Chapter 5
The rhythmic scrape of the blade against the wood had always calmed Orlena. It was one of the few sounds that belonged to her. The shop bustled beyond the workshop door. The scrape of boots scuffing on the wooden floor, Yambul’s gravelly voice barking out prices, and complaints filled the air.
But here in her workspace, where the floor was dusted with shavings and smelled of oiled yew and ash, the world was quiet.
She bent over her workbench and focused. She pressed her tongue lightly to the corner of her mouth as she shaved a careful curl from the bow stave clamped in front of her. The curve was nearly perfect.
Nearly.
She adjusted her grip and drew the blade along the curve again. Only this time she went slower and listened to the whisper of the wood yielding beneath her hands.
Perfection took patience.
Orlena straightened and flexed her fingers. They ached slightly. Sunlight filtered in through the narrow window high on the wall. It illuminated the heavy amount of dust that lined the floor and lingered in the air. She blinked and forced her thoughts back to the bow.
Her mind had been everywhere but where it should be.
Which was dangerous.
The sharp blade in her hand could take a finger off.
That morning, she had woken to Bula’s face still vivid in her mind.
Those amber eyes, the warmth of her presence lingering like a touch she missed.
Orlena had lain in her narrow bed and stared at the ceiling for half of the night.
Her heart had pounded away like a runaway shukan, and her most intimate places had ached.
An orc.
She had bested her in an archery contest and somehow had ended the night walking home beside her. It was foolish of her to develop a crush on Bula or imagine there could be more between them.
Bula would eventually leave. She was a nomad. A woman who went everywhere but belonged to nowhere.
And Orlena…was stuck here in Soza.
Each day brought the same thing. Working in the shop, walking the same path home to the human quarters, only to turn around and do it again the next day. Day after day, solar after solar.
It was pitiful.
She had friends—humans who were like herself.
They were bound to contracts and obligations.
They shared bread when they could, laughed together when they had the energy.
They were always tired. They worked constantly and were resigned.
They each had dreams that were folded away like garments saved for a special occasion that never came.
Orlena had learned long ago not to allow hope into her heart.
Yet hope always found a way in.
She set the blade down and rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand.
Stop, she told herself. At the moment, she shouldn’t want what she couldn’t have. Wanting someone—like Bula—was definitely wrong.
The workshop door creaked open wider.
“Orlena!” Yambul barked. His head peeked through the opening of the door. “A customer wants a recurve. Says his old one snapped.”
His head disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. From the sounds of the voices, it must be busy out there.
“I’ll bring it out,” she called. She stood to her full height and stretched her back.
She wiped her hands on her apron and lifted the finished bow from the rack.
It was smooth, balanced, and the grip wrapped in the dark leather she’d cured herself looked great.
She loved this part of her job, even though the credit was never truly hers.
It was Yambul who people thought of when they wanted archery supplies.
Not the apprentice who worked for the master bowyer.
Out front, Yambul stood hunched behind the counter. His tusked mouth was pulled into a sneer as he haggled with a broad-shouldered orc warrior. His beady eyes flicked to Orlena when she approached.
“It’s about time,” he muttered. “Did you bring what I told you I needed?”
“Yes, sir. Here you go.” She placed the bow on the counter and stepped back.
The orc tested its draw. Satisfaction filled his face.
“How much?” he asked.
Yambul named a price, and Orlena winced. The orc grunted but paid the amount. He tossed the coin down and left without another glance.
Yambul swept the coin away then turned to her with a scowl.
“Don’t think I haven’t heard about where you’d disappeared to yesterday. Instead of working, you go and enter the archery contest.” He glared at her.
Of course he would hear about yesterday. She had tried to keep her identity a secret, but she should have known the second her hood fell away that word would get around.
“Sir—”
“Winning doesn’t make you special either,” he snapped.
She shrank back as he stood to his full height. He may be an old orc, but he still had size to him.
“Don’t disappear like that again while you’re supposed to be working or I will add more time to your contract.”
“I won’t, sir,” Orlena said quietly.
“As for yesterday, I will be docking your pay.”
Her gaze flew to him, but she bit back what she wanted to say. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. It wouldn’t do her any good to argue with him. It wasn’t like he paid her much since she was under the contract.
“You seem to have forgotten your place. Don’t think I won’t extend your contract if you keep forgetting,” he snarled.
“It won’t happen again.” She took a step back toward her workroom and spun on her heels.
“See that it doesn’t!” he called out behind her. “And you better not be gone long for lunch!”
Lunch.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Back in the workshop, she leaned against the bench and closed her eyes. She breathed through the tightness in her chest. The familiar mixed feelings of anger and helplessness settled into her bones.
Five more solars, she reminded herself. Then you’re free.
At least if that was what the contract said.
She glanced at the small mark carved into the wall beside her bench—it was one of many. Each notch represented a solar she’d survived here. She traced the newest one with her finger.
She could make it.
The bell at the front door chimed, signaling a new customer. She turned and got back to work. Time passed without a thought. Orlena focused on her craftsmanship, and before she knew it, she glanced up and took in the shift of the sun.
It was noon.
She hesitated for a moment, then set her tools aside. She gathered her bag and tossed it over her shoulder. She emerged from her workspace and immediately felt Yambul’s eyes on her.
“Don’t be gone too long, girl,” he warned. “Or you will regret it.”
Orlena nodded and slipped out the door. Her heart rate picked up as she made her way to the market down the road. It was comfortable day. It wasn’t too hot out. The sun was shining bright, the sky was clear, and the sounds of the market grew louder once she got closer to it.
She had dressed carefully that morning. She’d chosen her prettiest tunic, brushed her hair, and plaited it in two braids away from her face. She told herself it was just her wanting to take pride in her appearance today, but she knew the real reason.
She eyed the market stalls while walking along. She forced herself not to hurry. She had about an hour for lunch and didn’t want to rush back to the shop. Vendors shouted, trying to get patrons to stop at their tables. The scent of roasting meat had her mouth watering.
Would Bula come?
She stopped at a familiar stand selling skewered meats and fresh bread. It was one of her favorites. She had never had a bad thing from them, and their pricing was always fair.
“Ah, Orlena. Lunchtime?” Vulcan, the owner, offered her a smile. He was a kind orc who had a mate and a few little ones.
Orlena had crafted his eldest son a bow about a solar ago. The young orc had dreams of being a warrior someday.
“Yes, it is. Everything smells wonderful.” She eyed the lokapi meat that was roasted to perfection.
“I see what you are looking at. Do you want one skewer or two?” Vulcan grinned at her, already reaching for her usual order.
“I’ll take that one right there.” She pointed to the skewer that held some juicy pieces of meat. She smiled.
He laughed and reached for the one she’d pointed to.
“And you know I’ll take a small loaf of bread, too.”
“Of course you will.” He gathered her order. He jerked his head to her. “I’m sure I’ll be at the shop soon. My son was saying something about his bow wasn’t working right. Don’t ask me what I mean, because I know next to nothing about them things. But I will bring him in.”
“Oh, please do. I’ll check it out for him.” She reached for her coin purse inside her bag when a voice behind her stopped her in her tracks.
“I’ll have the same thing she’s having and I’ll pay for both orders.”
It was smooth, low and husky. The unmistakable voice sent a shiver down Orlena’s spine. She spun and froze.
Bula stood there, close enough where Orlena could see the faint scars crossing her green skin, the polished curve of her tusks, and the strength coiled inside her frame.
She was dressed in a simple tunic and trews.
Her amber eyes softened in the corners as they connected with hers. A smile formed on her lips.
“I’d said I’d find you,” she said.
“You did,” Orlena breathed.
“Give me a second and I will get you your order, traveler,” Vulcan said. He set Orlena’s food down on the table, then went to work putting Bula’s order together.
A mere minute later, Bula paid for their food. She handed the first skewer to Orlena. Their fingers brushed briefly. Heat flared at the contact. It was sharp and startling. Orlena almost dropped her juicy meats and bread.
“Where shall we go to dine?” Bula asked.
“There’s a place I like to sit while I enjoy my lunch.” Orlena led the way. There was a spot near the center of town where they could sit on a low stone wall. It allowed her to see the entire village and be able to watch those who were coming and going.
They ate in silence for a few moments.