Chapter 29
The journey back from Thiarra came swift and grueling; their departure abrupt and unexplained.
Since then, news of Khaeric’s name in the elven registry raced through the mountain.
Aeryn noticed it first in the changed glances as they walked the corridors—the subtle nods, the whispered conversations that fell silent as they approached.
By evening meal, when they entered the great hall, the murmurs grew to an unmistakable buzz.
She’d grown accustomed to being watched during her early days in the mountain.
But this felt different. The recognition in Thiarra hadn’t just been about paperwork and lineage.
It validated that her child belonged to both worlds, that her choices carried meaning beyond political convenience.
And, more importantly, forced the elves into formal acknowledgment of the orcs.
“It’s true, then?” A warrior from Khaeric’s own clan approached, his scarred hands wrapped around a tankard of ale. “The elves actually recognized you?”
Khaeric adjusted his weight, his shoulder brushing against Aeryn’s. “Aye. The Council approved the petition.”
The warrior’s eyes widened as he pounded his fist against his chest. Khaeric caught sight of his father across the hall. Korrath stood with several clan elders, his massive frame unmistakable even at a distance. He beckoned with one hand.
“Come.” Khaeric’s hand found the small of her back. “My father wishes to speak wi’ us.”
“My son,” Korrath extended a hand in greeting. “And daughter.”
Khaeric clasped his father’s forearm. “Father. We have news from Thiarra. The Council recognized our union and granted our son a place in the lineage registry.”
“I heard.” Korrath nodded. “Wi’out reservation?”
“With persuasion, yes,” Aeryn said, “but it’s done. Our son will be recorded in the lineage of the Silver Bough, with full acknowledgment of his orcish heritage.”
A low chuckle rumbled from Khaeric’s chest, his eyes crinkling in a way she’d learned to watch for. “What my mate means,” he said, “is that she threatened to remove herself entirely from their precious records if they denied our son’s heritage.”
The council chamber flashed through her—her own voice, sharper than she’d expected, and the nobles’ faces going still. “I merely presented them with the logical consequences of their choice.”
Korrath’s eyebrows rose, the gold bands on his tusks catching the light as he turned to look at her with new appreciation. But his tusked smile faded as his gaze drifted between them. “There is more, isnae there? I ken that look.” He gestured to a small alcove set away from the main hall. “Come.”
Aeryn exchanged a glance with Khaeric. They followed Korrath to the alcove where several stone chairs surrounded a low table. Once seated, Khaeric continued. “We found proof of the curse.”
Korrath’s expression darkened. “Ye’re certain of this?”
“We experienced her memories through the orb,” Khaeric said, his voice dropping lower. “The elves deliberately cursed our people to die out within a generation. No female births. That was their plan. Genocide through magic.”
“Serathen documented everything,” Aeryn said, her fingers tightening around Khaeric’s. “And she hid those documents somewhere in Beinn Ork.”
“Documents?” Korrath said. “Hidden somewhere in the mountain?”
“Yes,” Khaeric said. “Serathen specifically mentioned hiding them beneath floor stones in the chamber where she and Druin lived.”
“We need to find that chamber, Father,” Aeryn said softly. “These documents could change everything. Proof of what was done to your people, written in Serathen’s own hand.”
Korrath closed his eyes. When he opened them, the grief—if it had been grief—was gone. He leaned forward. “This search must remain secret. Limited to those in this room and no others.”
Aeryn frowned. “But surely the clan elders would want to—”
“The clan elders would want many things,” Korrath interrupted, raising a hand.
“Justice. Retribution. Perhaps even war.” He paused.
“What do ye think would happen if word spread through Beinn Ork that we had proof of the elves’ treachery?
Proof that they attempted to eradicate our entire race?
” His voice dropped lower. “The clans would tear this mountain apart, stone by stone.”
Korrath set his fist on the stone table, fingers curled loosely. “Khaeric, ye will select a small group.” His voice carried the weight of command. “They must be discreet, loyal to ye, and skilled enough to assist in a search that may take weeks or more.”
Khaeric nodded, his jaw tight. “I ken who to choose.”
“Good.” Korrath’s eyes drifted to Aeryn. “The search must be disguised as somethin’ else. Perhaps a survey of the older chambers for structural integrity, or an inventory of historical artifacts. Nothin’ that would draw attention.”
Aeryn nodded, her mind already racing through possibilities. “We could say I’m researching the original settlements. No one would question that I want to learn more about orcish history.”
“That could work. Yer curiosity would seem natural,” Korrath said, turning to his son. “Begin tomorrow.”
The search began in earnest the following day, with a small team of Khaeric’s most trusted warriors and scholars: Garran, Thorn, Riven, and Mael. The eastern chambers yielded nothing but dust and forgotten tools.
Aeryn lowered herself onto a stone outcropping near the chamber’s entrance, her back aching from too much time on her feet. Mael approached with two cups of water, offering one before settling beside her. “How are ye feelin’?”
“Tired,” Aeryn admitted, accepting the water. “But I’ll manage.”
Mael surveyed the chamber, then turned to her. “Did ye happen to take one of the books on orcish history followin’ the War of Division to Thiarra?”
The question caught her off guard. Aeryn lowered her cup, searching her memory. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”
Mael’s brow furrowed. “One of the volumes has gone missing. A chronicle of the immediate aftermath of the War of Division—clan formations, early settlements, that sort of thing.” His fingers drummed against his knee. “I thought perhaps ye’d borrowed it before leavin’ for Thiarra.”
“I didn’t take any books with me. Just clothing, the orb, and a few personal items.” She studied his profile, noting the tension in his jaw. “When did you notice it was missing?”
“A few days after ye left.” Mael’s gaze remained fixed on the far wall, where Garran examined a section of stone.
“Could someone have missorted it? Maybe it was returned to the wrong shelf?”
“Possible, I suppose.” Mael frowned. “The archives were reorganized about a month ago. Some of the younger scholars were helpin’, and they’re no’ always familiar wi’ the cataloging system.”
“When did you last see it?”
“The last time I saw it...” He paused. “Actually, I remember translatin’ some of it wi’ Caeryth. It was before she and yer mother left the mountain.”
Aeryn straightened, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “Caeryth was reading about the early settlements?”
“Aye.” Mael’s gaze drifted to her. “I think she wanted to understand what happened after the War of Division. But it’s written in Orkish, so I had to help translate.” He paused. “Caeryth was studyin’ my notes for a time. By the time I checked on her again, she had left the library.”
“They left the same day Khaeric and I left for the port,” Aeryn said, frowning. “Do you think Caeryth may have taken it?”
Mael’s eyes grew distant as he considered the possibility.
“I dinnae think so. She cannae read Orkish. That’s why I was translatin’ for her in the first place.
” His fingers resumed drumming against his knee.
“She was studyin’ my translation notes, no’ the original text.
The book itself would be useless to her wi’out someone to translate it. ”
“I suppose you could write to my mother, just to be certain. Perhaps Caeryth mentioned something about it before they left.”
Mael’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. “Write to the Queen of the Unified Crown to ask if her daughter, a princess, happened to steal a book from my archives?” His tone carried a dry edge. “I’m sure that conversation would go splendidly.”
“You don’t have to phrase it that way.” Aeryn took another sip of water.
“Perhaps no’,” Mael conceded. “But I could mention it in passin’. A simple inquiry. ‘Have ye seen this particular volume? I seem to have misplaced it.’ That sort of thing.”
Aeryn nodded, though she doubted the book would turn up. More likely, it was misfiled somewhere in the vast archives, waiting to be discovered by chance months or years from now.
“Princess!” Garran’s voice echoed across the chamber, sharp with excitement. “I think we’ve found somethin’.”
Aeryn pushed herself upright, ignoring the protest in her back as she hurried toward where Garran knelt beside a section of floor near the chamber’s edge.
She reached his side, pulse quickening as she followed his pointing finger to a section of floor where he’d pulled aside centuries of accumulated dust. The stones beneath looked different—slightly darker, set in a pattern that didn’t quite match the surrounding floor.
Khaeric arrived a moment later, dropping to one knee beside Garran. His fingers traced the edges of the stones, testing for loose mortar.
“Third from the left, fourth back,” Aeryn murmured. She counted the stones, her heart hammering. “That one. Try that one.”
Garran worked his fingers into the gap between stones, prying at the edges. The stone shifted, just slightly, and hope surged through her chest. She pressed forward, almost stepping on Garran’s hand.
This was it. After days of searching, they’d finally found—
The stone came free with a scraping sound.
Beneath lay nothing but solid stone. No hollow space. No oilcloth lining. No documents.
Aeryn stared at the empty gap. The chamber felt suddenly smaller, the lantern light less steady than it had been. She’d watched Serathen hide the documents in what looked like this location—third from the left, fourth back.
“Try the surrounding stones,” she said, her voice higher than intended. “Maybe I miscounted.”
Garran glanced to Khaeric but began working at the adjacent stones. One by one, they came loose, revealing only more of the solid foundation. No hidden compartment. No centuries-old cache of documents.
Aeryn stood, one hand pressed to her lower back. The hope that had carried her through days of searching drained away, leaving her hollow. “We should try another section,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction. “This isn’t the right chamber.”
Khaeric straightened from his crouch, rolling his shoulders. “The northern section of the wing,” he said. “There’s another cluster of original chambers there.”
The hollow ache in Aeryn’s chest expanded as she followed Khaeric toward the doorway, each step heavier than the last. Behind her, Garran and the others began replacing the stones they’d disturbed, covering the evidence of their fruitless search.
The corridor outside stretched into darkness; the early settlements hadn’t discovered the glowing crystals that now lit Beinn Ork.
“The next chamber is just ahead,” Mael said from behind her, carrying a lantern filled with glowing stone to match the one Khaeric carried.
“We’re still findin’ interesting archeological finds.
Just no’ the ones we’re lookin’ for.” He gestured back toward the chamber they’d just searched.
“Those floor stones were original construction. The mortaring technique alone tells us about early settlement patterns. Fascinatin’, really. ”
Aeryn glanced back at him, catching the faint quirk at the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad someone is enjoying this.”
“Oh, immensely,” Mael replied, stepping around a fallen stone.
“Just yesterday I found what I believe to be an original forge hammer from Clan Kairn’s first settlement.
The craftsmanship alone—” He paused. “Point being, we’re no’ comin’ up empty-handed.
Just empty-handed of the specific thing we’re lookin’ for. ”
“That’s very comforting,” Aeryn said, though something in his dry tone eased the tightness in her chest.
The next chamber was smaller than the first, its ceiling lower, the walls rougher. Khaeric held the lantern high as they entered, the light casting long shadows across the uneven floor.
“This one’s older,” Mael observed, running his fingers along the wall. “See the tool marks? Cruder implements. This would’ve been carved in the first year of settlement, maybe the first few months.”
Thorn snorted from the doorway. “Fascinatin’,” he said. “We’re searchin’ for proof of genocide, and ye’re catalogin’ hammer marks.”
Mael turned slowly, eyes narrowing. “I’m catalogin’ context, Thorn. Somethin’ ye might appreciate if ye’d ever learned to read.”
“I can read just fine,” Thorn said, stepping into the chamber. His boots scraped against the stone. “I just prefer my readin’ material to be relevant to the task at hand.”
“The task at hand,” Mael said, each word precise and clipped, “requires understandin’ the original settlement patterns. If ye’d bothered to attend any of the briefings—”
“I attended yer briefings,” Thorn interrupted, his voice rising. “And they were about as useful as tits on a boar.”
“Enough.” Khaeric’s voice cut through the exchange, low and edged with authority. “We’re here to search, not bicker like younglings over who gets the best sleepin’ mat.”
Thorn grunted and moved to the far corner. Garran followed, crouching to examine the floor near the wall. Mael turned back to his examination of the tool marks.
The work proceeded in near silence, broken only by the scrape of metal against stone as they pried up floor tiles, the occasional grunt of effort, and the soft thud of stones being replaced.
Each sound echoed in the cramped space: the scrape of metal against stone, the grunt of effort, the soft thud of replaced tiles. Nothing.