Page 99 of The Orc Warrioress and the Elf Lord

Iahir sat down and took out his pipe. “She was part of it,” he said. “But the actual strike, that was me.”

“Why was she part of it?”

“She is the daughter of the orc High Chieftain,” said Iahir. “Not legitimate, you understand, not important to him, but his blood. She misrepresented her value to us. She made us think that if we killed the High King, we could use her as a hostage to control her father.”

“Ah, but I imagine everything went to pieces so quickly afterward that no one knew what to do.”

“I can’t see why that happened,” said Iahir.

“Shock,” said his father. “Shock and self-preservation.”

Iahir saw movement at the doorway. He looked up and there was his brother, strands of greasy light blond hair hanging in his face. “Adalir?” he called.

“My name is Grann,” growled back the creature in the door.

Iahir tilted his head in agreement. “Grann, then. Do you wish to come in? Do you wish to share a pipe?”

“Your name is not Grann,” countered their father. “Do not set foot across the threshold if you cannot acknowledge reality.”

Adalir backed away, muttering to himself.

Iahir puffed on his pipe, regarding his father.

“No progress at all,” said his father, who looked haggard and old and tired.

Iahir did not care what the man said, he could not leave them here, not on their own. But what was he going to do?

27

GATHREN HAD PUT away the ice and eaten her breakfast, both of which had been left at the front doorstep without so much as a knock, when she heard the front door opening.

She had thought that Iahir might be gone a long time, though his note had promised otherwise, and she had been thinking about what it was that she might do instead of staying here. As it was, she was not sure if she should even be out reading on the beach. She had stayed inside all day.

But when she came to the top of the stairs, it was not Iahir coming through the hallway toward the stairs. It was some other elf, one with long pale hair that hung in strands in his face.

She paused at the top of the stairs, gripping the railing. “May I help you?” she said.

The elf raised his gaze to her. “There you are. The orc princess.”

“I’m no princess,” she said.

The elf laughed. “Oh, I heard all about you. I did, hiding inside. Grann was at the helm, but I was watching.”

That seemed an odd thing to say. “And who are you?”

“My name is Malik,” said the elf. “Are you armed?”

She was not, in fact. She realized now this was very stupid of her. Had Iahir not said that people wanted to kill her? And here she was, wandering around the house without even a knife in her ankle holster inside her boot. Nothing at all.

She made a split second decision to go for her weapons. She turned and rushed up the stairs.

Behind her, Malik pounded up the stairs.

She glanced over her shoulder.

He had a sword. The tip hit her back, just between her shoulder blades.

She froze.