Chapter 16
Aweek within the Hall of Druin. Aeryn traced the carved patterns along the table’s edge for what felt like the hundredth time, each groove familiar now as her own restlessness.
Caeryth sat cross-legged on furs, golden hair veiling her face as she bent over one of Mael’s scrolls. “You don’t have to stay cooped up with me,” she said without looking up.
“I’m not cooped up. I’m keeping my sister company.”
“I can tell when you’re restless.” Caeryth glanced up.
“I’m fine,” Aeryn insisted, though the walls felt closer with each passing day. She missed her morning walks with Khaeric, meals with the clan, even Mael’s dry lectures about orcish history.
She rolled the scroll with unnecessary force. “Maybe I should... Not that I’m hiding or anything. Just perhaps… tomorrow. If I feel like it.”
Brenn had declared Caeryth fully healed the day before. The bruises that had marked her pale skin had faded to nothing. The limp had vanished too.
“There’s a feast tonight,” Aeryn said. “As part of reparations for Dagmar’s behavior.”
Caeryth’s fingers tightened on the scroll. “Will he be there?”
“Yes.” Aeryn kept her voice neutral. “Khaeric explained it to me this morning. When harm is done among clans, the one responsible must witness the repair. Dagmar will attend, but under watch. He’s required to witness his clan offer apology and restitution.”
Caeryth set the scroll aside. “So, I’m to sit there and watch him eat and drink while others apologize on his behalf?”
“Not exactly. He won’t feast. He must acknowledge the harm he had caused. The gifts they’re giving, the formal apology, the shame his Clanlord bears for his behavior… He has to witness all of it.”
Caeryth’s eyebrows rose. “And you find that sufficient? He threatened a princess of the Unified Crown. Father would have had him flogged.”
“The orcs don’t flog their own,” Aeryn said quietly. “When harm is done, those harmed, those responsible, and the clans must come together and decide how to mend it.”
Caeryth huffed and reached for another scroll. Her fingers traced the leather binding. “I don’t understand. How can you just—How can you feel safe here when—” She gestured sharply at nothing. “Fine. Is this feast thing important to you or not?”
“Yes.” Aeryn thought for a moment. “It’s important that the clans see us—see me—acknowledging their gesture of reconciliation.”
“And if I don’t attend? Will your mate be disappointed?”
“He would understand,” Aeryn replied, though doubt tugged at the edges. Khaeric had been patient, but his patience had limits. Each day Caeryth remained hidden was another day the clan whispered about the princess being too fearful to face them.
Caeryth stood and brushed her borrowed leathers. “I’m sorry, Aeryn. I can’t.” Her voice was soft but resolute.
“Caeryth—”
“No.” Caeryth raised a hand. “I know this matters to you. I understand your... mate expects certain things. But I need more time.”
“What you need is to actually see these people as they are, not as Father’s court described,” Aeryn said, sharper than intended.
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” Aeryn folded her arms, feeling the slight swell of her stomach press against them. Soon, she wouldn’t be able to hide it, not even with carefully chosen clothing. “You’ve been here three weeks and spent most of that time behind these doors. How can you judge what you won’t face?”
“I saw enough when that warrior threatened us,” Caeryth snapped, pacing now.
A sharp knock interrupted them. The door opened to reveal a young orc scout, his posture rigid with formality.
“My ladies,” he said, bowing his head to Aeryn, then glancing at Caeryth. “Forgive the intrusion. Yer presence is requested in the council chamber.”
Aeryn straightened. “Both of us?”
The scout nodded once. “Aye, Princess. Both.” His eyes shifted toward the corridor. “The High Chieftain and his council are assembled.”
Aeryn and her sister exchanged a look. “Has something happened?”
The scout hesitated. “No harm done, my lady. But there’s... a guest.”
“A guest?” Caeryth repeated, frowning.
The orc glanced between them. “Yer mother waits in the council chamber.”
Aeryn froze. Caeryth’s hand went to her mouth. “She’s here?”
The scout stepped back, gesturing toward the passageway. “If ye please, my lady. The council waits.”
The Queen Consort of the Unified Crown. In the mountain stronghold of the orcs.
“That’s impossible.”
Caeryth clutched Aeryn’s arm. “She came herself.” Her voice filled with dismay. “Gods, I never thought—”
“The Queen arrived at the mountain no’ an hour past. Small party. Just her personal guard.” The scout shifted uncomfortably under their shocked stares. “She requested to see both her daughters.”
When the doors opened, the chamber fell into view. Korrath was seated at the great table’s far end, clan elders flanking him. Beside him was Queen Liraen of the Unified Crown, still composed despite the road’s dust on her silks.
Aeryn halted at the threshold. Not at the sight of the crown that still circled her mother’s brow, or the guards at her back, but because of the look on her face. For a heartbeat, the Queen’s mask slipped. Relief, pure and unguarded, lit her eyes.
“Aeryn...”
Her name, shaped by the soft cadence of Elvish vowels tempered with human discipline, undid her.
Aeryn rushed toward her. Arms outstretched, Liraen met her daughter halfway.
“Mo ghrá.” Liraen cupped the back of Aeryn’s head. “I feared the worst.” Her voice faltered, control slipping just long enough for her daughters to glimpse the woman beneath the crown. She drew back only to take Aeryn’s face between her hands.
“Mother...” Caeryth’s voice broke in.
“Mo réaltín.” Liraen opened her arms again, and Caeryth went into her embrace.
Their mother turned toward Korrath and his gathered council. “High Chieftain. You have my deepest gratitude for the safety you’ve granted my daughters.”
Korrath inclined his head. “Ye owe us naught, Queen of the Lowlands. The mountain guards what’s entrusted to it.”
“Then, grant one kindness more,” she asked gently. “A mother’s wish to see her children without the weight of crowns or councils between us.”
The chamber stilled. Korrath’s brow furrowed, but there was no offense in his tone when he answered. “Ye’ll have it.” He gestured toward the elders. “Give ‘em the hall.”
Armor shifted as the orcs filed out. Khaeric lingered near the doorway, eyes finding Aeryn as though asking if she wished him to stay.
Liraen turned to him. “Son of Korrath. You have my thanks as well. For her safety.”
Khaeric nodded before looking at Aeryn again. She gave the smallest nod. He pressed a fist to his chest in respect and followed Korrath out. The great doors closed behind them.
In the silence that followed, Aeryn studied her mother’s face. Only five months had passed since she’d last seen her, yet it felt like a lifetime.
“Mother,” she said.
Liraen moved closer, taking in every change in her daughter. “The mountain suits you,” she said, warmth threading her voice. “There’s a strength in you I haven’t seen before.”
Aeryn fidgeted with her sleeves. “I feared you’d be disappointed. That I’d become too... orcish.”
“Oh, my daughter.” The Queen laughed and took Aeryn’s hands. “I, of all people, understand what it means to be sent to a foreign court, with unfamiliar customs, expected to adapt.”
Aeryn blinked. “You do?”
“Did you believe my marriage to your father was a love match?” Liraen’s smile turned wistful. “I was younger than you when I left the Thiarra Isles. The elven court sent me to secure an alliance, much as your father sent you.”
Aeryn stared at her mother, seeing her in a new light.
“I remember how strange everything felt.” Liraen’s fingers absently smoothed a fold in her travel-worn dress.
“Human customs seemed so... abrupt. Their meals heavy with meat, their prayers bound to a single god, their distrust of magic.” She shook her head.
“And their stares. Always staring at my ears, my skin, the way I moved. As if I were some exotic creature rather than a person.”
“I never knew,” Aeryn said. “You always seemed so at ease.”
Liraen’s smile held sadness. “That’s what we do, isn’t it?
We adapt. We find our footing in strange lands.
We learn their language, the customs. We bear their children.
But belonging is another matter.” She fell quiet for a moment, tracing the council table’s edge.
“When I didn’t hear from Caeryth after her departure, I grew uneasy.
At first, I assumed the journey north was simply taking longer than expected.
But then Lareth came to me. He carried a letter.
Your letter, Aeryn. Written nearly a month ago. ”
Aeryn’s heart stuttered. “But I sent several—”
“None reached me.” Her mother began to pace. “I knew nothing of your welfare until Lareth brought me that letter.”
Aeryn sank into a chair before her legs gave way.
“Your father intercepted our correspondence,” Liraen said. “The letters you sent me, and those I wrote to you, never reached their intended hands.”
“Father?” Caeryth’s voice was hollow. “But why?”
“Control,” Liraen said. “Your father has always prized control above all else.”
Aeryn’s mind reeled. “All of them?”
“Yes. He admitted as much when I confronted him.” Her mother’s gaze was piercing. “I wrote to you weekly after your departure. When months passed without a response, I feared you had cut ties with your former life.”
“Never,” Aeryn breathed. “I wrote of everything—the mountain, Khaeric, and—” Her hand moved to her belly before she caught herself.
Her mother caught the gesture. Liraen went still, her eyes widening.
“Mother...” The words caught. This was not how she meant to tell her. Not here, not with Caeryth watching in confusion. But her mother’s eyes were steady, gentle. “I’m with child.”
Caeryth inhaled sharply. “What did you say?” Her face drained of color as she stared at Aeryn’s abdomen.