Chapter 15 Svenn
“Fresh oysters! Caught this morning in the Sapphire Bay!” A weathered fishmonger calls out from his stall, his voice rough with years of shouting over harbor winds.
The city unfolds before us, breathing with the rhythm of the sea that sustains it.
Volundr.
Rhianelle’s home. The jewel of the southern coast where the Wiolant bloodline has ruled for over twelve millennia. This is where she was born and learned to sail.
Fountains sing at every corner, their water systems a marvel that would make even dwarven craftsmen nod with respect.
Libraries dominate the skyline, towering over everything else.
There are five of these temples of learning visible from where I stand, their spires reaching toward the sky.
Floor after floor of books, scrolls, and maps, the accumulated wisdom of a civilization that prizes knowledge above almost everything else.
The city hums with life around us. Docks creak under the weight of the morning catch. Children dart barefoot between traders’ legs, shrieking with laughter as they play. A song drifts from an open tavern door, fiddles and voices raised in harmony accompanied by clapping hands.
Real joy, uncomplicated and genuine.
It’s so different from the capital’s careful politeness and its measured responses. Here, life is lived loudly, proudly, without apology.
I walk several paces behind Rhianelle, maintaining the respectful distance that protocol demands while allowing myself the exquisite pleasure of watching her move through the place that shaped her.
She wears simple traveling clothes today, a gown of sea-green silk that brings out the lilac in her eyes rather than the formal regalia of state. No crown weighs down her silver hair.
Here, she doesn’t have to be anything but herself.
And the transformation is remarkable.
The careful monarch who bears the weight of unified Aelfheim on her shoulders has given way to something lighter. She stops to greet vendors by name, accepts a flower from a shy child with delight, and laughs at a joke shouted from a second-story window.
The people know her. More than that, they love her. Children trail behind her like ducklings, vying for her attention. One offers her a blue carnation wrapped in twine. She tucks it into her hair with a smile.
This is who she could be all the time if the weight of the crown didn’t press on her. Coral prances alongside us, her scaled body gleaming in the sunlight. She’s no longer a secret hidden away in the Clayborne estate or Rhianelle’s room. Here in Volundr, she moves freely through the streets.
Instead of fear or disgust, the people treat her with curious affection.
A boy runs past carrying a pale blue ribbon.
Coral obligingly dips her head low enough for him to tie it around her horn.
Children run alongside the young wyvern, laughing as she playfully headbutts them with her snout.
She is careful never to use enough force to hurt.
Coral is not a fae monster here. She is Rhianelle’s creature and that is enough to make her welcome.
“The people aren’t afraid of her,” I observe quietly when Rhianelle falls back to walk beside me.
“Volundr was sovereign once before we were united as Aelfheim. We’ve always decided for ourselves what to fear and what to welcome.”
She reaches out to touch my hand briefly. A public display of affection that would cause scandal in the capital but barely raises an eyebrow here.
“After we retrieve that old map of islands and reefs from the library, I need to discuss war strategy with Rainer.” She glances at me. “Will you come?”
“Yes,” I say. For her, I’d sit through a thousand boring council meetings until my bones turned to dust.
Her knights follow at a respectful distance, loosely and without the rigid formality they maintain at court. Even Eyepatch, who rarely smiles, has a softness to his expression as he watches children swarm around Coral.
Rhianelle doesn’t hide me here. She introduces me to shopkeepers and dock workers without hesitation or shame.
Ships of every size and design crowd the docks—sleek naval vessels built for speed, broad-bellied merchant ships heavy with cargo, and smaller fishing boats that have belonged to the same families for generations.
The Volundr flag flies from every mast. A silver stag leaping over cresting waves, proud and unbowed.
“These ships travel farther than anything I’ve seen,” Red explains to Eyepatch, pointing to a cluster of vessels near the far dock. “Volundr’s innovation. They’ve been perfecting them for decades.”
“My uncle’s design,” Rhianelle adds with unmistakable pride. “Rainer’s inventions have saved all of Aelfheim more times than the capital likes to admit.”
As we walk along the docks, a young woman in naval uniform approaches, saluting sharply. “Your Highness! The Wave Dancer is ready for inspection, if you wish.”
“Later, Lieutenant Senna. Has the Sea Witch returned from patrol?”
“This morning. No sightings of anything unusual in the northern approaches.” The lieutenant hesitates. “Though Captain Thorne requests additional scouts. With the... situation, he wants eyes on every league of coastline.”
“Approved. Tell him to take what he needs from the reserve fleet.”
The easy authority in Rhianelle’s voice reminds me that she’s not just visiting home, she’s one of Volundr’s rulers even if her primary throne sits in the capital now. These are her ships, her people, her responsibility.
Volundr’s mighty fleet gleams in the morning sun. The hulls are reinforced with metal scales and the decks bristle with weapons that have made this city’s navy legendary. I recognize the steam-driven mechanisms, harpoons tipped with what must be runic enchantments designed to pierce seadragon hide.
“Rainer insists that Volundr must always stay one step ahead of its threats,” Rhianelle says, following my gaze. “He says the sea gives life, but it also takes it. We must be ready for both.”
I’m surprised to see orc merchants arguing good-naturedly with elven sellers over the price of southern silks at the harbor market. There are even a few fae merchants and Darvan’s crafters here despite the looming war. I suppose Volundr’s neutrality in trade is sacrosanct.
“That’s… a strange sight,” I murmur to Rhianelle. “I thought the Aeonian kept Aelfheim closed to outsiders.”
Rhianelle glances at them.
“A port city can’t afford to turn away traders,” she admits, pausing to choose her words carefully. “We don’t answer to the capital the way other regions do. Volundr was independent for centuries. We had our own kings, our own laws, and our own way of life.”
I watch her face. “I imagine not everyone welcomed the unification.”
Rhianelle’s expression clouds slightly. “No. My uncle chief among them. He believed the Stag Crown should sit on my head, not gather dust in some vault.”
For once, I find myself agreeing with the old bastard.
The thought has barely settled when a low chorus drifts upward from the harbor below. It’s coming from a group of dock workers taking their midday break.
“What song is that?” I ask.
Rhianelle listens for a moment. “The tale of the first Stag King. He married a sea goddess and built Volundr where the sacred spring meets the ocean.”
She smiles at the distant voices. “Come. There’s something I want to show you.”
We leave the harbor district behind, climbing the gentle slope toward the Scholar’s Quarter.
The Great Library of Volundr rises seven stories into the sky.
Calling it a single building would be misleading.
The main structure is connected by elegant bridges to smaller libraries, linked by elevated walkways to more buildings beyond, creating a complex network that sprawls across several city blocks.
Every surface is covered in deep blue tiles as if the sea itself has been captured and placed on the walls.
“Wait until you see inside,” Rhianelle says, the excitement in her voice making her sound young.
The massive doors stand wide open with no guards or restrictions. As we approach, a farmer walks out with a book tucked under his arm. He nods respectfully to Rhianelle as he passes.
“Morsvyenn had libraries too,” I tell her. “But Vlad only allowed nobles inside.”
Rhianelle scrunches her nose. “Knowledge belongs to everyone. What good is wisdom if it’s locked away from those who need it?”
I smile at her sentiment, then follow her deeper inside.
The central atrium stretches up all seven stories with a dizzying expanse of spiraling walkways lined with more books than I’ve seen in most kingdoms’ entire collections.
Reading nooks are carved directly into the walls at various heights.
Mechanical lifts similar to the ones I saw at the port carry people and books between floors smoothly.
The air holds that particular scent of parchment and books, the same whether you’re in an elven library or a human monastery.
From the far end of the atrium, a young man approaches with an armful of loose parchment and ink-stained fingers. Rhianelle brightens immediately when she sees him.
“Cedwynn,” she calls softly.
The young scribe nearly startles. He hurries toward us, bowing awkwardly and nearly dropping his papers in the process.
“Your Highness, I didn’t expect to find you here,” he says.
Something about the kid sets my teeth on edge. I study him from where I stand. He was a squire once, if I remember correctly. Rhianelle doesn’t seem to notice. I can see it in the gentle way she speaks, the concern in her eyes. She thinks he’s fragile.
“You didn’t need to come all this way.” Rhianelle’s voice warms immediately. “I thought you’d prefer to stay in the capital.”
“The archives here have better records of the coastal territories.” He adjusts his grip on the scrolls. “I wanted to cross-reference the treaty documents before the council meeting next week.”
“You work too hard, Cedwyn.” Rhianelle frowns slightly. “Have you had your lunch yet?”