Page 59 of Wed to the Orc Captive

“No. She killed a wizard’s beast, on the road in from her father’s house. A cohort of witnesses, a trophy for evidence.”

“I guess poison doesn’t count then.” The words were bitter.

“We don’t hunt humans. We barely count war with them.”

That shouldn’t have hurt.

“But if it was up to me,” he paused, his eyes still on the people in that ring. “At least the one you stabbed would count.”

Khal grasped Vrathgar’s shoulder, kept moving, pulling my husband with him as I stumbled after them, Tyralk following.

“What are you doing?” Vrathgar hissed. “You should break off from me. You’ve done enough.”

“Rowena wants to talk with your wife.”

“Why?”

We were still walking. The eyes of all that crowd were on us, but Khal, this chieftain’s-son of theirs, kept moving as if this was nothing. “You have to take her to your mother, right? That’s how I got you out of this?” They stopped, faced each other. Khal’s demeanor was hard. “Give my wife ten minutes.”

Rowena met me by an overhang of oak trees, wiping her palms on her skirt. “Fenha doesn't speak Common,” she said. “I had a bad start with my mother in law. I'd rather things be better for you.” Why did she flinch? Why did her eyes go everywhere but my face? This was a place where she held power. Was there danger here even to her, or was she like me, wincing from shadows and carrying sins others had chosen for her? How did this woman barely my age, nearly a girl, come to belong among the orcs? “There's magic I think I can do,” she said. “I don't know how long it can last. And it might hurt. But I can try. If you let me.” Her fingers twisted together.

I didn't want to offend her. But more than that I wanted answers about anything in this place, this world where people spoke for me and begged me not to talk. This place that was supposedly so much better than my people's “barbarity,” but felt so wrong. “Why do you care so much?” I croaked. “Why do you want to help me?”

Her hands squeezed together tightly. Her eyes stayed on the dust. “I have a sister.” She bit off. “I'll never get to help her. I hope someone is. I hope someone looks at her and sees how hard she tries, that someone worries and hopes and she's not alone.” Her knuckles are white. “You're more like me than her. But she would have liked you. I think…” She stopped, her eyes fixed somewhere I’d never see.

“So, there’s magic,” I whispered. “And it hurts?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never shared with another person, but I have…a method that lets me understand. Since you’re a wielder, I think you could endure it.” She suddenly looked up, her eyes flashing silver, and said “But only if you want. This is your choice.”

Vrathgar's voice, low and fluid, crashed against the woods around me, another exchange with his brothers that I couldn't understand.

“I agree,” I got out. “I want…to understand. Thank you.”

She took a deep breath. “If you need me to stop, let go of my hand.” She laced her fingers through mine.

The world imploded in heat and color and pain.

After the first moment of panic I was able to feel the power flowing up my arm from hers, the living, all-obliterating force flooding my senses, circling to my eyes and ears— too bright, too loud, too hot— to my limbs, muscles ready to jump and then turning to jelly, till she said “I think I’ve found it. Hold on.” The heat left my eyes, the world fading instantly to normal daylight, and her power, alien, other, snagged against my mind. I gasped.

Behind the trees, Vrathgar was saying “If the next trial is a surprise, do not stand for me.”

“You’re not ready to fight.” This wasn’t Common. How did I understand? “You’re half dead on your feet. Humiliating yourself in the ring doesn’t help me, either.”

“Then send Larrakh to half-kill me. There's no shame in losing to Larrakh.” The unknown name gave a burst of impressions, a compact frame, dark hair, ferocity. Affection.

Rowena unlaced her fingers from mine, touched my arm. “Do you understand me?” The words tumbling from her mouth were harsh, guttural, but it was like some invisible cord connected us, the concepts rearranging, the meaning rising to the surface as she growled and hissed. Her voice shifted, the church language I'd heard since I was little. “How about now?”

“I understand you,” I said, but those weren't the words that came out of me. The sounds were primal, slithering, clashing against my senses. I clapped my hands over my mouth.

She nodded. “People will understand you. It worms into the mind.”

“—is this permanent?” Were these even words? Yet as I listened to myself they resolved into concepts, the same as whatever came from Rowena’s mouth.

“No. My power will run out, what I’ve given to you. You might be different, I’ve never shared it before, but…this much usually lasts me an hour.”

I muttered cadences, prayers, snatches of song, under my breath, feeling the foreign twist of my tongue.

She watched me. “Are you okay?”