Chapter 3

SITA

I f I have to pick any of these monsters, it’s going to be that one. He sat in the back of the cavernous wooden meeting hall the whole time, quiet and distant, uninterested at all in the goings-on. I watched him as he got up, a disgusted look about him, and headed for the exit.

I want the one who doesn’t want to be here. I want the one who has such broad shoulders and a gentle face hiding behind his black beard. If I have to choose who will be my captor, I pick the orc who would never, ever choose me.

Perhaps he will not be cruel to me. Hopefully, he won’t want to sleep with me. That is what I fear the most in all of this.

The orc I’ve pointed at falls still in the doorway. He lets out a sound that’s distinctly a snarl , and grimaces in my direction.

“You don’t want him,” the clan leader says in a pitying tone, turning me around to face the sea of other waiting orcs in the hall. “Really, he’s the worst option. Choose any of these others.”

“No.” I shake my head, because now I’m even more certain down in my gut that I’m making the right choice. If this bastard orc thinks I’m making the wrong decision, that’s what makes it the right one. “Him, and only him.”

The orc I’ve chosen looks like I’ve slapped him. His eyes turn into daggers as the clan leader shakes his head.

“Terrible choice,” he says, then calls over to the orc standing in the doorway.

Though he grumbles the whole way, the orc I’ve picked obediently comes towards us. The clan leader takes my hand, then his, and clasps them together.

I cringe, not sure what I’m expecting by touching an orc—maybe that I’d find him slimy? Instead, he’s warm, incredibly warm, and his skin is tough under mine, his fingers and palms roughly calloused. Whatever he does, he works with his hands, that much is obvious.

He grimaces down at me, clearly displeased at the turn his night has taken.

“Introduce yourself,” the clan leader says in the human tongue.

I suppose I’d assumed orcs to be uncivilized ruffians, so the thought hadn’t occurred to me.

“I’m Sita,” I tell my new husband, attempting to curtsy.

“Sita,” the orc repeats, frowning as if it tastes bad. “I am... Gurrek.”

“Gurrek.” I taste the word. Gurrek . It’s a very orcish name.

“It’s time,” the clan leader says to me. “Tomorrow, there will be a wedding. For tonight, you will go home with him.”

“ Before we marry?” I glance between the two orcs as the clan leader repeats his command in Orcish. Gurrek’s scowl deepens even further.

“Yes. Now, go, it’s late.” The clan leader waves us off. Gurrek takes my hand stiffly in his and drags me out of the great hall, into the night.

When we’re finally outside, we’re alone. Gurrek releases me like I’ve burned him, or perhaps I’m carrying a disease. He even rubs his hand where we touched and grimaces, even though he’s the one who grabbed me first.

“Come,” he barks out in a thick accent. I glance back once more at the hall where all of my other choices stood. Was it a stupid panic decision, and I truly did pick the worst orc out of all of them?

Too late now. I’ve made my bed and now I have to sleep in it.

The sky is full dark as we make our way through the village, little lights twinkling inside the windows of the squat, clay houses we pass. Their architecture is different up here, and probably more sensible for the weather.

I expected something much more barbaric, but all the homes are neatly organized, connected by a network of neat, well-maintained pathways. Near the edge of the village, Gurrek takes one heading off to the right, leading us toward a rather small house. Nearby is a wooden building, bigger than the house, with smoke pouring out of the smokestack on top. Gurrek opens the front door of the squat home and gestures for me to enter.

“Go,” he snaps. At least he knows a few words in my tongue.

Obediently I step inside the house, and I’m greeted by the warm, steady glow of lights along the walls. I gaze at them with my mouth open, shocked to see flames contained within glass containers, rather than burning wax candles. But Gurrek doesn’t seem to notice my gawking as he pushes past me, through the little kitchen area and into the living space.

I thought that perhaps orcs lived in dens, or maybe fortresses made of skulls. But this house is quaint, homey, and surprisingly well-decorated. Tapestries hang from the walls, and a few tiny shelves display metal trinkets and pretty clay pots.

This place is going to be my home now. My stomach churns just thinking these words. I’m not going to see my own house, or my family, again.

To keep the panic at bay, I take in what I can about the little house—the fire pit, the iron stove, and the washbasin all tucked into a neat corner. There’s a round table with a single chair, and in the living space is a hearth with cushions and rugs in front of it.

It’s all very... cozy, despite the strangeness of the glass lights. The clay walls retain the warmth, and a crackling fire in the stone hearth keeps the whole place at a perfect temperature.

I stand there with my arms wrapped around myself while Gurrek ducks into one of the two adjoining rooms. He bustles about inside, but since he didn’t invite me in, I stand awkwardly in front of the fire, listening to him move about. He drags furniture around, and after a time, returns to the doorway.

“Go,” Gurrek repeats. He beckons me into the room, so I peek my head inside, hoping it’s not his room. But no, I find Gurrek has moved a chair and a desk up against a wall, leaving a space for a nest of furs on the floor.

He points at the furs, then brings both hands to the side of his face and closes his eyes like he’s sleeping.

I see. That’s where I’m intended to go to bed.

Gurrek doesn’t wait a moment longer before he strides back to the kitchen area, cleaning up what remains of his meal, and then turning little knobs on the glass lights to bring the flames down. When the house is dark, he opens the door beside mine, storms through it, and slams it closed behind him.

Oh. Well, that must be his bedroom, then.

I return to my own room. I’m as pleased as I could be with this outcome, out of all the possible outcomes. At least I have a bed of my own, even if it’s on the floor. I won’t be forced to sleep in his.

I pull off my shoes at last, revealing my bloody feet. I accrued many blisters over the last day and a half of hard walking, and after swelling up, they all burst. Now my shoes are torn up and soaked through, and I only have one other pair in my bags.

I’ll have to find those tomorrow.

For now, I bundle myself up in the furs in this strange and foreign place. I thought I might stay up all night feeling sorry for myself and dreading the days ahead, but I’m so exhausted that almost instantly, sleep claims me.

The next morning, everything hurts. My legs ache and my feet burn. I hope I’m not getting an infection.

Outside my room, I hear clinking and bustling, which must mean that Gurrek is awake. Eventually I drag myself to my feet and hobble to the door, pushing it open.

I’m hit in the face by the sweet smell of food. I didn’t realize how hungry I was after going to bed without dinner, but now I’m absolutely ravenous.

I stumble through the living room into the kitchen, where Gurrek stands over the stove. There’s a pan cooking in the fire pit as well, and I creep towards it to get a look. There’s some kind of meat inside that reminds me of bacon, but thicker and juicier.

“ Shaga, ” someone says behind me, and I jump. It hurts my feet just to put that sort of pressure on them, though, and my legs give out, sending me tumbling to the ground.

“Fuck!” I gasp as my spine hits the floor.

Whimpering, I sit up and find Gurrek standing over me with a huge frown on his face. He says something else to me in Orcish, something I can’t understand, but it sounds angry. I crawl away from him, trying to put some distance between us.

Maybe it was a mistake to pick the grumpiest orc. What if he hits me? A guy his size could do some real damage.

With a sigh, Gurrek beckons for me to come back. He looks less tense now, but even more annoyed. No, he doesn’t seem like the type to strike me—though I don’t know him at all, I just get the feeling he’s mostly bark.

I try to get to my feet, but the soles burn so much that I can’t. Gurrek’s gaze travels down my body, searching for the source of my discomfort. When it lands on my raw, bloody feet, his eyes widen and that frown gets even deeper. He hisses something that sounds like a curse and jolts up to his feet.

First, he pulls the meat pan off the fire with a cloth wrapped around his hand and sets it on the stove. Then he turns a knob, and the flame on the stovetop dies under his pot. I wonder how he does that? I’ve never seen fire contained this way.

The orcs don’t live in tents or caves. No, they live in cozy little homes and have fire they can control with a knob.

I wonder if anyone back home knows about this.

Gurrek retreats into his bedroom, then emerges a few minutes later with a small bag. He kneels in front of me, surveying my wounds.

“They’ll heal,” I say, attempting once more to climb back up to my feet. But Gurrek stops me with a rough hand on my knee and snaps something severe in Orcish, so I stay put. This guy may not be the type to abuse me, but I don’t want to piss him off even more, either.

People do say that orcs are cruel. I haven’t seen it yet, but I’ve only been here since last night.

Opening the bag, Gurrek rifles around for something. First, he pulls out a bottle, then a rag, and wets the rag with whatever is inside the bottle. When he brings it to one of my open wounds and applies it...

Oh, hell, that hurts . I wince and try to yank my foot away, but the orc holds me fast, growling something in his language. He applies the wet rag to all the wounds on both my feet as I sit there and bear the pain. Then he removes a roll of bandages from the bag and starts winding it around each foot.

When he’s finished, he sits back and looks over his handiwork.

“Stay,” he says, another word I can understand. At least we have something to work from, but I’ll probably have to learn his language quickly if I’m going to survive here. “Stay,” he repeats, and returns to the kitchen to resume his work on the meal.

I sit there on the furs, as commanded, to wait while he finishes. Maybe if I do as I’m told, he won’t have a reason to shout at me again.

After a time, Gurrek re-enters the room and kneels, placing a ceramic plate of food on my lap. Then he walks to the table, where he sits down with his own steaming plate and dives in without any more preamble.

I glance down. He’s served me eggs cooked over easy, and big chunks of that bacon-like meat. Root vegetables also decorate the plate, charred perfectly, and next to them are some pickled foods I don’t recognize.

When I dig in, it all tastes like absolute heaven. I devour everything using the metal fork he’s provided, and soon I’m full to bursting.

“Wow,” I say, glancing up at Gurrek. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

He just grunts, never letting his eyes stray to me.

As horrible as my situation is, I think this facet of it is good. The orc isn’t interested in me. Not only has he fed me—probably the best breakfast I’ve ever had—but he’s also bandaged my wounds, even if he was gruff about it.

I can handle gruff, as long as he doesn’t hurt me. And I can certainly handle some good food.

When he’s finished eating, Gurrek rises to his full height, and from my vantage point on the floor, I get a good look at him. He’s tall, of course, like all of them are, but he’s broad, too, with shoulders as wide as a mountain, the tips round and bulging. The muscles of his chest strain the loose shirt he wears, as if he does some seriously heavy lifting all day long. I wonder what his trade is.

With a sigh, Gurrek stalks into the living room, squats down to snatch up my plate, and returns to the kitchen. I watch him as he cleans, his back and shoulders flexing as he scrubs each dish and dumps water over them. Finally, he dries them with a cloth before putting them back in the cupboard.

He’s neat and orderly, and with the practiced way he moves, I don’t think it has anything to do with my presence. No, he’s always this way, completing his work with efficiency and precision. When he’s finished in the kitchen, Gurrek heads to the front door.

“Wait!” I call out. “Aren’t we supposed to get married today?” Not that I would mind at all if we didn’t go through with it.

He ignores me, and without another word, he steps outside.