Chapter 11

Chapter

Eleven

I didn’t realize how late it had gotten during our talk. Most of my clansmen have retired for the night, and the hallways are empty. Those orcs we do meet merely greet us and hurry on their way, no doubt eager for family time and rest. I hold on to Owen’s arm, unwilling to let him go. If this will finally spread rumors that I’ve found my mate, so be it—I’ll be telling Owen about our bond soon enough.

A cat pads from around a corner, and I start, jerking to a stop. “Oh! Where did you come from?”

Owen chuckles and leans down to run his palm over the cat’s sleek fur. “This is Thistle. He’s Willow’s cat. He was most displeased during our journey, but I think he has settled in nicely at the Hill.”

The animal winds around our legs, rubbing himself against my skirts, so I lean down and scratch behind his ears. He seems to like it—a rumbling purr resonates from his chest, surprisingly loud for such a small creature.

“Well, this might solve our mice problem.” I look up at Owen. “I can’t believe I never considered getting a couple of cats to keep our larders safe. We never had them at the old palace, I suppose that’s why.”

Even with such small things as this, I’m still stuck in the old ways sometimes. Perhaps it’s time to let the Mara who lived there go, and figure out once and for all who I am here .

The cat saunters away, disappearing down the corridor. Without thinking, I take Owen’s arm again, pressing close to him. It’s a luxury, being able to do this without having to hold back.I know my reasons for waiting were valid— are valid still, since he hasn’t decided what he intends to do—but I’m glad we could remove one barrier between us at least.

I lead Owen through a shortcut that has him exclaiming in surprise, a narrow passageway rising sharply from one level to the next.

“This Hill is amazing,” he says, his voice slightly muted as he climbs the incline after me. “I still feel like I haven’t seen all of it, and I’ve been walking around for days.”

I bite my lip, glad that he’s behind me so he can’t see my guilty expression. I’ve been thinking of how to approach Gorvor with a request to show the Heart of the Hill to Owen, but unless he remains at the Hill and swears his allegiance to our king, I can’t see it happening. I might trust Owen implicitly, but Gorvor does not—and he would never put the safety and prosperity of our clan at risk as a personal favor to me. What’s more, I wouldn’t ask it of him. So Owen will have to wait a while longer.

“There are parts we don’t use,” I call over my shoulder. “I used to spend days exploring the palace, mostly to hide from weapons training after we arrived.”

The corridor levels out, and Owen catches up with me. “They had you participate in combat exercises here, too?”

I shrug. “Not after I made it clear it wasn’t something I wanted. But Gorvor remembered I used to be quite good before I decided to make myself the laughingstock of our class. And so many women finally got an opportunity to be warriors like they’d always wanted, so they held tests and trials.”

I turn left, tugging on Owen’s elbow to get him to follow my direction. We’re approaching the great hall from a different corridor than before, and I see how alert he is, how mindful of every twist and turn, no doubt committing them to memory.

“Everyone is required to do a basic training course now,” I continue, my feet carrying me faster now that the kitchens are close. I’m hungry , much hungrier than I thought when Owen proposed a late-night dinner. “It’s more so people don’t hurt themselves by accident. Or so they’re able to defend themselves if the need arises. But no one is told they’re useless if combat is not their vocation.”

“And all professions are treated equally?” Owen asks, blue eyes wide.

I give him a solemn nod. It’s one of the things I’m most proud of, achieving a system that promotes respect in the clan. The cleaners and cooks are just as necessary to our prosperity as warriors, hunters, gatherers, or farmers. Gorvor praises them all in his audiences, and their wages reflect the equality.

“We could learn a lot from you,” he murmurs. “Humans, I mean. It’s one of the reasons why Lady Willow was sent here, to discover why your clan works so well when the human lands are close to civil unrest.” He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Mind you, a lot of people would be happy if the duke just lowered the taxes, get them back to the level they were before our last war, but he claims that’s not the issue.”

“Of course not,” I agree. “It’s much easier to blame others.”

Owen closes his hand over mine and draws me closer to his side. “Well, perhaps Lady Willow’s report will have an effect if she can showcase how you do things here.” He sniffs the air. “I, for one, am most interested in how your cooks prepare boar roast. I had some last night, and it was so tender, it melted in my mouth.”

I laugh and allow the change of topic to a lighter one. We enter the great hall to find most of the torches extinguished. The chamber is so vast that the ceiling is now shrouded in shadow, and the corners seem black and fathomless.

Owen shivers lightly beside me. “I think I just remembered we’re underground. With gods only know how much earth and rock piled right on top of us.”

I cock my head to the side. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Not really.” He pauses, then adds, “It’s best if I don’t think about it too much, though.”

I think of Korr and his issue with being underground for long periods of time. Perhaps my affliction isn’t as different from his as I’d thought. He never told me why he feels that way, but Owen’s explanation is reasonable.

“I like having the earth around me,” I tell him. “It feels safe to be inside.”

Owen tugs me gently toward the kitchens. “And the world outside…?”

“Is dangerous,” I confirm. “Nothing good ever happened to me out there.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “All right, that’s fair. But plenty of people have had so many good experiences outside.”

My chest constricts at the mere thought of going past the threshold of the main gate. “I haven’t told you the rest of my story yet.”

Owen and I enter the kitchens, which are surprisingly empty. There’s dough rising for tomorrow’s baking on the racks, though, each basket carefully covered with a napkin. Carrow must have gotten his work done early in an effort to spend as much time as possible with his new mate.

We raid the pantry and find leftover rabbit stew and some bread rolls from this morning that we toast over the embers, then dunk in the stew. Owen doesn’t press me to speak. Instead, we share a quiet meal, the first where we’re alone, and my heart pangs painfully as I wonder if this will become an everyday habit or if it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience. When I get up and pick up our bowls to wash them at the kitchen trough, Owen takes them from me with a shake of his head and nudges me to sit back down.

I relinquish the dirty dishes—I spent hours and hours standing right where he is now, scrubbing the many pots, plates, and pans used by the clan each night. But I don’t sit immediately. Instead, I return to the pantry and find the tin box that Earna replenishes every day, each time with a different confection. I take two nut rolls from the box and replace it on the shelf, hiding it behind a stack of kitchen cloths.

When I return to the kitchen, Owen is drying our bowls, the spoons already returned to their basket.

“Is that the secret kitchen cake?” He eyes the rolls with interest.

“Hush.” I sit, holding the sticky pastries gingerly. “We never talk about it out loud, not where people could hear.”

He snorts but obeys my order. He puts the bowls back on the shelf, then takes the place opposite me. “Thank you.”

I take a bite of the delicate yeasted pastry. “Oh, she’s outdone herself this time,” I mumble between mouthfuls. “It’s her way of experimenting with new recipes that she and the other cooks then make for the clan. It’s not always actual cake , we just call it that.”

Owen hums, his mouth too full to answer. I grin at him, and he laughs, ducking his head.

“Thank you for sharing your secret with me,” he whispers, leaning close. “I won’t ever tell a soul.”

I lick the sticky honey off my fingers, and he groans softly as he watches me. His blue eyes darken, and after a moment, he snatches up my hand and licks my little finger by himself, savoring the sweet taste.

My breathing stutters at the sensation of his tongue pressing on my fingertip. It reminds me so much of how he licked me earlier, bringing me to a beautiful climax. My pussy clenches with the memory of the pleasure, and I gasp, then gently pull my hand from Owen’s grasp.

“Earna might love me, but she would cheerfully murder me if we fucked on the table where she makes her pastries,” I tell Owen seriously. “She once told off a pair of youngsters merely for sitting here. I don’t want to get on her naughty list. She could move the secret cake tin, and then what would we do?”

Owen chuckles. He kisses my knuckles but doesn’t drop my hand. Instead, he waits quietly, and in the dim glow of the banked kitchen fire, he’s so handsome, my heart can barely handle it. I know what he wants from me. I owe him the truth, perhaps not the full details of my past, but an explanation of why I’ve been behaving as I have.

“I told you my mother left one winter morning,” I begin. I hold on to his hand, the warmth of his fingers comforting me. “She walked right out the door, wearing nothing but her dress, and the guards at the door didn’t stop her. They claimed afterward that she seemed her usual self, but I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Is that why the guards here question everyone coming or going?” Owen says. “To prevent this from happening?”

“Aye.”

I don’t tell Owen I had a hand in arranging such a system, but from the knowing look he gives me, he must suspect it as least.

I don’t want to tell him the rest of what happened, but if I stop now, I might never get the story out. “I woke up to find her missing. It wasn’t unusual, so it took until the evening for me to worry. Usually, she’d spend most of her day in bed, but I thought perhaps she’d found some other nook to sleep.”

Owen interlaces his fingers with mine as if to show he’s not going anywhere. He moves his chair closer to mine, too, and puts an arm around my shoulders. He doesn’t say anything—and I don’t need him to. I just need him to listen, because I haven’t told this story to anyone, not in its entirety. Gorvor—and perhaps some of the others—knows parts of what happened, but not how those parts have come together to shape me into who I am.

It’s only now that Owen has come here and disrupted my life that all the memories have bubbled up to the surface. I’ve become so skilled at pushing them down, I’ve created habits and behaviors to work around my shortcomings. But my mate’s arrival has forced me to take a good look at myself, and I’m not sure I like what I’m seeing.

“I searched the entire palace for her,” I continue, determined to get through this. “I knew all the secret rooms and the passageways hidden behind tapestries, I knew the layout of the cellars and the dungeons, but I couldn’t find her anywhere.”

I remember how cold those winter days were. The hallways that were carved into sheer rock had been frosty from the drafts blowing through vent holes, so I’d put on my winter cloak and fur hat and scurried around like a little mouse, sniffing around the darkest corners of the palace.

“I asked everyone I met if they’d seen her, but people had forgotten about her at that point—or didn’t want to think of what happened after my father passed away.” I swallow thickly, pushing down the sensations that dredging up these memories is bringing up. “It was like chasing a ghost. It wasn’t until I happened upon those same guards who let her out that I found the first trace of her.”

Owen shakes his head in disgust. “They should have reported her missing.”

“It wasn’t exactly their fault, you know. She went out, then the shift changed, and the new pair of guards wasn’t informed that they should watch for her return.” I shrug. “At least I managed to convince one of the two guards to help me get an audience with the lieutenant in charge of all guards. I think he pitied me, but whatever impulse drove him, he did help me. In the end, they sent out a team of warriors to search for her, but by then, she’d been gone for two days, and it snowed in the mountains, so all trace of her had disappeared.”

He stares at me, horror painting his handsome features. “They never found her?”

My hands shake at the memory of what comes next, but I’ve been brave this far. I need to tell Owen everything, or he’ll only ever see an incomplete picture.

“No, they did,” I rasp. “But not until the spring thaw. A pair of hunters found a body washed up in the stream. Whether she slipped and fell into the narrow riverbed or jumped, we’ll never know. But it was definitely her.” I’d recognized her pretty brown dress, if not her features, which had been rendered indistinguishable by the elements. “After that, I swallowed my pride and asked Gorvor for help. He found me a place?—”

“Mara.” Owen grips my hand tighter and pulls me into his side like he did before. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry for your loss.”

My chin wobbles. I wanted to gloss over the fact that my mother’s departure had left me an orphan, or that I’d been left adrift. It was a painful time, with a slew of doubts forcing themselves into my head. I’d been called useless for far too long to shake those beliefs on my own, and there were days when I wasn’t certain that anyone would miss meif I wandered out of the palace one day and disappeared.

I take Owen’s handkerchief from my pocket and blow my nose, embarrassed by my blubbering. “It’s been years . More than a decade, in fact. I’m all right.”

But he shakes his head. “Grief doesn’t have time limits. What you experienced would be enough to scar anyone, let alone a child. And if you were left alone to deal with it…”

“I wasn’t,” I blurt. “Not entirely. Like I said, Gorvor was busy, but he found me a place with the kitchen staff. I started out as a maid, but in time, the older women learned I had a good head for numbers, so they put me in charge of the larders. By the time Gorvor split up our clan and led us to this Hill, I’d taken over most of the kitchen books, tracking the supplies brought in by hunters and traders, and all the clan’s inventory.”

Owen studies me, as if wondering if he should press me some more, then nods. “So it made perfect sense for you to become the steward of this palace once you settled in.”

“Aye. I soon knew it like the back of my hand, too, what with all the combat training I’d skipped out on.” I attempt to smile, but it comes out a tad wobbly. “I made myself useful. Indispensable. And I held on to that role for so long, I’ve been having trouble letting go of even the smallest bits.”

“You’re afraid that you’ll become replaceable?”

He keeps his voice steady, no judgment filtering through—or pity, for which I’m so grateful.

“Aye, in a way,” I agree. “I know my role here and what’s expected of me. People need me. Perhaps that’s vain to say, but I like it. I like knowing that people search for me when they need me to answer a question.” I pause to swallow, then admit the truth. “I like knowing they’d miss me if I left. Even if it was just because I’m the most adept at running this giant anthill.”

Owen frowns at me. “I might not know your clansmen as well as you do, but from what I’ve seen, they’re your friends . Of course they would miss you.”

I remember Poppy’s hurt expression from the linen storage, how upset she’d been when she learned about my doubts. Some small, cold part of me that harbored this fear for more than a decade unclenches. It’s not that I have released all my worries just from one conversation, but telling my story out loud and voicing my fears has thawed me out a little.

Now that I’ve finished my tale, though, weariness descends on me like a wet wool cloak placed around my shoulders. I scrunch up my face to hold back a yawn, then give in and cover my mouth with my hand.

Owen presses a kiss to my forehead, rubbing my back with his warm hand. “It’s been a long day. We should both get some sleep.”

He hasn’t offered me any assurances or empty promises that everything will turn out perfectly for me, that I’ll get over my reservations or that my issues will magically evaporate just because I’d confided in him. All of that would be a lie—but I don’t regret telling him. He needs to know me if we have any hope of a future together. He has shared parts of his history as well, though it hasn’t been as turbulent as mine, and now I want to learn more. I can only hope he’s as intrigued by me as I am by him.

But the sleepless nights I’ve suffered since his return to the Hill are catching up with me. “I think you’re right.”

He stands and offers me his hand, then pulls me to my feet. “My lady.”

He executes a perfect bow, softened by a smile, and I know what he’s thinking. Our rooms are on opposite sides of the Hill, and it would make the most sense if we parted here, then took different corridors that would bring us where we want to go.

“Captain.” I hesitate, then curtsy and tug my hand back from his grip—only he doesn’t let go.

“Can I walk you to your room?” he asks, voice low. He steps closer, his smile wry. “I know you said you’d received combat training, but I’d feel better if I saw you safely to your room.”

I don’t point out that I’m perfectly safe, no matter where I go in the Hill. I’ve been walking these halls alone for a decade, after all. But I don’t want to part with him yet either, so I turn on my heels and put myself at his side.

“Of course,” I murmur. “So long as you promise me you know the way from my rooms to yours. I don’t want you wandering around the halls at night, hopelessly lost.”

He rumbles out a laugh. “I think I’ve committed the route to memory. If all else fails, I’ll follow the signposts to the baths and sleep in one of the pools.”

I grin up at him. “Then I’ll visit the baths in the morning. I might even rescue you from drowning.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” He groans, scrubbing his hand over his face. “Just don’t tell anyone else, all right?”

“Never.” I place a hand over my heart. “I’ll keep your secret as long as you promise not to tell Earna I fed you the secret kitchen cake.”

We’re nearing my room, so I slow my steps, not wanting this night to end. It hasn’t been nice, or easy, but Owen has made it lighter. With him, it wasn’t so horrible revisiting my past and delving into my memories.

“This is your door, correct?” Owen draws to a stop and inclines his head to the right. “I think I remember, but all I can truly recall is you in a nightgown, so…”

I pinch his arm, scowling. “You are a wicked, horrible man.”

He grins. “Ah, but it was such a lovely sight, Mara. I hope to experience it again, and soon?”

He makes the last part into a question, and I’m mollified by the fact that he’s not presuming that what we did tonight means he has access to my bedroom whenever he pleases. In truth, I will grant him that, but it’s lovely to know he’s not a man who would take what is not freely given.

“Tomorrow?” I ask, just as I did earlier that evening.

Owen’s eyebrows climb up. “All right.”

I put my hands on his chest, then slide them higher to cup the back of his neck. “It’s just…we have more to talk about. Before we, ah, continue on this road together.”

He brushes my lips with his. “I hope the rest of your story isn’t as sad. Not because I wouldn’t want to listen to it, mind you. I only hope you’ve already confided the heaviest parts.”

“I have,” I assure him. “Thank you for being such a good listener.”

Our mouths meet in a deep, sensual kiss, and Owen presses my back to the door, his hard body bracketing mine.

“Gods, how am I supposed to walk away?” He trails kisses down my throat, then licks the shell of my ear, sending a shiver through me. “Your taste drives me mad, Mara. And the way you respond to me…”

His hands grip my waist, his fingers digging into the muscles just over my ass. I rock my hips up on instinct, rubbing against the hard ridge in his pants. We both gasp at the contact, and Owen holds himself still for a long moment, then thrusts forward, just once, a groan falling from his lips.

“Fuck.” He pushes himself away from me. “I better leave. Tonight was for talking.”

He rakes his fingers through his messy hair, and I smile at the sight, because I caused it to stick out like that.

“Come here.” I reach up to brush it back in place. “You can’t go walking around the Hill like you were dragged backward through a bush, even at this late hour, Captain.”

I straighten his collar, bearing the three gold captain’s pips, and sober up at the reminder that he’s still employed by the Duke of Ultrup, still beholden to the whim of Lady Willow and her esteemed uncle. I never want to meet the man who allows criminals to run free in his duchy, but I hope Ozork’s mate will choose a different path in life, one that will allow Owen to remain here if he chooses to.

When he looks mostly presentable, I step back and smile softly. “Goodnight, Owen.”

He leans in for one quick last kiss, stealing my breath. “Sleep well, Mara.”