Chapter 9
I stared at Kalisha, eyes round and mouth hanging open wide enough for her to see my back molars. In response to my shock, she clicked her tongue and let out an impatient huff.
“You said work? Me? Here?”
She paused, looking me up and down. For a fleeting second, I could have sworn her gaze softened.
"Are you rak’er too?"
I frowned; the word was completely foreign to me. At the very least, it didn't sound like a slur. As soon as Kalisha registered my confusion, her rounded face soured once more.
"Different," she repeated, switching back to Common. "Are you also... different?"
I paused to consider. I was certainly different from her, though likely not in the way she was implying. Kalisha unconsciously flexed the stunted fingers of her underdeveloped hand, and the realization finally clicked. I cleared my throat and shook my head.
"No... I mean, I don't think so."
Her expression shuttered, raising a wall between us, stone by heavy stone. For some inexplicable reason, the shift filled me with a quiet sadness. Her gaze weighted on me like a sentence with no chance of appeal.
“You work here, for the Ruk’hai,” she stated flatly. “Cleaning, cooking, and bathing.”
“You mean like a servant?” My voice jumped an octave before I could catch it. Serve that brute? That savage? Not in this lifetime!
Kalisha let out a sound that was half snort, half confirmation.
"The Ruk’hai has no servants. He doesn’t like them," she explained quickly, which only served to confuse me further.
"Then why do I have to be his servant?"
"Because there’s no other work," she said, shaking her hands in exasperation. "Do you think you know more than I do? Kor’kam orok[4]."
A spark of rage flared at her insult, but I forced myself to smother it before it could consume me, and I did something foolish. I drew in a deep breath, my mother’s words echoing in my mind:
Don’t draw attention to yourself.
"I’m sorry. I’m just... exhausted," I replied, hunching my shoulders to appear smaller and defenseless. It seemed to work, since Kalisha sighed heavily.
"Serving the Ruk’hai is a great honor." She curled her hand into a fist and struck her puffed-out chest, her gaze steady and piercing. "He’s a good leader."
I nodded, though every fiber of my being screamed that this went against everything I had been taught since birth.
For the first time since I met her, Kalisha looked satisfied, granting me a fleeting sense of relief.
After showing me where the brushes and cloths I would use to clean the brute’s home were, Kalisha led me back outside. She pointed to a hut several yards away. It was small and compact, but the only one adorned with colorful beads and flowers on the windowsills.
"Mok orkrai," she said, gesturing between the two of us and the small cabin.
She didn't translate, but through the gesture and the context alone, I understood—our hut.
I repeated the phrase, feeling the weight of the syllables on a tongue unaccustomed to such harsh sounds. Her sudden wince was telling—my accent left much to be desired. Still, a flicker of pride stirred within me for having understood her at all.
"Kur," she said, mimicking the motion of holding a bowl and eating something invisible.
"Eat," I repeated the word.
She gestured again, pointing toward the sky where scattered clouds drifted lazily. Judging by the angle of the sun, it had to be around one in the afternoon.
"Kuran’k."
Kalisha continued her brief lesson, explaining the words for dinner and breakfast—kurark and kuruno, respectively.
Afterward, she pointed to an open area that resembled a village square, which I now realized had a massive bonfire at the center.
From what I could gather, that was where the clan got together to eat their meals.
"All right," I said with a nod, feeling a fraction more prepared than I had moments ago. "I understand. Makar’i.[5]"
Kalisha let out a low grunt of satisfaction at my attempt to use the Okshakai tongue. Then, without another word or a backward glance, she turned and walked away, likely heading back to the heat and chaos of the communal kitchen.
I wanted to call her back, to stop her from leaving me stranded and alone in the middle of this foreign place, but the words died in my throat.
I had to fend for myself. I couldn't afford to depend on anyone. That was the first phase of my mission: to make myself into an Okshai orc, to master their customs and their language as swiftly as possible. It was the only way I would survive long enough for my parents to break this curse.
? ? ?
I scanned Malek’s hut, mentally mapping a path through the space.
For an orc, he kept his space surprisingly orderly, utilitarian, and sparse, yet cared for.
A fine dusting of ash clung to the packed-earth floor near the hearth, while his leather armchair bore a dark, weathered stain along the armrest. The heavy wooden table was marked with shallow knife nicks and the faint residue of animal fat.
Aside from a heap of discarded leathers and furs piled in one corner, releasing a heady scent of old sweat and mud, the cabin was organized.
I gripped the wooden bucket Kalisha had pointed out and stepped into the biting air.
With no water source in sight, I followed the heavy-footed path of other orcs carrying similar buckets.
The trail led to a well, a rough structure of jagged stone fitted with a weathered pulley, a few feet away from the bonfire.
A crowd of orcs was around it, their deep voices rolling through the air like distant thunder as they chatted.
I filled my bucket, but instead of retreating to the safety of the cabin, I lingered, letting their harsh, guttural speech wash over me. I understood close to nothing, yet that didn’t discourage me. There was no better way to learn a language than to immerse yourself in it.
My eavesdropping didn’t go unnoticed. One of the males—nearly as tall as Malek but leaner, with a predatory grace—narrowed his eyes and let out a low warning snarl, baring his fangs at me. He spat a foul-sounding word in my direction, drawing the judging gaze of every orc in his circle.
In an instant, I found myself the target of a barrage of insults and guttural snarls, a sea of bared fangs glinting in my direction.
Every instinct screamed for me to cower, to bolt back to the safety of Malek’s hut.
But Kalisha’s warning held me strong. If showed even the slightest flicker of fear, I would be nothing more than easy prey.
I trusted my gut instead and bared my own teeth in a defiant growl. The reaction was immediate. The jeers died in their throats, replaced by a heavy, stunned silence as they stared me down.
“Kur ’n ekrer,” I cursed, glaring at them.
I braced myself for their reaction, expecting them to lunge and start a fight I had no hope of winning. To my shock, the male who had cursed me threw his head back and roared with laughter. The others joined him, their deep, booming guffaws laughing at a joke I didn't understand.
Not wanting to look like an easy mark, or a rude one, I forced a laugh of my own, a pathetic attempt to blend into their camaraderie. Fumbling for a way out, I nodded sharply and turned to flee, only to slam into something far too solid to be ignored.
Or rather, someone. The Goddess damned Ruk’hai.
Brown eyes swept over me, unreadable and cold. My sudden halt had sent a slosh of water over the rim of the bucket, drenching his bare feet. I offered him a clipped bow, mimicking the gesture I’d seen the others make, pressing two fingers to my forehead.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.
"Fetching water to clean your cabin... Ruk’hai," I added, trying to sound respectful.
One dark brow arched at the title, a flicker of emotion crossing his face before he nodded curtly. He looked past me then, grunting a greeting to the orcs gathered behind us. Taking that as a dismissal, I turned and went back to the hut.
Glancing over my shoulder to see if he had stayed behind, I nearly tripped when I found him there, looming as close as my own shadow.
"Do you need something, Ruk’hai?" I asked, a spark of anxiety twisting in my gut.
I feared he would glimpse my other side beneath my skin if he spent too much time near me. But his face was an impenetrable fortress, a landscape of hard angles and cold stone. Not a single twitch or a hairline fracture in his composure gave away the thoughts churning behind those eyes.
It was infuriating.
I had always prided myself on being observant, a keen judge of the intentions hiding behind a smile or a scowl. Even my father, a High Fae lord with a millennium of deceit under his belt, couldn't lie to me. So how was it that a simple orc could keep such an impenetrable mask?
"No," he answered simply.
I held his gaze for a heartbeat longer before forcing a thin smile and turning back to the path. I prayed to Danu that he would turn away, choose another path, do anything other than continue dissecting me like an insect.
It seemed Danu had forsaken me.
I could feel his presence at my back, the heat radiating from him in stifling waves. His scent flooded the small cabin, making my stomach twist with a mix of terror and uncertainty.
Don’t let him see it.