Chapter 4

GURREK

I don’t like the way the smell of my house has already changed since the human arrived.

Sita . That’s her name. It’s odd, but easy to wrap my mouth around.

Last night, my home smelled like me. This morning, when I awoke, her light, floral scent filled the house instead, and I detest it.

Not that this will last for long. I’m on my way to visit Rulag right this moment, hoping that he’s seen reason now that we’re in the light of day. He’s rash and young, and makes rash, youthful decisions. I’ll argue that I’m the wrong husband for the human, and I’m certainly not going to make younglings with her. I knew a long time ago that I’d never have them, around the same time I realized I was never destined to have a wife, either.

If that’s what he’s after, I’m the wrong orc for the job.

When I knock on the clan leader’s door, there’s no answer for a long time. I knock again, harder, and then wait. Eventually I can make out footsteps on the other side, and the door creaks open.

Rulag looks like he had a rough night. Behind him, inside the house, someone is putting on her clothes.

“You’re not supposed to be here yet,” Rulag groans. “Fucking Gurrek. What do you want?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not marrying her.”

He yawns, as if this is exactly what he expected. “Yes, you are. She picked you. Remember?”

“She doesn’t know what she asked for. She was just choosing someone because you made her choose.”

He hums thoughtfully. “I don’t know, she seemed pretty certain.”

I grunt. She did , and I don’t like it. I abhorred the way her eyes homed in on me like she knew some secret.

“That’s because she’s an idiot,” I tell him. “And you are, too, for making her walk the whole way here. Her feet were a bloody mess this morning!”

Rulag cocks his head at me. “She didn’t say anything about it to me.”

“Of course not.” I scoff. “We’re big, frightening orcs. What do you expect?” She’s a pathetic little human, cowering in fear like a rabbit.

“Are we?” Rulag looks bored. I’m really hating this conversation so far.

“Either way, I’m not marrying her today,” I announce. “I’m going back to my house to get her, and then I’m dragging her here so you can find a new husband for her.”

“I don’t think so.” Rulag stretches his arms up over his head. “Anything else?”

I realize my mouth is hanging open, so I grit my teeth together. “You’re not pawning her off on me,” I say, low and menacing. “I don’t want anything to do with a human.”

“You don’t have a choice, Gurrek. Now go home, put on something presentable, grab your wife and come back to the square.” Rulag glances up at the sun, squinting. “We’ll hold the ceremony at noon.”

Indignation boils up inside me. I raise a fist, ready to fight him. “I will not?—”

Rulag slams the door in my face.

My words stop in my mouth now that there’s no one to listen to them. Damn it! He has his stubbornness in common with his mother.

Groaning, I turn around and stalk back the way I came, because there’s clearly no reasoning with Rulag. Maybe I can find another orc to take Sita off my hands.

I know just the person to ask.

The next place I knock is at Merka’s door. She isn’t there, though. I find my aging neighbor around the back of the house, sitting on a tree stump while she does some hand embroidering.

“Oh, Gurrek! It’s you. Won’t this become a lovely quilt?” she says, twisting around to hold up her design.

“Yes, yes, very nice. And you know who you could teach to stitch that into a quilt for you?”

Merka raises an eyebrow at me. “Who?”

“The human!” I pat my chest as if I’ve just had a great idea. “Don’t you see? It’s perfect. I bring her here to you, and you take her in. You show her how to make all sorts of things. You’ll have an apprentice in no time, just like you wanted!”

Merka’s lips purse. “Gurrek, you’re not already trying to pawn off your wife on someone else, are you?”

I make no apologies. “Yes. I am. Now, listen to my proposal. She’s got such tiny hands, you know, and she’d be great at detail work?—”

“Go back home, Gurrek,” Merka snaps. “She chose you. Not me, not Rulag, not Dakar. You. ”

Is everyone going to remind me of that today?

“So what? She didn’t know what she was choosing!” I’m panting with my frustration. “I don’t want her. I’d rather throw her off the mountainside to be eaten by vultures.”

Perhaps that’s exaggerating. The idea of little Sita as a rotting body at the bottom of a crevasse makes me feel sick to my stomach again. I haven’t had this much nausea since I was a boy and got the flu.

“Well, then, when she’s your wife, you can go ahead and do what you like,” says Merka. “If that involves throwing her off a cliff, I’m sure Rulag would look the other way. She’s just human, after all.”

Surely she doesn’t mean it. Merka thinks that I would truly abuse her, merely because she’s not an orc?

I snap my jaw closed. “Thanks for nothing.”

She salutes. “You’re welcome. I look forward to your wedding.”

I grumble out some curse words before I head back toward my house, where Sita is probably still waiting for me.

Unless she’s run off—I wouldn’t blame her. Not that she’d get far on those injured feet.

I suppose I could simply disappear for a few days instead of attending the wedding. I could leave her some dried meat and water so she doesn’t starve, and hope that someone else comes to get her, like Merka.

But then I’d simply have to marry her when I returned—either that, or she’d be given to some brutish orc like Dakar, who would probably treat her like a thing to be used.

Damn it. Damn it all. I’m going to have to go through with this marriage nonsense if no one’s going to step in.

A wife. I come to a stop just before I walk in my front door. It feels like a joke from the gods. I’ve been given the thing I’ve always wanted, but it’s wrapped in poison. Sita is a tiny, frail creature that’s of no use to anyone, and can’t even speak my tongue.

What did I do to deserve this?

With a great sigh, I push the door open, bracing myself for yet another interaction with the human. She needs so much attention with her damaged feet and hungry belly, and she has little in the way of clothing, so she’ll require more to be made for her to survive the winter. I’ll have to buy her new shoes, and a real bed, and then most likely a dresser in which to keep her belongings. Everything will need to be built to suit her small size, and?—

“Gurrek?”

Sita sits on the floor where I left her, curled up in front of the fire with the furs, her dark hair tousled around her face. She tries to get to her feet, but I don’t want her standing on the fresh bandages and putting pressure on the wounds. She’ll have to stand later for the wedding ceremony anyway, and she should save her strength.

I point toward the floor. I don’t know the word in the human tongue, so I say “Sit!” in Orcish.

She repeats it back, perplexed. “Sit?”

Damn it, she can’t understand a word I say. Instead, I grab the chair from the table and drag it into the living room, placing it in front of the fire. I point at the seat, and then at her.

“Sit.”

She studies it, and then me, before she relents and plops her tiny weight in the chair. It dwarfs her. Yet another thing I will need to procure—a chair small enough for her. Add it to the ever-growing list of costs I’ll be accruing just to keep this ridiculous pet that Rulag calls a wife. I’ll be broke by the time the first snow falls, and then what? How will I buy us meat and vegetables and milk?

I’m spiraling.

Leaving Sita there on the chair, I busy about the house. I can’t get started in the forge today, not when I only have a measly few hours left before I get married. I decide to clean and try to get the smell of Sita out of my house instead.

Her nose scrunches as I scrub everything with vinegar, from the counters to the floors to the hearth. She watches me with those curious dark eyes, occasionally opening her mouth as if to speak and then closing it again.

Good. She knows I don’t want to talk to her. She’s the one who picked me, who thrust all this stupidity upon me, and I’m not going to hide that I resent it. I scowl as I scrub, just to make sure she knows it.

Finally, the sun is high in the sky and I can’t delay any longer. I head to the door and beckon for Sita to follow. Obediently she gets up and slips her bandaged feet into a different pair of shoes, equally threadbare as the bloody ones. Wonderful.

When she’s finished, she hesitates at the door. I have to tilt my head quite a long way down just to see her face, and she gazes up at me with a mixture of curiosity and fear. She says some words in her tongue I can’t understand, so I sigh and shake my head.

“You’re going to have to learn to speak Orcish,” I tell her gruffly. She frowns at my tone. “That’s how it is.”

“That’s how it is,” she repeats in a rather terrible accent.

Rolling my eyes, I open the front door and urge her to step out into the sunshine.

“Time to go get married,” I tell her, and she purses her lips as she exits the house.

We walk together along the path that leads to the main road, Sita trailing just a step or two behind me as she tries to keep pace with my much longer legs. I have to pause from time to time to let her catch up—yet another reminder of how different we are, and how much I’ll have to change my lifestyle to accommodate her.

I’m marrying a fucking human . They’re so weak that they would have perished without our generosity, and yet cruel enough to sacrifice one of their own to survive. Rulag capitalized on that cruelty.

Not that we’re much better, I suppose, after he tried to auction her off to the highest bidder.

At last, Sita and I reach the square where other orcs have already gathered, including Merka. It looks like someone went on a stroll through the meadow because there are a few pots full of wildflowers surrounding the altar. Rulag stands under a familiar arbor, the same one brought out for all weddings—which have been few and far between in my adult years.

He waves cheerily, and my dark mood grows darker as we press through the small crowd. I’m scowling by the time we approach him, and he gives me a disapproving look.

“You could at least pretend you want to get married,” he says, peering down at a worried Sita. “Your new wife is unsettled.”

She’s biting her lip, eyes cast down at the ground and hands clasped tightly in front of her. It’s clear my sour mood has been noted.

“I don’t want to give her any illusions.” I huff. “She chose me. This is what she wanted, and she’s going to get it.”

Rulag gives us a pitying shake of his head, then rests a hand on Sita’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he tells her, though she can’t understand. “Your orc is a mighty grouch. It’s not too late to choose someone else.”

I bristle all over at this casual, intimate contact with her. Sita is not his wife, and he ought to keep his hands to himself.

Rulag glances at me, removes his hand, and proceeds to pick up the book that’s been sitting on a pedestal beside him. He leafs to the appropriate pages.

“Let’s proceed,” he says as my clanspeople gather around. He begins reciting the ritual words, a lot of boring gibberish that I let slip through my mind without giving much thought to it.

Instead, I’m pondering what my life looks like after this, now bound to this little human with tender feet and tiny hands who will require so much this coming winter. She is young, too, and inexperienced in life, which will certainly present some hardships.

At least I have a good well of funds to draw from, as I’ve had little to spend it on besides upgrades, maintenance, and raw supplies. My parents didn’t leave me much coin when they passed away many years ago, but it will help some.

“And now,” Rulag says, reaching the end of his long recitation, “you may kiss your bride.”

Oh. I forgot about this part.

“I’ve only just met her,” I snap. “I’m not going to kiss her.”

Rulag frowns. “But it’s tradition?—”

“No.” My voice is firm and final. Sita looks up at me with a concerned crease in her brow. “Are we finished here, Rulag?”

The clan leader says something to her in her language, and her expression falls even further. But she nods anyway, and then we’re finished.

“This is when you carry her home,” Rulag whispers to me. I ignore him, turning away from Sita and marching back through the crowd of cheering orcs to my house. She scurries along behind me, once again trying to keep up. I should slow down so she doesn’t injure her feet, but I’m too busy imagining what kissing her would be like.

What a foul thing. She’s too short, and her mouth is much too small. It would never work.

When we return to my home, I deposit Sita in the chair again by the fire, then leave as fast as I can. I need my forge, my hammer, my metal. My quiet place, where I can forget about all this terrible foolishness.