Chapter 20
Morning came without warmth. There were no windows in the dungeon, no sunrise spilling across stone to soften the horror of where they were. Only a faint shift in torchlight from the corridor and a subtle thinning of shadows that told her the world outside had begun again.
Orlena had barely slept.
The stone ledge that served as a bed had left her back aching and her hips sore. At some point in the night she had given up trying to lie down at all. Instead, she had slid down the damp wall until she’d sat curled against it with her arms wrapped around herself. All she could do was listen.
To the water dripping somewhere close.
The faint crackle of fire burning in the torches.
Nargol pacing.
Her eyes burned. She opened them fully and leaned her head back on the cold stone.
The air smelled worse in the morning. It was stale and sour.
When the guards had brought food sometime in the night, they’d shoved bowls of gray slop through the bars without a word.
It had smelled vaguely of boiled grain and old fat.
She hadn’t touched it.
Only the water.
Surprisingly, it had been clean. The cup had trembled in her hands as she’d drunk. The dungeon was not meant for comfort. It was meant to break. Her gaze shifted across the narrow strip of stone to the neighboring cell. Nargol sat on the ledge opposite her.
Rigid and watching.
Orlena didn’t think Nargol had slept at all.
Most of the night she had paced, like a caged beast. Back and forth, back and forth.
Sometimes, when the guards passed, she had stopped at the bars and glared into the corridor, her lips pulled back to show off her tusks.
She’d growled at them. Low and dangerous.
The guards had laughed nervously and moved along faster.
Now she sat, with her arms still bound behind her. Her head was bowed. Even in the stillness, she radiated tension like a bow drawn and held at full pull.
This was not the orc whose hands had made her melt.
This was not the woman whose mouth had whispered devotion against her skin.
This was a warrior.
And yet—
Orlena trusted her more than she had ever trusted anyone.
“Nargol,” she called out softly.
The name barely echoed before Nargol’s head lifted.
Her gaze found Orlena instantly. She stood and crossed the cell in two silent strides.
The hardness of her face struck Orlena first. Her jaw was tight.
Her eyes darker than usual, almost black in the dim torchlight.
A bruise had bloomed on her green skin where a guard had struck her the night before.
She looked savage.
Untamed.
Beautiful.
Her expression softened the moment she stood in front of Orlena.
Orlena pushed herself up from the wall and padded across the short space of her cell. She wished—goddess, how she wished—they had been thrown into a cell together. Even if it meant less space. Even if it meant less air.
Orlena needed to lean fully into Nargol. She wanted to feel her strength. Her warmth. Feel the soft caress of her breath across her skin.
But the iron bars separated them. At least they could be close enough to see every detail of each other.
But yet far enough to break her heart.
They had not bound Orlena’s hands. For that small mercy, she was grateful. She reached through the bars and rested her palm on Nargol’s face. Her skin was warm despite the cold air.
“You look tired,” Orlena murmured. “Did you even sleep?”
“No.” Nargol leaned into her touch.
“You told me to rest,” Orlena said. “You should have listened to your own advice.”
“This is not the time for me to sleep,” Nargol replied. “There will be plenty of time for me to rest once we are back in Udenia.”
The certainty in her voice was unshaken. Orlena wanted to borrow it. She wanted to have the confidence that Nargol had. But doubt coiled tightly in her stomach.
There were so many of them. She had seen the guards. Heard the movement from above. Grat had supporters, and apparently, the warriors who used to serve Cardu now served him.
Nargol was strong, but she was not an army.
Orlena’s fingers traced the edge of Nargol’s jaw gently. She took in the sharp point of Nargol’s tusks, the smoothness of her skin that was marred by bruising and dirt.
“I want to believe that someday I will get to see Udenia,” she said softly.
“You will,” Nargol said.
“But—”
“You will,” Nargol repeated. Her voice ended on a growl.
Orlena blinked, unable to respond. She glanced down at the base of Nargol’s neck. She swallowed hard. There was something she needed to say. Something that had been clawing at her chest since the night before. They may not see tomorrow. She drew in a deep breath.
“No matter what happens—”
“You will run.” Nargol interjected.
Orlena was stunned. She blinked a few times, unable to believe what she’d just heard.
“What?” she gasped.
Nargol’s expression hardened. Orlena’s hand fell away from her face.
“I will create a distraction. When I do, you will run.”
“No.” Orlena shook her head fiercely.
“Yes.”
“No,” she repeated. This time her voice came out stronger. “I am not leaving you.”
“You must.”
“I will not leave you.” Was the woman daft? Had she taken a few too many hits to the head? There was no way she would leave Nargol behind.
“Orlena.” Her voice grew sharp and was probably meant to make warriors obey her, but Orlena was no warrior.
“You think I could live knowing I ran while you stayed?” she demanded. Tears flooded her eyes. She blinked them back, refusing to allow them to fall at this moment. “You think I would survive that?”
“I need you to survive,” Nargol bit out through clenched teeth.
“I need you.”
Silence stretched between them as they stared at each other. The air seemed to thicken.
“You will go far,” Nargol continued. She lowered her voice. “You will see Aghon. You will travel all over Lunaterra. You will build a life beyond this.”
The first tear slid down Orlena’s cheek. She refused to wipe it away. She blinked again, and another trailed down the other cheek.
“You are my life,” Orlena whispered.
Nargol’s expression fragmented. Pain flickered in her amber eyes.
“If I fall, it will not be for nothing if you live,” Nargol said.
The floodgates opened. Tears freely spilled down Orlena’s cheeks now. The thought of this warrior—this fierce, stubborn, beautiful orc—choosing death so she could breathe. So she could be free. So she could see the world and fulfill her dreams.
It wrecked her.
“I don’t want a world without you in it,” Orlena said through quivering lips. She gripped the bars of her cell. There had to be some other way for both of them to escape.
“I’ve experienced what it means to live and now to love.” Nargol’s voice softened. She leaned her head against the iron. Her eyes were pleading as she gazed down at Orlena. “Now it’s your turn.”
Before Orlena could answer, boots thundered down the stone steps. Orlena’s heart leaped into her throat. The torches flickered, and shadows stretched long across the corridor. Keys rattled, the footsteps growing closer.
Massive orcs appeared in front of their cells. Orlena stepped back instinctively; her cell door was unlocked. She shook her head and tried to get away from the warrior who entered.
“No!” she screamed. Rough hands grabbed her arms. She fought as hard as she could. Instinct more than strength. She kicked at his shin, scratched his wrist, tried to bite him, but it was useless.
He was bigger and stronger.
“Nargol!” she cried.
They wrapped thick rope around her wrists, binding her arms together in front of her. Her skin burned from the rope digging into her.
Across the narrow divide, four orcs stormed into Nargol’s cell. Even bound, she fought like a storm breaking loose. She slammed one into the wall hard enough to crack the stone. Another took a head butt to the nose. The third one struck her across the face.
That just pissed Nargol off even more.
It took all four of them to force her down. Orlena screamed. One drove his fist into Nargol’s ribs. Another kicked her legs out from under her.
“Stop!” Orlena sobbed. “Stop!”
A heavy blow struck the back of Nargol’s head. The sound—sickening.
Her body went still.
“No!” Orlena’s voice tore from her throat.
She watched them lift Nargol’s limp form from the dungeon floor. Her head lolled forward, blood dripping from her onto the floor.
Orlena’s world tilted. “Is she breathing?”
“She’s breathing,” a guard sneered. “For now.”
They dragged her up the steps. Orlena fought harder, but her strength was nothing against the iron hands that pushed and shoved her along the way.
They finally left the suffocating dungeon and stepped into daylight.
The brightness blinded her. She blinked, and finally, things came into focus.
The courtyard of the stronghold had been transformed.
Where there had once been an open space for training and assembly, a crude wooden structure now stood in the center.
Two upright beams.
Two nooses swayed gently in the morning breeze. The sight snatched the air from her lungs. She screamed.
A small crowd gathered. Villagers. Warriors. All were waiting. Grat had said he was going to make an example out of them.
She took one look at the still slumbering Nargol who they had tossed down on the ground next to her.
Her world was about to end.