Reading Time: 104 Minutes

Title: Warhide
Series: The Arda Exodus
Series Order: 2
Author: Keira Marcos
Fandom: Harry Potter/The Hobbit
Relationship: Razel Fireborn/Tyr Warhide, Ragnok Windrider/Lenore Feyborn, many secondary pairings (m/f, f/f, and m/m)
Genre: Fantasy, Romance, Fusion, New Dimension
Warnings: canon-typical racism, canon-typical violence, politics, explicit language, explicit sex, discussion-murder, minor character death, grammarly beta
Word Count: 81,120
Author’s Note: All mistakes are my own. Unsolicited beta will be met with a disdainful silence. Casting on the series page.
Summary: Tyr Warhide thought he understood the scrutiny he’d face being courted by the future king. There’s nothing simple about his circumstances, however, and not everyone is pleased with the choices they’ve made together. But the heart of Tyr Warhide was tested when he was little more than a boy, and no enemy could ever compare to the first he ever faced.

* * * *

Chapter 1

December 12, 1975

The judiciary in Paris was one of the busiest of the entire horde as they were often considered to be neutral ground. Tyr had presented before the court in front of his clan for going on twenty years, so he couldn’t account for the nerves that were suddenly plaguing him. He’d agreed to handle his cousin’s divorce before he’d ever met Razel, so he’d returned to Paris to attend to the proceeding despite the work being done in Britain. No one in the conclave had been put off by it, and Razel had easily accepted the situation.

“Tyr?”

He looked up from his reading and focused on his cousin. “Everything will be fine.”

Mael nodded and took a deep breath. “I just didn’t expect to be in this situation—when I asked you to represent me.”

“What situation would that be?” Tyr questioned.

“You are the king’s lover, and your ex-partner has put himself in bloody mind healing over it. The same ex-partner that is presiding over this court,” Mael said huffily. “This place is packed to capacity, and it rarely is for a divorce hearing. People avoid attending these things like getting a divorce could be contagious.”

Tyr looked around and realized that his cousin was right. He barely paid the audience in a trial any sort of attention unless he needed them for a bit of showmanship. “It’s not ideal for such a personal legal matter, but it’s going to work in our favor. Resa won’t be willing to admit before half the bloody clan that he offered you full custody of your child in exchange for all of your personal wealth.”

Mael huffed. “The sorry fucker.” He crossed his arms. “I don’t know what I saw in him.”

“Love is often blind and dumb,” Tyr said wryly as Fhane called the court to order. The room grew quiet, but there was a soft murmur of noise from the crowd when he stood.

Fhane Wisemind glanced over the crowd, then focused on Tyr. “Master Warhide, as your client has filed the petition for divorce, you will begin.”

“Mael Fierceheart, son of Bane, is seeking a divorce due to irreconcilable differences. As he does not share any property, a vault, or assets with Master Resa Broadsword, he is requesting the court separate their finances, debts, and responsibilities. He is also seeking primary custody of their child as he’s the birth parent and still breastfeeding.” Tyr was kind of proud of how neutral Fhane kept his face considering the topic. “I cede the floor to opposing counsel.”

“Master Fairwind, do you have a rebuttal petition?” Fhane questioned.

“Yes, Master Wisemind, my client is seeking an even split of all financial assets and does not agree that their combined wealth shouldn’t be considered community property. He agrees to the custody arrangement on the understanding that once breastfeeding ends, he’ll have equal access to his daughter.” He passed two scrolls to a court officer, and they were taken up the bench.

“Master Warhide, you’ve provided the court with proof that your client never shared a vault with his husband. Is there a marriage contract in place that disallows the assumption of community property?” Fhane questioned.

“No, as there was no need. Master Fierceheart received his mastery in political science and took a job with the directorship of the Paris branch shortly before he married. As such, he cannot legally share a vault or community property with anyone—not even a spouse. These regulations have been in place for hundreds of years and protect the integrity of the administrative system that helps to govern the entire horde. Every ounce of gold he has is subject to audit and review to ensure that his ethics and behavior remain above reproach.”

Fhane nodded. “What say you, Master Fairwind?”

“Master Fierceheart’s job is no secret,” Fairwind said sourly. “But the policy regarding vault ownership does not prevent him from treating his spouse generously during the dissolution of their marriage. As his vault is subject to audit, I know for a fact that splitting the contents fairly wouldn’t burden him in the least.”

A flicker of distaste drifted over Fhane’s face, but it was so quick that Tyr acknowledged that most wouldn’t have noticed. Fhane didn’t allow intimate entanglements often. As a result, precious few knew him well enough to discern his micro facial expressions.

“Master Warhide.” Fhane inclined his head as he picked up a quill.

“With all due respect, Master Fairwind, your client is not entitled and should not expect to receive half of my client’s assets. They’ve only been married three years, and during that time, Master Fierceheart paid all of their expenses. In fact, Master Broadsword chose not to work at all during their gestational period when he wasn’t even the one carrying the child. He’s provided nothing to the care or financial security for the child since birth, and my client does not believe he can be depended upon to provide for the child in the future, either.”

Tyr only felt a little bit guilty for the slant of the argument as he knew Fhane absolutely loathed laziness.

“As to the issue of future custody and visitation,” Tyr continued. “My client requests that his former spouse agree to supervised visits with himself or from an approved list of individuals provided by this court. As it stands, Master Broadsword has never taken care of his own child alone and has not bothered to learn any of the tasks required to keep the child clean. We would accept supervised visits with Master Broadsword’s parents in attendance until he can prove he’s learned to take care of the child with or without magic.”

Fhane made several notes in the silence that followed, then put down his quill as he focused on opposing counsel. “Master Fairwind?”

“If Master Fierceheart is unwilling to be generous regarding financial assets, then we must request a full trial to investigate his selfishness and will require an equal split regarding child custody. The child is six months old and need not be breastfed exclusively when various other milk replacements are available.” Fairwind spread his hands out. “Master Broadsword is merely seeking a reasonable dissolution to the marriage, Master Wisemind.”

“Master Warhide, is your client prepared for this matter to be argued in trial?”

“Of course,” Tyr said easily. “But I would be remiss if I didn’t remind opposing counsel and his client that such a trial would require extensive truth testing and the presenting of all correspondence between himself and my client since their legal separation.” Fairwind looked confused. “Perhaps it would be best if Master Fairwind took a moment to confer with his client.”

Fhane inclined his head. “Master Fairwind, you have five minutes. You may cast a privacy charm.”

Tyr sat down and watched the charm be cast. Fairwind hadn’t bothered to obscure his table so he could see the exact moment that Broadsword admitted he’d tried to blackmail Mael for all of his wealth already. Fairwind was very good at his job and was well-named. He’d been dedicating himself to justice for over a hundred years, so Tyr understood the mindset, and moreover, he understood exactly how furious the older dwarf was by his client’s duplicity. The anger bloomed wholesale all over Fairwind’s face.

The privacy charm ended with an overtly furious gesture of Fairwind’s wand. Tyr stood and prodded his cousin up as well.

“Master Wisemind, my client withdraws the counter-petition and accepts the original petition without stipulation,” Fairwind said tersely. “Further, he promises the court that he will learn how to take care of his own child without supervision as soon as possible.”

“Master Warhide, your client has not requested child support,” Fhane said as he picked up a scroll and unrolled it. “Do you wish to address that matter now?”

“My client does not need gold from his former husband, Master Wisemind, and only requests his respectful distance and the promise that he will take all due care with the child they share.”

“The petition for divorce is granted as originally presented. Master Broadsword, you will seek to educate yourself and prove your skills as a parent to the master of the Healing Halls before you’re allowed to have your child on your own.” Fhane paused. “And I strongly suggest you also take the time to learn how to be a proper partner before you entangle yourself in another relationship.”

Tyr winced and lowered his gaze at the noise that garnered from the audience.

* * * *

“You did well this morning,” Brol said.

“Thanks, Adad,” Tyr murmured as he picked up the tea his mother had placed in front of him. “Were you worried that I wouldn’t?”

“Well,” Sig began and sat back in her chair with her own tea. “You’ve not presented in the court in front of Fhane since you started your relationship with Razel. It’s certainly the most high-profile liaison you’ve engaged in since you left Fhane. We were worried that there might be…some difficult emotions in play.”

“None on my part,” Tyr said easily and surveyed his options for food. He chose a cream cheese danish as his mother made the best ones on the planet. “Mael was slightly put off by the crowd, though. He was worried that it would cause problems with the hearing.”

“It was clear that the crowd caused his ex-husband to be rather subdued,” Brol said. “When we know he’s not known for such behavior.”

“No, he’s not,” Tyr said and sat back in his chair. “What’s this about, Adad?”

“What do you mean?” Brol questioned.

“I’ve not sat down at a table to have tea with you both alone in years. It’s clear that everyone else was asked to stay away,” Tyr said and frowned. “I…I’m just confused. I’d hoped to spend time with everyone before I returned to Britain, and yet they’ve all sort of scattered on me.”

“It’s nothing you did, darling,” Sig assured. “We just wished to speak with you privately about the decisions you’ve made of late. It’s just no secret at all that Fhane Wisemind has sought the help of a mind healer. And while he’s not said a single disparaging word about you, the root cause of his ailment seems to be you and your affair with Razel Fireborn.”

“Amad, it’s not an affair,” Tyr said quietly. He wasn’t surprised his brothers hadn’t shared his intentions with their parents. Neither Luc nor Cain were the sort to speak out of turn about the personal lives of others, much less their own siblings. “I told Fhane when he came to Britain that Razel is preparing a courting gesture and that I intend to accept.”

“That serious?” Sig questioned and shared a look with Brol. “Are you certain you wish to be the Consort Under the Mountain?”

Tyr’s stomach tightened. “Do you believe me ill-suited for such a role within the horde?”

Her hand settled on his arm. “Darling, I think you’re perfect.” Brol laughed. “And surely, if you truly wished such a thing, you’d excel as the spouse of our king. But it is an immense decision, and you’ve not known him long at all.”

“I feel as if I’ve always known him,” Tyr confessed, and her eyes widened in shock. “I recognized him—saw something in him that I can’t explain and covet beyond any sort of reason. My only saving grace is that it is the very same for him.”

“What acceptance gift will you offer?” Brol questioned quietly.

“One of the previous incarnations of Durin destroyed the legacy’s grimoire,” Tyr said. “I’ve used the last of Persefoni’s skin to create a new one.”

His father exhaled slowly and nodded. “It’ll be…that’s good, Tyr. I suspect it will be received very well.”

“You’re concerned,” Tyr said curiously.

“You were in love with Fhane Wisemind for years,” Brol said quietly. “And he told me last year that you were the love of his life and that he didn’t think he’d ever get over you. When I asked him if I should speak to you about your relationship with him—he declined and told me that he could not make you happy. It seemed to gut him to admit such a thing.

“The attraction between you and Razel is electric. I’m sure you find it very exciting,” his father continued. “But is it enough that you would dismiss a dwarf you’ve known for decades from consideration? Do you still love Fhane?”

“I do,” Tyr admitted. “Frankly, I adore him. At one time, I would’ve enjoyed nothing more than to marry him and make a family with him.” He cleared his throat. “I must ask you both to keep what I say next to yourselves forever.” They both nodded, and Sig drew her wand. She threw several charms at the door leading into the parlor, ensuring their privacy. He took a deep breath. “I left Fhane because he confessed that he never wants children and, in fact, hates them.”

Brol’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

“It shames him deeply,” Tyr continued. “He believes himself broken because of these feelings. Fhane offered to marry me and live separately if I wanted children, which he was willing to create but not parent. I couldn’t agree to such a thing. It broke my heart if I’m honest, and despite the rumors, I’ve not…allowed anyone close until I met Razel.”

“I never suspected such a thing of him,” Sig said with a grimaced and focused on her tea. “It’s so contrary to the generous and thoughtful spirit I know him to have. I must admit that I looked forward to your marriage to him. I believed the two of you well-suited, and he’s always lovely to speak with.” She sat back and shook her head. “I’m glad you didn’t agree to such an arrangement. It would be awful to have a partner who is unwilling to be a parent to their own child. Have you spoken to Razel about children? How does he see that going considering his future responsibilities?”

Tyr focused on his tea. “He’s an intensely private person, Amad.” She nodded. “But has admitted to me already that he wants many children and would prefer to carry unless there are health complications.”

“It seems quick,” Brol said. “I’m not discounting the attraction or the compatibility—it’s clear that you’re very enamored already.”

“We won’t rush the courting period,” Tyr said. “And I’ve not confused physical attraction for something else.”

“You’ve never been the sort to do that,” Sig said. “Tell me about him.”

“He’s thoughtful, careful in word and deed, and has a great deal of respect for his family. It seems the whole of the Blacklock clan moves around him—anticipating his needs and desires. I don’t think it’s a new thing, and it could be a magical response to his circumstances that they were merely unaware of. As I said, he’s a private person, and no one questions that within his own clan.

“Some would be spoiled, living in such circumstances, but he isn’t. He dresses well, wants for nothing in a material fashion, and pays it all little attention. He doesn’t even care what he eats from one meal to the next. The kitchen could send him a sandwich for every meal, and he’d just be…okay with it.”

Brol huffed. “I’d be really put out.”

“Me, too,” Tyr said wryly. “At any rate, he’s very powerful, as one would expect due to his elemental abilities, and moves in his magic confidently. When he inducted the conclave, it felt like destiny.” He started to say more, but his mirror signaled an incoming call. He pulled it from his dimensional store with a murmured apology.

“Oh, please answer. One of your brothers might be in a Muggle prison,” Brol said huffily, and Tyr laughed.

Tyr activated the mirror, and Razel appeared. “Hey.”

“Hey, are you busy?”

“Having tea. The trial is over and settled as I expected it would,” Tyr said and propped the mirror up in front of him after a glance toward his mother, who merely waved a hand and focused on her tea. “How’d your work go in the guild this morning?”

“I allowed Master Brightgem in my forge for the first time ever,” Razel admitted. “Since I’ve never pursued a mastery in smithing—it’s just never been a thing. Most believed I was taught privately by my father, and we allowed that assumption for decades. Now they know I was born with an innate talent for it due to my reincarnation, and they’re all very curious. Master Brightgem was…intense.”

“I’ve heard she’s a lot to deal with, even in regular circumstances. What were you working on?”

“She brought three ounces of mithril with her. It’s been in her family’s vault for four generations as none trusted themselves to work with it. She asked me if I would make something with it, and I had to decline.” Razel sighed. “You know it’s difficult. I explained that I’d never given a single thing I’ve made away, and she laughed. Then tried to give me the mithril, and I couldn’t allow that, either. So, I retrieved some from my own vault and made an ear cuff I’ve been designing for a while. I’d planned to use gold because a mithril ear cuff is a little…much.”

Tyr laughed and picked up his tea. “I sent the box of ingredients Dawl requested. Did he have any problems with it?”

“He’s been working in his lab all afternoon and seemed pretty excited by the quality, so I guess everything is okay. Dawl Windspeaker doesn’t strike me as the kind of dwarf to keep his complaints to himself.”

“No, certainly not,” Tyr said and glanced toward his parents, who were watching with no shame to be seen.

“He did kick Thal out of the room for being distracting. So Thal and Davor are currently meandering through the Mages Guild making pests of themselves. The master of the guild sent me a note telling me that he was going to charge me by the hour to babysit my conclave members if they didn’t make themselves useful.”

“How did you respond?”

“I sent Fyre Blackaxe to collect them,” Razel said and laughed when Tyr raised an eyebrow. “I could’ve sent Elspeth, and I was tempted. She’s still carrying her sword and threatening to start a civil war, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tyr said. “Has Master Dragonslayer contacted you for an interview?” He paused and held up a hand. “I’m not alone. Do you want to know who is here?”

“Understood, and no, I’d rather not meet new people over a communication mirror. It feels weird and impersonal. But also, that probably sounds awful and snobby.” Tyr laughed. “Master Dragonslayer sent a letter and included a series of questions she wanted me to answer in writing. I’ve done it, and my father read it. Most of the questions were regarding any memories I had of incarnations that reached an age where retaining memories is possible. But I have…very distinct memories of being smothered as an infant, Tyr.”

Tyr exhaled slowly. “Razel, you don’t have to share that. There is already a wealth of evidence, and they’re going to use veritaserum to interrogate every single person that could be involved in the situation. As the victim, the judiciary will protect your privacy and tread carefully with you. Especially since all of these crimes happened to you as a child—no matter how long ago that was.”

“I know, but I don’t want anyone to misunderstand the depth of…remembering my own murder is agonizing. Knowing that it happened repeatedly doesn’t make each instance any less traumatizing. I spent the most time on the most explicit memory I have. I was at least ten in those memories, and Knorr Stonehelm killed me personally that time—he murdered both of my parents as well. I had Master Syd Arbiter research that. It was listed as a mining accident. Knorr caved in an entire gold mine in Africa to cover up that crime.”

“He can’t suffer enough,” Tyr said.

“At any rate, I’ve bled metaphorically all over parchment today, and my father is homicidal for having read it. My mother is furious with me because I asked her not to read it, and she agreed. Then she wanted to read it because it upset Adad so much, but I refused to change my mind. She told me I was being sexist, and if I were not an adult, I’m sure I’d be grounded. But I just want to protect her as much as I can from what will be said and done during this process. It’s going to be hard enough going forward. But Adad asked me to have you read it before I send it to ensure I’ve not made any legal blunders.” Razel took a deep breath when Tyr just nodded his agreement. “I’ll let you go—you’re being very rude to your guests by even taking this call.”

“I have to answer my mirror—one of my brothers could be in jail.”

Razel laughed. “Do you think you could invite your parents to come to Britain when you return? I’d like to meet them.”

“I’ll ask. Cain is in South America right now, so it’ll have to wait until he returns, but it shouldn’t be a problem otherwise.”

“Good. You’ll return tomorrow?”

“Yes, on the early A.M. portkey. It’s set for eight, but it’s subject to change, as you know.”

“I have three meetings between eight and eleven,” Razel said. “Lunch? I’ll be done by midday.”

“Lunch,” Tyr agreed. “Get some sleep, please. You look worn thin.”

Razel scoffed. “You’re not supposed to tell me I look like shite this early in a relationship.”

“You’d have to do a lot to look like shite, and you know it,” Tyr said and sighed when Razel laughed and ended the call.

He put the mirror away and focused on his parents, who had left the table when he wasn’t looking. They were on the other side of the room, tucked into a privacy charm, having a conversation. It didn’t look hostile, so he snagged another danish and poured more tea from himself. Shortly, they both sat down at the table, and his father shoved half a pain au chocolat into his mouth. Tyr focused on his mother.

“Do you have any idea what he plans to offer in his gesture?” Sig questioned.

“None,” Tyr said. “But I’m not concerned, and I hope you aren’t. He’s very well aware of his position and what the gesture means. Razel takes great care in every single thing he does. His parents have seen the materials I’m using to make my gift, but they don’t know what I’ve chosen. High Priestess Lenore approved explicitly.” He pulled the sewing kit from his dimensional store because he felt the desire to guard it personally. “She gave me this.”

He unrolled the leather so the tools could be seen. His mother hesitated only briefly before she carefully pulled the shears free and studied them. “The whole family is embracing you already.”

“Is that a problem?” Tyr questioned, confused by her tone and expression. “Amad?”

Sig flushed. “No, darling, of course not.” She put the shears back into place, tucking them into the pocket made for them. “I guess I’m surprised. The chieftain has always guarded his wife and children zealously. The fact that Razel wasn’t introduced to us until his magical majority has made many resentful. That he’s also the reborn Durin the Deathless is secondary to some. It’s clear Ragnok Windrider doesn’t have any trust in the horde. What does that mean for Razel? Is he similar?”

“Therin Augur asked Razel if he considered himself to be the future king of the Blacklocks or the whole of the horde, and he said that we were all his people. He also expressed to us that he doesn’t like the overt division among the clans. When the other clan leaders presented the dverger for consideration for the conclave, they basically huddled in groups entirely separate from each other. Razel said it was disheartening.” Tyr frowned at his tea. “Ragnok never expected to have children, as you know. Lenore worried that Razel would be killed before he was even born and only allowed Omis Stoneheart to attend the birth.” He looked up and found his mother staring at him in horror.

“That sounds like magical resonance,” Brol said roughly. “Probably due to the betrayal of her own bloodline. What they’ve done is heinous. It’s even worse knowing that we only have the bloody Regency Accord because the fucking Longbeards basically berated Durin into agreeing to it because they wanted power. Then this obscenity was done to him over and over again. I tried to invite myself to Italy in case Mim leans toward trial by combat, but I was denied.”

Tyr hummed under his breath as he’d considered it himself. “You won’t be the only one wanting that particular job. I don’t know how to help him through that.”

“I think you did already,” Sig said. “He clearly called you out of a desire for comfort and seemed much more relaxed near the end of the call. And yes, by the way, we will certainly come to Britain as soon as we can to meet him. The fact that he thinks it could be a problem is insane. Who’d say no to an invitation from him?”

“Razel knows that, for some, he’s already king. Magically the knowledge sort of flows off of him, and I’ve seen people go into a half-bow before realizing that he’d prefer they didn’t,” Tyr said. “He’s just not used to it.”

“Honestly, lad,” Brol began roughly. “We wouldn’t have said no to an invitation if he was just the bloody son of the chieftain and not the future king. I don’t know anyone that would have.”

Tyr nodded and tried to push aside the worry that he had about the situation. His parents were adjusting their expectations, and that was to be expected. He knew they both liked Fhane, and maybe he should’ve told them sooner why the relationship would never be revisited.

“About Fhane….” He trailed off when his mother shook his head.

“I’m sorry for holding out hope, and if you ever felt pressured to reconsider your decision, then I apologize for that as well.” Sig cleared her throat. “Even if we’d known about the incarnation of Durin, neither one of us would’ve had any sort of expectation about one of our children marrying him.”

“We certainly didn’t prepare you to be the Consort Under the Mountain,” Brol said dryly. “Fortunately, you thoroughly educated yourself for that role without even being told to.”

“What?” Tyr questioned.

Brol inclined his head. “Tyr, traditionally the spouse of the King Under the Mountain adjudicates the Regency High Court on his behalf. The hierarchy of our justice system will be reordered once the regency is established. You should read the accord at the first opportunity.”

Tyr reached out and took another danish. “Fuck me.”

His mother snorted indelicately, then started to laugh, and his father joined in.

 

Chapter 2

Razel rubbed the back of his neck as he left his office. The three meetings he’d had scheduled had turned into five due to a dispute in two guilds that had irritated him so much that he sent members of the Scribes Guild and the Judiciary Guild to the arena to settle the matter. Both would certainly end up in Omis’ care, but Razel didn’t care. If they were going to be rude and entitled, then they could settle their differences with real weapons and entertain others in the process. Since he wasn’t a member of any guild, officially, he’d been tasked with acting as an arbiter to settle disputes between the masters in the clan just shortly after he turned seventy. Which meant he had dwarrow twice his age whining to him like toddlers.

“You sent Wae Arbiter and Gil Archivist to the arena?”

Razel paused just short of the lift as his father joined him. “They got on my last damn nerve.”

Ragnok laughed.

“And I’m late for lunch.”

“Security tells me that Tyr is in your quarters, so at least you have someone pleasant to have lunch with,” Ragnok said in amusement. “Did you send him a note telling him that you were running behind? Your mother tells me it’s rude not to.”

“Yes, the arena was his suggestion,” Razel said and shrugged when Ragnok laughed. “They wouldn’t stop arguing. Frankly, neither one of them deserve the contested space, so I don’t care which guild gets it.” He checked his watch. “I have conclave work the rest of the afternoon, then dinner with them. I’ll spend most of tomorrow morning in the forge.”

“I’ll make sure to arrange my morning then.”

“You don’t have to,” Razel pointed out. “I’m perfectly fine working on my own.”

“Let an old dwarf have his habits,” Ragnok said fondly and flicked one of Razel’s braids before he walked away.

Razel watched his father walk away then entered the lift. Shortly before the doors closed, Elspeth slipped in. “Where are you heading?”

“The arena,” she said in amusement. “Like I’m going to miss a chance to see Gil Archivist punched in the face. Tyr’s back, by the way. I saw him at portkey arrivals. He brought me the new dress I’d ordered from a sewist in Paris. It wasn’t supposed to be ready for another two days, so I’m excited about it.”

“Do you like it?”

“It was exactly what I ordered,” she assured. “I’m wearing it tomorrow.” She made her destination choice then tapped the runes for his as well. “I have an appointment this afternoon, so I won’t have time for tea.”

Razel raised an eyebrow. “An appointment?”

“That’s what I said,” she said and rolled her eyes when he continued to stare at her. “It’s nothing like that. Amad has asked me to consider my mentor options, so I’m meeting with several interested masters this week. The Master of the Mages Guild has recommended six masters for me to choose from. Amad dismissed three of them already based on their personalities.”

Razel laughed. “She did the same for me, and I tried to ignore her recommendations. But she was right about every single master that she dismissed from consideration, so take it seriously.”

“Of course, Amad’s magical instincts are always on point,” Elspeth said easily. “And she knows me so well. At any rate, since tea is out and you’ll spend the evening all cuddled up with your dwarf, we can have breakfast.”

“Breakfast it is,” Razel said easily. “You can come to my flat at eight. Any preference for the meal?”

“Oh, quiche and all the meat on offer,” she declared, then swept out of the lift as soon as the doors opened. “Better, yet, I’ll order—for three?”

“Three,” Razel agreed, and she laughed as she trotted off toward the arena.

Shortly, he exited into the family residence and went to his flat. Glou appeared shortly before he opened the door and raised an eyebrow.

“I’m due in the conclave chambers at three,” he said. “And we’ll have dinner there, then I’ll retire to my rooms for the night.”

Glou grunted. “Send me a note if anything changes.”

Razel nodded his agreement and entered his flat. There was a meal already on the table, but Tyr wasn’t visible. He shed his suit jacket and laid it across the back of the sofa since he’d have to put it back on eventually. Tyr was in the library at the desk with a book spread out in front of him.

“Hey.”

Tyr looked up and offered him a quick smile. “Hey, did you send them to the arena?”

“Yes, much to the amusement of quite a few,” Razel said and walked across the room. He leaned on the corner of the desk and gestured toward the book. “Research?”

“The Regency Accord,” Tyr said and rocked back in the chair. “I’ve never read it. In fact, I doubt many in this day and age have read it. Unless we count those miserable bastards in Italy who spent 600 years murdering you.” He winced. “Sorry, that was crass.”

Razel laughed a little. “It was harsh but accurate. I read the whole thing when I was younger, but it’s been a few decades. Is there a part that concerns you?”

“Your spouse will convene and adjudicate the Regency High Court,” Tyr said, and Razel considered that. “It will reorder our court system, creating a series of lesser courts for minor crimes while the high court would handle everything else. A series of arbiters would work under me, the Judge Advocate of the Horde.” He closed the book. “We have time to figure this out, of course, it was just a surprise. I’d never heard anything about this—not in a single class I’ve taken for any of my mastery work.”

“A by-product of the fact that many were starting to believe that Durin would never return,” Razel said. “Is this a problem? Can we change it if it is?”

“It’s not a problem,” Tyr assured. “I just have some work ahead of me that I wasn’t expecting. The challenge of it is very appealing, and I did wonder how my work product would evolve after you were crowned.” He held out a hand, and Razel took it. “Come here.”

Razel settled in his lover’s lap with a little hum of agreement. “I’ve missed you.”

“Two days seemed totally reasonable,” Tyr admitted and pulled Razel close as possible, hands clenching on his hips. “I talked to my parents about Fhane. I should’ve done it ages ago because both of them had assumed all along that I would return to that relationship eventually.”

“How did they take it?”

“My mother was stunned and, honestly, disappointed.”

Razel slipped one hand through his hair. “In us?”

“In herself, mostly,” Tyr said. “She apologized to me for any pressure she might have exerted on me to return to that relationship, and she has made a few comments over the years about him. My whole family likes Fhane and….”

“What?” Razel questioned.

“It’s well-known that he’s attending mind healing, and apparently, a large portion of our clan thinks it’s a direct result of my relationship with you. That’s true enough, but it’s frustrating to be getting the blame even now for the destruction of our relationship when, frankly, I could’ve sued him for fraud if we’d actually entered a courting period. He wholesale misrepresented himself.” He frowned and averted his gaze.

“It’s okay to be hurt, even now, but his deception,” Razel said. “But you know that. Let’s eat.”

“I ordered fish and chips,” Tyr said. “It was the most appealing of what was on the menu for the day.”

Razel eased off Tyr’s lap and pulled him from the chair. “Then come, and you can tell me what’s bothering you beyond the accord.”

“The accord isn’t bothering me,” Tyr denied and huffed a little when Razel just hummed under his breath. “The lack of knowledge on the subject bothers the shite out of me. Most of what I know about the accord comes from the laws that were created around it—to protect you and the accord itself. I do think that scholars throughout the horde are currently reading it cover to cover. After the gesture, I’m going to get inundated with requests and demands. Every Judiciary Guild in the horde will jockey for positions, and eventually, I’ll have to create a research council to prepare for the reorganization. Dozens of laws will have to be adjusted, and some will be outright obsoleted by the establishment of the High Court.”

They sat down at the table and settled in with the food, and Razel took a deep breath. “It sounds like a lot.”

“It would be overwhelming if I were not, honestly, over-educated on the matter of magical law,” Tyr said dryly, and Razel raised an eyebrow. “It’s rare for any dverger to broaden their education load the way I have, but it always felt necessary to me. The master I apprenticed with for my international mastery expressed concern that I was avoiding doing the actual work with continuing education. He was surprised to realize I’d already handled hundreds of cases, and he agreed to apprentice me after that point.”

“I’ll reread the accord,” Razel said. “Because it’s been decades, like I said, and I know there’s probably a lot of crap in it that I’m going to hate and forgot on purpose.”

Tyr laughed. “I’m sure, but you did approve every single word of it.”

“Hundreds of years ago, and I don’t even remember it,” Razel muttered and focused on his food and found it pleasant enough. “Have your parents agreed to come here?”

“Yes, Cain will return to Paris within the next two days, and they’ll arrange an official visit through the chieftain’s office,” Tyr said. “They are looking forward to it.”

“Are they?” Razel questioned. “I mean, I wouldn’t be offended if they were worried about the whole thing. From an outside perspective, we probably appear impulsive. Some people know each other for years before beginning a formal courtship.”

“I’m not known to be impulsive,” Tyr said. “And I’ve told my parents we won’t rush the courting.” He paused as Razel nodded his agreement. “Our magical affinity has ramped up the attraction between us, surely, but there isn’t any reason for concern as far I know. In the end, they’ll respect my choices. Have your parents questioned you about it?”

“Not to me,” Razel said. “I’m sure they’ve had private discussions regarding the relationship. But my mother’s gift of foresight is prodigious, and she sees far more than she ever says. The day we met, she told me that you would be a delightful surprise, and she wasn’t wrong.” He put a hand on Tyr’s arm. “In the end, it’s about us and what we want. Everyone else will adjust.”

Tyr nodded but frowned a little before pushing aside his empty plate. “My cousin was a little irritated by the attention that I garnered during the hearing yesterday. I used the crowd to my advantage as the ex-husband was not inclined toward airing their problems and his motivations in front of most of the clan.”

“Will the attention going forward be a problem?”

“Not for me,” Tyr said. “Most trials are very well-attended, at any rate. I rarely involve myself in pre-trial hearings and only handled the divorce because my uncle Bane asked me to help his son get rid of his arsehole ex. Mael was mostly concerned with custody issues, and I understood that. I don’t have anything else on tap in Paris, but I need to go to Oslo and appear before the World Court of Magic to oversee the presentation of evidence against a wizard in February.”

“I wouldn’t want you to think that your career is something to be sacrificed. You’ve worked hard for decades.” Razel took a deep breath, and Tyr took his hand then laced their fingers together loosely. “Am I borrowing trouble?”

“Yes,” Tyr said with a small smile. “Establishing a new court system and reorganizing our laws due to the regency is a genuine challenge, which is rare in this day and age when it comes to the law that governs our people.”

“Perhaps that’s why a faction of the Longbeards came to realize they didn’t want Durin to return,” Razel said. “Because it’s not just me, you know. The regency won’t be set aside with my death. One of our sons will be the king in my place one day.”

“Then we will ensure he is ready for the day when it comes,” Tyr said and just shrugged when Razel looked his way. “Because I did know that already. Nothing that comes with being with you will ever be too much, Razel. I look forward to spending the rest of my life with you.”

“I feel like I should apologize for being worried about all of this,” Razel admitted. “You’ve already made your intentions clear and….” Tyr settled one hand on top of his.

“Your worry is reasonable. Of course, you can express it. I want you to believe wholeheartedly that you can tell me anything.” He left his seat and pulled Razel gently from the table. “Let’s sit together for a while. I’ve missed you.”

Razel took him to the window, and they settled on the bay full of cushions after taking off their boots. He relaxed a little as Tyr pulled him close and pressed a kiss against his hair. “What if your parents hate me? I have terrible social skills, you know.”

Tyr laughed. “I come from a family who considers brawling a viable method of communication. Your social skills are practically at a mastery level in comparison.”

The outer door to his flat banged shut, and he sighed. Tyr just held him close when he started to get up.

“Razel!”

“Let her come to us,” Tyr murmured.

“In the library, Elspeth!” Razel called out, and his sister came stomping into the room shortly afterward.

She paused briefly, then hitched up one foot to promptly take off a boot, then she took off the other and piled them on top of theirs. Then, because she assumed her welcome everywhere, she climbed into the bay window with them and wiggled under Razel’s arm.

“What’s wrong?” Razel questioned as he gently cupped the back of her head. “Did your meetings go wrong?”

“No.” She threw her arm over his torso and ended up curling her fingers into Tyr’s waistcoat. “I don’t want to talk about it. Change the window to something pretty.”

Razel picked the island version since his sister preferred it. “If you don’t talk about it with me, you’ll end up interrogated by Amad.”

“One of the masters that originally offered to take me as an apprentice withdrew because….”

“Of me?” Razel questioned.

“Because he didn’t want the responsibility of mentoring the king’s sister,” she said sullenly.

“It’s good that he recognized his own inferiority and spared you the ordeal of dealing with him,” Tyr said, and Elspeth sat up a little to stare at him. “People will remove themselves from your life for various reasons going forward because they don’t want to be associated with the regency, for good or bad, because they fear your brother’s wrath should they misstep with you, or even because they know they really aren’t qualified to mentor a princess and they don’t want anyone else to know it.”

“So you shouldn’t take it as a rejection of you personally,” Razel said when Tyr squeezed him gently. “Did you have your heart set on this master in particular?”

“No, but to be dismissed without a meeting was insulting,” Elspeth said. “I’ve got another meeting in ten minutes.”

“You can reschedule it,” Tyr suggested. “But it will look like you’ve run away.”

She huffed dramatically, and Razel laughed as she scooted out of the bay window and put her boots back on. “I don’t run from anything or anyone, Tyr Warhide!”

He grinned. “Tradition would dictate that should your mentor fail to meet your needs, you can have him challenged in the arena by the magically mature adult family member of your choice.”

She sent him a sly look. “When are you marrying my brother again?”

“As soon as decency will allow,” Tyr said, and her eyes widened slightly.

“And when that happens—your brothers become my brothers.”

“If you like,” Tyr said with a laugh. “You may regret such a choice.”

“Ha! That’s not likely. Razel’s never prone to brawling, and I require backup.” She flounced out of the library.

“You shouldn’t encourage her,” Razel murmured and settled against him again. “Our parents spoil her rotten, as is.”

“Ah, well, she’s not badly behaved for her age,” Tyr said. “And quite charming in the right circumstances. My sister isn’t much better when it comes to drama. I’ve been assured it’ll even out.”

“What if your parents were lying to you to spare your feelings?”

“They aren’t known for such things,” Tyr admitted. “They are unfailingly, insultingly honest. The day my mother offered my father a courting gesture, she told him the sword wasn’t her best work, but it was what she had time to do.”

Razel laughed. “And his response?”

“He offered his own gift in return—a pair of brass knuckles because he hadn’t been impressed with her performance in the arena, but he was willing to overlook it because she was beautiful.”

“I’m starting to feel grateful they managed to get together and produce children,” Razel said. “How did she respond?”

“She put on the brass knuckles, and sucker punched him,” Tyr admitted. “They’ve rarely spent a day apart since, and when they do sleep apart—he mirror calls her each night before she goes to sleep, so the last voice she hears before she dreams is his.”

“That is disgustingly romantic,” Razel said.

“I grew up submerged in that love,” Tyr murmured. “We all did, and each of us seeks it for ourselves. The day we met, I saw that potential for us. It changed how I felt about my previous relationships as I’d never been so certain before.”

“Not even with Fhane?”

“I wanted it with him, and I thought we’d get there, but no, it wasn’t instant. I’ve always known that loving someone can be hard work—some days are easy, and some not so much. I knew Fhane could be with me in my hardest moments, but I’ve recently realized that he and I couldn’t be quiet together. I appreciate a challenge, even in private, but there never seemed to be an end to it. Maybe I would’ve been fine with that if we’d had the same goals regarding family.”

Razel hummed under his breath. “No one, not even Yawl, ever tolerated my quiet moments. It could be frustrating, and I would withdraw so I could work and research in peace. It’s why I had my own rooms before my magical majority. I needed the space.”

“I craved privacy from a very young age,” Tyr admitted.

“Well, I get that on every level,” Razel said. “But speaking of gestures, I’m ready to present if you are.” He sat up a little and studied Tyr’s face. “I wanted to meet your parents before offering the gesture.”

“Did you want to do it with them in attendance?” Tyr questioned.

“No,” Razel said with a laugh. “If you hate it—I’d prefer a private discussion.”

“I won’t hate it,” Tyr assured.

“I recently realized it’s not what anyone would expect me to give you,” Razel admitted. “You’ve had gestures before.”

“Yeah, but none that were personal,” Tyr said. “In fact, none of them were pleasing at all. I won’t share the details as it would be untoward.”

Razel nodded. “Okay.”

“And I won’t hate it because it’s clear, already, that whatever you’ve chosen was an instinctual choice on your part. I’m very interested to see where your magic guided you. Mine took me in a direction I never expected. If I’ve made a mistake with it, I won’t be upset or offended.” Tyr cupped his head and pulled him in. “Kiss me.”

Razel sank down into Tyr’s arms. “We have conclave business all damned afternoon.” He pressed a soft kiss against Tyr’s mouth, then lifted his head. “But I set aside all of my time after that for us if you’re amendable.”

“I am very amendable,” Tyr assured and curled his fingers into his hair, then pulled just a little as he took Razel’s mouth for another kiss.

* * * *

The ritual room was busy as it often had been since the conclave had settled into the space. Several small rituals had taken place already, mostly communion, as Razel wanted them all to be attuned when it came to major endeavors. In the weeks since the induction, Tyr had noticed that Razel had gotten incredibly comfortable with the group of dwarrow. It was a relief to them all as it was clear that the dwarf had worked in a very solitary fashion his entire life.

Since Razel was pursuing the element aether, he was spending more time with Therin Augur than any other outside of himself. The situation in Rome meant that Mim Dragonslayer hadn’t been available to offer support or knowledge on the subject. Theda Storm had required both Mim Dragonslayer and Tanik Grimm to join her in Rome for the investigation on a near-permanent basis. It had caused a lot of waves when the three of them had marked a fourth week of being entrenched in the domain of another clan. The Longbeards were still under lockdown, and there appeared to be no end in sight.

Tyr sat back in his chair and let one trembling hand rest on the parchment. Razel had handed him his response to Mim Dragonslayer shortly before they’d entered the workspace. He’d read probably close to a thousand victim impact statements during the course of his career, but he’d never read one from a murder victim. Occasionally, a truth-sayer or prophet provided testimony on behalf of a deceased person, but even that was rare as necromancy wasn’t a common practice amongst their kind. The calling for such a magical path was rare by design, as far as he could tell.

“Are you all right?” Luc put one hand on top of his. “Tyr?”

Tyr shook his head. It wasn’t uncommon for Luc to be in the conclave space when they weren’t conducting rituals because he was still working with the Arda atlas as a private endeavor. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand because he realized despite his best effort, he wasn’t going to keep his tears at bay. His brother’s grip tightened, and a privacy charm bloomed around them.

He blinked, startled by his brother’s actions. Tyr started to protest, but Luc pulled his own chair close.

“What’s wrong?” Luc questioned. “I’ve not seen you in such a state outside of a close family funeral in decades.”

“Luc, it’s really inappropriate to cast a privacy charm in Razel’s magical domain without his permission,” Tyr said roughly.

“My baby brother is in tears,” Luc retorted. “And you didn’t even cry when a dragon mauled you.”

Tyr knew that wasn’t true at all. He ended the privacy charm with a slash of his hand, and Luc blinked in surprise. He didn’t often do any magic wandlessly as it garnered attention he’d rather not endure. “I most certainly did cry when I got mauled by a dragon. I might have cried for three or four days straight!”

Luc laughed and sat back. “Okay, maybe then, but otherwise, it usually takes the death of a relative you actually like to upset you like this.”

Razel was there, then, pulling the parchment from underneath his hand. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked Syd Arbiter to read it.” His cheeks were pale. “I….”

“It’s fine,” Tyr assured.

“It can’t be fine,” Razel said roughly as he rolled up the document. “Because you do look like you’re ready to go to a funeral, but I’m okay.”

Tyr took a deep breath and held out a hand. “I may need to suggest some changes, so give that back.”

“Tyr.”

“I don’t want to meet the dwarrow who’d be unaffected to read a document that details child murder,” Tyr said roughly, and Luc’s breath caught. “It’s more personal because the memories are yours, but it would still be fucking horrific.”

Razel hesitantly put the scroll back in his hand. “I feel as if I didn’t prepare you well enough in advance for it.”

“I’m not sure you could’ve,” Tyr admitted and put the scroll down on the desk beside him. “And I agree your mother should never read it. Because you’ve written it in first person, Razel, and those deceptively simple infant memories of being smothered once and strangled a second time are difficult to read.”

A glass of amber liquid slid neatly into place on the desk beside him, and Thal Airwalker raised an eyebrow at him when he started to protest. “I don’t treat emotional upset with alcohol.”

“The rest of us do,” Thal said and threw back the contents of his own glass in one gulp. “It’s just a shot. You need it.”

Razel picked up the glass and gave it a sniff. Dragonfire whisky. He wondered where it had come from and stopped hesitating when Luc kicked his foot. Tyr took a hesitant sip, found it pleasant, and drank the rest. He put aside the glass and stood.

“I need to work on this in private.”

Razel exhaled slowly.

“It’s not about the content,” Tyr said. “I’ll have to do some reading and pull a few instances of case law for study, which means I need my own desk in my quarters. I have my personal library trunk in the office there. I also can’t perform the verification magic in front of anyone but a legally wedded spouse due to vows I’ve taken.”

“What verification magic?” Luc questioned.

“Legal scholars of your brother’s level can certify documents for an absolute state of truth—the spells are secret, so they can’t be circumvented,” Therin said. “We have just nineteen dwarrow alive who can do it at present. It’s certainly a concern.”

“Agreed,” Tyr said and cleared his throat. “But many who could learn and perform the spells are dissuaded from the path of any sort of non-magical scholarship due to their magical circumstances. I was told repeatedly I was wasting my potential. One of my instructors, during my first mastery, suggested that my magic might atrophy due to lack of use. Even now, some people assume that I’m barely magical because of the mauling.”

“Fuck them,” Kal Ironwill muttered and walked away. The others went with him.

Tyr noted they all had a drink in hand. Luc stood and left the area with a frown toward the parchment. He’d have to speak with his brother later. Luc wasn’t the most protective of his siblings, but he was certainly the most reactive to emotional upset. Razel offered his hand, and Tyr took it and allowed himself to be pulled from the chair. It wasn’t all that much of a surprise when Razel led him from the room and toward his quarters.

“I’m fine,” Tyr said.

Razel took a deep breath and waited while Tyr brushed his fingers over the runes locking the door. Tyr was certain there wasn’t a room in the conclave section that Razel couldn’t open, but he was careful with the privacy of others.

“I’ll just be a few moments, Glou.”

Tyr didn’t bother to look around for Razel’s rarely visible bodyguard but laughed a little at the grunt of acknowledgment Razel got in return. He released Razel’s hand as the door shut and walked across the room to where he’d created his own workspace. He put the scroll down on the desk and just took a deep breath when Razel came close. Tyr turned and pulled his lover into his arms, then just breathed deeply into his hair.

“I want to go to Rome and kill them all,” Tyr admitted roughly. “This document is explosive, Razel, and it will go off like a bomb in the process.”

“Is your certifying it a conflict of interest?”

“When I learned the spells and accepted the role of a preeminent legal scholar, I took vows on my life and magic to never knowingly deceive the Horde Judiciary. I can’t fake the spells or knowingly allow a flawed certification to even exist, as it would kill me.” Tyr just sat back on the edge of the desk as Razel stared at him with dark eyes. “Taking the vows was a non-issue for me because I couldn’t fathom an instance where I would do something so unethical, to begin with.”

“What if I’ve gotten the details wrong?” Razel questioned. “Will it hurt you?”

“No, of course not. The spells will fail, or there will be markers on the document indicating unintentional bias on your part. We certify pensieve memories in the same fashion. An individual’s perception is rife with personal bias, and the spells make room for that. I need about an hour to handle all of this, then I will return to the conclave space for dinner.” He cupped Razel’s jaw and kissed him. “I’m fine.”

“I made you cry,” Razel said huffily and averted his gaze.

“I don’t think anyone could read this and not get very upset,” Razel said.

Razel’s eyes went wide. “Do you think I made my adad cry?”

“Oh, darling, surely,” Tyr said and held his lover fast when Razel started to move. “Leave the dwarf to his grief. He has to manage your mother’s upset as well, and that has to be a job despite how long they’ve been married. As I said, no decent dwarf alive could read that document and be unmoved. It’s powerful, forthright, and outright fucking agonizing. Rome might not survive Mim Dragonslayer reading it.”

“Why her specifically?” Razel questioned.

“Ah, well, it’s not discussed often, but Mim Dragonslayer lost a young sibling to an act of violence. The perpetrator was executed, but the damage done to the family was significant and long term.”

Razel leaned into him. “How common is child murder in the horde, Tyr? I’ve never heard…my parents guarded me zealously as a child, but I’ve always believed them to be a bit paranoid because of my father’s brother’s behavior before I was born.”

Tyr hesitated before guiding Razel over to the sofa. They sat down together, and he took Razel’s hand in his own. He noted that his lover’s fingers were chilled. “The statistics are arranged by age.” Razel nodded. “Less than one percent of child death is purposeful under the age of twenty-five. There have been five instances in the last seventy-five years. Three of them were through purposeful neglect—ignoring illness or knowingly allowing dangerous activity due to lack of care.

“Two were outright murder. One involved a custody dispute, and the other was a result of one parent not wanting the financial burden of another child. As it turned out, she hadn’t wanted any of the children she’d birthed. Her husband killed her before he could be contained. He was required to spend a significant amount of time in mind healing as a result.”

Razel frowned and looked away from him. “I love my parents, but I hate how they’ve…isolated me from hearing such things. It’s…. I have a right to know such things have happened amongst my people. What about over the age of twenty-five?”

“From twenty-five to fifty, parental neglect is unlikely as individuals will often seek help quickly in the event of misbehavior on the part of a caregiver. Accidental deaths are the most common cause of death at that age, though personal conflict takes the lead when it comes to non-accidental deaths as tempers run high and emotions can be consuming during various stages of maturation,” Tyr explained. “After fifty, partner violence becomes an issue, but those are not considered, per law, to be crimes against children as they are legally and financially considered to be an adult at that age.”

“But not magically,” Razel said quietly, and Tyr nodded. “I’m furious, and it feels wrong.”

“You don’t seem the sort to get angry on a regular basis,” Tyr pointed out. “So, it feels unreasonable and uncomfortable. Some dwarrow run around in a state of perpetual fury. I’m related to most of them.”

Razel laughed reluctantly.

“We are just as flawed as any other species on this world,” Tyr said quietly. “There is no crime amongst humans that has not taken place within our own kind.”

“Do you think we were always this way or has being on this world corrupted us?” Razel questioned.

“We have records of ancient laws from Arda—punishments for murder, rape, theft, fraud…it’s all there,” Tyr said. “Free will and the manifestation of emotions will make any species volatile. It is our laws and social ethics that shape and control our people.”

“Control.”

“Without entrenched social controls, we’d all run amok,” Tyr said wryly, and Razel laughed. “Go back to your work. I’m fine, I swear it.”

“I’ll see you in an hour then,” Razel said and took a deep breath.

Tyr pulled him close and pressed their mouths together in a soft kiss. “Take a few moments to settle before you start working on aether in the conclave space.”

“I’ll get in the right head space,” Razel promised.

Tyr stayed where he was as Razel left the room then he pulled out his mirror. He activated it and made a call he’d rarely even considered allowing himself the right to make.

Fhane’s face filled the mirror almost instantly. “Master Warhide, how can I be of service?”

Professional face on point, Tyr thought and was relieved for the pretense. “Good afternoon, Master Wisemind. I need a private consultation.”

“One moment,” Fhane said, and the mirror went dark briefly. When he returned, there was a faint glow of charm work around him. “I’ve closed my office and cast a privacy charm. What’s wrong, Tyr?”

Tyr rubbed his face with his free hand. “I’m in the midst of preparing a document for Rome.”

Fhane sucked air through his teeth. “I heard during a meeting this morning that Mim Dragonslayer has started the trial process at Theda Storm’s insistence. I’m unsure who will go on trial first and couldn’t tell you if I did know.”

“I’d never ask that of you,” Tyr said, and Fhane nodded. “Mim Dragonslayer sent a list of questions to Razel and asked him to provide a victim impact statement using them as a guide. I just finished reading it.”

“And?” Fhane prodded gently.

“Ten different individuals are named, and six of them are still alive,” Tyr said. “He details being murdered twice as an infant, and the most graphic incident involves being bludgeoned to death by Knorr Stonehelm at the age of ten just over a hundred years ago.” He wiped tears from his face hastily. “It’s going to land on Rome like a bomb, and I’m not sure if I should take it personally or not.”

“Will you be able to certify it?” Fhane questioned. “Such memories can be incredibly biased with no ill-intent meant.”

“It feels profoundly honest without the spells. I believe that when I cast the spells, it will be determined to be near-immaculate on the recollection elements.” Tyr said, and Fhane nodded. “The betrayal and pain practically radiate off the parchment. I’ve never held another document like it in my life.”

“Edit as little as you can, then certify it,” Fhane said. “Have your father retrieve the document and take it to Rome. In any other circumstance, it should be his own father, but we can’t allow the chieftain to set foot in the Rome branch. It would be the makings of an outright civil war. No one will question Brol’s delivery of the document considering your certification and your relationship with Razel.” He paused. “Have you made the exchange yet?”

“We’re ready, but he wants to meet my parents first.”

Fhane nodded. “Good. Offering your parents the respect they’re due despite his station speaks well of him.” He cleared his throat. “Thank you for trusting me enough to reach out for my opinion. I’m gratified that I’ve not misstepped so much with you that a friendship is impossible going forward.”

“It’d take a lot to destroy the trust and faith I have in you,” Tyr said. “What’s a few stupidly long passive-aggressive love letters in the big scheme of things?”

Fhane blushed and laughed. “Shut up. You should’ve demanded I see a mind healer ages ago.”

“You are the brightest mind of our generation,” Tyr said dryly. “I’m not the one to lecture anyone about their mental health unless they’ve committed a felony in the midst of it.” He cleared his throat. “Also, as a heads up—read the regency accord.”

“I have it on my list,” Fhane said. “But it’s a 400-page book.”

“Elevate it up your list,” Tyr suggested. “Because in the next several months, I’m going to create a research group here in Britain and request that each clan do the same to prepare for the regency and the formation of the Regency High Court.”

Fhane’s mouth dropped open. “I see. Is it too soon? He has twenty-five years left.”

“He has twenty-five years left before he’s required to accept the role, Fhane,” Tyr said. “But when it comes down to it—do you think the horde will follow him to Arda if he’s not accepted his duty to us?”

“Is he aware?”

“It’s not a discussion I can have with him at this stage in our relationship, and honestly, shouldn’t his father play the heavy on that topic?” Tyr huffed when Fhane laughed. “I’m glad mind healing is helping you—even if the entire clan is blaming me.”

Fhane sobered. “I’m sorry for that. I’ll speak with whomever you wish and explain that it’s not your fault.”

“No.” Tyr shook his head. “Of course not. I don’t care about that part. I want you to be well and to heal from the damage we caused each other, Fhane. I’m not completely innocent in all of this. I should’ve asked explicit questions, but I was so wrapped up in our attraction to pay attention to your reluctance to discuss a future or children. It’s obvious, in retrospect, that we weren’t on the same page. We both ignored it.”

“The mind healer told me that I came precariously close to committing intimate fraud in my relationship with you,” Fhane said. “It was agonizing to be told such a thing. She suggested I sterilize myself for my own peace of mind and tell people going forward that I simply can’t father children. She said the circumstances of my infertility would be no one’s business but my own.”

“I agree,” Tyr said. “A future partner only needs to be told that you can’t have children naturally. Many would never question you as to why. And I personally don’t think it would be any of their business. Adoption is rare and easy to avoid. Is marriage still off the table for you?”

“Yes,” Fhane said. “With no maliciousness intended, you’re the only dwarf that’s ever made me reconsider that position, and even then, it wasn’t ideal for me.”

Tyr nodded. “Thanks for the consult.”

“Thanks for the head’s up about the accord,” Fhane said. “I’ll get my people prepared. Be well, Tyr, and watch your back.”

“Of course,” Tyr said easily, and the mirror darkened in his hand. He stored it and stood from the sofa to go to his desk. He had less than an hour to do the research he needed, and he required every minute.

 

Chapter 3

Tyr shuddered and groaned into Razel’s mouth as a hand wrapped around his cock. The cool tile of the shower against his back was startling in comparison to the hot press of Razel’s body against his own. He’d been careful on the sexual front in deference to his lover’s lack of experience. But Razel was eager, passionate, and without a single ounce of artifice. It was a compelling combination.

He turned them, cupped Razel’s arse, and lifted. Razel groaned and let his head fall back a little as he wrapped his legs around Tyr’s waist. His fire was rushing under his skin as he murmured a lubrication charm and slid slick fingers over the rim of Razel’s hole.

“Fuck,” Razel whispered fiercely and pressed his mouth against Tyr’s shoulder.

Tyr left the shower stall and sank to his knees on the floor of the dressing room that connected the bathroom to the bedroom. Razel spread out on the ornate rug, fire shimmering on his skin as Tyr sank two fingers into his arse.

“This rug is spelled for fire, right?” Tyr questioned in amusement.

“Everything in my quarters, including my own clothes, are fire resistant,” Razel said and rocked down on Tyr’s fingers. “Like the bed we could be on.”

Tyr grinned as he pulled his fingers free and curled one hand around Razel’s hip as he slipped over him. “What if I want to have you right here on the floor?”

Razel wet his lips and took in a ragged breath as Tyr pushed into him. “It’s my rug—we can fuck on it every day if you want.”

Tyr urged Razel to wrap his legs around his waist as Razel’s fire drifted over his skin. He loved the embrace of his lover’s magic, and Razel gave of himself utterly in every way when they were together intimately. Razel clenched his hands on his back and rocked into every thrust. It was perfect, and Tyr felt strangely new, untried in Razel’s arms. He let his lover take his weight and slid one hand into Razel’s hair. He fisted that hand and pulled enough to make Razel arch under him and buried his face against Razel’s throat.

“Gods,” Razel said hoarsely as Tyr continued to move with hard, full-bodied thrusts. “I’m close.”

“Yeah,” Tyr murmured. “Come for me, darling.”

His lover tightened around him, nails digging into his skin, and Tyr groaned at the sharp but fleeting sting. They strained against each other, skin slick with sweat as they both came within moments of each other. Razel’s fire drifted over them, intensifying the sweet pleasure of orgasm.

Tyr relaxed slowly, muscles aching from exertion. He took a deep breath and brushed a soft kiss against Razel’s unresisting mouth. “Was I too rough?”

Razel hummed a little and let his legs fall to the floor. “No, that was fantastic. You’ve been holding out on me.”

Tyr laughed and slowly pulled free of Razel’s body. He rolled onto his back beside him. “Nice charm work on this rug. It’s very comfortable.”

“I got it out of the vault when I furnished my rooms,” Razel said and turned to look at Tyr as he spoke. “It’s about a thousand years old.”

Tyr stilled beside him, then sat up. “It’s not a replica?”

“No, why?”

Tyr exhaled sharply and laughed a little. “Are you saying we just had sex on a 1000-year-old hand-knotted Persian rug?”

“It’s heavily charmed,” Razel said in amusement. “And it’s probably not the first time I’ve gotten thoroughly laid on it.” He sat up then rolled to his feet. “Now we need another shower.”

Tyr exhaled noisily as he stood and followed. “How much is it worth?”

“I’ve never had it appraised,” Razel said as he used runes to adjust the water temperature and shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter since it’s not something I’d sell despite the lack of entailment. Once an item in Durin’s estate is made part of the vault—I apparently have a hard time parting with it. I have to work hard not to hoard things.”

“Gold hoarding is a problem in your maternal line,” Tyr pointed out. “Can I see the ear cuff you made?”

“Yes, I’m going to give it to my mother…at some point. Once I was finished refining it, I realized that I’d been designing it for her the whole time. I even accented the piece with her favorite gem—emeralds.” He reached for the shampoo. “It’s on my desk at the moment. Elspeth doesn’t go in there, so she won’t come across it by accident.”

* * * *

Tyr paused and stared at the table that Elspeth was flitting around; it was larger than normal. The dining room sideboard was full, and food for five had been delivered. He realized, then, that he was about to have his first meal with Razel’s parents. Razel brushed past him, still dressed in pajamas, his hair tied up in a bit of leather. Tyr was grateful that he’d actually brought a bag with him and was dressed for the day.

Razel poured himself some coffee and frowned at the table in confusion. “What….” He huffed. “Elspeth, you can’t just spring breakfast with our parents on him.”

“Of course, I can,” she declared and brushed braids over her shoulder.

Razel slouched down in a seat with his coffee, and Tyr joined him out of solidarity as the door chime sounded. Elspeth darted out of the room.

“This is your fault,” Tyr said mildly and poured himself some tea. “You’re the one that let her plan the meal.”

“Granted,” Razel muttered even as his parents entered.

Tyr noted the amused look on Ragnok’s face and resolved to put his most serious court face as soon as he stopped sulking about the circumstances. He stood quickly when Lenore rounded the table and pulled out the chair beside him that she’d clearly chosen to sit in.

“Thank you,” Lenore said and lifted her cloche, which she passed to Elspeth, who was making the rounds retrieving them.

Razel removed his and Tyr’s to pass to his sister as she passed him. “To what do we owe this honor?”

Tyr regained his seat with a glance toward his lover, who was frowning at his plate. He noted with some amusement that he wasn’t the only one staring at Razel while he frowned at his food.

“Is something amiss?” Tyr questioned

Razel shook his head and cleared his throat. “I think…Durin XI hated eggs.” He unrolled his silverware and draped the napkin. “I’ve never had such a distinct memory regarding food before.”

“I can order you something else,” Elspeth said and started to stand.

“No, it’s fine,” Razel assured. “Eggs are fine, but he loathed them. It’s weird.” He shrugged and used his fork to section off a piece of the quiche, which they all watched him eat. “Stop staring; that’s weird, too.”

Tyr laughed and focused on his food.

“So, what’s everyone doing this morning?” Elspeth questioned as she poured tea for both of her parents.

“Razel and I will be in the forge until lunch,” Ragnok said. “Where shall you make war this morning, little one?”

Elspeth grinned. “I’m interviewing two more mentors, then Fyre promised to spend an hour with me in the training yard. Amad?”

“I’ve agreed to sit in committee for mastery evaluations,” Lenore said. “Two apprentices in the Mages Guild are ready to present their thesis proposals. But I’ll be done by lunch, which I’m taking with Omis.”

Tyr figured he’d be a nervous fucking wreck if he were one of the dwarrow in question.

“And whatever shall you do, Master Warhide, while my brother toils in the forge,” Elspeth questioned.

Tyr grinned at her. It was hard to even be irritated with Elspeth Stargazer. “You could get away with murder.” She laughed brightly. “As to my morning, I’ll spend most of it reading and meeting with the senior members of the Judiciary Guild.”

“Something big on the horizon?” she asked as she cut into her quiche.

“There will be sweeping changes in the structure of our legal system in regard to the regency,” Tyr said easily. “And it’s in our best interest to clean the code up as much as possible in advance of that. There are hundreds of obsolete laws on the books that should be removed. Each will have to be reviewed by a committee of legal scholars. Then a document for each law will be presented to your father so that he can approve the removal.” He glanced toward Ragnok as he spoke. “Since the accord is just a bit over 400 pages long, everyone in the judiciary system will have to have read it before we can get started. It’s not been studied extensively or included in our education process in a very long time.”

Ragnok sat back with his tea and huffed a little. “Hundreds, you say?”

“Easily,” Tyr admitted. “There are social laws that exist on the books, despite their illegality, which would see me heavily fined for having a meal with your daughter—even with your attendance.”

Elspeth laughed. “Seriously?”

“Our ancestors had very strict rules regarding unmarried, magically immature females,” Lenore said. “Your father and I could also be charged with a host of social crimes due to the mere fact that we don’t have you escorted around the place by a married family member any time you’re out of the family domain.”

“And this cleanup needs to start now?” Razel questioned.

“It can take up to a year to get a single law removed from the code if there is opposition,” Tyr said, and Ragnok groaned. “So yes, darling, we really must start now.”

Razel frowned. “Sounds miserable, though.”

“Arguing with each over law is practically a beloved hobby in the judiciary,” Tyr said. “Maybe we’ll even bring out the debate protocols and tap a barrel of ale.”

Ragnok shook his head. “Make sure they remember that any debate that turns violent must take place in the arena.”

“Yes, sir,” Tyr said.

“I can be your second,” Elspeth offered, and Tyr laughed. “Seriously.”

“You’re not legally allowed to enter the arena for anything other than training, and you know it,” Razel said. “Besides, I think, in those circumstances, he’d have to pick another solicitor.”

“I would, yes,” Tyr admitted. “But I’m rarely ever challenged to such a thing.”

“Because of the dragon?” Elspeth asked, and her cheeks darkened when he stilled. “My apologies. Is that a sore subject?”

“It’s not one I discuss often because when I was younger, many around me came to find the story an entertainment,” Tyr said even as Razel’s hand settled on his thigh. “I never speak on a legal matter without a thorough understanding of the circumstances and code so precious few have ever been foolish enough to disagree in such a way that the arena became the only recourse. Perhaps they might have, just to be contrary, were it not for my reputation, which has far more to do with my family’s penchant for brawling than it does surviving being mauled by a dragon.”

“I’ve never heard it stated quite that way,” Lenore said quietly. “Ragnok said I shouldn’t watch the memory that was submitted to his office. Now, I wish I had.”

“I still have it,” Ragnok said roughly and offered his daughter a hard look even as she opened her mouth. “Absolutely not.”

“I’d rather you didn’t, High Priestess,” Tyr blurted out, and Lenore turned to stare at him with wide eyes. He cleared his throat and shook his head. “It was the worst day of my life, and if you haven’t seen it—then you shouldn’t. I didn’t know there were any copies of the memory left. The one my father had was destroyed decades ago.” His hand was shaking, so he pulled it off the table.

“I won’t watch it,” Lenore murmured. “Be at ease, Tyr. I didn’t mean to cause you upset.”

“I didn’t even know I could still get upset about that part,” Tyr said and reached for his tea. The cup rattled against the saucer, and he took a deep breath before sitting back in his chair without the cup.

“I’ll retrieve the memory from my vault and give it to you,” Ragnok said and stood.

“You haven’t finished eating,” Tyr protested and shared a glance with Razel, who looked as upset as he felt.

“It’ll keep; the warming charms are quite robust,” Ragnok said and left before he could decline the offer outright.

“It was very bad then?” Elspeth questioned. When he looked at her, she was chewing on her bottom lip. “People always say…they just say you killed a dragon defending your mother.”

“I was twenty-five,” Tyr said. “That’s often not mentioned in the retelling of the story.” She nodded. “A nesting Hungarian Horntail determined me to be a threat to her eggs. She was furiously feral, and I’d have been torn asunder entirely if it were not for the fact that I managed to put my mother’s athame into one of the dragon’s lungs first. It wasn’t heroic or romantic, no matter what anyone might tell you. My mother was also severely injured in the altercation but, fortunately, barely remembers it.”

Ragnok returned at the moment and put a vial on the table next to his plate before sitting back down. “I’ve only shared it with Razel and Rhys Sharprock. As far as I know, there are no other copies. But I can find out.”

Tyr picked up the vial and stored it. “I…. I wouldn’t want to make a big deal out of it, sir.”

“No, of course not, but you have the right to know if there other copies out there when you were led to believe there were not,” Lenore said and patted his arm. “I think it’s best to check, Ragnok. Eat now before I have to call your mother and tell her that you’re going to waste away.”

Tyr laughed and exhaled slowly. “When I was in Rome, she sent me a box of food every single week through the delivery floo because she was convinced that I’d starve because I made the mistake of complaining about the food in a single sentence in one of my letters.”

“I’ve never been anywhere,” Elspeth declared. “Just the island. What’s your favorite place to visit, Tyr?”

“I’m actually very fond of the complexes in Egypt,” Tyr said. “But that’s more to do with the people than the place. I’ve never been outside of the horde’s magical domain. So in some ways, you’ve seen more of this world than I have.” She made a face. “My father doesn’t trust humans, and the only one of his children he’s managed to let go to see the world at large is Luc. His nature being what it is, it would’ve been torture to restrict him to our territory.”

“I’ve never seen a human,” Elspeth said.

“If I have my way, you never will,” Ragnok said shortly. “They are not safe. While there are individuals I trust with business—there are none I would trust with your life, no matter the oaths they’ve taken.”

Tyr hummed under his breath before he could help himself and drew more attention than he wanted as a result. One failed effort to concentrate on his food later, he cleared his throat. “I was questioned recently regarding your mistrust of the horde at large.”

Ragnok inclined his head.

“And if that mistrust has also bred in the heart of your son,” Tyr continued, and Ragnok made a face that made everyone else laugh. “What?”

“I wish,” Ragnok said. “Razel has too much heart, Master Warhide. In the years to come, you’ll find such a thing is the worst sort of burden for everyone around him. He wants the very best for each of us—even those that would call him an enemy.”

“You can call me Tyr, sir.”

“When you call me Ragnok,” the chieftain said in agreement.

Tyr exhaled slowly and turned to Razel. “I’m relieved that you aren’t as unreasonable as the two dwarrow that made you.”

Razel grinned. “Are you sure? Maybe you just haven’t come across a topic I’m passionate about.”

Elspeth laughed as Tyr sighed and focused on his food.

* * * *

Tyr was honestly relieved to be sitting at a desk in the Judiciary Guild, despite the mountain of reading he had to do. Since he was technically a visiting scholar, he had no formal duties in the guild, but he suspected that might change after the courting process began. The meal with Razel’s family had been a lot, and he’d wondered if it would’ve been better or worse if Omis Stoneheart had shown up as well. He considered it for a few seconds, then dismissed it for fear of causing himself some mental trauma. He didn’t know why it had put him so far off his stride when his own family was utter chaos at every single meal.

Elspeth Stargazer took that moment to appear at his desk and hop her little arse right up on the side where it was mostly clear, nudging a book on international property law out of her way. “I’m told I should apologize.”

Tyr sat back in his seat. “By who and for what?”

“Razel says I was very presumptuous and rude to assume that you would be okay with my general level of shenanigans.” Her cheeks flushed. “And that I owe you an apology for making you uncomfortable by having no respect for your time and station, so I’ve come to apologize.”

“I’m fine,” Tyr said.

She scrunched up her nose. “Clearly not. Razel’s not even speaking to me right now. He ordered me right out of his forge and suggested I go read a book on etiquette since I’m sorely unprepared to interact with the world at large in a refined manner.”

Tyr exhaled, then laughed. “We’re often protective of new relationships—for fear of damaging them unintentionally.”

Elspeth huffed dramatically and waved both hands. “It was just breakfast.”

“It was the first time I’ve ever sat down at the same table with your parents,” Tyr said, and her mouth formed a perfect little O. “The first time I ever had a meal with the chieftain himself, for that matter. Honestly, it was a meal that shouldn’t have taken place at all without planning and formal invitations due to my social position and station as the son of another clan leader. It’s why Razel and I hadn’t arranged one.”

She crossed her arms. “Maybe I do need a book.”

“Or you can ask your parents why they didn’t tell you no,” Tyr said in amusement. “I certainly can’t call them out, but they did allow you to be quite inappropriate this morning for their own amusement. Razel’s too irritated to have noticed that part yet.” He inclined his head. “Get your bum off my desk before some busybody contacts your father and tells him you’re in a guild hall that you don’t belong to in any fashion, socializing with an unattached dwarf thirty-five years older than you.”

“Ha! Everyone knows where your heart is set,” Elspeth said and hopped off the desk even as a dwarf nearby laughed a little. “I’m going to go write Razel a note blaming our parents for my bad behavior. Thank you for your legal advice, Master Warhide.” She flounced off before he could speak, and he sighed.

“I barely remember being that young,” a dwarrowdam said as she came to stand at his desk. “Kali Brightmind.” She offered her hand as he stood and took it. “Corporate law.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Tyr cleared his throat when she lingered over the handshake and tucked his hands behind his back as soon as she released him. “Can I be of assistance?”

“Master Syd Arbiter distributed a notification requiring we all read the Regency Accord at your request. I’m just curious as to why you’ve asked this of us…and how he just accepted your instruction when you aren’t a member of our guild.”

Tyr just inclined his head as he stared at her. “I won’t assume your understanding the workings of the International Judiciary Guild, but I am a member of that body and have been for ten years.” Her cheeks flushed, and she exhaled slowly. “So, I outrank the master of this local guild and his second in the international hierarchy. Since Master Borhn Gildedmind has taken a leave of absence to deal with a personal matter, I took my request to Master Syd Arbiter, the second master of this guild, and he agreed with the necessity.

“As you are in corporate law, surely you must know that your work in the future will be profoundly impacted by the Regency Accord and the establishment of the Regency High Court as it requires the reorganization of the social, criminal, corporate, and civil codes that govern the entire horde.

“I’m also certain you’d not wish to be a party to presenting our king with a messy, bloated legal code that would hinder more than serve his reign.”

“I wasn’t aware that you’d kept your position with the International Judiciary,” she said stiffly. “Are you not here to be a part of Master Fireborn’s conclave?”

Tyr’s gaze narrowed. “Inclusion in the International Judiciary Guild is a lifetime commitment conferred upon me when I achieved my mastery in International Law.”

“And that applies even to you? If your rumored circumstances are to be believed, Master Warhide, you simply won’t have time to be anything more than our king’s spouse going forward. Your position with the International Guild should certainly be given to another.”

Tyr laughed then. “You’ve not read the accord at all, have you?”

“No, it’s clear she hasn’t even started,” a dwarf said as he turned around in his chair to face Tyr’s desk. “Otherwise, she’d know that she just told the future Judge Advocate of the Regency High Court he should quit the job he’s overqualified for so he can keep house for our king.”

“Judge Advocate?” Kali Brightmind repeated and grimaced. “Surely, you are mistaken, Gordi. He’s not even a hundred years old, and the king’s consort will have many private duties to attend to.”

Master Gordi Swiftwit rolled his eyes so overtly that Tyr barely refrained from laughing.

“Master Warhide is the most educated dwarf in this room.” Syd Arbiter came to stand beside her. “He was sitting his third mastery in law before you bothered to get your first, Kali.” He crossed his arms. “That’s not to disparage you, of course. You’ve done very well to achieve what you have at your age—having to leave the home to provide for your children after Colg’s death, as you did. You are to be commended, but the role of Consort Under the Mountain is not to be the king’s bloody house husband.”

Tyr laughed a little when her mouth dropped open. “I could always write a few books in my spare time, I suppose.”

“How many masteries in law do you have, Master Warhide?” Kali questioned.

“Five—with licenses to practice Muggle Law in France and Britain,” Syd said dryly before Tyr could reply. He rarely ever discussed his education in such terms as it could come off like bragging, and he’d never been inclined toward such uncouth behavior.

“But there are only five in law…to be had,” she said and flushed. “That’s ridiculous.”

Tyr shrugged and would’ve responded, but a clearing throat caught their attention. He turned and found Dawl Windspeaker standing in front of the desk. “Dawl, is there a problem?”

Dawl shrugged. “Hit and miss, depending on the day. Davor needs you, but we decided it was best if you join us in the conclave space to ensure privacy.”

“Of course,” Tyr said and turned to Syd. “Master Arbiter, when you’re ready for that meeting—we can discuss who will join us in the research group here in Britain. Cross-discipline is the best option, of course. We wouldn’t want to miss anything in the code. Neither the chieftain nor Razel will appreciate their time being wasted. I’ve warned them both already that we can expect hundreds of obsolete laws to be removed from the books.”

“It’s the work of years,” Syd muttered. “And I really don’t think we have that much time.”

Tyr just inclined his head and picked up his coat which he’d left on the back of his chair. “If you’ll all excuse me.” He spared Kali Brightmind a brief glance before moving around his desk. “Any business with the conclave must come first.”

“Yes, of course,” Syd said and motioned him away. “Come by my desk when you can; I want to have a conversation with you about a guest lecture series later in the year in my advanced criminal law class.”

Tyr wanted to say no immediately, but just such an event had encouraged him to get into law when he was younger and on the fence due to pressure regarding his magical potential. He guided Dawl away from the area with a hand on his elbow as the dwarf’s attention had wandered.

“Your rescue was timely,” Tyr muttered.

“We should probably put an alarm on you that you can activate when you need an extraction from some ridiculous conversation about your future house-husband duties,” Dawl said dryly, and Tyr huffed.

“Can you fucking imagine?” Tyr questioned.

“No, and no one under the age of 200 could. Beyond the fact that Razel doesn’t seem the sort to demand such a thing from a spouse, it’s clear that the role of consort is a job and not an empty title. Though, I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that you’re certainly attractive enough to be ornamental if that’s what the title required.”

“I can’t stand you,” Tyr declared, and Dawl laughed, then kept laughing all the way out of the lift and into the conclave’s workspace.

The ritual circle was dark, as they never interacted with it unless Razel was in the room. Davor was sitting at the dining table with a book open in front of him and a series of parchments spread out around him. The dwarf had masteries in creature management and transfiguration, so he wasn’t sure what he would be working on that involved research at his age and level of education.

“Davor.”

The dwarf exhaled slowly as Tyr sat down in front of him. “I’ve two issues, maybe.”

“I’m listening,” Tyr said easily.

“First, I realize that you may be required to report this to some authority.” Davor’s hands were shaking as he put them together and clenched his fingers.

“Okay,” Tyr said. “Take your time; you’re clearly upset.”

“Second, my stepfather is a real bastard—ambitious, thoughtless, and greedy. My mother is fascinated beyond any measure by him, and her children’s overt disapproval means nothing to her. I won’t even sit down and have a meal with the bastard. At any rate, he’s ordered me to seduce Razel by any means necessary.”

Tyr took a deep breath then laughed. “I….”

Davor exhaled loudly and waved his hands. “He means it.”

“I’m sure he does,” Tyr shrugged out of his jacket with a shake of his head. “I mean no insult in this, Davor, but why on Earth would he assume you capable of such a thing?”

“I don’t know,” Davor muttered. “I barely tolerate the intimate company of anyone and haven’t since….” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s been a long time, and let’s leave it at that. He seems to think that since I’m borderline craftborn, in his eyes, I might as well sacrifice myself on the altar of his ambition and marry to his benefit.”

“You’re certainly attractive enough to seduce most,” Dawl said and smiled when Davor blushed.

“Should we get Razel?” Cyrus asked.

“He’s very irritated at present,” Tyr admitted. “So much so, in fact, he kicked his sister out of his forge.” Cyrus sucked air through his teeth. “And he lets her get away with a lot most of the time. The suggestion itself doesn’t require a legal response, but I will have to tell Razel. He’ll make a decision about the response and the level he’d like to see it pursued. There is room to make a case if he wants that.”

Davor nodded. “Understood.”

“My grandfather suggested I find some way to prevent your marriage to Razel,” Thal Airwalker said as he joined them. “Razel and I are distant cousins, so I’m thankful the seduction route wasn’t mentioned. It was suggested I find some way to dissuade his pursuit of you, though. My grandfather suggested that I couch it as a family concern.”

“I hate to say this, but not a single dwarrow in Rome is welcome to call Razel Fireborn family,” Tyr said. “He doesn’t blame everyone for what has been done to him, but there is no getting over it in this lifetime. Maybe not ever, as he seems to carry some deep resentment regarding the memories he does have. I can’t blame him.”

“No, I agree,” Therin said. “I’d be no different in his place.”

“I’d have taken my arse to Rome and killed a whole lot of fucking people,” Kal Ironwill said, and Dawl grunted his agreement.

Thal nodded. “Yeah, I can’t say I’d have reacted with a single bit of grace in his place.”

“Do you know why Wilk Stonecliff doesn’t approve of me?” Tyr questioned. “The last time we interacted—things were very civil.”

“You’re you,” Kal said with a shrug. “Highly educated, fiercely loyal, and because of the vows you’ve taken for your masteries—beyond corruption. There’s no influencing you, Tyr. No one is going to see you as a method of controlling or manipulating the king, and you have to know that many are already trying to figure out how they can serve themselves or their family best when it comes to getting something from Razel Fireborn.”

“My maternal uncle has sent me three letters since I arrived in Britain,” Davor said. “Before I was chosen for the conclave, he hadn’t contacted me in over a decade. I insulted him by accident when I was younger because I didn’t ask him to mentor me in my mastery work for creature management. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by my stepfather’s dragonshite.”

“My father-in-law decided the day after I was chosen for the conclave to approve of my marriage to his daughter,” Kal said dryly. “Sela and I have been married for fifteen years.”

Tyr laughed. “Sorry.”

“He’s a real fucker,” Kal muttered. “And derided his daughter so much regarding her choice of profession that she hadn’t spoken to him in five years on the day she and I married. He wasn’t even invited to the celebration.”

“What do I do about this letter?” Davor questioned and picked it up.

“You’re an adult and not subject to any parental authority,” Tyr said. “Write back and tell him to fuck off.”

There was a sharp knock on the door, and Tyr looked up to find the chieftain standing in the doorway. Everyone lurched to their feet. Ragnok leaned on the doorframe, glanced them over, and quirked one silver eyebrow in Tyr’s direction.

“My wife has sent me to apologize for our allowing Elspeth to run amok for our own amusement.”

Tyr grinned. “She is magically a minor, so….”

Ragnok laughed and shook his head. “I checked on that thing I said I would—I’ve been assured that I had the only one left, and your father apologizes for not realizing that a copy hadn’t been accounted for.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Ragnok nodded. “Carry on then.” He pulled the door shut.

Tyr hummed under his breath.

“Did any of you know he could open that door without our notice?” Thal questioned. “Because I didn’t.”

“Never think for a moment there is a door in this entire complex that Ragnok Windrider can’t open,” Cyrus said seriously. “Especially a room his son may be in at any given moment. He wouldn’t hesitate to destroy the whole damn bank to get to Razel.”

 

Chapter 4

“Tyr’s not mad at me,” Elspeth said, and Razel glanced toward his sister, where she was standing near the end of his work table.

“I….” Razel huffed and focused on the mithril strands he’d pulled earlier in the day. He was experimenting with weaving and liked the results so far. “I think I need a loom.”

“Can I come closer?”

“Yes,” Razel said, and she tucked against his side in practically an instant. He appreciated that his sister was always careful with herself in the forge, even in moments of overt upset.

“What do you intend to make?”

“I have a mithril ritual robe—it came from the vault,” Razel said. “I’m curious about the construction. I’m considering chainmail or something similar.”

“Then a loom would be a good choice,” she said. “Maybe you could treat it like a tapestry to start to create a length of material to work with. I am sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Razel said mildly. “I feel…intruded upon. You’re probably not going to understand this at all, but there are parts of my relationship with Tyr that I don’t want to share with anyone, not even our family.”

“You mean sex stuff?” Elspeth scrunched up her nose in the pretense of disgust.

Razel laughed. “Well, certainly never that. The thing is that I’ll never be allowed all the privacy that I want, not even in my marriage. Duty will be the main culprit, of course, but the demands on us will only increase as time goes on.” He braided the strands to see how he liked it. “And I would prefer to have some control over who comes into my rooms and when from now on.”

“Maybe a five-strand,” Elspeth suggested. “I really didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

“Maybe,” he agreed and undid the work he’d done and added two more strands to the iron rod he had embedded in his bench. He normally used it as an anchor point to secure leather to his bench for decorative work, but it was doing the job he needed. “Better.” He braided several inches with a nod. “They were testing him.”

“For what?”

“Probably his tolerance of you,” Razel said dryly, and she huffed. “And I understand their concern on that point because Yawl barely tolerated you, and several suitors in the past have asked me how involved I was in your education and care—like it was a problem.”

“I’m an adult.”

“Barely,” Razel muttered. “And you understand your vulnerability when it comes to magical maturity. At any rate, bringing anyone into our family requires a lot of thought because of your age. That’s not a criticism. You know how they treated and sheltered me.”

“They still seek to do it,” Elspeth pointed out.

“I think that’s just parenthood,” Razel said. “At any rate, I’m not mad. I’m just uncomfortable, and he got really upset over the copy of that memory. I didn’t know Adad still had it, either. He was also clearly out of sorts to be upset at all, and I didn’t know how to ease him. Which has only increased my frustration over your little parental ambush. It might have been amusing in any other circumstance.”

“Tyr’s parents are coming here,” Elspeth said.

“Yes, in just two days, and I’ll have a private meal with them.” He sent her a look, and she nodded quickly. “I’d thought to invite our parents to have dinner with him tomorrow in the formal family dining room. It would’ve been a controlled event he could’ve prepared for. He’s probably grateful, at this point, to have not been in his pajamas this morning for breakfast. I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you that you weren’t going to be invited to the dinner with his parents.”

She huffed. “I can take being told no. I’m not a child. I haven’t thrown a fit in ages unless someone asked me to provide a timely distraction.”

Razel grinned at her. “Sure.” He refocused his attention on his braiding. “It feels very malleable. Do you mind going to the Artisan Guild and buying me a tabletop loom?” He held out his hands to demonstrate the size he wanted. “Don’t tell them why you want it. I’d rather not be questioned.”

“They won’t ask,” Elspeth said. “I’ve several looms already and have never bought a tabletop version. Master Jory Craftborn questioned my lack of ownership regarding one already. She said it would be a benefit and allow me to add the artistry of my loom work into my enchantment process more easily to have one close at hand. There was a lecture about inspiration and convenience mixed in the middle of all of that.”

“She’s not wrong,” Razel said. “Buy one for yourself as well, then—I’ll give you the gold for the purchase later.” He loosened the braid and spread the strands out. “Mithril is fascinating. I hope there is more on Arda. Having so little to work with is disappointing.”

She reached out briefly but then pulled her hand back.

“Go ahead,” Razel said and watched as she trailed her fingers through the strands. “What do you think?”

“It feels strong but so delicate—it would be like weaving with the finest of hair.” She bit down on her lip. “Could you make me a strand to experiment with? I’ll keep it private.”

“How much would you want?”

“Maybe ten yards,” she said as she coiled a strand around her finger. “Is that too much?”

“At this weight, no. I could pull it in about an hour. I won’t have time to do that until later in the week, though.”

“That’s fine,” she said. “I’m weaving a length of silk for Amad, and I think I could use this to put embroidery on it. It’s her birthday next month. I can’t make a dress or anything, but I thought if I provided the fabric, it would be special. I went with jade green since she’s been favoring that of late.”

“It sounds lovely,” Razel said. “And she’ll adore it.”

And it would go well with the ear cuff he’d made.

“I’ll get the looms,” she said and darted off with a quick smile.

“Interesting agreement on your part.”

Razel looked up from the strands and found his father standing in the entryway of his forge. “I’ve given you materials before. It isn’t the same as making something wholesale, at any rate.”

“No, I suppose not. But ten yards of mithril string would be worth a stupid amount of gold on the open market. More so, if it were known that you made it.”

Razel frowned but nodded. “I don’t care about money, and I realize my privilege in that. While no one in the horde faces the kind of poverty that takes place in the human world—some do without the things they want because they don’t have the gold for it. I’ve never known that kind of insecurity—not even in memories of my former lives.”

“I apologized to Tyr for this morning,” Ragnok said, and Razel exhaled slowly. “Should I apologize to you?”

Razel made a face and added another strand to the rod to fiddle with. “What do you think?”

“I think you grew up far too quickly,” Ragnok said roughly. “And sometimes it’s hard to acknowledge that there are parts of your life that I have no right to know about.”

Razel nodded and said nothing as his father came to stand beside him.

“Try a battle knot.”

He obliged, crafting the braid quickly. “It’s not my intention to exclude you entirely from my life. The situation really put him off his stride, and that was upsetting as fuck.”

“I can see that,” Ragnok said. “He recovered well. I didn’t know the pensieve memory of the event was such a sore subject. Your mother would’ve certainly never expressed interest in watching it if she’d known. She’s furious with herself for upsetting him. More than most, she understands such trauma for what it is.”

Razel nodded.

“She spoke at length, after breakfast, with Tyr’s mother,” Ragnok said. “And had the master chef put all of his favorite foods on the menu for the next week.”

Razel laughed. “Adad.”

“Food is a comfort to some, and I know you don’t get that. But he will.”

He stared at the braid he’d created. “It’s too complicated.”

“Agreed,” Ragnok said, and Razel loosened the braid and pulled the strands free.

“I don’t like that you’re…prodding him, testing him,” Razel said finally. “It feels disrespectful of my choices.”

“It wasn’t our intention to question your choice,” Ragnok said. “And you needn’t worry that Tyr Warhide will find my scrutiny too uncomfortable to endure. I’ve never known that dwarf to back down from a single challenge in his life. In some ways, the dragon is the least of it. He doesn’t, and never has, allowed anyone to hold him back or force him to conform to anyone’s expectations. He wears justice and honor like some dwarrow wear their pride.”

Razel nodded and focused on his father. “What about the scrutiny of the rest of the fucking horde?”

Ragnok laughed. “Don’t worry about them. Your most pressing concern is the impending arrival of Brol Wildheart and his wife.”

“That’s in two days.”

“That’s in two hours,” Ragnok corrected. “Brol wants to discuss the situation regarding the memory with his son in person. He’s upset with himself for allowing Tyr to have a sense of security around that event that he shouldn’t have had.”

“There aren’t any other copies of the memory, right?” Razel questioned as he worked the words two hours around in his head. “You’ve checked thoroughly?”

“I’ve checked with every single person who was given stewardship of a copy during the investigation,” Ragnok said. “Those involved know better than to lie to me.” He cleared his throat. “I thought you might wish to take a shower and put on something that isn’t fifteen years old before his parents get here, just in case you meet them today.”

Razel huffed and pulled the leather apron he was wearing over his head because he was wearing a tunic that hadn’t seen a good day in a decade, and his trousers had a hole in the knee. He never wore good clothes to work in the forge as it would be wasteful and ridiculous. “Does he know they’re coming early?”

“I sent his brother to handle that,” Ragnok said. “I figured he could use some space and privacy to react as he wishes regarding the change in plans.”

* * * *

“I have no idea why they’re coming early,” Luc said earnestly. “I’d tell you, Tyr.”

“I know why,” Tyr admitted. “The chieftain contacted them because…he still had a memory of the mauling.”

“What?” Luc questioned, the blood drained from his face. “Adad promised you that all the memories had been retrieved and destroyed after that asshole from New York bragged about having access to it and tried to set up a public viewing like it was a goddamned Muggle moving picture.”

Tyr winced. “I imagine the chieftain received his copy from our grandfather, and it wasn’t listed amongst the official copies that were tracked as part of the judiciary’s investigation.” He pulled the memory vial from his dimensional store and stared at it. “It came up over breakfast because Elspeth sprung a family meal on Razel and me.”

Luc laughed.

“It might have been amusing if the conversation hadn’t drifted into a discussion of the dragon and the copy of the memory that the chieftain had,” Tyr said. “Lenore Feyborn decided she should watch it, and I never want that.” He cleared his throat because his voice had cracked. “I find myself relieved that she hadn’t already seen it. I hate that Razel has seen it. I wish I’d never agreed to share the memory at all, but I was young and worried that I would be blamed for the death of a very valuable clan resource. At the time, thanks to the wizards, the Hungarian Horntail was on the brink of extinction, and I’d killed a nesting mother.”

He checked his watch and stored the memory. “I need to go see what Razel is doing.”

“He left his forge early, so he’s probably been told our parents are coming. Elspeth came looking for him in the conclave space because he wasn’t in his flat either,” Luc explained. “After she left, Cyrus told us that Razel had retreated to the vault.”

Tyr considered the ramifications of that and wondered if the contents of Durin’s vault offered Razel comfort in moments of stress. The legacy was difficult to wrap his head around most of the time, but surely there were treasures in the vault that reminded Razel of the good parts of his past lives.

“I’d never want to live over and over again,” Luc said. “It sounds like a nightmarish existence.”

“He handles it better than I would,” Tyr said and took a deep breath even as his mirror alarm went off in his store. He pulled the mirror from the bracelet with a thought, and his brother walked away without being asked. He was relieved when Razel’s face filled the mirror. “Hey.”

“I’m about to get in the shower,” Razel said and pushed his unbound hair from his face. “It’s my understanding that our mothers had a very long talk over the floo after breakfast. Since I know her quite well, I can tell you that she was explicit in her detailing of the meal and your reaction to the copy of the memory still existing.”

Tyr grimaced. “I’m sorry she’s so upset.”

“All three of them exceeded your boundaries, Tyr, and I should’ve kicked them out of my rooms as soon as…. I didn’t do very well on the partner front this morning, and I apologize for it. We all let Elspeth get away with a lot because of her sweet nature and age. Even when she’s threatening to murder people, it’s more charming than alarming. That has to be a problem.”

Tyr laughed.

“Seriously. At any rate, will you join me?”

Tyr grinned and quirked an eyebrow. “The last time we shared a shower—we had to take two.”

Luc laughed from his place across the room.

“Well, we don’t have time for that,” Razel said dryly. “At any rate, I want to talk about something before your parents get here. And tell Luc that I’ve pulled a few resources—financial records from various mountain communities that were preserved. I’m going to task him and Therin Augur with figuring out where the mithril was mined on Arda because that’s going to feature heavily in where the regency settlement will eventually be founded.”

Tyr looked up, and Luc nodded even as he started to write in his journal. “I’ll be there shortly.”

“Thanks,” Razel said and exhaled slowly. “Elspeth is going to be banned from my rooms for at least a month as punishment for all of this.”

“I’d hate to be standing here still ignorant of the fact that there was an undocumented copy of a memory I gave the judiciary when I was young, stupidly afraid of being deemed responsible for a huge financial loss, and barely recovered physically. I shared more then than I would if I were asked to produce that memory today.”

Razel nodded. “I understand. Still, she’s banned. It’ll be good for her development. See you soon?”

“Of course,” Tyr agreed, and the mirror went dark. He stored it and took a deep breath.

“He’s out of sorts,” Luc remarked.

“Yes,” Tyr agreed. “It’s going to be a stressful few days. I hope I can count on you to help me corral our parents.”

Luc shrugged. “I’ll do my best.”

Tyr nodded and picked up the mid-thigh jacket that matched his suit. Judiciary halls had a standard of dress across the entire system, and he was so used to it that he rarely dressed casually. The security surrounding the chieftain’s family quarters had changed slightly, and the identity scans were much more overt. He didn’t know if it was special for him because his image had already been used to gain access or if everyone endured the scrutiny. He appreciated the process regardless because even weeks later, the thought of Yawl wearing his damn face and touching Razel made him homicidal.

He entered Razel’s flat, shed his jacket, and folded it over the back of the sofa as he passed the piece of furniture. He could hear the shower running as he entered the bedroom, so he went through the dressing room and into the large bathroom. Tyr found Razel standing under a pair of shower heads, water and soap sliding over his body. He didn’t often use the soap charms that were built into most showers, but he had to admit the magic was seductive in its presentation.

Razel turned as he started to wash his hair. “The melting point of mithril is twice that of tungsten.”

Tyr leaned on the counter. “That sounds dangerous as fuck.”

Razel shrugged as he turned to rinse his hair. “Moreover, it’s delicate and cools very quickly. I pulled strings thin enough to weave this morning.”

“You pulled mithril? Like glass?”

“Exactly like glass,” Razel said. “I lowered the heat in my forge until it was just short of the melting point for the metal and realized it’d created a state much like molten glass. So, I tried to pull it, and it worked. I made fifteen lengths of string. I keep thinking about the ritual robe and how it would’ve been created. Weaving seems the most obvious method, which means creating mithril thread or string was, at one time, a common thing.”

“Which is why you want to know where the mithril is on Arda,” Tyr surmised.

“I’m drawn to it magically,” Razel said. “I’d like a lot to work with.” He shrugged as he ended the cleansing charms and left the shower. “I don’t normally get deeply invested in a particular metal, so it’s been interesting.” He pulled on a bathrobe and tied it off. “Will you tell me why you had such a strong reaction to the memory’s existence?”

Tyr exhaled slowly and averted his gaze. He knew communication was important and that failing on that front in a new relationship could damage their potential. It was the last thing he wanted. But he also didn’t want to talk about the shared memory or his past with it.

“You practically ran away from me after my parents and sister left this morning,” Razel said. “I’m really sorry for my inaction this morning.”

Tyr reached out and pulled Razel close, hands curling around his hips as he realized his personal desires regarding the memory couldn’t take center stage. “I’m not upset with you and never was.” Razel relaxed against him. “As to the memory, shortly after I started mentoring in Paris Judiciary Guild, there was an arsehole in New York who ran across an archived copy of it. He viewed it and suggested to the Master of the New York Judiciary Guild that a public display of the memory take place. He argued that it would be educational, especially for those who have small magic, as he assumed me to be barely magical because I didn’t use magic against the dragon.”

“You were twenty-five and hadn’t gone through your first maturation,” Razel said in confusion. “And it was abundantly clear in the memory that you were using what magic you had at your disposal to manifest strength. No single dwarf of any magical power could subdue a fucking dragon with a wand.”

“Yeah,” Tyr said. “But I’d already shied away from every single magical discipline, and many assumed that I had small magic or that the mauling had damaged my magic beyond repair. Either way, the dwarf in New York had small magic, and he wanted to display my fucking trauma to further his personal agenda.”

Razel exhaled sharply. “I never heard about this at all.”

“My parents were furious with the presumption and his intrusive behavior. He sent me dozens of letters trying to get my permission to include it, permanently, in the classes he taught and suggested that the more people who saw it, the more people would recognize the inherent value of those of us with small magic.”

“I think everyone is valuable to the horde,” Razel said. “But it’s beyond the pale to ask that of you.”

Tyr nodded. “Any rate, my father and I went to New York, and I lost my temper—bled elemental fire all over the place, and that arsehole realized that I wasn’t a small magic user. He was furious by my so-called pretense. He acted like I’d pretended to be something I wasn’t and demanded to know why I was pursuing law as a career. He said I didn’t belong in the judiciary at all.”

“Is this arsehole still alive?” Razel demanded. “I want to curse him out.”

Tyr laughed. “He’s the current master of the New York Judiciary.”

Razel huffed. “That’s awful.”

“He refuses to speak to me at all these days and makes his second handle any communications I have with that guild. Mostly this is our circumstances because he’s petrified of my father, who threatened to challenge him in the arena if he contacted his minor child again in any single way. My adulthood has not absolved his fear.”

“Well, I wouldn’t pick a fight with Brol Wildheart,” Razel said dryly. “I want….” He trailed off and took a deep breath, so Tyr pulled him closer.

“You can say anything to me as well.”

“That feels true,” Razel murmured and cleared his throat. “I need to dry my hair. It’s so thick it’ll be wet for hours if I don’t.”

Tyr released him with a small frown and took a deep breath as Razel moved into the dressing room. He followed him and watched him pick up a charmed brush. Tyr scooted up onto the counter and picked up a wooden box that held a collection of beads. He’d seen it before and found the beads fascinating, as some of them had clearly come from Arda.

He picked a platinum bead and turned it in his fingers. A single mountain had been carved into it. It also had two emerald chips.

“It’s Erebor,” Razel said as he brushed his hair. “The Lonely Mountain. The bead itself was made by Thorin Oakenshield—there were originally fourteen made. I don’t know the context regarding their creation, but that particular bead was worn by Oakenshield’s consort. Eventually, it passed to one of their children, who gave it to Gimli, Lord of the Glittering Caves, upon the birth of his son. That son was my direct ancestor—a half-elven child who was named Bil in honor of the consort.”

“It’s lovely—the craftwork is astounding.”

“You should wear it,” Razel said, and Tyr nearly dropped the bead in his surprise. “It will suit you.” He looked toward him. “No pressure, of course.”

“It’s beautiful,” Tyr said. “I love the history of it—there’s a lot of love and loyalty left behind in the metal.”

“Yes,” Razel agreed. “Love, loyalty, and grateful honor,” Razel said. “It’s not been worn since it was brought to Earth.” He smiled then. “It really does suit you.”

Tyr put the box aside and put the bead down on the counter. He loosened the braid he’d put against his right temple as it had no beads at all. He wore all of his clan and decorative beads on the left. He used a sticking charm on the bead as he threaded it into the braid and closed it off with a security charm once he reached the end.

“Perfect,” Razel said and went back to brushing his hair. “I used to use a wanded charm for drying my hair. It took forever. I was really happy when I found a charmed brush that worked well with my magic. I’ve had a few that really weren’t robust enough, and they fell to pieces after repeated use.” He glanced toward Tyr. “Pick out my clothes?” He flushed when Tyr raised an eyebrow. “Amad normally gives me a few choices when it matters, but she’s in a state and hasn’t come around. I honestly hardly care about fashion at all.”

“I’ll handle it,” Tyr said, amused to be given such a task. He slid off the counter and went to the closet portion of the dressing room.

Razel had an extensive wardrobe—all of it custom tailored, carefully curated, and classic in design. He chose a black suit, skipped the button-down shirt in favor of a light blue jumper, and put the waistcoat back after removing the jacket.

“Not too informal?”

“No, neither will expect formal attire, and there’s no need to strangle yourself in a cravat if it’s not needed. I’m only wearing one currently due to the judiciary dress code.”

Razel nodded and shed his robe, which had dried the rest of him due to charm work. Tyr wet his lips, and his partner sent him a look.

“I’m not getting messy again right now.”

He laughed and put the clothes on the hook by the mirror. “Tea?”

“I’d love some,” Razel admitted. “And maybe a sandwich. Rhys is arranging guest quarters for your parents. They’ll be arriving during the lunch hour, so I assumed you’d take a private meal with them?”

“It’s for the best,” Tyr admitted. “I’ll order your tea service.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s no trouble, darling,” Tyr murmured and started to leave.

“No, I mean. Well, yes, thanks for ordering the food, but I mean…thanks for wearing the bead. I like seeing it in your hair.” Razel’s cheeks flushed, and he focused on getting dressed.

Tyr just took a deep breath and left the dressing room before he could talk himself and Razel into misusing the Persian rug again.

 

Chapter 5

“I’m so very sorry,” Brol murmured against Tyr’s hair as he held his son tight. “I’ve tasked Fhane with making sure there are no other copies anywhere.”

Tyr took a deep breath and relaxed against his father. “It’s okay. The chieftain already checked.”

“It must certainly is not okay,” his mother said hotly and tugged him free of Brol. “Your father is an utter bastard right now, and Fhane will complete his investigation.”

Tyr laughed a little. “Amad, I’m okay.”

Her gaze was narrowed as she looked over his face. She brushed his braids away and put one slim-fingered hand on his shoulder. “Lenore told me that you were very upset.”

“I….” Tyr took a deep breath and wished he had an explanation for himself. “It was the worst day of my fucking life.” His voice was hoarse, so he cleared his throat and closed his eyes. “And sometimes I still feel her claws digging into me—like her anger and fear is echoing in my magic, and I don’t see that ever going away.” His father made a choked sound. “I just…don’t want anyone else to ever see it. Too many have seen it already.”

“How can I help?” Sig questioned, and Tyr shook his head.

“I’ve been dealing with it for a long time, but the surprise that the chieftain still had a copy of the memory was difficult for me to keep to myself. He left the meal to retrieve the memory, which was embarrassing.” He huffed a little when she smiled. “I felt like a tween.”

“You’re allowed your emotions,” Sig said gently. “And it was the worst day of my life, too. I’m reminded of it every single time I look in the mirror, and I know you are as well.” She touched her shoulder where she’d been bitten.

“I could really do without anyone ever seeing you trying to keep my insides in my body with just your hands ever again,” Tyr said roughly, and his mother shuddered. “Sorry.”

“No, I agree. It was the worst part of the memory,” Sig said and glanced toward her husband, who was pale-faced and slouched on a sofa. “Brol?”

“It was everyone’s worse day,” Brol said quietly. “You were the baby of the family at the time, Tyr, and none of your brothers handled any part of the situation well. The grief was overwhelming, and the fury was…impotent. We didn’t have a target, and none of us could take part in the magic that was used to heal you both. We could do nothing but wait, which is frankly, not a thing a single damn one of us excels at.”

Tyr laughed. His mother’s fingers trailed down the single braid he was wearing against his right temple. He stilled as she let the bead rest against the palm of her hand.

“I’ve never…seen this before.”

“It’s….”

“The master mark is ancient,” Sig said. “Is this from Durin’s vault, Tyr?”

“Yes.”

She released the bead. “You’re wearing a 10,000-year-old bead? Like it’s just an everyday piece of jewelry you got in a craftsman trade event? Are you serious?”

He flushed. “I put securing magic on it, which I’m sure you felt.”

“Yes, but….” She trailed off and waved both of her hands even as Brol laughed. “Who made it?”

“Thorin Oakenshield made it for his consort.” He winced a little when her eyes widened in shock. “And it’s about 11,000 years old since it was made long before our people left Arda. The carving is Erebor, the last mountain kingdom we had on Arda before the migration.”

“Many would assume it to be his gesture if they knew the history of it,” Brol said. “A gift made by the hand of an ancient king—one of the last of the direct line of Durin. It’s priceless.”

“Razel asked me to wear it, so I don’t consider it a gift,” Tyr said. “He said it suited me, but we are ready to begin the courting period. He wanted to meet you both first.”

“It’s….” Sig took a deep breath. “Put more security magic on it, please.”

“Okay,” Tyr agreed easily. “Come, you’re probably hungry.” He motioned toward the table. “We’ll order some food.”

His mother glanced toward Brol but gamely allowed him to guide her toward the table.

“I assumed we’d take the midday meal in the dining hall?” Sig admitted. “We’re eating privately with Ragnok and Lenore for dinner. Guests get food delivery?”

“I assume everyone can get food delivery,” Tyr admitted. “Most of the conclave eats together in the workspace, and I eat with them or with Razel depending on his schedule. I’ve never been to the dining hall here in Britain.” He picked up the menu and offered it to her as she sat. “It seems to be popular, but it’s more of a socialization option rather than it being required to receive food from the kitchen.”

“How is payment handled?” she questioned. “Should we arrange an account with the Master Chef?”

“None of the conclave members or our guests are paying room or board, Amad,” Tyr said. “It’s all part of our service to the endeavor. We tried to set up accounts to pay for meals with the kitchens, but we all were soundly rebuffed. As I said, the Blacklocks are invested in supporting Razel and his choices. I had to argue with a sewist last week about payment because I bought a few new cravats from her inventory. She tried to gift them to me.”

Sig focused on the menu then and drew her wand. “Each member of the conclave is giving a lot to the project. I can assume the others are being gifted to and provided for by their own clans. Many have approached us asking if you need anything they can provide. I hope you’ll reach out when you do, as it would be well-received.”

“Yes, of course, it’s already come up. We sourced additional warding stones from Egypt.” He waited as she made selections without input from himself or his father. Then went to the sideboard to receive the delivery. “You didn’t have to come early. Did Cain get upset to have his trip cut short?”

“He was more than ready to come home,” Brol said as Tyr transferred the covered plates to the table. “I told your mother that the guest quarters here in Britain are the best I’ve had in years.”

“They are very nice,” Sig agreed.

“Apparently, the High Priestess thinks they’re awful and wants to redo the whole area,” Tyr admitted and shrugged when Brol raised an eyebrow. “The chieftain keeps talking her out of it. The Blacklock clan lives very well.”

“Rhys Sharprock’s willingness to invest in the Muggle world has made a difference for the Blacklocks,” Brol said. “They trade heavily with the wizards as well, despite the chieftain’s overt dislike for most of them. And he makes the British Ministry of Magic pay through the nose to keep Gringotts main branch here.”

“Well, they should pay a steep price for the dragonshite we have to put with,” Sig said and focused on her plate. “I gave Lenore a list of your favorite foods. She wished to make you feel at home after your difficult morning.”

“So, shall I be coddled from several different directions going forward?” Tyr asked and huffed when his mother laughed. “Amad.”

“I’m pleased, honestly, that she cares enough about you already to be upset about the situation,” Sig said honestly. “I’ve never heard of her to be cruel, but she’s as much a mystery to most of the horde as Razel himself. Ragnok has always sheltered his family.”

“With good reason,” Tyr said with a frown and poured wine for them all, then sat down. She’d ordered lasagna for all three of them. It was, hands down, his favorite pasta dish. “He couldn’t even trust his own brother.”

“Granted,” Brol said. “As much Bane and I argued—I never worried he’d be a danger to my spouse and children. But I suppose things would be different if the leadership of the horde itself was at stake. A single fistfight might not have resolved the matter.”

Tyr thought the fight would’ve been ongoing. He loved his uncle, but Bane Fireheart wasn’t known for his compassion. Bane was ambitious, a miserable bastard when crossed, and difficult to please. He’d been one of many who questioned Tyr’s education choices and would continue to do so if given the room for an argument.

“Uncle Bane can be stubborn.”

Brol snorted. “He asked me if I regretted allowing you your educational choices before we left. He said that you’d have never garnered Razel Fireborn’s attention if you’d stayed in Paris and attended your true magical duty to the clan.” He waved a hand. “As if having the king court my son is somehow a problem.”

“Were I not educated as I am, I’d be overwhelmed with the duties that will be mine sooner rather than later,” Tyr admitted. “The Regency High Court is an immense undertaking, and I don’t think Razel understood how much work it would be. He asked me if there was a way to change it if it was too much.”

“Can it be changed?”

Tyr shook his head. “Not without paying for it in some pretty horrific ways. The authors of the accord were intent on enforcing a permanent state of regency on the horde as they believed that we’re best served with a king who is deeply invested in the success of all dverger.” Brol nodded. “The accord stands alone as a solitary magical document that cannot be altered in any single way for 300 years. That clock starts the day he is crowned. Even when it can be changed, there are fundamentals that are magically binding for all of us. I’m sure the investigation in Rome will reveal this but buried deep in the accord is a penalty clause regarding the regency and betraying a magically just king. The day Razel is officially crowned, anyone who has ever acted with the intent to kill him or damage the regency in an overt manner will lose their magic. It will probably kill them as a result.”

“I’ve not read that,” Brol said.

“It’s buried in the section on Regency High Court legal code,” Tyr said. “Many would skip over it entirely in the reading as it’s dry and would not consider any legal punishments pertinent to themselves as they don’t see themselves as a criminal. But the accord isn’t going to care if they know the consequences or not. I have to wonder if those involved in the conspiracy did know, and they were working to avoid being subject to such absolute magical authority.”

“Most of the accord appears to be one benefit after another,” Sig said. “And I’m sure that’s the part most everyone is focused on.”

Tyr nodded and tore the piece of bread that had come with his plate in half. “It leans heavily into the idea that our king should protect us and provide for our advancement as a species. Razel seems prepared to do this.”

“Do you think he’s pursued you because of the role his consort must undertake?” Brol questioned.

“No,” Tyr said and smiled. “I don’t think it crossed his mind at all until I brought it up. He said he read the whole thing decades ago and tried to forget all the parts that were irritating or upsetting. So that meant almost all of it in some fashion or another. He seemed prepared to do whatever he could to mitigate the responsibility for me if I wanted.” He focused on his plate. “Part of me feels like…maybe I worked so hard because I was pushed magically to do so.”

“As if you were already partly bound up in the accord itself,” Sig suggested, and Tyr nodded. “It’s hard to ignore the deep intelligence of magic in times like this.”

“Are you concerned?” Brol questioned.

“I’m relieved,” Tyr admitted. “I’ve never been uncomfortable with my educational path in life, and every moment of it was interesting. Now, I have a duty stretched out in front of me that will challenge me for the rest of my life. The work is daunting but also exciting.”

“Well, we’ll help in any way that we’re allowed,” his mother said with a soft smile that looked sad to Tyr, which was startling.

“What do you mean…by allowed?” Tyr questioned.

“I….” Sig cleared her throat. “When your brothers, Cain and Kern, married they brought their spouses into our family in such a way it was as if I’d gained two more children. I don’t suspect it will go that way with Razel Fireborn.”

“Oh.” Tyr laughed a little. “Amad…. Elspeth Stargazer is already making plans about having so many new brothers at her disposal.” His mother blinked in surprise. “Whatever fears you have about me just disappearing into the chieftain’s family are unfounded. It’s not going to work that way, and by the time we step foot on Arda, I believe Razel would like to count you all as his intimate family. He’s certainly going to need the support. It could be many decades before the clans spread out over Arda and set up other settlements.

“So, where ever we land…all the clans will be together, and he’ll need the insulation of a large family that he can trust.” He cleared his throat. “We estimate the migration will take upwards of five years, and I think the chieftain will stay here on Earth until the final day.”

Brol’s eyes widened. “What?”

“He’s not said it, but no matter what anyone might think about him, Ragnok Windrider is profoundly invested in the protection of the horde at large. He won’t leave a single dverger on this world without his leadership unless they give him no choice. I believe he will ask you and Amad to be part of the first migration group, which we hope to launch within the year.”

His mother’s hand settled on his arm. “Do you truly believe in your heart that he will be able to open the door to Arda so we can go home?”

“I have no doubts whatsoever,” Tyr said. “We will go home, Amad.”

Tears gathered and slipped down her cheeks. She quickly wiped them away and took a deep breath. “Well, then, we should make sure the others are prepared for what is to come, Brol. And we’ll have to decide who will take your place in Paris when we migrate because we aren’t leaving any of our children behind to stand as director.”

“No, I’d certainly prefer that all of you come with us.” Tyr flushed when his father raised an eyebrow. “And there’s Elspeth to consider. She’ll have to be fostered by someone, and the two of you are the obvious choice. I think Omis Stoneheart will be compelled to stay here with her brother, whom she’s never been far from.”

“Yes,” Brol murmured. “Certainly. They faced a lot of betrayal at the hands of their brother, and I doubt either would be comfortable being separated in such a fashion. We should bring Suza to Britain to meet Elspeth at some point in the next year.”

Sig nodded. “Yes. I’m not exactly in the right position to mentor Elspeth Stargazer, which is a concern. She’s pursuing enchantment, right?”

“Yes, her parents have tasked her with starting her mentorship, and she’s interviewing masters,” Tyr explained. “So, they are already preparing her for a form of separation. Razel will be very protective of her on Arda, but having the two of you in a foster situation would be a relief to him. This is all speculation on my part, but our marriage will create magical links that would allow us to bring our families together in a way.”

“Protecting the regency is certainly going to be very important going forward,” Brol said. “Many will have adjustments to make as the political and power structures we currently operate on will cease to exist. The burden of managing the wizard’s banking system will no longer be ours to bear. Many won’t know what to do with themselves.”

“Well, we’ll need to create a new economic system for ourselves,” Tyr pointed out. “Which will be just the start. We’ll have a whole planet to explore.” He raised an eyebrow when his father blinked in surprise. “There’s nothing really sapient left on Arda, Adad. We won’t have to hide from anyone. Maybe our migration will bring magical species back to Arda, or maybe not.” He paused. “Razel is going to entreat Zirnitra and invite many of the magical species on this world to Arda with us. We both agree that the nundu are not invited.”

Sig laughed. “Imagine—the dragons being able to fly freely.” She took a deep breath. “The giants meandering through vast mountain ranges as they are meant to. It sounds amazing.”

“The merfolk could explore the oceans without having to worry about pollution and the big ships the Muggles use,” Brol said. “It’s fascinating—the idea of a world that we don’t have to share with the wizards.” He paused. “We aren’t inviting them, right?”

Tyr laughed. “Razel’s never even set eyes on a human, Adad. Obviously, humans that are married in will be welcome, and those dverger who have human ancestry will be allowed as well. But as far as wizard society goes, no, they won’t be invited or notified of our migration. They won’t know until they walk into an empty bank and realize we’re gone. Kal Ironwill is already working on how to hide the fact that we’re leaving in large numbers for years. Fortunately, most wizards can’t even tell us apart.”

Brol huffed. “True enough. We could staff each central hub with less than a hundred dverger and the smaller branches with twenty—the wizards won’t even notice.”

“Is the conclave doing more than magical construction?” his mother questioned as she pushed aside her empty plate.

“Of course, he’s created his council, Amad. I’m not sure if he’s acknowledged that even to himself, but it’s overt in practice. He seeks them out, takes their advice on board, and trusts the brotherhood being made there.” Tyr took a sip of wine. “I think many will be surprised by it.”

“Certainly, most of the directors would assume to be part of his council,” Brol said. “And that his father would lead that council for him for decades, if not longer.”

Tyr shook his head. “I believe Rhys Sharprock will be the royal advisor and nominally lead the council for Razel as needed. Though eventually, I think that role will fall to Therin Augur, whom Razel has clicked with on a personal level. I believe Razel would like to separate as much of his family from the regency government as he can. He’d never want to create a situation where he would be at odds with either of his parents.”

“Do they relate on a level that concerns you?” Sig questioned.

“Ah, no, not like that,” Tyr admitted and flushed. “Razel often gives me his undivided attention to the point of rudeness if I don’t mitigate it. He doesn’t mean to do it, and it’s probably a by-product of our magical affinity.” He pushed aside his plate. “Dessert?”

“I noticed tiramisu on the list,” Sig said in amusement.

“Definitely dessert,” Tyr said and stood. He cleaned off their plates and waited by the sideboard for delivery. She ordered cheesecake for herself and two pieces of tiramisu. “I really don’t have any competition on the courtship front, Amad.”

“He had a serious relationship in the past,” Brol said. “Will he be a problem?”

“Yawl Stormchaser is dead,” Tyr said quietly as he placed the dessert plates and sat down. “I can’t discuss the circumstances due to a judiciary seal.”

Brol huffed. “Which equals a capital offense.” He raised a hand when Tyr leaned forward. “I won’t say more about that part. Neither of you were injured during whatever happened, right?”

“No, sir, of course not,” Tyr assured, and his mother’s shoulders relaxed. “We’re both fine, I promise.”

* * * *

Razel sat down at the table in the small conference room that was situated between his office and his father’s. Rhys Sharprock entered the room last and sat down with a frown.

“Master Gildedmind, this meeting has dropped like a boulder on my schedule,” Ragnok said dryly, and Razel exchanged a look with Rhys. “So, please, let’s not mince words.”

Borhn Gildedmind, the Master of the Judiciary Guild, was Yawl Stormchaser’s older brother, and Razel knew the older dwarf had never really liked him, and it would be worse going forward.

“I’ve not done well since the death of my brother,” Borhn said roughly. “The judiciary seal is certainly preventing gossip or even wide-spread speculation, which I appreciate. Most don’t even know he passed unless they were part of the small memorial that I held.”

“I’m not sure how we can ease you,” Rhys said. “I understand the level of betrayal you must feel—a member of your family exhibited the kind of bad behavior that could shame your whole line for generations. It’s one reason why the seal was placed and why he pled guilty in a private proceeding. Yawl wished to spare you and your children a scandal.”

Borhn nodded and took a deep breath. “I’ve come to realize that I can no longer participate in the judiciary.” He focused on Ragnok. “I loathe Tyr Warhide. Just the sight of him is infuriating, and I know it’s irrational. He did nothing wrong, wasn’t involved in the prosecution, and was a victim of the situation. I recently finished reading the Regency Accord and recognize what is to come, and I’m incapable of working with him going forward.”

Ragnok exhaled sharply. “Razel?”

“We both know he can’t stand me either,” Razel said. “He’s hated me since Yawl and I parted. For the past few years, he’s acted like I was to blame for his brother’s tantrum and departure from Britain. Refusing to ignore my duty and go live in a tent while Yawl explored Muggle tombs wasn’t an unreasonable choice on my part, and they both acted like it was.”

“You misled my brother,” Borhn snapped. “Made him believe that you were something you weren’t. He should’ve known who you really are!”

Rhys cleared his throat. “Watch your tone, Borhn.”

“I don’t disagree,” Razel interjected, and they all focused on him. “I should’ve told him who and what I am. But even after he was told, he seemed to think that I could ignore my duty wholesale and live his dream. The Regency Accord meant nothing to him, and my goals meant less than that. Yawl was selfish, unreasonable, and in the end…in the end, he was profoundly cruel. What he attempted to do was so beyond the pale that I’ve had several nightmares about it.”

His father swore under his breath, and Razel averted his gaze.

“You’re also right, Master Gildedmind, about Tyr Warhide. None of this is his fault, and while it wasn’t my intention, I’ve chosen the best possible dwarf to stand as my consort when it comes to the reorganization that’s going to happen in the judiciary. Surely, even you can’t find a reason to protest him on an intellectual front.” Razel pushed down on his own temper because he was furious over the unfairness of the situation.

“No, his education and understanding of the law are prodigious,” Borhn said quietly. “He’s going to excel in the role as both your consort and as the Judge Advocate. I just can’t work for him, ever. I fear it would lead me to make unethical choices, and I can’t risk my magic like that. I’ve decided to retire to the Scribes Guild, which is my secondary mastery. I won’t be seeking a leadership role in that guild. Syd Arbiter will become the master of our guild here in Britain. I believe that Master Warhide has already started to work with him, and they are like-minded regarding the reorganization of the legal code.” He waved a hand in clear frustration. “Syd would adopt the dwarf if it were possible. He’s quite thrilled with him.”

“Have you considered migration?” Rhys asked bluntly, and Bohrn nodded.

“Yes, but I believe the portal will open, and we’ll go home,” Borhn said roughly and stood. “Because I’ve never doubted your magical ability either, Master Fireborn. Migration takes time, and there’s no need to waste mine doing frivolous things when I could be focusing on doing my part for the exodus, even if it is in the Scribe’s Guild.”

Ragnok stood and cleared his throat. “I won’t order it, Borhn, but I highly suggest you get mind healing. I know what’s it like to have a sibling betray you, and the hurt is overwhelming.”

“Yawl didn’t betray me,” Bohrn protested.

“Of course he did,” Rhys interjected, and Razel took a deep breath. “He betrayed your whole damn family, Bohrn. His behavior was selfish, destructive, and treasonous.” He waved a hand. “I won’t try to order you to get mind healing, either, but I am going to talk to your wife.”

Bohrn glared at him. “You’re a real arsehole, Sharprock.”

“You’d know,” Rhys said dryly and shrugged when Ragnok laughed.

Razel stood. “I’m leaving this conversation before it comes to blows.” He waved a hand. “But I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that Brol Wildheart is here, and I’m more than willing to suggest he join you if a brawl becomes any more likely.” That earned him three huffs of fury, so he left.

In the hall, Glou appeared as they walked down the hall.

“I’ve been told that Master Warhide is still with his parents and that his brother joined them. His parents are scheduled to eat with yours for dinner—security is being arranged for that event. Your mother requested that we keep security at a minimum and unobtrusive. Thoughts?”

“Tyr would be magically bound to report any issues that could endanger my father’s life,” Razel pointed out. “Even if that threat was one of his parents.”

“True,” Glou said. “We’re letting Fyre run point.”

“She’s probably letting you think that,” Razel retorted, and Glou laughed. “Can we speak for a moment?” he asked as he came to stand at his door.

“Of course,” Glou said with a raised eyebrow, then followed Razel into the flat. “Is there an issue?”

“No, but it crosses my mind that I don’t have….” He waved a hand and slouched down on his sofa. “I believe Arda to be a world barren of sapient life. But I can’t say that for certain, Glou. So, we don’t have a standing army, and there is defensive leadership in place, formally. We don’t have any sort of military structure either at this point. It was deconstructed thousands of years ago due to treaties with the fucking wizards. Some of those treaties are going to get in our way magically even now.”

Glou hummed under his breath. “I’ll start gathering some information and opinions. We can build and train informally. We’ve often done so over the years, and security forces across the bank system would certainly come under one banner if called upon to do so.” He crossed his arms. “Before you can ask, I’m not the one you want to lead it.”

“Why not?” Razel questioned.

“I’m not trained for such a thing, and I would prefer to be in charge of your personal security on Arda. Being part of the King’s Guard was, at one time, a profound honor. I hope it’s something you can trust me with once you’re crowned.”

“Yes, of course,” Razel said and took off his boots. “I hadn’t considered personal security on Arda, and I know that’s short-sighted. So, who will lead my army?”

“Cain Fury is the most obvious choice,” Glou said. “He’s the oldest of Brol Wildheart’s children and stands as his father’s heir. He has masteries in finance and management, but his heart isn’t in it. Everyone knows that. But his magic is small, and he made the choices he did to provide for a family. In Paris, he stands undefeated as a warrior—no matter the weapon he uses. He commands an immense amount of respect amongst the warrior class.”

“Well, then I suppose I need to meet him sooner rather than later,” Razel said, and Glou nodded. “Great—thanks in advance for all the work you’re going to end up doing in this.”

“You should task the Blacksmiths Guild with weapon construction—in every single clan. Plus, we need to start stockpiling wand and stave-making materials. We don’t know what Arda will offer in that regard. I can imagine the Master of the Artisan Guild is already making plans for that, but it doesn’t hurt to make it clear that you’re considering them and their future needs.”

Razel nodded. “It’s on the list. I have to be careful with all of it due to treaties.” He waved a hand in frustration. “I believe neutralizing those treaties soon is a priority. We need room to maneuver, stockpile, and prepare for what serves the horde best. Thanks for taking the time.”

Glou inclined his head and left then. There was a knock on the door shortly after Glou left, and his father entered when told that he could.

“I’m surprised that it took him that long to admit his problem,” Razel said. “But I was startled by how easily he admitted to resenting Tyr.” He paused. “And irritated.”

“That was clear,” Ragnok said. “You get that from me. I can’t hardly tolerate anyone having a problem with your mother.”

Razel laughed.

 

Part 2