Chapter 82

I stepped into my demesne to check on Elise and to bring her food.

She was still in the library.

Books drifted from shelves in steady currents, stacking themselves in neat towers before her, then lifting away again when dismissed. Her quill scratched relentlessly across page after page. The plate of cookies Mirri left her sat untouched, exactly where she’d set it.

I lowered myself into the chair beside her. She didn’t look at me.

“Elise,” I said gently. Nothing.

Her eyes remained locked on the text in front of her, lips moving faintly as she cross-referenced lines. I called again. Still nothing. I reached out and touched her shoulder. She rolled it sharply, trying to shrug me off.

“Elise, stop.”

Her script tightened.

“There’s nothing you can do,” I said, firmer now. “Elyndra rewrote it all. Every record. Everywhere. You couldn’t have stopped that.”

The quill moved, her script became tighter.

“I need your help,” I continued. “I need to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Her writing devolved into cramped, jagged strokes. The letters began to bleed into one another.

I placed my hand over hers, stilling the quill.

Tears fell onto the page, darkening the ink.

“Please,” I whispered. “Elise. I need your help. People are going to die.”

Her shoulders trembled, but she refused to lift her head.

“Elyndra’s trying to start a war,” I said softly. “I have to go speak to the orcs. Try to stop this. I need you to come back to the palace with me.”

The quill trembled beneath my hand.

“You need to rest. You need to eat. I won’t let you kill yourself over this.”

A ragged breath escaped her.

“Take a book with you,” I urged. “Write down everything you remember. The archmagus has notes. There’s a scholar who knows the war inside and out - you can compare accounts. I need you to eat something. And rest. You’ve been at this for over a day.”

Her tears fell faster.

“Please,” I said again. “Help me.”

I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and pulled her against me.

For a heartbeat she remained rigid. Then she broke.

Sobs tore out of her - raw and unrestrained. I rocked her gently, murmuring soft nonsense, the kind of sound you make when words don’t work anymore. Gradually, the sobbing quieted. Her breathing slowed.

At some point, she fell asleep in my arms.

I lifted her carefully and stepped back to the palace, using Adhaneth as my anchor. I laid her in her bed, tucked the blankets around her, then returned to the library to gather her notes, fresh paper, quills, ink - anything she might need when she woke.

When I came back, I left everything within easy reach.

Then I stepped home.

This time, Adhaneth came with me.

Serah waited. Without another word, she shifted and we rose into the sky.

It was shortly after noon. She climbed hard and fast, wind tearing at my clothes. The world shrank beneath us. Fields became patches of color. Rivers turned to threads of silver. We punched through the scattered clouds and kept rising.

It had to be close to two miles up. Maybe more.

The air was thin and sharp, rushing over us. We flew for a few hours.

When the hordes of the Iron Nation finally came into view, they dominated the plain.

Thousands of tents stood in ordered rows, stretching across miles. Gaps between them held training grounds churned into mud. Supply roads cut brown scars through the grass. Hundreds of cookfires sent thin gray columns spiraling upward.

Serah dipped beneath the cloud cover, still far beyond bowshot, and circled.

Near the northern center of the encampment stood a larger tent - broad and reinforced, but built for movement. Command, not comfort.

They had seen us. The ripple was unmistakable - warriors running, armor buckled, weapons lifted. Lines forming in practiced precision.

Serah’s two-tone roar split the sky. It carried across the plain like a storm breaking.

She began a slow descent, watching for arrows, for siege engines, for any sign of aggression. Nothing came.

We took minutes to land. Long enough for them to decide what they wanted this to be. By the time we neared the ground, two dozen figures stood waiting before the great tent.

Serah landed with controlled grace, wings beating once before folding. She lowered her head and I slid down from her neck.

I stepped forward. Adhaneth’s end lengthened into a spike. I drove it into the hard-packed earth beside me. Ash covered my left eye, from forehead to cheek.

“I am Seth Grimm,” I declared. “Lord of Northwatch Keep. I come to speak in peace with the Great Warlords of the Iron Nation.”

A murmur rolled through them. “Tarn-ash Ashlara?” I heard someone ask.

“Korr,” I answered evenly. “Yes. I claim Ashlara’s blade.”

Several eyes widened at my knowledge of Drath.

“And what would you say to us?” rumbled an enormous orc in Drath.

He towered above the rest, green skin crisscrossed with scars and burn marks. A blackened steel breastplate, fur-trimmed, covered his chest. No helm - his face was weapon enough. A massive axe stood at his side, its blade buried in the earth.

None had drawn their weapons - but every one of them bore steel in easy reach.

Men outnumbered women two to one. Half wore heavy mail - plate, scale, chain. The others wore lighter armor and bore staves or curved blades - the shamans.

Their hair was dyed in wild colors - styled in braids, spikes, and lacquered crests. Tattoos wrapped their limbs in intricate patterns.

The warlords were no less varied. All tall. All hardened. One was an orc woman. One was human.

Kael.

None flinched at the dragon behind me.

“I would say that this war of yours is folly,” I said in Drath. “You should turn back. Do not waste the lives of these great warriors.”

A pause.

“But I know you will not.”

I let that hang.

“Instead I say that your actions have not gone unnoticed. Arvellia’s armies gather even now to block your march. The gods themselves wage war upon me, and use you as pawns in their game.”

I scanned their faces.

“You have been lied to. Manipulated. Driven here to ignite a war that will not end well for any of us.”

I paused.

“I seek peace,” I finished. “So your children may grow with fathers and mothers still alive to teach them strength and honor.”

“Your whore killed my son!” Kael roared.

The grief in his voice was barely contained rage.

“No,” I answered calmly. “An agent of the gods did. A man named Brand. He wore Ashlara’s face and murdered your son to drive you to war.”

“Lies!” Kael spat. “Witnesses saw her!”

“They were deceived,” I said. “Killing Ashlara will not bring Hek back. Slaughtering your warriors will not bring him back.”

I met his eyes.

“I am sorry for your loss. If you march, you let the gods lead you blindly to your own destruction.”

Another warlord stepped forward - a shorter orc, broad as a barn door. Silver wisps of hair clung to his scalp. The left side of his face was ruin - scar tissue swallowing his missing ear and empty eye socket. “Where is your proof?” he demanded.

“What proof can I offer?” I asked honestly. “Send a runner to Arvellia. Speak with the queen. She will confirm my words. Ask your shamans to seek truth.”

I spread my hands.

“I have nothing but my word.”

Another pause.

“I will return in three days. We will speak again.”

I rested my hand on Serah’s snout, gripped Adhaneth, and stepped away.

* * *

I returned to the palace and found Elise still asleep.

She lay curled beneath the blankets, her pale braid snaking across the pillow. The tension that had gripped her in the library was gone - replaced by the fragile stillness of someone who had finally exhausted herself.

I sat on the edge of the bed and brushed a kiss across her forehead.

She flushed faintly, a soft moan slipping from her lips. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first. Confusion creased her brow as she looked around - then found me.

Color flooded her cheeks and she scrambled upright, nearly tangling herself in the sheets.

“W-what’s going on?” she asked.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” I said gently. “We’ll be heading home soon. I just need to say goodbye to the queen.”

“W-we’re in the palace? How?”

“You fell asleep in the library. I carried you here. You’ve been out for a few hours.”

Her expression fell as memory returned - the book. The discrepancies.

“I brought your notes,” I continued. “In case you woke before I got back. I’ll gather copies of the archmagus’s notes too. And I’ll get contact information for Theodor Bram, the scholar on the War of Blood and Ash. Maybe the two of you can write new books. The real history.”

The idea didn’t brighten her the way I’d hoped. The wound was still fresh.

I leaned forward and kissed her forehead again. The blush returned, deeper this time.

“I’ll be back shortly,” I said.

She nodded, still a little dazed.

* * *

I found a servant in the hall and requested an audience with the queen and archmagus. The young man bowed and promised to deliver the message at once.

I checked the archmagus’s study first. He was already there, bent over a spread of scrolls.

“I apologize for the intrusion,” I said, “but Elise and I will be leaving shortly.”

He looked up, green eye bright beneath bushy brows. He happily provided copies of his notes regarding the War of Blood and Ash when I asked.

We spoke for nearly an hour before a servant arrived to summon us both to dine with the queen.

The archmagus and I collected Elise from my room before making our way to the queen’s private dining hall.

* * *

The room was large - twenty by thirty feet at least - dominated by a long, polished table with chairs for fourteen. Twice that number could have been seated comfortably. Two massive fireplaces warmed the space, their hearths carved in the likeness of rearing gryphons. Purple-and-gold wallpaper lined the walls. The ceiling arched overhead, filigreed and crowned with ornate molding, two chandeliers hanging from medallions lit by soft magical light.

The queen already sat at the head of the table.

“Please, Seth -join me at the left.”

Elise and I moved to the queen’s left. I pulled out her chair and waited until she was seated before taking my own. The archmagus seated himself at the queen’s right.

“Have you eaten yet?” the queen asked.

“No, Your Majesty,” I admitted.

“Excellent.”

Servants emerged from a concealed door carrying silver cloches. Plates were set before us, domed lids lifted to reveal roasted meats and vegetables glistening with herbs. Additional dishes followed - savory pies, fresh bread, charcuterie, stew. Spiced wine filled our cups.

The aroma alone caused my stomach to grumble loudly.

The queen ate with measured elegance. The archmagus moved slowly, thoughtfully. Elise - bless her - still ate like someone afraid the food might disappear, though she seemed to be pacing herself better than before. I did my best to remember which fork to use.

After some time, the queen took a sip of wine and set the glass down with purpose. “What did you wish to discuss?”

“I simply wanted to say goodbye,” I said. “We’ll be returning home tonight. I won’t be back for some time.”

“You cannot apport, as you have been?” she asked.

I smiled. “Unfortunately not. It has… limitations.”

I set my fork down.

“When I step - apport, as you call it - I can only do so to places that resonate strongly with my Faith. My companions, like Elise, resonate intensely. But I haven’t identified many locations nearby that I can distinguish from a distance. And I haven’t had much time to search.”

“What sort of places resonate?” she asked.

“Places of decision,” I said after a moment’s thought. “Crossroads, mostly. But there are too many of them, and they blur together. At dawn and dusk, docks and city gates sometimes flare bright enough to distinguish. I found Elise’s master’s library because the sheer number of books - each representing a decision - combined into something I could see from hundreds of miles away.”

“Would the royal library suffice?” she asked.

“Possibly. It depends on its size.”

The queen glanced to the archmagus. “Garrethyn?”

He looked up from his soup and considered. “It could work,” he murmured as he wiped his wild beard.

I hesitated.

“Are you certain, Your Majesty? Allowing me to step directly into the palace… that’s not something you can undo. If relations ever soured, I would be a security nightmare.”

She set down her fork and fixed me with a level stare. “Are you going to be a security nightmare?”

“No, Your Majesty,” I answered

“Then I see no harm,” she replied.

I inclined my head. “Thank you. That is… generous.”

“For my part,” the archmagus said with interest, “I would very much like to witness this apportation. Such magic is typically reserved for gods.”

“I’d be happy to show you,” I said. “You as well, Your Majesty. To do so, I step first into my demesne. From there, I can locate other resonant places and step again.”

“I have heard you speak of this demesne,” the queen said. “What is it like?”

I leaned back slightly, picturing it.

“The horizon never stays the same. There’s no sun - but there’s light. Ribbons of color streak across the sky by day. At night, glowing moths drift like stars. There’s a castle that shifts with my needs. I haven’t even explored all of it yet.”

I smiled. “I’d be honored to give you a tour.”

The queen and archmagus exchanged a silent look.

After a moment, she nodded. “I believe,” she said with a smile, “that I would like to see this.”