Chapter 11

SITA

I could simply cry until I was out of tears at the thoughtfulness of Gurrek’s gift.

Brand-new clothes, all made in my size, and sewn with care in the loveliest colors. I’m still in disbelief as Gurrek heads into the kitchen to begin cooking. I pull down one of the dresses and sit on my bed, holding it in my lap as I stroke the skirt, reveling in the soft fabric that’s so unlike anything we could have afforded at home.

I close the door and change into the rust-red dress, finding it’s tailored perfectly to fit my frame. I twirl around in it, marveling at the way the velvety hem brushes against my legs.

When I step out of the room, Gurrek glances at me over his shoulder—and promptly breaks the egg in his hand. It spills down his arm, and he curses as he hurries to wipe it off with a cloth.

I think that’s a good sign.

“Do you like it?” I ask, absently playing with the skirt. Gurrek’s eyes sweep from my toes up to my face, and his cheeks darken.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, his lips pulling up in a smile. “Perfect for you.”

I nod in agreement. It’s as if whoever made it had a replica of my body on which to fit it.

I feel myself blushing, too, so I hurry to help with dinner. Gurrek is quiet as we work, but occasionally he steals glances at me, and it sends prickles of pleasure down my arms. He seems to appreciate how the dress looks on me. Does he simply admire the fit and quality? Or does he like the shape of me in it?

I’m surprised by the appeal of this. I chose Gurrek because I was sure he wouldn’t see me as a sexual object, but now, I hope he finds me attractive, because—if I’m honest with myself—I find him attractive, too. Even when he’s simply preparing a meal, his muscles ripple under his shirt, guiding his deft movements. He’s strong and yet graceful, and he’s handsome.

Yes, that’s it. Handsome . Even with his strange face, his unfamiliar mouth and long tusks, he is appealing to look at. I’ve never let myself think it before this moment, but it’s my truth.

This unsettles me as we finish dinner and sit down to eat. As always, Gurrek is quiet and seems lost in his own thoughts, too.

Yes, he is handsome. I find myself craving his smiles, his touches. Our hug earlier stirred something in me, a part of my soul desperate for his touch, and now I can’t forget it.

I wonder how much money he spent on so many lovely garments. It must have been an immense expenditure—all for me. On top of the fine boots, the special chair, my own bed and dresser, and feeding me like a queen morning and night... Gurrek does so much for me when he never wanted me in the first place, and he does it all out of duty, never demanding I pay with my body.

“I’m sorry.” The words tumble out of me before I can stop them. Gurrek’s head jolts up from his food.

“Sorry for what?” he asks. His brows crease with worry. “Sita?”

“So much for me.” I don’t know how to put it all into words with such limited vocabulary at my disposal, but I try my hardest. “Clothes. Shoes. Bed. Many and many things. For me.”

Now Gurrek looks even more perplexed. “They are things you need.”

That’s not true at all. He could have left me to sleep on the floor. He never had to buy me a new wardrobe. He could be feeding me scraps. Everything he’s done has been an expression of his generous personality and dedication to responsibility, and I’m only understanding right now how far he’s gone to ensure my comfort and happiness.

I could have picked one of the other orcs who clearly wanted me, and maybe I would have been faced with a very different life. I would have exchanged sex for clothes and food and shelter. But I have nothing I can give back to Gurrek, because there’s nothing he wants from me.

“I’m sorry I chose you,” I say in a voice so quiet, even I can barely hear it. And there’s nothing he’ll let me do to pay him back.

Gurrek’s mouth falls open. “Sorry?” he repeats. His throat bobs. “You are sorry for this?”

I sniffle and nod. No words can capture how I feel—none that I know, anyway. Gratitude and regret, homesickness and hope, all whirled up together in a tangled snarl. Neither of us asked for this, and yet he’s tried his hardest to make it comfortable for me.

Suddenly, Gurrek’s face twists in anger. He snatches his plate off the table and dumps the remainder of his food into the compost bin.

“Gurrek?” I ask, surprised by this sudden shift. But he says nothing to me as he throws his plate into the washbasin, and I hear it crack. Then, without a word or even a look, he storms out the front door.

I gape at the place he used to be, completely thrown. What did I do? I’ve seen Gurrek frustrated, I’ve seen him upset, but never angry . I peer into the washbasin and find the plate at the bottom, now severed in two.

He would never break something. Whatever I said, I have well and truly made him furious.

“Gurrek!” I can’t let him leave this way, not when I don’t understand what went wrong. “Gurrek, wait!”

I rush out the door to find him stalking into the forge. He slams the door behind him, but when I try to open it, it’s locked.

“Gurrek!” I shout again, banging on the door. After his kind gift, what have I done to upset him so much? “Gurrek, please!”

There’s no answer. Instead, I hear the Thom! Thom! Thom! of his hammer inside, faster and more furious than ever before. He can’t be going to work in the middle of the night. The fire in the forge has probably died down already.

Then I remember the other entrance at the front of the building. Racing around the side, I try the handle on the big door and find that he hasn’t locked it. It takes all my strength to yank it open, and I’m panting by the time I make a space wide enough to slip through.

Inside, Gurrek stands at his anvil, his expression as dark as the night. He glances up when I squeeze through the opening, and his brows lower even further, his scowl deepening.

“Go,” he snaps at me, pointing back the way I came. “Get out.”

I shiver all over at the fury in his voice. It’s so unlike him that I’m tempted to run. But Gurrek would never raise a hand to me, I’m sure of it, so I approach him slowly at the anvil.

“No.”

My stern reply seems to take him by surprise. But then he rises even taller, his eyes aflame.

“Get out!” he says again, louder, his big body tensing.

“No!” I stomp my foot. “Why? Why angry with me?”

He bares his teeth. “I wish you had not picked me!”

I’ve known all along that I was not welcome here, but to hear it said so plainly hurts in a vulnerable place. He’s never said those words like these before, even if they were true.

“I have done everything to make your life here tolerable.” Gurrek’s expression is hard and unyielding. “Perhaps you should have gone home with Dakar. Then I would be free of you.”

My heart throbs in my chest. I’d thought that perhaps I wasn’t such a useless thing, that we were finding our way toward a life together that worked, but I feel like now we’re at the very beginning again.

Perhaps even worse than that.

“She says she’s sorry ,” Gurrek grinds out, talking to himself more than to me, and spits on the floor.

Then I remember my lesson with Merka from last week. Sometimes there are different Orcish words for simple human phrases, and “sorry” is one of them. There’s “sorry” as in an apology—“Oops, I stepped on your foot! Sorry about that!”—and there is remorse—“I’m sorry for your loss.”

All at once, I understand. I’m an idiot who doesn’t know the difference.

Now he thinks I regret my choice. He thinks I’m not grateful, that I wish I had picked a different orc, when I believe for certain now that I chose the right one.

I curse my inability to communicate. How do I tell him what I mean?

“Gurrek.” I approach him at the anvil, and his grip tightens around his hammer. “You did not want me,” I begin, struggling to hold my composure, trying to find my words. “I need so much. Food. Shoes.” I kneel in front of the anvil and place my hand over his. He reacts like I’ve burned him, trying to wrench his hand away, but I hold tight onto his thumb. “And you give them to me. But you did not want me.”

His jaw slackens. “No,” he says slowly, tightly. “I did not.”

“And I apologize for this.” I use the right version of the word this time, and I hope that Gurrek understands my mistake. “But I am not hungry. I am safe. I am...” I take a deep breath. “I am happy. With you.”

His eyes widen, and his hand goes still under mine.

“You are happy with me?” He clearly doesn’t believe me. “I’m not your family, Sita. You lost your home. You lost everything you love.”

“I did.” And I miss my mother and Van every single day. Sometimes, when I’m alone at night, it consumes me how much I wish I could simply see them, speak to them, find out that they’re well again, but I can’t. “But I found a new family here, too.”

“New family,” he murmurs, the hard edges of his face softening.

I smile up at him. “It’s you.”

I’m telling the truth, as best as I can. It’s been a difficult transition to get here, but Gurrek has made his house a home for me. He’s given me companionship and done his best to care for me. I’m nurturing a budding affection for him, even now.

And I’ve learned something else today—that though his armor seems strong and sturdy on the outside, inside he’s sensitive. I hurt him, and it cut deeply.

“Sita,” Gurrek says in a low, shaky voice. He turns his hand over, palm up, to ensconce my fingers in his. “If it is what you want, I will be your family.” Still holding my hand, he rises to his feet, bringing me along with him.

I’m sure of it now.

“It is what I want,” I say firmly. He will never replace Mother and Van in my heart, but we are building something new and different here, just the two of us.

His chest heaves with a sharp, deep breath. Slowly, as if afraid of scaring me away, Gurrek lifts his other hand to my cheek. I lean into him, drawn by his warmth and the rough, calloused texture of his palm. His thumb strokes across my cheekbone, and there’s a softness in his eyes I haven’t seen before.

“I should not have gotten angry with you,” he says after a time. “I’m the one who should be sorry. You’re still so new to Orcish, and I was not kind to you.”

“Thank you.”

He offers me a gentle smile, and I return it. Then his hand falls back to his side, and he walks to the big door to close it.

“Can we go home?” I ask.

Gurrek pats my head. “Yes. Let’s go home.”

I wish he had touched me longer—that, perhaps, he had touched even more of me—but I will take what I can get for now.

We have had our challenges together, yet tonight I feel as if we’ve taken many giant steps forward.

Where the path is heading, I’m not sure. But I’m excited to find out.