Chapter 25
Eli
I’d been in shock when the honor guard marched me to the caves.
And I’d been prepared for Archie to greet me with his breezy nonchalance.
But as his eyes went to the bruising that colored the skin beneath my tattoos, his cynical mask slipped.
And though he recovered in a heartbeat, I’d still noted his concern.
He led me to a humid chamber where a shallow pool gently steamed. “Well, sailor. This is about as much water as you’ll see inside these caves. And while it might smell like a ripe bunghole, a good soak will leave you feeling a whole lot better.”
I was shivering, not just from the cold, but from something raw and restless under my skin. It wasn’t the moment where my shoulder wrenched from its socket that replayed in my mind, again and again. But rather, the image of the knife spinning across the floor and into my grasp.
The knife trusted to me by Kof. The knife I hadn’t even used. All I’d wanted, all this time, was a blade—and I hadn’t driven it home.
Why?
A single stroke and Pilgrim would have been dead. Orcs can recover from wounds that would kill even the strongest human man. But they still bleed. And they still die. I’d seen it in my mind over and over again—how fast it could happen.
One quick cut.
We hadn’t been alone, though. Pilgrim’s orcs would’ve torn me apart before the blood hit the floor. And then, Kof…
He would have paid the price for my revenge.
I’d made my choice. And while I hadn’t spilled Pilgrim’s blood, I could still walk away. I untied the sarong and let it fall. It slithered to the cave floor like a shed skin. It felt like an end…or maybe a beginning.
“Burn it.”
Archie’s knowing eyes met mine. He nodded.
The water was hot—too hot, at least initially.
I don’t flush easily, but my skin turned rosy and I thought I’d be simmered like a prawn.
But within moments I not only tolerated the heat, I welcomed it.
Muscles that had been tensed so long they felt more like sinew began to relax.
And the heat was soon no longer just tolerable, but delicious.
“Yeah,” Archie said. “It has that effect on me, too.”
I hadn’t realized I’d been smiling.
How long had it been since I’d had any reason to?
The smile quickly vanished. “What will happen to Pilgrim?” I asked.
“Nothing good. Ul-Rott isn’t exactly big on forgiveness.” No. I wouldn’t have thought so. “I find it interesting that you’re more worried about what happens to him than what happens to you.”
I sat up straighter. “Do you know what the orcs will do with me?”
“Sorry, no. Not even Droko the Mystic has figured out how the chieftain’s mind works.”
“But my days might be numbered.”
“True. And yet, maybe not—I heard the chieftain said you tried to warn him about the Wrack, after all, so he’ll probably spare your life.”
“And then what? Brand my cheek and throw me in the slave pen?”
Archie gave a nonchalant shrug. “That’s one possibility, though at least you’d live to scheme another day.
And would it really be so bad if someone bought you?
Maybe you’d find your new owner more than just tolerable.
I suppose it all boils down to freedom—not how much you value it, of course. But what it actually means to you.”
Given all the time I’d had to consider the idea, stuck inside that damn larkwood chest, you’d think I would know by now what it meant to be free. But I had so thoroughly convinced myself I was on a suicide mission, I’d never allowed myself to hope for freedom.
I used to tell myself I’d gone to sea for the salt wind and the horizon—but that wasn’t true.
Not really. I sailed because it was the only place I could be who I was without someone looking sideways at me.
Out there, no one cared who you bedded. As long as you worked hard and pulled your weight, the sea didn’t judge.
But ships always return to port. And once they do, the old rules come knocking. Tides turn, flags change, and the people you thought would stand by you find someone safer to be.
Archie left me alone with my thoughts, which were interrupted only briefly by a young honor guard pausing to leave a small pile of clothes just inside the chamber door.
But I hardly noticed. I was too busy grappling with the realization that freedom was nothing like I’d always presumed.
I scrambled out of the basin and hastily tugged on the breeches, mostly one-handed, and hurried for the exit.
The young orc was stationed in the passage.
He backed away from me, blowing into his fist. If I had any magic, I would’ve blasted him aside with a wave of my hand.
Instead, I could only say, “Take me to Kof,” and hope that I wasn’t answered with a whack of the boy’s spear.
I’d been bluffing, of course. But the bluff paid off. The young orc blew into his curled fist one more time, then motioned for me to follow him.
The caves were a warren of twisting tunnels.
The walls were ridged with fantastical texture, only partially shaped by hammer and chisel, with some spots left just as nature had carved them, while the floors were worn smooth.
And the stone itself was surprisingly warm under the soles of my bare feet.
When we turned the final corner, I caught sight of Kof in his chamber.
Daylight knifed in from a hole in the cave ceiling, but the rest of the cavern was in deep shadow.
The divan was empty, and Kof was lying on a thin mat on the floor.
His spear was within reach and his blind side was to the wall, in that pervasive orcish vigilance they practice.
I broke into a sprint, startling my guard, and I was lucky I didn’t end up skewered.
Even if I had been, I might not have noticed, not with Kof so close.
He was about to launch into a defensive position, but then his nostrils flared. He smelled me.
He knew me.
“Leave us,” he said to the young guard as he stood, deliberate and slow, to tower over us both. Though he didn’t raise his voice, it was low and filled with grit, and something else…something deep and melancholy.
The young orc was eager enough to go. Soon his presence was nothing more than a tromp of hasty footfalls echoing down the corridor.
And then I was alone with Kof.
Time stretched as we stood there, staring at each other, until finally I had the courage to blurt out, “I want to stay. Here. With you.”
He smiled faintly, a sad smile. “If only that could happen.”
“Archie lives here, with the shaman. And you’re the captain—surely you could demand a human of your own—”
“That’s not how it is, Eli. I don’t make demands of the shaman. I serve him.”
“Fine, demand isn’t the right word. But you could ask—”
“Eli,” he said. I would never tire of the way he spoke my name. “You shouldn’t hope for more than tonight.” That stopped me cold. He hadn’t said it with cruelty. If anything, it sounded like regret. “If I could give you more, I would.”
A silence settled between us, thick with all the things he wouldn’t say.
There was a bundle of cloth on the floor. “This was sent along before you, and now I see why.” He picked up the bundle and gestured toward the trunk. “Sit. Let me see to your arm.”
As he approached, he unwound a long strip of clean linen—and caught a tiny glass vial that tumbled from the folds.
“Medicine?” I asked.
He chuffed humorlessly. “No. Just one of Archie’s strange human notions.
” He turned the vial in his massive hand.
“The truth always comes to light eventually—and people tend to know more than you realize.” He held up the bottle for inspection.
“Like this. Archie not only knew you wouldn’t bind your arm as you were told—but that you’d end up here. ”
Given that Archie had practically led me there by the nose with his innocent questions about freedom, I wasn’t surprised.
Kof uncorked the vial, dipped a finger in the oil, and worked it gently across the muscle of my shoulder.
I winced as his thumb traced the injured joint. The heat of his skin and the sting of my injury blurred together.
“I should’ve tended this sooner,” he murmured, more to himself than to me. And then, in the wake of the burn, rose a blessed numbness.
Kof’s huge hands were surprisingly gentle as he bound my arm to my side to brace my shoulder.
The stiff linen was rough against my skin, but the care he took warmed me more than any hot spring ever could.
As Kof tucked in the tail of the linen, I caught him by the wrist. He stiffened, but didn’t pull away.
Slowly, reverently, I reached up to touch his face.
My fingers traced the lines of his jaw, ridiculously broad and sharp, nothing at all like the sea captain’s thick beard.
A muscle worked in Koff’s cheek, but he endured the caress.
I moved my hand up, brushing over his cheekbone and then, with infinite care, I let my fingers trail over the scarred eye socket.
His breath hitched, and I thought I’d gone too far. But then he closed his eye—the one that still saw—and leaned into my touch. It was a small surrender, but it felt monumental.
“Telling me not to get my hopes up,” I said softly as my thumb gently stroked the rough skin around his scar. “If you’re trying to scare me off, you’re gonna have to do better.”
He opened his eye and looked at me then, really looked at me. The vulnerability there was almost too much to bear.
I pressed my lips to his in a tentative kiss, pouring all the reassurance and tenderness I could muster into that simple contact.
Orcs don’t kiss each other—not because the gesture was taboo, but because the two sets of tusks won’t allow it.
Kof was willing to let me lead, though he responded slowly at first. Cautiously, even, like someone testing the edge of a wound.
And then... something changed. The kiss deepened—not just in hunger, but in weight.
He’d chosen something in that moment. I just didn’t know what.