Page 45 of Bound By Blood
"I think she believed it could provide the authority necessary to negotiate from a position of strength. To unite the clans behind a leader wise enough to choose diplomacy over conquest."
Behind you.The unspoken words hang between us, heavy with implication and trust.
His laugh carries no humor, only grim recognition. "You're asking me to become something I never wanted to be. A high chief, responsible for more than my clan's welfare."
"I'm sharing information. What you do with it remains your choice."
But I know what I hope you'll choose.He sees that hope in my expression, reads it as clearly as he reads battlefield terrain or clan politics.
"The location, do you understand the geographical references?"
I nod, having spent hours studying the healing grotto's layout and its connections to the broader cave system. "North of the main spring, where the burial chambers begin. There's a section I haven't explored, sealed off by rockfall and marked with warning symbols."
"Ancestor's Rest." His voice carries reverence tinged with unease. "Sacred ground, forbidden to the living except during formal ceremonies. Even then, only clan elders may enter."
"Will they object to you searching for the crown?"
Will they object tomeaccompanying that search?Because I refuse to be left behind, not when I'm the only one who knows the specific location markers encoded in Mother's message.
"They'll object to everything about this plan." He stands, beginning to pace the chamber's limited space. "But they'll also recognize the crown's significance if we actually find it."
If.Such a small word for such enormous uncertainty.
"There's another consideration," I say carefully. "If we recover the crown, if it truly holds the power to unite the clans... what then? Do you use it to press for total victory over human settlements? Or do you use it to negotiate a lasting peace?"
This is the real question.Everything else, the search, the political complications, even the crown's actual existence, pales beside this fundamental choice between war and peace.
He stops pacing, turns to face me directly. "What would you have me choose?"
Peace.But I bite back the immediate response, recognizing the complexity of his position. He's responsible for his people's safety, their prosperity, their future survival. Simple answers rarely suffice in complicated realities.
"I'd have you choose wisely," I say instead. "Based on what serves your people best in the long term, not just what satisfies immediate desires for revenge or conquest."
His smile holds approval and something deeper, respect for my refusal to offer simple answers to difficult questions.
"When do we search?" His tone carries finality, a decision made despite incomplete information and considerable risk.
We.He includes me without hesitation, accepting both my knowledge and my presence as integral to the plan's success.
"Tomorrow night, after the council meeting. Fewer people in the corridors, less chance of discovery if things go badly."
"And if we find it? If the crown is real and intact?"
I consider carefully before answering. "Then we face the hardest choice of all. Whether to reveal its discovery immediately or wait until we understand how best to use its influence."
Political wisdom wrapped in personal trust.Keeping such a discovery secret, even temporarily, requires absolute faith in each other's discretion and judgment.
"You realize the danger," he says quietly. "If we're discovered in the burial chambers, if the search goes wrong, if the crown brings more problems than solutions... we'll face those consequences together."
Together.The word encompasses partnership, shared risk, mutual responsibility for whatever comes next.
"I understand." And I do completely. This isn't just about ending a war or recovering lost artifacts. It's about choosing to trust each other with our lives, our futures, and our people's welfare.
The council meetingdrags through the afternoon like a wounded animal seeking shelter. I sit beside Drokhan's carved chair, officially present as healing advisor, actually memorizing every elder's expression as they debate trade routes and winter preparations. Elder Korrath speaks longest, his weathered hands gesturing emphatically as he argues for increased patrols along the southern passes.
None of them suspect what we plan for tonight.
The crown's location burns in my memory like a brand. Three stones north of spring is where ancestors sleep. I've walked those corridors dozens of times tending wounded warriors, noting the sealed passages marked with warning glyphs, the subtle shift in air temperature that suggests deeper caverns beyond.
