Chapter 19
The week that followed passed in a blur of planning and preparation.
Aeryn spent her days negotiating the delicate politics of their journey to Thiarra, working alongside Korrath and her mother to ensure every detail would withstand courtly scrutiny.
Khaeric threw himself into learning what he could of elven customs, sitting through Aeryn and Liraen’s lessons on protocol and lineage.
“We will begin with the one of the fundamental principle of elven court interaction,” Liraen said, her hands folding in her lap. “Distance.”
Khaeric stood before her mother, his posture straight but not rigid, and nodded once. “Distance,” he repeated.
“You must maintain at least three paces between yourself and any member of the Council of Memories unless they explicitly invite you closer.” Liraen gestured with her hand, demonstrating the appropriate distance.
Khaeric stepped back, measuring the distance with his eyes. “Three paces,” he said. “Understood.”
“And you must not speak until prompted by one of the council members,” Liraen continued, her voice taking on that particular quality Aeryn recognized—the one she used when delivering instructions that could not be negotiated.
“They will acknowledge your presence when they are ready. To speak before then would be considered... presumptuous.”
“Even if they address me indirectly?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral. “If they speak of me as though I’m no’ present?”
“Especially then.”
As the lesson continued, Aeryn stepped out. She left them to their careful dance of protocol and headed towards Caeryth’s chamber. In three days, Caeryth and their mother would return to the royal capital and she and Khaeric would head to Thiarra.
Caeryth was standing before an open trunk, holding a leather-bound journal.
“Need help?” Aeryn asked from the doorway.
Caeryth’s head snapped up, and she tucked the journal quickly into the chest. “I am perfectly capable of packing my own things.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t.” Aeryn stepped into the room. “But if you don’t want help with packing, maybe I could just... spend time with you.”
Caeryth’s hands stilled over the chest. “Why?”
“Because you’re my sister. Because I’ve missed you.”
After a long moment, Caeryth answered. “I suppose that would be acceptable.”
Not exactly a warm welcome. Aeryn crossed to the bed and settled on its edge, watching as Caeryth resumed her packing. “You’ve been spending a great deal of time with Mael.”
“Mother required me to,” she said, her tone flat. “It’s not as though I had a choice in the matter.”
“And yet you seem to enjoy it.”
“Enjoy is... a strong word. Mael is knowledgeable. His perspective on certain historical matters is... not entirely without merit.”
Aeryn bit back a smile. “Not entirely without merit. High praise indeed.”
“Don’t mock me.” But there was no real heat in it. Caeryth folded another piece of clothing. “He’s insufferable, actually. Pedantic. Condescending. He has this way of explaining things as though I’m a child who’s just learned her letters.”
Aeryn laughed. She didn’t believe that for a moment. “Caeryth,” she said. “When my child comes... would you return? To be here for the birth?”
“Is that what you think of me?” Caeryth scoffed. “That I would miss my nephew’s birth?”
Aeryn smiled. “So you’ll come?”
Caeryth’s fingers tightened on the fabric. “I just said I would, didn’t I?”
Moving from the bed, Aeryn pulled Caeryth into her arms. Caeryth went rigid. For a heartbeat, Aeryn thought her sister might push her away—but then Caeryth’s hands came up, tentative, settling against Aeryn’s back.
“Don’t make a scene,” Caeryth muttered, but her fingers curled into the fabric of Aeryn’s tunic.
“I’m not making a scene.” Aeryn tightened her hold. “I’m hugging you.”
“In the middle of my packing.”
“You can pack after.”
Caeryth made a sound that might have been a laugh or a sigh. They stood like that for a long moment.
When they finally pulled apart, Caeryth’s eyes had gone glassy, though she blinked it back almost immediately. “You should go,” she said. “I have a great deal left to do.”
“Of course.” Aeryn turned to leave, then paused at the doorway and glanced back. Caeryth had pulled out the journal again, running her fingers along its spine.
Beyond the pier, the ship waited, sails furled against the morning mist. The banner of the Unified Crown fluttered in the breeze, a token of safe passage her mother had arranged.
Autumn had claimed the coast since they’d left the mountain, brushing the hills beyond the harbor in rust and gold while summer’s green faded.
A few paces away, Khaeric spoke with the ship’s captain, his dark braids pulled back and travel cloak drawn close.
Aeryn placed a hand on her belly. “Easy,” she said, uncertain if she meant it for herself or the life growing within her. The salt air made her dizzy. Or perhaps it was the thought of what awaited them across the sea.
She had thought herself ready. In the mountain, surrounded by stone and warmth, the decision to journey to Thiarra had seemed almost simple. But standing here with the sea wind pulling at her hair and the ship creaking against its moorings, doubt was creeping in.
What if her mother’s assurances meant nothing? Liraen had promised the court would receive Khaeric—receive him, not welcome him. There was a great deal of space between those two words; they would see him as she once had: massive, imposing, other.
The elven nobility had perfected the art of polite cruelty, wielding silence and subtle gestures where humans were more direct. At least Caeryth’s contempt had been honest, visible. The courtiers of Thiarra would smile and bow while their eyes spoke volumes.
Behind her, a gull screamed. Khaeric turned at the sound. “Ye’re cold,” he observed, crossing the distance with boots striking the planks in steady rhythm. “Ye should wait aboard.”
“Not yet,” Aeryn said, though the chill had settled into her bones. “I want to watch the harbor a while longer.” She kept her eyes fixed on the horizon, where the sea met the sky in a hazy line.
Khaeric studied her face. “The captain says we’ll sail wi’ the tide.” His voice dropped lower. “The winds favor a swift crossin’.”
The ship’s bell rang, its sound carrying across the harbor. Khaeric straightened. “We should board,” he said.
Aeryn took one last look at the harbor. They walked together across the weathered planks, past dockworkers who paused in their labor to stare. These men had likely never seen an orc up close, let alone traveled with one.
The captain met them at the rail, his weathered face impassive as he bowed. “My lady, we’re ready to cast off. I’ve prepared the cabin as requested.” His eyes drifted to Khaeric, then away. “It’s… modest, but should serve.”
The cabin was indeed modest: a narrow berth built into the wall, a small table bolted to the floor, and a single porthole that offered a sliver of gray sky. The space barely accommodated Khaeric’s height; he had to duck to enter, his shoulders nearly brushing both sides of the doorframe.
“It’s… cozy,” Aeryn said.
Khaeric chuckled, his breath warm against her hair. “Aye, that it is.” He set down their travel sack in the corner, the leather scraping against rough wood.
The ship lurched, sending Aeryn stumbling forward.
Khaeric caught her with one arm, steadying her against his chest as shouts erupted above deck.
The vessel groaned, timbers creaking as it pulled away from the harbor.
The gentle rocking transformed into violent pitching, waves slamming against the hull.
The porthole revealed glimpses of angry gray waters rising higher with each swell.
As another wave crashed against the hull, Aeryn gripped the edge of the berth. “I thought the captain said the winds favored a swift crossing,” she managed through gritted teeth. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing as the cabin tilted again.
Khaeric moved with surprising grace despite the pitching deck, his balance seemingly unaffected by the ship’s violent motion. “The faster we move, the rougher the ride.” He knelt before her, hands steadying her shoulders.
Aeryn opened her mouth to respond, but a particularly violent lurch sent her stomach heaving. She barely had time to turn before emptying its contents into the small bucket Khaeric pushed toward her.
“Easy.” He held her hair back, his touch gentle as she retched again and again until nothing remained but painful, dry heaves. “Breathe through it.”
After the worst had passed, she slumped forward against him, her skin clammy. “I should have known. My mother said she couldn’t bear sea travel when she was pregnant.”
Khaeric reached for the water flask, uncorking it with one hand while still supporting her with the other. “Small sips,” he instructed, bringing it to her lips.
Aeryn took a careful swallow, then another before letting Khaeric set the flask aside. Her stomach still churned, but the water helped clear the bitter taste. “Thank you,” she said.
“Nothin’ to thank me for.” His thumb brushed a strand of damp hair from her forehead. “Ye should rest if ye can.”
The wooden ceiling swayed above her, the timbers creaking with each pitch and roll. She closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. She must have dozed, for when she opened her eyes again, the light slanting through the porthole had shifted.
The violent pitching had subsided to a gentler rocking, though her stomach still protested with each swell. Khaeric sat on the floor, his back against the wall, a small knife in his hand as he whittled away at a piece of wood.
“How long was I asleep?” she asked, her voice rough from her earlier sickness.
Khaeric looked up, setting aside his carving. “A few hours. The worst of the storm’s past.” He reached for the water flask, offering it to her as he added, “The captain says we’re makin’ good time.”