Am I dead? The thought arrives with surprising calm. Perhaps this is some afterlife, some place where the unborn and their mothers go when winter claims them both. The warmth feels too perfect, the furs too soft, the complete absence of pain too good to be real.
I lift one hand to examine it in the flickering light. The skin looks pale but solid, the small scar on my knuckle from a childhood accident still visible. Dead people probably don't have scars.
"You're awake."
The voice makes me jump, my heart hammering against my ribs. An orc woman emerges from the shadows near what must be a doorway, though the torchlight hadn't revealed it before. She moves with the careful gait of someone whose joints have seen too many winters, her gray-green skin marked with the ritual scars that speak of deep faith among her people.
"I was beginning to wonder if you'd decided to sleep until spring."
She carries a wooden cup that steams in the cool air, herbs and honey mixing with something earthier. Her eyes, dark as river stones, study my face with the intensity of someone reading ancient text.
"Am I..." I clear my throat, surprised by how raw it sounds. "Am I dead?"
A sound that might be laughter rumbles from her chest. "Dead? Child, if you were dead, you wouldn't be complaining about the accommodations."
She settles onto a low stool beside the bed, joints creaking audibly. This close, I can smell ash and dried plants clinging toher robes, the scent of someone who spends their days mixing remedies and tending fires.
"Drink." She extends the cup toward me. "Your body has been fighting fever for two days. You need fluids."
Two days. I accept the cup with trembling fingers, the heat seeping through the wood into my palms. The liquid inside tastes of mint and honey with an underlying bitterness that makes me wrinkle my nose.
"All of it," she commands when I pause. "Unless you prefer the taste of death. I'm told it's considerably less pleasant."
"Two days," I repeat, obeying her instruction. The tea settles warm in my stomach, and some tension I didn't realize I was carrying begins to ease. "How did I get here?"
"A warrior brought you." Her tone gives away nothing, but something shifts in her expression. "High-ranking, from the look of his armor and the way the guards scattered when he spoke."
"Did he..." I swallow hard, the words sticking in my throat. "Did he give a name?"
"Names are dangerous things in Azhgar these days." She takes the empty cup from my hands, her fingers rough with calluses and old burns. "Better to focus on the fact that someone thought you worth saving."
"I won't be staying long." The words tumble out before I can stop them, defensive and sharp. "Just until the baby comes. Then I'll find somewhere else."
Maedra's weathered hands pause in their arrangement of dried herbs on the small table beside my bed. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, the expression more knowing than kind.
"Ah yes, because newborns are famous for their traveling abilities. Especially in winter."
Heat creeps up my neck. "I've managed this far on my own."
"Have you?" She turns to face me fully, those dark eyes boring into mine. "Because from where I sit, you collapsed half-dead at our gates carrying a child that kicks like a warrior already."
The baby chooses that moment to prove her point, a sharp jab against my ribs that makes me wince. Maedra notices, of course.
"I was hoping that their father… would accept them and raise them here," I whisper, eyes looking pointedly at the floor.
"This place isn't what you remember from your diplomatic visits," she continues, settling back onto her stool. "Azhgar has grown... watchful. Ancient things stir beneath these stones, and the powerful feel it in their bones. Makes them nervous. Nervous orcs do stupid things."
"What kind of stupid things?"
Her fingers trace one of the ritual scars along her jaw, the gesture absent and practiced. "The kind that happen when warriors forget the small things. When they think strength alone builds empires."
The chamber feels smaller suddenly, shadows pressing closer despite the steady torchlight. "You're trying to frighten me."
"Child, if I wanted to frighten you, I'd tell you about the dreams the shamans have been having. Or the way the sacred fires keep burning blue instead of orange." She stands, joints protesting audibly. "But you need rest, not nightmares."
Sleep does pull at my eyelids, the warmth of the furs and the lingering effects of whatever she gave me making my limbs heavy. "The warrior who brought me here..."
"Will still exist tomorrow." Maedra moves toward the doorway, her footsteps soft against the stone floor. "Some things improve with patience."
