Chapter 1
Chapter One
I heft a twenty-pound bag of flour into my arms and struggle up the rickety wooden steps leading from the cellar back into the inn’s kitchen. Mr. Payne should have brought up the flour for tomorrow’s bread, but he’s been too busy chatting with the patrons in the taproom.
I can’t blame him. It’s pouring outside, so every traveler and merchant passing through our village has sought refuge here for the night.
But my arms shake with exhaustion after a long day serving the customers and helping out in the kitchen, and I can’t wait for the evening to end.
My little room in the attic might be small and cramped, but the chimney runs right through it, so it’ll be warm even though the roof is leaking slightly in the corner.
“Rose!” Jasmine, Mr. Payne’s daughter, bursts into the kitchen, her blue eyes wide. “You’re needed in the taproom.”
I drop the bag of flour on the counter and dust off the front of my gray dress. “It’ll have to wait a moment. I have to carry up another bag, or your ma won’t have enough to make the bread.”
Jasmine makes a cutting gesture with her hand. “I’ll do that. You find my father, and he’ll explain everything.”
She nudges me toward the door to the taproom. Her excitement—and her willingness to take on heavy labor instead of me—has me narrowing my eyes.
“What’s going on?”
Jasmine bites her lip, peers through a crack in the door, then turns back toward me.
“There’s a new customer who’s just come in.
An orc! He broke up a fight in front of the inn, so Mr. Genner and his men are complaining about him being here.
They’re saying he grabbed one of the lads by the collar and lifted him clear off the ground to get him to stop punching the other. ”
Oh. My heart speeds up, even as apprehension twists my belly. I wish Jasmine would go out and serve the newcomer, but she’s not the maid. Mr. Payne might be the owner of the inn, but it’s his daughter who runs it in truth.
But an orc… I’ve heard the rumors and the stories, of course.
Perhaps not about the ones from the kingdom up north, as they’ve been passing through these parts more and more in recent years, but there’s a clan to the east that’s nothing but trouble.
For decades, they’ve been raiding through the borderlands, unlike these Bellhaven ones.
Still, they’re all inhumanly strong and they dwell underground.
Is this one a mighty warrior or a simple trader?
“Go on,” Jasmine whispers, nudging me again from behind.
I straighten my shoulders and look down my nose at her.
We’ve become…not friends, exactly, in the four months since I started working here, but something like it, certainly.
So, it stings that she’s urging me to put myself out there while she stays in the safety of the well-lit kitchen.
She has the grace to look ashamed and drops her gaze to the floor.
I wish I could ask for a reprieve. That I could avoid the busy, noisy taproom altogether and escape to my room instead. But I learned a long time ago that wishes are useless, so I push open the door and stride toward the bar, where Mr. Payne is pouring ale into tin mugs.
“You asked for me?” I say, stopping in front of him.
He takes a sip from one of the over-filled mugs, sets it on the counter, and wipes the froth from his mustache.
Then he stares down at me, frowning. His eyes are as blue as his daughter’s, but sampling his own ale for decades has ruined his face, carving deep furrows by his mouth, bursting the little veins in his nose and cheeks.
He isn’t an unkind employer, but to him, I am expendable.
“You’ve got a new customer,” he mutters, keeping his voice low. “The orc has asked for an ale, so you can take it to him and see if he wants food as well. If he asks for a room, tell him we’re full.”
I raise one eyebrow. “Are we really?”
The taproom is busy, but I recognize at least half of the patrons—they’ll drink here until their wives come to drag them back home in a couple of hours.
Mr. Payne sneers at me. “No, but I don’t want him in my inn overnight. He got into it with some of my best customers, and I’ll not be losing business over a single traveler. And I don’t want him breaking any furniture, either. Look at the size of him.”
He swings his arm out to indicate the shape in the corner I’ve been trying to ignore.
And yes, I’ve been more than aware of the traveler this entire time.
He’s sitting at the far end of the room, and though the other tables are filled so customers are sitting elbow to elbow, the humans have given him a wide berth.
The villagers don’t like anyone butting into their business, and if he really picked up one of the men to break up a fight, they’d resent the show of strength.
Now that I allow myself to study him, I’m dissatisfied because I can’t make out enough—his hood is up, dripping rainwater on the table, and I can only get a glimpse of his green skin, his massive arms. One thing is clear, though.
He’s twice the size of any man in this room, his shoulders broad and muscular, and if he stood, I bet he’d be a head taller than all of us, too.
Swallowing thickly, I pick up a large mug of ale and head for his table.
One step in front of the other, trying to suppress a shiver that goes through me when he turns to look at me.
His eyes are hidden beneath the hood, but I feel the weight of his stare.
He was slouching before, but now he straightens his back in anticipation.
I walk past tables of patrons, and suddenly, a hand snakes out, wrapping around my wrist.
“Miss Rose,” a voice drawls. “I’ve been hoping to see your pretty face tonight.”
I jerk in the man’s grip and some of the beer sloshes from the mug to the sticky wooden floor. “Mr. Genner. I’ll be around in a moment to take your order. I just have to deliver this.”
Mr. Genner is the kind of customer every serving maid tries to avoid.
Too handsy and stingy with his tips, and old enough to be my father.
I’ve complained to Mr. Payne several times, as have the other women working here, but he always says that Mr. Genner and his friends are good for the business, so we should just ignore him and carry on.
“Nonsense,” Mr. Genner says and tugs me toward him, his fingers digging painfully into my arm. “I’ll take that ale, and you can sit with us.”
He pulls again, and I lose my balance, spilling half of the beer to the floor. But worse than that, I land in the man’s lap. I squeak, banging my shin on a table leg, and wince when he squeezes my hips.
“Let me go,” I demand, putting as much authority in my voice as possible. “I’ve told you before, I don’t like this.”
Mr. Genner just laughs, and his friends’ guffaws are a drunken echo to the grating sound. “Well, girl, I like you just fine, so I think I’ll keep you here awhile. I’m sure Mr. Payne won’t—aah!”
I upend the mug of ale over his head, my ears ringing. I cannot abide another moment of him touching me. Beer sloshes over his ruddy face, plastering his hair to his skull.
A hush falls over the taproom, then more noise erupts as patrons gasp, shout, and egg us on.
Mr. Genner pushes me off and stands, his snarl turning ugly. “You little—”
I tumble to the floor, my hands sticking to the spilled beer. I roll to the side, land on my ass, and scoot away from him.
He reaches for me, but jerks to a sudden stop, then screams, his face twisting in agony.
The orc is standing over me, holding Mr. Genner by his neck. The man’s face is turning purple, and he’s wheezing, but it’s his arm that has my stomach turning over—it sticks out at an unnatural angle, surely broken.
“You do not touch a woman if she does not want it,” the stranger growls.
His hood has fallen back, revealing long black hair plaited in a thick braid, bright-green skin, and pointed ears. But the worst are the sharp tusks jutting up from his lower lip—and his fierce glare.
“But she wanted it,” Mr. Genner gasps.
That has me scrambling to my feet. “No, I didn’t! You grabbed me.”
The orc squeezes his fingers tighter, and my attacker gurgles. The taproom is silent but for the shocked gasps, until Mr. Payne scuttles forward, his face ashen.
“Stop this,” he demands in a shaking voice. “No brawling in my inn.”
The orc casts his dark gaze to him, and my boss shrinks back. Then the big stranger looks at me and lifts his eyebrows as if to ask for my opinion.
“Please don’t kill him,” I whisper.
I don’t want him to become a killer over vermin like Mr. Genner.
A fleeting look of displeasure crosses his face, but he suddenly unclenches his fist, letting Mr. Genner drop to the floor. The bastard curls on his side, coughing and gasping, but no one jumps to his aid. Everyone is still, rooted to their seats.
The stranger turns toward me. His gaze dips from my face to my dress, then down to my worn boots, and back to my eyes. He reaches out, and I freeze, but he merely brushes a lock of hair from my face.
“Forgive me for startling you, little mate. But you needn’t be afraid of me. I am Uram, son of Mrest. It is my greatest honor to finally meet you.”