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Guruk shrugs, moving his arm around Jalla to grasp her behind in a possessive grip. “Oh well. I’ll change your mind one of these days, old friend.”
Then he looks back at the rest of the retinue. “Come! First we unpack, then we feast!”
A cheer picks up from our caravan, and we all move to follow Wodred and his warriors into the opulent castle of Goetia’s king.
✽✽✽
THE FEAST IS the same as the one I attended all those years ago in Trillin with Guruk. The orcs relax and gorge themselves, while the people of Goetia serve us with an unease in their air. I notice that it is all human males serving us. They must be trying to keep the females away from the orcs, perhaps having heard whispers of the Bride Chase, but it will not work. Besides, they have forgotten the orcresses. There are sure to be a good number of the shieldmaidens who are chosen for Bride Chases, and they will pick from amongst the males. There is truly nowhere to hide now that they have been conquered.
I sit next to Guruk as he feasts. Jalla sits on his lap as he feeds the choicest bits to her. A sign of his favor and his way of showing me my place. Instead of showing any signs of displeasure or jealousy, I just quietly pick at my food. I am anxious to return to my rooms, to Rognar. He is left with a wet nurse that Wodred thoughtfully provided, but I never feel quite settled if I am not with my baby.
Pushing aside my trencher, I go to stand, but Guruk’s heavy hand comes down possessively on my thigh, keeping me in my chair, even as Jalla is still on his lap.
“Where are you going, wife?” he rumbles out, displeasure in his voice. “The feast has barely begun.”
I choose my words carefully. I don’t want to trigger one of his explosive bouts of rage. Not here, in front of the Northern Horde.
“I am merely fatigued from traveling, My King,” I murmur softly, sweetly. So that there is no way for him to interpret disrespect in what I am saying. “I thought to return to my rooms. I will be back for tomorrow’s feast.”
Guruk frowns, and a frisson of fear darts through my heart. But then his hand relaxes, moving off my leg. “Fine. If you are going to sit around looking like a wilted bloom, you’ll only dampen the spirits of the feast. But see that you are more entertaining tomorrow.”
Relief fills me. Guruk must truly be in an excellent mood from conquering Goetia.
“As you will, My King,” I respond demurely, before beating a hasty retreat. But not too hasty. I don’t want to look like I’m eager to leave Guruk’s presence. He will interpret that as disrespect if I am not careful.
Once I am out of the Great Hall, I try to make my way back to my rooms, but this castle is designed in a way that makes no sense to me. I find myself all turned around, and soon find that I am outside on the battlements, looking out over the capital city.
The city is dark and quiet, barely any light coming through the windows of the buildings below. I imagine everyone is waiting behind closed doors, tense and hoping the invaders will leave soon. And they will, but not before taking the country’s wealth, women, men, and choice lands. The Goetian king must regret his dealings with Orik now, the petty insults he tried to get away with, for Orik never forgets an insult and returns contempt with blood and ruin.
Sighing, I turn to go back in and try to find my room again when I hear a soft, deep voice ask, “Are you lost, Lady Melelea?”
I start at the voice. I thought I was alone up here. Turning, I see Wodred in the shadows, standing guard like a soldier of half his rank. How strange.
“General Wodred, you gave me a fright!”
“Apologies, my lady,” Wodred says, his voice still soft. “I was merely surprised to see you up here.”
“I am afraid that I am lost,” I admit hesitantly, almost expecting him to mock me like the guards in Ilustan would.
“Goetian architecture is strange,” he says instead. “It is easy to get turned around.”
“Yes,” I respond, relieved that he understands. “Why is that?”
“It is designed to confuse would-be invaders,” Wodred explains. “Things in unexpected places, hidden doors, the like. All the staircases enclose parallel steps, so that one may go up while another goes down and never meet. It is quite a fascinating architectural feat, but it leads to getting turned around.”
“That does sound clever,” I reply, “but it doesn’t seem to have helped them with these invaders.”
Wodred tenses at my words, and internally I flinch. We were having a nice, friendly conversation. Why would I seek to ruin the easiness with my true thoughts? I have gotten good at hiding my thoughts these past three years, but something about being in Wodred’s presence makes guarding my tongue more difficult.
Luckily, Wodred does not censure me. “No, they were indeed unlucky to catch the attention of the Horde. Our kingdom cannot afford to lose a war, or the whole continent would see us as weak. Once a war starts, it can only end in victory or death.”
I have never heard it put so plainly, but it is true. Orik has many enemies, made through the years of warring and conquering. If they were ever to show weakness, it would be sure to invite vultures looking to pick at the kingdom’s carcass.
“I see why Guruk likes you,” I say. “You have wisdom.”
Strangely, Wodred looks uncomfortable. “The king is most generous with his attentions and favors,” he says diplomatically, but his words do not fool me. Wodred does not like my husband? That is news indeed. My husband is not aware of it, I’m sure, or he would not leave Wodred in a position of power like being the General of the Northern Horde.
“You do not like the king?” I ask carefully, quietly, so that no one could overhear.
