Page 86 of Wed to the Orc Captive

My voice crept out, like a hunted thing. “He was kind enough.” If everyone already thought I was broken and weak, it shouldn’t matter what I sounded like. “When we thought he’d die,” I said, “his last wish was for me to find your people. He said if I bore a child, your clan would claim them.” When I looked at her, her eyes were stricken. “I don’t think your people deserve him. I love him too much for that. But I want him to have what he deserves, and that's not losing you.”

She nodded, pulled away.

I was awake this time when our party reached the tall circle of standing stones, when my husband pulled me, so carefully, up into his arms. “Hold on,” he said. “I’m not sure how this works when you’re awake.” They were walking around the circle, muttering, touching the rock. His voice rolled and rumbled in the Orcish, like a chant, or a prayer. And then the rock lit, faintly, a light traveling over everything, and we were in complete darkness.

They were talking to each other, and he murmured, “This will be a good place to rest.” Someone called to him in Orcish, and he responded. I found his wrist and tapped it, twice.

“Ach, that’s right,” he muttered, and yelled something to someone. A lamp lit.

This was larger than the place where the Droth had threatened us, a long hall with rooms branching off, some doors intact, some broken.

They were splitting up, talking and laughing.

“What are they doing?”

“This is a sanctuary. It’s not like above, where we have watches. They’re choosing how to take the rooms.”

“Where do we go?”

He glanced down, before turning to survey the doors. “We’re a married couple, ‘Nora. They expect us to take one for ourselves.” He paused. “Unless you wanted to room with Brezha and Larrakh.”

Heat stained my cheekbones. I chose to be selfish once more. “No. I want you.”

He nodded, like that was normal, and pushed open one of the few solid doors.

I couldn’t see, but when he put me down, the ground was soft: furs. He retreated, returned with the rag lamp.

Flowering vines were carved up every wall and pillar, so fragile they looked almost real. He took off the pack and slung it next to a rack built of antlers. Someone else had made this place; his people had furnished it. Somewhere in the shadows, water was trickling. I found a pool as my eyes adjusted.

“I know this wasn’t the whole of Tyralk’s reasoning for calling a hunt,” he said, “but I am grateful for it, if maybe the water can help with your back.”

“This place is a wonderful secret for your people,” I said. “I can tell it’s a strength for you.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he said. “About the secrets. I trust you, and none of the others will tell the circle that you know. You can still…we’ll make sure. That you can leave.”

Inside of me felt so cold, like winter air on a dress wet with blood, like the bottom of a pit I couldn’t climb out of.

“I’ll get you well, and then we’ll find that town you talked about with your mentor’s sister. I’ll walk you into the town if I have to, yes? You’ll be safe. You’ll leave the Drashik as whole as you reached them.”

As whole as I reached them.

“Annora?” Something clattered on the stone, and he dropped to his knees next to me. “Annora, are you hurting? Do you need something?” He was looming, gestured to the pack. “Grezha sent herbs with us, we could⁠—"

“No.” I shook my head. “No.”

“No what? No herbs?” He sounded desperate. “Something is wrong. Tell me.”

“Why…why do you keep offering? To help me leave?” I got out. He’d frozen. My face was cold, wet. I should stop. I should stop talking, but instead I heard myself garble, “Is it because that’s what you want?”

He sunk into the ground. The silence gave me time for my heart to pound, time to regret my boldness. He started tying the pack laces, and when he spoke, his voice was bitter, tired. “What else do I have to offer you?” he said. “Can I offer you safety? Can I offer you respect? They won’t respect you for my sake. They won’t keep you safe.” He shook his head. “I have strength of arm. I have a house built for another in a place that you hate. What else do I have? My body? This face?”

“What if that’s enough for me?” The words tumbled, too fast. “What if you’re enough?”

There was a moment where we hung in the lamplight, cords of silence.

He stood.

“You’re exhausted,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “And you’re in pain. You’re not in your right mind.” He breathed deep. My chest was splintering. “Let’s get you taken care of. You can figure out later that this was a mistake.”