Page 37 of Wed to the Orc Captive

My bonds loosened and pulled off. She stood, and their language flowed from her lips, the old woman replying back. I couldn’t even parse the sounds, where one word ended and another began.

She came back with another cup, that same draught of licorice and oat straw. “Grezha says to start with this.” It took me a moment to realize she was holding it out to me, and she misinterpreted my hesitation, said, “You can trust her. She’s the ale wife of this enclave. She won’t harm you.”

I didn’t tell her I was far more ready to trust the orcess than I was her. I couldn’t insult a sorceress. I drank.

“How long have you known Vrathgar?”

The liquid was hot, and I had to sip. “I met him the day before our wedding.”

“How long have you been married?”

I tried a scattered count. “Five…five days? Maybe six?”

She looked over to the ale wife, then down at the cup, sat on the cot again, within arm’s reach of me. She did not look at me.

I needed her. She was the only one I could get answers from, and I didn’t even know where I was. I couldn’t find my way to the Vradi or Bogdana’s sister and I had no idea what state my protector was in. Likely how unreal the situation was, enclosed with a woman-orc and a sorceress, how very unreal everything felt, was the only thing keeping me from crumbling.

“Apologies,” she said, eyes still on the cup, the cot, everywhere else. “I’m not the best at speaking, and the questions are delicate.” She picked at the blanket, worrying a loose thread in her fingers. “How did you come to marry Vrathgar One-Eye’s Son? And has…” she hesitated. “Has anyone hurt you?”

While I tried to figure out what kind of answer she wanted, another shape loomed in the doorway, a male-shape, not as tall as Vrathgar, with awful mottled pink scars over his arms and shoulders, close-cropped hair, and the same, olive-green skin.

There were more of them, then. This was an orc village. She belonged to them. They were sending this girl, this sorceress, in to feel me out, to ask the questions they thought I’d lie about. They were trying to see if I could be re-sold. I held the clay cup so tightly I thought it would shatter.

“We are married,” I bit out. “We were married by a priest, the right way. My village witnessed it. He took me to his bed. He hurt me the usual amount. I am married, I am his, and you can’t anger him, because he’s very close to the Gol Droth, and they’re killers, and he has friends across the orc tribes, and all of them will kill you if you try to hurt him or me.” My voice quavered, with anger, with rage, with utter wretchedness, I didn’t know. The haunted look on her face only strengthened it. “You will get nothing from me.”

She looked over her shoulder at the man in the door, the man with the same doleful expression she was wearing. They must have hoped for good coin from my sale, and now instead they had threats and risk.

He was speaking to her, their rolling, slithering language again, and she shook her head. When she turned back to me it looked like she was struggling. “No one…no one is going to hurt you,” she said. “You’re with our people, and you’re safe.” She cleared her throat. “If you have any other questions, I can answer them. Since Grezha doesn’t speak the common tongue.”

The man’s figure wavered in the doorway.

“Where is he? Where have you taken him? My husband.”

“He’s with family. You don’t have to worry.”

“You’re lying,” I spat. “He doesn’t have family. He told me he doesn’t have kin.”

She stuttered. “He’s with friends who are like family. You don’t have to see him till you want to.”

“What if I want to see him now?” I swallowed bile.

She looked at Grezha. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Then how do I know you’re not lying to me?”

She looked perplexed. “What would I gain from lying to you?”

I hated that she was right, hated that I had nothing to threaten, nothing to bargain with. I tried not to curl in on myself, tried not to show how afraid I was.

“Your…your husband, he was very injured, when we found you. Can you tell us anything about that?”

I met her eyes. “Everyone who hurt him is dead.” At least in this, I could speak the truth, could let that pity turn to horror in her face. “All of them.”

She withdrew. “Mother Grezha says you’ll be weak for a bit, that you need to keep drinking water, and the medicine she gives you. I’ll…I’ll come back, when I can, in case you need someone you can speak to.” Her hand by her side was shaking. The orcs were likely threatening her, but I couldn't summon any sympathy for a pawn. She said something else to Grezha, who answered in a long stream, clearly urging her to go. She dipped a bow. Maybe ale wives held more status here. The orc in the doorway didn’t make room for her as she passed, just stood there, and his hands casually touched her body, her arm. My stomach rebelled.

They left, and I curled up on the cot, into a ball, the horror crawling under my skin. But my ears didn't stop, and the path must have wrapped around the building. The window far above was left ajar. I shouldn’t have been able to hear them speaking, as far as they’d gone. I shouldn’t have, but it was in Common, and I could.

“You don’t have to come back here.” A low voice, the orc’s.