Chapter 5

SITA

E ven though the wedding ceremony was more familiar than I expected it to be, the whole thing was very awkward. The clan leader, Rulag, told me that Gurrek was supposed to kiss me—much like in a human wedding.

I’m glad he refused. Having to kiss him would have been dreadful.

And yet something about his adamant rejection had hurt, too. He was clearly disgusted with the idea of it, like he was being asked to kiss a cow.

I suppose this is what I asked for when I chose him—an orc who would want nothing to do with me. I’ve gotten what I wanted, and I don’t have to be afraid he’ll try to use me.

Now that Gurrek’s deposited me here and then left without another word, though, I’m restless. Not that I could have understood him if he’d told me where he was going, but the gesture would have been welcome. Instead, I’m left alone in front of the smoldering fire, not sure what I should do with myself.

Maybe Van had a point. If Gurrek is never going to be around watching over me, perhaps I could leave. He doesn’t want me here. Would anyone bat an eyelash if I simply walked back home the way I came? I could let my feet recover from their injuries, then leave the next time Gurrek abandons me at the house alone.

But I don’t know what the clan leader would do. Perhaps he’d come down the mountain with his forces to get me back, to honor our trade. The orcs are far more numerous and much better armed than we are. They haven’t shown me their cruelty yet, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

I couldn’t bear to bring the orcs’ wrath down on my village. No, nursing any hope is foolish. I have to carve out a life here, whatever that looks like, and figure out how to make a home for myself if I’m to spend the rest of my days here as Gurrek’s “wife”—whatever that means.

The rest of the afternoon passes by, tedious and dreary. I try to remain sitting as long as possible to keep the weight off my feet, but I grow bored after a short time. With nothing else to do, I return to the room with the furs on the floor and lie down on them, hoping I can fall asleep to kill some hours.

I must have managed to drift off because I’m abruptly awakened by the sound of the front door closing. It’s nearly full dark outside the windows, and my stomach grumbles rudely as I sit up.

Gurrek doesn’t come looking for me. I hear him bustling about the kitchen instead, clinking pans together and chopping vegetables.

That was me back home, coming home from working in the field to find Mother exhausted, or still out laboring over the farm herself. I made the meals almost every night, and sitting here doing nothing while someone else cooks feels wrong .

I emerge from the bedroom wearing a loose dress that my mother made for me years ago, and approach Gurrek in the kitchen as he turns a knob on the stove, then strikes a match to it. Immediately a flame licks upward from the stovetop, which he turns down with another knob. It’s a marvel to see him have such precise control over the fire, but he ignores my presence completely as I watch, placing a pan over the flame and then dropping a large pat of butter into it. When the butter melts, Gurrek tosses in a slab of red, bloody meat. He salts it, then lets it cook for a time before flipping it over and salting it again, all while I observe.

“What is it?” I ask, nodding at the meat in the pan. Gurrek’s brows lower. I think any question I ask will irritate him, so I might as well get used to it.

He responds with an Orcish word, and I repeat it back to him until I get the pronunciation right. It must mean beef, or perhaps elk?

As the meat cooks, Gurrek leaves me at the stove and starts preparing other foods—leafy greens, sliced carrots, and another root vegetable I don’t recognize. I ask the names of each ingredient and, with an irritated huff, he teaches them to me.

When I think I’ve pushed him far enough for one evening, I retreat to the table and sit in the enormous chair to wait. Eventually, Gurrek returns with two plates of food and sets one down in front of me. He stands while he eats from the other plate, and I feel like a very unwelcome guest using his only chair.

As awkward as it is, the food is utterly delicious.

“Can we get another chair?” I ask after a while, gesturing to the chair I’m sitting on. Gurrek glances down, furrowing his brow. “Chair?” I repeat.

He says a word in Orcish, something that sounds like rrask , so I repeat it back to him.

He nods and says, “ Nag vas rrask. ”

I think that means he understands. This is going to be very difficult, I realize, given how little we have in common. He’ll have to teach me everything, as if I’m a child.

Perhaps I could try to request a tutor to make this less onerous. Would the clan leader teach me? He knows plenty of my language.

But he’s probably much too busy, and I don’t even know how to ask Gurrek for such a thing. I didn’t realize how difficult communication would be. I’m alone here, the sole human in this whole village, and somehow I’ll have to adapt.

We eat the rest of the meal in silence, and then I hurriedly leave the chair when I’m finished so he can use it. I put a fresh log on the fire and use the poker to shift around the coals to get it going again. I can tell already that the nights are much colder up here in the mountains.

Without a further word, Gurrek cleans up the meal, then retreats into his bedroom, firmly closing the door behind him.

I had hoped I could ask him to teach me some more, but he’s making it clear he’s not interested in playing the “learn Orcish” game. So much for learning how to communicate better.

After Gurrek retires, I dig around in my new bedroom for some of the paper I brought, along with ink and a quill, on a whim that I might be able to write home. I’ve only been gone for a single day and I miss Mother and Van so much already.

I write out a short letter describing my very morose wedding, trying to picture what Van would say. He’d be surprised that the orcs aren’t nearly as brutish as we imagined. But at a real wedding, he would have been standing next to me, probably shedding a tear during the kiss.

I’m never going to have that kind of wedding now. Any chance I had at a normal life, and marrying someone in my village with my family and friends there to celebrate, is all gone.

Eventually, I roll up the parchment paper and put it away, then lie down on the very hard, very flat floor and try to fall asleep.

The following morning, Gurrek makes breakfast in silence again, but I won’t take the chair from him a second time. This is his house, and he’s made it very clear that I’m an intruder here, so I carry the plate with me to the floor by the fire instead. I want to minimize conflict between us as much as possible—it’ll make life here easier, as much as possible.

After a long, searching look, the orc sighs and sits down to eat without speaking.

Once again, the food is wonderful and settles my hungry belly. It’s a welcome change after the scant meals we’ve had at home since the flood. I feel a little guilty, though, eating my fill—but I have to hope that the trade will ensure that Mother and Van have enough.

After taking my plate to the washbasin, I get Gurrek’s as well and dump all the dirty pans into the basin. Then I carry the bucket outside to get water.

“Sita!” When I’m halfway out the door, Gurrek’s angry voice takes me by surprise. He points at the chair, which he’s now vacated, and repeats his order from yesterday.

Sit down .

I’m not sure what to do. I want to do something, anything to help—it’s in my very bones—but I don’t want to make him angry with me, either. I don’t like how he shouts.

Gurrek points at my feet, then again at the chair, repeating his command. He’s not going to let me help with my feet the way they are.

With a sigh, I set the bucket down and do as he tells me. Then he takes the bucket out himself to fetch water for cleaning.

It’s torture to watch idly as he washes all the dishes after he also cooked the food. Once done, Gurrek kneels in front of me, and with a disgusted expression, he picks up my left foot to examine it. I flinch at the pressure of his hand on the wounds, and he lets out a disapproving tsk . After unwinding the old bandages, he applies more of that liquid that burns and wraps my feet up in fresh cloth strips.

I never imagined an orc so delicately attending to someone’s injuries.

“Thank you,” I say as he sets my other foot down, finished with his work. Gurrek simply shrugs, then takes a leather apron off a hook by the front door, slides it on over his head, and steps outside.

“Where are you going?” I call after him. How long will I be left alone today? He could at least give me a task around the house to keep me occupied. I’d thought for sure the orcs would put me to work, but it seems to be the opposite.

Gurrek pauses in the doorway. He growls something over his shoulder in Orcish, and I try to commit the words to memory as he stalks out, slamming the door closed behind him.

Staring at the closed door, my face heats. Is he really going to leave me here all day, every day, with nothing to do? This is somehow worse than having every chore in the world back home. Keeping busy is how I’ve always lived my life, and having nothing to utilize my time fills me with dread.

My feet hurt much less today, so I decide to tidy. The house is already sparkling clean from the vinegar Gurrek used everywhere yesterday, and the air still reeks of it. Instead of scrubbing, I use a tray to scoop old ash from the fireplace and dump it. I take the furs outside and beat them to get the dust off, and air them over the wooden railing of the porch. When I’m finished, though, there’s nothing left to do, and the sun has barely climbed to the midpoint of the sky.

Where did Gurrek go? What does he do all day?

Well, if he’s not around to snarl at me for being up on my feet, perhaps it’s fine to wander off on my own as long as I get home before he does. Besides, I should get to know the place where I’m going to be living now.

Slipping my freshly bandaged feet into my shoes, I step off the front porch and onto the path. I have a rough idea of the direction of the village after yesterday, but it’s probably best not to venture too far while I can’t speak a lick of Orcish. I’ll check out the property first and see if there’s anything that needs doing.

Maybe then Gurrek won’t be so damned grouchy.

His house sits near the edge of the village, butting up against a forest of dark green pine trees that let off a fresh, herbal scent. Close by, there’s another building that doesn’t appear to be a living space. It’s built from a dark wood that blends in with the tree trunks, and smoke pours out of the high chimney. Gurrek doesn’t appear to have any livestock, which is a disappointment. At least if he had chickens or cows, or even some crops, I could make myself useful.

Next to the outhouse, which I’m already familiar with, is another shed with a bathtub inside. I’m going to make use of that as soon as possible.

After I’ve gotten oriented with the house, I head down a path toward the outbuilding. There are two big doors on the front that must open together to reveal what’s inside. It would be far too obvious if I tried to take a peek in that way, but as I circle the building, I find a much smaller door around the back that looks perfect for spying.

I pause with my hand on the knob. What would Gurrek do if he found me up and about, poking around his home? He would probably be angry at me for being up on my feet, and probably even angrier that I was encroaching on his private space.

But I can’t be locked up inside forever, either. Surely, he doesn’t intend for me to sit on the floor all day.

Turning the knob, I pull the door open a few inches. Inside, I hear a low, heavy sound: Thom. Thom. Thom.

Curious, I slip through. The building is dark, though firelight pours in from the adjoining room, lighting up the edges of objects so I can make them out.

On one wall are rows upon rows of tools in all shapes and sizes, arranged neatly on hooks above a worktable. On the opposite wall hang an assortment of weapons, from long swords to axes, daggers to spears. They are all painfully sharp, though there isn’t a speck of blood on them. They’re all shining and silver, as if freshly polished.

The steady beating draws me deeper into the room, toward the light. I keep my footsteps soundless as I reach the corner and peer around it, curious as to the source of the noise.

Thom. Thom. Thom. It’s Gurrek, standing over the biggest anvil I’ve ever seen, a long, heavy hammer gripped in his hand. His huge arm lifts it high over his head, then he swings the hammer down onto a piece of metal he has anchored to the anvil. Thom!

Every one of his movements is highlighted by the bright orange flames of the forge, illuminating the curves of his body, the points of his tusks, the tips of his short-cropped hair and generous beard. I can only see part of him from where I’m hidden, but with every swing of the hammer, immeasurable muscles on his back flex and bend and swell. Sweat pours down his bare upper body, making his skin shine in the firelight. He must have been hot, so he removed his shirt under his apron.

Thom. Thom. Thom. I can’t help but stare, riveted to the sight of him beating the anvil in fluid arcs, every swing monstrous but also elegant. A shape is emerging in the metal under his hands, and it looks like a blade.

So Gurrek is a blacksmith. And he must be good, based on the quality of weapons I found in the back room.

I married a blacksmith.

Sweat courses down the creases of his back to his powerful hips, where the apron is fastened. There’s a tantalizing stretch of flesh between the tie of the apron and the top of his leather trousers where even the muscles of his rear end flex with every swing.

My body feels as hot as that forge.

Realizing what might happen if Gurrek catches me watching him, I turn around and sink back into the darkness, keeping away from the workshop counters so I don’t bump into them. When I’m finally outside, I only slow down to let the door fall closed behind me.

I stand there, panting, my blood much too hot under my skin. Even though I’m no longer looking at him, I can still see Gurrek’s naked forearms, his massive shoulders, the corded muscle of his neck. For a moment, I worry my legs might give out from under me.

I stumble back to the house, feeling much too moist between my thighs.