Chapter 13
Clover
Dinner is a slab of meat I’ll never finish and a pile of fresh vegetables.
King Lix’tuk is still drinking grog. I’m having water, since I don’t think I should have anything that strong very often. I don’t have a buzz anymore, but I can still feel the lingering effects of it. The strawberry drink is a lot stronger than agave wine.
After a few bites, I glance over at the orc devouring his meal.
“This food is incredible, but the fork and knife are a little but big,” I say, looking at them in my hands.
I have to grip the knife with both hands to cut through the meat, which makes King Lix’tuk chuckle into his grog.
“They’re not that difficult to use,” he rumbles. “You’ll get used to them.”
“I think I can manage,” I say, carving off some meat.
“What books did you read today?” he asks flatly, taking a big bite of meat.
“I flipped through a lot of them,” I say, the library’s scent still lingering beneath the aroma of the hearty meal. “I read one by a man who really didn’t like you.”
“Alexander Pinner,” he says, his lip twitching before he stuffs more meat between his tusks. “My biggest human critic once upon a time. Thing about critics and kings? We outlive most of them.”
“Because you’ve been around a really long time,” I say, biting into a tangy purple vegetable I don’t know the name of.
“One way of outliving them,” he chuckles. “What did you think of his book?”
“I think he hated you too much to be honest about everything,” I admit. “He wrote a lot about The Salting and the Reparations Treaty, but he didn’t mention the virus. Or the rift. Even the books in Troona mentioned those.”
King Lix’tuk’s amusement fades a little. “Did they?”
“Yes,” I say. “They just made it sound like things humans regretted. Mistakes. Not… atrocities.”
“Mistakes,” he repeats, like the word tastes worse than his grog.
“Mistakes we were paying for. Every month, whenever a second-born turned twenty-one.” I glance down at my plate, my stomach flipping from either the memory or the strawberry drink. “There were four of us on my train.”
His jaw tightens. “Four?”
“Me, Rose, Cedar, and Jasmine,” I say, naming them before I can stop myself. “That was just from Troona. I don’t know how many were actually at The Grand Hotel. I assume a lot more than four.”
“And Concord City does this every month?” he asks.
“Yes,” I reply.
“Humans always find a way to make cruelty efficient.” He looks down at his grog like it has personally offended him. “Why didn’t you run? Make your own way. Your country is as big as Uzrirgard. Filled with gems and minerals that can be mined. Surely there’s plenty of work.”
“I couldn’t let my family get whipped!” I say more harshly than a little human girl should say to a king. “I mean… I love them. My little sister might be spared in a town like Troona, but my parents and older sister wouldn’t be.”
He sips his grog and continues eating. I feel a twinge of worry. I know he doesn’t respect weakness. Is that what he sees my hesitation as? Weakness, because I was concerned about my family? If that’s the kind of weakness an orc king doesn’t respect, then I guess he’ll never respect me.
“Humans introduced us to the whip,” he growls. “Tortured the orcs they managed to take alive. Whippings only enraged us, but we found they’re quite effective for controlling your kind. Just like a collar and leash.”
“It controlled us,” I admit, sipping my water, then shuddering when I remember the dungeon. “I guess it still does.”
He glares at me, eating some meat before washing it down with grog. His dark eyes flicker with something I can’t name. Pity, perhaps? Maybe I am a weak little girl, terrified of something that only enraged orcs, admitting my fears instead of hiding them behind a smile like I always did in Troona.
“I don’t think you deserve scars, Clover,” he says. “I won’t whip you unless you do something foolish, like try to run away. I’m assuming you’re not that foolish.”
I stare at him blankly for a moment. It’s not pity, it’s mercy. Not just physical, but mental. Maybe King Lix’tuk is a merciful drunk. The foot of his bed is more comfortable than my straw mattress in Troona. It could be worse. So much worse.
“I won’t try to run away,” I say genuinely. “Especially if you don’t hurt me.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” he rumbles, chuckling under his breath. “I’ll still put you over my knee if I have to.”
My bottom twitches slightly, then my core horrifyingly does the same, and heat floods my face.
“I’ll be on my best behavior,” I squeak out.
“I bet you will,” he says, finishing his last bite and draining the rest of his grog. “But if you aren’t going to run away, I won’t make you wear the collar all the time.”
He leans over and removes it. The relief is immediate. I rub my neck and swallow a few times to get used to the way it feels without it.
“Thank you,” I say.
King Lix’tuk waits patiently while I finish my meal.
I clear the table without being asked and carry the dishes into the kitchen.
The coffee cups from this morning are still on the counter, as are our plates from lunch.
Beverly usually handled the dishes in Troona, but I guess there’s nobody here to do them but me.
I doubt King Lix’tuk bothers himself with such rudimentary things.
I’m moving the dishes to the wash basin with a spout that is apparently called a sink when King Lix’tuk steps into the kitchen. He ignores me at first, grabbing another bottle of grog from the fridge. Once he removes the cork and takes a sip, he gives me a curious look.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“I was going to wash the dishes,” I explain, picking up the coffee cups. “Back home, we just wiped them down, but I can actually clean them properly here.”
“Just put them in the dishwasher,” he growls, pointing to a metal door below one of the cabinets. “You don’t have to wash them by hand like a primitive.”
“Dishwasher?” I walk over and open the metal door, seeing clean dishes on a rack.
“Unload it first, then put the dirty dishes in there and hit the big button on the front,” he growls. “It’s easy.”
It’s strange how often people call something easy when they’ve always known how to do it.
“Okay,” I say, looking around at the cabinets. “I’m sure I can figure out where they all go.”
“I’ll be in the theater when you’re done,” he growls, walking to the door. “Bring a few bottles of grog with you. Get something for yourself if you want.”
I haven’t seen the theater yet. King Lix’tuk pointed it out when he was giving me the grand tour. We didn’t have theaters in Troona. Just an old television at the mayor’s office. I’ve read about theaters in books, though. A place where books come to life, acted out on an enormous screen.
After opening most of the cabinets, I find where the clean dishes go.
The dishwasher itself is easy to use. I put all the dishes inside, hit the button, and it does something.
I can hear water rushing through pipes and filling it.
I guess they use a lot more water to wash a few dishes here than we used back home.
Everything in this fortress is too big for me, but I’m not totally helpless. I found a stool I keep in the kitchen to help me reach everything. Elsewhere I resort to standing on my toes or jumping.
“Okay, grog for King Lix’tuk,” I mutter, gathering a few bottles for him. I stare at the fruity drinks in the back of the fridge. “I guess one more wouldn’t hurt.”
Since I’ve had a rather big meal, I’m not feeling the first drink as much as I was. Another one will definitely make me sleepy, and that might be a good thing, since I’m sure it won’t be long until we go to bed.
I walk to the theater door and open it. My jaw drops.
The room is smaller than I expected. Only twenty or so seats, arranged in three rows, but they’re enormous seats, big enough for an orc.
They’re upholstered in black leather and look soft enough to sink into.
Some of them are reclined, but I’m not sure what keeps them from returning to their upright position.
Each seat has a small table attached, perfect for holding drinks.
The screen dominates the wall in front of the seats, stretching from floor to ceiling. It’s already lit up with an image that flickers and moves, colors dancing around the orc king’s face where he sits in the center of the front row. The sound is low, but rich, and seems to be all around me.
The walls are covered in the same dark stone as the rest of Zrogmul, but here, they’re draped with heavy fabric cut from red and black cloth.
Artificial torches line the walls, but they’re dimmed to the point they don’t provide much light.
Just enough for me to see where I’m going.
The ceiling is lower here, which makes the room feel cozier than some of the others.
“Sit,” King Lix’tuk rumbles, eyes fixed on the screen. “I hope you didn’t forget the grog.”
“No, I brought it,” I reply, walking to the front row. I place the bottles of grog on his table, then glance at the seat beside him. “Do you want me to sit here, or should I find somewhere in the back, so I don’t disturb you?”
“Sit wherever you like,” he growls, uncorking the grog.
I look toward the back of the theater, then the front row. I’m not sure if he really means it, but since he offered, I sit in the seat next to him. He shifts, like he’s giving me more room, but doesn’t seem bothered by my presence. Maybe grog makes him hate humans less than he does when he’s sober.
“What are we watching?” I ask, removing the cork and trying my drink. This one tastes like some kind of fruit I’m unfamiliar with. Sweeter than strawberries, but not as tangy.
“You got to read Alexander Pinner’s propaganda,” he growls, sipping his grog. “I’m going to show you ours.”
It’s a movie about The Great War. They have an actor playing King Lix’tuk who has lighter skin and fewer scars, but there’s enough resemblance for me to recognize him.