Chapter 6
Clover
I follow Lady Frax’mo, unsure what awaits me.
She leads me outside The Grand Hotel and into a parking lot with spaces way too big for cars. It’s also completely empty until she removes her tablet from her purse and taps the screen. A second later, the light bends in front of us and some sort of ship appears.
“Whoa,” I say, unable to stop myself from reacting.
The ship is massive, easily three times the size of the train car that brought me to Concord City. But where the train was sleek silver and smooth, designed to look modern and refined, this vessel is something else entirely.
The hull is constructed from what looks like dark metal, but it’s not uniform or polished.
It has hammered plates riveted together in overlapping sections that remind me of scales or armor.
The surface is etched with intricate patterns that might be decorative or might serve some function I don’t understand.
Swirling designs cover every visible panel, and while I don’t know what they are, I’ve seen similar designs in books about The Great War.
The ship sits low and wide, like it’s built for power rather than elegance.
It looks like something that could tear through the sky faster than the jets I’ve read about.
There are no visible wheels or landing gear that I can see.
It simply hovers about a foot off the ground, humming with a deep, resonant sound I can feel in my chest.
Lady Frax’mo taps her screen again, and an entrance ramp lowers with a hiss of hydraulics, revealing warm golden light that spills from the interior. The metal groans slightly as the ramp settles into place, and I can see that even the ramp is covered with the same designs etched across the ship.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” I say, biting my tongue because I’m not sure if I should speak.
“She’s called Kaz’gara. It means Swift Thunder, in our ancient tongue,” she explains, gesturing toward the ramp, and I realize she’s inviting me aboard. Although I have a feeling if I decline this invitation, things will stop being so civil.
I hesitate for just a moment, looking back at The Grand Hotel looming behind us. Rose is somewhere in there. She could be standing on that stage right now, being bid on by men like the ones who wanted to buy me. Cedar and Jasmine too.
But as much as I hate it, there’s nothing I can do for them. My fate has already been decided. I take a deep breath and walk up the ramp, feeling like I’m walking into the unknown. Except when I get to the top of the ramp, I realize the unknown also includes another orc.
“Find a seat and sit down,” he growls.
This orc resembles the savages I’ve seen in old books.
He’s enormous. At least seven feet tall and built like he could uproot trees with his bare hands.
His skin is darker than Lady Frax’mo’s, almost gray in places, and covered in thick, corded muscle.
His arms are heavily scarred, pale lines that stand out against his skin like a map of past violence.
His attire definitely isn’t formal. It looks like battle armor made of the same dark, textured material as the ship’s hull, partially covered by a fur cloak. I’m not sure what kind of fur it is, but it’s too black to belong to any of the domesticated animals I’m familiar with.
I take a seat in the back of the ship. Lady Frax’mo boards the ship, says something to the orc pilot I can’t make out, and sits across from me.
A few seconds later, the door closes with a hiss and the ship rises from the ground.
It’s smoother than I expect it to be but not as smooth as the train.
I grab my armrest when we get higher in the air.
“Are you afraid of flying?” Lady Frax’mo asks gently.
“Um, never flown before,” I admit.
“You have nothing to worry about. You’re more likely to be eaten by a bear than die in a crash,” she says, smiling slightly.
“You have bears in Uzrirgard?” I ask, hoping I’m pronouncing the name of her country correctly.
“Yes. Black bears. Brown bears. Even polar bears, near the ice caps up north,” she answers. “We’re hunters, so we respect our wildlife and never hunt them to extinction.”
“We don’t really have wildlife,” I say. “Not since The Salting.”
“With all the money humans have made from the Reparations Auction, they could have replenished all the soil in their country if they chose to,” she says.
“Instead, they seem to prefer buying their food from other countries and expanding Concord City. One day, it’ll probably be as big as your entire country. ”
All those years of rationed water. All those cactus fields. Beverly’s cracked hands. Abigail’s thin little arms. And it didn’t have to be that way. Rose and I didn’t even have to be sold.
I glance out the window, my stomach tightening when I realize we’re higher up now. But from here, I can see just how big Concord City really is. I’m not sure how many Troonas could fit in it, but it’s easily hundreds.
But I’ve got more to worry about than the size of a city I’ll probably never see again.
The woman sitting across from me is my new owner, and I still don’t know why she bought me.
She seems nice. I hope that’s not an illusion for my sake.
If this is a nightmare, I’d rather know that so I can prepare for whatever horrible fate awaits me.
“Are you going to tell me why you bought me?” I ask meekly, trying to be respectful. “Or am I not allowed to ask questions like that?”
“You can ask anything you want.” She shrugs nonchalantly. “I bought you, but I will not be keeping you. You’re going to be a gift for King Lix’tuk.”
“A gift?” I ask, my eyes widening a little.
“Uzrirgard has been peaceful since The Great War, outside of the occasional skirmish at our borders. Peace is something that doesn’t align with our instincts.
Our king has gotten old, lonely, and bored,” she explains.
“You will keep him company in his final days. He needs someone to talk to. Someone to keep his brilliant mind active. Based on your aptitude scores, you should suffice.”
“Wouldn’t an orc be a better… companion?” I ask, unsure what label to use.
“Of course,” she replies, raising a brow in a way that makes me feel foolish for asking. “But orcs cannot be given as gifts. Humans can, based on the Reparations Treaty, even if we rarely buy them anymore.”
“You rarely buy them?” I ask. “I thought you needed fertile women because of the virus humans released during The Great War.”
“Needed, yes. Past tense. It’s been two hundred years, Clover,” she says flatly. “We solved our fertility crisis long ago. So did the wolf shifters.”
Rose and I spent the entire train ride praying for a wolf shifter. One that would treat us well. Maybe even care about us. We were hoping for a damn lie.
“So, it’s just demons and other humans who buy people at the auction?” I swallow hard, trembling a little.
“Demons don’t reproduce,” she scoffs. “And they have enough skins to wear. They haven’t attended auctions regularly in several decades as far as I know.”
The reality sinks in. Demons haven’t bought anyone from the Reparations Auction in my lifetime. Orcs and wolf shifters no longer need human women to breed.
“So the only people who normally attend the auctions are wealthy men and women who are looking for slaves,” I whisper in horror, as it all comes together.
“Didn’t mean to pull the curtain back that much, but yes,” she says. “Without the auction, Concord City’s economy would collapse in less than a year. They definitely wouldn’t be able to keep expanding that eyesore.”
I should probably ask questions about where we’re going. What will be expected of me once I’m gifted to King Lix’tuk. But my mind leaps past all of it, straight to the fact that King Lix’tuk is an old orc. I’m keeping him company in his final days.
“What happens after King Lix’tuk is gone?” I ask apprehensively.
“Everyone in Uzrirgard will mourn,” she says, the emotion draining out of her face. “It’ll be the worst day in our history since The Great War.”
“I’m sorry,” I reply, looking down. “I meant, what will happen to me? If you bought me to keep him company in his final days, what happens after…”
“Of course, you were thinking of yourself. How human of you,” she sighs, shaking her head. “King Lix’tuk is the last of an ancient bloodline blessed by the Twelve Gods. His final days will last most of your lifetime, possibly longer.”
“Oh!” I say, swallowing hard. More reality crashes into me, chipping away my memories, sending them deeper into the past where I’m realizing they’ll stay. “I see.”
“When you arrive, address him as Your Majesty,” she continues. “Be as polite and respectful as you would to anyone who can have you whipped if you’re disobedient or beheaded if you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”
“B-beheaded?” I stammer, a tremor of fear sweeping through me.
“He’s a king, Clover. His word is law,” she says firmly.
The tremor of fear turns into a tremble that won’t go away. I’m no longer thinking about my family. Rose. Or anyone’s fate except my own. I don’t want to be whipped. I definitely don’t want to die. I’ve never felt closer to death.
What if I mess up? What if I upset him? What if he just really doesn’t like humans? I’ve seen his name before in books. He was king during The Great War. His wife was one of the women who became infertile when humans released the virus. He has every reason to hate humans.
“I don’t want to die,” I whimper, never feeling more human than I do right now.
“Clover, if I thought he was just going to have you executed, I wouldn’t be giving you to him as a gift,” she says, narrowing her eyes.
“Just be polite and respectful, like I said. Address him properly. Take your Reparations Penalty with dignity. He’ll respect you more if you don’t beg for mercy during it. Orcs never respect weakness.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and wipe my eyes. I’m showing weakness right now. The very thing orcs don’t respect, which means Lady Frax’mo doesn’t respect me at all right now. I blink away my tears and try to summon my strength. I don’t find much to call on.
“What’s the Reparations Penalty?” I ask, doing my best not to let my voice shake, but it still comes out jagged.
“It’s an old tradition, but long ago, we decided that any human who was brought to live in Uzrirgard would be punished for what their kind did to ours,” she says. “Normally, it’s a whipping. King Lix’tuk will decide what your penalty is.”
My first instinct is to argue that I had nothing to do with what happened two hundred years ago.
But I don’t argue. Orcs don’t respect weakness, so if I’m going to keep my head, I need to display strength.
Or at least create the illusion of strength, even if I’m scared to death right now.
I’ve seen people whipped before. It was scary enough when it was just a man holding the coiled leather.
I can’t even imagine how much damage an orc can do with one.
It seems that the sins of people who died long before I was born are mine to suffer for. As if being the second-born wasn’t bad enough. Now I may be whipped because of other people’s sins. A Reparations Penalty, just because I’m human.
“I’ll do my best to take it with dignity,” my voice is hoarse and I am shuddering so hard I’m surprised the seat isn’t shaking.
It all crashes together inside me. The cruelty.
The unfairness. Is my fate better or worse than the other slaves who were auctioned?
Will the whipping just be the first torment I endure at the hands of a king?
A king who probably hates humans more than anyone else in the world, considering that he actually fought in The Great War.
He witnessed the atrocities. He was the one who gave the order to salt our entire country to sand.
Inside, I’m shedding more tears than I’ve ever cried.
But externally, my face is an iron mask.
The most dignified one I can manage.