ONE BED, SURELY HE CAN’T be serious.
Sharing a home is one thing. Sharing a saddle out of necessity is another. Sleeping in the same bed as someone I barely know, not to mention an orc who sees me as his annoying ward, is something else entirely. Needlessly intimate, I’d rather sleep on a bedroll in a barn.
In theory at least, I can’t deny that the bed looks deliciously comfortable.
“I’m not sharing a bed with you,” I splutter, Bazur shrugs his massive green shoulders.
“This isn’t an ideal arrangement for me either.”
“Then let me find lodging with some of the humans in town. You rule over this village, surely you can find a nice family to take me in while I’m here.” Before he can protest I press on. “I promise, I’ll check-in with you every day so you know what I’m doing at all times.”
“No, I will watch you.” He speaks with such finality that my cheeks heat.
“I’m not sharing a bed with you,” I repeat. He scrubs a large, calloused hand across his brow. A gesture he seems to be doing a lot in my presence.
“That is fine, akorzag. I will sleep on a bedroll in the front room.” There he goes, calling me annoying again right to my face. “That way I can hear if you try to escape.”
My mouth pops open and my face is heating for a different reason now. Indignation.
“I wouldn’t try to escape. I gave my word, besides where would I even go.”
“I don’t know you, Kaethe.” His use of my name has my eyes narrowing on him. “All I know about you is the lies that you’ve told me. Why would I give you even an ounce of trust? Until I know for a fact that you are not a danger to my village—to my people—I will be keeping you under my roof, where I can keep my eyes on you.”
Crossing my arms over my chest I glare at him. He has a point godsdamn him. “Fine.”
Bazur meets my steely glare until my stomach rumbles. He mutters something under his breath and my irritation grows further.
“What did you say?” I ask but he merely raises a brow.
“I hope you like stew. It’s the only thing I can cook.” I cringe at that statement, not wanting to be an ungrateful guest. Then I remind myself I am not a guest here. I am a captive. Captured by this orc general and made to stay under his roof, in his bed, albeit without him in it.
“I can’t say I’m the biggest fan of it,” I admit. Bazur’s face is blank, before he turns and makes for the ladder.
“You better start liking it.”
“I can always cook something.” Bazur’s whole body freezes on the top rung, something unreadable passing through his golden eyes. He shakes his head as if to clear it, a few dark stands of his hair escaping to tickle his cheeks. I roll my eyes at his dismissal. “I won’t poison you with my cooking.”
“Based on all those herbs in your bag, you can’t blame me for thinking you’ve considered it.”
My teeth grind at that statement. They continue to grind as I tuck into my bowl of thin meat stew, that’s more water than broth. Poisoning him? I look over towards my trunk as I spoon the last portion of weak stew into my mouth.
Now that’s an idea.
The night had been strange to say the least.
Bathing in the warm pool was luxurious, as was slipping under the wool sheets and furs. I almost felt bad for Bazur sleeping on his thin bedroll downstairs. But sinking into the warm softness of his mattress, dressed in my thin, clean nightgown almost made me moan with comfort. The bed smelled of him; rich pine and spice lulled me to sleep.
And then a gruff voice startled me awake.
Bazur looked tired. The dark green circles under his honey-colored eyes caused guilt to creep up on me again. Until I reminded myself that he volunteered for this position. As grateful as I am that I’m not stuck at Dread’s Keep, I’m not so grateful to let him share a bed with me.
I dressed quickly and together we ate another bowl of thin stew before setting off to Lady Myren’s.
There is so much…life in this village. I noticed it as Bazur and I walked through the town this morning. Children run through the street, human and orc offspring alike, throwing snowballs and tackling each other. Human and orc couples hold hands. A few of the males rub the round stomachs of the human women they are with.
Bazur dropped me off at Lady Myren’s front steps, exchanging some words with her in orcish before switching back to elven. He said he had soldiers to train, and that he would be back for me this evening to escort me home. There was a thinly veiled warning about what would happen if I tried sneaking off or if I didn’t listen to Lady Myren. I’m trying to block it from my mind, or I will be just as vexed as when I first walked in here.
Why does his distrust annoy me so much? Because if he trusts me, the more freedom I will have. And with more freedom it will be easier to find out where my brother could’ve been taken to. I’ve kept my eyes peeled in town in case I see anyone baring his coloring but so far no one looks even remotely similar to my brother.
Lady Myren is an older woman, with deep crow’s feet along her bright green eyes. Her long black hair is streaked with gray and silver secured in a long plait down her back.
There is an intelligence in her stare, a worldliness only someone who has seen things many others have not. Living in this village, I can’t even imagine the things she’s seen and heard.
If I am going to be working with her for the time that I am here, she is the best option to pump for information on the whereabouts of other humans. Her home alone indicates she has lived here for a long time.
Her longhouse is a single level and extends nearly to the edge of the wood. The front door opens into a kitchen where the stove and fireplace are situated. Beside the hearth is a small cedar table and two matching chairs. Both are ornately carved with pictures of Brokenbone Mountain. Just to the right of the door is a long work table, cluttered with all types of jars and cataloging supplies for the various herbs that decorate the windowsills on the front wall of the house. There are massive wooden bookcases filled with rows upon rows of herbs, ointments, tools, and books on the art of healing.
As I walk further into the house, I notice between the front room and the bedrooms toward the back are about ten cots lined up in two rows separated by a walkway. Clean white linen sheets are stretched tightly over each one. Lady Myren isn’t just the town healer but seems to run an infirmary here as well.
“Bazur says you are from the Royal Academy in Myrkorvin?” Lady Myren cuts through my thoughts and I turn to look at her. A smile curves my lips and I nod. I need to get off on the right foot with her.
“Yes, I studied there for seven years.”
She nods once. I think she is going to ask me questions about the academy or at the very least give me some indication that she is impressed. Instead, she walks over to one of the bookshelves and plucks a leather-bound book from the shelf. She settles it down in front of me with a thud, dust flying up and tickling my nose.
A tray of vials is placed next to me as well. All filled with unmarked seeds.
“Good, then cataloging should be something you are familiar with.”
I raise my eyebrow at her. Cataloging is a necessary task, sure, but it’s meant for a novice. It’s low man’s work.
Which in this village, I guess means me.
“What are these for?” I ask, picking up a vial of seeds. Brown and unassuming, they could be anything. There are hundreds of seeds that look like this.
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t need you to catalog them for me, would I?”
My cheeks warm and I nod my head.
“They’re local herbs, brought to me by one of the farmers. That’s all I know.”
Lady Myren isn’t very chatty. This work is tedious, and I feel like an hour has passed since starting but when I glance up at the clock, I find it’s only been fifteen minutes. Gods, this is going to be a long winter.
Just then the front door opens. A young orc male comes rushing in, his tusks smaller, less pronounced on his lower jaw. Lady Myren jumps up and goes to the child’s side. There is a deep gash along the top of his hand, and crimson blood drips from the wound onto the floor as Lady Myren examines it.
“Get my kit by the door, we need to clean this cut,” Lady Myren shouts at me. I grab her bag and bring it over to where she is sitting on the cot. The young male sits beside her, his yellow eyes assessing me with curiosity, and I set the bag of supplies at their feet.
“How did this happen?” Lady Myren asks. Popping open her healing bag, she hands me a glass bottle of antiseptic. The strong scent singes my nose.
“It wasn’t my fault, the ax just slipped, Lady Myren. I swear!” Lady Myren takes out some clean clothes and lays them on a tray next to the bed. She hands one to me and I coat it with the antiseptic.
“Here, put that on his wound to cleanse it. You know how to tend to wounds, yes?”
I nod. I’ve had some wound training, especially living at the palace where a guard or two was known to need some stitching up after sparring.
“What was Zarc thinking, letting you chop wood all by yourself. That lazy woodcutter.” Her words clatter through me and suddenly I’m back in my village, the smoke is choking me, and I’m looking up at our woodcutter. The one who carved me figurines. My hand leaves my brother’s. The woodcutter’s arm is missing, red blood, sticky and clinging to his—
“Kaethe!” Lady Myren’s voice cracks like a whip and pulls me from my thoughts. Quickly, I put the cloth to his skin. The burn causes the child to jerk but Lady Myren holds him firm. I wipe away at the wound, then apply pressure to stop the bleeding. My hands have gone sweaty, my eyes unfocused.
“Don’t tell me you’re squeamish around blood.”
All I can do is shake my head no.
The bleeding stops and we find the cut isn’t deep enough to require stitches. Lady Myren tightly bandages the child’s hand and sends him off with a stiff warning and a threat to tell his mother he shouldn’t be chopping wood unsupervised.
“You want to tell me what that was all about?” Lady Myren asks, turning from the door. I sit down at the work bench and pull the vials of herbs closer to me. I need to lose myself in my work. That has always helped when my memories threaten to pull me under. A distraction in the form of a mundane task will help the smell of smoke leave my nose.
“Just a bad memory, nothing more.” Lady Myren looks like she wants to ask more but doesn’t push. In fact, the rest of the day we barely speak, both of us quietly absorbed in our own tasks. We only talk when villagers come in for healing.
An hour after the orc child left an older orc came in with a slight cough. Lady Myren made him tea and sent him on his way. A few hours later a young human male came in with a sprained wrist. I helped Lady Myren bandage it before sending him back to work. Next, there was a pregnant human female with wildly curly red hair and a smattering of freckles that came in complaining of a sore abdomen and cramping. Lady Myreen applied a thick ointment to her stomach and sent her home with a jar of it, telling her that her mate needs to rub the cream on daily.
We set broken finger bones, we brewed tea together, but we never spoke, not even casual small talk. By the time the sun began to set, my back was throbbing from being hunched over and my eyes are dry from staring at the small print in her herb catalog. I finish labeling the last vial when Lady Myren approaches me with a cup of tea. The steam curls over the lip and it smells of peppermint.
I take a sip as she looks at my handiwork. Wordlessly, she collects the labeled containers and places them back on the shelf. Returning, she sits across from me at the worktable appraising me under thin dark brows.
“Thank you for doing that,” she says. “Tomorrow a few of the women in the village will come to help make tonics for Frost Cough.”
I nod my head, trying not to look too relieved that we will have company. Maybe one of them will be more receptive to me and I can get some information out of them.
“You are a very talented healer,” I say. Lady Myren shakes her head, a secret smile gracing her pink lips.
“It is the least I can do for being brought here. To be allowed to live here.”
I’m puzzled by her response and seize the opportunity to ask another question.
“Have many humans been brought to live here?” Her eyes narrow. I quickly include an explanation and vow to be more subtle in my questioning going forward. “It’s just that people looked shocked to see me when I arrived yesterday.”
Lady Myren chews her bottom lip and I try not to wilt under her hard stare. After a long, uncomfortable silence she says, “We get new people, from time to time.”
A non-answer if I’ve ever heard of one. Great.
I open my mouth to say something when the door slams open. Targoc appears, sweat staining the front of his wool shirt and his green forehead glistening. He unties the sword tied around his waist before toeing off his boots by the threshold.
“Mother, you won’t believe what Bazur let me try today!” There is so much excitement in his green eyes. Green eyes…the same exact shape and color as Lady Myren’s. My mouth falls open.
How did I not piece that together sooner? Bazur stands behind him in the doorway, his eyes finding mine as if to make sure I didn’t disappear during the day. He rests a meaty shoulder against the doorframe and crosses his muscular arms over his chest as he turns and smiles at Lady Myren. She returns it with the most pleasant expression I’ve seen her give all day. Her body is relaxed, her eyes bright and happy.
Not at all like the body language she showed me today.
“How was my boy today, General?” she asks. Even the timbre of her voice is softer.
“Targoc is showing great promise.” Bazur nods to me, signaling it’s time to go. I rise, grabbing my cloak from the hook on the wall, the chill from the open door already seeping through my blue dress. This is my last clean clothing item; I’ll have to find a way to procure more here shortly.
“Please, won’t you stay for dinner?” Lady Myren asks, a courtesy that was not extended to me.
Bazur shakes his head. “Not tonight, thank you. It’s best I take her home now.”
My glare at him apparently doesn’t go unnoticed as Lady Myren frowns at me. She looks between us for a moment before speaking to him in their orc language. Bazur responds and she nods. There is a familiarity between them that is hard to miss.
They stare at each other for another moment, something unspoken passing between them.
“I will bring Kaethe back at the same time tomorrow,” Bazur says in elven, and I turn to look at Lady Myren.
“Thank you for today. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
She only nods. We both know it is a lie, but it seems we each have our roles to play. Lady Myren may prove to be another obstacle while I am here. I will have to keep my guard up around her so she doesn’t turn me into my orc warden.
With that thought in mind, I step over the threshold and walk into the chilly night air.
