It takes six minutes to find the study, another four for Aerin to find a way inside after Emrys takes his place in an alcove halfway down the hall. The room is empty, just as they’d predicted. Aerin shifts into a non-descript Fae and starts her search. Khortland is certain his father keeps the ledgers here, thick tomes with black leather covers, he told her. Where they are exactly, not even Vitus’s son knows.
The room is dark and cluttered, filled on every surface withthings: books, knickknacks, empty bottles, scattered papers. There is a desk, three floor to ceiling bookshelves, a second table against the far wall, a hearth, and two chairs. The fire flickers, at least keeping the space warm.
Aerin is careful not to touch anything that doesn’t need to be touched. She rustles through drawers, unlocking and re-locking things as she goes. The desk is empty. She checks the large table in the corner. Aerin’s brow furrows.
Laid out on the table and held down by various glassware and bookends is a map of Novhelm. Zeneith, Valtara, and Keylar, the abandoned city of Altrios, the tube, and small Rogue townships are all identified. Scribbled in pen are other places, circles or stars with names underneath—Kaja, Felix, and the others Aerin was introduced to in the dungeons. There are more, too, other names she doesn’t recognize—Iola, Tsarra, Draven, Myrin, Azule. Each name has its own circle, most deep in the woods except for one. The name Draven is scribbled close to the borderof Keylar. There are also four markings in red, each an X marked along the border walls of Keylar. Aerin snaps four pictures of the map before moving on.
She moves methodically through the bookshelves, though a cursory scan does not reveal any black tomes. She pulls out books at random, wondering if there is a hidden room but she finds nothing. Aerin spins; she’s been in the room, for over ten minutes now. The coffee table catches her eye. Or rather, the realization that the coffee table is a trunk. The surface of the trunk has significantly less clutter than the rest of the room.
Aerin takes a picture before removing the few glasses, books, and papers laying on top. When she discovers the trunk is locked, her heart soars. This has to be it. Aerin fashions her own nail into a key, adjusting it until the contraption clicks. Another trick from her devious youth.
This type of thing is something she and Bruin would have done together when they were Faelings. Something they found delight in, whispering and giggling, knowing their father’s servants surely would catch them.
Ignoring her nostalgia Aerin pulls open the trunk. Inside sits black leather tomes, at least twenty of them. They are all placed spine up, two rows running the length of the trunk. Aerin grabs the first, carefully unwinding the leather strings that hold it shut.
The top of the first page contains a date, name, and species. The date is over three hundred years ago. The name listed is Myrin, a name from the map, and the species is listed as dryad, an extremely rare Rogue species. Aerin swallows, flipping the pages. The scrawl is barely legible, but Vitus outlined everything. The book reads like a diary, like a love letter. Aerin flips to the end; the date at the top of the page is sixty years later.
The healers state Myrin is too weak to recover properly from the wounds inflicted. The Dryad was thus terminated, though leaves remain in my personal collection.
Aerin’s stomach churns as she quickly re-ties the book and returns it. She methodically goes through the next ten books, opening, checking the species, and replacing the book when she reads something other thanWolf.
In book twelve, Aerin finds what she is looking for, though she isn’t certain she can stomach the pages. Aerin starts the tedious work of snapping pictures of every single page of Vitus’s scribbles. She does her best not to read, well aware she’s been in this room longer than thirty minutes and Malice is likely going out of his mind.
Aerin finally reaches the last page with scrawl.
My guards found Tsarra’s body in her cage this morning. Oberyn swears it wasn’t him, however, I know Tolvare rage well. Losing Tsarra is a shame. I’ll never find another Wolf like her.
A wash of pain rolls over Aerin. She quickly ties the strings back together and replaces the book. She can find out the rest later, read the flippant passages about the Wolf Vitus trapped here—the Wolf her own father murdered.
After relocking the trunk Aerin carefully places the items back on top using the picture she’d taken as a guide. She scans the room to ensure nothing else seems out of place. While it’s hard with the mess to know for certain, Aerin is comfortable enough to leave it.
Emrys grumbles when she finally finds him in the hallway, clad with her white fur and whiskers. She scurries up his leg and onto his back before the Wolf trots back to their guest suite. Once safely inside they both shift.
Malice is visibly relieved to see them.
“So? Did you find it?” Emrys asks before Malice can launch into a lecture about how the whole adventure took fifty minutes instead of thirty.
“I found it,” Aerin says, pulling her phone from her pocket. She pulls up the last photo and holds out her phone for them to see. “Vitus believes my father murdered her.”
Khortland loungeson the sofa across from Aerin and Emrys, looking far too relaxed. Malice hovers by the door to Khortland’s personal suite, arms folded over his chest. Khortland is shirtless, his well-formed abdominal muscles on display, his hair mussed from the sleep. They had woken him after Malice read the pages from the Journal and summarized them in a palatable way for Aerin. It’s just passed three in the morning.
“So,” Khortland says, “You think the Wolf my father held in his dungeons is your mother?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Aerin replies.
“No, the only thing that makes sense is that Esalin Tolvare is your mother,” Khortland rebuts.
“She has Pack magic. The Wolves are only aware of eight packs. An Alpha died here, and your father blames Oberyn Tolvare,” Emrys says, laying out their argument again.
Khortland gives him a look of petulance. He looks again to Aerin.
“To imagine your father fraternizing with a Wolf is laughable, let alone fornicating with one.” Aerin opens her mouth to argue but Khortland holds up a finger. “It’s much more plausible he murdered the Wolf out of whatever ethnocentric vendetta he carries against them. He arrests Wolveson sightin Valtara, have we forgotten this?”
“Perhaps this Wolf started that vendetta,” Malice suggests from the other side of the room. Aerin nods in agreement, but Khortland adamantly shakes his head.
“No,” he disagrees, sitting forward. “The Tolvare King has been slaying Wolves for hundreds of years, since he took the crown in his youth. He’s always considered full-magic creatures superior and advocated for separation. He and my father have argued on many occasions over it. Oberyn has always been disgusted by my father’s collection; I promise you that,” Khortland says, flopping back down onto the couch.
“And say your father did interact with this Wolf, have sex with her even,whywould he keep her alive through the entire pregnancy? She certainly couldn’t have kept it a secret. Why wouldn’t he end the pregnancy? Why kill her after you were born? Why risk Esalin’s wrath? Why risk Bruin and Cisera’s claim to the Tolvare throne?” Khortland runs holes through their theory easily. Aerin deflates.
