7. Chapter 7
Chapter seven
One month later...
T he morning dawned warm, summer fully in bloom as Anslo rolled up his bedding and stuffed it into his pack. He could see the mountain that towered above the orcish city of Seven Falls in the distance. He would be there by midday if he walked quickly.
Slinging his pack and his lute onto his back, he started out. The lush forest he'd spent the night in soon gave way to rolling hills and meadows. He picked a small bouquet of wildflowers as he walked, bright pink fireweed and lavender asters, bluebells and clover blossoms. It had been nearly four months since he'd seen Tam. He wished he had more than flowers to give her when he saw her, but from what little he knew of her, she didn't seem like the sort of woman who fancied jewelry and trinkets. Hopefully, a heartfelt apology for leaving and a few sweet-scented blooms would be enough to convince her not to turn up her nose at him.
He still worried this was a fool's errand, that she would laugh in his face and send him on his way. But he needed to know for sure if what he felt was one-sided, or if they had a chance. He'd never wanted a chance for more with anyone, but there was an ache in a small corner of his heart that seemed to want that now. When he pictured sitting beside the fire with Tam of an evening, holding her in his arms, playing her a love-song that might have her smiling rather than remembering sad moments, he felt the sort of yearning he'd thought was purely the invention of poets.
And when he thought of her perfect, naked pussy hovering over his mouth, the savory sweetness of her lust on his tongue as she rode his face to the heavens and back, his cock hardened in a way it didn't for anyone else, anymore.
Perhaps his cock and he were both fools. So be it, he thought with a laugh.
The meadows turned to farmlands as the sun rose fully over the mountain. Anslo waved to a few orcs working in the fields and tending the orchards. These fields had been barren and frost-covered when he last saw them. Now, a few strawberry bushes were blooming along the winding road he followed.
One of the farmers gave him a handful of apricots as he passed by, and Anslo sat on the bank of the great river to have them for lunch, looking up at the majestic vistas of the city. He'd visited many beautiful places in his travels, and Seven Falls was one of the prettiest. With its many streams, rivers, and towering waterfalls, the city sparkled in the sunlight like a diamond. Houses sprawled across the valley and up the mountainside, carved into cliff faces, but this place still felt at one with nature, rather than at odds with it. With the Delakki Mountains to one side and the thick forest on the other, the river splitting the center of the valley, Seven Falls felt as if it had grown organically out of the very soil: people, houses, and farmlands together.
He washed his hands and face in the river and continued through the neighborhood of Silver Cliffs towards Stonerath, the center of the city that stretched beneath the high snowy peak of the mountain above. He could still remember most of his way to the tavern he'd played in before, and he asked directions from a few orcs and half-orcs along the way. Though he saw few full humans, the city was welcoming to everyone who didn't wear the insignia of the Crimson Forest elves they'd been at war with for years. There were grey mountain orcs and green orcs from the lowlands, various colors of humans and elves, some half-elves with orc's tusks, and some half-orcs with long elven ears. He knew that the towns along the border with the kingdom of the Crimson Forest elves had seen intermarriages of orcs and elves for centuries, though the elvish king had dangerous notions about the purity of the species' and conquering himself an empire. This place seemed free of those tensions, and while Anslo might stand out with his pale hair and human features, he was not viewed with suspicion.
A gaggle of small orclings saw the lute on his back and begged for a song as he passed. Anslo shaded his eyes and looked up at the sun. It was still early enough, so he sat on a barrel by the side of the road and played them one of the children's songs he'd learned when he was little, about a frog who courted a fish. They laughed and clapped and one of them offered him the remnants of a sucked-on lemon drop as payment. He thanked her with a bow but politely declined, and they followed behind him like a string of ducklings for a few streets until their parents called them back.
He found the tavern as the bar was just opening for the day. There were a few merchants in the inn courtyard packing their wagons, but the barroom was empty, chairs still stacked on tables from the previous night. The barkeep recognized him and ushered him over with a friendly smile. Anslo sat and ordered a half-pint of mead. The orc glanced twice at the handful of wildflowers Anslo placed on the bar beside him, but said nothing.
"You looking to trade a few nights' entertainment for lodgings?" the barkeep asked. "We'd be happy to have you play again."
"Thank you," Anslo said. "I might take you up on that." He took a long drink of his mead, licking the sweet alcohol from his upper lip. "I'm actually looking for someone. Someone I met when I was here last."
"Oh?" The barkeep raised an eyebrow, his tongue pressing between his teeth as he heaved a fresh barrel of ale out from behind the bar.
"Thought you might know her, or maybe the barmaid who served us would. An orc woman named Tam."
The orc dropped the keg onto the bar with a grunt. "Lila, come out here," he barked.
A woman emerged from the back room, wiping her hands on her apron. "Yes?" She saw Anslo and smiled. "Pleasure to have you back, traveler."
Anslo smiled back. "Do you happen to remember the women I sat with my last night here, after I played? Tam, and a friend named Zoli?"
Her smile faltered for a second. "Yes, I... I think so. Tam, short for Tamaka?"
Anslo shrugged. "She only said Tam. I should have gotten her full name."
"Tamaka?" the barkeep asked, his eyes widening. "And Zoli, the command—"
"Yes," the woman said quickly, her smile falling further. "Yes, that Zoli."
"Something wrong?" Anslo asked. He set down his tankard, the mead sitting uneasily in his stomach.
"No," the barmaid said slowly, though her face said something entirely different, her eyebrows pinched together suspiciously.
"I was hoping to find Tam," Anslo continued. "We had a lovely conversation." And then some.
The two orcs had a brief whispered conversation with each other, their gazes darting to Anslo and then back.
"You think he's—"
"Yes, but—"
"You don't think—"
"I think it's not your business."
"Should we?"
"I'm not going to!"
"I don't suppose you know where I could find her," Anslo interrupted, forcing a smile. They stared at him and then at each other again.
"King's Rest, probably," the barkeep said.
The King's Rest neighborhood was a beautiful series of terraced cliffs and plateaus rising against the mountain. Anslo hadn't had time to visit on his last trip here. "Does she live up there?" he asked.
They both looked at him, wide-eyed. The barmaid nodded.
"There's something I've said wrong, isn't there?" he asked.
"Not at all," the barkeep said quickly. He pointed at the bouquet. "That, uh... that for her?"
"Yes?" Anslo said, hesitating before picking it up. "Is that... a bad idea?"
The man pursed his lips. "Don't know. Most women like flowers."
Anslo laughed slightly, but they didn't join him. "Right, then," he said, sliding off his barstool. "Thank you both. I'll be back this evening to play for you again."
He turned to leave. He could hear them whispering behind him. "You think he will be back?" the man asked.
"Your guess is as good as mine," the barmaid muttered.
Anslo made his way up the Stonerath high street, frowning as he walked. Perhaps he should have stayed and demanded answers to whatever had unsettled them. Once, he almost turned back. Maybe she did have another husband, or a wife, for that matter. But if she did, he wanted to see it for himself. There was no use being cowardly now when he'd come all this way.
A few minutes' walk from the river running through Stonerath, the first tier of King's Rest rose against the mountain. He climbed the wide steps cut into the cliffside to the first level. The plateau was covered in houses and shops. He stopped a young orc hauling a crate of hides to a tannery and asked him if he knew of a Tamaka who lived nearby. The boy stared at him for a long moment. "Third level," he finally said. Anslo thanked him.
He made his way through a series of tunnels that led from the first to the second level. This plateau was teeming with warriors, a long barracks and training ground taking up most of the space. Another wide stone staircase led to the third level. It was mostly empty of people, a few homes carved into the mountainside. He waved to a set of guards flanking a tunnel. "I'm looking for Tam. Tamaka," he told them. Before he could ask for directions, one of them nodded.
"Follow me," he grunted, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword.
He led Anslo into the tunnel, the walls lit with sconces. The air was cooler in the cave, a breeze blowing through from wherever the tunnel ended. The space opened into a wide circular room carved into the rock of the mountain, an unlit fireplace in the center. The guard bowed his head. "A visitor for you, my king," he said, stepping back and giving Anslo room.
The woman he'd been dreaming about for months looked up, her eyes wide. "Anslo," she murmured.
She was still as beautiful as he remembered, though her cheeks were fuller than they'd been before. She half-stood, then sat back down, pulling the cloak of pale blue fur she wore over one shoulder more tightly around her. "Leave us," she told the guard. She turned to the old orc sitting beside her who examined Anslo as if he were a particularly unpleasant insect. For a brief moment, Anslo hoped this man was the king, then Tamaka said, "We will speak later, Murzol," and the old man stood and stalked out, pushing past Anslo without a backward glance.
King. She was the king. That was... something.
Her gaze dropped to the now-wilted bouquet of wildflowers in Anslo's hand. He almost hid it behind his back, but what was the use in that? She'd already seen it. He waited for her to say something. Her lips thinned slightly. She seemed as unsure of what to say as he was.
"You must have forgotten your crown at home when you came to that tavern," he quipped, then cursed under his breath at his staggering stupidity. The wise thing to do before this got any worse would be to bow and leave, but for some reason his feet would not move.
"Orcish kings don't wear crowns," she said softly. She looked at him guiltily for a moment, then down at her hands fisted in her lap. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
"No, I'm sorry." He bowed stiffly. "I will not bother you any further." He turned.
"Stop," she said, and it didn't sound like the command of a king; it was soft and hesitant, almost like a plea. Yet he still stopped. "Please, wait a moment."
He turned back and she tilted her chin at the cushioned bench beside her. "Will you sit?" she asked.
Again, not a command, but he found himself powerless to resist. He rounded the firepit and set his pack and lute on the floor, sitting a respectful distance from her. Not close, like he wanted to be.
He'd fucked royalty before. He'd never fallen for one of them. He'd hoped he was smart enough not to reach for what he could not have, but apparently his heart wasn't as wise as he'd thought. Had he known who she was, he wouldn't have been foolish enough to build up his hopes.
"I owe you an apology," she said.
He frowned. "No." She pulled back slightly. "No, you were under no obligation to... to explain anything to me. Then or now." He hated the words as he said them. He wanted an explanation. He wanted to know. He wanted a reason to dislike her so he wouldn't... love her.
Because he shouldn't love her. He couldn't love her. He didn't truly know who she was.
"Maybe not," she said. "I didn't think you'd truly come back. And I didn't think you'd seek me out."
"I understand," he said, swallowing his disappointment.
"But for a while, I wanted you to." He looked up. She started to reach for him, then pulled her hand back. He wanted to take it. He wanted to pull her toward him. He didn't.
"You promised to dream of me," she said with a small, sad laugh. "I... I dreamed of you. And—" She gestured to the flowers. "Those are for me, aren't they?"
He nodded once. "Yes." He cleared his throat. "But I don't suppose kings have much use for some weeds I picked in a field." He rubbed his chin in embarrassment. He was going to go back and wring that barkeep's neck for letting him bring a wilted bunch of flowers to give the king of the orcs. "I would've brought something better, but—"
"I'll take them," she said quickly, holding out a hand. He gave her the bouquet reluctantly. "Why did you come back?" she asked.
He grimaced. "Because I did dream of you. I thought about you..." All the time. So often he wished he could stop. So much there was no room in his mind for new lovers, which made life on the road significantly lonelier than it had ever been before. "Frequently." He didn't know what else to say. It was the height of stupidity to sit in front of a monarch and admit he'd... "I'd like to woo you." Fool. "Or I did. I—want to know you better. What we talked about, what we did... I want more of that, but—" A terrifying thought occurred to him. "I don't even know if what you told me was true. I didn't even know your real name—"
"It was all true. Every word. It never even occurred to me to lie." She shrugged one shoulder. "You're an easy person to talk to, and I told you things I had no intention of saying when we met. I don't make a habit of what we did, but I thought... one night to escape from myself, to be someone without worries and responsibilities." She shook her head sadly, fingers tracing the thin, delicate petals of the asters in the bouquet. "These were his favorite flowers. Everything reminds me of him, of how alone I've been since I lost him. And you were so bright and cheerful, and you listened so kindly and it didn't even feel like a choice to be with you. It just felt inevitable. I wanted some of that brightness. I wanted to be happy. I wanted to be myself again, and you made me feel like myself again. I didn't mean to keep anything from you, but it was nice to have you see me as just a person, to not have expectations of me."
"I wish you were just a person," Anslo murmured. "I don't know how to woo a king."
She looked up at him in surprise. "Do you still intend to woo me?"
"Is that foolish?" he asked. "I know I'm only this." He gestured to himself, wincing at the sight of his dusty, trail-worn boots. "Everything I own is in that pack. I'm not good enough for you, but—"
She leaned forward and kissed him, her hand cupping his jaw, and Anslo exhaled a surprised sound into her mouth. Her lips were gone too soon when she pulled away, but her hand lingered, and he couldn't stop himself from leaning into the touch, reveling in the caress of her fingers on his cheek.
"I'm not that sort of king. I like wildflowers, even when they're wilted." A small smile curved her lips. "And if I thought you weren't good enough for me, I never would have slept with you in the first place."
Anslo moved slightly closer. A nervous laugh bubbled up inside him. Perhaps this wasn't as much of a fool's errand as he'd thought. "You're the sort of king who'd be wooed by someone who regularly sings for his supper?" he asked. She hesitated and his stomach dropped. "Ahh. No, I understand—"
"You don't." She set the flowers aside, taking one of his hands in hers. "I wasn't saying no." She bit her lip, seeming to search for words as she struggled to meet his gaze. "We live very different lives. I can't travel the world with you."
"I've traveled for ten years, but I don't need to forever," Anslo began, but she interrupted him before he could finish.
"It's not just the traveling. I don't have any expectations that you should take on a responsibility that you never planned for." She dropped his hand and unclasped her cloak, shrugging it off. One of her hands rested protectively on the slight curve of her abdomen and Anslo sucked in a breath.
She was pregnant.
Was it his? Of course it was his. Her husband had been dead for years, and he had a hard time believing she'd jumped into some other man's bed the moment Anslo had left, when it had taken her so long to take a lover.
She was still speaking, something about special herbs and mistakes that maybe weren't mistakes, but he could barely hear her. She was pregnant. She was pregnant with his child . They had made a child.
He should be terrified, shouldn't he? He'd never planned to have a child. He'd never planned to have one lover long enough to want to have a child together. He'd never stayed in one place long enough to desire the sorts of things people normally longed for when they put down roots: stability, love, family.
Family.
His own family had been such a poor excuse for a family. Why would he ever dream of his own children when he hadn't the first idea of how to be a parent? His parents had provided a bad example. He liked children well enough, and they seemed to like him, but that was only because he entertained them. People like him weren't meant to be fathers, were they?
Before he realized what he was doing, he reached out and touched her stomach. She stopped talking. "I'm a father," he whispered.
"You don't have to be," she said quickly. "I made this choice without you, and you have no obligation to this child. I am prepared to raise him alone, and I will not hold it against you if this is not what you want."
"Him?"
She nodded. "One of the mages says it is a boy."
He had a son. He was a father who had a son. He felt nothing beneath his hand save the warmth of her skin through her tunic, but there was a piece of him there, in her womb.
He didn't know how to woo a king. He didn't know how to care for a pregnant woman. He didn't know how to raise a child. But he wanted to learn.
"I'm a father," he said again, the words feeling less strange on his tongue the second time around.
"I understand if this changes things," she said.
"What if it doesn't?" he asked.
She opened her mouth to say something, but a shout from the front of the cave cut her off. A young orc ran in, all awkward elbows and knees and skinny in the same way Anslo had been when he was first growing into manhood. "Mama, the baker gave me some of yesterday's peach cookies when I was finished bringing her the flour from the miller," the youth shouted, holding out a small bundle wrapped in a kerchief, "and I brought you the last one—" He skidded to a halt, mouth hanging open at the sight of Anslo. His gaze snapped to where Anslo's hand was pressed to Tamaka's stomach and his eyes narrowed, his lip curling back slightly against his small tusks.
Tamaka sighed. "And then there's that," she said softly.