Chapter 9
The bell above the shop door rattled long after Bula had left.
Orlena stood frozen at her workbench. She stared at the scarred wood, her heart still racing from the brief kiss she’d stolen. A certainty had blazed in Bula’s eyes when she’d promised she would return.
Kissing her in broad daylight where anyone could see had been reckless. Even felt dangerous, but for the first time in solars, she felt as if something heavy inside her had shifted.
She was still replaying the moment when the door to her workspace was pushed open. Yambul loomed in the doorway with his ever-present scowl on his face.
“So…” he said slowly. There was a hard glint in his eyes as he glared at her. “You got a new friend?”
“She’s just someone I’ve met.” She straightened to her full height. It was none of his business who she knew or spent time with.
The orc stared at her for a while, making her nervous.
“She’s come to the shop before.”
“Didn’t look like she was here to buy a bow.” Yambul snorted. He folded his arms in front of him.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Her cheeks warmed suddenly. She ran her hands down her trews and stared at him.
“You know exactly what I mean.” His gaze swept her from head to toe. His sharp assessment gave her the chills. “If you’re making coin on the side, sukga, you best keep your clients out of my shop. I won’t have my name dragged through the mud because my apprentice can’t keep her legs closed.”
The words struck as if he’d slapped her across the face. She bristled at the notion that he’d called her girl, then a whore.
“I would never—”
“Don’t lie to me, sukga,” Yambul sneered. “I’ve seen how orcs ogle humans like you. You think you’re special because one of them smiled at you? That one of them will spirit you away from here? Make you dainty little promises? You’re property. Mine. Remember that.”
Something inside her ruptured.
She opened her mouth then shut it. Solars of swallowed anger pressed hard against her tongue, but she remained silent. She swallowed the words she yearned to say. At the moment, silence was much safer. Yambul was stronger. He held the reins of her contract.
He basically held her future in his hands.
With a final sneer, he stalked over to his office and grabbed his cloak that rested on a hook outside the door. He turned back to her as he slid it on.
“Clean up properly tonight, and don’t think about sneaking off to meet your little friend. I’ve got my eye on you.” He stalked through the store and slammed the door behind him as he left.
Orlena stood there shaking. Anger engulfed her, so much that she wanted to scream. She forced herself to take deep breaths and blow them out to try to calm her nerves.
Property.
That’s all he had ever thought her to be. She’d known he didn’t like her. That she was just an employee. Even though he’d paid her father off for her, he still provided a tiny salary to cover food and living expenses for her.
But to be considered property, that didn’t sit well with her.
Her gaze drifted to his office. He’d left the door open as he always did. The desk he used to keep his ledgers and documents came into view.
Bula’s voice surfaced in her head.
You will have a choice.
At the time, Orlena had thought she’d meant someday in the future when her five solars were up. That was a distant dream for her.
Now she stood alone in the shop with Yambul gone, and her thoughts took on a sharper edge.
Soon.
The bell over the door chimed. She blinked and automatically raced into the storefront.
Customers came and went. The steady rhythm of buyers interested in bows, arrows, and other supplies forced her to focus.
She completed simple repairs and sold quite a few items. She smiled when it was required, but she didn’t feel happy about anything.
Her thoughts refused to stay away from the tiny question that rested in the back of her mind.
What if Bula didn’t return?
What if she did?
What if Orlena stayed exactly where she was, five solars ticking away while the world passed her by?
Or Bula got tired of waiting for her.
By the time dusk settled over Soza, her hands ached and her nerves were frayed.
She closed the shop at last and barred the door. She retrieved the broom and swept the floor with deliberate slowness as her mind raced.
With the shop quiet, she stood alone and glanced around. It was lit by the lanterns placed along the walls. Her gaze went to Yambul’s office.
A voice whispered for her to go home. To pretend that this new thought that popped into her head didn’t exist. To ignore Yambul and his claim of her being his property. She could endure five more solars.
Could she?
Something stirred in her gut. A fierce spark of defiance appeared.
She stalked across the shop, storing the broom and dustpan where they belonged.
She continued on and stopped in the doorway of Yambul’s office.
His desk sat in the middle. It was cluttered with ledgers and rolled parchments.
Her hands shook as she moved across the darkened space and lit a candle.
The flame flickered bright, illuminating the room softly.
“Just a peek,” she whispered. She knelt by the desk and exhaled slowly. “Just see. There’s no harm in looking.”
Of course there was. She was sure if he found out she was snooping in his desk he’d punish her by adding more time to her contract.
She opened the drawers one by one. Her heart slammed so hard she was sure someone out in the street could hear it.
Tools. Ink. Seals. An assortment of papers all written in Orcish that resembled invoices and order forms.
She opened the final drawer and froze. More parchment papers, but this time one caught her attention. At the top her name stared back at her in a thick, angular Orcish script.
Orlena Blackwell.
Her breath left her in a rush.
She lifted the document with shaking hands. She fingered her name as if to confirm it truly was hers. She couldn’t read the words, but she didn’t need to. She knew what it was. She’d seen it once, solars ago, when Yambul was on one of his tangents and flaunted this same paper in front of her face.
This paper was what bound her here. It said that she belonged to Yambul.
Her chest grew tight.
Five solars more, Yambul had said.
What if he had lied?
What if there were clauses that she’d never been told about? Penalties? Extensions? Tears blurred her vision as she thought of the invisible chains that kept her bound to Soza.
She swallowed hard and glanced toward the door. Every instinct screamed at her to put it back. Instead, she folded the parchment carefully and kept it in her hand. She closed the drawers and ensured the desk was how Yambul had left it.
What am I doing?
Her hands shook so badly. What if Yambul discovered it was missing? She quickly extinguished the candle and raced over to her workroom. She snatched her satchel up and slid the paper into her bag. She was having a hard time catching her breath.
Goddess above. Have I lost my mind?
She locked up the shop and stepped out into the cool night air. Her heart hammered, fear and hope filling her. She put one foot in front of the other and began making the trek home. For the first time since she was eight solars old, Orlena Blackwell had taken something back.
And there was no turning away from it now.
Orlena did not walk home—she ran.
The narrow streets of the human quarters were a blur. Her boots struck the packed earth. Her lungs burned from straining to bring in air. Every sound felt too loud. Each shadow made her jump. Her satchel bumped against her hip with each stride, and it felt like dead weight.
The contract was inside.
She had taken it.
The realization sent a shiver through her.
Fear and pride tangled in her chest. She had never stolen anything in her life.
She had always been the one to obey. She’d endured solars of Yambul’s tantrums, rage, and barbs, but never had she done anything like this.
She had crossed a line that she couldn’t go back over.
No matter what was written on the parchment, she was proud of herself.
Finally, she reached her home. She was breathless, and her hands trembled. She fumbled with the lock, eventually getting the door open. She slipped inside and shut it behind her. She barred it and breathed a sigh of relief. The small space smelled faintly of woodsmoke and herbs.
She was home.
This was her private domain.
She rested back against the door for a moment and squeezed her eyes shut. She held her breath and listened. Nothing.
No footsteps. No shouting. No enraged orc demanding answers to why she’d stolen from him.
Slowly, she went into her bedroom. She went over into the far corner and pulled up the loose floorboard beneath her bed. Her hand shook as she tucked the folded parchment beneath it. This would hide it deep where it would not be found unless someone knew exactly where to look.
Only then did she breathe a sigh of relief.
A knock came at the door.
Orlena nearly screamed. She caught herself, her hand flying to her chest. Her heart pounded so fast she could hear the rush of blood in her ears.
“Orlena!” a familiar voice called out throughout the door. “It’s Isha.”
Orlena let out a shaky breath. She dropped her bag onto her bed and headed out of the room. She smoothed the wayward strands of hair from her face then opened the front door.
Isha stood there, her smile warm. She was older than Orlena by a few solars. Her dark hair had strands of silver streaking through it. She’d said that the women in her family grayed early and she was proud of her silver strands.
“You ran past my window like the hounds of Hell were after you,” Isha said with a chuckle. Her eyes were kind but sharp. There was a curious glint in them. “I thought you might be hungry. I cooked something good today.”