Page 62 of Wed to the Orc Captive

“A wife.” Her gaze brushed over me, unsmiling, back to him. Her frown deepened. “You are injured.” She reached out, shaky, barely touching the bandage on his arm.

“Just a scratch. I’m fine,” he lied. “You know how the others worry over me.”

“What happened?”

“I quarreled with a bird.”

“A bird?”

“The biggest chicken I’ve ever fought with, my pride is devastated…”

“Gah! You bring a bride with no warning, and now you mock at me.” She landed a swat, very carefully, very gentle, against his wrist, like a tap on a child’s hand. “You come in. Annar-zha, you too. I am sorry, it is so dark⁠—"

The house was dark. Stepping in felt like walking into blackness again, the sole light the coals on the hearth. My eyes were too slow, but Vrathgar guided me when I stopped, and soon I was sitting on a low seat, waiting to be able to see again.

“You are married! And with no warning. A wife!” She clucked in the darkness.

Movement, rustling, soft sounds. Something smooth knocked against my hand, and I managed to grasp it. A bowl.

“You never bring young women here and all at once, a wife!” She did not mention that I was human. “Tell me now. How did you meet?”

“I was traveling near her people, and she took a liking to me. It’s been very fast.”

“Nayah, you scallywag!” She chided. “You should have brought her here first. You do things right. What do her parents think about this?”

“Annora is an orphan, but she had a mentor who gave her blessing. Her community gave her bridal gifts as we left.”

“A mentor?” The word had another connotation around it, the idea of working a trade or combat style. “Is she a warrior?

“Annora was training as a healer. She's very talented.”

“Tch tch! You keep speaking for her! Let me talk with my daughter in law.” A silhouette realized itself in the shadow, a dim outline of her shape. She spoke to me. “Do you link arms with Grezha then?”

I made myself speak. The slithery, foreign movements of my tongue still felt wrong. “I sound strangely right now, with the magic. I didn't want to startle you.”

“Ah, like the sorceress!” She waved a hand in the black. “No, no, the magic is fine. Go on. It does not bother me. You will speak right soon enough.”

I gathered myself. My head was spinning. “I have not gotten to speak with Grezha yet. It would be hard for me to help here, with so little of the language, and being an outsider to the women.”

“Tch, you can learn! And Grezha will not be bothered by the—" she made a hissing sound, mimicking the sorcerous speech. “The sorceress can help you. And Vrathgar will help you. Won't you, Vrathgar?” There was a scolding in her tone. “She has to speak Orcish; she can't be left all alone. What about the children?” Her hand touched mine, warm and smooth, like stone. “Vrathgar will help you. He has so many friends.”

I nodded, found my voice. “...yes. They're very kind.”

She moved back. “Eat, eat. Brathka left soup⁠—"

The warm broth soothed the knots in my belly as they talked. He avoided every topic that could be upsetting to her, the trial, the response to me coming here, why we got married at all.

“And this?” Firelight played over both of them now, and he stayed very, very still as she tapped his cheekbone. She clucked again. “And where did my son get this decoration? Are you getting in fights with the other boys again?”

“Now, Mother,” he said. “Who would dare mess with me while Annora is here? She’s too terrifying.”

She scolded again. I sipped the soup.

At first I’d thought he was careful because she would be frightening, that she’d be like Drazha, and he walked on eggshells to keep her from flying into some rage. I was familiar with that kind of careful. But as he kept parrying worries and joking away questions, this felt different.

He hadn’t touched his soup.

“Annar-zha,” she said my name wrong, but the magic still caught. “You like the food? This is like what you’re used to?”