"That's not an answer."
My hands curl into fists at my sides. The urge to grab her shoulders and shake sense from her ancient bones wars with the knowledge that Maedra commands more respect than half the council combined. She's forgotten more about the old ways than most orcs ever learn.
Finally, she meets my eyes. Hers hold depths I can't fathom, secrets layered like sediment in a riverbed. Her chin jerks toward the far hallway, the gesture economical as a blade thrust.
"Follow the warmth."
I move through the twisting corridors without another word, past faded murals that tell stories of gods and heroes, past silent firebowls that once blazed with sacred flames. The temple's bones whisper around me, ancient stones settling with sounds like distant thunder.
The air grows thicker as I walk, humid with steam and scented with something soft I can't identify. Herbs, maybe. Or soap made from oils that smell of distant summers. The temperature rises with each step until my armor feels like a furnace against my skin.
I round a corner and stop.
The door stands open. Steam pours gently from the room beyond, carrying warmth that wraps around me like an embrace I don't deserve. And there, framed in the doorway like a vision from dreams I've tried to forget, is Seris.
Her back faces me, skin gleaming in the firelight like polished amber. She stands waist-deep in the bathing basin, water lapping gently at the curve of her pregnant belly. Her dark hair falls in damp tendrils down her spine, catching the light from braziers that flicker around the chamber's edges.
She hums quietly, a melody I don't recognize but that seems to resonate in my bones. The sound wraps around me, peaceful and vulnerable and entirely unaware that death watches from the shadows of Azhgar's halls.
My heart pounds like war drums before battle, each beat echoing in my ears until it drowns out everything else. In this moment, with steam rising around her like incense and firelight painting her skin gold, I understand exactly what Gargan meant.
I'm going to make a stupid decision.
11
SERIS
Isink deeper into the basin, letting the blessed warmth seep into bones that haven't known comfort in weeks. The water laps against my swollen belly, and for the first time since I collapsed at Azhgar's gates, my body doesn't feel like a collection of aches held together by stubborn will.
Steam rises around me like incense, carrying the scent of herbs Maedra added to ease the constant pressure in my back and hips. My muscles finally uncoil, tension bleeding away into the heated water. I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the basin's smooth edge.
The melody comes without thinking—low and soft, the same tune my mother hummed when winter storms raged outside our cottage and the world felt too large and dangerous for a small girl to navigate. Her voice had been gentle then, wrapping around me like the warmest blanket, promising that dark times passed and morning always came.
My hand drifts to my belly, fingers tracing the curve where new life grows. The baby shifts beneath my touch, a flutter of movement that makes my heart catch. I hum louder, letting thetemple's ancient silence carry the sound through stone corridors that have heard centuries of prayers.
"You hear that?" I whisper to the child. "That's your grandmother's song. She would have loved you, little one. Would have sung to you every night until you knew every word by heart."
The water ripples gently as I adjust my position, seeking relief from the constant ache that pregnancy has carved into my spine. Here, in this moment of stolen peace, I can almost pretend the world beyond these walls doesn't exist. That councils don't debate my fate, that betrothed orcs don't sharpen knives behind painted smiles.
Then something shifts. The air itself seems to change, growing heavier with a presence I can't name but feel in every nerve. The fine hairs on my neck rise despite the steam's warmth.
My eyes snap open.
I turn, water sloshing against the basin's sides?—
Vargath stands in the doorway.
He's utterly still, carved from shadow and firelight like some ancient statue come to life. His dark eyes lock on my bare shoulders, trace the down my spine, then drop to my belly where his child grows. When his gaze finally meets mine, I see something raw and unguarded flicker across his features before his warrior's mask slides back into place.
He fills the doorway completely, broad shoulders blocking most of the corridor beyond. His long black hair hangs loose around his face instead of braided for war, softening the harsh angles of his features without diminishing the power that radiates from his frame. Steam curls around him like smoke, catching on the ritual burn scars that spiral up his forearms—marks of rank and honor earned through blood.
The leather and steel of his armor gleams dully in the brazier light, every piece perfectly maintained despite the evidence of recent battle. Dried mud still clings to his boots, and I catch the faint scent of snow and iron that follows him like a second skin.
His tusks catch the firelight as his jaw works silently, some internal struggle playing out behind eyes that have seen too much death. There's something almost vulnerable in the way he stands there, frozen between advance and retreat, as if my naked form has stripped away more than just his composure.
"I—" His voice comes out rougher than usual, scraped raw by whatever emotions he's fighting to contain.
My gasp cuts through the steam like a blade. Water sloshes violently as I scramble for the linen cloth draped over the basin's edge, my hands shaking so badly I nearly drop it twice before managing to pull it against my chest. The rough fabric clings to my wet skin, offering scant protection against his unwavering stare.
