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Chapter 11

Melelea

A week passes pleasantly, even though my dreams are a dark and cold void, telling me that the demon is still at large. Grazrath is still blocking the connection between us, which I suppose is a good sign. If I was getting closer to where he lurks, I would be able to push past the barrier he’s put between us. The fact that I cannot means that we are still far from where he is, which means that his campaign of blood hasn’t come this far south yet. He may still be in Adrik. Still, we are alert. Any day now, his attacks will reach Orik. It is not a matter of if, but when.

The only other thing that mars our week of peaceful travel is the bickering of Dame Zera and Gunag. Every hour it seems, they find something new to fuss over. Usually it is Gunag being high-handed or arrogant, baiting Dame Zera into speaking and she can never resist letting him know how much she dislikes him. Honestly, they are an even match in stubbornness. It is exhausting and they really should stop resisting the pull of Fate and just fuck already.

The thought is unkind, and I keep it to myself. Dame Zera is a friend to me and I’d not risk offending her for the world. With Gunag’s sensitive ears inherited from his elf mother, he’d be sure to hear me if I said such a thing to Wodred, even in jest, and I have no doubt that he’d use my words as a way to spark another fight with Zera.

It is relatively easy to ignore them when I ride with Wodred, however. My orc bodyguard is an interesting and thoughtful conversationalist and I enjoy speaking to him as we travel. It is novel to speak to an orc like him. He never doubts or belittles my knowledge, taking what I say as fact, and allows me to teach him things he does not know. We discuss the stars and runes, and in turn, he surprises me by speaking of farming and the land. His heart is in the soil as he is fascinated by growing things. I would have expected him to tell me of his past battles and conquests, but he actually seems to studiously avoid such topics, as though he is not proud of them, which is unlike any orc I have ever known. I see much of the orc that my son became in Wodred, and I thank the gods once again that I was able to put Rognar in his training.

On the morning of the seventh day we have been traveling, Wodred looks around and I can feel some tension leave his body as he takes in our surroundings.

“We have reached the ka Xonok lands,” he rumbles behind me.

I would have suspected such a thing without him telling me. It looks just as he described, with rolling fields, yellowed from autumn and ready to be harvested, and beautiful hills and colorful forests. Cozy-looking cottages abut these hills, the homes of Wodred’s clan and family.

“It’s beautiful, Wodred,” I tell him.

The quiet orc looks down, his eyes arrested on my face, and says, “Yes, it is.”

I feel my silver skin growing hot, but I quickly school my features. He probably did not mean that the way that it sounded. He could not have been calling me beautiful, could he? No. I’m just letting Adalind’s words from a week ago haunt me.

And they have been. Haunting me, that is. I have never before noticed how handsome Wodred is, but now I cannot seem to stop noticing it. With his proud curling trollborn horns, his square jaw and jutting double tusks. His deep green skin and black eyes that hold a depth of thought behind them.

I’ve also noticed other things. How he’s so quietly careful to be respectful at all times, his regard for my opinion, his gentle hands when he helps me down from his warbeast. I notice that he is slow to laugh or smile, but when he does it is like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. All things I should not be seeing, because Wodred is not for me.

But what if he could be? A quiet, rebellious part of me asks, and that voice is getting louder everyday. What if he is who your mother prophesied?

Still, I must ignore it. I must. My heart is not to be trusted; that is a lesson I learned the very hardest way. So, I merely dismiss the thought that Wodred might be flirting with me and ask, “Will we be seeing your family?”

Wodred nods before looking back to the path in front of us. “I sent word to them before we left Castle Ilustan. Sawa is expecting to host us.”

“With her ‘brood?’” I ask, feeling anticipation at the thought. I love being around children. They are so sweet, so trusting, so innocent. It makes me wish to protect them with all my heart.

“Yes, it will be very loud,” Wodred responds, and for a moment, he sounds perturbed at the thought.

I laugh at his worried tone. “A little loudness is good for the soul every once in a while.”

Wodred looks back at me, a bemused look on his normally stoic face. “If you say so.”

“Do you not like the sound of children?” I ask, curious.

The orc general shrugs. “I am not used to it. By the time I ever saw orclings they were already the training age. Orclings of twelve or more summers can be their own kind of trouble, but they are usually not as loud once they are in the Horde.”

“Did you never want your own orclings?” I ask, then freeze. That was a very personal question. Too intimate for a casual conversation on warbeastback.

Wodred, though, does not seem offended that I’m being shamelessly nosy. “Having orclings was never important to me. I do not think it is in the stars for me.”

“You don’t know that,” I argue. “You are still virile. You could find a female in her child-bearing years and . . .”

“That will never happen, Melelea,” Wodred interrupts me, his voice kind but firm. “A child-bearing female would be little more than a child to me at this point. I have no use for a female that I would be old enough to father.”

“You are very different from many males I have known then,” I reply. “Youth is often very prized.”

“Youth is fleeting,” Wodred says dismissively. “If I were to take a mate, I would want her to have wisdom and maturity. Someone whom I could talk to.”

“Not all races have a short child-bearing window,” I say. “Elves can bear children into their sixties.”