Chapter 11

Eleven

I wake up slowly, sleep clinging to me and drawing me back into darkness. I'm too cozy to get up, warm all over, and surely it's not morning yet.

I reach for my blanket to draw it up to my chin, only to discover I'm not covered at all. Then how am I so warm? Blinking my eyes open, I lift my head an inch off the pillow. The first thing I notice is I'm still in my day dress. Then the memory of last night comes crashing in, and I realize why I'm so very cozy.

Morg sleeps soundly in front of me, his body curled around mine. The big orc's hand rests on my hip, just as it did when we went to sleep. Behind me, I sense the steady, slow breaths coming from Torren. It's his arm that's flung over me, protecting me from the cool air. But apparently, he wasn't satisfied just by holding me, because his hand is clenched in Morg's tunic, holding the other orc close. They've both pressed up against me in the night, so we're huddled in the middle of the bed. My hair is flung half over Morg's chest, and I'm fairly certain some of the hair on my face is actually Torren's.

It should have been very uncomfortable sleeping like this, squished between two large males, breathing each other's air, but I slept incredibly well, and my head feels clear, my thoughts sharp.

Last night, they told me I wouldn't have to choose between them. Was that because I'd bawled my eyes out and they only wanted to console me? I hope not, but I'll have to make certain they both agreed because they want this, too. That leaves the question of how we'll organize our lives. Will they want me to spend my nights alternating between their rooms or will we all meet up right here at the end of every day? And what does that mean for Morg's promise to have his way with me in his bed—and Torren's suggestion that I should decide what I want to do first?

I think I know what I want. The only issue is I might not be brave enough to say it out loud. If I tell them I want both of them to be there with me, every night, in all the ways, and they refuse… I don't know how we'll ever come back from that. If they're not ready to truly share me now, they might never be. Or perhaps they'll get used to the idea if I introduce it slowly?

I should ask the other women for advice because I'm out of my depth with this. I wouldn't know what to do with one mate, let alone two.

A knock at the door interrupts my musing. Morg growls low in his throat, and his grip on me tightens. He pulls me toward his body, still asleep, and buries his face in my hair. At that, Torren rolls closer to me and slings his leg over mine, half trapping me under his weight.

"Uh," I squeak, suddenly overwhelmed with the closeness and the scent.

Gods, the scent of them is incredible. I drag in a deep inhale through my nose, and my body responds to theirs instinctively, my belly warming with desire. Torren groans, and he's hard again, the length of his cock pressing against my hip.

"Torren," I whisper. "Someone's at the door."

My words have an immediate effect. He snaps awake, his dark eyebrows furrowed in a fierce scowl. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, and I shiver in the sudden absence of his warmth.

Morg stirs at my side, but instead of getting up, he reaches behind himself, snags the covers, and wraps us both in a cocoon. He hooks his arm around my waist and rolls me so my back is flush with his front and his hard cock rests against my ass.

"Mm," he says. "This is how every morning should begin from now on."

I pinch his arm under the cover. "Hush, someone's here."

Torren is already at the door, undoing the latch and pulling it open.

Rose pokes her head through, grinning. "Good morning, Torren. Is Jasmine here?" Then she casts her gaze my way, and her eyes flare wide. "Oh, there you are. And so is Morg. Well, I'm very glad you three have worked things out, congratulations. But Jasmine, Mara will be waiting for us. Ritta had to go out on patrol, otherwise she would have been here. We'll have breakfast with Mara, that's the only way to catch her, really, she's so busy, so we should get going."

I stare at her, working through the rush of words. Then it hits me—I'm meeting Mara, the Steward of the Hill, today, to get a job. I sit up, glancing down at my wrinkled gown in dismay.

"I look a mess!" My hand flies unconsciously to my hair, and from how it hangs, I already know it's just as horrible. "I need to get back to Ritta's room and get changed."

Rose shakes her head. "That'll take too long. We can talk to Mara tomorrow, then? I know she's busy all afternoon."

Torren studies me for a moment, then barks, "She'll be out in a minute."

"I'll wait in the hall." Rose gives me an encouraging nod.

I scramble from the bed, brushing my hands over my skirts, but it's no use. The fabric is squashed, and it's quite clear I slept in it.

"Give it here," Torren says, motioning to me.

I snap my gaze to him. "What?"

"Your dress. I'll help."

He sounds so certain, I decide to trust him. I loosen the laces of my dress and shimmy out of it, then hand it over to him. Left only in my undershirt, I feel exposed, but Morg doesn't leer at me at all. Instead, he picks up my stays from the floor where I dropped them last night and brings them to me. With his help, it's quick work to get them tied properly, and then he nudges me to sit on Torren's chair.

He grabs a metal comb from Torren's shelf and runs it gently through my hair, working the tangles until he's satisfied. Then he braids it with surprisingly deft fingers, rolls the braid up in a bun, and secures it with a leather tie from Torren's stash.

I pat the bun carefully and turn to him. "Where did you learn to do that?"

I might have expected Torren to know how to work with long hair, but Morg's is cropped quite short for an orc.

"I have four sisters, remember?" He grins.

Then Torren returns from the bathroom alcove, carrying my dress. It's considerably less wrinkled than before, if slightly damp, but I know it'll dry quickly in the warm corridors of the Hill. I dip into the bathroom quickly to wash my face.

Torren and Morg are waiting for me when I step out. Morg surprises me by closing the distance between us and kissing me. It's a quick, hard kiss, all tongue and teeth, and I cling to him to return it. He lets me go just as quickly and all but shoves me at Torren, whose kiss is slower but no less thorough. By the time he releases me, I'm wide-eyed and panting, but I have no time to ask what this was all about.

"Thank you," I breathe, looking from one to the other. "I'll see you later?"

"Aye, now run," Morg says. "We'll find you."

Outside the door, Rose is waiting, leaning on the wall. "Oh, I thought you'd take longer." She looks me over, then adds, "You certainly seem more put together than before. Not that I disliked how you were before, it was very becoming."

I nudge her. "Stop. I know it was terrible."

But she frowns and grips my arm, stopping me. "I'm serious," she says, her voice low. "You looked happy, Jasmine. Disheveled but happy."

Now my throat closes up a bit, and I don't know what to say. In the end, I settle for the truth. "I am happy."

Rose grins, and we set off again, walking quickly down the hall.

"So, tell me all about it."

Heat rises up my neck and into my cheeks. "There's nothing to tell really."

She raises one eyebrow at me, and I can't help but laugh.

"All right," I admit. "They said I wouldn't have to choose between them. We're…still figuring it out."

"Fantastic," she says. "I know you will. They're good for you, I can already tell. But if you ever need anything, I'll show you where Uram and I live. You're welcome to visit us anytime."

The incredible generosity moves me so much, I have to swallow several times before I can speak again. "I'm sorry for not doing more when my father cast you out from the inn," I rasp finally. "It was wrong, and I should have helped you."

"You did," she says, her eyes bright. "And it all worked out in the end. If he hadn't pushed me out, I might never have made my way here. And I'm happy, Jasmine."

By the noise of the breakfast crowd, we're nearing the great hall. The large space is bustling again, only this time, there are many more children running past us. They dart around tables and chase each other while their parents try to finish their meal in peace.

"School starts early," Rose says, speaking loudly to cut through the din. "They'll head out soon enough, and it'll get a bit quieter then."

"I don't mind," I tell her.

And I don't. I love watching the children play. From the way they're galloping through the crowd, this must be a regular thing for them, and no one is really stopping them from playing, apart from an occasional adult stepping in before the play can devolve into a fight. There are children of all ages, from little orcs barely toddling around to teenagers huddled at their tables, talking in hushed voices.

Rose weaves her way between tables, and I follow close behind, not wanting to lose my friend in the sea of much taller orcs. She leads us to a spot not far from the raised table, where an orc woman several years older than me sits alone, reading at breakfast. I have a moment to study her before she notices us. Her beautifully made gown is fit for a lady, which I suppose she is if she's running the Hill. Her long dark hair is pinned back in a lovely twist, and her ears are adorned with several gold hoops that glint in the torchlight.

"Hello, Mara," Rose says as she slides onto the bench opposite the orc steward.

Mara looks up and offers us a distracted smile. "Oh, you came. Thank goodness, distract me from these, please. My head is swimming with numbers."

I study the book she has set down. It's a large ledger, filled with columns of numbers, all neatly written out in ink. My father had a similar book, only it wasn't quite so organized—or extensive.

"Are you feeling all right?" Rose asks tentatively.

Mara lifts a cup of tea to her full lips and takes a sip. "Aye, it's nothing. I only think my monthly courses will be here soon, and I'm always a bit out of sorts when that happens. I'll have to visit Taris and ask for a tea to help with the cramps."

I goggle a bit, unused to discussing feminine issues with such frankness, but it shouldn't surprise me in the least. If orcs talk about intimate relations easily, why shouldn't Mara speak about her body the same way?

"A hot water bottle always helps me," I offer. "And sleeping the day away if I can manage."

Mara's smile brightens. "That's exactly what orcs do, too. I'm not usually fond of getting my courses, but I must admit I'm looking forward to taking a few days off work." She motions at the ledger. "The stores from our harvest have all been put up, and it's time to record everything before the winter."

"I can help," I say quickly. "I'm good with numbers, and I used to run inventory for my father."

"This is Jasmine," Rose supplies helpfully. "I used to work at her father's inn, and it was a neatly run place."

I smile at her, grateful that she didn't mention being thrown out on her ear.

Mara purses her lips. "Very well. You may accompany me today, and you'll do your records and sums on a separate paper. I'll do mine to be sure, and we can compare them at the end of the day." She extends her hand across the table. "Welcome to the Black Bear Clan."

Rose leaves me with Mara soon after, and I hastily finish my breakfast of eggs and sausages, washed down with a cup of scalding-hot tea. Then I follow Mara to her office, where she gives me writing supplies and explains that Dawn, the queen, has been learning the job of running the Hill as well.

"But she's busy with her baby," Mara adds, "and until the little one goes to school, Dawn doesn't have as much time to help. I can manage usually, but at times such as this, the tasks seem to pile up too quickly for one person."

"I'm happy to help," I say as we hurry down a corridor I've never taken before.

It's cooler here than in the rest of the Hill, and it makes sense—we enter a series of chambers with low ceilings, connected by wooden doors, each one colder than the previous one. These are the larders of the Hill, and they are filled to the brim. Several orcs are working down here, dressed in much heavier clothes than us, so Mara takes a pair of jackets off a hook by the door and offers me one, shrugging the other on herself. Mine is too big, so I have to roll the sleeves several times, but it does the job of keeping me warm.

We spend several hours in the depths of the Hill, noting down the quantities and prices paid for all the items in the pantries. There are sacks upon sacks of wheat and barley, salted fish by the barrel, and whole rooms filled with crates of apples, pears, and winter vegetables. I think of the mass of orcs I saw at breakfast today. It must be an incredibly difficult operation, keeping them all well and fed through the long winter in the mountains.

I mention that to Mara, and she gives me a weary nod. "Aye, it's not easy, but we manage well from year to year. We've got hunters supplementing our food stores, though, like Korr and the others."

At the end of the workday, we still haven't recorded even half of what's stored in those chambers. But when Mara and I return to her office and she studies the numbers in my columns, which I tried to make as neat as hers, she hums, apparently satisfied.

"You did a good job," she says. "You may join me again tomorrow. It's always nice to have someone to check over your work, and you'll learn fastest if you're working with me."

I beam at her, tired but happy. "Thank you. It feels lovely to be useful."

I leave her office quite late. We had a quick, improvised lunch of apples and some salted meat in the pantries, but it's not quite dinnertime yet. I could search for Morg or Torren and spend the time with them, but I need a wash and a change of clothes, badly, so I follow the signposts to Ritta's corridor and take my spare day dress from her room. Then I find the baths all on my own, feeling very accomplished when I sense the damp air.

It's so luxurious to soak in a bathing pool all on my own. The water is just as perfect as I remember, and I scrub myself well, even washing my hair this time. Then I wash my dirty clothes in one of the troughs by the wall and carry them back to Ritta's room to dry.

I wish I had some way to tell the time because it's impossible to know how late it is so deep underground. But my stomach tells me it might be time for dinner soon, so I leave Ritta's cozy room and set out down the tunnel leading toward the great hall.

I barely take a couple of steps when someone wraps his arms around me and pulls me into a shadowy alcove.