Page 20 of Wed to the Orc Captive

“Yes, well, when humans get nervous, we tend to all look the same. Case in point.” He took a chunk off the soft wood with a brutal twist.

In for a penny, in for a pound. “You speak like your chosen tribe are different from them.”

“We generally are.”

“What makes you better?”

His eyebrows rose. It was the only sign of temper, besides his hands moving faster. “We haven’t personally murdered anyone in your town? Our record on kidnappings is lower? What do you want me to say?”

“Isn’t that only because of range?” He might hit me for this. I was pushing too far, and I knew it. But I needed that reaction. I needed to know. “They’re close enough to hurt us. You’re far away. If you were closer, wouldn’t you do the same?”

He snorted. “A man I worked for, fought for, paid our fee in colored water and counterfeit goods at Belnor. Do all humans do that?” He shook his head, disgust still twisting his mouth, at me, at a far-off employer, at his own words. “My father’s people value one kind of strength,” he said, and his voice was cold. “They value meat-headed cunning, physical prowess. The kind of thing that comes easily to me. Fight, hunt, kill, live.Their strong rule over their weak. They take what they want. It’s a privileged existence, or it’s a hellish one.” He looked up at me, his eyes twin flames. “The Drashik…they value other things. People like my shield-brother Khal. People like his father, or your white-haired healer. People better than me. They make room for their weak, and they find more ways to be strong.” His eyes dropped back to the blade. “That’s why they’re different. So don’t worry. You’ll have better people around you than me.”

“You lump yourself in with the orcs we left behind.”

His lip curled. “When I’m with the Gol Droth, I’m Drashik. To the Drashik, I’m Gol Droth. And to you.” He gestured with the blade again. “...I’m just an orc. Isn’t that right?”

I wrapped my arms around myself, like warmth could solve this. Like I could hold myself together and find the courage I’d need to do this, because how do you make someone show you they’re a monster? How do you make them hurt you so it’ll be okay? “What…do you expect of me?” I got out.

“Expect of you? What are you talking about?”

I squeezed. “What…is my role? As your wife?”

He was frowning. “I don’t know. What do people do when they’re married?” The knife moved, firm strokes. “They fuck and fight and help each other when they can. Sometimes they live together. If there are children, they take care of that.” The knife twisted. “What do you want me to say? What do humans do?”

I bit my cheek till I tasted blood, trying to stay even, keep my mind clear. “The same. I’d bear your children, do as you told me, serve your dinner, serve at your bed. The same.”

“So why are you angry?”

“I’m not.” I wasn’t. There wasn’t anything left inside me to be angry anymore.

The furrow between his brows deepened. “Is this a test? Did I miss a custom?”

“No.”

“Was I supposed to tell you you were beautiful? Or is it something else?”

“No.”

He shook his head again, irritated. “Do you humans learn how to speak? If you want to carve a husband out of a random orc, you're going about it wrong. Any orc would tell me what she wanted. A child five years old could tell me.”

“Then are you going to marry them?” I’d blurted it out, and I couldn’t take the stupid thing back. “The orcs,” I whispered. “Are you going…to marry them?”

He put down his knife, looked at me like he hadn’t seen me before. “You want to fight me,” he said, and my heart was in my mouth. He just sat there. “I’ve lived among soldiers. I’ve served among mercenaries. I know when someone is trying to get me to fight. What are you doing?”

I stayed silent; didn’t know what to say. I was saving what was left of me. I was trying to stay alive.

The knife slid into his sheath.

If he hit me now, would that make it easier to poison him? Or would I feel like I’d deserved it? Would my heart betray me, like so many others’?

I wasn’t better or smarter than the women who died. I wasn’t better than anyone. I tasted salt on my lips. A tear slid down my face, foolish.

“We don’t marry more than one woman,” he said. “You can put your mind at ease, whatever rumors you have heard. We are not that way.” He breathed deep, his voice a little raw, that steely control still running through it. “I’m sorry I let you worry. I will try to remember how little we know of each other. You are…in no danger of replacement. This is not a harem.” He held what he’d worked in his hand out. A spoon. He’d whittled a spoon. “You’ll need this to eat, yes?” He was still holding it out. “Are you okay?”

I couldn’t name whatever this feeling was, whatever my insides were doing, screaming, or melting, or turning to glass. “I need…I’ll be back.” I fled into the trees.

I crouched in the dead leaves, my heart still pounding. He would show his colors eventually. He would have to. He would turn. They all did. And I wasn’t a weakling. I wasn’t giving in because I was cheap, because any show of forbearance or kindness broke my resolve. I was delaying because that ferryman had been unnerving, the way his eyes followed me, and I didn’t trust him, and the orc…it was better to stay with the enemy I knew than to risk a stranger. We’d crossed the river. There would be a road. I’d find it. Maybe we’d cross other humans, and I’d travel with them. This wasn’t me giving up. This was wise planning.