didn’t interrupt.
“Did you know there was a time when elves and orcs lived in peace? Before the War of Division? There were marriages, alliances, children born of both bloodlines.”
“That’s not what the histories say,” Caeryth objected.
“Our histories,” Aeryn corrected. “Written by the victors. Preserved by the Council of Memories, which decides which truths endure. The orcs keep their own histories.”
Caeryth’s brow furrowed. “But they’re stories. Just... claims.”
“I thought so too,” Aeryn admitted. “Until I saw proof. Statues of elven ancestors who stood with the orcs.” She hesitated. The deeper truth about Serathen and her connection to their own bloodline would have to wait.
Her sister shook her head. “Why should I believe them? These... orcs... they’d tell any tale to justify what they’ve done.”
“And what exactly have they done?” Aeryn challenged. “Saved you? Helped heal you? Given me shelter? Taught me their language? Treated me with more respect than I ever received at court?”
Caeryth’s attention returned to the mark on Aeryn’s neck. “He’s branded you,” she whispered. “Marked you as his property.”
“It’s a bond mark. A sign of partnership,” Aeryn said softly. “I stand beside him, not beneath him.”
“A bond that makes you look like cattle,” she muttered.
“You speak of things you don’t understand.”
“Then, make me understand!” Caeryth’s voice cracked with frustration. “Because it looks like you’ve abandoned everything—your family, your dignity—for... for this.” Her gesture took in the leathers, the mark.
Aeryn closed her eyes and counted her breaths before opening them again. “Would you prefer I say I’m miserable? That I’ve spent every day plotting my escape since my wedding? I won’t lie to ease your conscience.” She rubbed her eyes. “You need to rest. We can speak more tomorrow.”
Caeryth’s jaw tightened, and her hands clutched the blanket. “Will you at least stay?” she asked, her voice smaller now. “Just until I fall asleep?”
Aeryn took her sister’s hand. “Of course I’ll stay.”
Caeryth’s eyes drifted closed, exhaustion overtaking curiosity. Within moments, her breathing deepened, and her fingers loosened their grip.
Aeryn remained beside her sister, watching her sleep. The face before her was achingly familiar, yet it looked out of place beneath furs and between carved mountain walls. Even in slumber, Caeryth’s brow remained furrowed, as if her dreams demanded answers she had not yet found.