Chapter 19 #2
Aeryn took a careful sip, then another; her stomach settled enough to risk sitting up. “How are you managing the journey?” she asked, studying his face.
“Well enough.” He slid the knife back into its sheath at his belt. “The sailors keep their distance. Makes for a quiet passage.”
Aeryn frowned. “They’re afraid of you.”
“They fear what they dinnae understand,” Khaeric said matter-of-factly, picking up the half-carved wood and turning it in his hands.
“For ye,” he said, offering her the carving.
In his palm sat a small wooden fox, its features simple but expressive, with a clever face and a tail curled around its body.
She took it, running her fingertips over the smooth edges. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, feeling the grain beneath her skin. “When did you learn to carve like this?”
“Winter nights in Beinn Ork are long,” he said, a half-smile touching his lips. “A warrior needs patience as much as strength.”
The carving reminded her of the stories her mother once told of the clever foxes that lived in the forests surrounding Thiarra. “Foxes are revered in the Isles,” Aeryn said. “My mother told me they’re messengers between worlds.” She met his gaze. “An appropriate companion for our journey.”
A small smile touched Khaeric’s lips. “Then may it bring us luck.”
Aeryn closed her fingers around it. “How far to Thiarra now?” she asked, tucking the carving into the small pocket of her dress.
“The captain said we’d sight land by midday tomorrow.” Khaeric shifted. “How’s the little one?”
The sickness had subsided, leaving only a faint queasiness that ebbed and flowed with the ship’s movements. “Calmer now. Though I suspect the moment I stand, the queasiness will return.”
The wooden floorboards protested under his weight. “Then dinnae stand yet.” His hand moved to cover hers. “Rest while ye can.”
Once they reached Thiarra, they would face challenges far more complex than sea-sickness.
She had prepared Khaeric as best she could for what awaited them—the rigid formality, the layered meanings beneath seemingly innocent words, the careful dance of elven politics.
But preparation could only take them so far.
The rest of the night passed with relative calm, the sea gentling to a steady roll that Aeryn could almost predict. By morning, her stomach had made peace with the motion, allowing her to venture onto the deck where Khaeric already stood at the rail, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
“There.” He pointed toward a smudge of green rising from the distant waters. “Thiarra.”
Even from this distance, she could see the white cliffs rising from the sea, their faces gleaming in the morning sun. Above them, lush forests crowned the island, a vibrant green canopy broken only by the silver spires that rose toward the sky.
As they neared the harbor, the ship slowed, its sails furling as deckhands scrambled across the rigging.
The white stone quays of Thiarra gleamed in the late afternoon sun, their surfaces polished smooth by centuries of use and salt spray.
Lanterns hung from tall posts, unlit in the daylight but positioned to guide ships safely to dock after sunset.
Aeryn clutched the wooden fox in her pocket as they docked. The harbor bustled with activity. Sleek elven vessels with their characteristic curved prows, human trading ships laden with goods, and small fishing boats bobbed between them.
A tall figure in a crisp uniform strode toward their ship, the insignia on his chest shining in the late afternoon sun. The harbormaster carried a wooden tablet in one hand, a quill in the other, his long steps purposeful as he approached the gangplank.
The captain hurried forward as the harbormaster boarded, bowing his head in deference. “Welcome aboard the Seafarer, Harbormaster. We’ve made good time from Earaen.”
The harbormaster barely acknowledged the greeting.
The moment he registered Khaeric’s presence, his posture stiffened, his expression hardening into a mask of disbelief.
“Ship’s registry and cargo manifest,” he demanded, his voice clipped as he addressed the captain without taking his eyes off Khaeric.
The captain fumbled with a leather folder, producing the documents with trembling hands. “All in order, sir. We carry only two passengers: Princess Aeryn of the Silver Bough and Unified Crown, traveling to visit her mother’s homeland, accompanied by her... companion.”
The harbormaster’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the documents.
“There appears to be a mistake, Captain. Orcs are not permitted on Thiarra’s soil.
” He looked directly at the captain now, as if Khaeric were merely an unfortunate object rather than a person standing before him.
“This vessel will be fined for attempting to deliver unauthorized persons to our shores.”
With all the royal bearing she could muster, Aeryn stepped forward. “There is no mistake, Harbormaster. This is Clanlord Khaeric of Beinn Ork, my husband by treaty marriage, recognized by the human crown.”
“A treaty marriage recognized by the human crown does not supersede Thiarra law.” The harbormaster’s voice carried across the dock, drawing attention from nearby workers who had gathered.
“The Protection of Sacred Soil Statute, established in the Third Era, prohibits the introduction of contaminated materials or entities.”
Around them, the growing crowd murmured—dock workers, ship captains, a few well-dressed elves who had stopped to witness the confrontation.
“The Protection of Sacred Soil Statute?” Aeryn’s mind raced through her legal studies. “That statute addresses diseased livestock, not people. And it specifically requires a formal declaration of taint by The Greenwardens, which has never been issued regarding my husband.”
The harbormaster’s nostrils flared, the only crack in his controlled facade. “The statute applies.”
“No formal declaration exists in the current legal codes,” Aeryn countered, her heart hammering. “If you’re citing the Third Era statutes, then you must also acknowledge that they require renewal every fifty years to remain valid. When was this particular statute last renewed?”
A flicker of uncertainty crossed the harbormaster’s features, but he pressed on. “The statute remains in effect—”
“Show me the renewal documentation,” Aeryn interrupted. Her voice carried clearly across the growing crowd. “If the renewal didn’t happen, the Registry of Lineage statute applies. This statute dictates that my husband’s name must be recorded in my family line after our legal union.”
The harbormaster’s jaw tightened. “Princess, you’re asking me to violate centuries of precedent—”
“I’m asking you to follow the current law.” Aeryn’s voice rang with an authority she didn’t entirely feel. “Has my husband’s name been entered into the Silver Bough registry as statute requires?”
Beside her, Khaeric stood absolutely still—hands clenched at his sides, gaze fixed on the harbormaster. The crowd had grown larger; their whispers creating a low buzz of anticipation. This confrontation would be discussed in every tavern and drawing room by evening.
“The registry…” The harbormaster glanced toward the watching crowd, then back to Aeryn. “… is a matter for the Council of Memories to address.”
“Indeed, it is,” came a clear voice from behind him. The crowd parted as an envoy approached, but her expression was far from welcoming.
The harbormaster bowed stiffly. “Envoy Moira, I was explaining to these visitors that our laws prohibit—”
“I heard your explanation.” Moira’s tone was diplomatic but sharp. “Princess Aeryn raises valid legal points that cannot be dismissed at the docks.” Her gaze swept over the assembled crowd. “This matter requires formal review by the Council.”
She turned to Aeryn, and though her voice remained courteous, there was steel beneath it.
“Princess, your petition to update your family registry has indeed reached the Council. However, Her Majesty High Queen Elindra has requested to review the precedent personally before any changes are made.” She paused meaningfully.
Aeryn’s blood chilled. High Queen Elindra, her own aunt, was directly blocking their request. “What concerns?” she asked, though she dreaded the answer.
“Questions of precedent, legitimacy, and the protection of ancient bloodlines,” Moira said carefully. “The High Queen believes such matters require the utmost deliberation.”
The harbormaster straightened, emboldened. “Then, until the Council rules, this individual cannot—”
“Cannot be turned away without violating diplomatic protocol,” Moira cut him off smoothly.
“Princess Aeryn is of the Silver Bough line. That grants her and those in her retinue temporary sanctuary while the Council deliberates.” Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“Unless you wish to explain to Her Majesty why you created a diplomatic incident before she could review the case?”
The harbormaster’s face flushed, but he stepped back. The watching crowd murmured with disappointment.
“Your quarters have been prepared at the Silverwing Estate,” Moira continued, addressing Aeryn.
“The Council will convene in the next few days to hear your petition. Until then, you remain under guest protection.” Envoy Moira stepped onto the gangplank, the fabric of her silver robes catching the light as she moved. “Come.”
Khaeric’s hand pressed against the small of Aeryn’s back, and when she looked up at him, she found his expression carefully neutral despite the tension in his jaw and the way his nostrils flared as he scented their surroundings.
“Thank you, Envoy Moira. We’re grateful for your welcome,” Aeryn said. Curious eyes tracked their movement, some wide with shock, others narrowed in disapproval.