Reading Time: 111 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 11

“How many people have you told about Alfie?” Razel asked.

Ragnok looked up from the book he was reading. “Who?”

“My war ram,” Razel said.

“Lad, I’ve had to sit on that story for nearly seventy years,” Ragnok said dryly. “I tell anyone who will sit still for it.”

Razel huffed even as his mother laughed. He slouched down on the sofa and sighed. “I can’t believe I missed Elspeth’s first fistfight.”

Ragnok laughed.

“Seriously.”

“I missed it, too,” Ragnok said dryly. “I’ll need you in the morning for the meeting with that arsehole. Early on, she asked me to let her handle it, but clearly, that’s off the table at this point.”

“What’s his problem anyway?” Razel questioned.

“He wants her,” Lenore interjected, and he focused on his mother.

“What?” He couldn’t help the face he made. “Seriously? So, he lectures her like a child and calls her a whore? Where on this ghastly planet did he get that idea? Also, she’s not old enough for formal courting, so he’s just going to spend the next twenty-five years treating her like shite?” He huffed. “How old is he anyway?”

“Seventy-seven,” Ragnok said. “I think he migrated here last year for the express purpose of meeting her. But Elspeth has no time for affairs of the heart and has made that clear to more than one potential suitor.”

“Well, she’s barely adult and won’t reach magical maturity for decades,” Lenore said. “She doesn’t have to make any sort of declaration on such things now or ever, for that matter. It’s no one’s business but hers.”

“Luc Pathfinder has declared she can have his back in any fight,” Razel said, and his father grinned. “So, I’m sure he’ll be on hand to help her beat future unsatisfactory suitors like criminals.”

“I trained your sister just as I trained you,” Ragnok said.

“Adad, she picked up a chair and used it as a weapon to bludgeon people.”

“She’s always preferred blunt objects as weapons,” Lenore interjected. “Even as a toddler, she insisted on having all of her little warriors in her toy castle armed with hammers. Remember when she commissioned a tiny siege engine?”

“I remember it took me weeks to get the damn thing to actually work at that size,” Ragnok muttered, and Razel laughed. “Because I knew, from the start, she’d be furious if it were just a decoration. She was the only dwarfling in the whole clan whose doll house had a standing army and functional defenses.”

Razel laughed. “I need to drop something off in her rooms, then I’m going to spend the rest of the afternoon working on my wards. Tyr and Luc have been confiscated by their parents since they’re leaving tonight. I wanted to have a conversation with Cain Fury fairly soon so we can expect those arrangements to come down shortly after Brol and Sig return to Paris.”

Ragnok nodded. “I’ll let Rhys know to expect a formal visitation request. You look exhausted.”

“The testing phase on the metal was a little strenuous,” Razel admitted and yawned. “But I’ve got another idea to explore. I need to find a way to keep mithril in a liquid or near-liquid state. Any thoughts you can offer on that point would be helpful.”

“I’ll work on it,” Ragnok agreed. “Also, Alphie? Seriously?”

Razel shrugged. “I think one of my children named him.”

“Are you starting to remember the names and faces of your children?” Ragnok questioned.

“Yes,” Razel said. “And I’ve come to realize that I outlived a lot of them.” He waved a hand when his father started to stand, and his mother’s breath caught in shock. “It is what it is, Adad. Arda was a dangerous place at one time, and our kind lived a hard life…far harder than we’ve ever known on this world. Sometimes, despite how safe it feels to go back, I can’t help but think of how many of my children I buried on that world.”

He went to Elspeth’s craft room before either of his parents could respond. There was nothing to say to such a thing, and he knew it. He put the spool of mithril thread in her basket of weaving supplies and left the note he’d already written on top of her journal. Neither of his parents was in the common space when he returned, and he was grateful for it. Because he thought maybe he’d just made his mother cry, and he hated that.

In his own rooms, Razel took off his boots and rolled up the rug in front of the fireplace so he could work with the ward stone that empowered the security in his rooms. Some of the runes looked a little worn, which was to be expected since he’d had more than one outburst in the space since his maturation. Since the scheme was skewing a little low on the elemental control, he pulled out his journal, made a copy of the configuration then cleansed the stone with a spell so he could start over.

There was a gentle thud against his magic as the wards came down. He’d already warned security that he’d be reworking his wards, so no one should get bent out of shape about it. With a flick of his wrist, he pulled an old, well-used rune quill. It was his favorite and was perfect for personal work. The door opened, and he glanced toward the entryway just briefly. Tyr shrugged out of his coat and folded it across the back of the sofa.

“Hey.”

“Done for the day?” Razel questioned.

“My parents left. They’re heading to Rome first, then to Paris—they won’t stay overnight in Italy. My mother told me that we should ask Jania about the construction of eternal flame jewels,” Tyr said as he sat down and removed his boots. “I suspect she’ll come here prepared for a conversation.”

Razel considered that as he returned his attention to the ward stone. “Eternal flames are enchanted fire. I don’t know how they’re encased in a jewel, though, so a conversation would be helpful.”

Tyr joined him on the floor. “What made you pick rune craft for a mastery?”

“It was a natural companion for enchantment and ritual magic,” Razel murmured. “It all blended together for me, layering in my mind and magic until I could see that the whole of it became one thing for me.” He cleared his throat. “How much time do you think we have before Albus Dumbledore makes a move regarding what he learned from Filius Flitwick?”

“It’s unclear,” Tyr said. “He’s a political creature—prone to dramatics, and he wallows in his personal flame. In Britain, he’s a beloved public figure for magical humans, but abroad…. Well, those who know him don’t trust him, and the rest just haven’t met him yet.”

Razel nodded. “Right.”

“I’d rather you not ever be in the same room with him,” Tyr admitted. “He’s very powerful magically, and if he’s carrying the Elder Wand, then….”

Razel looked up. “If that bastard drew any wand in my presence, I’d put my sword straight through his chest. Wizards are foolishly dependent on wanded magic to defend themselves. My father made sure that neither my sister nor I was so inclined. He’d never know what hit him, especially since I can do something thought to be impossible in most of the public spaces in this banking complex.”

“What’s that?” Tyr questioned.

“I can apparate at will,” Razel said in amusement. “I don’t, to avoid drawing attention to the ability, but it’s the first defense my father built into the warding matrix of the bank after I learned to apparate. Apparition is allowed in the guild halls, the dining hall, and the general meeting areas for all dverger. But there is no single room in this bank that can hold my immediate family or me, for that matter.”

Tyr nodded. “Good.”

“Glou and Rhys Sharprock enjoys similar access as a matter of security,” Razel said and refocused his attention on the runic seal. “Which is why Glou is often invisible—so he can come and go without drawing attention to himself. Tyr….” He took a deep breath and shook his head.

“You can say anything to me, you know,” Tyr reminded.

“The ICW is currently headquartered in Rome,” Razel said quietly as he worked. “The safest method of travel for me, at least as it pertains to humans, would be a portkey into our central branch in Italy. I feel like it would be the death of me.”

“I can get a portkey directly into the ICW building,” Tyr said. “We both know that the treaties that would require you to go to Rome are defunct, but refusing to meet with them would reveal that. It’s the last thing we need, even if it would allow us to roast Dumbledore over an open fire. The ICW would hunt him down, truss him up, and drop him in front of the bank of our choosing.” He paused. “But I’ll start thinking of ways to negate the need for you to go to Rome.”

“We should leave a letter with the keys blaming him for our ability to leave this hellscape,” Razel muttered and started the final layer of runes. “Your parents…did they have anything negative to say?”

“No, of course not,” Tyr said in amusement. “You’d know if my mother found you intolerable. She can’t keep her emotions off of her face, which is why she didn’t pursue law as a career when many thought she would.”

“And your father?”

“He finds your contrary nature very amusing,” Tyr said. “They probably have a bet going on concerning what sort of situation it would take to reduce you to throwing a punch.”

Razel laughed. “I haven’t started a fight in decades. Despite my historical circumstances—I’m not a person prone to such things. I’d much rather destroy an offender on a profound psychological level so they take my disapproval as a life lesson. If I’m lucky, it’ll follow them into the afterlife if I have time to dedicate to it.”

Tyr huffed. “That shouldn’t be attractive at all.”

“There’s going to be a little push against your magic and body,” Razel murmured. “Right about…now.” He pushed magic into the final rune, and magic flashed over the seal. Distantly, a thud sounded, and he stored his quill. “How was that?”

“Disconcerting,” Tyr admitted.

“Good, that means it settled properly,” Razel said and leaned back on his hands. “You look stressed out.”

Tyr shrugged.

“Did something happen in the guild today?” Razel questioned.

“Syd Arbiter asked me to take the second chair in the guild,” Tyr said. “It makes sense, as it gives me a lot of room to prepare for what comes next. But I’ve never even sat on an advisory council for a guild before, so that’s a little daunting.”

Razel nodded. “I can see how it would be. Is there anything I can do?”

“Order everyone to behave?” He laughed when Razel rolled his eyes. “It is what it is, and I’ll figure it out. They all know the conclave has to come first and that the reason behind my placement is more to do with the regency than the day-to-day operations of the guild. Still, I’m the only solicitor in Britain with a mastery in International Law.”

“If we were going to stay on this planet, I think I’d have to encourage people to pursue that.”

“We’ll still need it on Arda,” Tyr said. “It’s our nature to empire build, so we’re going to spread out over that world—open up ancient mountain communities and explore as much as we can. Many may choose to stay with you in Khazad-dûm, but there will come a time when we’ll spread out.”

“And each mountain will be a nation of a sort,” Razel said and nodded. “I see. I’ll have to reinstate the fucking court.”

“Yes,” Tyr said in amusement. “And most assume you’ll choose your lords amongst the current directors.”

“It makes the most sense,” Razel said. “But does it serve the horde?”

“I think each clan needs to figure that out for themselves,” Tyr admitted. “I think most are happy with their governing family line—with Rome being an overt exception. New York might be the only problem, as many in the clan find Tanik Grimm’s necromancy offensive as fuck. But he has a son, more than ready to take his place as director.”

“Elis Silvertongue doesn’t take after his father.”

“No, he’s in law by trade,” Tyr said. “Corporate law, which is the most common mastery in the profession amongst the horde. He dabbles as a jeweler as a hobby and is very well received by his clan due to his personality and looks.”

Razel did a mental review of the day he’d been briefly introduced to Elis Silvertongue. “I barely remember what he looks like.”

“Anyone would tell you that’s because you couldn’t take your eyes off me,” Tyr said in amusement.

“And no one can blame me,” Razel said with a laugh. “As I told Rhys that very day, you were the most pleasant direction to look.” He wet his lips. “Something else happened in the hall? How are the charges progressing?”

“Syd’s writing the main complaint,” Tyr said. “We’ve done both notifications, and New York responded quickly with appropriate concern. Elias Silvertongue is involved on his father’s behalf since Tanik Grimm is still in Rome. He sits second chair in their judiciary, which is good because their guild master is awful. I go out of my way to avoid him and have since he recused his entire guild from a case to avoid prosecuting his own niece for a sex crime.”

“That’s how you ended up volunteering for that horrible trial,” Razel said. “Why is he the guild master if he can’t be trusted to mete out appropriate justice?”

“That’s a very good question that will certainly be resolved in the future. He won’t be a part of any advisory council that I create before or after you are crowned. He was right to recuse himself, but to disallow his entire guild forced the victim and her parents to seek help from the International Judiciary. I think, but can’t prove, that he did it in the hopes they wouldn’t file charges.” He stood and offered Razel his hand.

Razel let Tyr pull him up from the floor and hummed under his breath when he was brought close. Tyr put one hand on his hip and sought a kiss which was little more than a soft brushing of lips. Razel cupped the back of Tyr’s head as they rested against each other.

“I’ve been told that communication is very important,” Razel said.

Tyr laughed. “Yeah, I was told the same thing.” He took a deep breath. “This arsehole in the judiciary asked to see my stave—in the middle of a meeting with the full membership. It was appalling, and I didn’t manage to keep my displeasure to myself, which threw me off-stride.”

“Which arsehole?” Razel questioned.

“Tull Gildedwit.”

Razel grimaced. “He tried to see me privately on six different occasions after Yawl left Britain. I declined every single invitation but the last politely. Finally, I just bluntly told him that I wasn’t interested in getting to know him on a personal level and that any contact going forward could only be business related. We only had reason to speak because he tried to commission work from me, and I had to explain that I did not take commissions, nor did I share what I made in the forge.”

“He doesn’t seem the sort to take that kind of rejection well,” Tyr admitted.

“I heard he was very insulted by my complete lack of interest and thinks I’m a snob. I suppose that rejection is even more galling considering your future position in the horde.” Razel sighed. “How did that go?”

“Syd interfered and privately threatened to send Tull home to his mother,” Tyr said, and Razel laughed. “But, the major issue in the interaction is that Tull questioned the validity of the announcement and pretended he didn’t believe it. He was clearly trying to get a look at the stave, even if it meant implying your father was guilty of fraud.”

“And yours,” Razel said. “They made that announcement together.”

“Yeah, but he carefully did not mention my father at all,” Tyr said. “He’s smart enough to realize that crossing that line in my face would’ve probably earned him a concussion. I did threaten to challenge him in the arena, though. He ran away.” He huffed when Razel laughed. “I did expect to get asked about it but not in such a public fashion.”

“Well, I doubt anyone else in the judiciary will make that mistake again,” Razel said.

Tyr settled both hands on Razel’s hips. “You should wear dragonhide trousers more often.”

“Should I?” Razel questioned with a grin.

“Yeah, you should,” Tyr murmured and pulled him closer.

A sharp knock on the door ended any chance of Razel getting another kiss which was extremely annoying. Tyr released him and stepped back with a sigh. He went to the door and opened it to find his father on the other side.

“Is something wrong?”

“The Supreme Mugwump of the ICW is here,” Ragnok said shortly. “And he wants to meet you. He brought a group of three wizards with him—representatives from Japan, Britain, and North America. He’s from France.”

“Louis Bertrand, right?” Razel questioned and turned toward Tyr, who was shrugging into his jacket. “Why did they come here instead of summoning me to Rome?”

“He was unsure of your age,” Ragnok explained as they both put their boots back on. “And told the body they could not make any requests of you until they were certain you were an adult per the standards of the horde. He has mage sight, so there is no hiding your magical maturity.”

“All right,” Razel said. “Have you notified Rhys?”

“He’s currently hosting them in the administrative conference room.” Ragnok motioned them both to follow him. “We’ve activated the security wards in the room, and Dumbledore protested the necessity. He claimed the visit was one of friendly concern.”

Razel shared a look with Tyr as they walked. Glou appeared with a flash of magic near the lift, arms crossed and looking irritated.

“Sorry about your date.”

Glou huffed. “Sorry about the arsehole wizards showing up uninvited.” He gestured to the three of them to enter the lift, then followed. “We’ve doubled the guards stationed around administration and in the lobby of the bank.”

Tyr took his hand as they exited the lift and pulled him to a stop. “Louis Bertrand is a very educated man and is slated to be elected to the World Court of Magic within the next five years. He’s forward-thinking, fair-minded, and vicious when crossed. The rep from North America is named Richard Frye, from the United States, and is a recent addition to the body and known to be barely educated to function on an international level. I know practically nothing else about him except to say that he suffered no opposition when Canada and the US were choosing who would represent their mutual interest at the ICW.”

“Why doesn’t Canada have their own rep?”

“Their magical population is too small. They chose to junior themselves to the US rather than remain part of the Common Wealth. A very surprising move considering how the non-magicals in Canada treat the same relationships. Hiro Ito is the representative from Japan. He’s several thousand years old and drinks from a bloodstone. He’s also a parselmouth and one of the most powerful wizards on this planet. I would not cross him for a single reason.”

“He also had an affair with your brother,” Razel muttered.

“True,” Tyr said. “Regardless, he’s been around a while. He periodically takes on the role of Supreme Mugwump, normally in times of great strife for their kind. I won’t be surprised if he steps up again when Bertrand joins the World Court. The last is, of course, Dumbledore representing Britain. We don’t know what he told them or what he’s confessed to. I have to think he’d be in a cell in Rome if he’d actually confessed to his wrongdoing, so we can expect this meeting to have several agendas.”

“And one of them will be Dumbledore trying to figure out how much we know and where Filius Flitwick is.” Razel turned to his father. “What do you want from me during this meeting?”

“Concede nothing and give them no room to make demands from you regarding the governance of the horde,” Ragnok said. “In the end, Razel, you are king, and how you choose to interact with humans is for you to decide.”

Razel nodded and turned to Tyr, who stepped close and gently tucked his braids behind his ears. “What….”

“Trust me,” Tyr said. “Setting them off on the wrong foot is only to our good. Don’t hide who or what you are from anyone, much less wizards such as the ones we’re about to meet with. The more they understand how little control they have over this situation, the better it will be in the long run. Keep your answers to their questions short, offer no extra details, and feel free to outright decline to answer anything that makes you uncomfortable.” He paused. “The shortest of them is going to tower over you—humans often use their height to intimidate. Do your best to ignore it, and don’t tilt your head back to look up at them. Even the best of them expects a level of service from us.”

Razel exhaled slowly; it was an infuriating thought.

“Which is stupid as they rarely seek to guard their middle appropriately,” Glou said roughly. “It’d be really easy to stab the shite out of them before they even know what’s happened.”

Razel laughed and shrugged when Tyr sighed.

He allowed himself to be prodded toward the conference room at that point. Upon entering, he noted that the wizards had been sequestered on one side of the table, far from the door, and that Rhys had four guards in the room. The humans stood, some of them more slowly than others. None of them looked so elderly that getting up would be a problem, so it was clearly a bit of posturing.

Rhys cleared his throat. “Master Razel Fireborn meet Louis Bertrand, Hiro Ito, Richard Frye, and Albus Dumbledore.”

Richard Frye started to step forward and offer his hand. But Hiro Ito put a hand on the wizard and stopped him. “My apologies. It’s rude not to offer your hand where I come from.”

Razel considered that. “You were going to offer me your wand hand. Don’t you worry about what sort of threats you’re opening yourself up to with such an action?”

Frye looked at his hand. “I don’t…. What?”

Hiro Ito sighed. “I’ll explain it later, Richard, as it is clear you do not worry about exposing your open magical channels to a stranger, and that’s a bigger problem than you trying to touch the heir to a throne without an invitation.” He focused on Tyr. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Master Warhide. I hope Master Pathfinder is well.”

“He’s being himself, Master Ito,” Tyr said as they all got seated at the table.

Razel tried to relax in the chair. It was easier than he’d expected it to be as he had his father on one side of him and Tyr on the other. Rhys had chosen to sit beside Tyr, which he appreciated. The expanse of wood between him and the wizards seemed flimsy. Razel hated how vulnerable he felt. He should’ve insisted on interacting with at least the humans that worked for the bank, but he never had.

Louis Bertrand folded his hands on the table in front of him. “Master Fireborn, your father refused to answer any of our questions regarding you. I don’t even know how old you are.”

“Does my age concern you?”

“I know enough about the Regency Accord to know you’re magically required to accept the crown by your 100^th birthday,” Bertrand said. “I also know that every adult individual of your species is also bound by the accord as it was codified on the collective magic of the horde hundreds of years ago. The document is binding and reads more like a prison sentence than a choice.”

It was an astute observation, and Razel kind of hated the wizard for his insight. “I recently turned seventy-five.”

Bertrand took a deep breath and sat back in his chair as he exchanged a look with Ito. “I see.”

“Is his age a problem?” Frye asked, clearly confused.

“Magically, Master Fireborn is very young,” Ito said. “A dverger of his age is the equivalent of a twenty-five-year-old wizard.” He inclined his head. “Your magical maturation was recent.”

“Yes.” Razel watched the wizards adjust to that.

“And you’re feyborn,” Ito continued, and he exhaled slowly. “I wasn’t aware that there were any living feyborn left.” He steepled his hands as Bertrand sat forward slightly. The guards shifted, making enough noise to remind everyone they were there.

Bertrand sat back and held up his hands briefly. “Many countries within the ICW have questions for you regarding the horde’s future, Master Fireborn. Also, many are concerned as to why your birth wasn’t reported to the organization.”

“Were it required by a single treaty we have, Master Bertrand, then it would’ve been done,” Razel said evenly, and the wizard conceded with an incline of his head. “My circumstances are none of the ICW’s business. Historically, the organization has offered my people nothing but hardship and restrictions designed to subjugate us to your benefit. You compared the Regency Accord to a prison sentence as if it were offensive while ignoring the fact that every single agreement we have with your kind has done worse to my species in both word and practice.”

“The treaties that maintain peace between wizards and goblins are fair,” Dumbledore interjected.

Razel stared at him for a moment, then focused on Bertrand. “The next time you come to visit me personally, Master Bertrand, I must insist you leave any racists that have latched onto you outside of the bank. The wholesale bigotry you tolerate, even amongst your own kind, is disgusting—you discriminate against each other based on the color of your skin, the gods you worship, the money you do or don’t have, the blood in your veins, gender, and even sexual orientation. It’s baffling and unfortunate. While I certainly pity you all for it, that pity does not lean itself toward tolerance of such disgraceful ignorance being put on display in my presence.” He paused. “Are we clear?”

“We are clear, Master Fireborn,” Bertrand said with a hard look toward Dumbledore. “My apologies for what it is worth. When will you be available to come to Rome to appear before the assembly?”

It wasn’t worth much, Razel thought.

“Never.” He watched all four wizards shift in shock. “I won’t be summoned by anyone, much less an organization that does nothing beneficial for the horde, and I certainly won’t be interrogated like a criminal by a bunch of humans for the mere fact that I exist.”

Ito sucked air through his teeth and coughed into his hand.

“Do you think you’re above us?” Dumbledore questioned, his face darkened, and his aura flared around him. “You’re a creature.”

Razel laughed and rocked back in his chair. “Did you humans find a king for your whole species when we weren’t looking?”

“What does that mean?” Frye questioned.

Bertrand cleared his throat. “Master Fireborn has no peers—he stands unique amongst all of Hekate’s magical creatures, including us. He’s not just the king here in Britain—every single dverger on this world will live and work under his regency.”

“It’s outrageous, and we can’t allow it,” Dumbledore snapped. “If he doesn’t come of his own free will, then we must take him into custody and take him to Rome so our members can decide what is to be done with him.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind, Dumbledore?” Ito demanded. “If you incite a goddamned war with the horde, I’ll put you in the ground personally.”

Tyr leaned into Razel’s space then and murmured against the shell of his ear in Khuzdul, “Vow on your magic and life to never set foot in Rome as long as you live.”

Razel focused on Dumbledore. “I solemnly swear on my life and magic that I will never, under any circumstances, set foot in Rome, Italy. So mote it be.” Beside him, his father shifted in shock as the oath settled with a bright flash of gold magic, but Razel just put a hand on his arm and squeezed gently.

“You’ve chosen your counsel well, Master Fireborn,” Bertrand said wryly.

“Very well,” Ito said roughly and focused on Frye, who looked confused. “I’m going to send you a long reading list.” The younger wizard flushed and nodded. “Every single treaty we have with the horde explicitly prohibits any magical person from ordering a dverger to commit an act that will certainly lead to their death.”

“So, what do we do?” Frye questioned.

Bertrand sighed and focused on Ragnok. “Chieftain Ragnok, may the ICW borrow the Hall of Mages here in Britain for a conversation with your son?”

Ragnok grimaced. “We’re not catering.”

 

Chapter 12

“Why?”

Tyr looked up from his reading. His desk had been moved in the guild to the front of the room with Syd’s on a platform that allowed him to look over the entire hall as needed. Tull Gildedwit was standing in front of his desk inside the permanently cast privacy shield that allowed for private consultations.

“Excuse me?” Tyr questioned.

Tull’s cheeks flushed. “May I have a moment of your time, Master Warhide?”

Tyr considered dismissing him outright, but he knew he was precariously close to making a genuine enemy out of a dwarf who’d never had a hope at all of gaining and keeping Razel’s attention. “Sit, Master Gildedwit.”

The dwarf sat, and his gaze drifted briefly over the large book spread out in front of Tyr. It was the Regency Accord, and it wasn’t the only copy of the book open in the room. He cleared his throat and took a breath that looked like an effort to rein in his temper, which was a concern.

“It’s gotten around that you advised Master Fireborn to make a vow on his life and magic,” Tull said. “Why the fuck would you take such a risk with him?”

“It’s no risk at all,” Tyr said evenly. “And you’d know that if you’d bothered to spare corporate law an even passing glance. He’ll never set foot in Rome—I’d raze the entire wizarding community and our bank branch there to prevent it. Is your interest a point of scholarly concern, or are you seeking information about my private relationship?”

“It was dangerous and ill-considered. What if they ignore it? What if he’s kidnapped and taken to Rome against his will? Anything could happen.” He waved both hands in frustration. “How do you act with such confidence on such an important matter and sit here acting like you have nothing to worry about?”

“I have thousands of things to worry about,” Tyr responded dryly. “But I don’t worry about the ICW ignoring the vow that Master Fireborn made as causing his death would invalidate every single treaty, contract, and agreement with their kind all over the world. They aren’t going to invite that kind of conflict on themselves, again. Especially when we control all the wards for their governments, courts, and even the ICW building itself.”

Tull blinked in surprise.

“We’re entrenched in their everyday lives, and the average wizard has no idea at all how much damage another rebellion would do. We could bankrupt their society worldwide, destroy their governments, and even release their criminals wholesale if we so choose. The International Judiciary Guild has spent several hundred years ensuring it. They can no longer risk a rebellion, and the reasons are numerous.” He paused and frowned at him. “And if you paid attention, you’d know that.”

Tull glared at him.

“Okay, let’s be real,” Tyr said and leaned forward slightly. “You’re trying to find fault with me because it pisses you off that Razel wouldn’t give you the time of day when he was available. You questioned the gesture merely out of jealousy. You want to see what he gave me because you covet it.” Tull’s jaw tightened. “Your behavior is irritating and bordering on obscene. What’s your goal with this? Do you have one?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Interfering in a courtship would ruin your life—you’d be dismissed from the guild, never allowed to apprentice for another career, and would be dependent on your family for the rest of your life. In future circumstances, you could face outright exile or execution as neither one of us will be tolerant of any sort of intrusion on our personal relationship.” Tull averted his gaze. “So, what’s your goal with this?”

“You’re not one of us,” Tull snapped.

“If Razel wanted a Blacklock—he’d be with one,” Tyr said evenly, and Tull’s cheeks darkened with what was probably a mixture of fury and embarrassment. “And you shouldn’t have to be told this, but you don’t have any single right whatsoever to decide who another person is allowed to want—no matter who they are.”

“You don’t deserve anything you’ve been given.”

Tyr laughed and picked up a quill which he flicked between his fingers casually. “Says the dwarf who took two decades to earn a single mastery. I read your thesis, by the way. It was generally competent, if uninspired.”

“I’ve read all five of yours,” Tull said tightly. “Your educational claims are difficult to believe—I’ve considered requesting formal verification of all of them.”

Tyr wondered if the other dwarf thought that was a threat. “Go ahead. I look forward to the process. Shall we start right now? I can call Syd over.”

Tull stood. “You’re such an arrogant fucker.”

“Go back to your desk. Don’t speak to me again unless you have genuine guild business, as we have nothing else left to discuss. You should work on cultivating some professionalism before it gets you sanctioned.” He paused. “Because my status as second chair in this guild is official, and you’ve managed to violate two different civility protocols. Expect to be fined accordingly.”

Tull huffed and stalked away. Tyr documented the infractions and submitted the parchment by tossing it in his outgoing tray. It hit Syd Arbiter’s desk a few moments later, and he watched thunderous fury bloom all over the older dwarf’s face. He almost felt sorry for Tull Gildedwit as the Master of the Guild called him to his desk in a clipped tone.

“I’ve rarely met a dwarf more badly named in my life.”

Tyr focused on Kali Brightmind, who’d slid into the chair in front of his desk.

“He’s been complaining about you all morning,” she continued. “I am surprised he was brave enough to come over here and vent his spleen, though.”

“Jealousy is rarely rational,” Tyr said. “Did you need a consult, or are you here to gossip?”

She smiled, and he had to admit that she was attractive. He’d never had any interest in dwarrowdams, but he certainly could appreciate a pretty one. Even if he did find her behavior and morals questionable.

“I was hoping we could have a consult. I’m free for lunch.”

“I’m never free for meals,” Tyr said. “Or tea, or any other sort of social circumstance that could potentially take place in private. I’m available to consult when I sit at this desk. Otherwise, all of my time is reserved for my future husband.”

She blinked rapidly, her mouth dropping open slightly. “I…would’ve not assumed Master Fireborn to be so restrictive with his romantic partner—courtship or not.”

“He isn’t,” Tyr said. “I desire to be at his side whenever possible as there is no one else alive I’d rather be with.”

She frowned and took a deep breath. “You’re quite young to have developed such an intense affection in such a short period of time.”

“Yes, just ten years older than your oldest child,” Tyr said, and she flushed. “So, I’m sure you’re very well aware of how fast the young can get wrapped up in such matters. Regardless, I’m in a courting period with our king, and I will be very careful with all of my interactions with other dverger as to not offer him a single bit of disrespect.”

“Future king.”

“You’re free to view him in any fashion you’d like,” Tyr said evenly. “But Razel Fireborn is my king, and my loyalty is his until the day I die.” He shifted his journal around. “I can give you another ten minutes before I’m due for a meeting in the chieftain’s office. What did you need?”

“I was able to get the waiver you suggested, but I was asked by shipping to prepare a letter to attach to the invoice they’re sending the International Trade Guild. It was unexpected.”

“Some people like to attach a letter from a solicitor for a threat factor,” Tyr said. “You’ll find a form that you can fill out in the latest edition of the Trade Agreements and Contracts by Dwah Arbiter. It’ll be in the guild’s library. You can leave it on my desk after you’ve completed it, and I’ll review it in the morning if you want an opinion, but it’s a pretty straightforward document.”

“Thank you, Master Warhide,” she said stiffly, stood, and left.

Tyr pinched the bridge of his nose, checked the time, and went back to reading. He was only fifty pages into his full read of the Regency Accord, as he’d only read bits and pieces before.

Just a half hour later, Tyr found himself settling in at the conference table beside Razel. They had two meetings scheduled, and the conclave members were working through a series of books from the vault looking for information on Khazad-dûm.

Colb Storyteller was led into the room by Rhys Sharprock. Razel shifted in the seat beside Tyr but said nothing.

“Your lack of respect for my daughter’s agency and personal space, Colb Storyteller, has caught an unfortunate amount of attention.” Ragnok paused. “Unfortunate for you.”

Colb flushed. “It’s not my fault she’s utterly out of control and—”

“Shut up.” Razel shifted forward. “Let us be really clear, Colb. Your personal interest in my sister is unwelcome. Going forward, you will not speak to her under any circumstances. What Elspeth does or does not do is none of your fucking business.”

Colb reared back in shock.

“She’s….” Colb trailed off when Tyr cleared his throat.

“Do not argue with him,” Tyr said evenly.

Colb pressed his lips together and averted his gaze.

“You are precariously close to the line when it comes to being charged with harassment and slander,” Ragnok said. “I’ve already had a consultation with Master Syd Arbiter regarding this situation. If you do not get yourself in check, I will pursue charges on behalf of my magically immature daughter.”

Colb’s cheeks flushed with what looked like irritation more than anything else.

“Tell him how charges will go, Master Warhide,” Ragnok said.

Colb focused on him with a frown.

“If the judiciary files charges against you before you receive your mastery, you will lose your apprenticeship, and it will take you years to earn the opportunity for another. You will face heavy fines that you’ll be required to pay, even if it takes a hundred years. You’re sitting there thinking that you might win against the charges, but you won’t.

“Due to Elspeth Stargazer’s age, the investigation would be thorough, and you’d be forced to testify under stringent truth spells. Every thought you’ve ever had about her would be laid bare before a packed court. In fact, I imagine most of the clan would attend the trial, and every dverger in this complex would bear witness to your every transgression against a sweet, overtly innocent, young female you’ve made.

“Not a single parent would ever allow you near one of their children again as long as you live. Your life as you know it would lay in ruin, and any chance you’d have of ever marrying and making a family would disappear. There would be no recovering from the social devastation.”

He waved a hand. “All for a dwarrowdam who not only can’t stand the sight of you but is also entirely out of your league.”

Rhys coughed into his hand even as Colb’s mouth dropped open.

“I come from a very well-respected family,” Colb protested.

“Sure, if you say,” Tyr said and shrugged. “But you’re an apprentice at seventy-seven for your first mastery.” He grimaced. “And she’s regarded as the shining star of her generation in this clan. The fact that you thought you could garner her interest with this ham-fisted campaign of male dominance is beyond me.”

Colb looked confused.

Razel frowned. “He’s saying you’re too lazy and too stupid to interest my sister, and he’s not wrong.”

“You can go,” Ragnok said. “And if you decide to push me on this issue, Colb Storyteller, you’ll meet me in the arena before you ever face charges in the judiciary.”

Colb got up and left with a frown. Tyr found the whole exchange frustrating beyond any measure of it.

“I mean no criticism with this,” he said roughly. “But the longer I live here, the more likely I am to add to my family’s reputation.” Razel laughed. “I understand your role requires a more political approach to conflict, sir, but there are people in this clan who need to develop a healthy fear of bad behavior.” He frowned. “I wish I’d been in the brawl that already took place.”

“You and me both,” Razel muttered.

“Mahal fucking help the arsehole that takes a swing at you,” Tyr muttered, slouched down in his seat, and unbuttoned his jacket.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Rhys said with a laugh as he stood. “Minister Minchum is here with Dumbledore.”

Tyr exhaled and focused on Razel. “You realize that even if the treaties were still valid that you aren’t required to meet with any governmental organization outside of the ICW, right?”

Razel shrugged. “But I’m curious about Dumbledore’s machinations.” He stared for a moment, drew his wand, and cast a privacy charm that enveloped them both. “Go ahead.”

Tyr pursed his lips. “I understand your curiosity, but you must know that Dumbledore is dangerous and unpredictable. The minister’s presence might be a deterrent, but frankly, Dumbledore is arrogant enough to assume he can control another wizard indefinitely. Or Minchum could just be in his pocket. Humans are easily dissuaded from honor and reason with gold—far more than the most gold obsessed amongst us because they also avoid any sort of mind healing, if they can. I’d rather you spend as little time as possible in the same room with Albus Dumbledore going forward.”

“Okay.” Razel ended the privacy charm. “I’ll be in the conclave space working on defining the claiming ritual.” He touched Tyr’s shoulder, squeezed gently as he stood, and left with a brief look in his father’s direction.

Rhys stared for a moment in silence, and Ragnok frowned. Tyr wondered if he’d misstepped with them. Then Bel Silvertongue appeared by the private entrance and leaned on the wall as the door shut firmly behind Razel.

Bel raised an eyebrow. “If we’d known your mere presence would make him reasonable—I’d have kidnapped you decades ago and dropped you right in his lap.”

Tyr’s mouth dropped open even as Ragnok started to laugh heartily.

“Razel says he’s never heard you speak,” Tyr said.

“I make Glou carry the load on that one,” Bel said dryly. “I’ve had my hands full with his father for over fifty years, and there’s no point in arguing with two stubborn arseholes.” He crossed his arms. “The humans are here.”

Ragnok nodded. “Rhys.”

Rhys Sharprock inclined his head in Bel’s direction, and the dwarf disappeared. He stood and went to the door that led to the public entrance of the room. The wards flexed slightly as Dumbledore entered with another wizard he clearly had no intention of introducing. It was amusing. The old wizard glanced around the room, and his face darkened with anger.

“Minister Harold Minchum, this is Ragnok Windrider, Chieftain of the Horde and Master Tyr Warhide, International Judiciary Guild,” Rhys said roughly.

“I expected to meet with the one that’s going to be king,” Minchum said and frowned as he sat. “Where is he?”

“My son is not involved in the day-to-day operations of the bank or the horde,” Ragnok said. “And you requested a meeting to discuss automatic account creation for ministry employees. Even if he were crowned, our king wouldn’t be bothered with such a pedestrian matter. Honestly, this is below my notice as well. We have an entire department dedicated to this sort of menial conversation. I’m only here to tell you no.”

“No?” Minchum questioned in confusion.

“No, employees of the British Ministry of Magic do not qualify for automatic account creation. First and foremost, a hard currency deposit is required by treaty in order to create an account and open a vault,” Rhys said roughly. “It’s an ill-considered proposal, Minister Minchum, and whoever suggested it to you should be reprimanded for failing to do their research.”

Minchum grimaced, which told Tyr the idea had been the wizard’s own.

“I want to meet the future king,” Minchum said. “Can you summon him?”

“Do you have the ability to summon the crown prince of the United Kingdom?” Rhys asked curiously.

“There is a difference,” Minchum said stiffly. “And you know it.”

“There’s no point in meeting my son, Minister Minchum. You probably won’t even be in office when he’s crowned, as he’s not required to do it for another twenty-five years. The internal workings of the horde are no one’s business but ours.”

“Except for the fact that your so-called king can force the renegotiation of every treaty we have,” Dumbledore interjected.

Ragnok made a face. “My son doesn’t enjoy the company of humans, Dumbledore. He won’t actively seek to spend any time with your kind now or in the future.”

“What sort of problem does your son have with us?” Minchum questioned. “It’s my understanding he only just recently met a wizard at all.” He paused. “Which is…odd at his age.”

“Not so odd,” Tyr said smoothly. “Less than one percent of the horde has ever gotten a single glance at a human, much less had a conversation with one.” Both wizards appeared startled by the information. “In all honesty, gentlemen, most of our kind have no interest in ever interacting with a human. Your species’ behavior is often deeply contrary to our social mores and is offensive beyond the measure of it.”

Minchum stood. “Then this meeting has been a waste of time. I’d hoped to make a friend today, Chieftain Ragnok. In times such as these, a good relationship between the ministry and the horde will be essential to the peace.”

“Effective law enforcement and a zero-tolerance policy regarding acts of terrorism would do more to keep the peace,” Tyr said evenly when Ragnok just stared at the minister. “If such a group of individuals were causing problems in our communities—we’d find them, arrest them, put them on trial, and execute them in a public proceeding to set an example.”

“Is there no room for redemption in your society?” Dumbledore questioned. “Or mercy?”

“Such corruption is rare amongst our kind, but when it is found, it is rooted out and dealt with accordingly. There is no redemption to be found in an individual capable of murder.” He paused. “Or in those who would violate the sanctity of another’s mind. Something that the Death Eaters appear to glory in.”

Minchum huffed. “Come, Dumbledore, we’re done here.”

“My apologies, Harold; I have to ask some questions about one of my professors. I’ll return to the ministry as soon as I can.” Dumbledore stayed seated as the minister left. He steepled his hands together. “My dear friend, Filius Flitwick, sent a letter indicating that he was quite ill and could no longer continue to teach. I hoped to see him today.”

“Filius Flitwick is dead,” Ragnok said, and Dumbledore started in surprise. “He was very elderly and had lived a long life despite his mixed blood. His magic became unstable due to illness, and he passed in his sleep. As he had distant relatives in the horde, his body was given to his family for burial. A private service was held yesterday afternoon.”

“I see.” Dumbledore stood. “Please convey my condolences to his family.”

Tyr watched the wizard fuss with his robes, and he probably wasn’t the only one who was immensely disappointed when the old bastard didn’t draw his wand. He watched Dumbledore leave the room, and Bel Silvertongue appeared, then followed with a frown.

“He’s going to be an immense problem,” Tyr murmured. “And he clearly only came here to gain access to Razel again.”

“Agreed,” Ragnok said. “How did you get Razel to leave?”

Tyr turned to him. “Knowing my history, as I’m sure you do, haven’t you already wondered why I’ve not taken myself to Rome so I could insert myself in the investigation in every single way I can? It would take two or perhaps three thorough magical vows to resolve any conflict of interest since the investigation has a very broad scope at this point.”

Ragnok nodded thoughtfully. “I considered asking you to go—to represent our interests. It’s not that I don’t trust Mim Dragonslayer to see the matter properly handled, and I know she’s involved the International Judiciary Guild. Plenty of very educated and honorable dwarrow handling the situation. But none of them know my son—they see an icon, a legend reborn.”

“So, why aren’t you in Rome?” Rhys asked. “The courtship is important, but it could’ve been…postponed to ensure he gets the justice he deserves.”

“Because Razel told me that he didn’t want me to go to Rome,” Tyr said. “So, I agreed to stay here. It’s all he’s really asked of me.”

Ragnok nodded.

“I think having Razel in the same room with Dumbledore is profoundly dangerous,” Tyr said. “I can’t explain why, and I don’t pretend to have any sort of foresight, but the idea of it makes me uncomfortable on a magical level. I told him that I’d prefer that he spend as little time as possible with Dumbledore as a result.”

Ragnok stood. “Then I will ask someone who does have foresight to explore the topic thoroughly.” The older dwarf patted his shoulder as he passed him. “And feel free to kill that old goat fucker if he even looks at my son wrong.” He paused. “If you can get to him before I do.”

Tyr laughed as the chieftain left. He found himself alone with Rhys Sharprock, which was an entirely new circumstance. The older dwarf stared at him for a moment, then hummed under his breath.

“I can’t say I expected Razel would settle on someone like you.”

“Like me?” Tyr questioned. “Do I concern you, Master Sharprock?”

Rhys shook his head. “No, I worried that his circumstances may have led him to make a choice that was more sacrificial than anything else. I’ve rarely known him to seek something or someone because he wanted. Does that make sense?”

Tyr nodded. “It does.” He frowned. “It’s hard, I suppose, to want anything for yourself when you have duty like his spread out in front of you. There will always be times when he’ll make personal sacrifices for the good of the horde. He doesn’t think of himself first. Maybe he never has, and that’s that root of the food thing.”

“What do you mean?”

Tyr sat up quickly because Lenore was standing in the private entryway, and Ragnok was with her. Both of them were pale as fuck, and he felt like the worst sort of arsehole. He wet his lips and exhaled slowly as he shared a glance with Rhys, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else on Earth than where he was.

“Please,” Lenore said. “Speak freely.”

Tyr cleared his throat. “Razel doesn’t seek out the most simple of pleasures. Even his personal craft is more of a stress relief than it is a joy. I’m not saying he doesn’t like being in the forge, but it’s not something he turns to because he enjoys it. He fills his life with the necessary and rarely makes time for any sort of indulgence at all. So it’s no surprise that food is just something he requires. The only time I’ve seen him avoid food was because he was upset and the food itself was too rich to physically eat.”

Lenore’s gaze narrowed, and she took a deep breath. “I spent years trying to find his favorite food. I sent a chef around the world—learning to cook all sorts of dishes with ingredients I’d never heard of.” She waved her hands. “He just doesn’t care.”

“It is what it is,” Ragnok said roughly. “It’s not even rare amongst the Blacklocks, and that boils down to times of strife and food insecurity that is certainly resonating in our magic. During two different rebellions, the wizards in Britain tried to starve us out and made it impossible for us to import food.”

Tyr considered that. “Is that why the kitchens here will deliver privately to everyone?”

“Yes,” Ragnok said. “I wasn’t alive, of course, during the last rebellion, but policies were put into place to ease those that were here a very long time ago, and no one has ever considered changing them.”

“What did Razel say about Rome?” Lenore questioned. “I can interrogate him if you’re uncomfortable repeating it.”

“He thinks going to Rome would get him killed,” Tyr said and stood. “Maybe that’s just trauma left over from what was done, or maybe his magic is telling him there is a yet undiscovered enemy in Rome.”

“And that’s why you instructed him to make that vow,” Rhys said. “Because he believes going to Rome to be a death sentence. It makes me want to go there and do some cleanup on my own.”

“You aren’t the only one,” Ragnok said. “If travel wasn’t restricted, Fyre Blackaxe would’ve already led a hostile takeover of that whole clan.”

* * * *

“You are very out of sorts,” Razel said as he appeared at Tyr’s side and leaned on the desk. The privacy charm flexed and darkened slightly in response to his wishes.

Tyr glanced around the guild and wondered how the rest of the dwarrow in the room were dealing with the unexpected visit. “Have you ever been in this hall?”

Razel smiled. “No, all of my masteries were earned in the Mages Guild. I walk through the Blacksmith Guild’s hall sometimes, but I don’t linger.” He picked up a quill and focused on him. “You barely spent a half hour in the conclave workspace before you came back over here.”

“I wasn’t needed for the afternoon work.”

“True,” Razel said. “But I’d be a very poor partner indeed if I didn’t notice your general dissatisfaction. Can I fix it?”

“There’s nothing to fix it, darling,” Tyr murmured. “There are adjustments to be made and internal politics with any guild that I’ll have to navigate. Dumbledore’s actions have irritated me, and I don’t like the limbo we’re existing in right now. I’ll adjust.”

“Do you need to report the circumstances to the International Judiciary Guild?” Razel questioned.

“Syd’s already filed a sealed document around the circumstances,” Tyr said. “There are no legal issues pending on that particular matter. We’ve also arranged a full occluding package to hide Master Flitwick should Dumbledore get curious and try to find him in some fashion. Allowing that sorry fucker to come and go from the bank twice without exacting justice is profoundly irritating, but it’s not the first time my sensibilities on that subject have been thwarted.”

Razel stared for a moment. “Are you done for the day?”

“I can be,” Tyr acknowledged. “I’ve already done my consulting hours, and my only self-assigned task is reading the accord.” He plucked the quill from Razel’s hand and stored it. “That’s my favorite one.”

Razel grinned. “You’ve got a favorite quill?”

Tyr sighed. “Are we eating with the conclave?”

“No, just us, but I had to dodge Amad on the subject, and she eyed me like I was in trouble until I promised to order at least two courses.”

Tyr made a face. “I might have made a mistake but, in my defense, I didn’t realize she was listening.”

Razel sighed. “Your brother isn’t the only one lucky to be pretty.” He offered his hand and tugged Tyr from his chair. “We’re meeting the others in two hours for the claiming.”

“You’re ready?”

“I am, yes,” Razel said.

Tyr tried to ignore the soft murmur of conversation that followed them through the hall and wondered how Razel was dealing with the attention or if he’d always had some form of it being the chieftain’s son. Shortly, they entered a lift, and Razel brushed his fingers over a series of runes that revealed a secondary set of destinations and chose the one for his family’s quarters.

“Handy.”

“All lifts in the complex will do it,” Razel said. “Rhys will add you to the access list.”

Razel didn’t let go of his hand until they were in his quarters behind a locked door like he might have been worried that Tyr would run away. The table was already set with food and wine, so he followed his lover across the room and sat.

“You could’ve just called me on the mirror,” Tyr pointed out.

“Well, I could’ve hardly made any sort of point with that,” Razel said easily and slouched down in his seat as he picked up his wine glass. “I heard, from two different people, that Tull Gildedwit made himself a problem this morning.”

“Eh,” Tyr said, and Razel laughed. “He’s honestly not qualified to make himself a problem for me professionally, and he’s hardly the first member of my own guild who has been jealous of me. I’m not even sure if he knows what he envies more—my relationship with you or my education, which sets me above every member of the judiciary already.”

“And in the future, it’ll be more than just a function of your intelligence and work,” Razel murmured. “It’s a lot.”

“I can’t say it’s not, but I’m not intimidated by any of it,” Tyr said and lifted the cloche off of his plate. He grinned at the sight of the Boeuf Bourguignon. “First item on the menu?”

“Third,” Razel said and laughed. “I asked Luc what would be your preference of the choices. He also suggested the wine, so if it’s wrong—it’s his fault.”

“He’ll have made the best choice,” Tyr said. “Out of anyone in my family, Luc has the most refined palate. What’s for dessert?” He glanced toward the second set of cloches on the side of the table.

“Red velvet cake—it’s my father’s favorite, so he must have had a difficult day. He only ever requests it when he’s irritated.” He paused. “Is that your fault, too?”

“Sort of,” Tyr admitted huffily, and Razel laughed. “Rhys asked me how I got you to leave the meeting without a fuss.” He waved a hand. “So, I spoke to him about Rome and how you didn’t want me to go there. It’s about compromise, right?”

“You were clearly upset by the thought of me staying,” Razel said. “And my amusement in being rude to someone is never going to be more important than your comfort. So how did that conversation turn to food?”

“Without realizing your parents had come to the conference room, I pointed out to Rhys that you didn’t seek any activity for pure enjoyment and that you don’t consider food any sort of comfort or joy. You eat because you must.” He watched Razel take that in and slowly nod. “And that upset your mother, and your father talked about his clan starving during the last rebellion. Which I personally think was a severe misstep on his part, and he should get the blame for your mother’s upset.”

Razel grinned and took a sip of wine. “I’m willing to accept that. How big of a threat do you think Albus Dumbledore is?”

“He’s arrogant and doesn’t appear to fear any repercussions,” Tyr murmured as he unwrapped his silverware. “And he resents that you exist. If he could kill you and get away with it, I believe he would. I don’t even know why he cares or how he knew to ask Filius Flitwick questions about the horde.”

“He might have gotten lucky.”

“Or someone in the horde is talking out of turn,” Tyr said. “And if that’s the case, they’re endangering the exodus.”

“Or someone in Rome is still trying to get me killed specifically,” Razel said. “And they might not want to risk exposing the exodus effort just in case the wizards find some way to further restrict and control us.”

Tyr grimaced and focused on his food. “It’s something to consider. I’d like to publish a brief concerning the legal and magical ramifications of betraying the regency at some point. But I think it should wait until the investigation in Rome is complete.”

“I don’t want to use the regency like a weapon,” Razel said. “But I do believe everyone needs to understand the accord fully. We’re all bound up in it—for good and bad.” He looked down at his food. “It’s nice.”

“The food?”

“Yes,” Razel said. “Rich, but not overwhelming. I like food to fill me up, so I don’t have to bother with eating again soon after a meal.” He waved his spoon. “Is it really bothersome?”

“No, of course not,” Tyr said. “Your father said there are others in the clan who are much the same, which speaks to generational trauma around food security. It is what it is, and that kind of thing can resonate in the magic of families for a very long time.”

“I don’t like the implications of that,” Razel admitted. “But the history of the Blacklocks is rife with such stories. Often we’ve been practically required to take the brunt of the wizard’s anger due to holding the leadership of the horde. As if we have to sacrifice to make up for it.”

“It was probably exactly like that in the past,” Tyr said. “And I can’t say there aren’t those out there who still believe that if the wizards have a problem with us, then it’s your father’s job to solve it and endure the brunt of whatever punishment is doled out.”

“Sometimes, I just want to declare war on them,” Razel said. “But in the end, leaving them to their own devices is the most justice we’ll ever have. They deserve whatever is to come because we aren’t here to manage their wards and the ley lines for them. I hope Zir allows us to take the magical creatures with us because the humans don’t deserve any sort of stewardship of the others. They don’t honor magic or the gifts we’ve been given on this world.”

 

Chapter 13

Razel considered his relationship with ritual magic to be precious. It had been so since the first time he created a personal circle and experienced communion for the first time. The intelligence and beauty of magic were so enthralling that no matter what he’d said, the idea of giving up his magic to live on Arda was personally difficult. He’d do it, of course, because his people deserved better than the lives they were being forced to live on Earth.

He stepped into the ritual circle, and his conclave shifted around the room—his magic took note of each of them in turn as he settled. Razel drew his stave and centered himself as he stepped on the center seal. His magic stirred in his core, embracing his unvoiced purpose easily. He pushed magic through his stave, and the rune laguz formed in front of him.

Razel considered laguz the most dangerous of the empowerment tools in runic craft. It represented the universe, but it could also be used to facilitate prophetic dreams, and that was the last thing he wanted in his life. It was one gift that he practically begged magic to not bestow on him. He’d seen his mother’s burdens grow over the years and did not want that for himself. What he already had to deal with was more than enough.

The rune spun in front of him, and the circle darkened like the night sky around him. Stars started to shine in the inky magic that enveloped him. He felt embraced and welcome as the very fabric of their existence swirled around him.

“You walk a very dangerous path, child.”

Razel took a deep, ragged breath, and for a moment, he focused on Tyr, who was standing right in front of him outside of the circle. His lover’s overt shock made it clear that he wasn’t the only one to hear the voice.

“I can handle it.”

“Yes, I suppose you can. You’ve always been the strongest of my children—pure of purpose and heartbreakingly brave.” A dwarf appeared in front of him then, and Razel held out a hand to prevent the others from entering the circle. “You’ve chosen your brotherhood well, Durin.”

“Are you here to tell me we can’t go home?” Razel questioned.

“No, of course not. Arda awaits you, and while the path is dangerous, the reward is astounding. Freedom is priceless. There’s been a discussion, and it was agreed that the magical creatures of this world will be invited to join your exodus.” He paused. “The nundu, if they agree to come, will be secluded far from your territory on a different continent on the planet. Their lands will be forever feral—a sanctuary for the wildest of magics.”

Razel nodded. “And the wizards?”

“Eru has declared that Zirnitra will take care of his wife’s children, and you need not ever be concerned about them once you leave this world.” He grinned. “Not that you’re worried now.”

Razel frowned. “I wouldn’t want their children to suffer, sir.”

“Hekate rewards and protects the faithful,” Mahal said. “Tonight, you sought aether, and it has heeded your call. Should you desire it—you could easily claim the remaining two elements right now.”

Razel hesitated. “I worried about suffering a core fracture if I tried to take more than one at a time.”

“And it would certainly be a concern were you alone in this circle,” Mahal said. “You needn’t worry that you’ve not earned this. Over the course of your lifetimes, you’ve mastered every single element at one time or another. Nothing is beyond your grasp, Durin.” He paused. “You don’t like to be called that, do you?”

“It’s not the name my mother gave me,” Razel said.

“Very well, Razel Fireborn son of Lenore.” Mahal spread his hands out in agreement. “Claim what is yours.” His gaze flicked toward Tyr. “Relax, Master Warhide; he’s never been safer.”

Tyr exhaled slowly and nodded.

Razel called uruz first, and the rune shimmered into place in front of him. The fresh air in the circle shifted, and he felt his core expand just slightly in response to earth. Then he summoned isa, and the air dampened as the water element pushed against then flowed through his body. It was startling, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

“Easy, lad,” Mahal said.

Razel forced the panic down, and his core quieted in response. Flames flowed down his arms, and the elements began to merge together inside of him. He’d thought aether would be the stumbling block, but he had to work hard to keep water close when all he wanted to do was push it away.

An unnatural silence settled around him then, and he opened his eyes.

Mahal grimaced. “That arsehole Knorr Stonehelm drowned you the last time you were born in Rome—you were just three months old. I’d chosen a very powerful couple, both in magic and social standing. I believed you’d be safe with them, and they kept the secret of you for months until your paternal grandmother bragged to her cousin, Knorr, about your return. He killed you and your immediate family to cover up your birth. It’s the most recent death, so it’s been lingering in the back of your mind for a while. I’ve kept the memory back on purpose.”

“You can keep it,” Razel muttered, and Mahal just inclined his head. “Do you know why? Is it about power? Politics?”

“It’s about shame,” Mahal said. “And I’m not allowed to provide details. My intrusion on this dimension is only allowed under certain circumstances.” His gaze flicked to Tyr. “Sometimes, I can do little more than put a knife in a lad’s hand when he needs it most.”

Tyr took a deep breath. “It was very helpful, sir. Thank you.”

Mahal inclined his head and faded away. “You’re going to pass out in a bit due to magical exhaustion, Razel; best find your bed before then.”

* * * *

Razel stirred against him, fingers curling against his skin. Tyr pulled his lover close and took a deep breath.

“You okay?” Razel questioned drowsily and pulled the duvet closer.

“Yes,” Tyr said, and he meant it. Part of him thought he should be a little more off as the others had been practically mute after the ritual.

“Did you know that Mahal helped you the day you killed the dragon?” Razel questioned.

“I can’t tell you how many times people asked me how I got ahold of my mother’s athame after she dropped it. I never had an explanation to offer, and most just came to believe that the trauma of the event made my memory spotty. Which, granted. It all blends together for me, and it did from the start.” He huffed against Razel’s hair. “I can’t believe Mahal appeared in your circle.”

“It was good, though,” Razel murmured and yawned. “I don’t look forward to telling my parents about it.”

“Why?”

“They get worried when really big things happen to me that they have no hope of controlling,” Razel murmured. “I’m probably going to sleep through breakfast and lunch tomorrow.”

“Then I suppose I shall be the one to tell them that you spoke with our maker,” Tyr said in amusement.

“My father may ask to see a memory of it,” Razel cautioned. “But it was good.”

“Why?” Tyr asked curiously.

“Because now I know for sure,” Razel said.

“Know what?”

“That my choice is…righteous.”

Tyr said nothing else as Razel drifted off to sleep. Privately, he could acknowledge that he’d never been more overwhelmed by his place in Razel’s life. The idea of being someone’s husband had been on his mind for years, but it was the least of his role in the future. It should’ve been as daunting as it was overwhelming, but it wasn’t.

He ran his fingers through Razel’s hair and closed his eyes.

“What?” Razel questioned, breath brushing over Tyr’s skin.

“I’m keeping you awake,” Tyr murmured and cupped the back of Razel’s head. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Razel murmured. “My mind is racing despite how tired I am.”

Tyr laughed softly and pushed Razel’s hair back from his face. “I love you.” Even in the dimly lit bedroom, he could see surprise and pleasure drift in equal measure over Razel’s face. “It’s too soon to say it, I’m sure. I used to make fun of Cain for how fast and how hard he fell for Jania. He was a fool for her from practically the moment he set eyes on her.”

Razel shifted up until they were eye to eye and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. “Are you a fool for me?”

“Utterly,” Tyr admitted and sought another kiss, which Razel gave him without any sort of reserve. After a few long moments, he eased his lover back down onto the mattress. “Sleep, you’re so tired.”

Razel turned on his side and pulled Tyr with him until they were spooned together, then laced their fingers together. He took a deep breath. “The most amazing thing about you is—how easy it is to love and trust you, Tyr.”

Tyr swallowed hard as the glamour that Razel used to cover the mark of Durin faded away, and the bed was lit with the soft light of the glowing hammer. He pulled him closer, and his own skin warmed where it met with the mark.

“I felt like part of me has been waiting for you this whole time.” Razel paused. “I’d have waited forever, you know. It was always going to be you, Tyr. There’s such safety in your love that I can’t explain it, but I’m so grateful for it.”

He was at a loss for words, so he pressed his face against Razel’s hair and just breathed as his lover drifted off to sleep.

* * * *

Tyr looked up from his tea as Omis Stoneheart sat down at the table. He’d asked her to come to check on Razel when he hadn’t been able to wake him even briefly for a meal. The dwarf had slept through breakfast and lunch. Now the dinner hour was upon them, and he still slept.

“He’s fine,” Omis said as Lenore poured her some tea. “Exhausted—physically and magically. I wasn’t aware the ritual claiming of aether was going to be that taxing. He didn’t have this problem with air, which he did without a conclave.” She frowned at Tyr.

“Don’t fuss at him,” Ragnok said mildly. “He’s certainly in no position to tell the High Warlock of his conclave what to do when it comes to such things. No matter their personal relationship.”

Omis frowned more.

Tyr cleared his throat. “He didn’t claim just one element.” He took a deep breath when all three of them focused on him. “He claimed all three that remained—aether, earth, and water. The last one took a lot out of him because his magic fought it.”

“I don’t understand,” Ragnok said with a narrowed gaze. “Why would he take such a risk? There’s nothing happening to warrant that.”

“It’s best if I show you. I’ve put a memory of the event in a pensieve in the office.” He cleared his throat. “There are two things I feel you need to be prepared in advance for.”

“Go ahead,” Ragnok said.

“Mahal appeared in the circle.” He winced when all three of them stared at him, gobsmacked. “And he encouraged the claiming of the three elements. He knew Razel would struggle with water because the last time he was born in Rome, Knorr Stonehelm drowned him—as an infant. I checked the death records in the archives. A family of six died in what was reported as a boating accident in a canal in the deeper reaches of the Rome branch—mother, father, grandmother, infant, and a pair of twin girls. They were six.”

“Son of a bitch,” Omis muttered. “The more I hear about the situation in Rome, the more I believe we should leave that whole fucking clan here when we leave.”

“I don’t disagree,” Tyr admitted and shrugged when Lenore sent him a shocked look. “I’ll never trust most of them with him or our children. I’m going to go down in the history of the horde as the most vicious and unreasonable dwarf to ever stand as the Judge Advocate.” He sighed when Omis smiled brightly at him. “You’re beautiful.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and she laughed. “So are you.”

He stood. “If you’re ready to review the memory, we can do so now.”

Ragnok insisted on doing it first and alone. The older dwarf came out of the memory, sent Tyr a shocked look, and motioned to the device. Lenore and Omis went into the memory together.

“I thought it was wandless magic,” Ragnok said.

Tyr focused on him. “What?”

“The athame,” Ragnok said. “When I watched the memory—I thought you must have summoned it with wandless magic. I figured it was accidental or an act of desperation, as magic is known to aid us in times such as that. Now, I’m going to wonder for the rest of my life if such times were actually the workings of Mahal.”

“I wasn’t capable of any sort of wandless magic until I was nearly fifty,” Tyr admitted. “I didn’t remember how I got the knife and assumed, as you did, that it was accidental magic. Anyone who watched the memory asked me about it.” His mirror vibrated, and he pulled it from his bracelet. “My apologies,” he murmured as he left the office.

He went into the library and activated the mirror. His brother’s face filled it.

“Luc, I’m in a meeting with the chieftain.”

Luc blew air out between his lips. “Cyrus wants to know if Razel is okay. The entire conclave is kind of out of sorts, and they’ve all given up trying to work at this point.”

“He’s fine but still sleeping. I’ve had Omis visit, and his magic is in recovery. Tell them I’m sorry for not reaching out. I’ve been…focused on him.”

“It’s fine,” Kal Ironwill said as the mirror was transferred into his hand. “Magical exhaustion or….”

“Magical and physical,” Tyr confirmed. “But Omis isn’t concerned. Any luck on the research?”

“We found a plan for Khazad-dûm that was attached to a colonization proposal written by a dwarf lord named Balin. It was rejected after a small survey group reported that the balrog was still in the mountain,” Kal explained. “It matches up with trade records for the mountain, so I think it’s probably as accurate as we can expect at this point.”

“Sounds good. I’m sure Razel will be pleased with the information.” He cleared his throat. “I need to go. But I do need a favor from Luc.” The mirror transferred back to his brother’s hand. “Cain and Jania will be arriving in the morning. I’ve already arranged quarters for them, and you can get that information from Rhys Sharprock.” His brother nodded. “Let him know that Razel is unavailable due to magical exhaustion, but the details should not be discussed outside of the conclave space. Keep them occupied. I think they’re bringing both of the kids.”

Luc blinked in surprise. “Seriously?”

“Cain mentioned it as a possibility,” Tyr said. “He said he didn’t want the first time they traveled to be during the migration. They want to know what kind of reactions and behaviors they’ll have to manage.”

“All right,” Luc said. “I’ll handle it.”

The mirror went dark, so he stored it, and a glance in the office proved it empty, so he went back to the dining table. There was food, so he sat down at the empty place setting. He wasn’t all that hungry, but he knew that was just worry manifesting.

“You haven’t ordered much more than snacks all day,” Lenore said, and Tyr looked up to focus on her. “So, we’re eating real food for dinner.”

“Yes, of course,” Tyr murmured. “I’ve just been worried, and it’s hard to concentrate. I couldn’t even do my reading for the day.” He unwrapped his silverware, draped his napkin, and focused on the food, which consisted of lamp chops and roasted potatoes.

“What did it feel like?” Omis questioned.

“Being in the same room with Mahal?” Tyr questioned, and she nodded. “Heavy. His power radiates off of him like an ocean. I’ve never known anything like it.” He took a deep breath. “He’s not like us.”

“He’s a god,” Omis said.

“That’s not…exactly what I mean,” Tyr admitted. “It’s obvious we were made in his image, but there is something about him that transcends a god-like circumstance. I’ve been in ritual circles where it was clear that Zirnitra was moving amongst the practitioners. He practically drags wild magic in his wake when he moves on this world. Mahal’s presence was different, and his magic felt refined, comforting, and humble.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not explaining myself well.”

“No, you’re doing fine,” Lenore corrected. “I understand what you mean. I’ve had visions about the nature of magic on Arda, and I believe this world changed us a great deal over the many thousands of years that we’ve been here. I worry that we’ll lose our magic as we know it in exchange for Arda.”

“I don’t…have that worry,” Tyr admitted. “If anything, I think maybe it’s our destiny to bring such magic to Arda. The magic there sleeps, and maybe it needs to be influenced by us and our power as we are now. Maybe we will change again, but I think it will be for the better.”

“Mahal expects us to be the stewards of other magical creatures,” Omis said. “It’s a fascinating possibility.”

“As long as the nundu don’t learn to swim,” Tyr muttered, and Ragnok started to laugh. “Sir, it would take fifty of us to subdue one.” He huffed as Lenore and Omis started to laugh as well. “Where’s Elspeth?”

“Plotting with Fyre Blackaxe. Colb Storyteller might try to migrate to another clan regardless of our efforts to return to Arda,” Ragnok said and took a sip of wine. “She didn’t realize he was interested in her romantically, and I made the mistake of pointing it out. She agrees, by the way, he’s too lazy and stupid for her.”

Tyr grinned. “I don’t mean to be arrogant, but I’m rarely wrong. And when I am, I consider it a life lesson, research the matter, and never make that mistake again.”

* * * *

“I’m fine,” Razel said and watched Tyr frown at him. “Seriously.”

“You slept for nearly twenty hours,” Tyr said roughly as he sat on the edge of the tub. “I’m to send for Omis if you don’t feel yourself.”

“I feel totally like myself,” Razel assured and laughed when Tyr made a face at him. “I promise. Did you show my parents the memory?”

“Yes, and Omis, so she’d understand your magical circumstances. They seemed to take it well, but that doesn’t mean they won’t all three hover over you for weeks in response.” He flicked his fingers through the water. “I’ve never had a bath restorative. Where does it come from?”

“Omis’ second mastery is in potions,” Razel said. “And it’s her own design. She believes in treating the whole patient—mind, body, and magic. As a result, she has a whole collection of bath treatments to help with restoration, relaxation, and in special circumstances, mood enhancement.”

Tyr nodded and checked his watch.

“Your brother and his wife are here?”

“Yes, but they’ll have already retired for the night. They brought the oldest of their children—Sadi, and left their son, Thorn, with our parents.” Tyr cleared his throat. “Sadi is five, and Thorn is three.”

“What’s she like?” Razel questioned.

“Sweet, she has her mother’s even-tempered nature and has already started to play with elemental fire. It’s a problem because she has no control over it, and we have to ward her. She’s frustrated, of course, because none of the techniques are working for her.”

Razel hummed under his breath. “I had issues with it as well. Sometimes our emotions get the best of us, and she’s very young. Maybe she just needs a different perspective.”

“Maybe,” Tyr agreed. “Luc told me she was excited to be here and wore herself out trying to touch everything in the guest suite. She’s rarely even been out of our family domain.” He rubbed his hand on his knee. “I barely know her due to how much I’ve traveled over the years.”

“Omis told me that children don’t even get interesting until they’re around ten,” Razel said and laughed when Tyr’s mouth dropped open. “Elspeth was amazing, though—so quick to laugh, and there was such joy in her from the very start. Even when her gifts started to manifest, she was still very sweet most of the time and hardly ever cried.”

“I was a hellion.” Tyr shrugged as Razel stared. “My parents spoiled me rotten, honestly. I was just as rough and ready as any of my brothers right up until the very day I came face to face with a dragon.” He paused and waved a hand. “Face to snout.”

Razel laughed sharply.

“I need to go back to my own rooms for the night,” Tyr said. “I want to touch base with Luc, and we’re planning on breakfast with Cain and Jania.”

“Of course,” Razel said easily and let his head rest on the back of the tub.

“But I don’t want to leave you.”

“I’m fine.” Razel grinned when Tyr sighed. “I’ll stay in, eat the food you ordered, and I won’t do any sort of high-order magic. I’m sure Omis will come along to check on me soon enough. Plus, my parents are probably lingering off in the distance, waiting for an opportunity to trot over here and question my life choices.”

“Only fair, considering,” Tyr said wryly. “They certainly questioned me about your life choices.” Razel laughed as Tyr leaned forward, cupped the back of his head, and pressed a soft lingering kiss against his mouth. “Take it easy, okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Razel murmured and smiled. “I’ll probably go back to sleep after I eat.”

He stayed where he was as Tyr left and lounged in the water until the chime sounded on the front entrance of his rooms. Razel left the tub, shrugged on a robe, tied it, and went off to face the music. It turned out to just be Omis. He motioned his aunt in with a yawn.

“Still tired?”

“Weirdly,” Razel said.

“Not so weirdly,” Omis muttered. “You were utterly depleted magically. Had I not known you—I’d have assumed you were a small magic user.” She crossed her arms as he sat down. “How does your magic feel?”

Razel held out his hand, palm up, and let flames gather. The fire danced gently and felt entirely within his control. “Everything feels normal.” He focused on the fire. “Maybe a bit more refined.” He curled his hand up as the fire flickered away and water pooled gently in his palm. He let it freeze after a few moments. “A lot more refined.”

“Yes, I see,” Omis said. “Good. Get some more sleep and no wand or stave usage until we’ve done a full workup on your core. There were no fractures, but it was clearly stressed by the event.” She frowned at him. “Do you have any fear of water? Have you ever? If you have, why didn’t you say something?”

“No, I’ve never had a problem with water,” Razel said and banished the little ball of ice he’d made with a flick of his hand. “Honestly, Omis, I love nothing more than an overindulgent soak in my bathtub.” He paused. “Though I’ve also used it for fire baths, and that’s fun, too. That could just be the dragon in me, though.”

“Certainly,” Omis said. “Your parents are already asleep. I promised them I’d check on you before going to bed myself.” She yawned a little. “So now I’m going to sleep. Expect to endure a family breakfast first thing in the morning. Elspeth made a choice regarding her mentor while you were asleep. It has caused quite a stir.”

“Why?” Razel questioned.

“She chose Master Flitwick—he has masteries in charms and enchantment. There are several masters, whom she’d already dismissed as options, who are furiously offended. She doesn’t care, of course, and she shouldn’t. None are going to formally complain as it would be political suicide.”

Razel nodded. “I admit to being surprised. She’s not known him long at all.”

“No, but they clearly clicked. Her apprenticeship was always going to be a problem because many assumed she’d give in and accept her role as a prophet for the clan. She will probably always be pressured to pursue divination at that level no matter how uninterested she is in it magically.”

“She doesn’t need that training,” Razel muttered. “Elspeth could scry at fifteen, for fuck’s sake.”

“Granted. Eat your food and sleep,” Omis ordered and walked away, rubbing the back of her neck. “And congratulations—you’re the first full elemental in the history of this clan.”

Razel just exhaled slowly and just stayed where he was as Omis left. He snagged a pillow from the corner of the sofa, pulled his feet up, and hugged it a little as he considered the ritual and the ramifications of it becoming known that he’d met Mahal. He knew, on a fundamental level, that he needed to share the experience with the horde, and the logistics of that seemed overwhelming.

He pulled out his mirror and called Rhys.

“Did I wake you?”

Rhys pushed dark hair back from his face. “No, how are you? Your father told me what happened.”

“I’m okay, still tired but not exhausted.” Razel sat back on the sofa, then scooted down a bit to tuck into the corner. “I want to share the memory of the event with everyone.”

“Everyone,” Rhys repeated and exhaled slowly. “The mirror broadcast system has never been used that way, but it’s doable. I’ll speak with the master of the Mages Guild, as there might have to be some adjustments. The most powerful projection pensieve we have is currently in Rome being used by the investigation.”

“It can stay there unless there is no other choice,” Razel said and exhaled. “Come eat with me?”

“Sure, I’ll be over in about ten minutes. There’s still red velvet cake on the menu, so order me some and a coffee.”

* * * *

Tyr sat down at the table in the conclave space and accepted the tea that was set down in front of him with a little nod.

“Anything that needs my immediate attention?” he questioned and pulled a few biscuits from a plate near him. He focused on Davor when the dwarf cleared his throat.

“My step-father was notified of the charges he’s facing. My brother disassociated our entire family from him and gave my mother an ultimatum. She can get a divorce or face disownment.” Davor exhaled slowly and shook his head. “She’s furious. I had to end her connection to my communication mirror just to get some peace. I’ve never allowed my step-father to have access, so at least I didn’t have to take my mirror to a runemaster for a full adjustment.”

“Do you need to return to New York for family business?” Tyr questioned. “Razel would certainly make room for that.”

“No, my brother doesn’t want me anywhere near my step-father.” Davor frowned and shoved a whole biscuit in his mouth. “There are a lot of issues in play, and I’d just be one more thing for him to worry about. Plus, he wants to migrate the family here before the exodus begins. I was hoping you could ask Razel about it—for all of us.”

Tyr nodded. “It would be easier if your families were already here—at least as many of them as can be migrated. My father is already making decisions about a transfer of directorship.”

“There’s room in the conclave space to expand the dimensional charm work,” Cyrus said. “We left room in the construction to house at least fifty since we were considering the large conclave membership at the time. We can make other arrangements for when we broaden the scope of the conclave. I can work on that for now and present a plan to Razel when finished if you get him thinking about the actual exodus process. Now that he has claimed all the elements, we can start building the foundation for the portal. Then the portal itself. Six months from now, we could be ready to start.”

“Yeah,” Tyr said and nodded. “Plus, we can put our families to work on organizational issues.”

“Very good idea,” Dawl said and turned to Thal. “Is there anyone you want to bring?”

“No,” Thal said roughly. “Even if migration was possible from Rome right now, and it isn’t, there’s no one. My mother is being investigated, my father is dead, and I’m an only child. I have some cousins on the paternal side and a few more on the maternal side, but none that I’m so close with that I’d want them to be here. And the last thing we need is for my grandfather to think he has some sort of say in what happens in all of this.”

“Do you expect your mother to be charged?” Tyr questioned.

Thal shook his head. “No, but she might very well die of shame.” He grimaced. “I was the only child, but not for her lack of trying. She’d have never been party to child murder and would probably kill Knorr Stonehelm herself if she could get her hands on him. The last time we spoke, she cried for most of the call. We’ve not been close in decades because of my choices in my career. She’s just one of many that wanted me to work my way toward the directorship of the bank in Rome. They’d have me take Knorr’s place, and I don’t…I’ve never wanted that.”

“Well, you have a different future in the horde,” Tyr said and pulled his journal out in the silence that followed.

“What do you mean?” Davor questioned.

Tyr looked up and found all of them staring at him. “I thought you….” He sat back and exhaled. “While he’s not explicitly said it, it’s obvious to me that the king’s council is sitting at this table.” He winced when all their mouths dropped open. “I suspect that Rhys Sharprock will lead you as the official advisor for years but that the position will eventually fall to Therin.” He focused on the dwarf in question and found him nodding slowly. “If this is utterly undesired, he will, of course, respect that.”

“It feels right,” Therin said after a prolonged silence. “We’ll spend hundreds of years in Khazad-dûm before any sort of colonization is possible. The damn place is the size of Denmark, so there’s certainly room for all of us and plenty of work as well. Clean up, construction, mining, resource gathering, and exploration.”

Tyr took a deep breath. “I realize some of you didn’t understand the depth of the commitment you were making when you accepted your place in the conclave….”

Dawl raised a hand to stop him. “Honestly, Tyr, joining our king in a conclave was never going to be anything but a lifetime commitment, and I believe we all understood that. The scope of our roles going forward in the horde is a different matter altogether. We can adjust, and we have each other to help mitigate any issues that arise.”

 

Chapter 14

Mim Dragonslayer had returned to Britain, but she was sequestered with the chieftain, so Tyr focused on his visiting family. Jania answered the door of the guest suite, but a little body hit him right in the knees almost immediately. Tyr reached down and snatched his niece off the floor.

Sadi kissed his cheek and curled a hand around the thickest of his braids. “Uncle Tyr.” She looked over his shoulder and huffed. “You’re alone? I’ve been practicing all morning to meet him!”

Tyr laughed even as his sister-in-law sighed. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Jania said with a smile as she kissed his cheek. “Luc said the conclave did a big ritual. Is Master Fireborn okay?”

“Tired but in full recovery,” Tyr said as he was guided toward the sitting area of the rooms. “Her warding is really heavy right now. I’m surprised she can walk.”

Jania winced.

“I set Adad on fire,” Sadi said gravely. “And ruined his favorite coat.” Her hand tightened in his hair. “I said sorry.”

“Is he injured?” Tyr asked in concern.

“There were a few burns,” Jania acknowledged. “But they’ve already been healed.”

“I’ve certainly had worse in the forge,” Cain said as he left the bedroom area. He tugged on his daughter’s hair when he sat down on the sofa with them. “No permanent harm done.”

Sadi grinned and focused on Tyr. “When do I get to meet Master Fireborn?”

“I’ll have to check,” Tyr said and brushed her braids from her face. “He’s very busy with work, and time can be precious when it comes to the work we’re doing for the horde.”

“We’re going to go home to Arda,” Sadi said seriously. “And I’ll get to see real trees and maybe a whole river.” Her blue eyes brightened with excitement. “And we’ll be safe from the humans.”

“You are very safe from humans already,” Tyr promised, and she laughed.

“But we’ll be safer! And I can pick my own flowers. Maybe I can go on an adventure with Uncle Luc.” She raised one eyebrow. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re spoiled rotten, and you wouldn’t last a day living in your uncle’s awful tent,” Tyr admitted, and Sadi laughed. Her fingers slid down his braid, and she plucked gently at the bead.

“What’s this?” she asked as she turned his braid slightly to inspect it. “It’s so pretty, Uncle Tyr. Can I wear it? I’ll be careful with it.”

“I’m sorry, but no,” Tyr said, and her bottom lip pouted out. “It’s not mine to share.”

“Then why are you wearing it?”

“Because Master Fireborn asked me to,” Tyr said, and her little fingers glanced over the emeralds.

“What’s this mountain?”

“It’s Erebor—a mountain on Arda,” Tyr said, and she bit down on her bottom lip. “Long ago, there was a prince, and his name was Thorin Oakenshield. His people had been driven from Erebor by a very big and powerful dragon. For many years they suffered without a home. After Thorin’s father disappeared, he took on the role of leader of his people. He vowed to bring them home to Erebor. He took on the quest of killing the dragon, and along the way, he met the person that would become his consort.

“At the end of his quest, his nephew, Kíli Dragonslayer, slayed the dragon who had nearly destroyed them. The clan was allowed to return to Erebor, and Thorin was crowned King Under the Mountain.”

“Kíli Dragonslayer must have been very brave, like you, to fight a giant dragon,” Sadi said. “Did he make this bead?”

“No, this bead was made by Thorin Oakenshield along with thirteen others. He gave this bead to his consort. Eventually, it was passed down to Durin, who brought it to Earth during our migration,” Tyr said and glanced toward his brother, who was looking at him in shock. “So, this bead is 11,000 years old and priceless. It cannot be ever replaced. I have to take special care of it.”

“It’s very pretty,” Sadi said wistfully. “Mama says Master Fireborn gave you a courting gesture. Is it pretty like this?”

Tyr only briefly considered it before he drew the stave from his bracelet.

“For the love of….” Cain huffed a little. “The images on the announcement do not do it justice.”

“Can I touch it?” Sadi questioned. “What is that rock?”

“That is a fire opal, and it came from Arda. It’s probably the largest of its kind left amongst the treasures Durin brought with him,” Tyr said as he shifted the stave around so she could touch the stone. “And it’s fine to touch it—it won’t hurt you.”

Her small fingers glanced over the opal even as Jania’s breath caught. Tyr glanced toward his sister-in-law and found her a little wide-eyed. Magic arced gently off the opal, and Sadi giggled.

“It feels nice,” she decided and ran her fingers gently down the length of the stave. “Are you going to marry Master Fireborn?”

“Yes,” Tyr said.

“Will that make you a king, too?”

Tyr laughed. “No, my official title, in the most formal of circumstances, would be Prince Consort Under the Mountain.” She huffed a little as she slouched back against his chest. “But I will get to wear a crown, sometimes.”

“That’s all right then,” Sadi decided, and Cain hummed a little as Tyr offered him the stave.

Tyr watched his brother study the magical focus, fingers glancing over the runes that covered any spot that wasn’t covered in Razel’s scales. His brother’s magic was small, but he had studied runic craft even as he’d achieved his mastery as a blacksmith.

“He’s intensely invested in you,” Cain said quietly. “It’s lovely to see.” Jania stood, crossed the room, and slid into her husband’s lap.

“I’ve never seen anyone use dragon scales this way,” Jania said. “They aren’t normally harvested like this, of course, but when we do have them, they end up spelled into dragon hide to increase durability.”

Tyr started to respond, but his mirror signaled, so he pulled it out and answered it. Syd Arbiter’s face filled the mirror.

“My apologies for bothering you during family time, Master Warhide,” Syd said. “Mim Dragonslayer is requesting a meeting with us so she can prepare to question Master Fireborn. The High Priestess spent two hours this morning interrogating her about the investigation in Rome.” He paused. “That seemed to go well enough as no blood was drawn.”

“Does High Priestess Feyborn intend on being present during Razel’s testimony? I can’t see that going well at all.”

“We’re going to require privacy for that answer,” Syd said.

Tyr exhaled sharply as he gently set his niece on the sofa. “Give me a moment.” He left the sofa and walked across the room so he could cast the privacy charm. “Okay.”

“He’s asked that both of his parents refrain from attending the meeting,” Syd said. “The chieftain’s response was profane, and they argued. In fact, I’ve never, ever seen the chieftain argue with Master Fireborn like that. I can’t say they’ve never had conflict in private, but they are a united front in public. Master Sharprock intervened and separated them. It came nowhere near blows, of course, but it was clear that neither of them was going to budge on the issue. I don’t know what’s been decided on that front. Sharprock and I were the only witnesses.”

Tyr pinched the bridge of his nose. “I haven’t eaten yet. How long before the meeting starts?”

“I’ll tell Mim to give us an hour,” Syd said. “Hopefully, that will calm down everyone involved.”

Tyr ended the privacy charm after the mirror went dark and frowned.

“Problem?” Cain questioned as he came to stand beside him and offered the stave.

Tyr took the stave, and flames danced along the length of it. He stored it with a flick of his wrist, then put the mirror away as well. “Yes, but I can’t discuss it. I have to leave in thirty minutes.”

“Then we should certainly eat,” Cain said and guided him toward the table. “Courtship is stressful enough—it’s a shame there are so many other issues in play.”

“The courtship part is the only easy thing I’ve got going on,” Tyr admitted. “Fortunately for me, Razel isn’t inclined toward torturing his romantic partners.”

Jania laughed.

* * * *

Tyr sat down in front of Razel, caught both of his hands in a tight grip, and waited until his lover focused on him. “First, I want you to know that it is always my desire to be on your side.”

Razel nodded.

“And I respect your desire for privacy and your need to protect your parents from the situation happening in Rome.” Tyr paused as flames flickered over Razel’s cheekbones. “And while you can certainly ask your mother to not bear witness to your testimony, you would be exceeding your legal authority to ban the Chieftain of the Horde from the proceeding.”

Razel exhaled slowly, and his eyes dampened with tears.

“Darling.” Tyr shifted off the coffee table and onto the sofa beside him. Razel turned and buried his face against Tyr’s neck as he gathered him close. “You and I both know that your father will bow to your magical authority, but you must not undermine him in this way. His ability to lead the horde until you’re coronated depends on your faith, support, and obedience.”

Razel shuddered against him, and his breath hitched.

“He stood as your shield since the day you were born,” Tyr said and ran his fingers through Razel’s hair. “And you know, on a level I wish you didn’t, what that has meant. Ragnok Windrider has been saving your life every single day since your conception.

“I’m not questioning how much you respect and love your father, but others would.”

“I don’t want that,” Razel said hoarsely. “I’m just…the details make me sick, and I don’t want…. I don’t want him to look at me and see a monument to murdered children. People will, you know. This will follow me for the rest of my life, and if I’m born again, it will be there as well. Always.”

“Most of the time, the impact of murder is on the family and loved ones left behind,” Tyr said. “I wouldn’t, normally, even consider it the gravest crime that can be committed as far as victimology goes. Often, it’s quick and merciless, and the victim’s suffering ends while the pain lingers in the ones that lost their loved one for a lifetime. But in this case…I…I don’t suppose anyone is prepared to deal with a living murder victim.” He swallowed hard and blinked back tears. “Your father won’t ever see you as any sort of monument. While he acknowledges your reincarnation and never appears to be willing to ignore it, you aren’t some icon to him, either.”

Razel cleared his throat and lifted away. He rubbed his face with both hands. “I’ve not yelled at my own father since I was in my twenties.”

“Well, you were due,” Tyr said wryly, and Razel laughed. “But you’ve probably exceeded Syd Arbiter’s boundaries by a lot. He was clearly put off.”

Razel winced. “He looked absolutely horrified to have witnessed it.”

“I have it on good authority that he prefers apologies in the form of dragonfire bourbon,” Tyr said. “I’ll order a bottle from Paris.”

“That would be great,” Razel said and exhaled slowly. “There was supposed to be a meeting with Mim Dragonslayer and Syd Arbiter.”

“I attended it,” Tyr said. “Due to your refusal to go to Rome, it’s been agreed that you’ll testify in the Judiciary Hall here in Britain, and it will be a closed hearing. The two representatives of the International Judiciary Guild, Mim Dragonslayer, Syd Arbiter will preside, and I’ll represent you.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I think for your own benefit, the conclave members, Glou Warhammer, Omis, and Rhys Sharprock should bear witness. It will be best going forward if they understand what was done to you and how it might impact our work as memories continue to break through.”

“And my parents,” Razel said.

“I think so, but it depends on what kind of king you wish to be.”

“What does that mean?” Razel asked.

“Do you want to lead with a fair mind and generous heart? Or do you want to force your will upon everyone around you?” Tyr questioned though he already knew the answer.

Razel huffed. “Tyr, I would never force….” He trailed off, and his cheeks flushed bright red. “Right.” He made a face. “I just realized the awful part about marrying a solicitor.”

Tyr laughed.

“There had to be a downside, I suppose,” Razel said as he stood and pushed back his hair. “Should I change my clothes?”

“Probably,” Tyr admitted. “The judiciary hall does have a dress code, and respecting it will be well received.”

* * * *

Razel leaned on the short wall of the box that held his parents, fingers curling over the top. His father had activated a privacy charm, so they weren’t visible to anyone outside of the box.

“You look very nice,” his mother said.

“Tyr meandered through my closet,” Razel said, and she laughed. He exhaled slowly. “I’m not adjusting well.”

“I noticed,” Ragnok said roughly, and Lenore poked his arm. He cleared his throat. “I apparently owe you another apology.”

Razel shook his head. “No, you don’t, Adad. I was entirely out of line, and I know it. I can’t expect you to stand as chieftain and undermine you like I did this morning. My continued acceptance of your authority is paramount during this transitional period. It protects our society and me. The only reason I’m alive today is that I was born to the chieftain here in Britain. It allowed me unprecedented protection from the conspiracy that has been killing me for 600 years over and over again. But I do have a favor to ask of you both.”

“Okay,” Ragnok murmured.

“I need you both to promise me that you won’t attempt to discuss my testimony with me at a later date.” He watched shock drift over both of their faces. “It’s just I don’t think I can stand to have this wound poked at repeatedly. Maybe it’s selfish, but I have a lot of grief to process, and I don’t have room to manage anyone else’s.”

“I understand,” Lenore murmured and squeezed Ragnok’s hand. “It’s not too much to ask.”

Razel took a deep breath and looked over the hall. “It’s interesting watching Tyr in his element. I think this guild has more internal politics than all the others combined, though.”

“Agreed,” Ragnok said. “You’d think the real intrigue would be in the Administrative Hall.”

Razel grimaced. “I don’t look forward to the day they realize that the regency will greatly change many of their current positions.”

He looked out across the hall, which was rapidly emptying. Syd Arbiter had gathered his people, given instructions, and dismissed the membership for a private hearing. Razel could tell that many were disgruntled by the turn of events, but he wasn’t going to apologize for desiring privacy on the issue.

Tyr was already seated at the table they’d been assigned for the process, and Mim Dragonslayer was having a conversation with Syd Arbiter near the front of the hall in front of the presiding bench. Tull Gildedwit was standing in the main aisle of the hall, arms crossed, speaking tersely to a dwarrowdam that Razel didn’t recognize.

“I heard that Tull has irritated Tyr,” Ragnok said. “And got himself fined for violating the civility protocols.”

Razel focused on his father. “I don’t know the full details, but I heard he was a little bent about the courtship gesture. Tull did attempt to get my personal attention after Yawl left Britain, but I found his pursuit in poor taste as I’d just ended a relationship. He barely waited a week before he made his romantic interest clear to me.” He sighed. “I’m sorry in advance for what you’re going to hear.” He left the box before either could respond.

Razel walked up the aisle quickly as Tull and the dwarrowdam parted ways. The dwarf focused on him with dark, furious eyes. Fortunately, Tull wasn’t an idiot. He turned on his heel and walked toward the exit. Glou appeared beside him as he walked and took a seat in the front row of the empty general audience area. Rhys and Omis joined Glou before Razel got to the table where Tyr was seated. He slid into the seat as Syd Arbiter focused on him.

“Ready?” Tyr murmured.

“As much as I can be,” Razel admitted. “My father is furious with me.”

“It happens,” Tyr said. “Even as laid back as my father is, I’ve made him so furious he could barely breathe more than once as an adult. Parents get used to a certain level of authority over their children, and letting go of that authority is difficult. It’ll be harder between you and your father, considering all of the politics involved.”

“Tull glared at me just now.”

“There are those who come to loathe the people and things they cannot have,” Tyr said and stood when a solid thud echoed through the hall. He stilled Razel with one hand, so he stayed seated.

Syd Arbiter focused on Mim Dragonslayer, who was standing at a table opposite theirs. It didn’t feel adversarial, so that was a relief.

“On this day, December 27, 1975, the Judiciary Guild of the Blacklock clan will hear the deposition of Master Razel Fireborn, the reborn Durin the Deathless, regarding the crimes against his person beginning on January 9, 1354, with the murder of Durin XXI,” Syd Arbiter said. “Because every single unlawful death we will discuss happened to a minor, the hall has been sealed and the privacy protocols activated. The documents produced during this hearing will carry privacy seals for as long as they exist and can only be used as evidence in the prosecution of those directly involved in crimes against Durin the Deathless from the years of 1354 through 1887.”

1354. Razel closed his eyes briefly as he considered the date, and his magic shifted inside of him in recognition.

“Master Fireborn, if you’re ready?” Syd Arbiter prompted.

Razel nodded and stood. Shortly, he found himself sitting in the witness box. Verification magic stirred around him, and pressure built strangely in his chest. Tyr’s hand settled on his arm, and he focused on him.

“The magic of the chair is intrusive, and the more you push against it—the harsher it will treat you.”

Razel nodded.

“Tell me a harmless lie,” Tyr instructed.

Razel blinked in surprise. “I…. What?”

“Just do it. Tell me a silly lie,” Tyr said.

“Some of my favorite people are humans,” Razel said. The air around him brightened, and the box started to glow red. “Oh, I thought it was supposed to hurt.”

“Like all things, this magic is about intent. Your overt lie wasn’t designed to be malicious or designed to slander another, so the court was notified that you’ve lied, and no punitive magic was applied.”

Razel nodded. “Okay.”

He relaxed, and Tyr released him. His gaze drifted around the room; his conclave had chosen to sit in the upper reaches of the hall. They all gave him a single nod, and he nodded in return before focusing on Mim Dragonslayer.

“Master Galgul Justice will ask questions on behalf of the International Judiciary Guild,” Mim Dragonslayer said. “As we only wish to put you through this once, Master Fireborn, she has a predetermined list of questions. When you need a break, please don’t hesitate to say.”

Razel nodded and focused on the dwarrowdam who took Mim’s place at the podium. She was quite elderly, and he wondered if they’d chosen her because of the overt maternal vibe she was putting off. He wished it was a comfort.

“Per your victim impact statement, Master Fireborn, you believed you were smothered several times as an infant and bludgeoned to death once.”

“Yes, the first time—one of my parents smothered me shortly after I was born. It’s not a distinct memory, as I must have been just days old, but the trauma resonates in my magic,” Razel said and watched her nod.

“We’ve identified that event as the first murder,” Galgul said. “Through interrogation, we’ve confirmed that your paternal parent suffocated you because he believed his spouse had cheated on him and that you were the product of an affair.” She looked up from the parchment she was reading. “For the record, he was mistaken. His parents covered up his crimes. In fact, your maternal line has been covering up his crime repeatedly as they knew you’d eventually remember being murdered due to the magic that governs your reincarnation. One of his parents was a solicitor, and she knew the Regency Accord intimately.”

“Then she knew that the day I’m crowned, the magic of the accord would punish all those who had betrayed me,” Razel said.

“Yes,” Galgul said. “All the parties involved in the first crime have passed. Knorr Stonehelm is the great-grandson of the dwarf who murdered you. They killed your birth mother to cover up the first crime as well.”

“The next time, I was older—perhaps as much as three,” Razel said. “I remember…trying to push their hands away from my face.” His hand tightened into a fist, where it rested on his thigh. “And my birth parent, a dwarf whose face I cannot see clearly even now, screamed and fought them. I think they killed him, too.”

“Yes, they did,” Galgul confirmed. “In total, twenty-six dverger were killed to protect the conspiracy. Do you know how many times you were murdered?”

“While I don’t remember the instances individually, I recently came to know that I’m Durin XXX.” He watched shock drift over the dwarrowdam’s face. “I received a grimoire, as you might know.” She nodded. “It’s mated to me magically despite the lack of a claiming as we were waiting to perform a retrieval ritual in the hopes of recovering the material that was lost when the original was destroyed.

“I opened it several days ago and found that it had marked itself a courting gift. It had the date of our exchange and our names.” He cleared his throat. “Both of my names were listed.”

“So, your grimoire declared you the thirtieth incarnation of Durin the Deathless,” Galgul said. “Did it feel appropriate?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t remember being murdered nine times?”

“No, but…it might have been murder every single time,” Razel said. “A stillbirth or miscarriage would’ve still counted as an incarnation as far as the grimoire is concerned. The most distinct memory I have is of Knorr Stonehelm beating me to death. My parents were curse breakers, and they traveled extensively all over the world. They managed to hide me until I was ten years old. I don’t know how he found out, but he killed my parents and me.”

“Yes, that happened in Egypt in 1884,” Galgul said. “Do you remember enough of that event to put it in a pensieve?”

“Objection,” Tyr interjected as he stood.

Syd inclined his head. “Master Warhide, you have the floor.”

“With all due respect, Master Justice, the memories of a child are not admissible as evidence in a legal proceeding, which makes your request an unnecessary burden.”

“Master Fireborn is clearly an adult, Master Warhide.”

“Yes, of course, but you aren’t asking for his memories. You are asking for the memories of a ten-year-old murder victim. Master Fireborn cannot provide a mature retrospective opinion for an event a previous version of himself experienced.” Tyr glanced only briefly at Razel before continuing. “During his victim impact statement, there were several instances where it was clearly written from a very immature perspective. It was as if he reached out through time and had that murdered child describe his own violent death.”

Galgul’s gaze narrowed. “Are you allowing your own experience with memory sharing to cloud your judgment on this issue, Master Warhide?”

“I do know exactly what it’s like to have a deeply personal and traumatic event turned into a source of morbid fascination and entertainment,” Tyr said evenly, and Galgul frowned. “But the judiciary has already determined that Master Fireborn’s testimony is to be treated as if he is a minor due to victimology. Thus, a pensieve memory would have no evidentiary value and could only be seen as a source of curiosity at best.”

“The question is withdrawn,” Galgul said. “Master Fireborn, during the case briefing this morning, the investigative team was told that you had a conversation with Mahal, and he explained the events that led to the murder of Durin XXIV. Can you expound on that?”

“I performed the ritual to claim the element aether,” Razel said. “During the course of the ritual, Mahal appeared in my circle and facilitated the claiming of earth and water, the last of the elements I needed. Water proved very difficult, and he explained that I was drowned as a baby during my last reincarnation. To prevent a lingering fear of water, he’s kept that memory from me. I told him I’d rather not ever have it—as my parents and sisters were also murdered. I will be sharing the memory of that ritual with the entire horde.”

She stared for a moment. “May I ask why?”

“Because Mahal told me we could go home and that Arda is waiting for us. I believe every dverger alive deserves to see that and to hear those words from our maker directly. If we’re going to go home, then Arda can’t just be my dream anymore.” He paused and inclined his head. “You have more questions?”

“Yes.” Galgul adjusted the parchment in front of her. “Have you ever had any private interactions with members of the Longbeard clan?”

“My maternal grandparents visited me as a child once a year until they passed. My parents declined access otherwise.”

“Do you believe your parents suspected that your Longbeard relatives could be dangerous for you to be around?” Galgul questioned.

“You’d have to ask them if they had specific worries. My parents trusted precious few people with my life before I was even born.” He sat back in his chair with a frown. “And that was certainly to my benefit. I wouldn’t be sitting here if Knorr Stonehelm could’ve gotten his hands on me again.”

“Do you know when your original grimoire was destroyed and who did it?” Galgul questioned.

“Is that important?”

“It could’ve provided a wealth of information regarding the crimes committed against you, Master Fireborn. It is important that we know if it was destroyed as part of the conspiracy.”

“It wasn’t,” Razel said. “No one has entered the vault but some version of me in over seven hundred years until recently.”

Her eyes widened. “You’ve taken another person into Durin’s legacy vault?”

“Who I allow in my vault is my business,” Razel said evenly. “As to the grimoire, Durin XVII destroyed it in a moment of profound grief. I regretted it, of course, but grief brought me low both emotionally and magically.” He paused. “Pardon me, the grief brought him low.”

“Is it difficult to keep yourself separate from the memories?”

“Is that important to know?” Razel questioned.

“It certainly speaks to your level of trauma, which is a concern,” Galgul said.

“Then, yes, I often have emotional reactions to situations and memories from previous incarnations both here and on Arda,” Razel admitted and glanced toward the section of the room where his parents were still sequestered behind a privacy charm. He was relieved he couldn’t see them.

“Are you willing to discuss the event that led to the destruction of the grimoire?”

“No.”

Galgul blinked in surprise and glanced toward Tyr, then focused on Syd Arbiter. She was clearly seeking some sort of instruction from one of them.

“Why?” she asked, her tone frustrated.

“It has nothing to do with the situation we’re here to discuss,” Razel said stiffly. “It is personal and none of the judiciary’s business. I can destroy all of my property any time I like, and no one has a say in it.”

“Some would say that Durin’s legacy is also the legacy of the horde, Master Fireborn,” Galgul said stiffly.

“And they would be wrong,” Razel returned evenly. “Not a single one of you has any inkling of what it means to be me. You don’t understand the thousands of years that spread out behind me. You don’t understand what it feels like to have buried numerous children and spouses that I outlived, sometimes by centuries. In fact, in every single life that I was allowed to reach old age—I died alone. So, please feel free, going forward, to tell anyone who would assume that my legacy is theirs to shut the fuck up.”

Syd Arbiter cleared his throat. “Let’s take a break.”

Tyr left his own podium and opened the witness box. He said nothing as Razel stood and left the box. Razel let himself be led across the room to his parent’s box. He didn’t know whether to thank Tyr or not. His mother snatched him into a hug as soon as they were inside the box, her body shaking against his.

Razel closed his eyes and breathed against her hair. “Amad, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Ragnok said roughly as he cupped the back of Razel’s head.

He turned slightly and found Tyr sitting in a chair. “Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not,” Tyr admitted. “But don’t worry about me right now.”

“Does Galgul have an agenda?” Razel questioned as he put his mother back in her seat and kissed her forehead. “I promise I’m okay. Nothing I said during my statement is new for me.”

Lenore frowned even as she wiped tears from her face. “I need you to be less blasé about this, Razel.”

“I’ve been assured that wallowing in grief that is not even my own is very unhealthy,” Razel said gently, and she laughed reluctantly. “I’d rather not get that lecture from Omis again.” He focused on Tyr.

“Galgul Justice is 621 years old,” Tyr said. “Which means every single one of your unlawful deaths happened during her lifetime. She was a member of the Longbeard clan when she earned her mastery in International Law, but migrated to France for marriage. She’s the oldest member of the international guild, and there are only two practicing solicitors in the horde that are older. She’s not feyborn herself, but her mother was, so that is the reason for her longevity.”

“I wouldn’t have put her much over 400,” Razel admitted. “So, she’s pushing me because she feels guilty?”

“I think she’s seeking a reason for the fact that the crimes went unreported for as long as they did,” Tyr said. “It’s got to be a sticking point for more than one member of the investigative team. Three people have been charged with murder or as an accessory so far in Rome. Twenty others have been charged as accessories after the fact for never reporting what they knew. Maybe it boils down to shame, as Mahal said, but we can’t ignore their cowardice. Especially since each person that turned a blind eye only enabled further violence against you.”

“How will those charged as accessories be punished?” Lenore questioned.

“In the end, it doesn’t matter what we do to them,” Tyr said roughly. “The day he’s crowned, the Regency Accord will probably kill every single one of them. Even those with small magic won’t be spared because they’ll be declared oath breakers by the magic that the accord is built on.” He stood. “Accessory and accessory after the fact to murder are punished differently under most circumstances. In this case, they all became party to a larger conspiracy to not only murder children but to prevent the return of the regency. They’ll all be executed if the process completes before he is crowned.”

“Good,” Lenore said quietly. “The accord will kill them even if they haven’t been discovered by the investigation?”

“Magic knows,” Ragnok said. “What we know about the situation will be largely inconsequential in the end.”

Shortly, Razel found himself back in the witness box.

“Master Yoz Windstone of the International Judiciary Guild will ask a few follow-up questions, Master Fireborn; then this matter will be closed,” Syd said as he settled into his place at the presiding bench. “Do you have any concerns or questions at this point?”

“I hope that we can keep questions focused on the crimes being investigated going forward,” Razel said. “I have no desire to answer for the actions of previous versions of myself, and to my understanding, the law protects me from legal consequences as well.”

“It does,” Syd said and focused on Yoz Windstone. “Master Windstone, you may begin.”

Yoz Windstone stared for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Master Fireborn, do you wish to report any more crimes to the judiciary?”

“What do you mean?” Razel questioned.

“Are there crimes that have been perpetrated against you in the present or in a previous incarnation that would be relevant today?” Yoz questioned.

“None that haven’t been committed against every single dverger alive,” Razel said. “I believe our circumstances as a species is an outrageous crime against magic. We are subjugated and often forced to provide services to humans due to unfair treaties that were pressed upon us during times when we had no choice and no real position to defend ourselves from their rampant and disgusting abuse. I can’t fault our ancestors for it—they did what they could to protect us. But I would say, without any sort of stipulation, that our species has been profoundly wronged by the magical humans on this world.”

The witness box glowed white around, and magic started to spark gently in the air around him in the silence that followed.

“It is clear, Master Fireborn, that magic agrees with you,” Yoz said, and his gaze dropped to the journal in front of him. “I have a few questions regarding communications from Rome, then your part in this matter will be concluded.”

“Okay,” Razel said, and the magic around the box slowly faded to normal.

* * * *

“Will you tell me?”

Razel didn’t pretend to misunderstand. He set aside his brush and watched Tyr drop the towel he’d used to dry off in a laundry basket. “Yes, of course.”

He offered his hand and pulled his partner into the bedroom. The bed looked warm and inviting, so he just prodded Tyr all the way there and under the covers. Razel took a deep breath and rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling.

“If it’s going to be hurtful….”

“That’s not it exactly,” Razel murmured. “It’s just really fucking sad. It was a hard life that time around—I was identified at birth and celebrated. My parents were young and easily manipulated by practically everyone around them. I was raised to be a very spoiled and entitled little bastard, and it went that way until my memories surfaced. Quickly, my family realized that they weren’t going to control me at all, and there was a lot of backbiting and hostility after that. I refused to be king and named a chieftain as regent.

“Then I met a dwarf unlike any I’d ever been around. I fell stupidly, immediately in love. Fortunately for me, he felt pretty much the same. He was sweet, beautiful, and an artisan who sought to create nothing but beauty. I married him as soon as I could, and he wanted to start a family. I could not deny him. We made a child. Everything went very well with the pregnancy but during the birth….” Razel took a deep breath. “I lost them both.”

He turned to look at Tyr then and found his lover bright-eyed with tears. “It was all I could do not to follow him into the stones if I’m honest. Months later, I was in the vault and picked up the grimoire. I made the mistake of turning to the records section, and it listed their deaths—my husband and daughter. His name was listed but not hers because I didn’t fucking name her, and I was so furious with myself and with the grimoire. Sometimes the magic of it is just heartless.”

“What was her name?” Tyr asked quietly.

“You mustn’t ever speak of this, Tyr,” Razel said quietly.

“Of course not, darling,” Tyr said and scooted closer.

“I named her Lenore. I eventually did inscribe her name on the tomb they shared, so it became a family name. My mother was the fifth dwarrowdam to be named after that child in some form or another in my maternal line.”

“So, your own mother is named after the daughter you lost,” Tyr said.

“Yes,” Razel said quietly. “I set the grimoire on fire.” He took a deep breath. “I never remarried—never allowed another to touch me intimately.” He paused. “And because after that, I fell prey to a monstrous conspiracy, there has been no one until you.”

“Is the loss of him in childbirth the reason you want to carry?” Tyr questioned.

“It certainly is probably part of it,” Razel admitted. “The thought of you being that vulnerable makes me ache…it’s agonizing, Tyr. But I’ll do whatever mind healing I need to do if circumstances mean you have to carry our children.”

“It’ll be fine,” Tyr whispered and pulled close. “How can I ease you?”

“Just hold me like this,” Razel murmured and pressed a kiss against his shoulder. “In the morning, we’re going to have an immense amount of sex to make up for me not getting laid for days.”

“Deal,” Tyr said and rubbed his back gently.

 

Chapter 15

Razel shuddered, breath catching as Tyr’s kissed his mouth briefly. He wrapped his legs around Tyr’s waist and arched into the penetration.

“Is this how you want it?”

“Yeah,” Razel admitted and threw his hands over his head to grip the edge of the mattress. “It’s perfect.” Fire shimmered on his skin, and he let go a little, confident of the new work he’d done on his wards.

The pleasure was overwhelming and so sweet that he let go of every single thing he had to worry about and concentrated on the fluid movement of their bodies and the heavy thrust of Tyr’s cock in his arse. He came, spilling onto his own stomach, and Tyr slowed down.

“No, give me more,” Razel insisted, and Tyr groaned softly against his beard. “Come in me.”

Their fire blended together, spread out over the bed, and Tyr continued to move; their bodies came together roughly time and again until the steady slap of their skin meeting was a strange kind of pleasure of its own. Orgasm started to tease against his senses, and he realized with some shock that he was going to come despite the fact that he was nowhere near hard again. He shuddered through a dry orgasm with a startled groan, and Tyr followed him right over the edge.

They exchanged a series of soft, languid kisses before Tyr slipped from his body and rolled off onto the mattress beside him.

“Why don’t you invite your family to have breakfast here?” Razel questioned, and Tyr sent him a startled look. “I’ll clear it with security.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m going to ask Cain Fury to lead my army on Arda, Tyr. If I can’t trust him to sit at my table, then I have no business asking such a thing of him, and I know it.” He sat up. “But we should shower first. It’s another hour before the kitchens start serving breakfast. How about I start the shower, and you call them?”

Tyr nodded. “Luc, too?”

“Certainly, he’d pout for days if he weren’t invited,” Razel said dryly, and Tyr laughed.

* * * *

He let Tyr order the food since he wasn’t sure what a five-year-old would eat and didn’t want the responsibility of picking food anyways. The door chime sounded, and he went to get it before Tyr could. He laughed a little when his lover made a face at him.

Razel opened the door, and Luc Pathfinder was front and center with a child in hand. If she were a foot tall, Razel would’ve been surprised, so he was glad that Luc appeared to have carried her through the complex to his quarters.

“Oh!” She lurched right out of Luc’s arms, fire danced on her skin, and Razel caught her even as Luc hissed in shock. Wards visibly fell away around her.

Razel laughed as fire flickered over her face. “Are you okay, Luc?”

“I’ll be fine,” Luc said as he waved both of his hands which were red and blistering, but he didn’t complain when he was prodded into the rooms by a dwarrowdam with striking red hair and a huffy frown. Tyr drew his wand and followed them. “A little singed.”

“A lot singed,” a dwarf said as he entered. “Master Fireborn, it’s an honor. Cain Fury and my wife, Jania Brightgem.”

“Please call me Razel,” he said and focused on the child even as Tyr came to his side. “And you must be Sadi.”

“You’re so pretty,” she gushed, and Tyr laughed. “If I was grown up, I’d want to marry you, too!”

He grinned. “You’re very pretty, too.”

“I know,” Sadi said solemnly. “It’s a real burden.”

“Well, you’re going to break hearts all over the place,” Razel said with a laugh and turned to Tyr, who finished healing Luc’s hands with a flick of his wand. “She’s hot to the touch.”

“How hot?” Tyr questioned.

“Around 200 degrees centigrade,” Razel said and focused on her. “Do you often get hot like this when you’re excited?”

“I burned Adad when we came on the portkey,” she said. “But he’s okay.”

“This isn’t elemental fire,” Razel murmured, and Tyr’s eyes widened.

He didn’t protest when Tyr took her, and he watched his partner stare at his niece in shock. Tyr turned to his brother. “How long has she been doing this?”

“A few months,” Cain said. “It’s not elemental? Her healer has declared her an elemental, so we’ve just been warding her as instructed.”

“She is,” Tyr said. “But this is dragon fire, Cain.” He focused on his niece and let scales flick out across his cheeks. Razel wasn’t all that surprised when the little girl mimicked her uncle, and a little black fork tongue flicked out between her lips. Tyr sighed. “She’ll need a moderator for her animagus form, which she has zero control over right now. It’s why the elemental control exercises aren’t helping. Her element is entirely banked, but you can’t control an animagus spirit that way.”

“Omis keeps devices on hand and can tailor one to work with her magic specifically,” Razel said as Sadi’s fire retreated abruptly.

The girl huffed. “Uncle Tyr!”

“You need to tell your animagus spirit to behave,” Tyr said sternly. “And it’s time for food. Fortunately for you, this entire suite is warded for fire.” He turned to his brother. “I pushed the fire down and away with a charm, but it’s a temporary solution.”

“We’ll visit the Healing Hall as soon as breakfast is over,” Jania said as she joined them. “I should’ve taken her back to the healer, but he was kind of an arsehole about the whole thing. He made it clear that he didn’t think two small magic users had any business raising a child with as much magical potential as Sadi has.”

“I don’t want new parents,” Sadi said, and tears welled.

“Don’t worry, little one,” Tyr soothed. “I would sue everyone if such a thing were to be attempted.” She laughed, but a fat tear slid down her cheek anyway. “I ordered you strawberry crepes.”

Razel noted that Cain was frowning even as they settled at the table and watched curiously as Jania pulled a little chair clearly designed to clip to the table from dimensional storage. Tyr put her Sadi in it as soon as it was secure, and the little girl huffed dramatically when Luc sat down beside her.

Luc grinned, stood, and offered his chair to Razel. “I’ve been thrown aside, and my heart lay shattered on the floor.”

Sadi rolled her eyes but then patted the table beside her as she focused on Razel with a little smile. “Come sit with me, please, Uncle Razel.”

Razel just laughed but took the seat with his plate in hand. Everyone else did the same, and Tyr put a plate down in front of his niece as well with crepes that had already been cut into pieces. He focused on the little girl.

“I bet you get away with everything.”

She laughed even as her mother opened up a set of tiny silverware and placed a fork in her hand. “Ugmil’adad says I’m amazing!”

“Your grandfather is known for his dramatics,” Tyr responded, and Sadi huffed.

“The problem with a child like this is that she’s going to grow up with unreasonable standards,” Razel said. “No dverger will ever measure up.”

Jania brushed her daughter’s hair from her shoulder. “As it should be. I’m worried that the healer didn’t realize it was dragon fire.”

“Without extensive testing, only another dragon animagus could hold her and discern such a thing, and the form isn’t common,” Tyr said. “Everyone else releases her immediately, right?”

“We’ve been forced to, yes,” Cain said. “When she did it during the portkey, it was all I could do to hold onto her until we landed. If I were not warded for the forge, I’d have dropped her, and that would’ve been….” He trailed off and shook his head.

It would’ve been a fatal accident, the likes of which was so uncommon that it was often considered a myth. Razel focused on the food that Tyr had ordered for him. Quiche and two sausage links adorned the plate in an artful manner. He wondered if the chef put in extra effort on the display when food was sent to his quarters, and he hoped not.

“I’ve been thinking about the question Amad asked me about eternal flames,” Jania said as she cut her into her own sausage. “She also told me that you can pull mithril into strings?”

“Yes, I have some I can show you after breakfast,” Razel said. “But even they can’t stand up under the pressure of the spell work we need on the ward stones. In theory, I could remake or repair them every few hours during a migration cycle, but that’s….” He frowned. “I think it would be exhausting, and I wouldn’t want to depend on something that wasn’t stable. I’ll want to place them on both sides of the portal once it’s established.”

Sadi’s hand settled on his forearm. “When Uncle Tyr marries you, will I be a princess?”

Razel grinned at her. “I think you’re already a princess.”

She seemed to consider that and nodded slowly. “Okay. Adad, did you hear? The king says I’m a princess.”

Cain smiled at his daughter. “I’ve always thought so.”

Razel focused on Jania, who was guiding her daughter toward her food again. “Do you think the ability to pull mithril is the path to keeping it liquid?”

“No, but I’m curious about it. Despite having small magic, one of my innate skills is the ability to create an eternal flame,” Jania said. “I can put one in practically anything that will hold the enchanted fire. I have mastery in runes like most jewelers. I could, if I had time, get another in enchantment.”

“So, your magic is on the high end of small,” Razel said, and she nodded. “Do you think you could contain elemental fire in an eternal flame structure?”

“I’d love to try,” she said with a quick smile in her husband’s direction. “Cain and I are going to migrate here sooner rather than later.” She paused. “If that’s okay?”

“It would be perfect,” Razel said, and he focused on Cain. “We need to have a conversation after the meal—one with adult topics.” He focused on Sadi, who was frowning. “How would you like to meet Master Omis Stoneheart?”

Her eyes widened. “Will she throw me down a mine shaft?”

Razel laughed. “Contrary to popular belief, she’s only ever done that once, and she even went to get them after a day. Though, fortunately for us, there are no mine shafts in this bank.”

“She could make one,” Sadi said and squinted at him. “And, yes, I want to meet her.”

He tapped her nose. “You’re squinting because you’re letting your animagus form bleed through again—dragons don’t see the same way dverger do. The structure of our eye changes during the shift.”

“Do you think the healer didn’t tell us everything in his efforts to prove we should allow my in-laws to raise her?” Cain questioned.

“If he did, I’m going to ruin his life,” Tyr muttered. “I can take Jania and Sadi to see Omis while you’re speaking with Razel?”

Cain nodded.

* * * *

“Due to circumstances I’m not at liberty to discuss, the horde is in a state of flux when it comes to our agreements with humans,” Razel said as he settled in on one end of the sofa. He glanced toward Glou, who’d joined them after Tyr had left with Jania, Sadi, and Luc. “Glou tells me that you’re the best warrior in the horde, Cain, and that you’re undefeated in the arena.”

Cain nodded slowly. “I’ve not lost in a fight in over a decade, and thousands attend our trials in Paris when we have them.”

“On Arda, we’ll need a defensive force as I don’t know what we’ll face. Magic is feral on that world, and we know that in the past, there were very violent and uncontrollable dark forces. There was a species of creature called orcs. They were made of dark magic, and they came out of the ground.” Cain’s mouth dropped open. “I can’t be certain they’re entirely gone. There are no sapient life forms left on Arda currently. I can’t say what magic will bring back once we wake it up.”

Cain nodded. “Would you be willing to feed a dueling generator with non-specific memories of orcs and other potential enemies on Arda?”

Razel considered that. “That would include—Arda’s version of trolls, ogres, a creature called a were-worm which is a form of dragon, and drakes. Arda had dragons at one time, but they were extinct before our migration to Earth.” He paused. “Plus, we’re going to take all the magical creatures from Earth with us if they agree.”

“Can we veto the nundu?” Cain questioned.

“Unfortunately not, but Mahal promised they’d be sequestered on a different continent that would be the sanctuary for feral magic on Arda. They’ll serve a purpose there—keeping the creatures that feral magic creates in check.” Razel stared at Tyr’s older brother for a long moment. “I’d like to task you with fielding an army to defend the horde.”

Cain pursed his lips. “Is this because of Tyr?”

“No, you aren’t even my first choice,” Razel said plainly, and Cain laughed. “But you are the only recommendation my first choice made.” His gaze flicked toward Glou. “Glou will be in charge of the king’s guard as that is his preference. He assures me that you’re exactly the dwarf I need to lead the horde legion. If you don’t want it—you’ll be put in charge of finding me a general to fill the post.”

“I want it,” Cain said. “And that is about Tyr. The more say I have in his future safety, the better I will feel.” He leaned forward a bit, hands braced on his knees. “Because, frankly, I’m worried sick about the kind of threats he’ll face as your consort. He doesn’t seem daunted at all about any of it, but the rest of us…it’s why my parents want to migrate our immediate family as soon as possible.”

“We can arrange a bodyguard,” Glou said. “And you can put someone you trust in the role when you get here. We’d require oaths if they’re to be allowed the same access as your brother, who can come and go from the chieftain’s domain without an escort.”

“My brother-in-law, Cohn Ironheart, has already questioned me about such a role after we get here. He’ll certainly want to join the king’s guard. I was worried that Tyr would decline it,” Cain admitted. “And that it would be difficult to put into place considering the security issues around….” He focused on Razel. “You.”

Razel nodded. “Your brother can take care of himself.”

“I know that very well,” Cain assured. “I trained him—never let him retreat to his books when he would’ve preferred because I’ve already seen him near death, and I’d rather not ever see such a thing again. He was so young, so quick to laugh before the dragon. She ripped his childhood right out of him, and it was agonizing on more than one level. Our brothers, Kern and Jas, were inconsolable during his recovery and took turns sleeping in the healing hall with him. They’re only a year apart in age, and I assumed, wrongly, the last of my siblings when Jas was born. Five years later, Luc came then another four after that, Tyr was born. Suza was a surprise to everyone.”

“I was twenty-five when Elspeth was adopted. The changes in our family were immense,” Razel said. “Do you have any specific worries about Tyr’s safety? Or know of any threats that need our immediate attention?”

“Nothing specific. I know that some would say that Fhane Wisemind is a problem, but he isn’t. I spoke with him after the announcement, and he swore on his magic that he’d never do either of you harm.” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t ask it of him and was startled when he did it. I guess I wasn’t the first to question him on the subject. Maybe others are concerned because he put himself in mind healing.”

Razel leaned back and considered that he shifted around slightly and got comfortable on the couch. “Is it believed to be our fault on a large scale?”

“Oh, Fhane’s family certainly blames Tyr,” Cain said roughly. “But the one time it got said in public, he was livid and cursed his own brother out. Honestly, Fhane’s never allowed anyone to find fault with Tyr regarding their relationship ending within his hearing. He’s reined them in recently, though, and I’m not able to share any sort of detail as to the reason.”

Razel hoped, for Fhane’s sake, that he hadn’t told his family the truth, as they didn’t appear to be all that discreet. “It would upset Tyr to know that Fhane’s having problems with his own family. He tried to be careful with that situation.”

“He was incredibly kind to Fhane in circumstances that would’ve driven most, including me, to very angry public fights,” Cain said dryly, and Glou laughed. “He’s always been that way—kind and careful. I’m glad for it, as he doesn’t have the reputation most of us do when it comes to the family temper. It wouldn’t have served him at all to be prone to fist fighting, like the rest of us, when it comes to his future role in the horde.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have cared at all,” Razel admitted easily. “Tyr can brawl all he wants. Though I must warn you, Elspeth has already decided that Luc is her favorite brawling partner, and I doubt any of you will sway her.”

Glou laughed even as Cain blinked in surprise.

* * * *

Tyr settled on the sofa in front of his brother as Jania went to the bedroom of the guest suite to put their daughter down. The visit to Omis had worn her out.

“Are you okay?”

Cain exhaled noisily and took a sip of the tumbler nearly full of whisky. “Cain Fury, General of the Horde Legion, at your service.” He glanced up as his wife entered the room. “It’ll be announced after the foundation for the portal is built.”

“General,” Jania repeated. “He made you the leader of our non-existent military?”

“He charged me with building a defensive force for Arda,” Cain murmured and focused on his brother. “You knew?”

“Of course,” Tyr said. “We spoke of it. It’s not some weird form of nepotism if you’re concerned.”

Cain laughed. “No, he was clear that I wasn’t even his first choice. I can’t believe Master Glou Warhammer recommended me. Frankly, I’m only undefeated because he’s never bothered to come to Paris to step into the arena with me.”

Tyr wasn’t sure he agreed because Cain was a beast, and he’d know. The last time he’d gone into the arena with his oldest brother, he’d gotten his shoulder dislocated. He rubbed the shoulder in question, and Cain smirked a little before taking a drink as if he knew what Tyr was thinking about, and he probably did.

“You could’ve said no,” Tyr said, and Cain shook his head. “I mean it. Razel wouldn’t have tried to force it.”

“No, of course not,” Cain said. “He’s not what I expected, frankly, and I’m grateful for it. I never thought you’d involve yourself with an arsehole, but I was worried about his isolation. He did very well with Sadi, and most don’t know what to do with a child that small if they don’t have children of their own. But I want it, and it’s a role I would’ve pursued ardently if he’d just announced open trials. I’ll have trials anyway to pick my captains and to make sure everyone under me knows I’ll fucking kill them if they don’t do their jobs.”

Tyr laughed.

Cain focused on Jania. “What did Master Stoneheart say?”

Jania frowned and rubbed her face with both hands in an overt display of frustration. “Before or after she floo called Paris and tore half the hide off the healer we visited? She practically accused him of malpractice and threatened to come to Paris with the express purpose of digging her own damn mine shaft so she could throw him down it. Sadi suggested that she make her own since she didn’t think we had any in Paris.”

Cain laughed. “Then she told him that he wasn’t qualified to treat children and filed a complaint with the Master of the Healing Hall in Paris because she was serious. She’s still reviewing, but she’s going to consult with the judiciary to see if he should face charges for child endangerment due to the incident with the portkey. I admitted we’d have never used it if we’d known what was genuinely going on with her.”

Cain’s jaw tightened, and he focused on Tyr. “What do you think?”

“He knew she had animagus form but said it was useless to tell you because neither of you is qualified to teach her to control her form,” Tyr said. “And I’ll have a meeting with Omis Stoneheart and Syd Arbiter about the situation because I do think his arrogance and discrimination of small magic users could’ve gotten Sadi killed. The judiciary has a zero-tolerance policy regarding such things, Cain. Omis put a modulator on her that has suppressed her form entirely, which was upsetting for her.”

Jania grimaced. “She cried herself to sleep.”

“I’d be inconsolable,” Tyr admitted. “Even now, to have such a thing done to me, so I understand, but it’s not safe for her right now.” He turned to Jania. “Have your parents asked for primary custody?”

“My parents aren’t currently speaking to us at all,” Jania admitted. “Things have been strained since we got married, and it…took an ugly turn recently.”

“Because of me?” Tyr questioned.

“As you know, Fhane Wisemind is my first cousin,” Jania said, and Tyr nodded. “His mother and mine are extremely close, even for sisters. My mother told me that most of them think that you threw away the love of your life for personal gain and politics.” She wet her lips. “Fhane recently told his parents that he’s infertile, but he refused to discuss details. Almost everyone seemed to accept that as a perfectly rational reason for you to end the relationship as you did years ago.”

“Except for your mother and his,” Tyr said, and Jania nodded. “It’s not political, Jania. I’m foolishly in love with Razel.”

“I noticed,” Jania said and smiled. “It’d be hard for anyone to see the two of you together and genuinely think it’s anything less than a genuine love match.”

“Some assume he chose you because of your education, and it’s gotten around that the Regency Accord will create a new court system to match,” Cain said. “Adad was questioned about it and asked if you pursued Razel because of it, and he admitted you’d never read the accord until recently and had no idea.”

“No, it was startling, and we didn’t even discuss it until after we’d agreed to start a courtship,” Tyr admitted. “We can’t make anyone believe the truth of it, and that’s fine. They can think it’s political all damn day just as long as they don’t do anything stupid as a result.”

Jania bit down on her lip. “Did you leave Fhane because you wanted children?”

“Of course,” Tyr said, and she blinked. “I adore Fhane, but I know myself well enough to know that I would’ve deeply resented the lack of children.”

“And you and Razel are on the same page?” Cain prodded. “He wants children?”

“As many as he can safely carry,” Tyr said and shrugged when Cain’s mouth dropped open. “Razel and I have been very open on all the important topics, Cain. I know it looks rushed and crazy from the outside, but I’ve never been more sure of a decision in my life.”

“We’re so happy for you,” Jania said and caught his hand. She squeezed gently. “Sadi’s right about one thing—he’s beautiful.”

Tyr laughed. “Sometimes he’s hard to look at.”

* * * *

The conclave workspace was empty, as planned. Tyr had sent word through Luc to clear the space out because Razel wanted to claim the grimoire and didn’t want an audience for it. He stepped out of the cistern, and Razel reached out and carefully tied his robe into place.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Tyr questioned.

“Everything,” Razel murmured. “Your faith, your love, and everything in between. You’re such a gift and blessing.”

Tyr couldn’t help but pull him close, hands clenching in the deceptively delicate mithril ritual robe. He meant for the kiss to be soft, but their mouths met in a kiss that went hot and carnal almost immediately. Razel’s hands clenched in his hair, and it was all he could do to pull free of the kiss.

“You locked the door?” Razel asked, and Tyr grinned.

“Let’s plan to find a real bed to spend the rest of the evening in,” Tyr murmured as he took one of Razel’s hands.

“Deal,” Razel agreed and led him to the center of the ritual stone before releasing him. “I think we can sit, and I’ll create a personal circle. I wanted to do it in here to prevent damaging the wards in my flat again.”

Tyr nodded and settled down on the floor with his lover. The ritual itself was deceptively simple, and that was a concern. He’d been assured by several different directions that he’d made the right choice, but there was some doubt lingering in the back of his mind.

“Relax,” Razel said and smiled when Tyr focused on him. “The spell is simple but powerful due to the three runes that will empower it.”

“I worry that it won’t work, and it will devalue the gift I’ve given you,” Tyr admitted, and Razel’s eyes went wide with shock.

“You needn’t worry at all,” Razel said and pulled the grimoire from his dimensional store. “I promise. The legacy wants the history of Durin restored in full. I can feel it, and I think it’s merely waiting for an opportunity to return to me.” He drew a delicate copper wand from his dimensional store, and Tyr blinked in surprise.

“What is…that?” Tyr questioned.

“It’s from Arda,” Razel admitted and offered the wand. “Wanded magic was rare amongst our kind before we came here. This was created by a very gifted rune master who needed a way to focus his magic which wasn’t exactly small, but it wasn’t as refined as the way we exist now.”

Tyr turned the wand gently over in his hand, and his magic shifted inside of him. “I want one.”

“We’ll make you one then,” Razel said simply and laughed when Tyr’s cheeks flushed. “I have a book on the creation methods. We can work on it together if you like.”

Tyr nodded and passed the wand back to him. “Why use it?”

“It allows for very precise control,” Razel said. “I used it to create the rune structure for your stave. I’ve been considering the construction of them on a large scale for small magic users. It would allow them to tap into the magic they have due to the refinement and empowerment built into the copper.”

“It would be life-changing for many,” Tyr admitted. “Why do you suppose the use of them was not widespread on Arda?”

“I think many of our species were barely magical at all before coming here,” Razel admitted. “Or that it was fading rapidly from our species for some reason that is unclear. The first incarnation of Durin to live on Earth was very magical, but I think he was born with the magic he had for the express purpose of migrating our kind to Earth.”

“Much like you were gifted as you are for the exodus?” Tyr questioned. “That speaks to influence—perhaps even influence beyond our own maker.”

“There are many higher powers in play on this world and ours,” Razel said, and the air around them thickened as he raised the wand. Magic flowed out of it in a steady stream and spread out over the circle. “Okay?”

“It’s not unlike your fire as far as feel goes,” Tyr murmured.

“Mahal, Blessed Father, guide me now as you have all the times I’ve lived before,” Razel murmured as he drew the first rune in the air between them. “Othala—representing ancestral power and inheritance—accept my claim. Eihwaz—representing death and spiritual growth—let the power of the world tree see me as I was, as I am, and as I will be. Ansuz—representing wisdom, communication, and inspiration—may the ancestral sovereign judge me worthy of my heritage and accept my moments of strength and weakness in equal measure.”

All three runes glowed brightly as they turned in the air between them, gathering power from the unstructured magic that Razel had filled the circle with. On the floor, the grimoire opened, and magic flickered through the pages so quickly that Tyr averted his gaze to avoid growing nauseous due to the rapid movement. He focused on the runes that were gently spinning. Then, one by one, they dropped into the grimoire, each delivering a solid thud that echoed through the room.

In the distance, a sound started to build. Voices, some rushed and excited; others slow and pleading. Metal hitting metal. Thunderous movement on ground, on rock, and the thump of bodies meeting. War, Tyr thought, and his gut clenched. The cry of a baby caught his attention, and a soft voice sang a sweet little song in a language very similar to the khuzdul their kind spoke. It was fascinating.

Across from him, Razel’s breath caught, and he reached out for his lover as tears streamed down his face. He took up both of Razel’s hands in his and held tight.

“Breathe with me, darling,” Tyr murmured. “It’s almost done.”

“I can feel it,” Razel said in agreement, and his eyes closed. He took in a ragged breath.

The magic started to wane.

“Thank you, blessed father, for your time and attention. So mote it be,” Razel murmured and squeezed Tyr’s hands briefly before releasing him.

Tyr watched him pick up the grimoire, which was emitting a soft gold light. He took a deep breath and pressed the book to his chest briefly before flicking it gently into his dimensional storage. Razel shifted to his knees and cupped Tyr’s face with both hands as magic drifted gently around them.

“I’ve never known, in all of my days, the kind of solace and sweet love you’ve gifted with me, Tyr Warhide son of Brol.”

Tyr pulled him close, and flames started to shift and move between them. “I didn’t know love could feel like destiny until I met you,” he confessed.

They exchanged a soft kiss, and Tyr relaxed as Razel’s magic finally retreated completely, and the circle closed. Their gazes met. In that moment, he could see their future spreading out in front of them like a beautiful but dangerous dream.

“Regrets?” Razel questioned gently.

“Not a single damned one,” Tyr assured and got a soft, delighted laugh in return.

The End

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