Chapter 27: Palace, Workshop, Same Thing Really

I’d seen some ridiculous things in my lives—mansions made of glass, towers made of bone, one man who built his entire house out of books until the whole thing collapsed and killed him. But nothing quite prepared me for the fever dream that was Elyndor’s “workshop.”

Picture this, deep in the middle of the forest, where normal people are content with mossy stones and a nice little thatched roof cottage, there’s an entire palace—half pristine marble, half “I got bored and decided to play with wood like a toddler with a new hammer.” White columns soared skyward, carved with vines that pulsed faintly with magic, their surfaces so smooth you could use them as mirrors. Then, halfway up, boom—oak beams and cedar lattices shoved into place like someone yelled “redesign” halfway through construction and the architect just gave up. Whole sections of wall had been replaced with paneling that looked suspiciously like someone’s weekend carpentry project. The contrast was… let’s say striking, if by striking you mean headache-inducing.

Serine and Cassian, mouths wide open. Absolutely enchanted. Serine looked like she’d just seen proof of the gods; Cassian looked like he was considering whether he needed to start bowing.

I, on the other hand, muttered, “Well, isn’t this just adorable. Nothing screams ‘royalty’ like a marble palace held together by a carpenter’s midlife crisis.”

Serine finally remembered how to breathe and blurted, “But… but weren’t we going to a workshop?”

Aelith, who was glowing like the smug lantern she was, turned with a grin that could probably power a lighthouse. “Workshop, house, palace,” she said with a laugh. “Semantics.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Maybe,” she said, her smile curling like smoke.

So, of course, I leaned closer and murmured, “Careful, sunshine. Keep looking at me like that and I’ll have to propose.”

Her only response was a playful tilt of the head and an infuriatingly innocent, “Wouldn’t that make Serine jealous?”

Out of the corner of my eye, Serine nearly choked on her own spit. Cassian coughed, clearly trying not to laugh. I preened. Oh, Aelith was going to be so much fun.

As we crossed the threshold into the palace-that-thought-it-was-a-treehouse, Aelith launched into a story that managed to be both scandalous and utterly fascinating.

“Elyndor,” she explained, guiding us through a hall that started in marble and ended in polished cherrywood, “is not just any carpenter. He’s the son of Lord Caltherion of Liraen.”

“Of course he is,” I muttered. “Only royalty would think ‘I’m bored of marble, fetch me some mahogany.’”

“But he’s only half-elven,” Aelith continued, ignoring me with an impressive level of grace. “His mother was human. His father… was not exactly discreet in his younger years. Lord Caltherion’s wife, Lady Vaenora, was understandably… displeased when she discovered his affair.”

Aelith paused, then held up her hands and mimed a very deliberate snip-snip motion. “Click click.”

I nearly fell over laughing. “Wait, wait—you’re telling me the Lady chopped off his royal equipment? While he slept?”

“Exactly,” Aelith said, her grin wicked. “And with no more heirs possible, that left Elyndor as the only successor when both parents passed.”

Serine looked like someone had slapped her with a theology book. “That’s… barbaric!”

Cassian, bless him, went pale and crossed his legs.

Me? I wheezed. “I take back every sarcastic thing I’ve ever said about elves. That is the single most metal thing I’ve heard.”

Aelith’s laughter joined mine, bright and unashamed. “So yes. Elyndor is king by default, though he was never raised for it. His heart belongs to carpentry, not courtly politics. That’s why the palace looks as it does—marble bones, wooden skin. He remakes what he can with his own hands.”

I swept a hand at the chaos of materials around us. “So basically, we’re about to meet the first king who’d rather be building stools than thrones. Glorious.”

And then—speak of the sawdust—the man himself appeared. Elyndor strode into the hall, small and thin and so androgynous, with the kind of aura that was probably supposed to say “regal,” but really screamed, “I can tell you the difference between dovetail joints and box joints.” His hair was pulled back in a workman’s tail, his tunic was dusted with shavings, and he looked very much like a man who’d been caught mid-project.

When his eyes landed on Serine and me, they lit up. “Rissa! Serine! What in the stars—how—?” He laughed in disbelief, striding forward to clasp our hands. “What are you doing here?”

“Collecting debts,” I said cheerfully. “And possibly starting a diplomatic incident, but mostly debts.”

Aelith stepped in, presenting the cedar case with a little flourish. “I brought what you asked for, Master.”

Elyndor took it reverently, opening the lid with the kind of awe usually reserved for holy relics. Inside lay… a hammer. A very shiny, very well-made hammer, but still—a hammer.

“Behold,” Elyndor breathed. “The latest model from Thalosir’s forge. Balanced weight, perfect steel, a handle of reinforced ashwood—marvelous.”

I blinked. “The cute and beautifull little Aelith nearly got gutted in a back alley for that?”

“It’s a masterpiece,” Elyndor said, utterly unbothered.

“Right. A masterpiece hammer. Forgive me if I don’t swoon.”

But then his expression softened. “Still… I owe you much. For Cinnabar’s bridge. Without your help, the Wyrm would have left it ruined, and the villages cut off. Tonight, in your honor, there will be a banquet.”

Serine’s eyes went wide with delight. Cassian inclined his head, stoic as always.

I smirked. “A banquet? Lovely. Food, drink, a chance to make terrible flirting movements to Aelith—what more could a girl want? Oh, right. Payment.”

Elyndor blinked. “Payment?”

“Yes,” I said sweetly. “See, sunshine, killing Wyrms isn’t exactly free labor. Do you know how much blood, sweat, and sarcasm went into that? A banquet is nice, but let’s not pretend roasted pheasant equals hazard pay.”

Aelith muffled a laugh behind her hand. Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose. Serine gave me that look—the one that could probably kill if it were weaponized.

Elyndor, to his credit, only chuckled and said, “Perhaps we’ll discuss… a more tangible reward after dinner.”

“Excellent,” I said, leaning back with a grin. “Now you’re speaking my language.”