Chapter 3

Three

The forest turns dark around us long before we reach the main gate of the Black Bear Hill. Sarrai informs me we're drawing close, but I still can't see anything and rely on Ritta to guide my horse along the winding path. The fir trees grow thick here, and I can't imagine a whole palace existing in this remote location.

Sarrai waves into the darkness, which I only know because her white linen tunic is slightly visible in the night, but I can't tell who it is she's greeting. Then a little glimmer of orange announces a torch somewhere in the distance.

As we grow closer, it becomes clear why the two women looked at me as if I was mad when I said I'd walk up to the door and knock. The front gate, illuminated by several torches, is guarded, with massive orc warriors standing on either side of the tall entrance. I sense movement in the forest beside us, and when I squint, I see more are situated there.

It would have been impossible for me to approach without being noticed and stopped. Now I have a free pass, it seems, with the escort of the two orc women. I dismount, and one of the guards materializes beside me. He sniffs at me first, then removes my saddlebags from the horse's back with deft movements, hands them to me without a word, and leads the horse away. I teeter slightly, my balance upset by the heavy bags, until Ritta steps in to help me carry one.

For a moment, my gut squeezes with worry. I'm overcome by the urge to yell at the orc to stop, to keep his hands off my horse's reins, because I want to get back in the saddle and ride away from here as fast as possible.

But I'm tired, as is my horse. And I came here for a reason. There's no use in wavering now. I've come this far, so I might as well see what the Hill has to offer.

"Thank you for bringing me here," I murmur to Ritta as we enter the spacious but narrow entry chamber through the heavy, iron-reinforced oakwood door.

She gives me a dry smile. "You might want to prepare yourself. We haven't had new visitors since Violet arrived here with Marut in the spring."

Sarrai shakes her head. "You're forgetting the human soldiers. They're due back sometime soon, too."

I have no idea who Violet and Marut are, or the soldiers, but apparently not many people visit the orc kingdom. I can see why—there's not much to be found here. The large front gate and the guards posted there gave the impression of grandeur, but all I see now is a dirt tunnel, dry and warm but otherwise barren, leading into the depths of the mountain.

Torches and lanterns burn in wall sconces, lighting the way as Sarrai and Ritta lead me forward. We arrive to the first branch in the tunnel. A small wooden signpost stands there, with BATHS and LIbrARY signs pointing to the left and GREAT HALL pointing to the right. We take the right without stopping, though Ritta said earlier that she wanted a bath.

"It's past dinnertime," Sarrai says, "but your friends might still be in the great hall. If not, we'll send someone to fetch them."

I nod, unsure of what to say. Now that we're out of the chilly night air—and out of the danger of being mauled by a bear—tiredness comes over me, and I stumble, even though the packed-earth floor is completely level. We meet several orcs on the way, and they regard me curiously, though none of them approach. One woman sniffs at me like Sarrai and Ritta have done, but apparently, I'm not her mate either.

A family passes by, little children gawking at me with unabashed interest, and I stare right back, because I've never seen an orc youngling before. They're just as lovely as human children, their faces round, their dark eyes large, though they have tiny tusks poking up from their lips.

My idea of barging into the Black Bear Hill and demanding a husband seems more and more ridiculous. Embarrassment grows inside me, and I duck my head as the next person passes us in the hall. From how curiously they're looking at me, I'm well aware of how much I stand out, and I'm certain that word of my arrival will soon spread through the Hill. What will the orcs think of me when they learn why I've come?

But it's too late to ponder that now. Ahead of us, the lanterns on the walls are spaced closer together, and beyond that, the end of the tunnel announces itself with a pool of golden yellow light.

Then I hear the voices. The earthen walls must dampen the sound quite well, because it's only now that I distinguish the murmur of many conversations—and as we round the corner and enter the vast space beyond, I'm shocked at the sight in front of me.

The great hall is aptly named. The massive underground chamber's ceiling vaults high above our heads, and chandeliers filled with beeswax candles hang from it, illuminating the space. Rows and rows of long wooden tables and benches line the floor, with a high table with two thrones at the end, where the king must sit with his queen. Along the walls, more torches and lanterns burn, and between them hang fall decorations, boughs of pine and orange pumpkins, giving the hall a festive air. A wide banner with the emblem of a black bear hangs behind the raised dais, the details embroidered in copious amounts of glimmering golden thread.

I stare for a long moment, frozen in my spot. There aren't as many orcs here as I'd feared—especially after seeing all those tables. If this space was full, I imagine the din of conversation would be overwhelming. As it is, only a handful of orcs linger here and there, sipping mead or discussing their business over late supper. Their eyes turn toward me, curious, though none come closer to take a sniff at me or speak to my two guards. Finally, Sarrai nudges me gently toward a table while Ritta stalks off, presumably to get us food.

"She'll let someone know to tell Rose about your arrival," Sarrai murmurs as we sit at a long, empty table. "I think Ivy and Korr have departed for the night already."

I swing my gaze to her. "Departed?"

She undoes the straps of her weapons harness and dumps the mass of leather belts and buckles on the bench beside her. The wicked longbow gets placed lovingly on the table after she unstrings it, the quiver of goose-feather-fletched arrows beside it.

"They don't live inside the Hill," she tells me. "They built a new cabin near the main entrance. You'll see them tomorrow."

"That's all right," I murmur. "We don't have to disturb Rose and Uram either. If you could just show me a place where I could spend the night, I can meet them another time."

Sarrai waves off my worry. "She will want to see you, I am sure. Uram's mate is kind, and I like her. We can all go to the baths together after supper."

I must have heard her wrong. "To the baths? Together?"

I've never bathed with another person in my life. The baths at our inn have individual cubicles where the guests can lock themselves in for privacy—but as the innkeeper's daughter, I've always enjoyed the privilege of bathing in my own room, even if I had to carry the water myself. I think wistfully of the large copper tub my father had purchased several years ago, and of how lovely it would be to fill it with hot water and sink inside it.

"The baths are the best place in this Hill," Sarrai confides. "Well, apart from the fighting rings."

I can't imagine how the two would compare, but I don't want to offend her with my doubts. There's more I want to know about the baths, but Ritta arrives right then with a platter full of cold meat cuts and bread, and I forget all about it.

Despite having raided my parents' pantry before departing early this morning, I'm suddenly ravenous. I hadn't had that much to eat apart from apples, biscuits, and the cured meat the orc women had shared with me, and the food here is delicious.

The meat, a nice cut of wild boar roast, is sliced thinly, juices dripping to the platter below. Ritta mops up the salty sauce with pieces of the crusty bread, and I follow suit, taking big bites of food, too hungry and tired to care about propriety.

"This is good," I mumble. "Do you think they need help in the kitchens? I can do anything—cook, clear the tables, wash the dishes."

I'd pitched in at my father's inn over the years, not just taking over the organizational tasks from him but serving in the taproom and helping the kitchen maids whenever we fell short of employees, like the night my father turned Rose out the door. The memory of that still shames me, because she'd done nothing wrong, of course, yet I couldn't help her keep her post.

Still, I hope she's happier here than she ever was in our little village.

"We can ask in the morning," Ritta says, her tone calming. "There's no rush. But I'm sure Mara will find you some work to do."

"Mara?" I ask.

Sarrai cores a juicy pear and hands me a slice. "The Steward of the Hill. She'll know what to do with you."

That sounds much better than having to meet the king and queen. I finish up the pear and dig through my saddlebag for the last of the biscuits, sharing them with the two orc women. Rose is still nowhere to be seen, and I worry that whoever was sent to fetch her might wake her and her mate from sleep. I really don't want to be a bother.

I'm just about to suggest we leave them to rest and just proceed to the baths on our own when the noise of a commotion captures my attention. The raised voices are coming from another corridor leading from the great hall, not the one we'd arrived through. I can't distinguish the angry words, but the voices are undoubtedly male.

Then a tall orc male appears through the arch of the tunnel, closely followed by another. I stare openly, not even bothering to mask my curiosity, because everyone else in the hall is doing the same.

"I won't tell you again," the older orc snarls. "If you can't work the fucking bellows, leave them alone."

"How do you suppose I should work, then?" the younger one snaps. "And it's not my fault you left the dustpan right beside it. I'm not cleaning up that mess in the morning."

Their quarrel would be enough to have everyone staring at them, but it's their state that has us goggling at them. Both orcs are covered from head to toe in soot, their clothes ruined, their faces smeared with black and gray streaks. The older orc makes a frustrated grumble and runs his fingers through his long hair, leaving smudged fingerprints on his forehead.

"Oh, it's these two again."

I swivel around to look at Ritta, who has returned to her biscuit, nibbling carefully around the blackberry-jam-filled center.

My face must express my curiosity, because she shrugs and adds, "They're the blacksmiths. They've been at each other's throats ever since Morg returned from his apprenticeship and took up a post beside Torren in the forge."

I turn back to stare at the two males. Morg and Torren—though I don't know which is which—have progressed between the tables, still growling at each other. At first, I think they might have come here for supper, dirty though they are, but they appear to be on the way through to the tunnel next to our table. I suppose they're heading for the baths. Or at least I would be if I was in their state.

But before they stomp out of the great hall into the corridor, the younger orc suddenly stops. The older one, who was following close behind, smacks into him, sending both stumbling.

"Watch where you're going, fool," he snarls.

But the younger orc pushes him off, his nose in the air, sniffing. Then the older one freezes as well, an arrested expression coming over his smudged face as his nostrils flare.

A strange sense of foreboding comes over me, half fear, half breathless anticipation.

The older orc finds me first, his dark gaze focusing on me. His lips part, and his expression changes to one of wonder. Then his companion scrambles over the large dining table and lands on the bench next to me. He takes my hand between his dirty palms and kisses my knuckles reverently, his brown eyes wide.

But the older orc slams his hands on the table and roars, "Get your hands off my mate!"