Chapter 27

Marvik

A few days pass, Dura and I staying in our cell. Adalind doesn’t return, and that is probably for the best. Now that we are mated to each other, Dura and I are insatiable for each other. We barely stop lusting after each other long enough to stop when we hear someone coming down the corridor with food, huddling under the blankets as they bring the food and then falling back into each other as soon as they leave.

On the third day, just as we finish another round of sex, a wry female voice calls out, “Please, tell me you two idiots are tiring of each other! I want to sleep, godsdamnit.”

Dura and I exchange a startled look. There’s no one at the grate and the voice sounds like it is coming from down the hall, in another cell. We knew that likely the guards must be hearing and ignoring us, except when it is time to feed us, but we didn’t know that there was anyone else currently held in the dungeon.

“Sorry!” I call out, even as Dura nuzzles into my shoulder, placing a kiss there. She doesn’t seem to care too much that we had an audience. “Not tired of each other yet, but we’ll try to keep it down!”

Dura laughs lightly.

“Gods! It’s been three days! Can’t you think of anything else to do?”

“Nope! Newlyweds.”

The voice barks out a laugh. “Newlyweds! In the dungeon? What did you do? Fornicate in front of everyone at your wedding?”

“Not exactly,” I call back, even as I pull our blanket over us. The dungeon is damn cold, and this cot isn’t much protection from the chill. “What did you do, stranger? ”

There’s a pause and then she calls out again, “I tried to kill the queen.”

My amusement swiftly banishes. Even Dura tenses on top of me. I keep my tone even as I call back, “Why did you do that?”

I can almost hear the shrug in the prisoner’s voice as she responds, “Because I’m stupid. And angry. Bad combination. I blamed the queen for King Yorian’s actions, dragging all the mages into the war and getting most of us killed. When I heard the queen was marrying the orc king and was escaping unpunished for her husband’s crimes, I lost it.”

So the prisoner is a mage. She must be in the anti-mage chamber.

“Trying to kill the queen is quite the crime,” I shout back conversationally. I want to know more, in case I can tell Adalind more about this would-be assassin while she’s in a chatting mood. “Why haven’t you been executed for it yet?”

The voice laughs darkly. “I have no idea. At first, they thought I had some information they wanted, but when it turned out I didn’t know enough to be useful, I thought I was finished. But I haven’t gone to trial yet and they just keep me in this thrice-damned cell, cut off from my magic. I’m sorry that I ever tried to kill her; it was a fool’s errand. The queen has magic of her own and an angry orc protector besides. I would never have succeeded.”

So she’s not really sorry that she tried, she’s sorry that she couldn’t succeed? This is a dangerous woman. Why is Adalind keeping her alive? It makes no sense.

I open my mouth to get her to keep talking, when the heavy gate creaks open at the entrance to the dungeon, echoing through the dark space. It’s too early to be dinnertime. Why are they coming in here?

We look up to see the prison master himself at our grate, a lecherous smile on his face. “Alright, lovebirds, today’s the day. You’re to be brought in front of Their Majesties.”

The lock in the door creaks as he opens the door, and a servant comes into the cell, carrying a steaming bucket of water. Another servant follows her, holding what appears to be piles of clothes. She looks at us under our blanket and blushes bright red before putting the pile on the cot across the room. Both servants awkwardly curtsey before leaving.

“Get cleaned up,” says the prison master, eyeing our blanket speculatively. Though whose body he’s trying to see is anyone’s guess. If it’s Dura’s, I’ll kill him myself after the trial. “I’ll give you a few moments to get presentable, then I’m to escort you to your trial. Don’t make the queen and king wait too long, though.”

He steps back out of the cell, closing the door behind him. We wait until he’s no longer in sight, then get out of the cot, letting the blanket fall. The mood is somber as we wash using the hot water. They brought soap as well, and we clean off our sweaty, sticky bodies. I can feel Dura’s dark mood through our bond. She truly believes that we are headed to our deaths. But I believe in Adalind. She will work to save us. We merely have to trust her and follow her lead. I send my hopeful feelings to Dura through the bond and she huffs a laugh before pulling on the clothes she was brought. It’s a leather tunic that fits her perfectly and some cloth trousers that hug her shapely legs like a second skin.

“You cannot truly think that we are heading toward anything but banishment?” she asks, before pulling on her boots.

I finish washing and start pulling on my own clothes. They actually are my clothes, from my own chests. Adalind must have had them fetched from storage. I’m surprised she still has them, since she thought I was dead for months.

“You do not know Adalind,” I tell Dura. “She would not have given us hope if there was no chance, and she is both clever and wise. If anyone can save us from the Killikar, it is her.”

I finish pulling on my clothes and doing up the ties. Then I fetch my dragon leather braid and start winding it up my arm, a mirror to the twin braid on Dura’s arm. I struggle to tie it at the top and Dura comes over to me, batting my fingers away before fixing it to her liking. It’s nice. A domestic moment of a wife fixing her husband’s clothes. My wife . I like the thought of that and smile.

Dura sees my smile and snorts. “The woman in the other cell is right. You are an idiot.”

I’m still laughing when the door opens again, the prison master flanked by guards.

Alright. Time to get this over with.

???

The throne room is both as I remember it and different. The old tapestries have been replaced with banners sporting the symbols of both Adrik and Orik, blue and gold mingling with black and green. Yorian’s old throne, a gaudy golden chair, is gone. In its place is a huge wooden throne, intricately carved. The orc king sits on it and Adalind, in an identical chair, sits at his side, an equal. Her old throne was half the size of Yorian’s and two paces back, letting everyone know that she had no power. Her situation has vastly changed and I am glad for it.

Dura and I are brought to the center of the room, guards on either side of us. What their purpose is, I don’t know, as both Dura and I are here willingly. The throne room is flooded with people, both nobles I recognize and orcs who I do not. There’s standing room only. It seems like everyone is desperately anticipating what we are going to say and did not want to miss it.

When we are situated, Adalind stands, clapping her hands together once. “Lords and ladies, warriors and shieldmaidens, you are brought this day to witness the trial of General Dura ka Woreki. But first, we have an announcement for the court. Because of the swift action of General Dura and Sir Marvik, Grimblton was saved. The Barakrini forces were expelled back over the border and the townsfolk were safe in Castle Grimble. There were only a few injuries on our side and no casualties. Though we have no doubt that there will be another attack, we will not be taken unawares. We owe a debt of gratitude to General Dura and Sir Marvik.”

A murmur goes through the gathered audience. It is not usually how trials begin and the queen’s words put us in a favorable position. Will she try to dismiss the charges just based on that alone? It would be flimsy at best and would still reek of favoritism, which I thought we were trying to avoid.

But Adalind isn’t done. “Though this is true, we cannot completely forget that serious crimes lay at General Dura’s feet. The charges brought against her are desertion and dereliction of duty.” She turns to Dura. “Do you have a defense?”

Before Dura can respond negatively and doom us both, I interject. “I have a defense for my mate, Your Majesty. I ask, if it pleases our rulers, to act as her advocate.”

Adalind’s face doesn’t change, but I think I can detect a pleased glimmer in her eye, as if I did what she expected. “If you are to be her advocate, who shall be her adversary?” asks Adalind.

“I will speak for the honor of the Horde,” comes a voice I don’t recognize. A gray-ish green hulking orc comes forward. I remember him from the day in the courtyard, the one standing next to Pellia, the former king’s mistress and secretly Adalind’s friend. I knew they had a good relationship with each other and worked to keep it from Yorian, as he liked the thought of them being adversarial. I suppose they bonded over both being victims of his capricious cruelty.

“The throne recognizes Warchief Verrick ka Roknir,” Adalind says ceremonially, “Orc Regent of Adrik. You will be General Dura’s adversary?”

“I am not of her clan,” he says simply, “and thus can remain impartial. I was also at the Battle of Fort Attis and can speak to the possible repercussions General Dura’s desertion may have had on the Horde. ”

“Then we are ready for the defense,” declares Adalind to the rapt watchers. This is probably the most dramatic trial they have ever witnessed. Adalind sits back on her throne, waving a hand at me to begin.

I have not had anytime to prepare, but I know what happened and can spin it into a good light. I step forward and then turn to face Dura. She looks at me with a guarded expression, but I can feel in our bond it is because she is feeling overwhelmed and out of her depth. This is not how they do things in Orik, but this is the only way that she can be saved.

“General Dura,” I start, “tell us, in your own words, what happened that day at Fort Attis.”

Dura gives me a mulish look and for a moment I think the stubborn orcress will not speak, but then she opens her mouth. “We broke through Adrik’s defenses. I was at My King’s side, pushing to the inner sanctum. Our goal was to find the human king and kill him, ending the war.”

This is good. She’s telling a story, even if she sounds stiff, like a soldier giving report. She continues, “We broke through to the courtyard and saw Yorian being taken up some stairs into a black tower. You stood at the bottom, defending the rear.”

“What did you do then, General?” asks the orc Verrick, breaking into the story. I almost forgot that he was there as adversary.

Dura frowns, then sighs. “I gave Rognar my Oath that I would kill the human captain or die trying.”

A troubled murmur runs through the orc spectators. Even Adalind, from my peripheral vision, looks stunned. Apparently, this is terrible, but I don’t know why.

“For the humans watching,” I say, “explain what that means.”

Dura looks around at everyone watching, but I send her reassurance through the bond. That brings her eyes back to me. She explains, “An Oath is a serious thing in Orik. To break an Oath means to lose all honor and standing, to be disgraced in front of your king and people. It means that you can never be trusted by other warriors ever again.”

Shit. That is bad. I glance over at the orc Warchief that asked the question. It’s almost like he knew what to ask, what would make Dura look the worst in front of his people. So, he’s not a plant by Adalind. Or if he is, he’s still actually trying to do his job as adversary. That’s good to know. My eyes find Pellia, who was at the orc’s side, but her face is studiously impassive. It’s hard to tell who’s side she’s on.

“So tell us, General,” Verrick says, “did you kill the human captain as you vowed?”

A low chuckle goes through the crowd at his question. It is obvious she did not.

“No,” my Ash’ka responds, her voice firm. “No, I did not.”

Verrick turns away, looking at the king on his throne. “My King, though it pains me, as an orc that long has held your cousin in deepest respect, it is clear what must happen here. Not only did General Dura not fulfill her Oath and kill the human standing before us, but she deserted with him, mated him and Claimed him. This is an insult to the Horde which is not to be borne.”

A ripple of agreement goes through the crowd. My eyes find Adalind’s, but she just stares back at me. This is her plan? This will not end well for us. Then she gestures her hand to me, subtly, a sign to “go on.”

Right, the story isn’t over yet. And I think I may be able to shift things to our advantage. My father’s devious lessons on court politics come back to me; how to craft a story in your favor. If this works, I may owe something to my father’s memory after all.

“But, Warchief Verrick,” I interject into the murmuring crowd, silencing them, “we have not yet heard the entire story.”

I turn back to Dura. “General Dura, proceed. Tell us what happened next. ”

Dura frowns and I can feel her confusion. She doesn’t know where I’m going with this yet. But, through the bond, I feel her trust in me. She begins again. “I went to the stairs, and we fought. It was a mighty battle, neither of us giving much ground. You are very skilled, my mate.”

I smile a little at that. “Thank you. You as well. I have never fought your equal.”

Dura gives me a small answering smile. She continues with her story. “We fought all the way to the top of the wall. I cannot say how long we fought, but my king and his Axe and Shield had already broken through the black tower’s door by the time we finished.”

“And how did we finish our battle?” I ask. “Did you ask me to run away with you and we both dropped our arms and left together?” This is obviously what some people think happened or they wouldn’t keep bringing up that we “ran away together.”

Dura shakes her head. “Our battle ended when I won and stabbed my knife into your chest.”

Some of the ladies of the court gasp. A pin dropping would be heard in the room. People were not expecting that.

“So,” I say, prodding her further, “you killed me.”

“What?” Dura asks, completely confused. “No, I didn't. You are here, before me.”

“When you stabbed me,” I insist, emphasizing the word, “was I going to survive? Would my body have healed naturally?”

Dura is still confused. “No, you were bleeding internally and your body’s natural healing stopped responding.”

“Did my heart ever stop during the aftermath?” I’m just guessing at this point, but I remember how I felt when I lost consciousness after her blow. I knew that I would die.

She hesitates. “A few times. But I restarted it with my healing.”

“Then, I would argue,” I say, neatly lining up my words, “that you did kill me. I was as good as dead when our duel ended.”

“Human double-speak,” growls Verrick. “You are not dead, so she did not kill you. That is simple logic.”

“No,” I argue back, “she killed me. I was dying. My heart stopped. It was only through magical intervention that I was brought back. She fulfilled her Oath.”

Dura and Verrick both look at me like I’ve grown another head, but I can feel the tide in the room turning. Some of the whispers are in our favor now. I just need to press our advantage.

“Fine,” grinds out Verrick, “if we are to believe this human definition of dying then, you may have your point. But that still does not explain the desertion afterward or why she healed you in the first place.”

“General Dura,” I say, “please resume your tale. Why did you change your mind and bring me back to life?”

“The Recognition,” she answers readily, “I felt it as I looked into your eyes as you lay dying. I knew you were my Ash’ka .”

“So you said in the courtyard,” scoffs Verrick. “You are an orcress, General, not an elf. You cannot have experienced the Recognition. Maybe the Mating Instinct, at most.”

I ignore him for the time being. “For those that do not know elf culture,” I prod looking directly at Dura, “explain the Recognition.”

“It is a knowing, a certainty, a changing of the soul,” she explains. “It is a message from Fate itself that you have found your Ash’ka , your soulmate. You only ever have one, and if they die, you are bound to be alone forever.”

“So, faced with letting me die and being alone forever, you decided to save me?” I ask for the benefit of the crowd. It’s obvious what she chose.

“Even if this is true, which it cannot be,” Verrick interrupts, “why leave? Why not ask for resources to save your mate? You are the king’s cousin. He would have helped you and you could have stayed with the Horde.”

“You forget, Warchief,” Dura retorts, some of her fire back in her words, “none of us wanted to save humans, least of all enemy soldiers. We all felt a great hatred for the humans, in light of their aggression and invasion of our lands. My King felt that rage more powerfully than any of us and, as his cousin, I knew it. He would have argued, like you are, that it wasn’t the Recognition and would have let him die. Besides, even if it was just the Mating Instinct, would you have just left your own mate to die?”

“Leave my mate out of this,” growls Verrick.

“Exactly,” she says triumphantly. “Why do you expect me to make a sacrifice that no one would willingly make? I faced an impossible decision and in the end, I chose to believe in the Recognition.”

“The Recognition!” rages Verrick. “Stop claiming it was the Recognition. Half-elves cannot experience the Recognition!”

“Yes,” says a new voice, “they can.”

Everyone in the room pivots toward the voice. It is an orc, obviously a half-elf like Dura. He has fangs like hers and high cheekbones. Standing with a lazy sort of confidence, he has a bored look in his eyes, but I get the feeling this attitude is a show. He must be here at Adalind’s request.

“Your Majesties,” I declare, “I wish to call this orc as a witness.”

“Come forward, Gunag,” says Adalind. She still sounds formal, but there is a light in her eyes that wasn’t there before. This is definitely a part of her plan.

The orc, Gunag, steps forward, standing to the side of Dura. They almost look like they could be siblings.

“Gunag,” I begin, “what did you mean, that half-elves can feel the Recognition?”

“You all know me,” begins the orc, holding his arms out wide like he is performing. “I am the King’s Axe, his right hand. I am also a half-elf, though I do not like to admit it. I ignore all parts of that side of my heritage and reject it. So when I experienced the Recognition, I fought against it, decided that it was anything but that. I thought I just wanted her as my female, or that, like Warchief Verrick said, it was the Mating Instinct. But the Mating Instinct, if there is no Claiming, goes silent after a time and finds a new subject to chase. Not so with the Recognition.”

This orc certainly has a knack for showmanship. He has the room eating out of the palm of his hand.

“So these feelings did not go away, I take it?” I ask, trying to guide him back to the point.

“No, they grew stronger and more forceful each day, until I had no choice but to admit to myself that it was not mere Mating Instinct that drove me, but the Recognition.”

“Are you mated now to your Ash’ka ?” I ask, genuinely curious. His mate might be another good witness to call.

He surprises me by shaking his head. “Not yet. Mine is a stubborn and fierce female, a human with the heart of an orcress. Though she runs from me now, I will never forsake her, for she is mine and I am hers.”

With that, he looks very deliberately behind me. I turn, almost aghast, thinking he might be looking at Adalind. In which case, I am sure that his king will kill him. But no, when I see where he is looking, it is to the side of Adalind at Dame Zera, the captain of her Gold Guard.

It can’t be . Dame Zera is famously devoted to Adalind. She has sworn never to marry, to stay unattached at all times so that she can stay close to her queen. But as the room looks at her, her eyes widen and her face turns pale. She glares angrily at Gunag, then looks at Adalind, leans down, and whispers something in her ear. Adalind frowns, but nods and in a moment, Dame Zera has left, exiting through the door closest to the thrones. A guard comes up from the side of the throne, an orc with horns, and stands in the place where Dame Zera was.

I turn back to my surprise witness, who just shrugs. “As you can see, I have an uphill battle with that one. But I will win. I always do.”

Though I do not know Dame Zera that well, as we were in different guards, even I could tell Gunag that his swagger and confidence will not work with her. But that is his folly to discover, not mine to tell him.

Verrick interjects into our conversation. “Gunag, isn’t it possible that it is the Mating Instinct, just a very strong one, and you and General Dura are mistaken?”

Gunag shakes his head. “I’m sorry, old friend, but there is no mistaking it. My Oath that it is the Recognition and nothing else. I will also say that I do not blame General Dura for her actions. In her position, I would have done the same, duty be damned.”

A shocked murmur goes through the crowd. Those are strong words from Gunag, especially now that Dura has already explained about Orikesh Oaths. Coming from someone in such a prestigious position as the King’s Axe only gives it more weight.

I press my advantage. “As you can see, Your Majesties, the circumstances behind General Dura’s leaving were dire. Uncontrollable, once-in-a-lifetime circumstances that were decreed by Fate itself. General Dura is no coward. No traitor. If she were to go to war tomorrow with the Horde again, they could trust her to always have their back and to fight beside them. She is who she has always been: an honorable shieldmaiden of Orik.”

“Be that as it may,” Verrick says, “the Horde must have justice. A well-intentioned betrayal is still a betrayal?. We must have punishment or there can be no justice.”

It’s a good point and well said. I look at Adalind. There’s nothing else to say. All I can hope is that I have done enough.

Adalind and her husband exchange a look, and then Adalind stands. “The king and I must confer, based on the words of the advocate and adversary. Then we will render our judgment.” They stand and the room stands with them, not sitting again until Adalind and the orc king are out of sight. Then the room erupts in whispers, all the court having something to say about what they just witnessed. Verrick goes back to Pellia’s side, and she slides her hand into his. They must be together. I go back to Dura, pulling her into my arms, and she willingly comes to me.

“Are you alright?” I whisper, not wanting the close guards to hear our personal exchange.

Through the bond, Dura sends me mixed feelings of relief and anxiety. “I’m glad it's over, but I still dislike our odds on the outcome,” she murmurs back. “But you did well, my Ash’ka . Your arguments were powerful.”

“Let’s just hope they were strong enough,” I say, kissing the top of her head, uncaring of the people staring at us.

Maybe an hour passes. No one leaves the room. Everyone wants to see what the judgment will be. Then, the doors behind the thrones open once more and Adalind and her husband reappear, walking to their thrones. Everyone stands once more until they are seated, and then Adalind declares in a ringing voice, “We have come to the conclusion of this trial. And now, King Rognar and I will render our judgment.”