I wake to an empty bed. I’m well wrapped in the covers, and my head rests on Steagor’s pillow, which smells even more like him now that he lay here. But he’s gone, and I shiver in the morning chill, wishing I wasn’t naked.
I fell asleep soon after our last bout of lovemaking, with him still buried inside me. I bite my lip and move my body under the blanket experimentally to see if anything hurts.
A twinge of pain between my legs makes itself known, but it’s a reminder of what we did last night, and I cherish it, almost as a souvenir. It’ll disappear soon enough, and then I’ll have to rely on my memory to remember.
I don’t want to look toward the door. If I do, I’ll know for sure that Steagor left me sometime in the night, but if I remain curled up here, I can pretend a while longer that he’s sitting at my desk, waiting for me to wake up.
But I’m lying to myself. Because he’s not here—I would feel him if he was. There’s a connection between us, a bond so strong, I always know if he’s around.
Eventually, I realize I’ll have to start working soon. There’s a pile of kids’ shirts on my work desk that needs darning, and I promised Dawn I’ll check in with her regarding her project after lunch. Slowly, I push myself into a seated position, then turn to get up.
There’s a note on the floor, along with two small glass jars.
Tentatively, I reach for the jar that’s filled with dried herbs. I unplug it and sniff at its contents. It seems that Steagor has left me some tea, though I have no idea why. The second jar is filled to the brim with a greenish ointment that also smells of herbs, although the scent is different, refreshing.
And beside them, the note. I turn it around in my hands. There are several lines of text on it, written in a clear script, but the neat rows of letters mean nothing to me. My throat closes up, and I blink hard, unwilling to cry.
Steagor wrote me a letter, and I can’t read it.
Shame courses through me, unwelcome and harsh. I drop the letter back on the floor and scramble up, looking for my shift. It takes me a moment to find it—I’d left it draped over a chair last night when I was trying on my new nightgown. That is crumpled by the bed. I pick it up, noting a torn seam and a partially ripped ribbon from where Steagor undressed me. Shivering, I push it away, because I can’t deal with it right now.
Instead, I drag on my dress and angrily shove my arms into the sleeves. Resentment simmers inside me—and not at Steagor. I’m angry at my father for never teaching me how to read. And I’m furious with myself for never doing it on my own.
Though that’s not entirely fair to myself either. I’d asked Father to enroll me in school, but he’d refused, saying he’d teach me everything I needed to know. And apparently, as a girl, I didn’t need to know my letters, only enough of numbers and sums to not get cheated by enterprising clients or merchants.
Yanking at the laces of my dress, I catch my reflection in the polished silver mirror. The image is fuzzy, my outline soft and a little distorted, but it shows me a woman with a cloud of wild, curly hair, and pink in her cheeks.
But it’s my eyes that surprise me. They’re blazing with fire, enough that I stop and straighten my shoulders. Turning away from the mirror, I stare down at that piece of paper, at the message it contains.
I don’t have to do this anymore.
My father is dead, and I don’t need his permission to learn, to sew what I want to sew, or to live my life however I please. My heart thumps hard, and a strange sense of wonder takes over me, the knowledge that I can do things on my own.
I crouch quickly, stuff the note in the pocket of my skirt, and pick up the two pots. And I hurry off in search of the male who left me a present, not knowing I wouldn’t understand one bit of it.
Only Steagor is nowhere to be found. After roaming the great hall, the communal baths, and his room, I find a guard at the main entrance to the Hill who tells me that the king and queen rode out on a hunt this morning and that Steagor, along with the rest of their retinue, accompanied them.
The realization that he’s gone, perhaps for days, is painful—and ruins my plan of finding him and demanding he teach me how to read.
But he’s not the only person in the Hill who knows his letters. I think of Mara and Dawn, sitting at Mara’s working desk with those thick ledgers. Even if Dawn has gone away with the king, Mara might still be here.
It takes me several tries to find the right corridor, but I stop at Mara’s door, my stomach rumbling because I haven’t had breakfast yet. This is too important, though. I need to know what Steagor wrote to me. It’s likely nothing, only instructions for whatever is in these jars, but the curiosity is killing me.
Mara answers at first knock, her face lighting up in a smile when she sees me hovering on her doorstep. She opens the door wider and motions for me to come in.
“Hello,” I greet her, suddenly awkward.
“How are you?” she asks. “You look a lot better. Is Steagor treating you well?”
I open my mouth, then close it again, chewing on my lip. “Y-yes,” I manage finally.
Her smile dims. “That wasn’t too convincing. Are you all right?”
Now that I’m here, I realize I might have to tell Mara more than the fact that Steagor left these for me in the night. Whatever is written on that note might give away the fact that we’ve been intimate, and I don’t know if that’s something Steagor wants to keep a secret. We never discussed it, that’s for sure.
I consider my own stance on this. Would I want everyone to know that we were together? Yes—if this was more than just another mistake to Steagor. I don’t think it was, but again, I have no idea what he wants to do from now on because I can’t read the blasted note.
There’s nothing for it.
“We spent the night together, and he left before I woke up, but he left me a note, so maybe everything’s fine, but I can’t read it because I don’t know how, and I came to you because you can read, and I can’t find Steagor because he left with the queen, and I was wondering if you could help me.”
I say all of this very quickly, staring at the tips of my boots poking from under my skirt.
There’s a beat of silence, then Mara says, “Can I see the note?”
I look up at her, and she gives me a half-smile, not exactly hopeful, but not judgmental either. She doesn’t ask any more questions either or berate me for my poor choices.
Pulling the note from my pocket, I smooth it down where it’s crumpled a little, then hand it to her.
“He also left me these.” I show her the two jars. “I don’t know what they do, because…”
“Because you can’t read, of course,” she says, taking the piece of paper.
As she reads, her eyes dart this way and that, so quickly, and I feel a surge of jealousy for this orc woman who was taught to read by someone—a teacher in school or a parent who knew how valuable this knowledge was. Then I shake it off, because it’s not her fault I didn’t have any of that.
Her brown eyes are inscrutable. “Do you want me to read it to you?”
I nod, a lump forming in my throat. “Please.”
“Little mate,” she reads, “To leave you while you sleep is painful. But the king called, and I must go. I will be back, and we will talk. The tea is to keep you from getting pregnant—for you to take if you wish. The salve is to heal anything I might have hurt last night. Please, return to my room and sleep there. That would mean a lot.”
Mara hands me the note. “It’s signed, Steagor.”
I stare at the note in my hands, blinking. I swallow several times before I can form words without my breath hitching over them.
“What does this mean?” I ask.
He called me little mate, and now a memory surfaces from last night. I’d been out of my mind with pleasure. He’d called me his mate then as well, but—
“You haven’t talked to him about any of this?” Mara presses gently. “About…your relationship?”
I shake my head in silence. He told me he hadn’t met his mate yet, and I left him because I didn’t want to rob him of his future, his family—and now he’s giving me tea to prevent pregnancy? Babies would only be possible if we were mating, no?
“Come on,” Mara says, taking my elbow gently. “I think this requires a soak.”
The steam from the baths rises gently around us, creating a private atmosphere, but it’s an illusion. Other orcs are present, in different pools a little way off, but still. We picked a small thermal pool, and now Mara is staring at me through the vapors, her long black hair piled on top of her head.
“I don’t understand,” I murmur. “If I’m Steagor’s mate, why would he want to marry me off to someone else?”
Mara swirls her arms through the water, humming thoughtfully. “Well, I can’t claim to understand any male completely, but I do believe it had something to do with that letter you brought along?”
I scowl. “That letter. It’s caused more trouble than I ever imagined it could.”
She peers at me. “You really didn’t read it before you brought it to Steagor?”
“How could I have?” My cheeks warm, either from the hot water or from embarrassment, it’s hard to tell. “My stepmother was out of the question. She’d burn it and force me to stay in her servitude forever. And I couldn’t trust a stranger would tell me the truth about it, could I?”
Mara gives me that curious half-smile again. “But you trusted Steagor enough to give it to him, didn’t you?”
I open my mouth to protest, then close it again. I did trust Steagor. I have no idea why I did from the start, since I stumbled on him, an orc, in the middle of the night, but he has done so much for me since we met. Even his insistence on finding me a husband was done to help me in some way.
“So you did,” Mara says a touch smugly. “Does he smell nice to you?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Now her smile blooms for real. “He does, doesn’t he? What scent do you get when you’re near him?”
I think of the way Steagor’s smoky scent curls around me, invading my senses. It’s why I stole his pillow from his room. I couldn’t bear the thought of not smelling it.
“Rosemary,” I admit, “and smoke.”
“That’s fascinating,” she says. “I never would have guessed rosemary for Steagor.”
“You’ve never smelled him?” I think back on everything I’ve learned about orcs. “But your sense of smell…”
Mara shakes her head. “I know his regular scent. Or anyone else’s, really. If they’re sweaty, or clean, or sick. But that special scent is only for mates. That’s how I’ll know when I’ve found mine. He’ll smell irresistible to me.”
I sink right down to my chin, wanting for the pool to swallow me up. “You know what? You orcs should come with an instruction manual. A booklet that a human could read and learn everything about you. Not that I could read it, but…”
Mara grins. “That’s not a bad idea. Now what are you going to do?”
Reaching for a cake of chamomile soap, I scrub my arms thoughtfully. “If he doesn’t want me as his mate, I can’t force him.”
My friend’s expression turns alarmed. “What do you mean, if he doesn’t want you? Did you not make love last night?”
I stamp down on the urge to sink beneath the surface and stay there. “Yes, but that’s—that’s just fucking.”
The word still rolls off my tongue with difficulty, but that’s what it’s called. And though I’m not completely convinced what I said is true, I can’t allow myself to hope for more, because disappointment will be even worse when he inevitably decides he doesn’t want to keep me.
“But—” Mara swims closer, eyebrows furrowed in a frown. “He didn’t give you his knot?”
“He did!” I exclaim. “Which is another thing that would have been nice to know beforehand, by the way.”
“Then you’re undoubtedly mates,” she says. “Only a mate can take a male’s knot.”
I stare at her, thoughts racing through my mind. “So Steagor knew this entire time.”
Mara shrugs. “Of course.”
“And you knew he knew?” I demand.
She bites her lip and looks away, which is enough of an answer. I retreat to the far end of the pool, stewing in my thoughts. Did everyone know? Was I the only one who was left clueless of the situation?
The more I think about it, the more it makes sense—the way Steagor reacted to Neekar’s scent all over me, the way Mara was stunned when I came to ask for a room of my own. I don’t understand why he’d push me away like that.
“I need some time to think,” I say finally, turning to the edge of the pool to climb out.
A soft splash tells me Mara has floated closer. “Poppy. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but Steagor asked us not to.”
I glance over my shoulder at the beautiful orc woman. “But why?”
She grimaces. “I can’t pretend to understand completely, because if I found my mate, I’d hold on to him and never let go. But I think he wanted you to have a choice.”
A choice.
My throat closes up, truth slamming into me. Steagor gave me something I never had—a chance to pick my own future. If he’d claimed me as his mate from the start, would I have developed this sense of independence? Would I even have tried to fend for myself, find work on my own, or would I have been content to let him take over my life?
The honest answer rings inside me—I would have given everything over to him. In exchange for a place to belong. In exchange for security and safety.
Instead, Steagor, in his own, misguided way, made sure I had options—even if he had to hold himself back to do it.
I focus back on Mara, who’s watching me with worried eyes. I sniffle, unsure if the wetness on my cheeks is from the bath or my tears.
“Thank you for reading me the letter,” I choke out.
She gives me a sad little wave. “Anytime. If you need anything more, let me know.”
“Just—don’t tell Steagor about me,” I beg. “That I can’t read, I mean.”
Mara frowns. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
I stare at her, and eventually, she gives me a grudging nod.
“I’ll keep your secret,” she promises.
I scramble from the pool, wrap myself in a bath sheet, and collect my things. I clutch the two pots Steagor left for me to my chest and check that his letter is still safe in the pocket of my dress. Then I escape, rushing through the corridors to my room, where I’ll be able to think in peace and decide what to do.
I stumble through the door and dump everything on my neat desk. Clutching the bath sheet, I search around for a clean shift and a dress, but instead, my gaze falls on a neat stack of packages by the door.
Steagor’s parcels.
He came in last night, carrying an armful of items, but he’d dropped them all to rush to me. Now they’re arranged by size, one on top of the other, all wrapped in brown paper and tied with string—the same kind that the lady in that village shop had used to wrap my purchases.
I have a moment of indecision where I debate with myself over whether or not I should open the parcels. But Steagor brought them to me—and left them here. I’ll take that as proof that they were intended for me.
If I discover something completely weird in there, I’ll rewrap them.
Taking my new scissors, I cut the string on the first parcel. The brown wrapping paper falls away to show…ribbons? There’s lace trim and satiny pink ribbon, dove-gray ribbon made of the finest silk, and more. Each bundle is neatly tied so the ribbons didn’t get all tangled up, and the quantity… Well, I could sew myself ten new nightgowns using these. Or trim beautiful dresses fit even for Dawn to wear.
With shaking fingers, I cut string after string, opening the packages. There’s fine wool cloth in a rich deep-blue color, thin red silk shot through with silver thread, and linen so soft, I can’t resist running my cheek over it. There are bobbins of string of various colors, buttons and laces and even metal buckles, thick wool cloth to sew a cloak, and needles and pins of all kinds.
It’s everything a seamstress would need to set up a proper shop for herself—to start off with her trade. With this, if it’s really intended for me, I could work for weeks on dresses, shifts, and outerwear, then sell them for profit and buy more supplies. It’s everything I need to become an independent craftswoman.
Hope fills me, bright and bubbling, but I bite it back, not wanting to get overexcited. I think these are all gifts for me, but I cannot be sure until Steagor returns. Even though I want nothing more than to take my pattern paper and start tracing new designs, I force myself to fold all the new cloth into neat squares and put it away in my chest, in case this isn’t what I think it is.
I don’t even notice I’m crying until a fat teardrop lands on the silk, darkening a splotch of the fabric. Alarmed, I shove the bundle of cloth away to keep from ruining it, and close the chest, then burrow under the covers in my sleeping space, drawing a blanket over my head.
It’s too much.
I’ve never been offered kindness like this, and I don’t know how to deal with it. I wish Steagor was here to explain what he expected of me—not only with regard to these gifts but also with the mate thing.
But he’s away, and I have no idea when he’ll return.
