The Orc King’s Pet

Chapter 1

Clover

I’m in the loft of an abandoned barn on the outskirts of the small town I grew up in.

I’ve been coming here a lot lately, especially as it gets closer to my twenty-first birthday. That’s when my life changes. When everything I’ve known becomes part of my past. When everything I can see from this loft fades into my memories, never to be seen again.

From here I look out upon the steeple of the old church I attended, back when my parents still believed, the dry fields that no longer yield crops, since the ground was salted into sand, and the school my younger sister still attends because her future is one that I’m not even foolish enough to dream about.

I can even see my house from here. A simple wooden shack, like most of the others in Troona, but it’s always been home for me.

All of it will be part of my past soon. Part of my memories.

That’s just how it is for the second child.

I hear something behind me, and don’t look back at first. There’s only one person it could be. She doesn’t join me often, but she’s facing the same future I am, and we’ve bonded over our shared fate, since our birthdays are days apart. When the time comes, we’ll face that future together.

“Clover, you up here?” Rose calls out.

“Yeah, usual spot,” I reply, nudging some hay into the wind and watching it swirl before disappearing out of sight.

“Good, I’m coming up,” Rose says from below me. “And guess what? I brought agave wine.”

“I knew there was a reason you’re my best friend,” I say.

Rose climbs into the loft and plops down beside me like she’s done more times than I can count. It’s become our refuge over the years, since the family who used to live here moved to Concord City.

The loft is a place where we can hide out, talk freely, and not worry about anyone overhearing us. Sometimes we get to share a bottle of the agave wine her father makes. It’s the only alcohol this dusty, dried-up land can produce.

“Where are the cups?” Rose asks, smiling as she begins twisting the cork out of the bottle.

“Somewhere around here,” I mutter, spotting them off to the side where we discarded them last time. “They’re a little dirty, though.”

“That’s okay. Better than drinking straight from the bottle like my dad does,” she says.

I’ve always thought Rose was a lot prettier than I am.

Sun-kissed skin, the kind almost everyone in Troona gets from years spent under the sky that never gives us rainwater worth drinking.

Honey-blonde hair that falls in loose waves past her shoulders.

Blue eyes, bright as a cloudless summer day, that always sparkle like she’s one bad idea away from laughing, despite everything we’re facing.

I don’t have any of that going for me. My skin just burns instead of tans.

My hair doesn’t curl or have a natural wave.

It’s just a straight brown mop that looks better in a ponytail than loose, so that’s how I normally wear it.

My eyes aren’t bright or shimmery. Just dull, lifeless brown, like most of the world I can see stretched out below us.

I turn and reach for the two cups we found in the barn years ago. We use our first pour of wine to clean the ceramic, and after our cups are full again, Rose raises hers.

“Two weeks until the train ride,” Rose says, tapping her cup against mine.

“Wish we had something better to toast to than that,” I mutter, but I nod in agreement and sip my wine.

“I’ve been through a whirlwind of emotions this week,” Rose admits. “But we’ve known this day was coming our entire lives. The day we make things better for our families.”

“Yeah,” I sigh, gesturing to the edge of the loft. “Sometimes when I’m up here, that’s the only thing that keeps me from jumping.”

“Jumping?” Rose’s eyes widen. “Why? It wouldn’t kill you. All you’d do is break your leg. They’ll just wrap it up and stick you on the train.”

“Well, in my head I don’t survive it,” I retort, taking another drink of wine. “But I could never do that to my family. They’ve taken care of me my entire life, and they need the money.”

“Our older sisters will have a good dowry, which means they’ll marry well,” Rose says. “Your younger sister and my younger brother will both get educated, so they won’t spend their lives farming cactuses.”

“And our parents will be able to retire. Even after setting aside some for dowries and education, there should be enough left for them to live comfortably, wherever they decide to call home after we’re gone,” I say.

“Mine won’t retire,” Rose scoffs, downing some of her wine. “My dad likes to drink too much, and as long as he’s making it himself, my mom can’t complain about it.”

“Pretty sure she’d never agreed with that logic,” I laugh under my breath, feeling a slight buzz from the wine.

“No, definitely not,” Rose laughs.

We continue drinking our wine, watching the sun sink lower in the sky. The sky will be one of the only things we recognize after we leave here. Neither of us have ever been further than the outskirts of Troona. Soon, we’ll be boarding a train that won’t stop until we get to Concord City.

That’s where all second-born children go when they turn twenty-one, unless their families are wealthy enough to pay the Reparations Tax. That kind of money is unimaginable for our families, but not for long.

Soon, they’ll be able to afford all the things I’ve only read about. Clean water without counting every cup. Food that never has to be rationed. Walls thick enough they don’t feel the chill of winter, even when it snows.

“Are you still stressing about who could buy you at the Reparations Auction?” Rose asks, pouring some more wine for each of us.

“I’m trying not to stress about it too much,” I sigh, sipping my wine and letting it linger in my mouth for a moment before swallowing. “Stressing isn’t going to change anything.”

“Not many people pray these days, but I’ve been praying it’ll be a wolf shifter.” She laughs after she says it, but her fingers tighten around her cup. “They don’t scare me as much as orcs or demons, and supposedly, they treat their women well. Even the ones they buy at the Reparations Auction.”

“A wolf shifter is the dream,” I admit, nodding in agreement. “The others…” I don’t finish my sentence, I just shudder.

“Yeah,” she says, the look in her eyes saying everything I’m thinking.

At the Reparations Auction, we’ll be sold to the highest bidder. Who or what bids on us will be a roll of the dice. It could be a wolf shifter, a demon, an orc, or another wealthy human.

The last one is what most second-borns fear.

Wealthy men don’t have to buy wives. They can find companions, lovers, and servants without stepping anywhere near an auction block. When they buy people at the Reparations Auction, it’s because they’re looking for a slave.

As the wine in the bottle gets lower, the sun sinks farther, and our buzz gives way to slurred speech and spinning heads, the mood turns more somber.

We’ve been raised to expect and accept this fate.

We understand why it has to happen. How crucial the Reparations Auction is if we want peace to last, like it has for the last two hundred years.

But when alcohol allows the veil to slip, it’s hard not to see the cruelty of it all.

“Do you think the Reparations Auction will ever end? It’s been two hundred years since The Great War. At some point, they have to forgive us… right?” I ask, swirling the wine in my cup, unsure if I want to finish it.

“No, it’ll never end. Too much greed,” Rose sighs, glancing over the ledge of the barn loft. “And considering what we did, it’s understandable that they aren’t so quick to forgive or forget.”

“Not what we did,” I mutter. “We had nothing to do with what happened two hundred years ago.”

“You always start talking like this when you drink, Clover,” Rose says, leaning over and nudging me. “You need to stop reading so many books about the old world. They’re just filling your head with fantasies.”

“I need something to keep me busy,” I say, deciding I’ll at least finish what’s in my cup, and downing what’s left. “We’re not allowed to go to school. Not allowed to work. We’re practically useless.”

Too much education makes us difficult. Too much work leaves calluses. They prefer us soft, bored, and obedient. Thankfully, my parents never restricted me from reading. Truthfully, they didn’t restrict me from much of anything.

“Oh, now you’re about to go on your second-borns-are-useless rant.” Rose grimaces slightly. “Don’t make me regret bringing wine.”

“No, you’ve heard it all before. I’m just preaching to the choir,” I sigh, clearing a spot and leaning back. “But hey, soon you’ll never hear my voice again. Bet you’re looking forward to that, huh?”

“Don’t say that,” she groans, shaking her head. “You’re my best friend. I love you more than my brother and sister most of the time. Plus, you’re not as boring as the others. I swear most second-borns are just born braindead, like evolution is helping them accept their fate.”

“Maybe the reality of it all just breaks something inside them,” I say, watching as the stars begin to appear in the sky after the sun sinks below the horizon.

“And we don’t break so easily,” Rose chuckles dryly. “Guess that’s why we’re such good friends.”

Dwelling on it, even while drunk, isn’t going to change anything.

Some second-borns flee before their twenty-first birthday.

If they’re caught, the punishment is severe.

Not for them, of course. The whip leaves scars, and scars aren’t popular at the Reparations Auction.

So, instead of facing the whip themselves, they have to watch their family get whipped in their place.

The younger ones, especially the girls, don’t always survive the brutality.

That’s part of why I’ve never run. The whippings are always done in public.

Second-borns are required to attend them.

I’ve seen the scars being inflicted. I’ve watched the blood pooling at their feet while they screamed for mercy that wasn’t coming.

I can’t risk my parents and sisters suffering or dying because I’m a coward.

They deserve a future, even if mine is already decided for me.

Especially my sisters. They didn’t ask to be born into this ravaged world any more than I did.

“I might sleep up here tonight,” Rose says, gazing up at the stars. “I’m not sure I can walk home.”

“Yeah, ladders don’t seem like a great idea right now,” I admit, glancing at the one behind us. “Wouldn’t be the first time. As long as we eventually make it home, nobody will care.”

“My parents always get nervous and think I ran off,” Rose sighs. “Like I would ever do that to them.”

“They should know better than that by now,” I say, wondering if my family has ever felt that kind of fear. “I’d like to believe mine does.”

The stars get brighter. The moon rises higher, casting an eerie glow across Troona.

We can see some people in the distance, still working in their fields.

Work doesn’t always end when the sun goes down.

There are some horse-drawn buggies on the road.

No cars, but that’s not unusual. Not many people in this part of the country can afford a luxury like that.

But after the Reparations Auction, my parents will be able to afford one.

The house I grew up in will be abandoned.

They’ll get an apartment in Concord City.

Possibly even a house, one constructed with brick, steel, and hardwood instead of a rickety shack with walls so thin they barely stop the wind.

“Are your parents having a party for your twenty-first birthday?” Rose asks, holding the bottle of agave wine up and letting the last few drops drip into her mouth. “I told mine I didn’t want one, but I don’t think they’re going to listen.”

“I asked them not to,” I say. “When my mom got offended, I told her to have a party after I’m gone. She didn’t like that. First time I’ve seen her cry about it.”

“My dad likes to cry about everything when he gets drunk,” Rose sighs, rolling her eyes. “Hardly feels genuine to see him crying about me leaving when I’ve seen him sob because he was too drunk to get the cork out of his next bottle of wine.”

“Never seen my dad with anything but dry eyes,” I admit. “But that’s just how he is. He bottles it all up until he can’t. I think that’s where I get it from.”

“Maybe he should start drinking,” Rose says. “A bottle always unbottles whatever you have pent up.”

“Sometimes,” I admit. “I’ve tried to get better about it. Especially now that every day seems to be shorter than the one before it. I don’t want to have any regrets when I leave. Don’t want to leave anything unsaid… well, except the things that don’t matter.”

“Which pretty much covers everything that pertains to us,” Rose sighs. “But I understand what you mean. I even told my mom I love her a few days ago. She almost fell out of her chair at the dinner table.”

“Damn, you’ve never even told me you love me,” I laugh, playfully kicking her foot. “But I know you do.”

“Always, Clover,” she says, rolling to her side so she can see me. “Seriously. I’m going to miss you. A lot more than I’m going to miss my family. Growing up with you has been one of the highlights of my life.”

“Aw, I’m going to miss you too,” I say, reaching out and squeezing her hand. “Maybe we’ll get lucky. Maybe we’ll both end up with wolf shifters, and we’ll see each other again. Our children might even get to be best friends, just like we are.”

“You always find room for wishful thinking, even when you’re drunk,” she teases, squeezing my hand as hard as I’m squeezing hers. “But no matter what happens, promise me you’ll never forget me?”

“I won’t,” I say genuinely, letting the moment breathe before cracking a smile. “Just promise you won’t forget all about me, once you’ve got a sexy wolf shifter between your legs every night.”

“Knowing my luck, it’ll be a demon, and I’ll just get worn as a skin,” she shudders before smiling. “If you ever see me again and I’ve got glowing red eyes, you should probably run.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I laugh.

We continue talking late into the night, the alcohol slowly leaving our systems until only the melancholy remains. By morning, we’ll go home. In two weeks, we’ll board the train. After that, neither of us has any control over what happens next.

Like all second-borns, all we can do is hope for the best.