Reading Time: 110 Minutes

Title: Warhide
Series: The Arda Exodus
Series Order: 2
s 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.
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 6

“Can’t sleep?” Tyr questioned, and Razel turned in the bed to meet his gaze in the near darkness. “Should I return to my own quarters?”

“Not unless you want to,” Razel said and hummed a little when Tyr pulled him close and tangled their legs together. “Do you?”

“No, but I thought maybe you were having a difficult time sleeping with me here,” Tyr murmured against his hair. “What’s going on?”

“What if they hate me?”

“They won’t,” Tyr assured. “They also don’t have any bizarre expectations of you.” He smiled then. “Except my mother thinks you’re silly for the priceless bead I had in my hair today. She insisted I put several more security charms on it.”

Razel laughed a little. “I’ve never worn that particular bead—it just didn’t seem like it was for me. I do have a whole set of beads made by Thorin Oakenshield that were part of his personal jewelry collection. The biggest regret on that front is that the Raven Crown is gone.”

“What?” Tyr questioned, his voice rougher than he intended. “What the…fuck?”

“I have no idea what happened or why it’s missing,” Razel said. “It certainly made its way to Earth from Arda, but the version of Durin that brought us to Earth was the last to wear it. It’s not in the vault and was never part of the inventory as far as the records indicate.” He shifted closer and brushed a soft kiss against Tyr’s mouth briefly. “There are several crowns in the vault. I have several options—both for myself and you.”

“Me?” Tyr questioned.

Razel laughed. “The Consort Under the Mountain traditionally wears a circlet at the very least and a crown for formal occasions.”

“That’s going to be weird,” Tyr confessed, and Razel laughed. “Sorry?”

“No, it’s certainly weird for me as well. The less ornate circlet will probably be my favored piece of head jewelry.” He relaxed against his chest, and Tyr settled back down in his pillows. “Glou suggested that I ask your brother, Cain, to create an army for when we’re on Arda.”

“He would be…honored,” Tyr said. “But you needn’t choose him because of our relationship, Razel. No one in my family expects anything from you.”

“Glou is unfailingly and insultingly honest,” Razel said, and Tyr laughed. “He said that Cain Fury is undefeated in the arena and the best choice for my future general of the military when it comes to fielding a full army on Arda.”

“Yes, he’s stood undefeated since his majority,” Tyr admitted. “Dwarrow come from all over the world to challenge him or even just train with him….” He trailed off. “Has it crossed your mind that you’re not the only one Arda is calling to?”

“It does seem as if many have been guided toward learning the skills they will need in the future, you being the most overt I’ve discovered so far,” Razel admitted, and Tyr stared at the ceiling. “Should I apologize for that?”

“It’s hardly your fault, darling,” Tyr murmured and kissed the top of his head. “And I regret nothing about my career or education. Justice has always felt like a profound calling, and maybe that was magically influenced by our homeworld, but you have no control over it.” He hummed a little under his breath. “It does speak to a beautiful sort of destiny for our people and us.”

“Yes,” Razel agreed. “It does.”

“Sleep,” Tyr urged. “Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

“Don’t you want to know what our parents talked about?” Razel asked huffily, and Tyr laughed.

“They talked about us,” Tyr said. “Maybe gossiped about dwarrow they all know, the investigation in Rome, and my mother probably complained a lot about the fact that her children won’t sit still for love or money.”

“I want them to get along,” Razel said. “It feels like if they don’t, things will be harder than they should have to be. Here and on Arda.”

“I agree, but I don’t think it’s going to be a problem. They share a lot of the same concerns now and will share more later. Your parents are highly invested in the family unit, and so are mine. They even share crafts.”

“True,” Razel said.

“And if they can’t behave, then we’ll make them live on opposite sides of whatever settlement we end up in on Arda and put all four of them in mind healing,” Tyr said, and Razel laughed. “Omis can supervise.”

“Deal.” Razel relaxed against him, and Tyr found himself adjusting to something new, as he’d never had a lover sleep so close to him before.

He wondered if Razel had wanted it from the start but had let Tyr take the lead on the subject. Adjusting the covers was the work of a few moments, and he let sleep take him.

* * * *

Razel was starting to hate the conference room, and it was a nice room with new furniture, so he kind of felt awful about it. His mother had spent several weeks redecorating it after his reincarnation was revealed because she knew they’d need it. Neither his office nor his father’s was large enough to handle the large meetings they had ahead of them. Master Syd Arbiter had requested the meeting, and Razel didn’t think it was going to be about the change in leadership in the Judiciary Guild.

Razel focused on his coffee as Rhys Sharprock and his father sat down at the table. He’d had more for breakfast than he normally did because Tyr had ordered the food. Still, it had been nice to linger over a meal with his lover, and he didn’t regret eating four pieces of French toast.

“My apologies, Master Fireborn. Should I have invited Master Warhide to this meeting?”

Razel looked up and focused on the older dwarf. “I don’t follow, Master Arbiter.”

“I assumed, perhaps wrongly, that he was acting as your legal counsel on the matter of the Rome investigation and that you would bring him with you to this meeting,” Syd Arbiter explained. “He did certify your witness impact statement.”

“If I offended you during that situation, Master Arbiter, I apologize.”

“You didn’t,” Syd assured. “Such statements are often very personal in nature, and it makes sense that you would share it with him rather than ask a member of the Judiciary Hall to review it for you. Do you wish to have him here for this meeting? He wasn’t in the judiciary this morning when I visited, or I might have remembered to ask him.”

“He’s working in the conclave space today,” Razel said. “There are several matters regarding the migration and building of the portal that requires research and extensive planning. I realize I’ll probably have to give him over to the judiciary repeatedly over the next year due to the matters of the Regency High Court, but for now, I need him leading the conclave in my place whenever possible. Do I need legal counsel for this meeting?”

“Not exactly, but if he’s going to represent you and be a voice on your behalf during the trial process in Rome….” Syd trailed off when Razel shook his head.

“I don’t want Tyr to ever step foot in Rome,” Razel said flatly. “I don’t trust them with him any more than I trust them with myself.”

“Well, that answers one question,” Syd said and made a note. “Mim Dragonslayer questioned me regarding your willingness to travel to Rome for an interview.”

“The next time I leave this bank, I’m stepping onto Arda,” Razel said, and he watched Syd’s eyes widen with shock. “And I’ll never return to this world ever again—no matter what Arda has to offer. How is the workload being split in Rome?”

“Theda Storm is investigating and interviewing every single adult in the clan. Mim Dragonslayer is laying criminal charges and preparing for trial. Tanik Grimm will stand as the arbiter of the entire process with a council of three preeminent scholars from the International Judiciary body. Who, by the way, is furious that their most educated member isn’t available for the process due to his relationship with the victim.”

Razel shrugged, and Syd laughed. “I’m certainly not going to apologize to them, so they need to get over it. I do have a question for you on that subject.”

“I’m listening,” Syd said and set aside his quill.

“If you were in Tyr’s position, would you want to represent my interests in these proceedings?” Razel questioned. “Would it create a conflict of interest?”

“Our vows prevent such conflict,” Syd said. “And yes, I would wish to be profoundly involved in the legal matters that impact my loved ones. I would also know when to request additional representation. Master Warhide knows himself and his tolerance regarding such matters better than either of us, Master Fireborn.”

Razel pulled his mirror from his storage bracelet and activated the rune he’d attached to Tyr’s linked mirror. His call was answered quickly.

“I’m having a meeting with Master Syd Arbiter about the dragonshite happening in Rome.”

“Are they requesting direct testimony?”

Razel hazarded a glance at Syd, who nodded. “Yes, and Mim Dragonslayer wants me in Rome.”

“It would certainly make things easier on her, but it’s not safe for you no matter what security they have in place. It would end up inciting a civil war.”

“I’m in the administrator’s conference room in the front offices.”

“I’ll be there shortly.”

Razel put his mirror away and focused on Rhys. “We can talk about your agenda while we wait.” He got up to retrieve more coffee as his father grunted his agreement. He poured for them all since a series of cups were held up. “It’s like I’m not even going to be king.”

Rhys laughed. “We did offer to hire you an assistant to handle such tasks for you.”

Razel huffed a little and picked up the menu to order a teapot for Tyr. A small service for one appeared almost immediately. He took the tray to the table along with his own coffee and sat down.

“We have a treaty that is due to be renegotiated in February of next year,” Rhys said. “It’s an international one that was signed by Chieftain Urdor Stonefoot 200 years ago.”

“Should we be concerned about it at this point?” Razel questioned as his father grimaced. The door opened under Fyre’s hand, and she raised an eyebrow as she allowed Tyr to enter. He nodded and got a little smirk for his trouble before she pulled the door shut. “She’s never going to take me seriously.”

“It’s your own fault for training with her,” Ragnok pointed out. “Once a dwarrowdam has put you on your arse and held you under her boot…there’s no coming back from it.”

“True,” Tyr murmured as he sat down. “My sister-in-law hasn’t taken me seriously in years because I made the mistake of joining her in the arena.” He poured himself some tea.

Razel focused on Rhys. “The treaty?”

“Ah, well, the problem is that your father can’t legally sign any new treaties with the wizards—locally or internationally,” Rhys said.

“Why?” Razel questioned.

“It would be perjury, as we have no intention of being here to honor those contracts,” Tyr murmured, and Syd nodded his agreement. “Even the simple trade treaty that is due to be renewed next year would be very risky and could endanger his magic.”

Razel focused on his father. “You didn’t mention this treaty when we discussed creating the portal and the migration, Adad.”

Ragnok shrugged. “I could spend a whole decade negotiating that treaty, Razel. During the negotiations, it would be temporarily renewed on a monthly basis by a clause embedded in the original document. I don’t know that anyone at the ICW has even noticed that it’s going to expire in a few months. It took seven years of arguments to create the first one and another five years to have it signed by all the member countries.”

“What happens when we incite a wizard or witch into violating all of the treaties?” Razel questioned.

“We don’t have to do that until the exodus is nearly complete,” Ragnok said. “There’s nothing in any treaty that says we have to stay here, Razel. There are just agreements in place regarding trading, bank management, and curse-breaking that we are obligated to undertake while they pillage the graves of their dead. It’ll be the work of nothing to incite a pure-blood in Britain into attacking an employee; such an action will violate all of our treaties at the same time. By the time the ICW is able to gather and respond to the situation, the banks will be empty, and we’ll be gone.” He waved a hand. “I’ll leave the keys on my desk.”

Tyr laughed a little under his breath.

“He doesn’t need your encouragement,” Razel muttered and focused on Rhys. “Will it be that easy? Can we bluff our way through years of negotiations with the ICW?”

“We don’t have much of a choice,” Syd said.

“Well,” Tyr began and took a sip of tea as he seemed to consider his options. “That’s not necessarily true. Wizards assume we’re stupid.”

Syd huffed and nodded. “Right.”

“I don’t follow,” Razel admitted. “Of course, I know they think very little of us, but what does it have to do with the contract?”

“They won’t assume us capable of fooling them,” Tyr continued. “A single misplaced comma can change the tone and intent of an entire document, Razel. We can embed dozens of minute and seemingly innocuous statements that will essentially neuter the document from the start. As long as we pretend we’re bound by it, then they won’t know the difference until it’s too late.”

“A comma? Seriously?”

Tyr shrugged. “I bankrupted a wizard-owned company in France last year because of a badly placed Oxford comma. They were cheating us and thought they could get away with it because of the contract that had been signed by my grandfather.” He paused. “They were mistaken.”

“It was a beautiful brief,” Syd said, and Tyr grinned at him. “I hope it’s become a cautionary tale for anyone who might think to cheat the horde.”

“I’d thought we’d nullify the treaties sooner rather than later,” Razel admitted. “It doesn’t sit well—leaving while our people are still bound up in obligations to the wizards.”

“We certainly can’t risk having your father sign multiple contracts,” Tyr said. “It could destroy him magically if we make a single mistake. Even the trade agreement will be an immense undertaking as we have to make certain that not a single word is out of place. Considering the depth of his magic, violating an oath would probably kill him.”

“I’ll start taking the contract apart,” Syd said. “And create a team of scholars to work on making it invalid as possible.” He focused on Razel. “As to Rome, I’ll let Master Dragonslayer know that you aren’t willing to go to Rome. As the victim, no one can compel you to participate in the trial process. If a full trial takes place, defense counsel might protest it, but the law is clear on this point. Are you willing to provide testimony via mirror communication?”

“Yes,” Razel said, and Tyr took a deep breath beside him. “What?”

“Since you were a minor in every single instance that you remember, we can request the proceeding be sealed and ensure that only those who must attend are actually in attendance. The participants won’t be allowed to discuss it with those outside of the process, and it will prevent the defense from demanding pensieve memories from you.”

Razel took a deep breath. “They could ask me for copies of my memories?”

“If you’re considered an adult in the process, absolutely,” Tyr said. “And depending on the defense arguments, they could succeed in compelling memory retrieval.”

“The oldest I appeared in any of the memories is ten,” Razel said and focused on Syd Arbiter just in time to watch the dwarf’s face pale. “And the youngest…I couldn’t say. I was suffocated once as an infant, at the very least.”

“Let’s just kill everyone involved,” Syd muttered, and with a flick of his hand, a shining silver flask appeared. He opened it and poured a significant amount of whisky into his coffee cup.

“That would be illegal,” Rhys said.

“Well.” Tyr shrugged as Ragnok laughed. “There are circumstances where it would be perfectly justified and even reasonable from a legal perspective to kill every single individual involved in the conspiracy after a thorough investigation is done without a trial process due to the long-reaching consequences of their actions and the fact that they’re guilty of treason.”

“Seriously?” Razel questioned.

“As I told you before, we love to make laws and rarely take them off the books,” Tyr explained.

“If it takes a whole year to get rid of one law, I can see why,” Razel said dryly.

“And that’s if we all agree it should be removed,” Syd Arbiter said cheerfully, and Rhys groaned.

* * * *

“Relax,” Tyr urged, and Razel felt his face flush as they left the lift.

“I’m fine.”

Tyr laughed. “No, you’re not.”

“Clearly not,” Glou agreed as he left the lift behind them. “Which is ridiculous.”

“I was kind of hoping you’d pretend not to be here,” Razel said sourly, and his bodyguard laughed. “It’s just they made no effort to meet me yesterday.”

“Because they were both focused on coddling me within an inch of my life,” Tyr muttered, and Glou laughed. “I only escaped dinner because they’d agreed to eat with your parents.”

“I don’t expect to be anyone’s priority, but I’ve been worrying about meeting your mother since yesterday,” Razel confessed. “What if she hates me? Yawl’s mother hated me from the very start. She went to the fucking stones hating me and even mentioned her hatred of me in her last will and testament.”

“Ah, well, Yolar Spiritwalker was so invested in communicating with the dead that she barely bothered to marry and birth two children,” a female voice interjected.

Razel turned and found Sig Fireborn standing in the doorway of the rooms they’d been assigned. Tyr resembled his mother greatly from the color of his hair forward. It was a strange kind of comfort.

“Necromancers are often miserable beasts,” Brol Wildheart said as he appeared at his wife’s side. “Come, we’ve navigated the menu with an astounding amount of success. Though we’ve been told you don’t care what you eat.”

Razel shrugged a little. “Food is food.”

“I don’t even know who to blame for that,” Tyr admitted as he guided Razel into the guest suite with a nod in Glou’s direction.

“Did you wish to come in, Master Warhammer?” Sig questioned.

“No, Master Fireborn, but thank you for considering me,” Glou said as he leaned on the wall by the door. “I’m his last line of defense and can’t be distracted by socialization.”

Razel sent Glou a dirty look as the door shut.

“It says a lot that your parents assigned a dwarf trained to be an assassin and spy to be your bodyguard,” Sig said.

“It’s never been safe to be me,” Razel said. “Even before my reincarnation was revealed. There are those, amongst my own clan, who didn’t want my father to be the chieftain and preferred his brother even after his crimes were revealed.” He glanced toward Tyr and sent him a pointed look. “His having an heir made it all the worse in their minds.”

Tyr grinned. “Razel Fireborn, son of Ragnok, meet my mother, Sig Fireborn, daughter of Jhonde.”

Razel hesitated overtly when Sig offered her hands, then took them in his own. “My apologies; precious few people in this world have ever offered to touch me outside of my close family.”

Her eyes widened in shock, and she looked down at their hands then unceremoniously yanked him into a tight hug. He laughed a little even as Tyr sighed and extracted him carefully from Sig’s grasp.

“Amad.”

“He clearly needed a hug,” Sig said. “Brol, pour me some wine.”

“I live to serve,” Brol said with a little nod in Razel’s direction. “It’s good to see you looking so well, considering the rumors regarding the investigation in Rome.”

Sig frowned at him. “We aren’t talking about that.”

“We’d probably be the only ones not talking about it,” Razel said as he glanced over the table. It was round, fortunately, and the food looked good. He expected nothing less from the kitchens. “The circumstances are too lurid to be kept secret, and some dwarrow live and breathe drama no matter the trauma involved.”

“Yes, that’s very true,” Brol said and motioned to the table. “Please, let’s sit so we can interrogate you properly.”

Since he preferred to be comfortable during any sort of parental interrogation, Razel sat. Tyr sat down next to him and put on what Razel was fast starting to call his court face. It wasn’t lost on Brol or Sig, either, as they exchanged an amused glance. Razel looked at the food. He tilted his head and considered it. He’d certainly never eaten it before in his life, but it did look good. The chef had clearly put a lot of effort into the presentation.

“Chicken cordon bleu and potatoes dauphinoise,” Tyr said, and Razel nodded. “Never had it?”

“It doesn’t look familiar,” Razel admitted. “That doesn’t mean it’s never been on the menu. I just tend to order the first thing in the entree list unless I’m required to put some effort into the meal.” He picked up his wine glass and took a sip as he focused on Sig. “So, let the interrogation begin.”

Brol grinned. “You shouldn’t encourage her.” He touched his wife’s shoulder. “Tyr gets his nature from her, and my wife would’ve probably studied law as well if her parents hadn’t been deeply invested in showcasing her magical gifts.”

“It seems to be an immense problem,” Razel murmured. “My own father was harshly encouraged to study several magic subjects despite his innate gifts in the forge. Fortunately, for his own piece of mind, he didn’t allow anyone to destroy his love for it. Even if it did mean he had to gain two masteries in magical subjects before his father was satisfied with his hobby as a blacksmith.”

“Tyr tells us you’re very talented in the forge,” Sig said.

“Well, it’s nothing I earned.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Brol said. “You’ve been earning such talent for thousands of years. We were told you’d spent most of the morning in the forge yesterday.”

“I retreat to the forge when I’m stressed out,” Razel admitted. “And Tyr was clearly fed up with me trying to pat his feelings. I’ve been experimenting with mithril—there was a small amount in the vault. Not enough to do anything genuinely exciting at this point. Yesterday, I pulled it like glass.”

Brol made a sound of surprise. “Like glass?”

“Yes, oddly, just short of the true melting point, mithril acts very much like molten glass. I pulled ten strands, and once they cooled, they took on the appearance of string. I assumed it possible due to the fact that I have a mithril ritual robe that was clearly woven.”

“That’s fascinating,” Sig said. “Our daughter-in-law, Jania, is a master jeweler. She makes chains of various metals, but even her finest work wouldn’t look like string or thread.”

Razel nodded. “That kind of delicate work isn’t something I’ve ever focused on. In fact, I think my last incarnation favored weapon construction almost entirely. My last large project was my bedframe—it’s wrought iron and took me months to get exactly as I wanted. Mostly I focused on creating my own tools for my other crafts.”

Sig leaned forward a bit. “Please feel free to say no—but can you tell me about Arda? What will we find there?”

Razel considered that as he cut into his entry. “Arda is lonely—magic retreated from her many thousands of years ago. There is an intelligence lingering there, and I can’t say if it’s good or bad. The most difficult part in all of this is that I can’t promise safety. I can’t promise we won’t meet with immense threats and danger because I certainly remember…some very terrible things.”

“What history books we still have speak to a harsh world and many wars,” Brol said. “But our people didn’t leave Arda because of war.”

“No, we left because the elves sailed, and the humans of that world couldn’t tolerate us,” Razel said. “We chose to retreat, and it kept our species from going extinct. I can’t fault my ancestor for his decision, as his magic led him to a place where we were relatively safe. We could stay on this world for many more generations. The wizard’s politics and wars have a cycle. We’ve weathered more than one. Historians tell me that, as a people, we will certainly survive what is to come.

“My mother has visions to validate those assumptions. But when I realized the depth of my elemental abilities—I understood that I could create a different choice for our people. I’ve dreamt about Arda since I was ten years old.”

Tyr exhaled slowly. “I asked him if he felt brainwashed when he told me that.”

Sig frowned at him. “Tyr.”

Razel grinned. “It’s a legitimate question, and he wasn’t the first to ask. When they first started, my mother worried that I had inherited far more than her looks and ears.” Sig laughed. “I used to hide them.”

“They’re nothing to be ashamed of,” Brol said curiously. “Why hide them?”

“When I was younger, other children weren’t always kind. Feyborn are practically unheard of amongst the Blacklocks, and the animosity between the Blacklocks and Longbeards has been a problem for many decades. One of the reasons my father faced opposition to his leadership in our clan was because he’d married a Longbeard. It hardly mattered, to some, that she’s the most gifted dwarrowdam of her generation.”

“Some dwarrow are never happy,” Tyr pointed out. “I’ve built my career on them.”

“Omis says that misery loves company,” Razel agreed. “As to Arda, I know the humans died out sometime in the last five thousand years as the planet rejected them and all but died around them. Famine, warmongering over the dwindling resources, and disease resulted in the total loss of sapient life on the world. I think…the magical creatures and peoples that were not elf or dwarf were taken away from the world by Zir’s counterpart. Our sparse history texts would name him Manwë, or perhaps it was his maker—Eru.”

“What if these gods don’t wish to allow our return?” Brol questioned.

“I have to think that the Arda will guide them just as she guides me,” Razel said. “I believe going home is the destiny of our people. I just hope, in the end, that they’ll be willing to follow me through the portal.”

Brol sat back in his chair with his wine and grinned. “I’m game.”

Razel laughed. “If I have to convince the whole horde one dwarrow at a time, I’m going to be in trouble.”

“The ones that share the dream will be eager to go,” Sig says simply. “And those that can’t…well, maybe this is the world they deserve.”

 

Chapter 7

“It’s beautiful and will look perfect on her,” Tyr said as he studied the ear cuff. He closed the box with a smile. “When will you give it to her?”

“Her birthday is next month,” Razel said and took the box when Tyr offered it. He turned the box over in his hands and stored it in his bracelet, then took a deep breath. “Let’s sit.” He offered his hand, and Tyr took it. “I feel silly for how nervous I am with this.”

“I’m a little nervous as well,” Tyr admitted. “I’ve never responded with a gift, and every gesture I’ve received didn’t…go well.”

“I don’t know if I should be grateful or irritated to not remember doing it in my previous incarnations,” Razel admitted, and Tyr laughed. “Maybe that’s for the best because I don’t even know what I should be nervous about exactly.”

He took Tyr to the fireplace because they needed the room for his gesture and had no idea what Tyr was going to offer in return. Razel took a deep breath, then removed the long flat box he’d stored the stave in shortly after he’d finished it. The box was magically enforced to keep the stave from being intruded upon by his magic so that when Tyr touched it, it would be as pure as possible.

Razel put a hand on the box for a moment as it rested between them on the floor. “If I’ve made a mistake with this—please don’t hesitate to say. I’d rather have your honesty than allow any sort of resentment to build.”

Tyr nodded. “Of course, I feel the same.”

“As you already know, since I started to work in the forge, I’ve had a very difficult time letting go of anything I made. It was so emotionally distressing that I stopped trying since the failure was starting to be frustrating. When I finished this, all of those feelings about my current and previous works seemed to just flutter away. I think, magically, the first gift I give from my forge was always meant to be yours.” Razel lifted his hand off the box.

Tyr took in a ragged breath as he stared at the box. “Razel.”

Razel grinned. “Open it, please.”

Tyr unlatched the box with steady fingers and carefully opened it. He let the lid rest on the floor and blinked in surprise. “What….” He cleared his throat and wrapped his hand around the stave, and sparks flew off of it briefly before flames danced along the length as the stave mated with his magic. “This is mithril.”

“The last significant amount I had from Arda, yes. There are platinum reinforcements and embellishments,” Razel said. “I have some bits of mithril left here and there to play with.” He wet his lips. “What do you think?”

“I’ve never seen or held anything like this,” Tyr murmured, and he trailed his fingers down the length of the stave. “These scales…they’re yours.”

“Yes,” Razel said. “My father harvested them from my form. The fire opal is from the vault as well, and the origin is unknown though it did come from Arda. It was once much larger, but over the years, various versions of myself broke it up and shaped it into various jewelry pieces. Most of those pieces are still in the vault. Since mithril is deeply magical, it doesn’t have a core, but I’ve left the room and done the rune work that will allow you to customize it your magic as your magic continues to grow and change. It’ll take at least six enhancement cores that are highly compatible with you as it will be mated to your magic for as long as you live.”

“Some people believe me barely magical at this point in my life,” Tyr said. “And I’ve had more than one express surprise that I’m capable of apparition, after I did it in the Hall of Mages. It didn’t help that I drew my sword rather than my wand when Knorr Stonehelm threatened my father.”

“You’d never draw your wand in my father’s presence without permission unless you were defending him,” Razel said easily. “And anyone who failed to realize that is just an idiot.” He bit down on his lip. “What do you think?”

“I love it,” Tyr murmured. “It feels like it’s always belonged to me, and that probably sounds insane.”

“No, I understand,” Razel said and let his shoulders relax. “What will your parents think?” He watched Tyr’s fingers glance over the runes that trailed down the length of the stave, fire shimmering on the skin of his fingers.

“I have no idea,” Tyr admitted. “My father said the bead you’ve asked me to wear would be considered a gesture in itself if its providence was known.”

Razel considered that because the bead was little more than a trifle, beautiful certainly and expensive, but it lacked any sort of emotional value. “The bead is an heirloom, a bit of my family legacy that I find pleasing to think about, but I would not mourn the loss of it. I’m sure the first to wear it found it to be precious, and that’s where the value is for me.”

Tyr nodded. “I agree. It’s lovely, but the history is more important than the overt expense of it. It feels like it was given in an immense amount of love, and that has no price at all.” He stored the stave after taking a deep breath. “My gift is two-fold.” He removed a velvet bag from his dimensional store as Razel picked up the box and set it aside.

He’d seen the sort of bag Tyr held before—it was heavily charmed for preservation and protection. The inside was probably dragonhide or moleskin, depending on the age of the object and the construction of the bag. Razel accepted the bag and carefully pulled the strings open. He didn’t know what to expect and knew, only through passing conversation, that Tyr had made the gift. That knowledge was lovely in itself.

He extracted the book carefully and, for a moment, could only stare. It was clearly made of dragonskin rather than harvested dragonhide. The dark green skin glistened with magic, and his breath caught as he realized what he was holding.

“What have you….” Razel took a deep breath. “Tyr, a grimoire spell is a singular endeavor. A scholar of your value and education…you’ve given up the ability to immortalize your own legacy to replace my grimoire?” He looked up and found Tyr smiling. “What?”

“I’ve no desire to immortalize myself, darling. History will document my exploits quite thoroughly as is.”

Razel laughed. “Tell me about it.”

“The dragonskin—both the cover and the pages are from the dragon I killed. In fact, all of the construction materials came from her. The dragonskin seemed to eat the grimoire magic wholesale. I embedded runes in the spine and cover to make it practically indestructible. Right now, it’s empty, but I did some research, and I believe that you could recover the original content of Durin’s grimoire with a ritual, which I’ve documented.” He pulled a document from his bracelet. “You need a partner for it, and I would prefer that it be me since it would be intimate and probably heartbreaking, considering the history of Durin. Does it please you, or are you upset? I can’t tell.”

Razel laughed and brushed a hasty tear from his face as Tyr put the rolled parchment on top of the bag, which Razel had dropped without even realizing it. “I am so pleased that I can’t….the construction is beautiful, and I’m honored to have the last of Persefoni become part of the legacy.” He opened the grimoire carefully and thumbed through the crisp but flexible pages. “But the magic you’ve given me is priceless. I do worry that you might come to regret it.”

“I swear I won’t,” Tyr said. “Writing books is appealing, of course, when I’m too old to do anything else.” Razel laughed. “But a grimoire….it’s never been something I considered a goal. When you admitted to me that a previous version of Durin had destroyed the legacy grimoire, it was clear that you regretted what had been done and that you didn’t intend to replace it. I don’t know why so that was a concern, but still, it felt like the right choice for a gift.”

Razel flushed and averted his gaze. “There’s a great sense of shame for what was done, and that resonates in my magic. I don’t think I would’ve replaced it on my own. It’s like part of me thought that the legacy no longer deserved the honor of it.” He felt like he couldn’t put it down, so he stored it in his bracelet and picked up the scroll. “What is this ritual?”

“It’s borderline necromancy,” Tyr cautioned. “And I had to have a long conversation with Master Tanik Grimm over the floo regarding the limits of the ritual and how reincarnation could impact it. He did say that it would be intensely personal and that you’d only need one other magical person to accomplish it. The person who does it would be exposed to all the memories that are harvested by the grimoire magic, which he said could be a traumatic undertaking.”

“The second person in the ritual is an anchor,” Razel murmured as he opened the scroll and stared at the diagram and rune sequence. “You’re right—I wouldn’t feel comfortable sharing this with anyone else. You’d probably bear some sort of witness to many difficult and traumatic things.”

“Good things, too,” Tyr said. “I’ve already considered the ramifications of making this offer, Razel.” He pulled another piece of parchment from his bracelet. “The providence document for my gift.”

“Oh,” Razel huffed a little and pulled out his own providence document so they could exchange them. “This was one part of the process that I wished we could skip. It seems like an invasion of our privacy.”

“It’s the last opportunity our parents have to express reservations regarding the courting period, and even then, we can choose to ignore their opinions if they are unreasonable,” Tyr said easily.

“What about the announcement part?”

“Traditions are a comfort to many,” Tyr said. “And as the king, your indulgence in such things speaks of your willingness to honor our parents and the long-held social mores that have helped to create the society we live in today.”

Razel stored the ritual notes and removed the grimoire from his bracelet so he could study it further. “I’ve seen many magical texts—I’ve never held anything like this. Even my father’s family grimoire doesn’t feel like this, and it’s over a thousand years old.” He ran his fingers over the cover, and the dragonskin glistened in the wake of the movement. “It feels like it likes me a lot.”

Tyr laughed. “I like you a lot. I suppose my intent is in the charm work despite my best efforts. We can try to cleanse that part.”

“No, this is perfect,” Razel said and shrugged even as his cheeks flushed. “Most of the things in the vault are neutral, but there are some objects that feel outright disdainful. I’m not sure if it’s an echo of my own memories or if the objects themselves sort of hate me.”

Tyr blinked in surprise. “And you don’t have any desire to get rid of any of it?”

Razel laughed and shrugged. “It is what it is, and there is a strange balance in the vault that I feel compelled to respect—past, present, and future. My biggest private project going forward will be creating a portable vault to carry the legacy back to Arda. The contents would stress any dimensional storage option we currently have due to mass and magical influence.”

“That’s probably going to be a problem for many,” Tyr said. “It’s something for the artisans and blacksmiths to work on in the endeavor if they aren’t suited for the tasks we’ve already set down for those guilds. I’ll ask Cain to come here once my parents have returned to Britain. He may bring his wife and children.” He paused. “Is that okay?”

“I look forward to meeting them,” Razel said. “I don’t interact with children much…so that’s a concern. The little ones are precious and kept out of the public, and the older ones have often been lectured enough about giving me space that they rarely seek me out in public areas.”

“Certainly, because young dwarrow will often blurt out whatever they think,” Tyr said. “Which could be politically unsound if they’re blurting it out in front of the chieftain’s son.”

“And now it’s worse,” Razel murmured. “I’d love to tell them I don’t take offense easily, but that would just open me up to…being tested in a way that would quickly become abusive.”

“Yes, I agree,” Tyr said. “There is a certain kind of isolation in leadership that can’t be helped. That’s why it’s important to keep your own family close.”

Razel nodded. “I want to show you something.”

“Okay.” Tyr smiled when Razel stood and offered his hand. He took it without hesitation. “Are we going somewhere?”

“Yes.” Razel kept his hand as they left his rooms, walked down the hall, and entered a private lift. He chose the runes that would take them to the vaults, and Tyr took a deep breath. “Relax.”

Tyr huffed a little. “Are you taking me where I think you are?”

Razel just smiled. “It’ll be fine.” They left the lift and walked down a short hall. “This area isn’t accessible from any part of the bank outside of the private lift in our family quarters.” He stopped in front of a vault door. “When I was born, Durin’s vault was shifted here. It’s never been marked or numbered. The only person to know the exact location was the chieftain. It’s not entailed or locked through blood due to the nature of my reincarnation.”

“Then how does it open?” Tyr asked curiously. “There’s no lock.”

Razel placed his hand on the raised stone circle in the middle of the vault door, and a series of runes lit up. He lifted his hand away and watched as the runes shifted around, shifting rapidly with flickers of light. When they stilled, he brushed his fingers over the sequence required. “The lock is runic, and the method comes from Arda. This vault was created by the first Durin to ever live on this world.” The door rolled away with a swish of magic. “He knew he couldn’t lock it with a key, blood, or even a magical signature. So he counted on his ability to eventually remember how to open it each time he was reincarnated.”

“When did you remember it?” Tyr asked curiously as he was tugged gently into the vault.

“I was twenty-five. I think, looking back on it, that the method and combination only came to me because I’d finally accepted who and what I was. That acceptance was certainly key for a variety of reasons; vault access turned out to be the least of them.” He released his hand. “My parents have been in the vault, but not Elspeth.”

“Her age?”

“That’s part of it,” Razel said. “But mostly, it’s because of her gifts. Many of the things in this vault are emotionally charged, and she’s very sensitive. My mother had nightmares for a week after her singular visit to the vault. Elspeth knows this and has never asked to visit. I rarely tell her no, but I wouldn’t allow it even if she did ask.” He walked across the vault and opened a cabinet.

“These are various swords that I’ve made through my lifetimes and a few that I clearly did not make but were carried by various kings.” Razel pulled a gleaming blade from the case and offered it. “This is Orcrist, and I carried it during my last lifetime on Arda, handed down to me from a cousin. The first dwarrow king to carry it was Thorin Oakenshield.”

Tyr touched the bead he had in his hair. “He didn’t make it, though.”

“No,” Razel agreed. “It was made by a high elf from Gondolin. I don’t remember much more than that in regard to the construction. Oakenshield found it and carried it across Arda in his quest to retake Erebor back from a dragon who had attacked the Longbeards and driven them from their home over a hundred years before. The dragon was…enormous. Perhaps as much as ten times the size of the largest dragon to ever live on this planet.”

Tyr exhaled sharply but took the sword when Razel offered it. “It’s beautiful. Do you intend on carrying it?”

“No,” Razel said and put the sword away when Tyr returned it to him. “It doesn’t feel like it belongs to me, and that’s important when it comes to Arda. Whatever we face there, I have to make careful decisions. We’ll bring magic back to that world, and there is no telling what will wake up in response.”

“But you have a sword.”

“Of course,” Razel said with a laugh. “My father made all the weapons I carry—even my wand.” He pulled his broad sword from his dimensional store and offered it. “He gave me this when I turned fifty. Elspeth only recently got hers.”

Tyr accepted the blade and took a deep breath. “It’s…perfect, though I would expect nothing less from him.” He inclined his head, and magic flashed over his hand then flames danced along the blade. “Amazing. I see why you wouldn’t be compelled to make your own.” His magic quieted, and he offered the sword.

Razel took the weapon and stored it. He looked around the vault. “The first time I came in here, I was kind of disappointed.”

“Not exactly the glorious hoard that most speak of,” Tyr acknowledged as he left the weapons cabinet. “Anything interesting beyond the sword collection?”

“Well, there are the royal jewels,” Razel said in amusement and motioned toward a trunk on a low table. “The crowns are stored there.”

“Are you compelled to recreate the Raven Crown? You could, right?”

“I’ve never wanted to recreate it, but I could,” Razel said. “Probably for the same reason I’m not interested in carrying Orcrist. Thorin Oakenshield was the first dwarrow to carry it, but not the last. I respect his journey and his success as King Under the Mountain, but his legacy isn’t in me.” He paused. “It’s in the children that he fathered that disappeared into history. I wish I knew what happened to them and why his nephew’s heir was denied the crown before I was even reincarnated for the seventh time. Was it really because of his high elf blood? Were we that backward? My reincarnation that round was rife with tragedy and loss—I feel that more than I know it.

“The retreat to Earth was necessary for more than one reason.” Razel touched the trunk, and the locks flicked open. He lifted his hand, and the lid gently rose. Beside him, Tyr made a soft little sound. “What?”

“It’s just…a lot.”

Razel looked at him then. “Is it too much?”

“Never,” Tyr said quickly, and it felt like a promise.

Razel watched his lover run his fingers along the edge of one simple circlet. Simple was perhaps the wrong word, as it was littered with jewel flowers and sweetly curved vines.

“It’s for a child,” Tyr murmured.

“No,” Razel said and picked it up with careful hands. “It was made specifically for Thorin Oakenshield’s Consort. He wasn’t a dwarf. I don’t even know his name at this point—historians were not forthcoming regarding that relationship. Sometimes I think it was done out of shame, but other times I’m left thinking that it was done to protect their children.” He turned the delicate circlet over in his hands. “But, it would be lovely if one of our children wore it. Don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Tyr said. “Do you have any suspicions regarding the Raven Crown’s loss?”

“Nothing concrete,” Razel said. “There is no evidence of that to be found in this vault. If it was melted down and made into something else, I think I’d know. Had anyone stolen it, surely it would’ve been discovered by now. My father searched for it after I told him it was missing from the vault. And we poured over the access records—the vault keeps a list of anyone who comes and goes from the vault. There were no unauthorized visitors or intrusions in the records.” He put the circlet back in the trunk. “It bothers you?”

“It feels like someone stole something from you, and I loathe thieves,” Tyr admitted roughly. “I’ll launch an official inquiry if you want.”

Razel grinned at him. “Tyr.”

“I’m serious.” He huffed a little when Razel laughed. “It’s appalling.”

“It’s even more appalling that I probably did it myself,” Razel pointed out wryly. “There is no justice to be had in this case. I’d rather not speak to the circumstances that surrounded the destruction of the grimoire or the loss of the raven crown. It’s hurtful.”

“I think we should tell Theda Storm the crown is missing,” Tyr admitted. “Because it could be in Rome.”

Razel exhaled slowly but then nodded. “Yeah, okay. But please know I’m not attached to wearing it and have no feelings of…loss around the fact that it’s missing. Which is telling.”

“You think you did destroy it,” Tyr surmised. “Any guesses as to why?”

“All the kings of Erebor wore it,” Razel said simply. “Perhaps the betrayal of Durin’s line by the Longbeards began long before they decided to start murdering me.”

Tyr picked up the vine circlet. “Perhaps it began with another king’s children—hidden away from their own kind for their protection.” He took a deep breath. “They refused Oakenshield’s great nephew the crown despite being named heir by two different kings, which is a betrayal in itself.”

Razel nodded. “There is a tone of isolation and deep prejudice in some of the writings from that time period. Whatever species Thorin Oakenshield’s consort was—not all of the clan approved. Of course, the same could be said of the Durin that came here to Earth—he had a high elf in his bloodline. The Feyborn that descend from him make that overtly clear.”

His bracelet vibrated gently on his wrist, and he pulled his communication mirror. His father’s face appeared the moment he activated. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry for interrupting your requested period of privacy,” Ragnok said roughly. “Master Filius Flitwick used an emergency portkey just ten minutes ago and delivered himself straight into Omis’ care. He is in grave condition but has asked for you specifically.”

“I’ve never even set eyes on Master Flitwick,” Razel said. “What could he want to discuss with me in such a situation?”

“We know, but he is insistent that he speak with you, and his condition is so…dire that Omis fears he’ll damage his core if his wishes are ignored due to emotional upheaval.”

“I’m on my way,” Razel said simply and stored the mirror.

Tyr put the vine crown back in the trunk and closed the lid. “Who is Filius Flitwick?”

“A half-human dverger who works as a professor at the wizard school here in Britain,” Razel said. “He was hired decades ago by Headmaster Dippet as a…way of thumbing his nose at the ministry. As Master Flitwick registers as more human than dverger when tested magically, the ministry couldn’t use his creature heritage to prevent him from getting the job. We all assumed that Dumbledore would see him replaced when he became headmaster of the school, but he didn’t.” He offered Tyr his hand as they approached the door of the vault. “I do have security wards on the vault that I renew once a year—which is why anyone entering needs to be in physical contact with me on entry or exit.”

Tyr took his hand. “It’s a good measure—one that will expire and not hinder future versions of yourself.”

* * * *

Tyr didn’t expect to be given admittance into the room, but Razel kept his hand all the way up from the vault and through the maze of corridors leading to Healing Hall. Grou had appeared as soon as they left the lift but had just given them a tight nod. Clearly, tempers were already high.

Syd Arbiter was already in the waiting area of the hall when they arrived, standing with Ragnok and Lenore.

“Adad?” Razel questioned.

Ragnok took a deep breath. “Omis tells us he’s been assaulted—through magic and potions.”

“Potions?”

“Veritaserum and a confounding potion of some sort,” Syd said. “It’s being investigated by a potion’s master. Legilimency was used extensively against him. His half-human heritage left him wide open to the magic that has traditionally been extremely difficult to use against us.”

“Have his parents been notified?” Tyr questioned.

“Both of his parents passed over a hundred years ago,” Lenore said. “He’s 170 and a late-in-life child for his father. Since he’s half-human, his age is…quite significant. His parents were told at his birth that he’d probably not live even to be 200 years old.”

Razel took a deep breath. “Why does he want to see me?”

“He did not say, specifically,” Ragnok said.

The doors leading into the treatment area opened, and Omis Stoneheart exited. Her aura was thundering around her like a storm as she approached them. She offered Razel her hand. Tyr let go reluctantly so his lover could give her his full attention.

“What’s happened?” Razel questioned.

“Master Flitwick is compromised in the extreme,” Omis said quietly. “He has declared himself a traitor to the horde and is quite upset, as anyone would be in these circumstances. I don’t know the content of his so-called betrayal, but I can tell you that the magic and potions used against him were powerful and beyond his ability to fight. No matter what he was forced to say or reveal, Razel, he did not do it of his own free will.”

“Okay,” Razel said as his aunt released him. “Did he tell you who did this to him?”

“Albus Dumbledore,” Omis said flatly and focused on her brother. “And you know what that means.”

“It means that arrogant bastard has technically voided every single treaty the horde has with the wizards,” Ragnok said roughly. “Did he do it on purpose, you think?”

“No,” Tyr interjected, and they all focused on him. “Dumbledore recently joined the ICW as Britain’s representative. He’s an empire builder and manipulator. Many abroad consider him a long-reaching problem, but he assumes knowledge he does not possess and doesn’t believe anyone in his sphere of influence should have secrets from him.

“He probably interrogated his entire staff at the school and counted on Master Flitwick’s mixed heritage to work in his favor in regard to treaties and the like. As long as his crime isn’t revealed, and we can assume he won’t confess it, and if we don’t formally declare the treaties void, then we are in a state of limbo. A pretense of obligation will probably serve us well unless someone notices the contracts voided.”

“How likely is that?” Razel questioned.

“Without your father’s public declaration?” Tyr shrugged. “Wizards often only pay attention to something when it is a problem. The main concern I have is punishing this arsehole wizard for his behavior without anyone else noticing.”

Lenore grinned at him, and Tyr found his cheeks growing hot. He huffed a little and focused on Razel, only to find his lover looking at him with the same fond smile he’d just gotten Lenore.

Razel focused on Omis. “Is he stable enough to see me now?”

“Yes, and please mind your temper,” Omis cautioned. “His core is very fragile. The potions used on him were made with human physiology in mind, and the damage is extensive.”

“Is he going to lose his magic?” Razel questioned.

“No, but he will need a very long period of rest to recover,” Omis said shortly. “And he certainly won’t ever return to that fucking school.”

Razel nodded as his aunt motioned toward the doors. He inclined his head at everyone else waiting. “There may be things I need you all for. I certainly can’t be expected to keep track of any legal issues.”

“I’ll stand for Master Flitwick,” Syd Arbiter said roughly and glanced toward Tyr, who only nodded. “Though I hardly see a circumstance where he will face charges.”

“No, I agree,” Tyr said, and he watched Razel’s shoulders relax slightly at that.

They entered the room, and Tyr’s gaze was drawn to the bed where the frankly tiny dwarf was tucked away in a bed and encased in several medical charms. A true member of the scholar class amongst their kind was rare, unfortunately, and practically mythical amongst those of mixed heritage. He wondered what the dwarf’s human parent had looked like.

Razel sat down in the chair next to the cot and offered the older dwarf a smile. “Good evening, Master Flitwick.”

Flitwick’s hand twitched in the medical field, and Razel reached through it and took the dwarf’s hand in his own. “Your Majesty.”

Razel took a deep breath. “How can I ease you?”

Flitwick blinked in surprise. “I’ve betrayed you and the horde.”

“Master Stoneheart assures me that you are far too compromised magically due to the assault you suffered to be responsible for anything you were forced to reveal. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Headmaster Dumbledore invited me to have dinner in his office. He wished to discuss the deputy position as Professor Slughorn is talking about retirement. I did not think I would be a candidate since the governors make noise every year about firing me.” He grimaced. “I only stayed out of spite.” He sighed. “And the children. I love children. I never had my own.”

“The headmaster potioned you?” Razel prodded.

“I trusted him,” Filius said and frowned. “Just like so many others do. I let my guard down. I didn’t realize the danger I was in…and the danger I was putting you in. When I did, I tried to draw my wand to….” He wet his lips. “To make it impossible for him to continue his attack on me.”

Razel appeared confused, and Tyr winced as he didn’t want to be the one to explain it.

“He realized I was going to kill myself and stunned me,” Filius continued, and Razel exhaled slowly. “When I woke up, I’d been heavily dosed with veritaserum. I’ve been taught to fight that potion, and he grew frustrated with me. He forced me to drink another potion. My thoughts got foggy and unclear.

“He asked me who the leader of the horde was, and I tried to say Ragnok Windrider, but I couldn’t.” He took in a ragged breath. “Your name was the only answer. He asked me who you were…and I told him that you were our ancient king reborn.”

Filius’ eyes fluttered shut, and tears wet his eyelashes. “Dumbledore was appalled and furious—he said we didn’t have the right to have a king, and he kept calling me a goblin. He asked me how he could get private access to you. I told him that the horde would never allow such a thing. I told him that you were our king and none of his business.” Filius cleared his throat. “I don’t know why he asked me such a question.”

“Because he’s heard a rumor, and you were a convenient source he felt he could get away with abusing,” Tyr interjected, and Filius’ gaze settled on him.

“You look like your mother, Master Warhide,” Filius said. “She’s such a beauty.”

“She’ll be honored that you think so, Master Flitwick,” Tyr said carefully. “How did you escape Dumbledore?”

“He tried to memory charm me,” Filius said. “The fucking moron.”

Razel laughed, and the small professor practically growled.

“As if I’m not warded against such a thing! I’ve had my charms mastery longer than that arsehole has been alive.” He looked down at his hand that Razel still had in his own. “I’ve very sorry, Your Majesty. My fool-hearted trust has endangered you and the whole of the horde.”

“None of this is your fault,” Razel said.

“But….”

“Ah, I declare it so,” Razel said, and Filius huffed. “Did he ask you any questions about me specifically? Did he ask you about our exodus efforts?”

“No, he was focused on the issue of royalty and how we shouldn’t be allowed to have a king. He was incensed,” Filius said as Razel released his hand. “He took me to my quarters at Hogwarts, gave me a restorative potion, tucked me into my own bed like a child, and tried to memory charm me.” He paused. “The wretched old goat fucker.”

“I thought that was his brother,” Syd Arbiter said in amusement.

“Goat fuckers of a feather fuck together,” Filius declared and snuggled down in his blankets with a frown. “I’m tired, and I left all of my things behind in that awful place.”

Razel stood. “Glou, retrieve Master Flitwick’s belongings.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Master Arbiter, I want legal solutions to any potential problems within the next twenty-four hours. Make sure that all of the issues regarding the attack on Master Flitwick are resolved in his favor within the Judiciary Archive.”

“Can we gain that kind of access to their school?” Tyr questioned as Glou Warhammer nodded.

“We built and maintain all of their damn wards,” Ragnok said. “The school, the ministry, and their wretched prison as well.”

“The stupidity in Britain could put me off my stride for decades,” Tyr said and turned to Glou. “An attack on a member of the horde is an attack on all of us. Legally, you can execute Albus Dumbledore in his bed if it’s feasible in the time you have in the school.”

Syd Arbiter snorted. “Just don’t leave any evidence behind, Master Warhammer. I can do without the fucking parchment work.”

Glou turned to Ragnok then.

Ragnok’s gaze drifted from Filius Flitwick to his son, then finally to Tyr before he focused on Glou. “Make it look like natural causes. His death is justice enough—there’s no need to make a bleeding mystery out of it. But before you leave the bank, visit the Scribe’s Guild and get a forgery done—we have samples of Dumbledore’s handwriting on file.”

“What should the forgery say?”

“Address a letter to the school’s board of directors—tell them that Albus Dumbledore is saddened to report the death of Filius Flitwick in his quarters due to natural causes. Report that the body has already been retrieved by the goblins.” He grimaced. “Send the letter off with a school owl.” He focused on Tyr. “How illegal is that?”

“Forging a wizard’s signature is a misdemeanor in normal circumstances and a felony if part of a larger conspiracy as it pertains to murder or fraud. However, Albus Dumbledore is an enemy of the horde and is, therefore, afforded no legal protection in our court system. The treaty of 1521 between the ICW and the Dverger Horde guarantees us the right to see punished any individual who violates the peace between our two peoples.” Tyr paused. “Thus, it’s neither fraud nor murder—it’s a legal execution.”

“Why are we faking my death?” Filius questioned with a frown. “My students will be very upset.”

“Because you’ll need at least six months to fully recover from what was done to you. We cannot afford for the broken treaties to be revealed,” Omis said as she prodded Razel away from her patient. “And you are not safe amongst wizards. You never were, and that is clear. Certainly, you realize your duty to the horde supersedes any agenda you might have in that little wizard school.”

Filius huffed and crossed his arms. “I can’t say I’ve missed seeing you on a regular basis, Omis. I need tea and a book to read if I’m going to be stuck in this damned bed for a while.”

“As you say, Master Flitwick,” Omis said dryly.

Tyr shared a look with Syd Arbiter as they were prodded completely out of the treatment room by Omis Stoneheart. There were far-reaching issues that were galling to think about.

“Let’s adjourn to the conference room,” Ragnok said roughly and focused on his wife.

“I’m going to visit with Filius and provide him a few books,” Lenore said. “If you want to incite a war, then do as you will, my love.”

Ragnok grinned at her as she left.

“No war,” Razel said firmly. “We don’t have time to waste on those awful bastards.”

“Granted,” Ragnok said. “But I dwarf can dream.”

 

Chapter 8

“Ramifications?” Razel questioned as soon as he got seated.

“The first is that we have no idea how many people have already been informed of Dumbledore’s discovery,” Syd said roughly. “We can assume he informed the ministry here in Britain. If so, they are obligated to report it to the International Confederation of Wizards. They don’t know how old you are, but they do know that the reincarnated Durin is to assume the crown before or on his 100^th birthday.”

Razel glanced toward his father and found him slouching in his chair, staring at the table. Clearly, he was furious. “Adad?”

“I should’ve asked Filius to return to the clan when I realized how arrogant Dumbledore was.” He took a deep breath. “As he is the reason that I’m no longer the public face of this bank and, specifically, why Rhys Sharprock migrated here, at my request, to be the director.”

“Can I know what he did?” Tyr questioned.

“Albus Dumbledore requested a meeting with me in regard to the Hogwarts endowment fund. He was just the Deputy Headmaster at the time but had the authority to review the records. He tried to demand I give him a key to the endowment’s vault. There is no key, as all transactions are automatic due to the arrangement the Hogwarts founders made. He grew irate with me, and the only reason he didn’t draw his wand was my security overtly reminded him that we weren’t alone.

“He left, but it was a timely lesson as I realized that he was more than willing to act against me, and his magical power is immense. He could’ve compelled, or memory charmed me because he carries the Elder Wand.”

Razel frowned. “Should we have Glou take the wand?”

“I don’t recommend we keep it if we do take it,” Tyr said roughly. “It’s an instrument of Death herself, and she’s never been kind to transgressors. The providence of the wand declares it the property of the Peverell family—we should research that line, find the closest viable descendant, and put the wand in their vault through an anonymous deposit.”

Ragnok nodded, and Razel tapped his fingers gently on the table. “Glou won’t take any risks. If he can’t take him out without getting caught, then he won’t try. Where does that leave us?”

“With an enemy who has a building political presence in Britain and a lot of social capital to burn,” Tyr said. “Should we wake Master Sharprock?”

“No,” Razel and Ragnok said at the same time, then shared a laugh.

Razel cleared his throat. “Rhys Sharprock does not tolerate his sleep being disturbed for anything less than a violent incursion of the bank.” He paused. “Or maybe if the humans started another world war.” He waved a hand. “But he’d be pissed regardless, and the dwarf’s animagus form is a hellhound.”

Tyr laughed.

“What are the ramifications of the ICW finding out about me?” Razel questioned.

“They could demand you be presented to their membership for a conversation,” Ragnok said roughly. “Per treaty, we could not decline such a demand. Well, we could now, but that would reveal the broken treaties and cause a massive influx of demands regarding new magical contracts they’d use to restrict and control us and, most especially you.”

Razel nodded. “So, Razel Fireborn will have to appear before the ICW.” He shrugged. “They have no idea what I look like, Adad.”

“Unfortunately, anyone entering the ICW’s chambers is required to make a magical oath regarding their identity,” Tyr said. “It’s their method of ensuring that no one impersonates a member. If they demand your attendance, we’ll have to honor it fully to protect ourselves. They don’t allow personal security on the floor either.” He paused. “But you’d be allowed legal representation, and as a member of the International Judiciary, they can’t disallow my entry.”

Razel nodded. “Fine.” He focused on his father. “We do what we must to protect the exodus. Let’s just hope that Dumbledore has kept the information to himself. The old bastard is the sort to hoard secrets for his own purposes.”

“True enough.” Ragnok exhaled slowly. “Let’s also hope Glou doesn’t have any issues with his mission. I’d like the subject of Albus Dumbledore laid to rest as soon as possible. If the old bastard is alive in the morning, we’re going to have to find another way to fake Filius Flitwick’s death.”

“There are plenty of options,” Syd said. “We can merely say he admitted himself to our healer’s care for an undisclosed illness and passed due to his age. We need not provide a body or even a cause of death if the wizards even care to ask. They might because of his higher profile—he’s taught several generations of Hogwarts students.”

* * * *

“Drawing your wand on the floor of the ICW is illegal,” Tyr murmured as he gathered Razel close. He was relieved to have been invited back to the other dwarf’s rooms after the stressful evening, as he’d worried that Razel might prefer privacy. “Doing so results in permanent expulsion for the individual and a heavy fine for the country they represent.”

Razel nodded and pulled the blankets up to cover them both almost entirely. “Okay.”

“And they wouldn’t be able to separate you from me for any single reason,” Tyr murmured as he ran his fingers through Razel’s hair. “If they tried—we can remove ourselves from the proceedings via portkey. Apparition isn’t allowed on the premises, but portkeys out of the building are a security measure that can’t be circumvented due to the founding by laws of the ICW itself.”

“I’m not worried,” Razel said huffily. “Do they have wards to prevent the animagus transformation?”

Tyr laughed. “No, they do not. But you will certainly be covered head to toe in dragonhide. I imagine one of your parents is in the midst of commissioning a full set of armor for you.”

“I already have armor,” Razel murmured. “Just in case. We should make sure the entire warrior class is armored before we go to Arda.”

“Speaking of classes, Filius Flitwick is very small for a half-human.”

“His mother was a little person—a human with a condition that is commonly called dwarfism. She wasn’t allowed to go to Hogwarts because the wizards believed her to be a dverger despite the fact that both of her parents were magical humans, and they could prove her parentage. At any rate, her parents asked the horde if we would educate their daughter, and she was given a mentor. Eventually, she grew up and ended up marrying a dverger. They were only able to have one child, but it was a very difficult pregnancy for her.”

“And now both of his parents are gone.”

“Yes,” Razel said. “They both passed before he was an adult. My paternal grandmother, Reyna Stargazer, fostered him as his mother was her very dear friend.”

“So, he’s the foster brother of your father and Omis.”

“Yes,” Razel said. “He was living in the wizarding world when I was born, and it was decided that he could not meet Elspeth or me as long as he lived away from us. There are others like him living in the wizarding world—some with more human blood than dverger. What do we do about them? Do we leave them behind?”

“Some pass for human and prefer it,” Tyr said roughly. “They would not wish to return to Arda and have done all that they can to disconnect themselves from the horde. Anyone who knows about the exodus will have to be approached, and…either they agree to go with us and keep our secrets. We make them take vows to protect our secrets. Each director would be responsible for that.”

“What if there is one that wants to come with us?” Razel questioned. “Will people expect me to draw a line on how dverger an individual must be to go to Arda?”

“I don’t think so….” Tyr said, but he couldn’t deny it was a concern. “Arda is the legacy of every single dverger—no matter how much human they might have in them. It might boil down to their magical representation as human magic, and dverger magic is not exactly the same. Arda could reject them.”

“Perhaps,” Razel said. “I’ll have to think about it. A magical compatibility test would certainly be fairer and more reasonable. I fear that many will refuse to follow me, no matter their genetics.”

“I don’t,” Tyr admitted. “You are compelling, and Filius Flitwick, who’d never even been in the same room with you, could not deny that you were his king, Razel. You understand the magical ramifications of that.”

“Yes,” Razel said as he slid astride Tyr’s hips. He sat up. “Shouldn’t we be getting laid instead of talking politics?”

Tyr grinned and ran a hand down Razel’s chest. “I suppose we should.” He cupped both hips. “Like this?”

Razel flushed, and his eyes darkened as he let his own hands fall to Tyr’s chest. “You’d have to teach me how. We’ve only done it this way once, and you did most of the work.”

“That’s no hardship at all,” Tyr murmured in amusement as he sat up and sought a kiss.

Razel wrapped his arms around his shoulders and buried his fingers in Tyr’s hair. He adored the acceptance and trust Razel gave him. Though, he didn’t know what he’d done to earn it and had quickly come to think it was a magical sort of knowing on Razel’s part. Tyr couldn’t bring himself to outright question his good fortune because before he’d come to Britain and met Razel, he’d started to think his profound lack of luck when it came to love would be a lifelong trend.

He murmured a charm against Razel’s shoulder, and his fingers grew slick just short of him pressing them against his lover’s entrance. They hadn’t done the prep runes yet, but he assumed that would happen sooner rather than later and that maybe Razel had been waiting until they exchanged gifts.

Razel groaned softly as Tyr slid his fingers inside and performed a prep charm. “Gods.”

“Good?”

“I love it,” Razel admitted as he rocked down on Tyr’s fingers. “I want more.”

Tyr pulled his fingers free, relaxed on the bed, and spread his legs. He guided his lover’s hands to his chest. “Lift up a bit.”

Razel blushed as he shifted forward on his knees. “Like this?”

“Yes,” Tyr murmured as he wrapped a hand around his cock and used what lubrication he had to slick up. “Remember the angle is different, and if a movement feels wrong—stop, and we’ll adjust. Okay?”

“Okay,” Razel agreed, and eyes fluttered shut as Tyr used his free hand to cup his hip and urge him down gently. “Fuck.”

Tyr shuddered as they came together. Even from the start, Razel had taken him so well, and it had felt natural. It was like they were perfect for each other in a profound way that transcended their magical affinity. He rolled his hips carefully as he urged Razel to rock into the penetration.

“That’s….” Razel groaned. “I’m not going to last long this way.”

Since that sounded like a complaint, Tyr wrapped a hand around Razel’s cock, and his lover shuddered violently. He tightened this grip just enough to take the edge off the other dwarf’s orgasm and got a soft, shocked groan for his effort. “Come on, darling. Take what you want.”

Razel rocked down on his cock, taking him in deep with each roll of his hips. It was a sweet, intense pleasure that was working Tyr toward coming far faster than normal. Maybe it was the honest and beautiful way Razel responded to their mutual pleasure, and their current position allowed Tyr to see every bit of it.

Tyr released his tight grip on Razel’s cock and stroked his lover gently several times, causing Razel to come all over his hand and stomach with a soft shudder. He relaxed into his own orgasm and came with a pleased groan. He tugged gently, and Razel sprawled across his chest in response. They exchanged a series of soft kisses before they separated, and Razel slid off of him and onto the mattress.

“Can I ask an uncomfortable question?”

Tyr laughed. “You can ask any question you’d like—uncomfortable or not.” He turned on his side so they were face to face even as the cleaning charms on the bed activated—cleaning the sheets and brushing gently over their bodies. “Your new charm work on this bed is insane.”

“I really like my bed to stay fresh,” Razel admitted and shrugged.

“Having sex regularly in it means more robust charm work.” He pulled a pillow close. “As to my question, will it be difficult to work with Fhane in the future? I can’t see a circumstance where he isn’t a part of the Regency High Court. It’s many years from now, of course….” He trailed off when Tyr brushed his fingers against his lips gently.

“Darling, do you think you can step onto Arda and have our people follow you if you are uncrowned?” Tyr watched the knowledge settle on Razel and realized that his lover had certainly been avoiding thinking about the regency and the role it would play in the exodus from the very start. “We need a king, Razel, and I have to think you knew that when another version of you signed the Regency Accord hundreds of years ago.”

“My magical power won’t be enough,” Razel said.

“It never would’ve been,” Tyr admitted. “Even your father, as chieftain, can’t bring the whole horde home to Arda, Razel. His position is political, as you know. Your place as our king is divine. You are blessed by Mahal.”

Razel grimaced and rolled from the bed. Tyr took a deep breath because it was clear he’d misstepped. He slipped from the bed and pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms as Razel left the bedroom, belting his robe.

“It’s no blessing,” Razel said when Tyr finally located him in the small office of the flat. He poured himself a drink and tossed back the gently glowing liquid with a huff of fury. “It’s a fucking curse, Tyr. And it’s never been more clear to me.” He put the glass on the bar with a heavy thunk and took in a ragged breath.

Tyr went to him and pulled Razel’s shaking body against his own. “Darling.”

“It’s….” Razel took in a deep breath. “Sorry.”

“You owe me no apologies,” Tyr murmured against his hair. “And no matter how it feels right now, you are a gift to the rest of us.”

“What do you mean?” Razel questioned quietly.

“Durin is the past, present, and future of the horde. Your legacy is profound and….” Tyr took a deep breath. “And as annoyed as I was by the reveal, I was also really fucking relieved.”

“You were annoyed?” Razel asked, and Tyr laughed. “Seriously?”

“Honestly, I didn’t rate my chances with you very high after my father revealed your reincarnation to the whole horde,” Tyr said wryly. “I was a nervous wreck just responding to your note about dinner. Of course, before I opened that note, I believed it to be a very polite brush-off.”

“Oh.” Razel stared for a moment and smiled. “It’s been implied to me, more than once, that I made the match of the century with you. I imagine plenty of dwarrow are waiting around for me to fuck it all up so they can garner your attention. In the end, marrying a king is no sort of prize at all, and most intelligent dwarrow see it for what it is—a thankless job.”

“Consort Under the Mountain is a job,” Tyr said quietly. “Being your husband will be an honor and a privilege.”

“Truly?”

“I swear it,” Tyr said and put the top back on the decanter of whisky. “Come back to bed.”

“Sorry.”

“No apologies needed,” Tyr murmured. “Magical maturation causes emotional surges—you know it’s common.”

“It doesn’t excuse a tantrum,” Razel protested, and Tyr laughed as he pulled him back toward the bedroom. “Seriously.”

“Mahal’s nutsack, Razel, you have no idea what a tantrum even is,” Tyr said fondly. “But you did manage to knock off the afterglow, which could be a crime.”

“You don’t know for certain?” Razel questioned and huffed a little when Tyr untied his robe and prodded him back onto the bed.

“I could make a case out of any transgression given enough room and time,” Tyr murmured as he slipped off his pajama bottoms and crawled onto the bed.

“What are you up to?” Razel questioned as Tyr knelt between his legs. “Searching for the afterglow?”

“I know exactly how to find it,” Tyr murmured and settled his hands on Razel’s hips even as he lowered his head.

He licked up the length of Razel’s half-hard cock and sucked the head into his mouth. His lover arched up off the bed with a soft shocked sound, and a hand fisted in his hair. Pleased with the response, Tyr settled on his stomach and worked two fingers into Razel’s still slick arsehole. When his own cock started to ache with arousal, he lifted his head, then pulled his fingers from Razel’s clenching channel.

“Get on your knees.”

Razel grinned and sat up on his elbows. “Is that how you talk to the king?”

Tyr wet his lips. “That’s exactly how I talk to my king.”

Razel rolled to his knees with a little laugh and took in a deep breath as Tyr grabbed his hips. “We’ve never…this is a new position.”

“You’re going to love it,” Tyr assured even as he pressed his cock into Razel’s body with one long push. He wrapped a hand around Razel’s shoulder to keep him still as his lover arched into the penetration with a shudder. “Just take it, darling.”

Razel fisted his hands into a pillow and groaned low as Tyr started to move. The pleasure had a hard possessive edge that was delicious and overwhelming. His fire stirred, flickered against his closed eyelids, and he let it spread. Tyr’s fire joined his, and Razel let himself go because there was nothing better than how it felt when their fire blended together.

“Fuck,” Tyr whispered fiercely as he slid an arm around Razel and pulled him back into his lap. “I….” He pressed his face against Razel’s neck. “Gods.”

Razel relaxed against Tyr’s heaving chest, even as a hand wrapped around his cock. He came on the first stroke. “We’re going to kill each other with this.”

Tyr laughed weakly. “There are worse ways to go.”

* * * *

His father raised an eyebrow as Razel sat down at the table in the common area he shared with his family but had rarely used since he’d started seeing Tyr.

“Something amiss?”

“You set off your security wards last night, lad,” Ragnok said roughly. “Fortunately for us both, Glou beat me to your door.” He paused. “Your bedroom door.”

Razel opened his mouth to respond but then closed it and shook his head. He poured himself some coffee as his mother joined them. “Where’s Elspeth?”

“She’s having breakfast with Filius this morning—she’s excited to finally meet him,” Lenore said and turned to Ragnok as she sat. “He’s agreed to the exodus. He admitted he has precious few human relatives alive on his mother’s side, and they are distant cousins at best. Did you tell Razel about Dumbledore?”

Ragnok shook his head. “He just arrived.” He huffed a little. “Dumbledore wasn’t in the school when Glou went to collect Filius’ belongings. I’ve checked portkey records in and out of the country through a contact with the ministry. Dumbledore went to Rome within a half hour of Filius appearing in our Healing Halls.”

“So there goes faking Master Flitwick’s death through Dumbledore,” Razel said dryly. “What was decided?”

“He sent his resignation due to an unexpected illness that has damaged his ability to perform magic,” Lenore said. “He sent the letter to the board of governors for the school, so Dumbledore probably won’t be informed until he returns to Britain. The ministry has already arranged for a replacement in the old bastard’s absence. Filius is profoundly displeased with the choice that was made.”

“Dumbledore is reporting what he found out to the ICW,” Razel said. “Right?”

“Certainly,” Ragnok said. “I’m sure he’ll spin it as information he stumbled upon rather than reveal his crimes against Filius.”

Razel stared at his cup. “Was Master Flitwick really considering staying here on earth?”

“He’s lived amongst wizards for decades, educated their children, and….” Ragnok sighed. “He wasn’t sure we’d trust him enough to extend an invitation. I would’ve, of course. I’ve allowed him to remain part of our communication network all of these years despite his fascination with that awful little school that refused to teach him or his mother.”

Razel frowned. “How many more are there out there like him?”

“Precious few,” Ragnok assured. “There hasn’t been a half-human dverger born in over a hundred years. There are individuals in the human world who are so removed from us they don’t acknowledge our blood in their veins. It is what it is, and they are not part of us. They don’t know about you—they’re treated like any other human if they enter a bank. In their minds, they are human, and that’s probably for the best, as they wouldn’t be well received by everyone. Some clans outright disdain the mixing of species, especially when it concerns humans. They’ve spent generations subjugating us, calling us slurs, and treating us like creatures.”

Razel nodded. “Tyr and I exchanged gifts last night.” He pulled the providence document from his bracelet and put it down in front of his father.

“What did you make him?” Lenore asked curiously.

Razel removed his personal journal and thumbed to the design of Tyr’s stave, and offered it to his mother. “He was very pleased.”

Lenore stared at the page, eyes wide. “You made him a stave of mithril?” She touched the page, fingers glancing over the drawing. “Fire opals and your own scales. It must be beautiful.”

“I’m proud of it,” Razel murmured.

“He replaced the legacy grimoire,” Ragnok said quietly as he studied the providence document. “He made you a grimoire?”

“Yes, and he offered to do a ritual with me that would restore the original contents,” Razel said. “I realize, in the announcement, you’ll have to admit that Durin’s grimoire was destroyed hundreds of years ago. I don’t want to answer questions about it over and over again. If you could phrase it in such a way that makes it clear that I don’t know enough about the destruction to discuss it, I’d be grateful.”

Ragnok nodded. “It’s a beautiful gift—both in intent and practice. I saw the dragonskin he was going to work with.”

Razel pulled the grimoire from his bracelet, and his mother gasped in shock. “Amad?”

“It’s very magical,” she said quietly and took it with trembling fingers when he offered it. “You haven’t entailed it.”

“I’ll add security magic, but entailment is rare in the vault considering how I’m reincarnated,” Razel said. “It was quickly realized that the entailment protocols don’t always recognize me. There is a whole trunk of crap I can’t even touch or throw away in the vault because it’s entailed.”

Ragnok laughed.

Lenore focused on the grimoire. “He adores you. It’s…overt in the charm work.”

“He offered to help me cleanse it,” Razel said. “I told him no. It’s nice having something for the legacy that actually likes me. I’m going to claim it in ritual in the next day or so, and we’ll perform the retrieval at the same time.”

“It’s lovely, perfect,” Lenore murmured as she thumbed through the pages. “A genuine treasure to add to your legacy. I’ve never held a grimoire that feels like this, and it’s empty. What will it be like after you claim the original content?”

“I have no idea,” Razel admitted and took the grimoire when she offered. He handed it to his father, who brushed his fingers over the delicately carved clasp.

“Many have a problem with the way Tyr has educated himself—how he ignored his overt gifts in both magic and craft. That he created something like this without a single mastery in any artisan craft speaks to his gifts.” Ragnok opened the grimoire and ran his fingers gently over the inside cover. “I’ve always appreciated his dedication to his path in life.”

“We’ve talked about it,” Razel said, and both parents focused on him. “He was clearly being influenced magically, and we wonder if there are others in the horde who have been influenced by Arda.”

“I agree that is entirely possible,” Ragnok said. “I’ll speak with Brol Wildheart about the announcement. I’m pleased for you both, Razel. Truly.” He paused. “But update your wards.”

Lenore laughed.

Razel sighed. “The worst part of that is that I didn’t notice either of you entering my rooms at all.” He shrugged when his father huffed. “I’m just being honest.”

“Lucky you,” Lenore said and sat back with her tea with a delighted laugh.

* * * *

Tyr watched his father read the providence document and winced just a little when the dwarf’s mouth dropped open. It made his mother get up and dart around the table, so she could read over his shoulder. Luc raised an eyebrow from his place at the table. He set the menu down and waited for breakfast to arrive, then delivered the plates to the table.

Tyr sat down at the table as both of his parents focused on him. “Did you want to see it now?”

“Of course, we want to see it immediately,” Sig exclaimed. “Are you serious?”

Tyr laughed and, after a moment’s hesitation, removed the stave from his dimensional store. He placed the four-foot magical focus on the table and watched all three of them stare at it in shock. “The mithril came from Arda.”

“Yes, he said in his providence document,” Sig said quietly as she sat down and cleared her throat. “That’s…it’s stunning.”

“Beautiful,” Luc murmured. “Very powerful. Did it mate with your magic, or will you have to claim it?”

“It mated without even a token protest,” Tyr admitted. “But he’s left room in it for complete customization.”

“I’ve rarely seen a fire opal of that clarity and size,” Brol said quietly. “It speaks to great treasures on Arda, left behind by your people when we were forced to flee.”

Tyr nodded.

“Did he like your gift?” Luc questioned.

“He hasn’t put it down since I gave it to him,” Tyr admitted. “I’m worried he’ll have a hard time letting his parents inspect it for the announcement. He has some hoarding issues regarding the legacy and admitted that he can’t even part with things in the vault that seem to outright hate him.” Luc laughed. “He also worried that I’d made some sacrifice regarding my own legacy as a scholar by performing that work for him rather than myself.”

“I’ve been thinking about it. If you were going to make a grimoire of your own, you’d have done it years ago,” Luc said. “Probably shortly after your first mastery, in fact. It was telling that you did not.”

Tyr nodded. “That actually…. Yeah, it would’ve already been made.”

“The ritual used to retrieve the original content….” Sig trailed off. “Is it necromancy?”

“It borders on it,” Tyr admitted. “But I wouldn’t want him to do it with anyone else due to how intimate it will be. Perhaps one of his parents, but he doesn’t want them to see how hard his reincarnations have been. He remembers several instances of being murdered in Rome, Amad. He can’t bear the thought of his mother knowing any of those details.”

She nodded. “I understand. Her gifts are so immense, it’s a wonder she hasn’t already seen what was done to him.”

“I hope that magic would protect her from that,” Tyr said roughly. “Both she and Elspeth are plagued with wretched visions of the wizard’s current conflict and possible outcomes. Plus, they’re dreaming about battles that were fought on Arda—and there are wretched creatures called orcs in their visions that seemed to be made of dark magic.”

“That sounds awful,” Luc said. “Elspeth is so cheerful and sweet—it’s hard to imagine her magic is exposing her to such vulgarity.”

Brol cleared his throat. “You aren’t spending any serious time with her, right?” He raised an eyebrow when Luc sent him an appalled look. “I realize she’s legally an adult and uncommonly beautiful, but….”

“Adad, I’m nearly forty years older than her,” Luc said huffily. “And considering Elspeth’s age, that matters a lot right now. And no, none of us are ever alone with her. She has a bodyguard who goes with her everywhere that I’ve only seen appear once. A dwarf in the Scribe’s Guild tried to lecture her about being in the hall unaccompanied, and this dwarrowdam appeared out of thin air and told him to mind his own fucking business.” He paused. “She backed that order up with her fist.”

Tyr laughed. “She does go where ever she would like in the complex and assumes her welcome. Helg Brightriver and Fyre Blackaxe take turns acting as her bodyguard. Sometimes it’s clear they just enable her, but she’s only alone in the family quarters, and even then, all exterior halls leading into the chieftain’s family area are heavily guarded. More so now.”

Luc grimaced and focused on his food.

“What?” Sig questioned.

“He’s under the same judiciary seal, Amad,” Tyr said quietly. “It was a significant event, and he was asked to bear witness to the investigation due to his familial connection to me.”

“But none of you were hurt?” Sig pressed. “You promise?”

“I swear it,” Tyr said. “None of us were hurt physically by the situation.”

“That’s a fine bit of wordsmithing you just did, lad,” Brol said dryly, even as Sig frowned deeply at him.

“No one has required mind healing,” Luc offered and laughed with his mother huffed. “And we didn’t do anything shameful to cause the seal, either.”

“That’ll have to do, I suppose,” Sig said dryly.

Tyr picked up his stave, and elemental fire danced down the length of it as it greeted him. He stored it even as his father raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never had a magical focus be outright enamored with me before.”

“Well, that’s the maker’s feelings bleeding all over into the metal,” Sig said with a smile. “His affection for you is clear on the construction. We’re pleased to see you so well matched, truly.” She turned to Luc. “Now, if you aren’t spending inappropriate amounts of time with Elspeth Stargazer, who are you spending your free time with?”

“Cyrus Gildhard,” Tyr said, as he was totally prepared to throw his brother to the dragons. “Oldest son of Rhys Sharprock.”

“Ah, now, that’s a topic worth discussing,” Brol said, and Luc groaned. “I have a dagger from his forge—finest work I’ve seen in an age. I look forward to meeting him.”

“I’m not introducing you to anyone,” Luc said huffily. “Much less the dwarf I plan to have a torrid decade-long affair with.” He waved a hand. “No.”

“We’re going to meet him,” Sig assured him. “Is he as attractive as his father?” She leaned forward. “Speaking of Rhys Sharprock, is he seeing anyone? I’ve been asked to find out. He’s been divorced for ages, and everyone agrees it’s high time he put himself out there and get a new partner.”

Tyr focused on his quiche because he wasn’t going to be involved in anyone else’s romantic endeavors. His plate was full on that subject.

 

Chapter 9

“Davor’s stepfather ordered him to seduce and marry me?” Razel questioned.

Tyr grimaced. “Thal’s been asked to interfere in the relationship as well, but nothing overt in the planning so far, as you already know.” He leaned on the counter as he watched Razel braid his hair. “I meant to tell you about Davor earlier, but my parents showed up before they were scheduled. Fortunately, they’re far more interested in Luc’s affair with Cyrus now that they’ve published our announcement.”

Razel frowned. “Well, we need to address both of those issues in some fashion. Because if I want to put a fine point on it, two members of my conclave have been asked or ordered to circumvent my wishes. That could be seen as treason.” He glanced toward Tyr. “Right?”

Tyr exhaled slowly as he considered it. “Magically, yes. Legally, Davor’s stepfather has concocted a conspiracy to commit intimate fraud. No legal action is required since it wasn’t acted upon, but we could certainly pursue it if you wish. It would be different, I suppose, if Davor had any sort of genuine attraction to you. He admitted that it’s been decades since he’s been interested in any sort of romantic or sexual relationship, and his family considers him to be craftborn.”

“Is he?” Razel asked curiously. “Because that makes his stepfather’s ambitions even more disgusting.”

“I think he was…unspeakably hurt by someone and can’t bring himself to trust anyone in an intimate relationship,” Tyr said. “I’ve not heard anything in that regard, but he had a tone when he was discussing it that spoke to hurt more than trauma.”

“Partner betrayal then,” Razel said and separated out another section of hair for braiding. “Do you think he needs mind healing? Should we prod him in that direction?”

“It was clear that Dawl and Thal both were going to take him in hand,” Tyr said. “My mother wants to know if Rhys Sharprock is seeing anyone.”

Razel laughed. “I should be a better friend than I’m about to be. He’s viciously single and prefers dwarrowdams exclusively. All three of his children, two male and one female, would welcome a good step-parent at this point. I don’t think he’s still wrapped up in his ex-wife’s cheating, but he does hesitate to socialize with anyone unattached, as he seems unwilling to give anyone the opportunity to develop expectations. Even Omis has been known to run interference for him.”

“There’s nothing there?” Tyr questioned.

Razel hesitated, sent him a shocked look, and shook his head. “Omis is…unwilling to form any sort of romantic attachment to anyone. Her dwarf was killed long before I was born, but most who saw them together assumed them to be as close to soulmates as it’s possible in this age. Adad said Omis and Waryn were one.”

“How did he die?”

“My uncle, Radnar Gaianist, killed him,” Razel said quietly. “It’s not discussed and was never prosecuted because the crime wasn’t revealed until Radnar was caught attempting to assassinate my father. The investigation revealed the murder and his efforts to sterilize my father to prevent him from ever having an heir.” He took a deep breath. “Omis killed him.”

“I did know that part—she interfered in the assassination attempt and killed the offender,” Tyr said quietly. “I had no idea the arsehole had…done so much damage to your family. Was he insane?”

“The Master of the Healing Halls at the time couldn’t confirm insanity during the investigation of the corpse. The complexity of his conspiracy was outlined in his personal journal, which they found after the fact.” Razel cleared his throat. “Omis was just sixty, and my father barely seventy at the time.”

“And Filius Flitwick?”

“He’s twenty-five years younger than my father,” Razel said after a moment. “My grandparents did everything they could to keep the more lurid details of the situation within our family. It wasn’t entirely successful, and the speculation around my aunt’s declaration that she was stonehearted made it worse. But she’s refused to discuss it for decades. I used to feel sad for her.”

“Now?”

“I’m furious,” Razel admitted. “Whenever I think about what my uncle took from her and my parents—it makes me absolutely fucking furious. I have no recourse, and that makes it worse. She told me once that not everything can be healed.”

Try grimaced. “That’s awful to consider, but I get it.”

Razel nodded. “You didn’t answer my question about Fhane Wisemind last night. Will it be difficult to work with him in the Regency High Court?”

“No, Fhane is a consummate professional, and he’s working on himself in private. We’ll never have the friendship we had before we made the mistake of having an intimate relationship, but that would be true with or without you. I think we both learned all the lessons we could from that relationship.” He cleared his throat. “Did you want to talk about Borhn Gildedmind?”

Razel frowned. “He’s an unreasonable bastard.”

“Was he replaced in the guild here because of me?” Tyr questioned. “Because I….” He exhaled sharply. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.”

“Oh.” Razel laughed and pushed his braids over his shoulder. “He retired because he hates us both. He knows it’s irrational and admitted that he was worried that he might damage his magic with an unethical act. He’s joined the Scribe’s Guild as a non-management member. So, while it was about you, it wasn’t because of you. If that makes sense.”

“Okay.” He frowned at the toe of his boot. “I enjoy Syd Arbiter’s company, so the change in leadership isn’t a problem on that level.”

“Apparently, he’d like to adopt you,” Razel said wryly, and Tyr laughed. “But….” He shrugged. “I would’ve had Borhn removed from the guild, and frankly the clan, if I believed him to be a threat to you.”

Tyr’s gaze narrowed. “I can take care of myself.”

“So can I,” Razel said evenly. “And yet I allow Glou Warhammer to follow me around this place every single day. You should give him your thanks the next time you see him.”

“For what?” Tyr asked in confusion.

“We set off the security wards last night—probably the second time we had sex, and Glou barely got ahead of my father on responding. I asked him for details, and Glou said he used magic to pull my bedroom door closed when he realized we were just having sex. He didn’t actually see anything either.”

Tyr’s face grew hot. “For the love of….” He huffed a little, then laughed. “I don’t know that I’d ever gotten over your father….”

“No, we’d have had to migrate to Australia,” Razel said dryly. “At any rate, I need to update my wards and put a dampener in the bedroom to absorb our combined magic. The warding scheme wasn’t designed to contain two elementals. I checked the bed, and we’ve eroded the anti-fire charms on it as well. The frame is wrought iron and can’t be melted with elemental fire, but we certainly could set the mattress on fire if we don’t do some maintenance. Plus, I haven’t updated any of it since my own maturation, so there’s some work there to do. I’d rather not have either one of my parents or Glou try to save me from coming my brains out at some point in the future.”

Tyr laughed. “Shut up.”

“I mean, you were right—I loved it.” Razel grinned as Tyr sighed. “Let’s go have a discussion with the conclave about the demands being placed on them and how I want such things to be handled in the future.”

“Of course,” Tyr agreed.

Glou was leaning on the wall across from Razel’s flat when they exited. He raised an eyebrow in Tyr’s direction.

“Thanks,” Tyr muttered.

“Going forward, having your back is part of my job, Master Warhide,” Glou said in amusement. “Especially when you’re most vulnerable.”

Razel huffed a little as they entered the lift. “I’ll work on the wards this evening.”

“I read the announcement,” Glou said as he selected their destination. “It’s all anyone is talking about in the dining hall.”

“How is being received?”

“Most expected it, of course, and no one appears overtly displeased,” Glou said easily. “But the extravagance of both the gesture and the acceptance gift was startling to some. Plus, the news that Durin’s grimoire was destroyed hundreds of years ago was upsetting.” He glanced toward them, and Tyr curled his fingers against Razel’s as his lover caught his hand. “Replacing it as you have and the ritual offer was very well received. The images shared with the announcement were enough to satisfy most. But be prepared for someone to ask to see one or both gifts.”

Razel frowned. “No.”

Tyr laughed. “Curiosity is to be expected.”

“It’s so…commercial,” Razel muttered, and Glou hummed under his breath. “What?”

“You put a million galleons of mithril in a dwarf’s hand, then are irritated by the commercial nature of the process. The gesture and gift exchange has always been this way.”

“I hate it,” Razel muttered. “And the cost was irrelevant. Which I understand is a matter of privilege. Focusing on the financial value seems to devalue the emotional intent.”

“Well, that part is just for us,” Tyr said, and Razel nodded. “Relax, you don’t have enough of any precious metal to actually buy me.”

Glou laughed all the way out of the lift as Razel just gaped at Tyr. He pulled his lover from the lift and guided him down the hall.

“Your ego is immense,” Razel said finally, just short of them entering the conclave chambers.

“If I looked like him, I’d be so arrogant people would avoid me like a plague,” Kal Ironwill said dryly from his place at the table.

Several ledgers were spread out around him. Tyr assumed them to be the books that Razel had pulled from the vault. Luc was at his drafting desk working on a large piece of parchment.

“How’s this going?” Razel questioned as the door closed on them.

Tyr released his hand in favor of going to watch his brother.

“It seems that mithril was traded heavily over a period of a thousand years,” Kal said. “There are reports of large caches in a mountain kingdom that Durin I founded after he left a mountain called Gundabad. The community was called Khazad-dûm, and our people thrived there for generations. But sometime during the third age, our people were driven from the mountain, and the trade of mithril dried up.” He waved a hand over the books. “At some point during those years, the Longbeards went to Erebor and settled there. Gold, iron, and precious jewels trade picked up at that point.”

“Here,” Luc said as he searched through his parchments. He pulled a large document loose and took it to the table, and spread it out. “This is a more detailed map of the Misty Mountains—Khazad-dûm is here.” He pointed to a mountain. “There are mentions of city plans in the atlas, but they aren’t in it.”

“I’ll look for them,” Razel said as he let his fingers drift over the map. “I died here.”

“What?” Therin Augur asked as he joined them. The others left their own tasks to stare at the map.

“Here in Khazad-dûm, I died.” Razel tilted his head as he stared at the map. “There was a dark creature—an immense threat. Many died fighting, and I was one of them.”

“A balrog,” Davor said.

“What?” Razel said and focused on him.

“I’ve seen it in a vision,” Davor admitted. “A demon—made of fire and dark magic descended upon the community, and many hundreds of dwarrow died. They were screaming—calling it a balrog and….”

“Durin’s Bane,” Razel supplied, and Davor nodded. “It killed my son as well.” His fingers trembled slightly, and he removed his hand from the map. “His name was Náin.” He wet his lips. “He looked like…his mother. I found him a great comfort since she’d died many years before.”

“I told you it would be awful,” Luc muttered, and Tyr shot his brother a hard look.

“No, he’s right.” Razel took a deep breath. “It is often devastating. My grandson took the Longbeards to another mountain—Erebor.” He touched that mountain on the map and shook his head.

“Do you think your aversion to Erebor is related to the Longbeards or is it about your death in Khazad-dûm?” Thal questioned. “Because either would make sense. You aren’t the sort to retreat, so you might find your grandson’s retreat to Erebor offensive on a magical level.”

“I don’t think I resent him for it,” Razel said finally. “He made the best choice for the clan and saved those that could be saved. It is what any good king should do in such times. I’ll search the vault for anything related to Khazad-dûm, Luc. Is this our place?”

“I think so,” Luc admitted. “It feels like it, but I am concerned about this creature. You said magic is gone from Arda.”

“Asleep,” Razel murmured. “Magic sleeps on Arda, and it will wake when we arrive—in some cases quite violently. The balrog is long gone, starved of magic, and its corrupted soul retrieved.”

“What…do you mean?” Tyr questioned.

“A balrog is a dark wizard—they were nothing like the wizards we have on this world. They were primordial spirits, and once corrupted, their fall from grace was catastrophic. It was their duty to act as stewards of magic on Arda, and it didn’t always work out as their patron intended. Still, all of them were eventually retrieved from the land—no matter their state of being. I’ve dreamt of it repeatedly.”

“Good,” Therin said. “I’d rather not pick a fight with a fire demon.”

“I’m not above it,” Thal admitted, and Tyr couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not.”

“He really isn’t,” Dawl said sourly. “You should’ve seen the size of the fucking Cerberus he tried to capture last year.”

Thal huffed. “It was cute and little.” He paused. “For a Cerberus.”

“More and more, I’m convinced they should write a book together—telling on each other for the dumb shite they’ve done over the years,” Razel said, and Thal smirked. “Keep the dirty parts to yourselves, though.”

“Then that’d be no fun at all,” Dawl said and sat down at the table. “I think we need to have a meeting.”

“Agreed,” Razel said.

“Then I’m going to find somewhere else to be,” Luc said.

“Not so fast,” Cyrus said. “Your mother has invited me to dinner, and I expect you to fix it.”

Tyr laughed as Luc blanched.

“I mean it.”

“If you want to tell my mother no to sitting down to have dinner with her like a civilized dwarf, then that’s on you,” Luc said firmly. “I already tried to deflect her, but honestly, Tyr gets all of his best and worst parts from Amad, and there is no getting around her.”

“Certainly true,” Razel said. “Just suck it up, Cyrus. I heard she wants to match make for your father, so feel free to just tell her all about him and his lack of a love life.”

“Then I can’t stay long—I’ve spent the day in the forge and need a shower and fresh clothes,” Cyrus said roughly and slouched down in a chair with a huff.

Luc gathered up his map and trotted off. “Bye then.”

“He’s so lucky he’s pretty,” Cyrus muttered as soon as the door shut.

“You’d not be the first to think so,” Tyr said and sat down. “Our mother means well, and she rarely bites. You’ll be fine.”

“But she brawls just as much as the rest of you!” Cyrus exclaimed, and Razel laughed.

“True enough,” Tyr admitted. “I explained to Razel that Davor’s stepfather had sent him a letter and what the letter contained. Has anyone else had any contact since we spoke last about any sort of interference or influence as it pertains to him?”

Davor flushed. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Razel said. “You’re hardly the first dwarf to be sent my way in that respect. But the campaigns in the past were always overt and sometimes just outright insulting. Has he had any contact with you since that last letter?”

“My mother called me via floo this morning after the announcement hit the boards, demanding to know how I’d allowed your relationship with Tyr to get so far in such a short period of time. She was furious that I’d failed to follow her husband’s instructions and….” He exhaled slowly. “She threatened to disown me.”

“How’d that shake out?” Razel asked.

“My oldest brother has already intervened and reminded her that he’s the head of our family line, and she doesn’t have the authority to disown anyone. Then he told her if she didn’t rein her husband in, he’d cut off her access to the family trust vault and let her fend for herself or depend on her freeloading husband to take care of her.” He waved a hand. “It’s gotten way out of hand, and I told my brother that he could expect some sort of official communication because I’d already reported the matter.”

“What’s your stepfather’s name?” Razel asked.

“Kram Ironshield,” Davor said sourly. “He’s fifty years younger than my mother, a blacksmith by trade. He hasn’t worked since their marriage.” He waved a hand. “There’s plenty of gold in the family trust—I don’t have to work, but I do. He just sits on his arse and spends my mother’s money and plots ridiculous shit.”

“He’s barely worked since earning his mastery,” Therin pointed out. “There’s a reason he migrated to New York, and it wasn’t for more trade opportunities. He had a wretched reputation in Australia for laziness. It took him twice as long to earn his mastery as anyone else in the clan, and he didn’t bother to actually work until his parents passed and he ran out of money.”

“My grandfather continues to be vexed by the relationship,” Thal said. “But he’s no threat of any sort and is just a ridiculous old fool who’d prefer no one do anything without his explicit permission. He lost the directorship of the Rome branch over 200 years ago in a challenge and never got over it.”

“I can chew on a defeat for decades,” Kal muttered and closed the ledgers in front of him. “How long can I study these before the copies disappear?”

“At least a year,” Razel said and adjusted his watch on his wrist at the raised eyebrow that learned him. “I’m ready to claim aether. It’ll be in a personal circle, but I’ll want everyone on hand to handle any bleed-off magic. The empowerment stones are retaining what we’ve already funneled into them. The more power we can build here in advance of the migration, the stronger our founding portal will be and the longer we can leave the magic creating our complex here intact.”

“If you’re ready for aether—I can’t imagine that earth or water are far behind,” Therin said, and Razel nodded. “In fact, considering your talent as a blacksmith, you might find earth relatively easy to claim once you let your magic explore it.”

 “Neither feel difficult. When I decided on my path for the elements—I picked my affinities first. Fire and air came so easily because of my animagus form that it was kind of startling. Aether seems willing, but sometimes I have to push my magic when I conjure in a way I never do when I’m working runes or charms.” Razel frowned. “I don’t know if that’s normal or not.”

“Aether requires a heavy hand,” Therin said and paused. “Or maybe a delicate and dominant touch is a better way of describing it. You’re, in a way, touching part of the universe and coaxing the very elements we are made of to do your bidding.”

Razel drew his wand and conjured a tiny blue bird. It fluttered its wings and hopped around the table in front of him. “The simulation of life is a little off. Do you see?”

Therin held out his hand, and the little bird hopped right to him and hummed. “It’s…very good. The detail is astounding.” He touched the bird’s chest. “I can feel her little heart beating. Razel, I can’t do this even now.” He wet his lips. “What change are you expecting to get out of a ritual claiming?”

“With fire and air, I have a profound connection. I can feel my core stirring as I cast.” Fire danced along the length of his wand briefly. “Is that compatibility at work?”

“Yes,” Tyr murmured. “Do you expect to have that connection with all of the elements?”

“I feel like I should, yes,” Razel admitted and focused on the bird that was flickering her wings. He held out a hand, and she flew across the table to land on his hand. He let water pool in his palm. She proceeded to take a gleeful bath. “None of the elements have ever been difficult to work with, but there’s no personal connection which I’m certain I need.” The water faded away, and the bird chirped in disappointment and flicked her wings. “My apologies, little one.” He ran a finger along her little beak as the conjuration faded away with a little sparkle of magic. “When I was small, I used to conjure animals and then cry when they’d fade.”

“How long have you been conjuring?” Therin questioned.

“I think the first time when I was ten,” Razel admitted and picked up his wand to store it. He cleared his throat. “I wanted a pet—a familiar as I’d read a book about them. My parents dissuaded me as most creatures that can create a familiar bond don’t live long compared to us. My mother said it would just break my heart. So, I decided to create one with my magic, but I couldn’t keep them for more than a few hours at a time. It didn’t take long before I cured myself of that desire.”

“What if your feelings regarding aether don’t change after a ritual claiming?” Tyr questioned.

“I don’t know,” Razel admitted. “It seems like it would make our journey to Arda more difficult.”

Therin drew his wand, paused to settle himself, and conjured a bird. It was a near replica of the one that Razel had conjured, but Therin merely frowned at it. The little bird hopped around in front of him, a little huffy with its circumstances.

“Your affinity element is earth,” Tyr said, and Therin nodded.

“But aether came to me so easily that it felt like some kind of….”

“Destiny,” Dawl provided, and Therin took a deep breath before seeming to agree with another small nod.

“I can conjure non-organic items that will last years at this point, but it took me a long time to get there. I had my mother’s undivided attention during that time,” Therin said. “The process was, at the time, horrifying. Aether is one element that I wouldn’t have chosen as I know what it has cost my mother magically over the years. There have been times when she’s been compelled to do things magically that could’ve killed her.” He waved a hand. “She was called upon to hunt, contain, or kill feral dragons when such a thing was required of us by the ICW due to a now-expired treaty. While her affinity with aether was not well known, it was why she was chosen for that duty. She has an astounding amount of magical strength at her disposal due to the element and can conjure dragon-proof cages on the spot with a thought. She was able to do it before she was even sixty years old.”

Razel nodded and focused on Davor. “How would it impact you if I filed a complaint with the judiciary regarding your stepfather’s demands of you?”

“My mother couldn’t be more furious with me at this point,” Davor admitted. “And her utter lack of respect for my own goals, life, and feelings makes it hard to have any consideration for her. I don’t care what happens to her husband.” He cleared his throat. “What would happen to him?”

“It greatly depends on how Syd Arbiter chooses to interpret the complaint and the letter you were sent,” Tyr said. “Intimate fraud is a social crime. Most conspiracies are considered criminal endeavors. Conspiracy to interfere in the king’s choices could be seen as treason.”

Davor pulled the letter from his cloak and put it on the table in front of Razel.

“It could also be said that he tried to make you betray the leader of your conclave,” Razel said. “And that would endanger your magic, Davor.”

“Yes, and that was my first takeaway,” Davor said and cleared his throat.

“I’m going to have Tyr put out a document outlining the responsibilities of each member of the conclave and what it means to be a part of a conclave like the one we’ve created. I can hope that it will make family members and friends hesitant to ask stupid things of you going forward.” Razel picked up the letter. “Should I read this?”

Davor winced. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

Tyr laughed.

“My stepfather said some awful things about your isolation, implied that Tyr is a predator for his pursuit of you, and basically said that since you were so naïve that even I shouldn’t have a hard time seducing you.”

Tyr plucked the letter from Razel’s fingers. “I’m going to ruin this motherfucker’s life.”

“Or you can tell your father, and he’ll go to New York and beat him like a criminal,” Razel suggested huffily. “Also, it’s starting to piss me off that everyone assumes I was the one that got seduced.”

Tyr grinned. “I didn’t stand a chance.”

“I noticed,” Therin said wryly, and the others laughed. “It’s like the rest of us didn’t even exist, and there had to be 400 dwarrow in the Hall of Mages at the time.”

Razel watched Tyr open the letter and read the contents. The dwarf’s face appeared very neutral, but the way his lips pressed together spoke of fury and disgust. “Bad?”

“Appalling,” Tyr muttered. “But you’ll be gratified to know that this arsehole thinks your beauty makes up for your presumed helplessness.”

Razel frowned. “This is how dwarrow get put on a list to stay in a tent outside of my mountain permanently on Arda.”

Davor laughed.

Tyr folded the letter and tucked it into his own jacket pocket. “I have two questions—I believe them pertinent to a legal response.”

Davor nodded. “Of course.”

“Are you craftborn?” Tyr questioned

“I….” Davor took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Kal put a hand on the younger dwarf’s shoulder. “No. Sometimes I wish I were as it would make things easier.”

“Would you consider having sex with someone you do not love a profound violation of your body and magic?”

“Yes.” Davor’s cheeks darkened, and he averted his gaze.

Tyr stood. “I’m going to go speak with Master Arbiter. Don’t worry about this, Davor. If Syd Arbiter needs to speak with you, he’ll make an appointment. But this letter is more than enough, and I can confirm you haven’t acted on the obscene instructions.”

Razel watched him leave and exhaled slowly. “I don’t know if I should contact departures and tell them not to give him a portkey to New York or what.”

“Despite the reputation of his family, Tyr isn’t well-known for losing his temper,” Dawl said. “So when he does—it’s certainly justified.” He waved a hand. “If he wants to go to New York, so be it.”

Razel frowned and focused on Thal. “Send your grandfather a letter and tell him to mind his own fucking business where I’m concerned, or I’ll invest myself in ruining his life.” He flicked his hand. “Whatever time he has left will be an absolute misery. It’s not my intention to bully people, but no one is going to make decisions for me, and unsolicited counsel is to be considered permanently undesired.”

* * * *

“Razel has seen this?” Rhys Sharprock questioned.

“He knows about the letter but didn’t bother to read the content.” He wasn’t all that surprised to find himself in the administrator’s conference room with Syd, Rhys, and the chieftain, as Syd had found the letter to be offensive as fuck. “He’s not as upset as I thought he might be. But, I understand that on some level as I’ve been pursued repeatedly because of who my father is, and he was, too, before his reincarnation was revealed.”

“In the letter, Kram Ironshield outright called your pursuit of the king predatory,” Syd said roughly. “It’s defamation, and if this letter were to be entered into the judiciary records as part of a complaint, it would become libelous. You know that already.”

Tyr shrugged. “I’m not concerned about that part necessarily. It’s insulting, yes, but easy to prove false. His basic premise is that Razel has been isolated and is young. But the fact is that Razel is Durin the Deathless, and his memories expand out behind him for several thousands of years. Calling him immature and naïve is an immense insult on several levels.”

Ragnok cleared his throat. “The first time he had a memory breakthrough, he was just six. He came to me and told me he needed to declare war on a whole family, but he wasn’t sure which family since he couldn’t see the beads clearly in his memory, but they were wretched beasts and needed to be destroyed.” He huffed a little. “It was a memory from Arda, and if you asked him about it, he’d tell you that Durin II is still fucking furious about the whole incident, which apparently involved a sheep of some sort that he called a war ram, which was his preferred mount. It had apparently been killed during a training exercise.”

Rhys laughed. “Should we be concerned about that sort of transportation on Arda?”

“I’m not going to ride on a fucking sheep,” Ragnok muttered. “Or a pony or any other animal humans think they should get to sit on and be taken somewhere. It’s obscene.”

“We should consider airships of some sort,” Tyr interjected, and both dwarrow focused on him. “The muggles used to use them, and they would serve us well in an environment where we didn’t have to hide. It would allow us to survey the land, provide shelter as it is done….”

“It’s a very good idea,” Rhys said. “We wouldn’t need the exact design or the gas they use since we could power them with magic.”

“I’ll put it on the conclave list and have it distributed as a task. Each clan could produce several in the year we have in front of us,” Tyr said and pulled out his journal to make a note. “As to the formal complaint, I think Razel wants to make an example of Kram Ironshield, and Davor isn’t opposed at all. Moreover, we need to make it clear that abusing the nature of a dwarf-like Davor is beyond the fucking pale.”

“What is his nature exactly?” Rhys questioned.

“He says he’s not craftborn but does require romantic love for sexual contact of any sort. His stepfather basically ordered that dwarf to violate himself for financial and political gain.” Tyr waved his quill. “It’s disgusting, and I want to go to New York and shove my fury down that arsehole’s throat.”

“We can get you a portkey,” Syd said dryly and shrugged when Ragnok laughed. “Some dwarrow just need their attitude adjusted on a physical level.”

“Razel suggested I just give a copy of the letter to my father,” Tyr admitted and sighed when Rhys nodded his agreement. “He doesn’t need any sort of encouragement, and Kram Ironshield is half of his age.”

“He’s also a lazy bastard,” Syd muttered. “Everyone knows it. I don’t know why New York even allowed his migration—he’s certainly not contributing, and he has no excuse for it.”

“I suppose we should be lucky he’s married, or he might have come here to interfere himself,” Tyr said and wet his lips. “Well, I could’ve killed him if he had come here. So, that’s kind of disappointing.”

“He’s too lazy to do the work himself,” Syd muttered. “And if Master Fireborn wants me to set an example. I will.” He stood. “Let’s start with conspiracy to commit intimate fraud, conspiracy to undermine the regency through emotional manipulation, and defamation, Master Warhide.”

“Sounds perfectly reasonable, Master Arbiter.” He closed his journal, stored it, and stood.

“Have fun,” Ragnok said and rocked back in his chair.

 

Chapter 10

Tyr hadn’t attended a full meeting of the Judiciary Guild since coming to Britain. The hall was sealed, and all the privacy protocols had been activated. Only oath-bound solicitors were in attendance, so all of the apprentices had been dismissed as soon as Syd Arbiter sounded the bell. It was a smooth process, but he’d rarely encountered a guild within the judiciary that wasn’t profoundly efficient. It was a point of pride. Despite the early morning hour, everyone appeared alert and ready for work.

“Master Warhide, pending the transition to the Regency High Court, it would best serve the horde if you sat second chair for this guild whenever you are able.”

Tyr inclined his head and took the chair being offered him at the main council table. It clearly wasn’t unexpected, as no shock appeared evident. “I will inform the international body and Paris.” He removed his journal from storage, then a quill as Syd settled at the podium.

“It came to my attention yesterday afternoon that a member of Master Razel Fireborn’s conclave received a letter from his stepfather giving him a series of offensive and illegal instructions. I’ll be charging Kram Ironshield of the clan Broadbeam with conspiracy to commit intimate fraud, conspiracy to undermine the regency through emotional manipulation, and defamation.”

A murmur of shock drifted over the members.

“Today, we’re going to let it be known that our king will not be a target for such a thing without being punished for it,” Syd said. “It is our duty as a body to protect and shelter him legally until he is crowned and we are replaced by the Regency High Court.

“Master Warhide will recuse himself from the preparation of charges but will be available to answer questions as we prepare documents to present before the International Judiciary Guild. Shortly, I will contact the master of the New York judiciary so they can prepare for what is to come.” He paused. “I’ve not had a chance to review the leadership information for New York’s guild since Master Gildedmind’s retirement. Who’s the first chair there?”

“Del Goldfist,” Tyr said when no one else appeared to have an answer. “Masteries in corporate and criminal law, he ascended to the first chair eighteen months ago.” He paused. “He’s historically known to be difficult to work with.”

“Is that your polite way of telling me to take my sword, Master Warhide?”

“No, sir, that’s my polite way of telling you to put on armor,” Tyr said and shrugged at the startled laughter he’d earned for himself. “One would assume the sword is a given.”

Syd inclined his head. “Do you currently have a sword on you?”

“In my dimensional storage, yes,” Tyr said. “I travel far too often to go about unarmed.” He cleared his throat. “And considering our goals going forward, I believe every adult in the horde should be armed in some fashion or another beyond a magical focus.”

“Speaking of, can we see it?”

Tyr focused on the dwarf who’d spoken, gaze narrowing despite his best intentions. “I beg your pardon?”

The younger dwarf flushed. “I….”

Syd cleared his throat. “Master Tull Gildedwit, I’m going to take it on faith that you just misspoke and did not mean to insult our colleague with such an untoward request.” He shifted behind the podium and exhaled slowly. “Master Gordi Swiftwit, Master Balyn Windwalker, and Master Jai Stoneheart will produce the prosecution documents. I’ll be filing the primary complaint with the International Judiciary Guild and may call upon those of you with masteries in criminal law for research over the course of the day. Master Warhide is the only one of us with a mastery in international law; keep that in mind and be careful with his time, as his primary work concern going forward must always be Master Fireborn’s conclave.

“Any pressing questions or cases?”

Tyr watched the group shift around in their seats. Then Kali Brightmind stood.

“Master Brightmind, you have the floor,” Syd said as he pulled a ledger out and opened it.

“I’ve two complaints pending regarding the canceled trade fair,” she said, and several dwarrow around her sighed. “We can expect more.”

Syd grimaced, and Tyr wondered what they were talking about as he hadn’t heard about a trade fair being canceled. Though it wasn’t something he’d pay attention to any rate unless he was tasked with handling business for one of his brothers.

“Content of the complaints?” Syd questioned.

“One is for breach of promise, and the other is a contractual obligation issue.”

“On the breach of promise,” Syd began. “Is it against an individual or the organization?”

“Organization.”

“Tell your client that the trade fair in Rome was canceled because none of the other Trade Guilds want a damn thing to do with Rome right now, and security is so tight that it would be the work of months to make the event even viable at this point,” Syd said shortly. “If they want an official ruling from the judiciary, schedule a hearing, and tell them we’ll hear the complaint roughly….” He glanced toward the scheduling board. “Six months from now.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And the contractual issue?”

“We have a blacksmith who signed a contract to deliver a series of commissions to a wizard merchant in Rome. If he doesn’t show up in Rome on or before the date listed on the contract, he’ll be in breach. Travel is restricted, of course, so even if he wanted to haul thirty-five stone of kitchenwares to Rome by himself, it would be cost-prohibitive. Without the free transport of goods for the trade fair, he’ll actually lose over a thousand galleons in this transaction.”

Syd exhaled. “Are there any others facing a breach of contract suit because of the canceled fair?”

“I checked the filed contracts in our archive, and there is only one for Master Var Blackshield. The penalties for violating the terms of the contract would be a significant financial hardship,” Kali continued. “I’ve checked with the shipping office, and there are currently no policies in place to deal with this unique circumstance.”

Tyr brushed his fingers over a rune in front of him, which caused a corresponding rune to light on Syd’s podium that only the Guild Master could see due to the construction of the podium.

“Master Warhide, do you have a solution?” Syd questioned.

“He can request a hardship waiver on the shipping costs. Normally such a waiver is used to cover travel fees during times of emergency or personal loss, but there is room in the code to consider this situation a hardship due to the potential loss of income in a situation where neither party in the contract is at fault legally. If that waiver is denied, then you’ll have no choice but to file suit against the International Trade Guild for not making arrangements on your client’s behalf as they should’ve. Once a suit is filed, the master of the International Trade Guild will settle out of court as there is no defense for the guild’s actions. They’re just protecting their bottom line, and considering the situation, that’s grounds for an investigation into criminal charges.”

Kali nodded. “Thank you, Master Warhide. I hadn’t considered the waiver system. If I need to file suit, will you be available to advise? I haven’t filed an international suit before.”

“Of course,” Tyr said and made a note in his journal about the situation for his own record keeping. “Make sure to tell the shipping office they should send the International Trade Guild an invoice for the amount of the waiver. It’ll make them more likely to approve the waiver as I’ve yet to meet a manager of a shipping office that does not glory in poking at the International Trade Guild.”

“I’ll file a brief with the International Judiciary Guild regarding the matter to ensure other clan guilds are aware of the problem in case their members have pending contracts that could impact the International Trade Guild’s decision,” Syd said, and Tyr nodded his agreement. “Anyone else?” His gaze drifted around the room, and he nodded. “Everyone back to work. Tull, I need a word.”

Tyr stayed at the table while the rest of the guild returned to their desks as Syd had sent him a pointed look before he could even stand. Syd sat down beside him as Tull came to stand in front of the table.

“Care to explain yourself?” Syd questioned. “Were you not ninety-eight years old, I’d send you home to your mother for discipline.”

Tull’s cheeks darkened, and he cleared his throat. “I merely voiced something many were thinking. The chieftain’s announcement was…borderline unbelievable.”

“Are you accusing Chieftain Ragnok Windrider of fraud?” Tyr questioned, tone clipped with building fury.

“Of course not!” Tull exclaimed quickly. “It’s just…mithril? Seriously? No one’s been able to work with mithril for bloody ages.”

“Probably around the last time a version of Durin was allowed to reach adulthood,” Tyr said evenly. “Master Fireborn is talented beyond measure in the forge—a talent earned through thousands of years of work.” Tull averted his gaze.

“You should avoid such speculation going forward, or that arsehole in New York won’t be the only one being charged with defamation.” Syd frowned.

Tyr cleared his throat. “If you ever question the chieftain’s integrity in my presence again, you’ll meet me in the arena, where we will discuss at length how vehemently I disagree with your continued existence.”

Tull Gildedwit blanched and stared at Tyr in shock.

Syd grinned. “Dismissed, Master Gildedwit.”

Tyr frowned at Syd and huffed a little when the older dwarf laughed. Tull Gildedwit rapidly blended into the rest of the guild. He didn’t even know where the little arsehole sat in the hall, but he was going to find out.

“I loathe politics,” Tyr muttered.

“Same,” Syd admitted. “As a head’s up, Kali Brightmind is husband hunting and considered you prime for the job until it became clear that you were utterly unavailable for the rest of your life.” Tyr laughed. “She’s savvy enough not to outright interfere in a courtship, but I still wouldn’t ever allow myself to be alone with her if I were in your position. Because she certainly is the sort to spread a rumor that you’re unfaithful, especially if she felt like it would help her get her way.” Syd paused. “You’re about ten years older than her oldest child, by the way.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Tyr muttered. “Not to be rude, Syd, but I’d never marry a dverger past their child-bearing years.” He paused. “Or, to be frank, an individual that is infertile. I want children. And I know myself well enough to know that I would resent the lack of them eventually.”

Syd nodded. “It’s not an unreasonable position, Tyr. Children are important—precious. I count my four amongst my greatest loves in life. I wish such a thing for every dverger I know.” He cleared his throat as he stood. “Pardon me while I go shove my foot up someone’s arse in the most legal fashion I know how. Can you mind the floor for a bit?”

“I’m not expected in the conclave chamber until lunch,” Tyr said.

* * * *

Razel rubbed the back of his neck, spreading soot over his skin with a grimace. The smoke from the fire wasn’t bothersome due to the charms in the room protecting the air quality, but he’d allowed his soot-cleaning charm to fail a few weeks before and hadn’t bothered to fix it. He watched the mithril pool into a stone bowl he’d commissioned from his mother. The molten metal shimmered and swirled as it left the crucible.

“Razel.”

He looked toward the entrance to his forge and found his mother standing just short of entering. “Amad, is something amiss?”

“No, Sig and I were in the hall as she wanted to commission a few portable ovens to experiment with for the Culinary Guild in Paris.” Lenore inclined her head. “May we enter?”

“Yes, of course,” Razel said and drew his wand. He cast a few charms to get rid of the soot and let the cleaning magic sweep over the whole area, including the floor. “Mind the line—please.”

His mother and Sig Fireborn stopped right at the safety line marked on the floor. “What are you working on?” Lenore questioned.

“Just a little experiment,” Razel said and used his wand to push magic against the mithril. A little wave danced across the surface of the metal. “It can absorb magic and be enchanted in a liquid state.” He cast a safety charm around the bowl. “You can both come closer.”

They settled on either side of him.

“Are you making something?” Sig asked curiously. “You said you could pull it like glass?”

“Yes, in the melting stage before this one,” Razel said. “I’m considering weaving material of a sort. I have a ritual robe from the vault that is woven mithril. The technique, if I ever knew it, is lost to time, but the construction looks deceptively easy. Which probably means it was some version of me life’s work.”

Lenore laughed. “Yes, surely. What are you doing with it at this point if you can’t pull it?”

“Testing the absorption of magic.”

“Do you have a purpose in mind?” Sig questioned.

“I’m considering creating a series of ward stones—granite with a mithril magic sink.”

“Are the ones you received from Egypt not working in the ritual space?” Lenore asked curiously.

“Oh, no, they’re fine,” Razel said. “The craftsmanship is stellar, as promised. But it’s crossed my mind that we’re going to require immediate security on Arda for the exodus. Even if we keep the first stage of migration under 5,000…a settlement of that size on a feral land where we know little to nothing is dangerous. I don’t expect families with small children to be included in that group. But protecting us from the start seems the best choice I can make. This mithril is from Arda. I don’t have any stone from the world, so I’m hoping it will be enough to anchor wards until we get the lay of the land.”

“How many do you intend to make?”

“I have enough mithril left to make twelve.”

Sig hummed under her breath. “That would cover any of our current complexes twenty times over.”

“Yes, but the mountain we are fairly certain we’ll be settling in at the start is 42,000 square kilometers at least, based on documents from the vault.” His future mother-in-law took in a ragged breath, so he focused on her. “What?”

“All that space for us?” She questioned.

“A whole world just for us,” Razel said and refocused his attention on the mithril. “Arda is empty save wild game. The magic lay sleeping, abandoned by those who left.”

“What if it refuses to wake?” Lenore questions. “And our magic wanes?”

“Would it be such a hardship?” Razel questioned. “Is there any magic worth keeping if it means we remain imprisoned on this world and treated like beasts of burden?”

“I don’t know,” Lenore admitted. “I’ve never known a moment without magic that I can remember, Razel. For some, it would be an immense sacrifice.”

“We’ll know as soon as we arrive,” Razel said. “And the rest of the horde will be notified of the circumstances on Arda. I can’t live on this world, Amad. It feels like it might be the end of me.”

Her hand settled on his arm, and her gaze darkened. “You mean…Durin’s end? Razel, is this your last incarnation?”

“It doesn’t seem so,” Razel said, and her lips pressed together. “But I’ve already exceeded what I was told would be allowed. I have to think I was reborn on this world over and over again so that I can do exactly what I’m currently planning to do. And maybe at the end of this life, if our people are back on Arda, I will be allowed to rest. Mahal will take me and keep me when he wishes, I suppose.”

“Yes,” Lenore murmured and looked at the mithril. “It’s starting to cool already.”

“It doesn’t keep heat long at all,” Razel said. “But it practically eats magic, so it’s very interesting. I want to test the upper limit on that; I look forward to a steady supply Arda.” He used his wand to spin the mithril into a soft ball, then gently coaxed a string loose with a charm used to pull glass. He spun the string gently in the air and let it pool on the table as it cooled.

“Fascinating,” Sig said. “Even glass doesn’t do that. How did you figure this out?”

“By accident,” Razel admitted with a smile, and she laughed. “Some of the best things I’ve done in the forge happened because of an accident or a mistake. There’s so little information left to be had concerning genuine mithril that it’s hit and miss across the board when it comes to making anything with it. I made Tyr’s stave four times before I was satisfied with the result.”

Sig hummed under her breath. “Why a stave?”

“Ah, well,” Razel said as he continued to pull the thread. “Tyr’s very at ease with his magic despite what others might assume about him. I appreciate his strength and the refined quality of his magical power. Such magic is meant for a stave, so I knew he’d have no issues carrying and using one. Ritual magic is a big part of my life, so it was also an invitation, of sorts, to join me in that craft.”

“What kind of stave do you carry?” Sig questioned.

Razel closed the charm and cut the string, then stored his wand before drawing his stave. He put the magical focus on the table in front of them, and his mother took a deep breath. She’d only seen it once before as the stave was ancient and so powerful that it actually gave her a profound vision the one and only time she’d held it.

“What….” Sig trailed off.

The stave was four feet of wood, gleaming like new despite its age. Gold, silver, mithril, copper, and platinum wound around in an intricate design that spoke the elements. “The wood is oak. All of the materials came from Arda, and it was constructed by the Durin the VIII sometime after our migration to Earth.”

“So, it’s roughly 9,000 years old,” Sig said. “I’ve never seen anything like it. No incarnation of you ever carried this, or surely we would’ve heard about it.”

“No, it was made and placed in the vault without being used,” Razel said. “There was a note with it.”

“What did it say? If you can reveal it.”

“For when the time comes,” Razel said and let his fingers brush over the wood. Flames danced over the stave. “I picked it up, and I realized it was for me.” He shrugged. “Who better to give me a gift than myself?”

Lenore laughed.

“What sort of stove were you looking at?” Razel questioned.

“A migration of any size will lead to some less than ideal conditions,” Sig said. “Food safety, plumbing facilities, and secure places to sleep will be paramount as we explore whatever place we end up staying. None of the mountains on Arda will be livable in any fashion for a start—the clean-up could take years if we have as much room in a single mountain as you’ve said. That’s not to account for cave-ins and pests.”

Razel nodded. “Okay.”

“Our kitchens will need large commercial stoves that can be moved easily, that are safe to use, and the charm work to preserve food from the elements if necessary. Food storage is another concern. We don’t know what we’ll be able to eat on Arda, so we should bring our own food, crops, and livestock. There is an ongoing debate about that, actually, as to whether or not we should plant our own crops. As it turns out, a lot of the crops we have today came from Arda—including a variant of potato that is now grown all over this world.”

Razel nodded. “The game should be plentiful, but I can see other resources being difficult at the start. Luc is working on a speculative map of the continent based on what we have in the atlas. While I wouldn’t want to destroy Arda’s natural environment, we can’t be precious about resources such as food when it comes to feeding the entirety of the horde. If we have to plant—we’ll plant.”

“We’ll change the world for good or bad just by living on it,” Lenore said. “The best we can do is offer her respect as much as possible. Just keeping our air and water clean would be an improvement over what the humans are doing to this world.”

“I’ll set aside some time to speak with the master of the Agriculture Guild,” Razel said and, after a moment, stowed his stave.

“Or, I could take that task for you,” Lenore said and inclined her head when he started to protest. “A good leader knows when to delegate. You have many important tasks as is. Allowing me to argue with Aloh Earthborn about how many variants of mushrooms he’s allowed to pack will save you a headache.”

Razel laughed. “Well, include the Potions Guild in that conversation as well since we’ll have to grow many of their ingredients.”

“Ah,” Lenore said. “You’re right—some of that certainly won’t be duplicated on Arda.” She turned to Sig. “Shall we go beard a lion or two?”

Sig laughed. “Sounds fun.” She focused on Razel. “Tyr said Brol and I could have lunch with your conclave in the workspace. Is that still all right? He’s been locked in the judiciary all morning.”

“Yes, of course. The others are looking forward to meeting you, and if you can make Cyrus squirm—all the better.”

“He’s a charming lad,” Sig declared. “I look forward to that marriage celebration as well.”

Razel laughed and shook his head as his mother tugged Sig from his forge. He grabbed a spool and wrapped Elspeth’s mithril string around it. Since his mother had no idea what the thread was for, he hadn’t felt like it was a problem making it in front of her, and maybe having watched that part will make whatever his sister does with it more interesting for her.

He banked the fire, stored the hardening mithril in a cabinet, and picked up the spool of string to take to his sister. Razel flicked the string into his dimensional storage as he crossed the hall and into his father’s forge. His father was in the midst of shaping a broadsword.

Ragnok inclined his head, and Razel just slid up onto the stool at the work table. The older dwarf set aside his hammer. “Problem?”

“Amad is darting about the place with Tyr’s mother. She seems to be enjoying a friendship there that’s…unexpected. She’s rarely sought the company of anyone outside of our immediate family.”

“Ah, well, trust is hard to come by,” Ragnok said. “And fairly soon, Sig Fireborn will be immediate family as far as your mother is concerned. She sees a comrade in arms of a sort in her, and that’s lovely to see. Lenore and Omis have always been close, but there is a divide as they don’t share a great many concerns. Your mother has never felt comfortable discussing the…issues of motherhood with my sister.”

Razel nodded. “I’m glad they’re getting along. Where is Brol?”

“He’s with his son Luc in the Scribe’s Hall, as that is apparently a secondary mastery for them both. Luc spends the most time away from home, so I suspect that Brol seeks to spend time with him whenever possible. It will only be worse during the migration as I doubt you’ll be able to keep Luc Pathfinder, or anyone like him, still for very long.”

“Adad.”

Ragnok focused on him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing it’s just…. Tyr told me that he thinks I’ll have to accept the crown in full before the exodus. He said that he thinks the horde will need a king to follow back to Arda.”

Ragnok hummed under his breath as he reheated the sword. “A king led us here, son.”

Razel took a deep breath. “I’m not afraid of it.”

“I’d never assume such a thing about you,” Ragnok said mildly. “You’ve never feared anything in your life, unfortunately. Keeping up with you as a dwarfling was a full-time job.” Razel laughed. “Everything will work out just as it should.”

“Tyr wants to report the loss of the Raven Crown to the judiciary so it can be searched for. I don’t know if I want that.” Razel cleared his throat.

“Ask him to wait until you’ve completed the grimoire claiming,” Ragnok suggested. “As the grimoire will probably tell you exactly what happened to it, and if it’s been stolen, we’ll find it.”

“And if I destroyed it?” Razel questioned.

“Then we can assume that you had a very good reason,” Ragnok said evenly. “I doubt it would’ve been a circumstance like the grimoire—which was clearly a moment of irrational emotion.”

Razel made a face. “I plan to leave myself a very explicit letter about that kind of behavior.”

Ragnok laughed.

“I’m serious.”

“I know, and that’s hilarious,” Ragnok said and pulled the sword from the fire and picked up his hammer.

Razel pulled out his journal and a quill so he could make a few notes about the conversation he’d had with the mothers, then paused at the thought. It felt true already, and that was a little weird. He focused on his journal, and his father resumed hammering. The noise was relaxing in a way as he’d spent a lot of time in his father’s forge as his parents had split childcare down the middle from practically birth, and there was a comfort to be found in the sounds of their work.

* * * *

Tyr hesitated in the doorway of the conclave’s workspace, his gaze settling on Razel, who was seated in the middle of the ritual circle. The runes were lit, and elemental fire was spread out over the entire platform. He was dressed, which was a relief, in a pair of dragonskin trousers and a simple black tunic. He watched for a moment, his parents hovering behind him.

“He said they could come in if he wasn’t done when they arrived,” Thal said.

Tyr nodded and stepped fully into the room. The other members of the conclave stood. “Where’s Luc?”

“In the Healing Hall,” Cryus said dryly. “There was an altercation in the Scribe’s Hall this afternoon.”

“Is he going to require counsel?” Tyr asked warily as he shed his coat. “Everyone—my parents, Brol Wildheart and Sig Fireborn—you’ve met Cyrus Gildhard, of course. From left to right, Therin Augur son of Mim, Thal Airwalker son of Talon, Kal Ironwill son of Braigo, Dawl Windspeaker son of Nyght, and Davor Beastspeaker son of Alea.” His attention returned to Razel as the flames leapt higher. “What is he doing?”

“He’s testing how much magic a gram of mithril can hold before it starts to have integrity issues.” Therin waved a hand at the work table. “He’s already tested platinum, copper, and iron and dismissed silver and gold as non-starters due to how soft they are. We’re sourcing a few others—tungsten, titanium, and aluminum. Platinum lasted the longest, at half an hour. He’s been testing mithril for forty-five minutes. We’re going to call it soon.”

The magic shifted in the room, and Tyr turned to watch Razel stand up.

“It’s not going to hold,” Razel said huffily and picked up the small crucible that had been sitting in front of him.

“Result?” Kal questioned.

“It’s dust,” Razel said and made a face even as their mouths dropped open. “I hate to even think it, but I think we’re going have to smelt it with something else.” He slashed a hand through the empowerment rune hovering a few feet away from him, and the magic of the circle flickered away. “And no, your brother doesn’t need counsel. My father has already handled the whole thing.” He went to the work table. “Since Luc just got caught in the crossfire, sort of.”

“I require a lot of information,” Tyr said before his parents could, and Therin laughed. “I mean it. We saw him just an hour ago.”

“You know that arsehole that keeps commenting on Elspeth’s coming and goings from the Scribe’s Hall?” Cyrus started, and Tyr nodded. “Well, getting a face full of Fyre Blackaxe’s fist didn’t slow him down in the least. He caught up with Elspeth this afternoon when she was gathering lists for the regency library from several scribes and tried to correct her like a child. He told her that she was giving herself a terrible reputation and that being the future king’s sister wouldn’t protect her if everyone presumed her to be a whore.”

Tyr’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

“So, before her security for the day, Helg Brightriver, could reach them, Elspeth had hauled off and punched him herself. He hit someone’s desk, messed up the document they were working on, and that scribe came up howling and swinging,” Cyrus shrugged when several members of the conclave started to laugh. “Luc tried to extract Elspeth from what quickly became an all-out brawl, only to get punched in the face himself. Which, as you must know, only pissed him off.

“Elspeth decided she had to defend his honor since he is her family’s guest and picked up a chair and swung it at the offender. It took security a half hour to calm everyone down. Luc has a broken finger, Elspeth sprained her wrist, and at last report, was insisting that Colb Storyteller be brought up on charges for besmirching her character and harassment.” He shrugged. “All in all, twenty people are in the healing halls, and the chieftain is…furious.”

“The Master of the Scribe Guild is rating it a six out of ten and has expressed some serious disappointment in the performance of several members. Though he is quite chuffed to know for certain that your family’s reputation for coming out on top in a brawl is well-earned. Luc and Elspeth were the last ones standing,” Razel said dryly as he picked up the menu. “I’m starving.”

“Well, that’s all right then,” Sig said. “Was this her first brawl? And she won? We should give her a gift, Brol.”

“Definitely her first brawl,” Razel said with a laugh and sat down gratefully when Thal took the menu from his hand. “My mother is torn between pride and shock. I just told them we should all be thankful she forgot she had her sword in dimensional storage. She’s been carrying it since some mean old dwarf from Paris told the whole horde I’m Durin the Deathless.”

Brol exhaled. “It’s gonna take a while, right?”

“Yeah,” Razel admitted, and Tyr laughed. “But I’m working on it. Truthfully, I’ve been known to hold a grudge for thousands of years.”

“Yes, your father said,” Sig said in amusement. “Did you ever figure out who wronged Durin II and killed his war ram?”

Razel huffed. “I loved that war ram.”

Tyr slouched down in the chair beside him and laughed.

“I mean it,” Razel protested. “He was great.”

“I’m sure you looked majestic riding into battle on a giant sheep,” Tyr said in amusement.

Razel huffed. “I come out of the womb every single time looking majestic.” He flicked a hand toward his face. “As I already told you.”

Tyr grinned and filled his mother’s wine glass first, then poured for all the glasses closest to him before passing the bottle down the table. “What’s for lunch?”

“I went with the beef and potato stew,” Thal said. “I always want a lot of carbs and protein after expending a lot of magic.”

“You said something about smelting mithril with another metal?” Brol questioned.

“I’ve tasked myself with creating ward stones to protect our community on Arda. The mountain we’ve chosen is huge—coming in at roughly the size of Denmark. We don’t know what’s there and what we will be facing as far as the weather is concerned. Being able to quickly ward our community and prepare for whatever conditions are there is ideal. I’ve asked my mother to make twelve granite ward stones. I want to create magic sinks for each stone—I’d thought to use mithril to do it since it’s one of the few metals I have in the right quantity from Arda.”

“But it broke up when you tried to drop an immense amount of magic into it,” Brol said. “Platinum is going to be the strongest, which I’m sure you’ve discovered, but smelting mithril with a lesser metal to create an alloy feels like an atrocity.”

Tyr laughed even as Razel nodded his agreement.

“It seems to take the magic with no issues while it was in a liquid form,” Sig said. “It was very malleable even as it cooled.”

Razel nodded. “So that’s frustrating.”

Sig shrugged. “Find a way to keep it in a liquid form.”

Razel stopped and put his spoon back in his bowl.

“Do not leave that chair without eating,” Tyr warned even as Razel started to stand. “You barely ate any breakfast at all.”

Razel frowned at him. “Nagging already?”

“Yes,” Tyr said and offered him the bread bowl.

Therin laughed as Razel took a roll with a little huff. “Such are the privileges of the Consort Under the Mountain. Someone must be free to tell you about yourself, Razel.”

“Oh, good, that’s not just a partner thing?” Davor questioned. “Because I don’t like getting bossed around.”

Tyr noted with some amusement that every married dverger in the room, including his own mother, sent Davor a look of pity.

The door opened, and Elspeth swept in with Luc in tow. Tyr looked his brother over and shook his head.

“I’m surprised Amad didn’t keep you.” Razel raised an eyebrow.

“I told her I deserved to have lunch with Luc since we’re comrades in arms now,” Elspeth declared as she nudged Dawl down the bench and sat down beside him.

“Comrades in arms,” Razel repeated and laughed even as Luc grabbed the menu and ordered for them.

Luc brought heaping plates of pasta to the table for them both. “She can have my back in any fight.”

Elspeth puffed up with pride. “The other combatants are still in the Healing Hall getting patched up. We didn’t even need to go to the healers because Luc said he could fix us both up, but Amad made us. So, we’re clearly superior all the way around.”

“Of course you are,” Brol said and poured her some wine.

“Do you have a cudgel, dear?” Sig questioned. “If not, would you like one? I took my third mastery in woodcraft. I’d be delighted to add to your personal arsenal.”

Elspeth grinned in absolute delight even as Razel groaned.

Part 3