16. Abigail

16

ABIGAIL

T y'anii didn't tell me where she was taking me. As soon as we'd left the Guildfather and his goons behind, she grabbed me by the scruff of the neck as though I was an unruly kitten, and dragged me away.

It didn't take me long to realize we were heading back to the Blessing, though, and I understood. I'd heard the entire deal, and if I told Gragash what they planned to do with his family there was no chance he'd go along with it. They had to keep us apart.

So when she threw me into the hold and a dozen pairs of orcish eyes stared at me, it didn't come as a shock. Of course they'd keep all their hostages together. Easier that way. That didn't make it any less intimidating to look up at them. Even the kids looked like they could take me in a fight, and the adults…

"Who the fuck are you, urd'ash?"

The female who spoke loomed over me, anger flaring in her dark eyes, muscles taut under green skin. The family resemblance was undeniable, I saw Gragash in her face and her shoulders and her anger.

"Jarchess, right?" I tried to get up. A firm hand gripped my neck and pushed me back down. She looked less angry but more suspicious, and no less dangerous to me. "You're Gragash's sister?"

"I know who I am," she snarled. "I asked who you are, urd'ash."

Sharp claws pricked my skin, and I swallowed nervously. In Gragash's hands, I'd always felt safe. His sister was a different story.

"I'm Abigail," I started, then paused. Crap, how did he say it? "Abigail ko'Gragash. Your brother needs our help."

Apparently I said it right, because Jarchess let go of my throat and stepped back, giving me space to rise. Her eyes raked me up and down, and I wasn't sure if her expression was a smile or a sneer. "Yes, I can see Gragash picking you. Welcome to the clan. By tradition, I should offer to share wine with you, but all our captors leave us with is funny-tasting water. Want some?"

Not about to reject an orc custom, I nodded eagerly and took the offered flask. The water was warm, had a metallic tang, and at the same time it tasted like hope .

"We don't have long," I said, wiping mouth and passing the flask back. "Gragash is in trouble, and so are we."