Page 35 of Wed to the Orc Captive

His swords.

I grabbed a hilt and drew it free, heavy in my two hands. “You get back,” I snarled. “You won’t touch him.”

The grizzled orc backed up. He was speaking, but the world was soup, my mind filling in the edges.

And now I knew this wasn’t real, because the next figure was a man, older, like the ones at the village pub, a walking staff in one hand— a weapon— his face too friendly, menacingly jovial. And humans would strike Vrathgar down like a dog; humans would be worse than the Droth.

“I said get back!” The blade was heavy. I took a lunge forward, wobbling in my stance, because I had to make sure of where it was, had to know if I dropped this it wouldn’t hurt him. “You won’t touch him.”

The man raised his hands, his walking-stick standing without them. “There now, young miss, no one means your companion harm.” He was still speaking, friendly eyes, like the men at the fire, who smiled and smiled and struck.

“I’ll kill you,” I said. My arms were trembling. I’d have to be quick. “I’ve killed already.”

“I don’t doubt you, lass.” He was staying out of range, hands still high. His eyes gave nothing away. If someone came up behind me, I would be down. We would be dead. “I’m worried about that boy.”

Were there more of them in the trees? If I killed this one, would it matter? The orc— the old orc— was still there, in the shadows. Why could I still see the orc? Was the orc real? Was the man?

“You’ve come a long way,” his voice soothed. “With your accent…North of the Vradi, I assume? Beautiful place. Strong people.”

“I won’t let you hurt him.”

“I can see that.” He held his hands out. “May I ask how you know him? That lad is important to me.”

That felt like a snag. I knew that he was stalling, but still I answered. “He’s my husband.”

“Your husband.” His eyebrows had risen. “Congratulations are in order. But it seems he’s come to harm.” He hadn’t moved, all this time, still outside of my reach. “Would you like some help?” He held out a hand. “Can I help him?”

The blade was heavy. There were shadows now in the trees, too many of them. And this was a trick. This was a trick, but if any part of it was real, if they’d help him…the words were on my lips, please…

“Stop.”

Terror closed around me like a gauntlet, squeezing off the air, like a fist, and I couldn’t move, could barely breathe. The air around me was solid, and this wasn’t delirium, this was magic. The worst kind of magic.

A woman with blue-black hair like ink strode into the clearing, her eyes glowing silver. Her arms were bared. Her skirt ended at her knee, like some feral thing, like she was one of them. She reached me, and wrenched the sword out of my hand, and I gasped at the pain.

“My dear girl,” the man was saying. “I had it covered. She was going to put it down⁠—"

“I am not letting you get decapitated so you can be kind.” There were more shadows in the trees, orcs coming forward. Why orcs? Were these humans working with the Droth? Did the Droth have a sorceress?

She walked past me towards Vrathgar’s unconscious form.

I had to stop her. She had the sword. She had whatever power was crushing me to stillness. I had to make her stop…

There was nothing left to lose by singing now.

I started a melody, an old lullabye. Go to sleep. Just go to sleep. Turn back, lay down⁠—

“Rowena? What is it?” The man was speaking.

“I felt something.” The woman’s voice, behind me. “What did Gnarlak say she was doing when he found her?”

“Singing.”

“She’s a wielder. Bind her.”

That’s where I lost consciousness.

BINDINGS