Page 67 of Bound By Blood
Elder Korrath waits beneath the Heart Tree, its massive trunk scarred by generations of clan markings. The other elders form a circle around us, their weathered faces painted with ceremonial ash and ochre. I recognize the healer-priestess who tested me in the grotto, her knowing eyes tracking my movement as I approach the sacred space.
"This is what mother meant," I think, remembering her cryptic words about bridges built from understanding rather than stone.
Drokhan's hand finds mine, his calloused fingers interlacing with my own. The copper bands on his wrists catch the filteredsunlight, each one representing a vow made to his people. Today, he adds another.
"Blood of stone, heart of flame," Elder Korrath begins, his voice carrying the ancient ritual. "Today, the Stoneborn welcome one who has proven her worth in battle and in healing."
The eldest priestess steps forward, cradling something wrapped in midnight-blue silk. My breath catches. The fabric bears House Thorne's sigil, a willow cradling a droplet, but worked in a silver thread that gleams like moonlight on water.
"Your mother's gift," she says, her voice soft but carrying to every corner of the grove. "Hidden these many years, waiting for the daughter who would walk between worlds."
My hands shake as I unwrap the silk. Inside lies a crystal vial no larger than my thumb, filled with a liquid that shifts between silver and gold like captured starlight. The stopper, carved from what seems to be dragon bone, has runes I am only beginning to understand.
"The Drakmor Synthesis," I whisper, recognizing the formula from my mother's most secret notes. "She always said it was theoretical."
"Theory becomes truth when love demands it," the priestess replies. "This potion bonds not just flesh to flesh, but soul to soul. It is why she studied our ways. Why she learned our tongue. She knew her daughter would need bridges others could not build."
Drokhan squeezes my hand, his eyes reflecting the wonder I feel. "Your mother was wise beyond her years. She saw what we were too proud to see."
Elder Korrath raises his staff, its head carved from the same black stone as the clan totems. "Will you drink, Lady Eirian of House Thorne, and become Sister-of-Stone? Will you bind your life to our chief, your strength to our clan?"
The moment settles on my shoulders like a mantle of starlight. Behind me, I sense the ghosts of every ancestor who bled for the old hatreds. Before me, I see the possibility of something new, as dangerous and beautiful and absolutely necessary.
"I will."
The vial warms in my palm as I lift it to my lips. The liquid tastes of mountain springs and forge-fire, of herbs that grow only in the deepest caves and flowers that bloom under twin moons. Power floods my veins, not the gentle healing energy I've always known, but something primal and fierce.
Drokhan takes the vial from my trembling hands and drains the rest. His pupils dilate, and for a moment, I see myself reflected in eyes that burn like molten gold. The bond snaps into place between us, a golden thread that hums with shared heartbeats.
"Now you are truly one," Elder Korrath pronounces. "Stone-daughter, flame-keeper, bridge between the worlds that were and the world that shall be."
The other elders chant, their voices weaving together in harmonies that make the very air shimmer. I feel their acceptance wash over me like warm honey, filling spaces in my heart I didn't know were empty. These fierce warriors, these proud healers, they claim me as family.
"Come," Drokhan murmurs against my ear, his breath sending shivers down my spine. "Let me show you our home."
The Stoneborn settlement sprawls across a mountain shelf like a collection of treasures spilled from a giant's pouch. Buildings carved directly from living rock blend seamlessly with structures of timber and iron, their windows glowing amber in the afternoon light. Gardens cascade down terraced slopes, heavy with herbs I'm learning to identify by scent alone.
Drokhan guides me up a winding path to a dwelling that overlooks the entire valley. The walls are warm sandstone, smoothed by wind and rain into curves that seem almost organic. Climbing vines frame the doorway, their leaves rustling with promise.
"Your mother designed this," he says, watching my face carefully. "The summer before you were born. She called it a place where two hearts could grow into one."
I run my fingers along the doorframe, feeling the subtle magic worked into the stone itself. Protection wards, but also a blessing for fertility, for long life, for love that endures beyond death.
"She knew," I breathe. "Somehow, she knew I would be here."
"Mothers often see paths their children cannot," Drokhan replies, pushing open the heavy oak door. "Mine told me I would find my mate among former enemies. I thought her fever-mad at the time."
The interior takes my breath away. Sunlight streams through crystal windows, casting rainbow patterns across floor stones worn smooth by countless feet. A great hearth dominates one wall, its mantelpiece carved with intertwining motifs as human willow branches embracing Orc mountain peaks.
"The furnishings can be changed," Drokhan says, sudden uncertainty creeping into his voice. "If they do not suit?—"
I silence him with a kiss, pouring all my wonder and gratitude and love into the connection between us. When we break apart, his eyes are bright with unshed tears.
"It's perfect," I whisper. "Everything is perfect."
He lifts me easily, carrying me across the threshold with reverent care. The symbolism represents human traditions. This gesture wards off evil spirits. Among the Orcs, it represents the male's promise to bear his mate's burdens and his own.
"Welcome home, wife," he murmurs, setting me down gently beside the hearth.
