Chapter 35

Morga strides down the corridor with a skip to her step. I hurry to follow her—it's hard to keep up with orcs, but it's even harder when the orc is a cook with her head brimming with ideas.

I can relate.

"Violet, I swear, these orcs will have my head if I don't get them more flat cakes!" Morga's boisterous voice echoes through the hallway.

I chuckle. "Cookies. They're called cookies."

"Oh, yeah! Cookies!" She repeats the word twice, learning the new sound. "Sounds weird, but then I bet you think the same of us."

I can't help but smile when I adjust Eirik on my hip. "Are you sure the others won't mind?"

Morga glances over her shoulder. "Mind what?"

"Me. Cooking."

Morga waves a hand in dismissal. "Orcs can be resistant to change, but there's nothing that convinces us like food. You are being officially invited. Everyone wants your cookies."

We burst into the kitchen, bathed in the golden morning light filtering through tall windows. The earthy aroma of baking bread mingles with pungent spices. Copper pots dangle from racks overhead, glinting as they sway.

All the other orcs look up from their stations.

And all of them smile at me.

Morga flings out an arm, encompassing the space. "Pretty nice setup, eh? We've got everything you need to whip them up again." She grins at the others. "Say hi to Violet, everyone! She'll take care of some snacks for us."

The cooks cheer. They cheer. My smile is glued to my face now and I don't think I can ever stop smiling.

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want to impose," I say, though I'm doing my best puppy eyes.

"Nonsense!" Morga slaps me on the back, nearly knocking the wind out of me. "Go on, let Ursha hold Eirik so you can come over. I have a station for you."

I meet Ursha's gaze and wait for her to complain. To my surprise, she doesn't. She plucks him from my arms and finds a spot out of the way.

Thorn has dismissed Gorbag from guarding me—and I can't help but feel flattered at this display of trust. But Ursha? She won't leave me alone with the heir if she can help it.

Morga follows my gaze. "Don't mind Ursha. She takes her guard duties seriously." She guides me to a table near the oven. Lowering her voice, she leans in. "Orcs love all children as our own, blood relation or not. It's just our way. You don't have to worry about Ursha."

I nod slowly, watching Eirik tug on Ursha's intricately braided hair. She grimaces but doesn't pull away.

Clapping her hands, Morga's face lights up. "Now, about those cookies... Why don't we make a big batch and surprise everyone?"

Her enthusiasm is infectious, and I find myself grinning. "I would love to. But I wonder if I can make a second batch with something else?"

Morga's eyes glitter with childish glee. She smiles, lips stretching over her tusks. "You will not see us complaining!"

As I gather ingredients, the once-foreign kitchen begins to feel familiar. Morga is patient enough to explain all the ingredients I don't know. Other orcs chirp in here and there with tips—what ingredients go together, what's too bitter or too sweet. Soon, I'm lost in the rhythm of baking. Mixing, sifting, piping—I lose myself in the process. Everything comes right back to me naturally.

"May the ancestors bless you, Violet! These are incredible!" Morga exclaims around a mouthful of macaroon or the closest I could get with the ingredients here. "You keep surprising us!"

I smile as the other cooks try them and hum in agreement. My heart grows warm.

Ursha snorts, and I glance back to find her shifting Eirik to her other hip. My gaze meets her red eyes. She doesn't back down. "I don't see why you encourage her, Morga," she says. "Who knows what foul things humans deem edible?"

Morga shoots her a warning look. "Now, Ursha, there's no call for that. Violet is?—"

"She's an outsider," Ursha spits, voice dripping with contempt. "I never agreed to harbor her here. It's not our way." She releases my gaze to glare at Morga. "I never agreed to any outsider."

An icy trickle of unease slides down my spine. I knew Ursha disliked me, but the venom in her words takes me aback. There's an underlying tension beneath her words, pointed straight at Morga. The head cook glowers back at Ursha. How odd.

Could Ursha's hatred for outsiders run so deep that she would resort to violence? My gaze darts to the sharp dagger at her belt. She is a formidable warrior; if she wanted me dead, I doubt I could stop her.

Unbidden, a chilling thought worms its way into my mind. Ursha's seething animosity, her distrust of anyone beyond the clan... Could she have had a hand in the death of Eirik's father?

No. There's no way... I think.

I shake my head, dispelling the grim notion.

Sudden shrieks of glee from outside shatter the tense moment. Morga's face brightens as if nothing had happened.

"What's the fuss about?" She hooks an arm around my shoulders and pulls me out of the kitchen. Ursha's steps follow close behind.

As we step into the large dining hall, my jaw drops. There, striding inside with a little army of children tagging along, is Thorn. He bears an enormous pine tree over a muscular shoulder. Children dart around his legs, squealing with delight, as he places the tree in the very back of the room so everyone can see it. Two other orcs follow inside, balancing wicker hampers filled with clay ornaments and satin ribbons.

My heart swells at the sight. A pine tree. As in, a Christmas tree.

I could swoon.

He catches my eye, a glint dancing in his obsidian gaze, and I'm helpless to stop the giddy smile that tugs at my lips. I almost bounce on my feet when I rush to him.

And it takes everything in me not to jump into his arms. Though we kissed a couple of times, it's never been public, and I don't think he's ready for that.

Pine needles trail in Thorn's wake. Another orc approaches with a metal bucket. With a resounding thud, Thorn sets the tree inside the bucket. They fuss with the stand for a moment, then step back to admire their handiwork.

Thorn's gaze searches for me. His eyes light up. "I thought we could do with some new decoration. Do you like it?"

Warmth blossoms in my chest. He remembered. All those wistful stories about Christmas and family—he'd been listening. Really listening.

I practically bounce next to him. "It's perfect," I breathe out, stepping up to the tree and threading my fingers through the bright green boughs. "Absolutely perfect."

Children crowd around us as I sort through the hampers. I offer some of the ornaments to them, instructing the bigger kids to help the smaller ones. I tell them we have to make the tree beautiful, and they all set out to decorate.

From the corner of my eyes, I see Morga walking in some time later, her arms around a basket filled with the macaroons I'd baked earlier. I didn't bake enough for the whole clan. Chewing on my bottom lip, I watch her, wondering what she's going to do.

Morga approaches a group of older orcs sitting nearby. She starts with them, then moves to the kids and, finally, offers the rest to the closest adults, starting with Zog, Thorn's right-hand man. I try not to stare, but I'm anxious to see everyone's reactions.

As I loop a ribbon around a branch, I catch sight of Ursha. She stands apart from the others, but there's no mistaking the macaroon clutched in her hand. She pops it into her mouth and chews with a bored expression.

Then her brows shoot up. From the awed look on her face, I got the recipe right.

Pride swells within me. More orcs hum in delight at the treat. I did that. They like my food.

Some parents approach to help their kids. I step back and search for Thorn in the crowd. It's easy to find him. He's the biggest guy anywhere he goes, and he's always looking at me. Our eyes meet and the rest of the world falls away.

In that fleeting moment, I glimpse a future I never dared dream of. A place to belong. A family to cherish.

For the first time since I stumbled into this strange world, I allow myself to hope. To believe that maybe, just maybe, I've finally found my way home.