Drokhar crosses his arms. "Which is why we need to move."
"And you," Kaela rounds on him, "want to throw a woman who just gave birth onto a horse and hope she doesn't bleed out before we reach safety. Brilliant strategy."
Heat flares in my chest, vindication mixing with protective fury. "Exactly what I've been?—"
"You're not innocent either." Her attention snaps back to me. "Standing there growling like a cornered bear instead of thinking. Both of you are so busy measuring your tusks that you're missing the obvious solution."
I open my mouth to argue, but she's already moving toward the wagon outside. Through the cave entrance, I watch her start pulling supplies from the bed—blankets, water skins, dried meat.
"Empty the wagon," she calls over her shoulder. "We carry what we need. Seris and the baby ride."
The simplicity of it hits me like a war hammer to the skull. My shoulders drop as the tension bleeds out of them. Behind me, I hear Seris shift against the furs, and I turn to see her watching us with exhausted but alert eyes.
Drokhar rubs the bridge of his nose. "The wagon will slow us down on rough terrain."
"Not as much as a dead woman would." Kaela dumps an armload of supplies onto the ground outside. "We stick to the old trade routes where the wheels can handle it. Avoid the mountain passes."
I look between them, feeling foolish for not thinking of it myself. "The horses can pull a wagon easily enough."
"Exactly." Kaela disappears back outside, her voice carrying through the cave mouth. "We redistribute the weight, keep the fire low, and move before full dark."
Drokhar considers this, his scarred face thoughtful. After a long pause, he nods. "It could work."
Relief floods through me, followed immediately by guilt for not thinking clearly. I've been so focused on protecting Seris that I'd forgotten how to actually solve problems. My hands shake slightly as I kneel beside her, checking the baby's breathing for the hundredth time.
Kaela reappears in the entrance, dusting off her hands with a satisfied expression. She catches Seris's eye and winks. "Never trust an orc to get a woman's job done."
The sound that escapes Seris is barely recognizable at first—a soft hiccup that grows into something warmer. Laughter. Weak and breathless, but unmistakably real.
37
SERIS
The wagon's gentle rocking pulls me between sleep and waking like waves against a shore. Each bump in the road sends a dull ache through my core, but it's manageable—nothing compared to the fire of labor or the sharp agony of Zharra's blade.
My son sleeps against my chest, his tiny fist curled around my finger. I study his face in the dim light filtering through the canvas cover—Vargath's strong jaw already evident, but my nose, my mouth. A perfect blend of two worlds that shouldn't fit together but somehow do.
"How are you feeling?" Kaela's voice is soft as she adjusts the blanket around my shoulders.
"Like I've been trampled by a herd of war horses." I shift carefully, careful not to pull at my stitches. "But alive."
She checks the baby's breathing, her touch gentle but practiced. "He's beautiful. Strong lungs, good color. You did well."
"I screamed like a banshee."
"That's what you're supposed to do." Kaela grins, tucking the blanket more securely around us both. "Any woman who gives birth quietly is either dead or lying."
Through the wagon's opening, I watch Vargath's broad shoulders moving beside us. He hasn't mounted his horse once since we started moving, just walks with that predatory grace, head turning constantly to scan the tree line.
"He's going to wear himself out," I murmur.
Kaela follows my gaze. "He's terrified. I've seen it before—new fathers who've nearly lost everything. They think if they stop watching, stop protecting, it'll all disappear."
"Have you seen many like us?" I ask her. "Human women with orc children?"
"More than you'd think. Less than there should be." She settles beside me, voice dropping lower. "That's what we do—Drokhar and I. Find people caught between worlds. Some come willingly, running from arranged marriages or empty lives. Others are taken, stolen for reasons that have nothing to do with love."
The baby stirs against my chest, making soft sounds. I adjust his position, and he settles back into sleep. "And you protect them all?"
