Page 96 of Wed to the Orc Captive

There was no Sephar.

Vrathgar spoke. Tyralk spoke. Another, another. Grezha stepped forward, answering them. The crowd was silent. Maybe Tyralk’s victory was too fresh for anyone to risk battle to argue against us. Was that what happened when his people disagreed? Did they always fight?

When the old one gave the verdict, Vrathgar’s shoulders caved, and I watched him take a step, almost stumble. I nearly pushed through the circle to him, my rules forgotten, but then I recognized the look on his face.

Relief.

Larrakh reached back, her face wreathed in smiles, pulling me into the circle next to them.

“You’ve been accepted,” he said, his throat bobbing. The relief was so strong in his eyes, like he’d almost collapse from it. “You are allowed by the Drashik. Our union is allowed.”

And what did that even mean? I was allowed. They wouldn’t chase me out today? Was I supposed to be happy?

They were. I was pulled into a hug. Tyralk was there; people were spilling into the circle; Hagmar was there, all these people talking, blocking out the outside edge, the people who hadn’t cared enough about excluding us to fight. Vrathgar was repeating words to me, some kind of ritual oath, and I was nodding. He spoke low, and had me repeat after him, my tongue stumbling. And we were moving, Vrathgar and I, we were being guided down almost a tunnel of people towards that central stone. We reached the obelisk, the giant block, and he kissed his fingers to touch the rock.

A door of stone slid back and away. He stepped in, led me inside.

A torch, some kind of ethereal, flickering thing that did not die, cast ripples and lines over a room with Orc furnishings, much like the chambers in their sanctuary: the drying rack built of antlers, the water basin and skins, a low bed.

Was this it? The center of their grand stones was a little stone room with a torch?

“What is this?” I asked. The stone door slid closed, shutting out the last crease of sun, locking out the sounds. It was just us and the wavering torch.

“This place is fae-formed, connected to the threads of the world,” he said. “We use it to seal oaths.”

That made as much sense as my own hope to marry in a church, I supposed. “How long do we stay here?”

“Overnight.” His voice was husky, ragged from either exhaustion or relief. “They’ll open the door in the morning.”

We’d reached this place in the mid-afternoon. “They want to imprison us for a bit?”

“No, they…” He cleared his throat. “They want us to seal the oath. The oath we just made.”

Oh.

“We got married again.”

He blinked. “Yes. You could say that.”

We were in another cell, just this one had a wider bed. “This is what you talked to me about, that Orc weddings required…that we were supposed to be physical again.”

He was watching me. “Yes.”

I was nodding, and still nodding. I was nodding too much. “That makes sense, since I don’t want you to get in trouble. Because…” My stupid heart was racing, and I saw black spots on my vision. “I need to sit down.”

He caught my shoulders before I fell and guided me to the edge of the bed. I sunk down, heavy, focused on taking in deep breaths. This was the last thing I should be squeamish about.

But I was. I was falling apart in an orc grotto, trying to focus on his warm hands swallowing mine.

“Did—" his voice was thick. “Did you change your mind? About marrying me?”

I shook my head. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I was already an idiot, so why not?

“Is this nerves from the trial? I noticed you pushed Rowena away.”

“No.” Maybe. That seemed like as good an excuse for trembling as any other.

“Are you worried about pain? Is this because of your injury?”