MORE THANKS ARE BESTOWED UPON me as Bazur and I make our way to Lady Myren’s the next morning.
I’m stopped a dozen times by humans and orcs alike. They offer me words of gratitude for saving Jessica and her child and for bringing new knowledge to their village. They all try giving gifts. I have to sidestep an elderly orc female whose yellow eyes glow with reverence as she tries handing me two chicken caracasses midstride.
It’s a sweet gesture but I don’t need anything else from these people. I’m glad I could help them. If my mission fails, and I am unable to locate my brother, at least I can leave the village knowing I’ve improved their lives.
My mission.
Yesterday gave me a reprieve but I cannot lose sight of why I’m really here. I didn’t help Jessica to earn myself favors from these people, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t going to use their new fondness toward me to my advantage. Someone here must know something about where captured humans go. It sounds like from the few stories I’ve been told, they all were captives once themselves. If my brother isn’t here, there’s a good chance someone has an idea about where he might have gone.
Or he never made it out, a small voice whispers to me.
I quickly dismiss it. If I start considering the possibility that my brother perished the night our village was attacked, the motivation I’ve clung to these last few years will be stripped away. I can’t even think about the possibility that my whole life I’ve been searching for someone who’s already gone.
So, I won’t. There is much still to be discovered in this village and I have until summer to do it. I will find my brother; I won’t consider any other possibilities.
Bazur is deep in thought as we trudge through the snow in silence. His beard is growing longer, adding an extra layer of protection against the sharp cold on his face. I like it, for some reason. I itch to touch it even though that would be highly inappropriate.
What was never explained to me is how even the smallest things can turn my nipples hard. Why do I grow wet while watching him put on his cloak? Why do I find his corded muscles flexing when he fixes me a bowl of stew so appealing? I know why scientifically, so maybe this reaction would happen with any man or male I spent this amount of time with?
Even if I were willing to let these feelings flourish, what would be the end goal?
I am still leaving once spring comes. As much as I enjoy the people here, I do miss my life in Myrkorvin. I miss Elvie, Breena, and the other alchemists. We were close in our own way. I have a life, research and profession I need to get back to. All reasons to shove these confusing feelings down where Bazur is concerned.
I’d encourage him to do the same if I had even an inkling he felt the same. He has been growling less around me but that doesn’t mean much. He called me that name again, akorzag, this morning when I accidentally scorched one of the wooden spoons at the stove. He said it with a smile, so perhaps he’s beginning to find my annoyance endearing.
That doesn’t mean he likes me in a romantic way, I remind myself.
He drops me off at Lady Myren’s with his usual farewell. I watch his large form stomp off in the snow and kick myself for enjoying the way his shoulders bunch under his cloak. Perhaps Lady Myren has some sort of sedative she can give me. Or better yet, something to induce nausea so I can train myself to feel sick in his presence instead of this attraction.
Making my way inside, I hang my cloak up on a hook by the door. Looking over to the fireplace, I halt as I see Mornga and Lady Myren’s heads together. They are whispering to each other in the orcish. Both of them turn their stares on me at once.
“Um, good morning, Lady Myren. Mornga, it’s nice to see you again,” I say.
“Good morning, Kaethe. Let’s sit at the table, I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
Unease trickles into my stomach but I nod anyway. I make my way over to the workbench and sit down. Lady Myren sets a chipped teacup down in front of me and slides onto the seat beside me. Mornga lowers herself gracefully across from us, her red eyes appraising me and taking in every hair on my head, noting every freckle on my nose.
I reach for the cup as we sit in silence for a moment. It’s not long before Mornga breaks it.
“What you did yesterday was a miracle, Kaethe.” I set my mug down, the clay clattering as it rests on the small serving plate. Mornga’s gaze is hard and I straighten my spine as I meet it.
“I understand that it may seem like one, but it was just training. Like I told Lady Myren yesterday, I can teach some of the midwives the technique while I’m here.” I glance over to Lady Myren who meets my stare before shifting her gaze to Mornga’s and nodding once. Something unspoken moves between them and I have the feeling of standing on a precipice.
“It was a miracle,” Mornga says firmly. I try to shake my head again and deny it, but she waves me off. “How much do you know about this village?”
My body visibly stiffens at the question. It’s asked innocently enough but this could still be a trap. A way to see if I have been using the village’s newfound gratitude to spy. I haven’t, yet so I answer her honestly.
“Very little.”
“But you know about orcs?” Mornga asks with a raised brow. “About the horrors some of them commit?” After telling Bazur the truth about my family last night I don’t fear this line of questioning. I have nothing to hide from them, not when it comes to this.
“Yes, I know about that. But I also know not every orc is like that,” I add. Mornga nods her scarlet gaze glancing over to Lady Myren. The older woman sets her own cup down and turns towards me on the bench.
“Look,” she says, “I know we weren’t the most welcoming to you when you first arrived.”
You don’t say? I want to ask but I simply incline my head.
“There are reasons for that,” Lady Myren explains, running her finger around the lip of her teacup. “We can’t explain everything to you—it’s not our place, but we want you to know that you are safe here.”
I let out a frustrated groan. Hearing that statement is getting on my last nerve.
“Everyone says that. You both say it, Jessica said it last week, Bazur says it…why?”
“Because everywhere else on this mountain is unsafe. Especially for humans,” Mornga states. She looks out of Lady Myren’s front window for a moment; the ice collecting on the glass pain looks like a spider’s web. “Bazur is the only general who allows humans to truly live. Here, humans are equals to the orcs that also call this place home. Here, mated couples can live together and start families and live in a community that accepts them.”
“Very few humans live in the other villages. The ones who do don’t typically last very long,” Lady Myren adds. My hands grip the wood of the table. Mind races as I look at the two sitting beside me. What does that mean for my brother? What would that have meant for me had I been sent to another village, or gods forbid, stayed at the Keep?
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask but Lady Myren speaks again.
“I was a stray once, living in a village just outside the Keep. All the other humans were gone, and I had a half-orc toddler to provide for. In our sorry state we wouldn’t have survived the winter. The general that oversaw that village was particularly cruel. We were on borrowed time with him, especially with no one around to protect us.” She swallows, “My mate was…gone.”
“Then one day Vorgak’s soldiers came and took Targoc and I to the Keep. I knew we were going to be killed. I had heard the stories of the others.”
Lady Myren’s face has paled a shade as if she is reliving the horrible memory. I can relate to that.
“Luckily, Bazur was there. He had injured himself while on a mission for the king and I was the closest healer. He asked me if there were any other humans with me at the village and I told him it was just me and my son. I was so wary of him, of all of them, just like I can tell you were at first too, Kaethe.”
“But you went with him anyways?” I ask.
“Yes,” Lady Myren said, “and thank the Mother of the Mountain I did. Once we were away from Dread’s Keep, Bazur told me the same thing we said to you. That I was safe now. He told me about the other humans who lived here and that they needed a healer urgently. So that’s what I came here to do. Bazur gave me safety, a life, a way to earn my keep and provide for my child.”
A funny feeling settles in my chest as I think about Bazur. It feels akin to a heart attack, and I have to shake myself before the warmth in my heart spreads any lower.
“But why did—”
“Bazur placates Vorgak,” Mornga interrupts. “You live with Bazur. I’m sure you’ve noticed he’s the strongest orc in this village. But he’s also the strongest orc on this mountain.”
“I’ve noticed,” I say softly, my cheeks flaming. Luckily, neither Mornga or Lady Myren comments on my change in coloring.
“Bazur uses it to his advantage; he appeases Vorgak by fighting his battles for him. Crushing rebellions before they start. Bazur is deadly on the battlefield. The only things he asks in return for his victories is that this place is left alone, and that he can take in stray humans if he finds them.”
My mind is racing. This is the truth I wanted to uncover, right? The great secret of this place everyone has been keeping? Now I understand. I understand why I posed such a threat to all of them. Their secret safe haven, taking in an outsider from another kingdom—I wouldn’t have trusted me! No matter that Bazur was the one who volunteered to bring me here.
Bazur.
My heart squeezes in my chest. His rage last night at my confession makes more sense. How angry he had been. Not at me, but for me. The things he’s done for the humans here and the things he’s done for me. Overwhelming emotion crowds my throat, and my breath becomes painful. I want to go to him now. See him and touch him and tell him what I’ve learned and to tell him all about me as well.
I don’t know how long we sit at the table in silence. There’s nothing I can think to say. After this revelation, asking about my brother seems tactless and inappropriate. In truth, the person I should be asking is Bazur. If he secures safe passage for stray humans then maybe he remembers coming across a boy with my brother’s description.
More importantly I want to ask Bazur if he knows anything about my brother. I want to share that part of myself with him. I need to keep myself busy while I count down the hours until I can ask Bazur about the truth that’s just been shared with me.
Sitting by the fire I catalog more seeds for Lady Myren. Although my skin is warmed by the flames this new knowledge has thawed something else inside of me. For the first time, the anger, the sadness, the fear I’ve carried with me like a second skin melting away.
And when I think of Bazur, what he’s made here and all he’s sacrificed to keep it safe, an even more dormant part of me begins to melt too. Whatever feelings I have for Bazur, I’m ready to let them flourish.
It’s late in the afternoon and I’ve lost myself to my daily tasks. All day I let my mind ponder the same question: where do I go from here?
I was meant to find my brother and find a way to get him off of the mountain. Yet, I yearn to stay and learn so much more about these people and their way of life.
I’m still dedicated to my mission, but there’s a new venture I can follow now. If I can learn about Black Claw Village, perhaps I can get word to Elvie and Arkain and explain to them that the people here need their help. After the Orc Wars, humans were meant to live freely in the orc lands, not cower from fear of death or worse. King Arkain has the power to ease their suffering and offer asylum should they seek it.
It’s what I was planning on him offering my brother, but now it’s more than just my brother who needs rescuing. Again I find myself unable to idly sit by when I have the means to help. If I can somehow learn how to smuggle my brother out, perhaps I can do the same for the humans trapped in the other villages.
If I approach Bazur with this idea, will he go for it?
There’s so much I want to ask him now, and I will the clock to move faster. The initial shock of the revelation has worn off and now I’m just curious. Eager to learn all that I can, eager to see if he knows about my brother. He is my best chance and I trust now he won’t turn me over to Vorgak if I confess to him why I came.
Lady Myren’s door creaks open, letting the chilly evening air slip inside. She left for the market only a moment ago to restock on low supplies and couldn’t possibly be back yet. I slide the last tray of labeled seeds onto the bookshelf and turn, my lips rising into a small smile as I take in the figure at the door.
“I know you’ve missed me,” Zarod chuckles, his tusks curling to the side into a smirk. “And lucky for you, I’m in need of your expert healing once more.”
He holds up his bound hand and I see his two middle fingers bent at odd angles. I wrinkle my nose and gesture toward one of the empty cots.
“I’ll set those for you,” I say, collecting clean linens and a splint from Lady Myren’s case.
“Kae: a gift from the Mother of the Mountain herself.”
I roll my eyes but chuckle along with him. His skin has returned to that healthy, glowing green. And his eyes are clear and no longer fevered. I notice how handsome he is with his short black hair pulled back, but not as handsome as Bazur.
I shuffle around to the side of the cot and brace his hand on a wooden board.
“You look much better than the last time I saw you. Half-dressed and shivering in the snow, smelling like an unwashed wolf.” Gripping his fingers, I twist them back into place and he yelps, glaring at me ruefully. I reply with a smirk.
“Hey now…I wasn’t half dressed.” Zarod snickers as I set the other finger.
“You look well, too. Poison didn’t seem to agree with you.”
“A male will always look good after bedding his mate for a week straight. Mornga was lovingly pissed at me when she found out I almost died. It didn’t take much convincing from me to persuade her to celebrate just how alive I am instead of dwelling on my near death.” He raises his dark brows and wiggles them at me. Instead of getting flustered or shy I return his smile with one of my own.
A longing sensation makes my chest hurt again. Zarod must read it on my face because a knowing smirk graces his green lips.
“Is it too far for me to presume that only a bath and good sleep have returned your healthy glow, or do we have a certain extremely grumpy, yet very muscular general to thank for that?”
I choke on a laugh, my face heating. Zaord blinks innocent yellow eyes at me. Too bad I don’t have another finger of his to twist and reset.
“If you thought that was the case, why didn’t you just ask Bazur?”
“Have you met him? He’d have strangled me.” He shifts on the cot as I bind his fingers to the splint. “This town hasn’t had any good gossip since our baker decided to start taking up with his brother’s widow.”
“What?” I gasp, my mouth following open. “Really?”
“Oh yeah, it happened two summers ago. You wanna know the strangest part?”
“Of course,” I say.
“They were twins.” My mouth drops open even wider.
“No way,” I say, shaking my head.
“I swear on the Mother.”
“Oh gods. Well, I hate to disappoint but no village gossip here. It’s just sleep that has restored my peachy complexion.”
I finish his splint, looping the bandage a few times around his hand to make sure it’s secure. When I finish Zarod looks at me, a small smile playing on his lip and I am ready for some sort of bawdy joke but his voice is gentle when he speaks.
“You know Bazur likes you, right?” he asks, but I simply shake my head. Can that really be true? Is it wrong that I want it to be true?
“Bazur doesn’t seem to like anything,” I say and Zarod barks out a laugh.
“His grumpiness is a part of his charm.”
“How long have you two known each other?” I ask, as we rise from the cot.
“Bazy’s been gracing me with his surly presence since we were younglings. Both of us were sent to the Keep for soldier training. He was always like this, even as a child. So serious and stoic.” Zarod’s eyes run over my face, a mysterious expression dancing in them. “He’s different with you, though. I noticed it even if he doesn’t want to admit it.”
My stomach flutters and my face warms. I feel my last reservations toward Bazur slipping away and I’m more eager to return home.
I lead Zarod to the door, helping him into his cloak with his injured hand. He stays still while I tie the laces for him.
“Don’t be too hard on Bazy. Given who his father is, it’s no surprise he turned out so angry.” That causes my brows to lower. Father? Bazur spoke briefly of his mother in the past but never mentioned a father so I had just assumed he had died.
“Who’s Bazur’s father?” I ask. Zarod frowns at the question.
“He didn’t tell you?”
I shake my head and Zarod uses his good hand to rub the back of his neck. “Vorgak is Bazur’s father.”
