Chapter 17 #2
She winced at the memory of her sister’s shocked face. “She was stunned. Horrified, I think.” She looked up at Khaeric, seeing the subtle tension in his jaw. She touched his face.
“How long will they stay? Yer mother and sister.”
“I’m uncertain,” she admitted. “We haven’t discussed it yet. Everything happened so quickly after her arrival. A few days at least, maybe longer?”
“A few days would be good for ye. Time wi’ yer mother and sister.”
“I was thinking,” Aeryn said, her fingers intertwining with his, “my mother would probably like to get to know you properly.” The words came out in a rush. “She’s traveled all this way.”
Khaeric’s brow furrowed. “Ye think she would want that?”
“I do.” Aeryn nodded, more confident now. “She surprised me today. She’s more... open to understanding than I expected.” She squeezed his hand.
For a moment, his eyes widened, uncertainty flashing through them. “What would we speak of, yer mother and I?”
Aeryn smiled. “Whatever you wish. She could tell you stories of my childhood, perhaps. And you could show her the mountain, let her see it through your eyes rather than mine.”
His brow smoothed, the tight line around his eyes easing as he weighed her words. “Ye think she’d want to hear an orc’s view of the world?”
“I think she’s more curious than I ever gave her credit for,” Aeryn said. “She learned to adapt when she married my father. I think she’d want to understand this world too.”
Khaeric was quiet for a long moment. “I would be honored. To speak wi’ yer mother. To show her the mountain.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Khaeric reached down to touch her cheek. “I need to leave ye for a time. There are matters I must attend to before the feast.”
Aeryn nodded. “Go. I’ll be fine.” She adjusted herself against the pillows, already feeling stronger than before.
After several minutes, Aeryn pushed herself up and stepped into the corridor. One of Khaeric’s guards stood at his usual post. “Has my mother risen yet?”
“No, Princess,” he said. “She remains in her chambers. Yer sister left a short while ago.”
“Caeryth?” Aeryn frowned. “Did she say where she was going?”
The guard hesitated, then inclined his head toward the upper hall. “Toward the scholar’s wing, my lady. The Great Library.”
“Alone?”
“Aye. Didnae ask for an escort.”
After thanking him, she set off up the familiar stairs. Her steps slowed as the wide doors of the Great Library came into view. Caeryth stood just outside the threshold. Her shoulders were squared in that way that meant she was terrified and determined not to show it.
Aeryn walked forward, her footsteps quiet on the stone floor. “Caeryth?”
Her sister spun, hand flying to her chest. “Gods, Aeryn! Must you sneak up on people?”
“I wasn’t sneaking. You were just... distracted.” Aeryn gestured toward the library doors. “Were you going in?”
“I was considering it.” Caeryth’s chin lifted. “Is there some law against it? Do I need special permission from the savage lords of the mountain?”
Aeryn’s jaw tightened, but she kept her voice even. “No one’s stopping you. The library is open to guests.”
Caeryth’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “How generous.” She glanced back at the doors, then at Aeryn. “I suppose you spend hours in there, learning all their fascinating customs. Becoming one of them.”
“I’ve been trying to understand the people I live among, yes.”
“Understand them.” Caeryth laughed, the sound sharp and brittle. “You’re carrying one of their children, Aeryn. I’d say you’ve moved well past understanding into full conversion.”
Aeryn stared at her sister, watching Caeryth’s fingers twist in the fabric of her skirt, the slight tremor in her hands, the too-bright sheen in her eyes.
The defensive posture, the sharp words, the brittle laughter—all of it a wall she’d thrown up.
Aeryn had interrupted her sister at the threshold of something forbidden, and now Caeryth was lashing out to cover the vulnerability of having been discovered.
“Right…” Aeryn softened her voice. “I’m going to leave now, Caeryth.”
Her sister’s eyes widened, surprise flickering across her features before her chin lifted again. “What?”
“I’m leaving,” Aeryn repeated. “If you have questions about the orcs, their history, their culture, you can speak to Mael. Or any of the other scholars, really. They’re... They’re good people, Caeryth. They’d be happy to answer whatever you want to know.”
She watched Caeryth’s face, watched the way her sister’s jaw worked, the way her hands tightened and loosened at her sides. “You’re just... leaving?” Caeryth’s voice had lost its sharp edge, confusion replacing the barbs.
“Yes, I should rest before the feast tonight.” Aeryn took a step back, then another. “But the library is here if you want it.”
Caeryth’s lips parted, then closed. She looked between Aeryn and the library doors, her brow furrowing. “I don’t... I wasn’t...”
“I know you weren’t.” Aeryn turned and walked away, leaving her sister alone at the threshold.
When she reached the branching hall that led toward her chambers, she turned and then stopped. She shouldn’t look back. Caeryth would feel watched, judged. And yet—
Aeryn leaned just enough to peer around the corner, keeping most of her body hidden.
After a long breath, Caeryth pushed the door open and slipped inside.
Through the narrowing gap, Aeryn glimpse of Mael at his central table, sleeves rolled.
He looked up at once, his gaze catching on Caeryth.
“Yer Highness,” Aeryn heard him say, his voice carrying just enough to reach the corridor. “Back to judge my shelves so soon?”
Caeryth’s answer came quieter, but Aeryn could still make out the words. “I suppose you’re going to tell me this is a terrible time to bother the great scholar with a question.”
Mael’s brows lifted, the edge of his mouth curving. “A question?” There was no mockery in it this time, only interest. “Well then. Best come in, or the books will think ye’ve lost yer nerve.”
The door swung shut behind Caeryth.
Hours later, when the mountain halls filled with the scent of roasting meat and the distant sound of drums, Aeryn took Khaeric’s arm and descended toward the great hall.
The doors stood open, revealing the vast chamber beyond. Clanlord Varak stood at the entrance, towering over most of the gathered orcs. “Clanlord Khaeric,” he greeted, pressing his fist to his chest, “Princess.”
Varak stepped aside, allowing them entry. Inside, long tables stretched across the stone floor, laden with platters of roasted meat, mountain roots, and hearty breads.
The hall rang with voices and smelled of woodsmoke and meat, nothing like the stiff formality of her father’s court. Orcs lounged on benches or stood in clusters, their voices carrying through the chamber without restraint. “They’ve outdone themselves,” Aeryn murmured to Khaeric.
Khaeric guided her toward the high table where his father already sat. Korrath’s massive frame dominated the center position. “Daughter,” he greeted. “Ye’ve dressed well for the occasion.”
“Father,” Khaeric said, his hand warm against the small of her back. “We’re honored to join ye.”
“And honored to receive Clan Tarrn’s gesture of reconciliation,” Aeryn added.
Korrath inclined his head, though his eyes held a glimmer of amusement. “Clan Tarrn ken what’s owed when one of their own steps out of line.” He gestured to the empty seats beside him. “Sit. The evening’s just begun.”
Aeryn settled into the chair. The position at the table offered a clear view of the hall below, where more orcs continued to filter in. Clan Tarrn’s warriors mingled with those of Clan Druin.
A pair of younger warriors approached the table, holding platters laden with thick cuts of roasted boar, charred at the edges and dripping with fat.
The rich, smoky scent made Aeryn’s mouth water.
Behind them came others carrying bowls of root vegetables glazed with honey, crusty bread still warm from the ovens, and pitchers of what she’d learned was a fermented drink made from mountain berries.
The server set a platter before her, the meat still sizzling. Another poured amber liquid into her cup, the sweet-tart aroma rising with the steam.
The feast began in earnest. Platters moved across tables, hands reached for meat and bread, cups were filled and drained and filled again. Aeryn ate slowly, savoring the rich flavors.
Around them, the hall swelled with conversation. Warriors spoke of hunting expeditions and forge work, their voices rising and falling in the natural rhythm of orcish speech. No stiff politeness, no careful navigation of rank and favor. Just honest talk between those who had fought side by side.
A loud thud echoed through the hall as Varak struck his staff against the stone floor three times. Conversations died, laughter fading into silence. Every orc turned toward the high table, their attention sharp and immediate.
“Brothers of Druin,” he called. “I stand before ye tonight bearin’ the weight of my clan’s dishonor. One of our own has caused harm through threats and violence toward a guest under our protection.”
A stir moved through the gathered orcs. Movement near the back of the hall caught Aeryn’s eye. The crowd parted as Dagmar emerged. He walked alone through the silent hall, every eye tracking his progress.
Dagmar stopped before them, his jaw set in a rigid line. He bore no weapons. His eyes fixed on a point just above Varak’s shoulder, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze directly.
Varak’s voice cut through the silence. “Dagmar of Clan Tarrn. Ye stand before this assembly to name what ye’ve done. Speak plainly.”
“I threatened Lady Aeryn, mate to Clanlord Khaeric.” His voice carried through the hall. “I spoke words meant to frighten. I questioned her place among us, her worth, and the treaty that brought her here.”
“And her sister?” Varak prompted. “Lady Caeryth, who came as a guest to these halls?”
“I threatened her as well.” Dagmar’s shoulders remained rigid. “I spoke of her as a spy and tool of human ambition. I made her fear for her safety in our halls.”
“And what have these words cost?”
Dagmar’s jaw worked, a muscle twitching beneath the skin.
“Lady Caeryth witnessed violence between myself and Clanlord Khaeric. She saw blood spilled and rage unleashed. Her fear of our people, already present, was made worse by my actions.” He paused.
“I dishonored Clan Tarrn. I brought shame upon my Clanlord and gave fuel to those who would see the treaty broken.”
“Ye’ve named yer wrongs plainly.” Varak turned to address the assembled orcs.
“When harm is done, we dinnae simply punish. We ask: what can be mended? What can be restored?” He turned his gaze to Khaeric.
“Clanlord Khaeric, as the representative of the wronged party, ye may speak. What would ye see done?”
Khaeric rose from his seat, his hand briefly touching Aeryn’s shoulder before he stepped forward. “Dagmar spoke against my mate and threatened her kin. He questioned the treaty that keeps peace between our people and the humans.” A pause. “But he has named his wrongs before this assembly.”
“The humans fear us,” Khaeric continued.
“Many believe we are beasts barely restrained by oaths.” He gestured toward Aeryn.
“My mate has worked to bridge that divide. She has learned our ways, spoken our tongue, walked our halls wi’out flinching.
Lady Caeryth came here expectin’ monsters.
Dagmar’s actions confirmed her worst fears. ”
Khaeric’s gaze swept the hall before returning to Dagmar.
“For his restitution, I ask that Dagmar serve the community he has dishonored. Let him work in the forges of Clan Druin, lendin’ his strength to craft goods that will be traded wi’ human settlements.
Let his hands help build the peace he sought to tear down. ”
Dagmar’s expression remained stoic as Khaeric finished speaking, though something shifted in his gaze—shame, or resentment, or both. The hall waited, the silence pressing down like the weight of the mountain itself.
Varak stepped forward, his staff tapping once against the stone. “The wronged party has spoken. Now ye must answer, Dagmar. Will ye accept this obligation?”
Dagmar’s jaw worked for a long moment. His hands curled into fists, then slowly opened. When he finally spoke, his voice carried through the hall, rough but clear. “I accept.”
“Then speak it plainly,” Varak commanded. “So all may hear.”
Dagmar drew a breath. “I will serve in the forges of Clan Druin. I will craft goods to be traded wi’ human settlements. I will lend my strength to build the peace I sought to undermine.”
A murmur rippled through the gathered orcs. The words were there, spoken plainly for all to witness.
But there was something in the way Dagmar held himself that made Aeryn doubt his honor. His shoulders remained too rigid, and there—a slight shift in his stance, his weight rolling back almost imperceptibly onto his heels.
Varak’s staff struck the floor once more. “The obligation is accepted and witnessed. Dagmar of Clan Tarrn will serve in the forges of Clan Druin for six moon cycles. His work will be overseen by Forge Master Rhennik, who will report his progress to both Clanlords.”
Dagmar stepped back, disappearing into the crowd. The silence held—one breath, then two. Aeryn watched the empty space he had left, her question unresolved as the noise of the feast rose around her.