Page 63 of Her Orc Protector

We stopped before a section of shelving where numerous scrolls were arranged in neat rows. "AD-9 through AD-10," Terran explained. "Artifacts and magical implements. The index scroll at the end of each shelf will help you locate specific entries."

I thanked him and set to work. The index scrolls were comprehensive but dense, filled with cryptic notations and cross-references. I worked methodically, scanning for any mention of sealing artifacts or perception magic.

After nearly an hour of searching, I found my first lead: a damaged report describing the recovery of various artifacts from a battlefield near the northern border. Among the items listed was "one obsidian seal, circular, engraved with arcane sigils consistent with mind-affecting enchantments. Designation: Seal of Veritas."

My heart quickened as I carefully unrolled the referenced document. Parts of it were singed or water-damaged, but I could make out most of the text. It described an artifact believed to influence perception and compel truthful speech—or what the wielder defined as truth. A footnote at the bottom, partially obscured, noted that the item was "absnt from p-st war invntry" with a date that corresponded to the early days of reconstruction.

I copied the information carefully onto my enchanted parchment, noting the catalog numbers and preservation marks for reference. As I worked, a name caught my eye in a related document—Duskryn.

With renewed focus, I traced the reference to another scroll, this one bearing the official seal of an interim councilthat had governed during the transitional period after the war. It contained a brief order, signed by Councilor Darius Evrit—an early supporter of what would later become the Order of Renewal—regarding the transfer of certain "restricted implements" for "controlled study and potential application to restoration efforts."

Among the listed items was "a sealed sigil of authority, obsidian, to be entrusted to Lord G— Duskryn for experimental verification of efficacy."

The first name was smudged, but I didn't need to read it. I knew who it was.

My hands trembled slightly as I transcribed the passage, careful to include every detail, every official mark and signature. The parchment expanded as I wrote, accommodating all the information I gathered.

"Your time is nearly up," Terran informed me as I finished copying the last relevant reference.

I nodded, folding the parchment carefully and placing it in the folio. "I've found what I needed, thank you."

He escorted me back to the main door, where I returned the folio to be sealed with the official mark of the Civic Archives. Once stamped, it was handed back to me—a legitimate copy that couldn't be dismissed as forgery or hearsay.

"Please sign the registry before departing," Terran said, indicating a large book near the entrance.

I signed my name—Issy Fairbairn—with a steady hand, noting the date and time alongside it.

As I stepped back into the light of the upper hall, the city’s noise returned like a tide—voices, footsteps, bells ringing faintly through the stone. People passed without seeing me, just another scribe in travel-worn boots, clutching a satchel to her side.

But I wasn’t the same woman who had descended into the vault that morning.

I had the proof. Not speculation. Not memory. Not fear twisted into theory. This was real.

He hadn’t just charmed me. He hadn’t just lied. He had warped what I knew to be true—bent my thoughts back on themselves until I couldn’t tell which fears were mine and which ones he’d whispered into shape.

And still—I’d gotten away. I’d stood before the Council. I’d claimed my daughter, my name, my own body back.

I had survived the Seal of Veritas.

And now I held its story in my hands.

I didn’t know exactly what came next. Not yet. But the Hearth Office kept official declarations on record—statements of magical coercion, appeals to revoke protective artifacts. And Councilor Thenholt had just vouched for me.

Gavriel had used that thing against me.

And I was going to use the truth against him.

Chapter 18

Morning light dappled the cobblestones as we made our way through Everwood's quieter streets. The small cart Uldrek pulled beside us was stacked with our modest belongings—bedding folded in neat squares, books wrapped in cloth, and a few pieces of hand-me-down crockery that Gruha had insisted we take. Not much to show for two lives, but it was ours.

Ellie dozed against my chest, nestled securely in her sling. She'd been fussy earlier, but the gentle sway of walking had lulled her to sleep, one tiny fist curled around the fabric near my collarbone.

I glanced over my shoulder for the third time in as many minutes, scanning the street corner behind us.

"You're looking real jumpy this morning," Uldrek said, his voice gentle despite the teasing.

"I'm just—thinking," I replied, adjusting Ellie's sling.

---