Page 46 of Wed to the Orc Captive

I hovered fingers over his thigh, over his chest. I soothed trebling patterns, like falling pebbles, over his brow, and I whisper-sang, begged again, for mending, for knitting, that this man would heal, for his pain to leave, for my heart to stop jumping at every breath so I could mend as well. And maybe it worked. Maybe his forehead relaxed. His chest rose in smooth, even breaths. Maybe I hadn't helped, but I hadn't harmed.

And maybe that made it feel like he was mine, sleeping against my palm, calming under my touch. Odelle used to say the scariest of people were still childlike, if they’d sleep. Maybe she’d been a little right, because the firelight flickered soft over the harsh planes of his face.

“You’re a lot kinder than you need to be,” I whispered. “I won’t forget that.” And then, emboldened by the little victory, I took it too far, and I brushed a kiss against that brow.

His lashes fluttered, and I froze. What would I say if he woke? How could I explain creeping over him? I was nothing to him, and I…

The fluttering stilled. His breathing relaxed.

My heart was still too fast, painful in my chest. And that was foolish; I was his wife. What was he going to do if he found me over him, pin me down again? Whatever else, he'd seemed disinclined to harm me.

I fled into that backroom, through the curtain. I felt around in the dark till I stumbled into the bed the mother orc had given me.

And I woke to roaring in a language I didn’t understand.

DRAZHA

Ifell off the bed and scrambled up. Thin sunlight pierced through the curtain. A new voice snarled a stream of invectives, loud, and I pushed through the fabric to the center of the house.

Everyone stopped to look up, Khal, Rowena, a new orc woman with a fierce, angular face who glared like I was an insect who’d crawled onto her plate, Tyralk, rubbing his eyes beside the wide open door. And Vrathgar.

This was the first time he’d seen me since he’d collapsed, and my gaze glued to him where he still reclined by the fire, his expression flat, careful. Closed.

“So this is what he brings into my enclave?” The newcomer switched to the common tongue, her voice still guttural, harsh. “A newborn fawn?”

“She’s sturdier than she looks,” Vrathgar drawled. His eyes were still shuttered.

“She looks like you butchered an animal on top of her. Do you know what the people will say?”

“Thank you for your intense worry for my welfare after these injuries. I will live, honored matron⁠—"

She spat. She actually spat onto the floor. “I know you will live. You would not do me the favor of dying. Have you thought of what they’ll say?”

“That I’m my father? Is that what you want me to answer you?”

Her nostrils flared. He stared back, flat. He had propped himself up on one elbow, and I was still by the curtain, standing like a frozen deer, this woman with a blade on her staff standing between Vrathgar and me.

“You know,” he said, casual, “if you took a moment, you might notice my face is decorated a bit more than hers. Are you going to accuse my wife of battering me, or is that only my predilection, honored death-dealer?”

“That thing couldn’t hurt you.” She made a sound of disgust in her throat. “I knew you were feckless. I didn’t take you for one who sought out weak prey.”

“The lady sought me.”

“You are lucky,” she snarled. “You are lucky I claimed the right to come here. Verucht wanted to bind you first and ask the questions later. Yanasz would have happily dragged you to account in the square before the sunrise, but no, not in my shield-brother’s house, not with my son and his wife implicated, no, I sully myself speaking to you, and what do you have to say?” That blade touched his throat, and the sorceress squeaked in horror. “Rootless one, you go too far.”

His eyes held that same, flat challenge. “What does it matter what I say? You’ve condemned me already.”

The knives were hanging above our heads with the pots. The hook jingled as I wrenched one down, and Rowena cried out in horror again. “Lower your blade,” I said. I held the knife to the spear-wielder’s back. My voice was unsteady. My hand was not. Vrathgar’s eyes widened.

The woman turned her head the barest amount. “So the fawn has teeth.”

Vrathgar spoke. “Annora, don’t⁠—"

The spear’s butt drove into my gut. She had my arm, twisted, the knife clattering against the floor before she slammed my face down next to it. I saw stars. A knee pressed into my back. “At least this one has grist to her.”

“Mother, you’ve done enough,” the quiet one rumbled. Mother?

She twisted my arm farther, and I gasped. A little farther and something would break.