Chapter 4 #2
I sit next to Guruk as he feasts. Jalla sits on his lap as he feeds the choicest bits to her.
A sign of his favor and his way of showing me my place.
Instead of showing any signs of displeasure or jealousy, I just quietly pick at my food.
I am anxious to return to my rooms, to Rognar.
He is left with a wet nurse that Wodred thoughtfully provided, but I never feel quite settled if I am not with my baby.
Pushing aside my trencher, I go to stand, but Guruk’s heavy hand comes down possessively on my thigh, keeping me in my chair, even as Jalla is still on his lap.
“Where are you going, wife?” he rumbles out, displeasure in his voice. “The feast has barely begun.”
I choose my words carefully. I don’t want to trigger one of his explosive bouts of rage. Not here, in front of the Northern Horde.
“I am merely fatigued from traveling, My King,” I murmur softly, sweetly. So that there is no way for him to interpret disrespect in what I am saying. “I thought to return to my rooms. I will be back for tomorrow’s feast.”
Guruk frowns, and a frisson of fear darts through my heart. But then his hand relaxes, moving off my leg. “Fine. If you are going to sit around looking like a wilted bloom, you’ll only dampen the spirits of the feast. But see that you are more entertaining tomorrow.”
Relief fills me. Guruk must truly be in an excellent mood from conquering Goetia.
“As you will, My King,” I respond demurely, before beating a hasty retreat. But not too hasty. I don’t want to look like I’m eager to leave Guruk’s presence. He will interpret that as disrespect if I am not careful.
Once I am out of the Great Hall, I try to make my way back to my rooms, but this castle is designed in a way that makes no sense to me. I find myself all turned around, and soon find that I am outside on the battlements, looking out over the capital city.
The city is dark and quiet, barely any light coming through the windows of the buildings below.
I imagine everyone is waiting behind closed doors, tense and hoping the invaders will leave soon.
And they will, but not before taking the country’s wealth, women, men, and choice lands.
The Goetian king must regret his dealings with Orik now, the petty insults he tried to get away with, for Orik never forgets an insult and returns contempt with blood and ruin.
Sighing, I turn to go back in and try to find my room again when I hear a soft, deep voice ask, “Are you lost, Lady Melelea?”
I start at the voice. I thought I was alone up here. Turning, I see Wodred in the shadows, standing guard like a soldier of half his rank. How strange.
“General Wodred, you gave me a fright!”
“Apologies, my lady,” Wodred says, his voice still soft. “I was merely surprised to see you up here.”
“I am afraid that I am lost,” I admit hesitantly, almost expecting him to mock me like the guards in Ilustan would.
“Goetian architecture is strange,” he says instead. “It is easy to get turned around.”
“Yes,” I respond, relieved that he understands. “Why is that?”
“It is designed to confuse would-be invaders,” Wodred explains.
“Things in unexpected places, hidden doors, the like. All the staircases enclose parallel steps, so that one may go up while another goes down and never meet. It is quite a fascinating architectural feat, but it leads to getting turned around.”
“That does sound clever,” I reply, “but it doesn’t seem to have helped them with these invaders.”
Wodred tenses at my words, and internally I flinch.
We were having a nice, friendly conversation.
Why would I seek to ruin the easiness with my true thoughts?
I have gotten good at hiding my thoughts these past three years, but something about being in Wodred’s presence makes guarding my tongue more difficult.
Luckily, Wodred does not censure me. “No, they were indeed unlucky to catch the attention of the Horde. Our kingdom cannot afford to lose a war, or the whole continent would see us as weak. Once a war starts, it can only end in victory or death.”
I have never heard it put so plainly, but it is true. Orik has many enemies, made through the years of warring and conquering. If they were ever to show weakness, it would be sure to invite vultures looking to pick at the kingdom’s carcass.
“I see why Guruk likes you,” I say. “You have wisdom.”
Strangely, Wodred looks uncomfortable. “The king is most generous with his attentions and favors,” he says diplomatically, but his words do not fool me.
Wodred does not like my husband? That is news indeed.
My husband is not aware of it, I’m sure, or he would not leave Wodred in a position of power like being the General of the Northern Horde.
“You do not like the king?” I ask carefully, quietly, so that no one could overhear.
Wodred shakes his head. “Do not misunderstand me. Guruk is fine as far as kings go, but his strength seems to be in oppressing the weak, not challenging the strong, and such things leave a bad taste in my mouth.”
Everything in me goes still. Oppressing the weak.
Does Wodred know how Guruk treats me in Ilustan then?
Is this his way of subtly telling me that he thinks me weak for staying with Guruk?
I no longer have a choice! Perhaps I could have left before Rognar was born, but now?
I cannot leave my baby behind, and Guruk would hunt me to the ends of Anar’i if I tried to leave now with what is currently his only heir.
“Do you think me weak, then?” I ask, unable to stop myself.
Wodred’s body tenses, his eyes dark with intensity, glittering even in the low light of the battlements. “Are you saying that Guruk oppresses you?”
His words are low, his tone dangerous. I don’t know why my answer seems to matter to him so much, but I get the feeling that it does.
Do I tell the truth? That Guruk hurts me and mocks me and belittles me in public?
That it is common knowledge in Ilustan that the queen consort is a joke?
What will it change if Wodred knows this as well?
What would he do? Tell Guruk that I complained?
No, that doesn’t seem like him. Probably just pity me like all the rest. And, for some reason, I cannot bear the thought of his pity.
“No,” I hear the words come out of my mouth. “No. My King is good to me.”
The lies taste like ashes on my tongue, mingled with broken hope and lost dreams. But they have the desired effect. Wodred relaxes, his face shuttering, no longer looking dangerous.
“That is good,” he says. “An orc should be good to his mate.”
“Not his mate,” I correct. “Only his wife.”
Wodred’s face doesn’t change, but I catch a hint of disapproval in his air. “I suppose that is the way of Orik now. To have wives . . . and mistresses.”
I nod. “It was the way of my home country Trillin as well. My mother was the fifth concubine to my Lord Father. He also sought to have a strong bloodline.”
“It may be common, my lady,” Wodred says carefully. “But I do not understand it. If I take a mate, there will only be one. My heart does not have room for more.”
My heart squeezes at his words. What I would have given for Guruk to think the same. I thought when he first courted me . . . well, it doesn't matter what I thought. I was wrong, and now I can only live in reality.
“She will be a lucky female,” I say honestly. “Unless you prefer the company of males?”
Wodred looks at me quietly for a moment, then shakes his head. “I prefer females. But I told the king the truth. My heart is in Orik, and I have no intention of staying away from home longer than necessary.”
I smile a little. “Where do you call home, then, General? Ilustan?”
Please no, I silently beg. I cannot imagine him coming to court and seeing how I am treated there. To have his kindness slowly turn to disdain like all the others.
“I am not often in Ilustan,” Wodred tells me, to my relief. “My lands are in the north, and they need me when I am not serving in the Horde.”
“On the border of Adrik?” I ask.
“A little south of those lands,” he explains, “but not by much. Toward the foot of the Whitbron Mountains. It is a peaceful, pastoral place, with roving hills and green fields. I cannot wait to return there.”
“I can see why you would miss it,” I smile. “It sounds lovely.”
Wodred shrugs. “It is that. But it is my sisters that I miss the most. I haven’t seen them in years. Not since before the war in Trillin.”
My eyebrows raise. “So long? That was almost six years ago now!”
“Yes,” nods Wodred. “But my king had need of me, first in his cohort, then in the Northern Horde. An orc warrior never ignores a call from his king.”
“I’m sure your sisters miss you dearly,” I say.
For the first time, I see a small smile on Wodred’s face. It renders him . . . warm. Yes, that is the right word. He looks inviting as a cozy blaze on a winter’s night. It is enchanting to see a smile on a face that is so often serious.
“Yes,” Wodred says, that small smile playing about his mouth. “They send me letters often, bidding me to bring glory to Orik. They are about to join the Horde in their own right, so glory is on their minds.”
“They must be almost twelve, then?” I ask. Orclings join the Horde as trainees at age twelve.
“Yes, but they are elfborn and have some healing magic, so it is my hope that they will join the Healer’s Cohort and never see combat.” His easy smile drops at these words. “If I could, I would make it so that no orcling ever saw combat again.”
This surprises me, with Wodred being a general in the orc army. “You are a radical, then?” I ask. “You wish for peace in Orik?”
“I wish for many things, my lady,” Wodred returns evenly. “But peace in Orik is one of them.”
My husband would not like to hear that one of his prize warriors was speaking thusly, but I will not tell the tale to him. Wodred should be allowed his opinions safely and, in truth, I admire him for them and agree. A peaceful Orik? What would that look like?
But I have tarried here too long. I need to get back to Rognar and the wet nurse. Also, Ethereal forbid that Guruk go looking for me and cannot find me, especially after he let me go from the feast. He’ll think I lied to him, and there will be the Nether to pay.
“I must go,” I tell Wodred. “I need to get back to my son. But thank you for the conversation. You have given me much to think about.”
“My lady,” Wodred acknowledges, tilting his head forward and giving me the sign of respect. “Follow the sigils on the walls that look like lions. They lead to the king’s wing.”
I curtsy lightly. “Thank you, general. Good evening.”
Turning, I head back into the castle, looking for the lion sigils as Wodred bade me.
I resolve, then and there, to exert any influence I have when Rognar comes of fighting age to have him put in the Northern Horde for his training.
Wodred will keep him safe. I know it. Though I do not feel that I can trust any other orcs, for some reason, I feel that I can trust him.
Hopefully, I am not wrong.