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 wasthe 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.
