Chapter 17

Marvik

A rriving at my cave is nostalgic. I haven’t been here in years. Not since I left for the army my twentieth year. I worked my way up the ladder quickly, reaching the Blue Guard not long after, and King Yorian never let me leave him for too long. He was paranoid about assassination. Eight years later, I am surprised with how well the furniture I left inside has held up and appreciate Dura’s additions. The wall and rough-hewn door she has made at the entrance is primitive but serviceable and it is impressive she got so much done in the few days we were apart. There are also rabbit skins pegged down to ground around the outside of the cave to dry so that they can later be tanned. I wonder how she plans to treat the skins without having access to a tanner, but it is wise to start saving the skins to use for winter.

A pile of trimmed branches lays in a stack by the door. I would think them firewood but they look too long to be used for that purpose and all trimmed to the exact same length.

“What are these for?” I ask.

Dura glances at the pile and responds, “I thought to build a smokehouse so that I can preserve larger quantities of meat. As it is I can’t hunt deer or boar, even though I have a bow, because the meat would go bad before I could eat all of it. This way I can hunt less often and still have food for the winter when the game hibernates. The one bag of dried meat you bought won’t last the whole cold season.”

Again, impressive. “Do you know how to build a smokehouse?” It seems strange to me that a warrior would have such knowledge. I certainly do not.

She nods and says, “I built one with my father years ago when I was an adolescent. It’s been awhile, but I remember the important bits, like where to build the vents. It should work, I just need to harvest some clay from the creek. The loam is excellent in the soil there, so it should work as a mortar.”

I have no idea what she is talking about, but it is clear that her father taught her well. So I say so.

“You seem like you learned a lot from your father.”

She gives me a small smile, but her eyes are sad. I wonder why for a moment, then it hits me. She must have been close to her parents and now, in her self-imposed exile since her desertion, she can’t see them. It never occurred to me, since I am not close to my own. Once again I feel the weight of the debt between us, though I know she would insist there isn’t one. But how can I make up for everything she gave up for me when she saved me? The simple answer would be to consent to be her mate, but my feelings aren’t there yet. I am happy being lovers, but more? I don’t know.

“Did you not also learn from your father?” asks Dura, interrupting my fraught thoughts.

I smile a little at that. “If you consider lying and playing the games of power things worth learning.”

She cocks her head. “You don’t?”

Shaking my head, I reply, “It never sat well with my sense of honor. There was too much manipulation and machinations. I preferred the straightforward path of swordsmanship.”

“Did your father appreciate your integrity and skill, at least?”

I snort. “Gods no. I was always something of a disappointment to him, since I have no desire to play the games of court or bring our House more power. That I, a firstborn heir to a noble house, chose to become a knight and join the army was a cause of great consternation to him.”

“But you were such a high rank. Surely that brought honor to your House, if nothing else.”

That makes me nod, but with a hint of bitterness. “Of course, once I became captain of the Blue Guard, he used my high position to leverage himself into more advantageous political situations. Toward the end, no one had the king’s ear more than my father. I suspect that my father was one of the ones behind Adrik invading Orik in the first place, starting a war we were destined to lose. I know for certain that he was the one that encouraged Yorian to head to the front, convincing him that his leadership was vital to the war effort. I was there, guarding Yorian during their conversation. It was, of course, flattering lies. But lies that Yorian believed. Truly, I think my father hoped that Yorian would perish and he could position himself as the new king, since Adalind had not borne an heir. So much needless death just to fuel his ambition. I’m actually almost glad that he is dead.”

Dura looks grim at my confession. I’m sure she’s thinking of the early days of the war when the Adrikian forces invaded Orik, burning down pastoral villages and killing innocent civilians in their push to take more territory. It was a dark time.

“So, you didn’t support the war?”

This topic seems fraught, full of pitfalls. We were on opposite sides, after all. We both killed each other’s allies and comrades. But my answer is an easy confession. “No. Defending my country and keeping the peace is one thing . . . but when we attacked unprovoked, that was the first time I was ashamed to be part of the army. But by that point, I had taken the Midnight Oath with Yorian and couldn’t leave. When Yorian went to the front, the Blue Guard went with him. Then there was the siege . . .”

I pause looking at Dura. Her face is inscrutable again and I worry that I’ve said something wrong. “Are you alright?”

She purses her lips, then grudgingly admits, “I’ve never thought of things from the other side before, that there may have been soldiers there that didn’t agree with why they were fighting, that may have been there against their will. I . . . I enjoyed fighting in the war, cutting down my foes. I saw you all as the transgressors, the ones that needed to be punished. But if there were more like you, more that were there under duress . . . ”

I step forward and take her hand. She resists my grip for a moment before her claws sheathe and her fingers clasp mine. “Don’t think of it. It was war and there are no good answers in war. If you had hesitated fighting any of the men at Fort Attis they would have killed you rather than be killed. Even those that didn’t believe in the cause or were forced there, would have happily slaughtered you to survive. You did what was needed to survive. If you enjoyed it because you thought you were on the cause of right, then all I can say at least that means you do not have nightmares about the people you’ve had to slay, as I do.”

Dura looks unconvinced. I can tell this is really bothering her. I remind her, “I killed orcs in my line of duty and in order to save my own life. Do you blame me?”

She looks at me as if she hadn’t considered this before. I hold my breath while she considers her answer. Finally she says, “No, I suppose not. Like you said, it was war. I suppose torturing myself about it won’t bring back the soldiers I felled.”

I nod and squeeze her hand, meaning for it to be comforting. I didn’t tell her my story to cause her pain, I just wanted to tell the truth.

There’s some silence, then she asks, “What about your mother? Surely she supported you as you grew up.”

The mention of my mother makes me cold. I let go of Dura’s hand and turn back to the pile of wood. “I don’t want to talk about my mother. Should we start on your smokehouse?”

I lean down and start studying the thick branches. A smoke house is good thinking. Long-term thinking, like she is planning to stay in the wilderness forever. Survive off the land and never see another sentient soul again. Though I love my cave, I am hesitant to be on board with such a thing. If she is too afraid of what will happen if the other orcs find her, maybe we can travel to Berkbur Piers and go across the ocean where she wouldn’t be recognized. To Terria, though I do not like that there is slave trade there, or Sheaotha, though I hear the heat there is unforgiving. Or just take a boat to the southern tip of the continent, far from Adrik or Orik. Teurilia is big. Maybe I’ll broach the topic with her later. For now, the forest is fine.

But Dura doesn’t join me by the wood pile. I turn back and see her looking at me expectantly. She says, “If you want me to learn to trust you, a good place to start would be to not avoid my questions.”

She’s right. Of course she is. I can’t tell her that I want her trust and then pick and choose what parts of myself that I expose. But it is not easy. I huff a sigh and stand back up, turning so that I am facing the orcress. “I do not like talking about my mother. She is . . . not like other mothers. I have seen other women with their children, warm and nurturing. The duchess was not that. She was never cruel to me, per se. I was an important status symbol for her, her only blood child. But with others she was manipulative, vengeful, and . . .” I take a deep breath. “. . . I told you that my family was abusive to Adalind. Whenever she made a mistake, was not perfect in her training to be queen, she was sent to be given an ice bath, where she would be dunked repeatedly into the frigid water. A few times the maids went too far and she almost drowned. I intervened whenever I could, though my parents largely ignored my protests. I think Adalind thought it was mostly my father’s doing, and he certainly was not innocent, but more often than not, the order came from my mother.”

Dura’s eyes widen at my tale. “How do you know this?”

Grimacing, I remember an unpleasant memory. “I’ve always known what my mother was. When I was young, maybe ten years-old, a few years before Adalind came to live with us, I came across a horrific scene. She was whipping a stableboy that had accidentally flicked mud onto her riding clothes. She stopped when I cried, but I will always remember the satisfied look on her face as she let the riding crop fly.”

I shudder. “Though she bore me, I feel no true kinship to her. I’m sure she misses me, but only because having a male heir solidified her position in court. I certainly have no fond memories of her like you do of your father. And now that I know she tried to kill Adalind, that only solidifies my opinions of her. It is a hard thing, though, to be the product of people that the world is better off without.”

Dura comes forward, taking my hand. It is the first time that she has reached for me first. I would appreciate that she is comforting me, if I weren’t still stuck in the memory. Sometimes in my nightmares I still hear the stableboy’s pleading screams.

“I’m sorry,” Dura says gravely. “I should not have asked for what you didn’t want to give. It was wrong for me to bring up old wounds.”

I shake my head. “No, you were right. We are lovers now. I want you to trust me, and I want to trust you. That won’t work if we hide parts of ourselves from each other.” I squeeze her hand and continue, “But that’s why coming to this cave feels like coming home, more so than when I passed Castle Grimble when I circumnavigated the town to get to the Thicket. Seeing the castle I wasn’t even a little tempted to go back to my lands, to take up my father’s mantle. If I came back from the dead, as it were, I would only be continuing their legacy, when they are better left forgotten.”

My huntress doesn’t argue with my assertion that we are lovers and nods. “I can see now why you needed a sanctuary so far in the woods if things were like that for you at home.”

I look around at what is now our sanctuary. The cave is being transformed into an actual home. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to live here with Dura after all.

“Can I help?” I ask. “If not on the smokehouse, then on something else? There’s plenty of daylight and we should work while we can.”

This time Dura doesn’t protest against my change of topic. “If you want to take the hatchet and chop down dead tree branches, that would be good. We need to start stockpiling wood for the winter. We could use some logs as well, but I’m not sure how good a hatchet would be at that.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I say, taking the hatchet from her and dropping my knapsack on the ground. My overcoat and tunic soon follow it. If I am to be chopping wood I don’t want to soil my new clothes. I need them to stay in good repair as long as possible, if we have to stay away from civilization. Dura doesn’t want to be recognized by the orcs and if I went into Grimblton I would be recognized as well. Maybe I should let my beard grow, just in case.

Dura watches me disrobe with an appreciative air. I send her a smoldering glance. “If you look at me like that, we won’t be getting any work done today, huntress.”

She looks a little embarrassed for a moment, as if unaware that she was showing her thoughts so easily on her face. But then her expression turns challenging.

“I don’t think that I would mind. I still have a mind to suck your cock.”

Hearing her say the word cock so matter of factly makes me harden again in my trousers. Truth be told, I am still feeling unfulfilled after our interlude in the forest, though bringing her to climax brought me immense satisfaction. The idea of proud Dura on her knees for me makes me feel like a randy fool.

But I stand by what I said before. “I do not require such things from you, huntress. I gave what I gave before freely.”

Dura stalks forward in her graceful way, for all the world looking like a sleek predator. “And I give this to you freely as well.” With those words she kneels in the leaves in front of me, still with that challenging look. Her hands come up to the ties on my trousers and I don’t stop her. She pulls at the fabric and my cock springs out to meet her. It juts in her face and I can feel her breath upon it. I swear the slight tickle of the sensation almost makes me come like an untried youth, I’m so sensitized.

She looks at my swollen manhood with heavy-lidded eyes, her own lust apparent. But then she looks up, a little unsure and says, “Will you tell me how? I’ve never done this before.”

Gods and goddesses, I’m a scoundrel. That’s the only explanation for why her words arouse me so much.

This orcress will be the death of me.