Chapter 10
After I clashed with Malek and that final, stinging humiliation, I finished cleaning the hut in absolute silence. I didn't spare the orc a single glance, even though I could feel his eyes tracking my every move. My pride wouldn't allow me to show him just how much he had rattled me.
Fortunately, he finally left a short while later, and I was left alone, simmering in my own anger. I never imagined I could think of so many different ways to kill a person, but Malek brought out a bloodthirsty streak in me I hadn't even known existed.
Kalisha returned hours later, just as I was growing bored of staring at the walls. I could have gone out to explore the village, but I simply didn't have the stomach for it.
"Ready?" she asked, her eyes glued to my face.
"Yes. Do you want to check it?"
She arched an eyebrow, a habit that was starting to get on my nerves, and shook her head.
"If I have to check your work, then your work wasn’t done well," she said. Not waiting for a response, she turned and left the hut. I stumbled after her.
Hunger gnawed at me, and the prospect of eating something lifted my spirits slightly. It would be great if I could take a bath first to wash off the day's grime and the sticky mess that orc healer had slathered on my back. At least the wound had stopped throbbing.
The sun was already low, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple above the dense forest canopy. The scent of roasted meat and woodsmoke grew stronger, a sure sign that the meal must be ready.
We reached the main square. The bonfire crackled in the middle, surrounded by orcs of various genders and ages, sitting on logs or on the floor.
The atmosphere was surprisingly calm. There were no loud laughs or the rowdiness one would expect from a band of warriors; only low conversations, grunts, and the rhythmic sound of chewing.
Malek was also there.
He sat on a larger log, closer to the fire, his expression solemn as he ate pieces of meat with his fingers.
His axe, which he seemed to carry everywhere, rested by his side.
Beside him, a tall orc, only a few inches shorter than Malek, but with short hair, talked to him animatedly.
Every so often, Malek would grunt something or nod.
The other orcs kept a respectful distance, though their frequent glances in his direction made it clear that they felt his presence heavily.
Kalisha led me to the side of the bonfire, where the cooks were distributing food in wooden bowls. It was nothing sophisticated: a thick, dark-brown stew with chunks of meat and roots floating on the surface. Still, my stomach growled at the scent of fresh herbs and savory meat.
"Here," Kalisha said, handing me a bowl. "Kur."
I accepted it with a nod of thanks and sat beside her on the hard ground.
Despite the discomfort, my hunger spoke louder than my pride.
Lacking any utensils, I fished out a piece of meat with my fingers and brought it to my lips.
Flavors unlike anything I was used to exploded across my palate, so delicious that a moan of pure satisfaction escaped me.
"Mmm, good," I murmured, reaching for another piece.
Kalisha huffed, but when I glanced at her, she didn't look annoyed; she looked proud.
"This is Kremark."
I repeated the word to commit it to memory and went back to eating as if it were my last meal. I hadn't had a proper meal since before my failed wedding; the only reason I didn’t pass out from hunger was sheer stubbornness.
I let out a small, disappointed huff as the bowl finally sat empty. As I watched the other orcs still eating their meals, my stomach emitted a mournful growl. Back at the castle, a single serving would have been more than enough. My new body, however, seemed to demand so much more.
Without warning, a strange pull stirred deep within me, drawing tight and tugging my attention toward a single point, like a summons impossible to ignore.
Before I even understood why, I lifted my gaze and locked onto the Ruk’hai’s.
My heart skipped a beat beneath the sheer weight of his attention.
The orc beside him continued to prattle on, oblivious, but Malek didn’t seem to hear a word.
He watched me intently, utterly still, like a predator that had already chosen its prey and was simply calculating the right moment to strike.
The flickering orange light of the fire danced across his face, carving deep shadows into his strong jaw and the straight bridge of his nose, while the small ring in his septum caught the glint of the flames.
His broad, bare chest expanded with every breath, stretching the intricate tattoos that swirled across his skin like ancient maps.
As our eyes remained locked, I realized how much Malek truly stood out among the others.
Though they shared similar skin tones, hair, and eye colors, there was something in his very physiology and the way he commanded the space around him that set him apart.
He was taller than any of them, looming like a mountain among mere hills.
More than that, there was a strength radiating from him, a silent pressure I could feel on my skin, my body recognizing, long before my mind did, that he was the strongest orc in the clearing.
He tilted his head to the side; that simple gesture pulled a distant, nearly forgotten memory from the depths of my mind.
A small orc, locked away in a dungeon. Dark, somber brown eyes belonging to someone who had long since given up the fight.
It had been years since I last thought of him. I couldn’t remember his name, but I knew it wasn't Malek. It couldn't have been. That small orc died, like so many others, swallowed by time and by my own memory.
Had he been Okshai? Was his family still here, feeling his absence even after all these years?
As the thought took hold—along with the stark reality that I, an enemy, sat among them, eating their food as if I belonged—shame coiled in my chest, heavy and suffocating.
These orcs were aiding their enemy without even knowing it.
All because Malek had rescued me instead of allowing me to become fodder for a dùthragh.
I’m not sure a High Fae would ever put themselves in danger to save someone without expecting something in return. We have many virtues, but compassion and altruism are definitely not among them.
Malek let out a sharp sound, a click of his tongue that jerked me from my thoughts. Everyone turned to look at him.
"Kalisha," he called out, and my companion stiffened beside me. "Give her more."
As if they had rehearsed the movement, every head turned to me. A sea of eyes in shades of green, brown, and hazel focused on my face, making my cheeks burn with embarrassment.
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. The Ruk’hai hadn't asked if I was hungry; he had commanded Kalisha to feed me, and in doing so, he had signaled to the entire clan that my well-being was his concern.
Kalisha rose, took my empty bowl, and, under Malek’s watchful eye, filled it once more. She handed it back to me with a practiced motion.
"But… what about the others?" I whispered.
"First, the weak. Then the strong."
The full bowl weighted in my hands like an anvil.
Weak?
"I’m not weak," I shot back, indignation quickly replacing embarrassment.
Kalisha simply sat back down, her expression as unyielding as the earth beneath us. Across the fire, I saw the corner of Malek’s mouth twitch, a ghost of a smirk that reached his brown eyes. He didn't look away, his gaze tracking the way my knuckles whitened around the wooden rim of the bowl.
I glared at him. So that’s how he saw me?
A defenseless little girl? If only he knew who I really was.
Though, who was I kidding? Even with the bit of training I had, I couldn't save myself in a real fight.
Instead, the orc who stared at me as if he could read my deepest thoughts was the one who saved me.
My power stirred within me after lying dormant all day.
I thought about letting it slip, just to prove I was more than I appeared.
The glint of his war axe, however, made me recoil.
I was annoyed, but I wasn’t stupid.
So, with rage still burning in my chest, I ate the stew. It went down hot into my stomach, accompanied by the bitter taste of defeat.
? ? ?
I woke to find my entire body aching. My back throbbed from the wound, and every muscle screamed in protest against the hard ground where I had slept.
Kalisha's hut was sparse, with only a single straw bed and a few pelts to ward off the chill. She hadn't given me a choice of where to sleep; she simply tossed a pelt that smelled strongly of musk in my direction and turned her back.
My first night in Oksha was hardly noteworthy. I slept fitfully, bothered by the hard floor, the lack of a bath, and, to my utter despair, Kalisha's rhythmic, persistent snoring.
The sun rose slowly, staining the sky in shades of deep blue. The pain in my back was raw, as if the wolf had only just sunk its claws into me. I winced in pain as I stood, but I didn’t let a single complaint slip past my lips. The last thing I wanted was to return to that old orc healer's hut.
I rose slowly, every muscle protesting as I searched for water and some semblance of relief from the pain that refused to loosen its grip on me.
As I stepped out of the hut, the crisp morning air struck my skin, invigorating me despite the pain.
The village still slept, shrouded in a low mist that softened the world and muffled every sound.
I hurried to the well, filled the bucket, and, before turning back, admitted to myself that I couldn't stand the grime for another second; I had to bathe.
Behind Kalisha's hut, the forest grew denser and sat further away from the village, offering the perfect place for what I intended. I peeled off the improvised top and tattered skirt, shivering as the morning chill bit into my skin.
I splashed water over my face, neck, and under my arms, leaving my back for last. I groaned when the cold liquid struck the wound, but with steady resolve, I scrubbed away the foul-smelling paste and washed my hair. It was a quick bath, but it was enough to restore a small measure of my dignity.
Just as I was about to finish, a familiar scent invaded the air, too strong to belong to the forest alone. My body reacted, snapping into a state of high alert, and I turned slowly, still naked and entirely vulnerable to any attack.
Malek leaned against an Elanil tree, his arms crossed and his posture far too relaxed for someone who had just arrived. He didn't look surprised to see me, nor was he in any hurry to look away.
Shock hit me first, followed by searing, white-hot embarrassment.
I was naked, exposed, my skin still prickling from the cold and the water, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Panic flared next, but it didn't last. What took over was fury, burning and bright, intertwined with the deep shame of being seen naked again.
I squared my shoulders by sheer instinct, as if that could somehow negate the fact that if he wanted to attack me, he very well could, and lifted my chin, holding his gaze. I refused to back down even if my heart felt ready to explode. If he expected to see fear, he wouldn't find it in me.
"What are you doing here?" I hissed.
He remained exactly where he was, his eyes sliding over my body without a trace of lust, only a neutral, detached curiosity.
"You need to see Uruha." He pointed to his own back to mirror my injury. "The wound is bleeding."
"I'm fine," I snapped back, struggling to shield myself with the tattered rags clutched in my arms.
"Your scent changed," he observed, stepping closer to smell the air. "Before, it was sweet like flowers. Now, you smell like rain and earth."
"Stop smelling me!" I demanded, stepping back blindly, forgetting the damn bucket right behind me.
Malek moved faster than should have been possible.
His hands clamped around my waist before I even hit the ground, his body searingly hot and solid against mine.
The impact stole my breath as my face pressed against his chest, my breasts crushed against his abs.
His scent enveloped me—damp earth, rain, freshly cut grass—unsettlingly familiar, and far too comforting for someone who was supposed to be my enemy.
I shoved the thought away and tried to pull back, but the weight of his hands kept me anchored to the spot.
"Krash’uk," he murmured.
"Let go of me," I requested, trying to catch my breath.
He watched me for a long beat, his eyes searching mine, trying to decipher a riddle. I looked away and shoved against his chest, the air feeling thin in my lungs.
"You’re tense."
"I’m naked, Ruk’hai," I shot back, my voice sharp. "How do you expect me to be?"
He blinked like the answer truly surprised him, and then let me go. The absence of his touch was immediate, leaving a strange void where there had once been solid warmth.
"Uruha waits for you," he said. "Don’t make her wait."
With that, he walked away, vanishing into the morning mist like he had never been there at all.
I stood there for a long time, struggling to steady my racing heart and rein in my disordered thoughts.
I tried to blame it all on the shock, the wound, and the exhaustion—anything to make my reaction feel logical.
But the argument wouldn't hold. My body had recognized something in him, and that realization annoyed me even more than it frightened me.
I took a deep breath before finally getting dressed in my traps. The pain in my back persisted, a sharp reminder that my body was still far from healed. With a sigh that sounded a lot like defeat, I made my way to the old crone’s hut.
I would not surrender to them, not to the grumpy old orc female, and certainly not to the Ruk’hai with his sour gaze and unsettling presence.
I was Fionnuala Kerridan.
I swore will take my life back, no matter what.