"I ran." Delia clasped her trembling hands together. "I ran into the Iron Wilds, and I found—" Her voice cracked. Ralvar's hand settled on her lower back, steady and warm. "I found someone who told me my worth wasn't measured in labor. Who protected me when my own people wanted to drag me back. Who showed me that the monsters I'd been taught to fear were kinder than the humans who raised me."
A murmur rippled through the witnesses. Delia didn't look at them.
"I seek sanctuary," she said, "because I want to live. I want to choose my own path. And I want to stay with the man who showed me what it means to be valued."
The silence stretched.
Then the elder rose.
He was stooped with age, leaning heavily on a staff carved with symbols Delia didn't recognize, but he moved toward her with surprising steadiness. When he reached her, he was still taller than her—even bent, even ancient, orcs werelarge—and he looked down at her with an expression she couldn't quite read.
"The clans do not trade in people," he said. "What your human lords call law, we call barbarism. What your contract claims, the mountain rejects." He reached out and placed one gnarled hand on her shoulder. His grip was surprisingly gentle. "Delia Harrowmere of Valdara. The Mountain Clan hears your claim. From this moment, you belong to no one but yourself. You walk under the protection of this clan. Any who seek to take you from these lands by force answer to all of us."
The knot in Delia's chest loosened. The fear that had been clenched tight since the moment she'd realized what her family had done. The dread that had stayed locked even as she'd grown to trust Ralvar, because beneath all of it had been the knowledge that humans still had a claim.
They didn't anymore.
"Thank you," she whispered.
The elder's weathered face creased into a smile.
"Don't thank me," he said. "Thank the captain who carried you through our gates." He glanced at Ralvar behind her. "I wondered if he'd ever stop grieving long enough to live. It seems you've given him reason to."
The celebration started before they'd even left the hall.
Someone produced drums. Someone else appeared with clay jugs of an amber-colored ale that smelled like honey and fire. Warriors who had been standing at solemn attention moments before were suddenly laughing, clapping each other on the back, pressing cups into her hands.
"Drink!" A scarred orc with one milky eye grinned down at her. "The mountain accepts you! This calls for mead!"
Delia took a cautious sip and felt her eyes water. The orc laughed and moved on to press a cup on Ralvar instead.
"Is it always like this?" she asked, slightly dazed, as the hall transformed around her into something approaching a festival.
"When there is cause for celebration, yes." Ralvar's fingers threaded through hers with easy familiarity. "Sanctuary claims are rare. And a human woman choosing the mountain over her own kind is rarer still. They are curious. Pleased." His thumb stroked across her knuckles. "And perhaps a little envious of their captain."
She looked up at him. "Envious?"
"Mmm." Warmth softened his fierce features in a way she still wasn't entirely used to. "There are warriors here who have been asking how I found you before they could."
Heat crept up her neck. "Stop."
"I will not." He bent to press his lips to her temple, unbothered by the orcs around them. "I will spend the rest of my days telling you what they see when they look at you. WhatIsee. Until you believe it."
"Captain!" Someone was shouting from across the hall. "Stop hoarding yourkrennaand bring her to the tables! She needs to eat!"
The tables, it turned out, were laden with more food than Delia had seen in years.
Roasted meat that tasted rich and gamey. Bowls of root vegetables swimming in butter and herbs. Flatbreads still warm from baking. Honeycakes. Dried fruit. Hard cheese and soft cheese and a crumbly white cheese that someone called "the mountain's milk."
Ralvar had been reluctantly pulled away—something about patrol reports that couldn't wait, his second needing consultation on border movements. He'd hesitated at the summons, clearly torn between duty and staying at her side.
"Go," she'd told him. "I'll be fine."
And she was. Because orcs pressed plates on her before she could protest, and when she hesitated, the warrior beside her frowned.
"You do not eat enough," he said bluntly. "A body like yours should eatmore. You need feeding."
It was said with such genuine concern that Delia almost laughed.
