“This is where I thought you’d kill me,” she said, her voice a quiet, distant thing.
I walked to stand behind her, close enough to feel the warmth of her body but not touching. I lookeddown at the top of her fiery head, at the strong, slender line of her neck.
“And this,” I said, my voice a low, rough murmur, “is where I knew my life had ended and begun at the same moment.”
She turned, and the look in her stormy eyes was one of profound, searching intimacy. The ghosts were gone. There was only us.
The irony was not lost on either of us when we took up residence in the expansive, obscenely luxurious quarters that had once belonged to Captain Valerius. The place still faintly smelled of his spiced wine and his weakness. We had the servants—human women who looked at Kael with terrified awe—air the place out for a full day before we moved our things in.
That evening, as dusk settled over the city, we walked its streets together.
She led me down a narrow, refuse-strewn alleyway between the armory and the tannery. She stopped, her gaze fixed on the grimy brick wall.
“This is where I killed him,” she whispered. “The first Orc I ever saw up close.”
I remembered.
“He was a good warrior,” I said quietly. “Young. Eager. Impulsive.” I looked at the ground, and I saw what his clan-brothers had left behind. A single, rough-hewn memorial stone had been set against the wall. A crude axe was carved into its surface. Nothing more. No name. Just the symbol of a warrior.
Kael stared at it, her expression one of utter bewilderment. “You… you mark the spot?”
“He died in battle,” I explained. “It is an honorable death. There is no shame in being bested by a superior foe.”
As if summoned, a young Orc warrior, one of the garrison guards, rounded the corner. He saw me and his eyes widened. He saw Kael, and his gaze shifted to the memorial stone. He recognized her. Instead of contempt, his expression was one of solemn respect. He looked at Kael, thumped his fist to his chest in a gesture of salute, and spoke in halting, difficult common tongue.
“He was my cousin,” the young Orc said, his voice a low rumble. He gestured to the stone. “He died with honor. You gave him that.”
He nodded once to her, once to me, and then continued on his way, leaving us in the shadowed alley.
Kael stood there, staring at the simple stone
Chapter 19
The day of the public assembly dawned cold and gray, the sky a bruised, unforgiving canvas. The atmosphere in the main square was thick with fear, resentment, and a fragile, desperate hope. It was a city holding its breath. Korvak and I stood on a raised wooden platform that his warriors had built in front of the command tower, the same spot where I had once been sentenced, and he now stood as chieftain.
The crowd was a sea of pale, anxious human faces. They far outnumbered the Orcs, a fact that was both a strategic advantage and a constant, simmering threat. My old life stared back at me from that crowd—men I had shared rations with, merchants I had bought watered-down ale from, women I had passed in the streets without a second glance. To them, I was a ghost. A traitor. A monster’s whore. I could see it in their eyes.
I stood at Korvak’s side, the wolf-bone bracelet on my wrist a solid, reassuring weight. He was a mountainof black leather and quiet authority, the undisputed master of this city. But today, his power rested partly on my tongue. He would be the hammer, and I would be the voice that shaped the blow.
When the last of the residents had shuffled into the square, a tense silence fell. Korvak took a step forward, and I saw a ripple of fear go through the crowd. They braced themselves, expecting the guttural, menacing rumble of the Orcish tongue.
Instead, his voice boomed across the square in their own language. Perfect, if heavily accented, common tongue.
“I am Korvak of the Blood-Axe Clan, Chieftain of Grayfang Pass.”
A collective gasp, sharp and unified, swept through the crowd. The shock was a physical thing. This was not the mindless, snarling beast of their propaganda. This was a thinking, speaking leader, a conqueror who had bothered to learn the language of his enemies. Somehow, that was infinitely more terrifying.
“This city is now Orc territory,” he continued, his voice a hammer striking an anvil. “Your old mastershave fled. Your old laws are dust. Today, we begin anew.”
He let the stark, brutal truth of it settle over them. I watched their faces, seeing the denial warring with the undeniable reality of the Orc warriors lining the rooftops.
“These are the new laws of this city,” he declared. “They will be applied equally to Orc and human.”
I saw the flicker of surprise in their eyes. Equal. It was not a word they associated with conquerors.
“First: There will be no reprisal killings. Any crime—murder, theft, assault—committed by an Orc against a human, or a human against an Orc, will be judged by a council of three Orc chieftains and three human elders whom you will choose. Justice will be swift, and it will be absolute.”
The murmurs started then, whispers of disbelief. A mixed council. It was unthinkable.
