“I served him well. And his predecessor, too. The queen’s death changed him.”
As I’d heard many times. “The fact remains, the queen is dead. Has been for many years. His reasons, even though they may be valid, matter less now than his politics.”
I thought of Terran’s bathing chamber. The way he spoke of his mother. And could understand how such a woman softened the Gyorian king. Without her, he’d become lost.
“More Gyorians would agree with you than most think.” His voice gruff, Elvric took a swig as my own drink was placed before me. I thanked the server and took a sip, waiting for the ousted historian to continue. “There is a growing faction who can see with their own eyes what Balthor’s isolationist policies have cost us.”
I listened as he outlined the current state of Gyorian affairs, in his opinion, which was in line with our own assessment. But I wasn’t here to discuss inter-Elydorian sentiment.
My mind wandered.
Voren vel’kora.
You are bound to me by choice.
It wasn’t a phrase a Gyorian would typically utter lightly. Its true meaning would be lost by most, but I’d been trained to understand such nuances. Spoken aloud, it carried weight… far more than the simple translation would suggest. Its origins traced back to the earliest blood-pacts of the elemental clans when Elydor was one kingdom. Back then, it was used in sacred vows… between bonded warriors, lovers who chose devotion over duty, and even rulers who swore allegiance not by blood, but by will.
To say it now? To me?
It signified dominance, but not control. It was a declaration. A surrender of trust.
Most wouldn’t understand the difference. But I knew its etymology.
And so did Terran.
Snapped back to the present, I waited for a break in his story.
“Will you tell me about the Stone?” I asked. “And its possible role in the current Unbalance?”
It was a loaded question, and my companion knew it. Some would consider this conversation treason on his part, between a former Royal Naturalist and an Aetherian.
“The Stone of Mor’Vallis is semi-sentient,” he said quietly, his eyes darting from me to the other Siren’s Rest patrons. “More relic than raw magic. It is common knowledge that each of the three relics—the Stone, the Wind Crystal, and the Tidal Pearl—can only be used by the most powerful in each clan. What most misunderstand is that it does not align with strength alone, but with the balance of the wielder’s elemental heart. Balthor could wield it because he was the most powerful in Gyoria, aye, but also because he was more balanced, before his descent into hatred.”
He leaned in. “There’s more. Something most scholars don’t write down. The relics are not just bound to bloodlines. They are listeners. Observers. Each carries a core memory… a living imprint shaped by every hand it has touched. The Stone of Mor’Vallis remembers more than power. It remembers the kind of power it served.”
I stared at him. “You’re saying it judges?”
“No,” he said, voice low and steady. “It remembers. And it protects itself from being used by those it deems unworthy. There is an old saying among elemental historians.Velar ith’morra. The relic remembers the wound.”
I’d never heard such a saying before.
“If you do not believe me,” he said, likely sensing my skepticism, “ask Salvia of Zephros. She will verify the same of your Wind Crystal.”
No Keeper of Artifacts in Elydor’s history knew more of such things than Salvia.
“Why would she not have mentioned it to King Galfrid?”
“Because Salvia suspects, as all who have studied elemental relic history, as I do. These relics are chosen based on more than just elemental strength. Disclosing too much could tip the balance by revealing as much to those who would challenge the current rulers. How would most Elydorians react if they learned their relics were “remembering wounds” from the First Crossing, for instance?”
I understood his points, but was still surprised such knowledge had been kept hidden for so long. By all three clans. Which reminded me of Estmere.
“What of the humans? How do they play into this knowledge?” I asked, working through his revelations aloud.
He sipped his drink, considering. “That depends on which humans you mean. Most were collateral in the First Crossing. But not all. The Harrow bloodline was different. Chosen, some say. Marked.” Elvric’s gaze narrowed. “There’s a reason some of us still say, ‘Where blood lingers, memory wakes.’ Most have forgotten the phrase. Fewer still know it refers to the relics.”
“Thank you,” I said simply, unsure how else to repay Elvric for his knowledge.
“I tried from within for many years but failed. Perhaps you will have better luck. I fear for Gyoria, for Elydor, if you do not.” He stood with a fist to the heart. “It has been a pleasure, Lady Lyra.”
