Chapter 1

Chapter One

Betsy

“ P ox on your worthless green hide!”

My jailer only chuckles as I lash out with my fists. He is an orc and freakishly strong compared to me. I do not have a chance.

That does not stop my cursing nor curb my wild thrashing.

But too easily, he stops me before an ominous-looking door amid a long underground corridor. He opens it and tosses me in. The door creaks as it swings shut. I hear the rattle of the keys in the lock.

I fling myself at the door, yanking on the small barred window like it might yield to my hands. “No!”

My jailer walks off, his boots echoing off the stone walls and floor as they fade away.

Despair crawls up my throat until it near chokes me. A sob bubbles up. I clamp my hand over my lips, but it still breaks free.

Sinking to my knees, the cold stone seeping through the skirts of my thick woolen dress, I replay the events that brought me here—a regular day at the markets where I admired the ribbons and bought a new one. The cloaked figure slipping out of a doorway as I took the shortcut back to the tavern where I live and work.

Stupid, Betsy. You know better than that.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the small paper-wrapped bundle. Maybe I can strangle the bastards who snatched me with it?

Beyond the door, I can hear the sounds of crying.

I wipe the tears from my cheeks. My stomach is all at sea, and my mind is frantic. But I will get out of here. My pa will come for me, and he will punish the scum who dared to take me.

At least, I pray that he will.

There is a bucket of water just inside the door and another bucket in the corner where I am supposed to go. I walk over to the far empty corner. Here, I sit and wait.

It is not long before fresh tears come, and the fears I try to keep at bay swamp me.

The jangle of a key in the lock wakes me from a fitful doze. The door is flung open—my heart pounds. A scuffle follows before the door slams shut again.

In the space before the closed door is a small, fragile-looking girl with a ragged dress that has been torn over her breasts.

My lower lip quivers. Bastards.

I kneel beside her, putting my arm around her small, bony shoulders. “I’m Betsy,” I say.

“Ada,” she replies, and then she begins to sob.

I pull her closer, and she clings to me with surprising strength. My tears fall anew for this lass and myself.

“My pa runs a tavern,” I say. “Someone snatched me off the streets as I returned from the market.” I don’t mention how it was my own stupid decision to take a shortcut. “He’s going to get us out, I promise you.”

“I wish I had such a father,” she says. “Mine sold me for coin enough to pay his debts.”

Heath

Bleakness, a city under the control of orcs known as the Blighten, has ever been a desolate place. Tonight, it sinks to levels of treachery.

I have known the lass at my local tavern since she was a little girl. My blacksmith shop is only a few doors down from The Green Man, where Betsy lives with her human-orc hybrid father, and I go there often for supper and a pint.

Someone snatched her on the way back from the market. One of the stall owners mentioned seeing her take a shortcut, and that was the last she was seen.

Still, I have connections in my work as part of the underground rebellion here in Bleakness, and word is she has been taken to the slave markets. The bastards clearly do not know who her father is. The tavern proprietor is a gentle giant most of the time, but Tim is still half-orc and will destroy those responsible.

So here we are, with the help of trained warriors and sympathizers with the rebellion, along with my son, storming holding cells where prisoners are known to be kept.

My hammer beats metal into shape at the forge, but when needs must, I use it to deadly effect on the scum as does the Blighten’s bidding. I slam it left and then right as we breach the inner cells, breaking bones and leaving the filth who guard the prisoners twitching and broken on the floor.

“Betsy! It’s Callum, lass. Your pa is here to get you.”

Hearing my son’s hail ahead, my head snaps up. My chest is heaving. The only guards I can see are the dead ones lying on the floor. A cluster of recently liberated prisoners stands ahead of me, wide-eyed and pitiful.

Gods, the thought of Betsy, the sweet lass who is always quick with a smile, being here, even for a moment, has me shaking with rage. But they have found her, thank the Gods, and I surge for the room to check her for myself.

Tim has Betsy in his arms, inspecting her for injury. Relief crashes through me even as my gut tightens at seeing her filthy, tear-ravaged face. Her eyes flash to mine, then drop to the bloody hammer in my hand, and her lips part on a small gasp.

There is blood splattered all over my clothes, hands, and, likely, my face. I am a messy killer. I wish she would have never had to see me or anyone like this.

“We need to leave,” Jacob says. He is a warrior for the fae race and once a prisoner here himself. “We have cleared out this level, but reinforcements are coming.”

“Please help Ada,” Betsy cries.

“I’ve got her,” my son says, coaxing the tiny lass who is naught but skin and bones from where she hides in the corner. He swings her up into his arms. “We’ll get you out, Ada.”

Someone has torn the bodice of her dress. “Here,” I say. Shucking my cloak off, I drop it over the young lass. At least it will offer her some modesty and warmth until we can get her to a safe house.

A shout alerts us to the arrival of more guards.

We make haste. Putting down the few men who have been mustered in response, we emerge into the cold Bleakness streets, using the narrow back alleys to take us from the slave markets.

At Betsy’s insistence, the young girl from her cell returns to the tavern with us. Here, the staff rush to help the two young women after their ordeal.

It is the first time Callum has joined me in a rescue, and I can see the emotions on his face, along with that of Ada, the lass he just saved. I have ever been proud of my son. Tonight, I am impossibly more so. He handled himself well, put many guards down, and kept a cool head.

“Thank you,” Ada says, throwing her arms around my son’s neck. “Thank you, Callum.”

My son blushes crimson and doesn’t know where to look.

Thankfully, the cook urges the young lass away so they can get her cleaned up and warm.

Callum blinks across at me and suddenly sits heavily on the nearby stool.

I put my hand on his shoulder. “You did good, lad. I’m proud of you. We got Betsy back, and we freed many others.”

“It’s not over,” Tim says, his voice rough. “I’ve yet to pay a visit to those who dared to snatch my daughter. You can bet I’ll deal with them, too.”

“Good,” I say. “Before the Goddess, it is their due.”

When I look up, Betsy is beside me, a blanket over her shoulders. “Thank you, Heath,” she says. “I always knew you helped with the rebellion. Until now, I didn’t fully understand what they meant.”

“I wish you still didn’t,” I say gruffly.

“Me too,” she says, her eyes shining with fresh tears. “But if I hadn’t been taken, no one would have gotten Ada out. Her father sold her for coin to pay his debts. What kind of monster would do that?”

I shake my head. I have no answers beyond a bad one—a man who does not rightly deserve to live. I feel the weight of my son’s eyes upon us and Tim’s, too.

Betsy leans up on her toes and plants a kiss on my cheek. Before she moves away, she whispers, “Promise me you’ll deal with him.”

I nod.

Her eyes meet and hold mine: pretty blue eyes, the lashes made darker for her tears. There are freckles across her nose, along with little streaks of dirt. How have I never noticed her freckles before?

I want to say something. What, I don’t have a clue.

“I’m going to be alright,” she says, like she can read my mind and knows I need something—an indication that she has not been broken by what was done. “They don’t deserve to take my happiness away or change me.”

A small smile lights her face.

And I somehow know that the sweet, resilient Betsy will be okay.