Honor Among Orcs (Orc Saga) (7 page)

He did not mention Alviss again, by name or by suggestion, and for that much she was grateful. Instead, they spoke of their escape, and Bolthorn questioned her closely regarding the guardsmen and the path they must take through the castle, his eyes so intent upon her that she felt he saw even her soul.

“There can be no other bodies to alert your father’s men,” Bolthorn said when she named the guard upon the inner gate. She had sworn to herself she would never endanger Rodric again. After that day on the castle wall, she could not bear the thought of losing him too, of being the reason for his death as well as her mother’s. Whatever plan she made with Bolthorn, she was determined it would not harm Rodric, or any of the other guards.

“They will already be alerted when the king does not appear for the evening meal. During the day, no one will wonder, simply thinking him accounted for elsewhere, but by nightfall there will be a search.”

“Even of this room?” he asked.

“I—I am not certain.” She chewed on her lip until the taste of blood filled her mouth. “It is possible they will not dare to look here for some time, searching the rest of the castle and grounds first, but it would be better if he could be seen at supper, or else some excuse made for his absence.”

Bolthorn shook his head. “The king has never come to me at night. He believes the moon gives me some greater power and will not risk it.” He bared his tusks, his eyes glowing with what she recognized now as amusement, but it faded quickly. “He will come in the morning, and that is when I must act.”

“I could lead you to his bedchamber.”

“And when his body is found first thing in the morning we will have had only half a night’s lead on foot. Even an armored knight on horseback would make up the distance before we reached safety.”

“Without knowing which way we traveled?”

A servant had come to her room with the basket this morning, the headwoman having heard of her punishment. She shared the still warm bread with Bolthorn. He chose the smaller half, his expression so grim she did not argue.

“The tracks left behind will be distinct, Princess. A woman’s slippers and an orc’s bare feet. And it will not be long before they know you are missing after they find your father’s body. We will be followed.”

She picked at the bread, chewing slowly. Her father’s body. But was it truly? Bolthorn seemed so convinced, seemed to see so clearly what the king denied. But she could not think of it. He could not be her father, or she would lose what courage she had found to act as she must. Surely the Ancestors could not curse her for killing a man who did not believe her to be his daughter. And she must free Bolthorn. She could not live with the alternative. Could not remain here to be Alviss’s plaything.

Mother, forgive me. “And if they find us, then what?”

Bolthorn’s face grew grimmer still. “Then, I will do what I must.”

“I see.” More men dead. She paced to the narrow window, staring out. She did not dare sit upon the floor; her back stung badly enough without trying, but it was her heart that ached now. What if it was Rodric sent? She could not leave Isabel without at least that small protection.

“How long will it take them to search the castle?”

“I think they will wait until morning to begin.” With her punishment fresh in their minds, they would not wish to overstep. Everyone kept to their own business after such public displays. “None are so loyal that they would risk his fury if he does not wish to be found.”

“Then it must be tomorrow morning,” Bolthorn decided. “Can you get us more food?”

“Yes.” Surely no matter what struggle followed the king’s death, the women in the kitchens would be left alone. She had to believe it. Had to trust Isabel to protect them. “At least a healthy day’s worth, if not more. They will think I only wish to secret myself away until my wounds heal and I can sit without pain.”

His eyes narrowed, flicking over her body, but he said nothing. He did not need to. She could feel his anger from where she stood, even if his muscles had not tensed as well. She bit her lip again, wondering. Moments like these were what had lured her, what had made her believe…

“Perhaps some cloth for bandages as well,” he said at last, and her heart twisted, hope withering in her chest.

“Of course,” she murmured. He feared she would slow him, that her healing back would cause her trouble on the journey.

Of course.

CHAPTER SIX

If he never heard her say those words again it would be too soon.
Of course.
It was a curse from her lips, a judgment of his worth, and he had no doubt she found him lacking. Could she not believe for a moment that he cared for her, even when he felt her suffering as his own? Surely she could not deny some spark of friendship between them.

He clenched his jaw. “If you cannot trust me, Princess, this journey will be a hardship for more reason than your wounds.”

“You ask too much,” she said, stiffening.

“I ask only for you to see me as I am,” he said, rising from the floor where he had knelt. “I am not your king or any of his lords. I am orc, sworn to your protection, sworn to serve my people.”

“Yes,” she said. “Two oaths at cross-purpose. I am not a fool to mistake where your loyalties must lie.”

So this was the heart of it. He might have laughed if she were not so serious. “My loyalties must lie with you in equal measure, it is the choice I made when I offered you sanctuary behind the glass. I do not regret it.”

“And when you do?”

“That day will never come.” He stepped toward her, glad she did not shrink back, and caught her hand, pressing his thumb to the cut across her palm. “I am not human, to betray you so easily, Princess. I am orc, and our bargain has been struck in blood. There is no going back now, not until my death. That is the bond between us!”

Her lips moved without sound, her eyes wide upon her hand, then his chest where he had pressed her bleeding palm, mixing their blood together.

“We move forward together,” he said, gentling his hold upon her hand. “Or not at all.”

Her hand closed around his without her consent, keeping him from pulling away. “You risk so much, trusting me.”

“I risk myself and my people, as you do.”

Himself and his people. Just as she risked the women in the kitchen, and Rodric, too. Isabel had the protection of her birth, at least, the queen’s spirit hovering close, but there were so many people who could not fight for themselves, though Bolthorn had suggested otherwise. Who would they fight for, if she placed a sword in their hands? She shook her head. Too many would die, even if she won, and Bolthorn…

She swallowed hard. Bolthorn would go back to the mountains and close the passage, even if she became queen. Just as she could never return from beyond the peaks, she would never see him again once he was gone.

“We move forward together,” she said. “And when we reach the mountains I will pray to the Ancestors that my people might be kept safe.”

He let out a breath, and she realized suddenly that he had been holding it, waiting for her response. She looked up, meeting his eyes. He had such warm eyes, like amber, even when they glowed. His fingers tightened around hers, drawing her carefully against his chest, his other hand resting at her waist.

Bolthorn dropped his forehead to hers. “Remember this.”

It was a king’s command, though he need not have made it, for the heat of his hands seeped through her skin, even as the warmth of his eyes burned all her pain away, filling her up with something altogether new.

No, she thought, this was not something she could ever forget. The way he made her feel, as if she were gold and silver and precious stones. It was why it hurt so much to know how little use he would have for her if she had not been able to pass through the glass. She stiffened.

“Arianna,” he growled, both hands gripping her more fiercely. “Do not doubt me, I beg of you.”

How prettily you begged…

“If it weren’t for my blood, whatever power it has—” her throat felt thick, her vision blurring. “If it weren’t for the fact that I might free you, you would not want me. You would have no use for me.”

“No,” he said. The hand at her waist moved to her cheek, holding her face, forcing her to meet his eyes when she tried to turn away. “It is your spirit that calls to me, not your blood. Even if we had only ever been able to speak through the glass, I would have ached to touch you. Even if you could not release me, I would have wanted to set you free. The debt is something owed without choice, that is true, but the oaths—those were freely given, as must be, or they would not hold.”

“And how do I know they do?” she asked. “I know nothing of this—this blood magic, and you will not tell me more than that the king misunderstands it.”

“Do you not feel it?” he rasped, dropping his hand from her cheek to her heart, his fingers warm even through the satin of her gown. “Here, between us, like yarn pulled taut when we part, wanting yet to spring back.”

She closed her eyes, shaking her head in denial. “You only made that vow this morning. It cannot be what draws me back, what has drawn me from the first day, when I did not know even your face.”

“Ah, Princess,” he breathed, a sigh more than anything, and she thought from the flicker in his eyes and the press of his lips, he did not care for her words—even less, his own. “That magic has nothing to do with blood, but it is powerful all the same. Not even the elves in all their wisdom can break such a spell.”

“You keep speaking in riddles!” She pulled her hand free from his, stepping back. Too far. Her back hit the wall and she cried out at the sharp splashes of pain across her spine. Bolthorn reached for her, but she batted him away. “No!”

“Forgive me.” He stopped, his hand falling to his side, his eyes warm with concern. “It was not meant to be a riddle—it is only that I do not know the words. Among my people, we would say our thoughts laugh together.”

“I didn’t know orcs laughed at all,” she said, fighting to clear her mind from the pain pulsing with every heartbeat.

His lips curved. “We have not had much reason for joy, Princess.”

“No,” she agreed. Her back was cold and damp. Bleeding again. She grasped the stone behind her, wishing she might lean back against it. “What does it mean? That our thoughts laugh together? You said it was a kind of magic.”

“It is a rare gift, thought to come from powers even beyond those of the Ancestors.” He lifted his hand as if to touch her but stopped himself, his brow furrowed. She wished he hadn’t.“Rarer still between races and unheard of between human and orc, though we have had no contact with humans for… for some time.”

She rubbed her chest, just over her heart, imagining the length of yarn he had described, tugging, aching. “How long?”

He shrugged. “Since before the mountains rose in the north. An Elvish plan, executed by the dragons, who saw the worth in it. We orcs settled there to guard the passes for our cousins. To be your monsters in the night.” He opened his hand, staring unseeing, then closed it. “I thought perhaps—but I was wrong, and but for your grace, my mistake might bring a war.”

He thought. And the king had thought the opposite, it seemed. She exhaled. “But I still don’t know what it means. What happens when an orc finds another who laughs with them?”

Bolthorn met her eyes. “It is, as you say, unforgiveable to refuse such a gift.”

“More riddles.”

He grunted. “If you do not trust me, the answer hardly matters.”

She glared at him for a long moment, but he did not even twitch, his gaze level and calm. Waiting. He was waiting again, for her to decide, to choose where she would place her faith. He had so much patience. But it was all too much.

“I can’t, Bolthorn,” she said, turning away. “Not yet.”

Arianna left for the evening meal. One last night as the companion of Lord Alviss. One last night as the dutiful daughter to the king. And how much of her disobedience was the result of Bolthorn’s influence? His thoughts, laughing with hers. She rubbed the place where Bolthorn had touched her, describing the binding between them, and wished she could turn back. One more night in the tower, held safe in Bolthorn’s arms instead.

But he would hardly have her now, oath or no oath, and certainly there had been no laughter shared between them. Not after the things she had said. He had responded with kindness, of course, and patience. An insufferable amount of patience. But she had seen the pain in his eyes, and felt it echo in her heart. How long would he wait for the trust she could not give? Even if they laughed together.

She wanted so much to hear him laugh, to see him free beneath the stars, his face lit by firelight. Soon, she reminded herself. All she had to do was survive this night, and tomorrow they would both be free.

Maybe the not so dutiful daughter, she decided, hesitating outside her chambers. The king wouldn’t like it, but he could hardly punish her for reminding his people of the result of disobedience. Let them all see the blood staining her gown, it would be staining her hands too, soon enough. She wiped damp palms on her skirt.

Ancestors forgive her. Even dead, the king could still do her harm, and she could only pray that Bolthorn was wrong. If he wasn’t her father, his power over her fate would be nothing. But if he was, and he learned what she had done...

Protect me, Mother. Grant me your blessing to counter his curse.

She dropped the basket off in the kitchen and asked the headwoman for more of the same tomorrow. Enough for two, at the request of Lord Alviss. The headwoman’s eyes filled with pity, and Arianna thanked her. If the Ancestors smiled on them, sympathy would fill the basket to overflowing.

Unless they had used up all their good fortune simply by meeting. Bolthorn’s rare gift, unforgivable to refuse, whatever that meant. And no matter how she asked, he only answered in explanations that diverted her to other topics. Stories of elves cast out to live among the orcs, and half-blood births. Bolthorn’s grandfather had been one such child. Perhaps it was the elf blood which gave him so much patience, now.

Perhaps it was the elf blood which made him so…

“Your Highness.” Lord Alviss’s grip on her elbow bruised the bone. She dropped her eyes demurely. It was easier if she didn’t meet his eyes. He liked to believe she was afraid of him. “I thought we agreed you would join me for the midday meal.”

“Forgive me, my lord,” she murmured. “My wounds would not allow it.”

“But you were well enough to leave your rooms.” He squeezed harder and she allowed herself to whimper, then cry out when he twisted the joint. “I came looking for you.”

“I went to bathe in the stream, my lord, to soothe my back.” Gentle. That’s what Bolthorn was. Always so gentle when he touched her. Her eyes filled with tears. One more night. That was all she needed. “Please, my lord.”

“I waited,” he said. “Shall we see what your father thinks of your lies? Another turn beneath the lash, perhaps.”

“No,” she gasped. Another punishment like last night’s and she would never be able to keep up with Bolthorn. They wouldn’t make it far enough to escape the guards. Even if they believed that she had murdered the king, they would never let an orc live. And Rodric. If they sent Rodric, and Bolthorn defended himself… “Please! Anything you want.”

“Where were you?” he demanded, pushing her back against the wall until she sobbed at the sharp pain of the pressure on her wounds. “Maybe if you tell me what you do all day, you might convince me to keep it from the king.”