We depart soon after for what should be our last day on the road. Ozork explains we’ll camp outside once more tonight, then arrive at the Hill tomorrow by noon.
“And we’ll stay for the winter,” he adds with a satisfied grunt. “I’m eager to sleep in my own bed again.”
He vaults onto his wagon with more grace than I’d expect from a male his age. I hand up the last of the cooking gear to him, then turn to walk to Vark’s wagon, but halfway there, my steps stall as I realize something.
Wren and I don’t have a real place to stay. I’d been putting off this conversation with Vark, but we’ll have to ask the orc king for a room, I suppose.
I approach the wagon slowly and climb up, settling in next to Wren and Vark. He takes one look at me and frowns.
“What’s the matter?” he asks.
I shake my head and glance pointedly at Wren. I don’t want to discuss our living situation with her listening in—the last thing I want is to sow more insecurity in her. She holds on to my hand as the caravan heads out and rejoins the main road through the forest.
The land we drive through is beautiful. Here and there, smoke rising in the distance tells of remote homes in the forest, but mostly, we’re surrounded by the deep woods. The farther north we go, the steeper the road climbs, the more we leave the almost bare maple trees behind, sinking into the gloom of the dense fir forest. Clearings open up by the road, letting in the light, and I can imagine how beautiful these places will be come spring, bursting with life.
It’s nearly time for our lunch break when movement to our right has me jerking from my thoughts. Two orcs melt from the shadows of the trees, calling out in greeting, and the wagons roll to a stop.
Vark secures the horses and jumps from the wagon, then takes Wren and settles her on his hip. He grins at me as I land on the ground beside him and offers his hand to me.
“Come, meet my friends.”
My insides somersault at the thought, but I take his hand, entwining our fingers. I hope he doesn’t feel like he drew the short straw with me—a homeless human woman from the bowels of Ultrup.
But when we face the two newcomers, Vark pulls me forward and puffs up his chest. “Neekar, Sarrai, this is my mate, Hazel, and her daughter, Wren.”
Sarrai, the orc woman, gives me a friendly smile and waves at Wren, who buries her face in Vark’s shoulder, shy.
But Neekar steps forward, towering over me. “Ah, fates! You are a lucky orc, Vark.” He grins at me, then at Wren, and executes a graceful bow. “I am honored to meet you, my lady. I am Neekar, son of Takmor.”
Then he gently takes Wren’s hand and pretends to brush his lips over her knuckles as if she’s a highborn lady. Wren giggles, her laughter ringing through the trees, and a songbird trills in answer, talking back to her.
Neekar cocks his head to the side, listening, then peers more closely at Wren. He exchanges a look with Vark, who gives him a subtle nod.
I don’t know how he knows Wren is different, but it’s clear he does. A stab of shame pierces me at the realization that it took me this long to notice—but then I’ve never seen Wren in the wild. All our lives, we’d spent in the city, and the only animals we’d seen were stray cats, old cart horses, and flocks of dull city pigeons. Maybe what she’d needed all along was to live in the forest.
“What news from home?” Ritta asks Sarrai, breaking the silence.
I glance at her gratefully, and she sends me a quick smile before refocusing on the other woman.
Sarrai grimaces. “Not much from home, and we wouldn’t have stopped you at all if it wasn’t for the humans following you.”
The mood of the reunion changes instantly. Vark’s fingers clamp down on me, and he pulls me into his side as if someone will try to take me away from him.
“Who’s following us?” he barks.
Neekar puts his hands up. “They’ll catch up in a couple of minutes. Lots of time to prepare,” he says as if setting ambushes on the road is something he does every day. “It’s four men on horses, riding hard. Uram and Shanir have been following them since they crossed the border yesterday, and now they’ve caught up to you, we thought we should let you know.”
From the forest on the other side of the road, two more warriors appear, dressed in cloaks of deep brown that allow them to meld with the forest. They raise their hands in greeting, remaining quiet.
“And you didn’t think to tell us until now?” Vark’s voice is sharp, a growl reverberating deep in his chest.
Neekar rolls his eyes at him, clearly not intimidated in the least. “We had to make sure they were following you, not just lost. You never know with humans. No offense,” he adds, grinning at me.
I wave my hand to show him I’m not taking any of this personally. But the more I think about it, the more I suspect Wren and I might be the reason for all of this.
“It could be they’re following us.” I indicate my daughter and myself. “If you could take Wren and keep her safe, I can go meet them and make them go away.”
I look from Vark to Neekar, then Ozork. They’re all staring at me as if I’ve lost my mind. Even Sarrai, who I’d only met minutes before, is frowning at me.
“I don’t want to bring any trouble to you,” I explain, my voice weak. “If they’re after us, I’ll explain to them that we’re not returning to Ultrup.”
If it’s Timo and his crew, they might try to attack the orcs. I couldn’t bear it if anyone got hurt because of me.
“No,” Vark growls.
I stare at him. “What do you mean, no? It’s most likely I’m the reason they’re here, so I’ll deal with this.”
Vark whispers something into Wren’s ear, and she nods, then reaches out her hands for Ozork, who walks over and takes her from Vark. Then my orc stalks over to me and puts his hands on my shoulders. “You are not going out there alone.”
I stick my chin out. “I can take care of myself.”
Vark crowds into my personal space and curls himself over me, leaning his forehead against mine. “I know. That’s not why I’m not letting you go.”
Staring up at him, I rasp, “Then why?”
“You don’t have to do anything alone anymore,” he murmurs. “I’m here. We’re here for you. So tell me—do you want to go on your own?”
My lower lip wobbles despite my best efforts to keep it still. “No.”
“All right,” Vark says, relief plain on his face. “Thank the gods.”
He pulls me into his chest, and I’m suddenly squashed against his hard muscles, breathing in his now-familiar scent.
Neekar clears his throat beside us. “Er, I hate to interrupt, but they’re right around that bend in the road. They’ll be here in a minute.”
“They may not even be here for you,” Ritta reminds me quietly as we wait for the riders to show up.
I send her a grateful look, but why else would strangers be following us? It must have been Lindie who put Timo and his men on our trail. She’d seen me peering from the back of Vark’s wagon, and she’d run straight back to our crew leader, that’s the most likely explanation.
Or maybe I’m doing her an injustice. If Timo was intent on finding us, he could have had his men question the people in the villages surrounding Ultrup. We should have spent the ride in the back of the wagon, but we’d sat right up front, so there’s no telling who saw us with the orcs. From there, it must have been easy to follow the path of an orc caravan—and the two humans traveling with them.
I remember now the disgruntled group of men who had to leave the inn because of us. They saw me and Wren and would have been all too happy to report on us, I’m sure. And Timo’s pockets were lined with enough gold to loosen any reluctant tongues.
“Here they come,” Neekar murmurs, gleefully bouncing on his tiptoes.
He seems eager for a scuffle, thumbing the leather-wrapped grip of the longbow he’s holding. His quiver is full of arrows, ready to be fired. Korr has strung his bow as well and holds it casually with both hands. He hasn’t nocked an arrow yet, but I know he could in a second, aiming with deadly accuracy.
Coming up beside me, Ozork hands Wren back to me, and I clutch her close to my chest. She must feel the tension between us because she holds on tight, her legs going around my waist.
“Everything will be all right,” I murmur, a solemn promise.
I would sooner die than let them take her, but I’m hoping it won’t come to that.
Vark stands very still for a moment, his large body frozen. And I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that this is the first time since his accident that he’s been in a situation where violence was a real possibility. He stares into the distance, his pointed ears twitching.
Even I can hear them now—horses’ hooves on the gravel road, the call of one rider to another. Soon, they will be upon us.
I reach for Vark’s hand. Blindly, I wrap my fingers around his thick wrist, then push at his fist until he unclenches it and allows me to entwine our fingers once more. I look up at him and squeeze him tight.
“I love you,” I breathe.
He wouldn’t have been able to hear me if he was human, but his intensely sensitive hearing focuses on me now, and he gazes down at me, his eye wide.
“No matter what happens,” I say, “I want you to know that.”
Vark’s throat bobs, and he jerks his chin down in a curt nod. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t have to. His expression says it all.
His body loosens then. He rolls back his shoulders, lifts my hand, and presses a kiss to the backs of my knuckles, like Neekar mimed earlier for Wren. Then Vark lets go of my hand and grasps the handle of his battle-ax.
He drags in a long inhale, his nostrils flaring. “Let them come.”
