Chapter 12

GURREK

A s many phrases as she knows and as hard as she tries, I need to remember that Sita is not fluent yet. I need to give her grace to make mistakes, not simply break plates and storm out of the house.

It’s a good lesson for the future, though unfortunate that I had to learn this way. But her words stirred something in me.

The idea of her not wanting me—of wishing she had chosen some other orc to be her husband, instead—had driven me to fury. Immediately I had imagined her with someone like Dakar and wanted to punch a hole in the wall.

She is my wife!

But then, despite my childish outburst, Sita called me her family. Me, the surly orc she’s trapped with, who has shown her so little affection or encouragement. Her brown eyes held such a warm fondness in them I could barely keep my feet underneath me.

I want to be her family. I want to be the one who she comes to for comfort, who she sees as her friend and companion. I want many more walks together in the woods, and many more evenings in front of the fire.

That isn’t all I want, but it’s foolish to desire more. Merka accused me of being a coward, and perhaps I am. But Sita is here against her will. Surely it would be wrong to ask anything more of her than friendly companionship.

But after we say goodnight to one another that evening and I’m alone in my bedroom, my imagination continues barreling forward.

What if I did ask for more? What would she do?

I can’t. The risk is too high that she would feel obligated, and I absolutely cannot accept that.

Instead of going to Sita’s room as my infernal cock is suggesting, I take it out and pump it, remembering my wife in her lovely new dress tonight. It hugged her body flawlessly, and that body was, to my horror, magnificently appealing. I wanted to touch her all over, to see if she’s as soft as she looks. She’s put on weight since moving in with me, and I think she would feel perfect under my hands.

I can’t help a groan as my fantasy plunges deeper, turning more erotic. Now she’s no longer wearing her dress, and her round breasts fall neatly into my hands. Her wet cunt welcomes me into it, and I bite my lip as my finish easily washes over me.

I lie there, disgusted with myself once again.

I want her. That much is plain and clear to me now. I want her heart, her body, her happiness. I want everything.

Then a darker, uglier realization occurs to me. If I truly desired to make her life better, wouldn’t I figure out a way to take her home? To send her back to the family that she misses?

Even as I think it, I can’t bear the idea of her leaving me. Besides, I don’t know what Rulag would do if I asked. We traded fair and square , he’d say, as simple-minded as he is. He would never allow such a thing.

She is a prisoner here, and I am her keeper. I will simply have to suffer under the weight of my need.

The following morning, I find a note stuck in my door. I scan it quickly, only to learn that the harvest festival is tomorrow.

Damn.

At least I’ve gotten Sita something nice to wear. It would be an embarrassment to bring my wife along to such a gathering in rags.

Merka has received the note, too, and promises to teach Sita some words and phrases that will help her during the festival. I’m wary of introducing my little human to so many orcs at once, and in such a chaotic event as the harvest festival, but I have no choice. My absence would be noted and chastised. Certainly Merka would have something to say.

After Sita has gone to get started on the loom, my meddlesome neighbor leans toward me.

“This will be good for her,” she says, as if she can read my thoughts. “Sita needs to integrate sometime or another. You can’t keep her holed up forever.”

“It’s by necessity,” I growl. “She’s the only human among us. I need to... protect her.”

Merka grants me a kind smile. “And you have protected her. But she’s grown into your life, and she’s able to speak her mind much better now. Try not to worry so much.”

She doesn’t know it’s impossible for me not to worry about Sita. Her comfort and well-being occupy so much of my thoughts these days.

“Thanks.” I don’t say anything else as I head off to the forge.

I knock out work order after work order, plowing through my tasks so that the evening will come faster. After her confession last night, I’m eager to be in Sita’s presence again.

I head into town to deliver some knives to Dakar, and a new pair of buckets to one of the farmers. By the time evening rolls around, I’m tired and famished. But my exhaustion is wiped away when Sita emerges from Merka’s house, and grins widely at me where I’m waiting for her. She’s all chatter as we head back home, clearly thrilled about the festival tomorrow.

Perhaps I have been keeping her holed up when she would do well in a social environment.

Typically, I retreat to my room after dinner, where I can hide my shame—but tonight, I remember the note that was left in the door. Sita ought to learn to write, too, if she’s going to live here for the rest of her life.

For a time, I had hoped it would change, that this wouldn’t be permanent. But as the weeks have passed, it’s become clear that this is our future. I’d better do what I can to make it easier for Sita.

I sit in front of the fire and invite her to join me. Her face is alight with curiosity as she kneels and rearranges her dress around her knees. I hold out the note along with some paper, a quill, and an inkpot. After peering down at the supplies, she glances at me again with clear confusion.

“Do you want to learn how to write?” I ask. She doesn’t know the word, so I mimic scribbling some words on the page.

Clearly the thought had never occurred to her, but now she regards the quill with interest.

“Yes, I learn to write,” she says, nodding agreeably. “Show me?”

So I illustrate each letter of our alphabet, teaching her which sounds they correspond to. Then I construct a simple word, yes , and she imitates writing it. Her letters are awkward and too straight, but after I draw her a few more examples, she gets better at it.

We stay up late that night practicing simple words, and Sita catches on easily. I’m proud of her quick mind, how easily she learns and adapts. I think how hard it must be for her to be dropped into an unknown culture with an unknown language, but she’s done a marvelous job with what she’s been given, and never lets small failures get under her skin.

When Sita starts to drift off next to me, I decide it’s time for bed. We each open our bedroom doors.

“Goodnight,” she says. “Thank you for showing me write.”

Her poor grammar is so charming, I can’t help a broad grin. “You did well.”

She returns my smile brightly. “Thank you.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Sita is a bundle of energy the next morning, though I’m exhausted after our late night. When she puts on her new green dress, I try not to stare, even though I’m utterly mesmerized by it. She’s braided back only the hair in front of her ears, leaving the rest to hang down her back with the slim braid on top, and she has the aura of a wood nymph.

I realize that I’ve come to find her petite face with the sharp, small nose appealing, if not adorable. Her tiny body fit so neatly into mine when she embraced me. I’ve gotten used to how she looks, even if it’s different.

No, that would be a lie. She’s become powerfully attractive to me, and most of the time, I find it difficult to keep my hands from reaching out to touch her.

As we’re getting ready, a knock at the door interrupts us. I open it to find Merka on the other side, radiating good humor.

“I have a present for Sita,” she says, bouncing on the balls of her feet. I like how Sita’s youthful energy has infected my annoying old neighbor.

“Sita!” I call. “Merka is here for you.”

Sita emerges, putting on her new boots, and she looks like a vision with all her new, shiny attire. Merka beckons her closer.

“Here,” the orc woman says as she holds out her hand, which is curled into a fist. She presses it to Sita’s palm, then releases whatever she’s holding.

Sita gasps when Merka removes her hand to reveal a silver chain attached to a green pendant the same color as her dress. Gingerly, Sita lifts it up, dangling it in front of her.

“Merka?” she asks, hesitating. “For me?”

“For you. I’ve had it for years, ever since my husband passed away. I have no reason to wear it now, and I have plenty of other baubles.”

“Baubles,” Sita repeats, cocking her head.

Merka waves her off. “Shiny things. Take it. I have no use for it.”

Sita stares at the pendant, then up at Merka, and I wonder if she might burst into tears again. She doesn’t this time, but she does throw her arms around Merka, who stumbles back a few steps in surprise.

I chuckle a little at her expense, because Sita knows how to give a hug.

After Merka is gone, Sita asks me to help her with the pendant. Standing behind her, I lift her hair up over her head, and it’s smooth in my fingers, like water. She holds it as I unclip the chain and then settle the pendant on her slender neck, making sure it’s facing forward before I clip the other end.

She lets her long hair settle back to her shoulders, then turns around to face me. “Do you like it?”

Like is not the right word for how lovely she is, the emerald pendant glimmering against her breast.

“Yes,” I manage to say. “It looks good on you.”

Sita is radiant as she cradles the pendant in her hand. But it’s time to go, so I usher her quickly out the door.

The festival will go on for most of the day and night, and I prepare myself for the idea of spending that much time with others. It’s been an adjustment for me as it is to have Sita around, another living creature in my life at all hours of the day. Today, the whole village will be in attendance, and it’ll be far more excitement than I’m accustomed to. But Sita bounces up and down as we get closer, and her anticipation is surprisingly infectious.

Music is already playing as we approach the square, and orcs bustle about everywhere. Stands full to bursting with fresh produce line the edges, while the middle is reserved for congregating and dancing. Naggen’s wife is playing a tune on her lute, something cheery and bright, and as the smells of cooking sweets fill my nose, I think perhaps this might not be so bad.

As I predicted, though, everyone turns to stare as we approach, gawking at the one human in their midst. The lute continues playing but the talking stops, and Sita puts a hand on my arm as she moves closer to me.

“They’re all looking,” she whispers.

“I know. But don’t worry. They won’t harm you.” Not while I’m with her.

Rulag is the first to approach us, and he looks mighty pleased with himself.

“You’ve emerged from hiding!” He eyes Sita, and I don’t like the expression on his face as he surveys her outfit. “She’s cleaned up nice. Settling in, are you?”

I grunt. “It’s fine.”

“What about you?” he says to Sita, and she leans even more into my side and away from Rulag. “How are you liking your new life as this grumpy orc’s wife?”

She’s silent for a moment as she tries to understand his words.

“I am happy,” she says at last, squeezing my arm more firmly. “Thank you.”

Warmth fills my whole body at this declaration. Then Rulag hoots, surprising both of us.

“She’s learning Orcish well, I see,” he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. I shrug him off.

“Thanks to Merka.”

He nods sagely. “Merka has been looking for an apprentice for some time. That’s a good place for your wife, I think. Until she’s full up with your youngling, that is.”

He winks, and a sizzle of pure fire shoots through me. I can’t tell if it’s rage or desire, or perhaps some of both.

“Shut your face,” I growl, and Sita slaps a hand over her mouth. She’s heard this phrase before. “There will be no younglings. Not that it’s any of your business.”

Rulag’s eyes shift down to where Sita’s hand is around my arm, and a knowing grin spreads across his face. I want to punch it right off him.

“No younglings,” he says, then hums. “Whatever you say, Gurrek. Now come on, stop being such a party pooper and join us. Bobbing for apples is about to start.”

That sounds like the very last thing I want to do, but he leads us anyway over to the six barrels all lined up, filled with water and dozens of apples floating on top.

The younglings stare at Sita with unabashed wonder as we approach. One of them tugs on her skirt, and she jumps, but offers the little one a smile and a wave.

I don’t attempt to bob, but Sita’s remarkably good at it, spreading her little mouth wide open and dunking her head as she goes searching for an apple. She gets two apples with her three attempts, and she’s given a candied one as a reward.

After we spend some time browsing the booths, the novelty of a human in our midst fades and the rest of the village resumes their reveling. Sita’s eyes are starry, her face bright and alive as we try all sorts of foods, from spiced pumpkin to sweet pears steeped in booze. She particularly likes those, and I’m surprised given how strong they are. As the afternoon wears on, we find our way to the cider tap, and she’s even more enamored with that.

I suppose my little human likes some tipple.

We find a place to sit as the music begins in earnest, and we drink our ciders together. She doesn’t touch me, but she sits so close that I could easily put an arm around her.

How would it feel to have her against my side, her head snuggled into the crook of my collar? When I glance around, I find other couples cuddling, many of them in each other’s laps. I wonder if humans show affection as openly as orcs do.

I keep my arm by my side, though, wishing this was different, that Sita was here of her own accord. If we cross the line drawn between us, I want it to be welcomed, not something forced upon her.

Then a delicate hand lands on my shoulder. It’s Sita, and she starts rubbing her thumb into the tense muscle there.

“What are you doing?” I ask, careful not to draw away from her touch even though it surprised me.

“You look angry.” She taps her chin. “No, no. Not sad, not angry. Mmm... like there is a bear coming.”

I am tense all of a sudden, I suppose, remembering once again that she’s an unwilling participant in our marriage. Someone as attuned to others’ needs as Sita is would certainly pick up on it.

I try to relax my body and enjoy the music, instead, and she scoots closer, pulling her knees up under the skirt of her dress as the sun sets.

“Are you cold?” I ask.

“Not yet,” she says, even as she shivers. How I would love to put that warm arm around her.

We head back to refill our drinks, and as we wait to be served, an orc woman—Lassa, the hunter—approaches us. She smiles down at the little human, and I’m reminded just how much taller we stand than she does.

But Sita doesn’t look intimidated at all as she greets our visitor.

“Hello, I’m Sita.” She taps her chest. “How do I find you?”

It’s an adorable misinterpretation of a formal greeting. I’m pleased that Merka taught her Orcish customs.

Lassa grins in response. “What a charmed life you have now,” she says to me. “With a polite little wife.”

Perhaps it’s a compliment, but how she says it grates on me, as if Sita is my pet.

“Thank you,” Sita says brightly, not understanding the undertone. “What is ‘charmed’?”

Lassa’s smile grows wider. “Happy. Easy.” She raises her eyebrows. “Satisfied.”

I try not to blush as Sita thinks through this. “Satisfied” is not how I would describe myself, not with how I secretly hunger.

Lassa flicks a lock of Sita’s hair away from her face. “Well, little human, if you ever want to go out into the woods and kill a deer with me, I’d love to have you.”

“Kill a deer?” Sita repeats. “To eat it?”

Lassa bursts out in a laugh. “Yes, to eat it.”

Sita simply sparkles. “I love deer,” she says in an adoring voice.

The hunter gawks at her for a moment, then chuckles again, more softly this time. “I’ll be sure to bring you a few steaks, then,” she says. “You should come over to our home sometime, little human.”

“Sita,” she corrects.

Lassa chuckles with good humor. “Then, Sita , we would love to entertain you and learn about you.”

I’ve never seen Sita so radiant. “Yes, I would enjoy that.”

With that, Lassa bids us farewell, and it’s our turn for more cider poured straight from the barrel. This time we sit nearer to Naggen, his wife, and their youngling, the latter of whom is fascinated with the singular human. She toddles over and pulls at Sita’s hair until Naggen calls her back.

“Sorry,” he says, “she’s still in that stage.”

Sita shakes her head. “No apology. She’s cute.”

Naggen gives me a wink. “Isn’t she? Younglings, you know, they’re wild things, but they fill up your life with love.” He grabs the little girl around the waist, tickling her, and she hoots as Naggen brings her back into the fold with his wife.

My throat tightens at the sight of them.

“Gurrek?”

I jolt at the sound of Sita’s voice and tilt my head to better hear her over the music. “Yes?”

Her eyes dart to the family and then back. “Do you want younglings?”

For a moment, my heart stops beating. Is she asking because she wants to have them? With me?

Then I realize it’s far more innocent than that. The question, though not intended to be cruel, still feels that way. Now that I have her, I will never have younglings.

“What does it matter?” I ask sharply.

Sita’s smile fades, and she looks down into her lap. After swishing her cider, she drinks more of it, no longer sitting so close to me. Soon, she stands up on her own, saying she’s going to get more, and vanishes into the crowd.

It feels odd, letting her go by herself, but she knows the way and back. She knows how to pay, too, and how to ask for what she wants. She doesn’t need me.

I’m proud of her, and also disappointed. Did I like that I was her only lifeline, but now that she’s exploring the wider world, I don’t want her to be capable?

I hate myself for thinking it. I want her to be happy—and autonomy and independence will help her achieve that.

When Sita returns with more cider for both of us, people have started dancing at the front of the square, closest to the music.

“Do you like it?” I ask her, pointing at the three musicians as I try to lighten the mood.

“Oh yes. Very beautiful.” She sways with the music, taking another sip of her drink, and she lets out a hiccup. It’s cute and tiny, just like she is.

More and more people are standing up now to dance, and soon we’re forced to give up our seats thanks to the growing crowd. The sun has set and a wildness has come upon the village, as it does every few moons. Those like Naggen have carried their younglings off to bed, while the remaining orcs take up the mantle. Rulag is the ringleader with his bedmate, who kiss and press their bodies together in a way that makes me envious.

“Should we do that?” Sita asks as we find a new seat near the abandoned apple barrels. For a split second, I think she means, should we be kissing like those two are now? But then I follow the tip of her finger out to the whorl of dancers that’s taken over the square.

“You want to dance?”

She bounces in her seat. “Yes! Looks very fun.”

“Then of course, we can dance.” Not that I’m much to look at when I try.

Sita hops to her feet, and together we head into the throng.