"I’m naked, Ruk’hai," I shot back, my voice sharp. "How do you expect me to be?"
He blinked like the answer truly surprised him, and then let me go. The absence of his touch was immediate, leaving a strange void where there had once been solid warmth.
"Uruha waits for you," he said. "Don’t make her wait."
With that, he walked away, vanishing into the morning mist like he had never been there at all. I stood there for a long time, struggling to steady my racing heart and rein in my disordered thoughts. I tried to blame it all on the shock, the wound, and the exhaustion—anything to make my reaction feel logical. But the argument wouldn't hold. My body had recognized something in him, and that realization annoyed me even more than it frightened me.
I took a deep breath before finally getting dressed in my traps. The pain in my back persisted, a sharp reminder that my body was still far from healed. With a sigh that sounded a lot like defeat, I made my way to the old crone’s hut.
I would not surrender to them, not to the grumpy old orc female, and certainly not to the Ruk’hai with his sour gaze and unsettling presence.
I was Fionnuala Kerridan.
I swore will take my life back, no matter what.
Chapter 11
The scent of dried herbs mixed with smoke was heavy in Uruha’s hut, but it wasn't suffocating. The old orc sat on a low stool, grinding herbs in a stone mortar, the rhythmic sound filling the silence. She didn't look up when I entered.
"The Ruk’hai sent me here," I said, trying to be polite.
"Sit."
I hesitated. There were no chairs or benches, only the wooden plank where they had restrained me the first time.
“Take off your clothes,” she ordered, returning to her grinding.
I gritted my teeth, but with a sigh of frustration, I obeyed. I lay face down on the table and closed my eyes, bracing for the pain. Uruha’s thick hand touched the wound. The abrupt contact tore a yelp of pain and surprise from me.
"The nuk’hir didn't go easy on you," the old orc commented.
"I know," I shot back, impatient. "What are you going to do?"
"Keep still."
She took some of the herbs and mixed them with a thick, oily liquid that smelled of mint. It was much more pleasant than the slime she had used before. When she began to apply the mixture to my back, the relief was almost immediate. The cool paste soothed the burning sensation, drawing a sigh from me that I tried my best to suppress.
"What’s this?" I wondered.
"Kor’ok," she replied, not caring to explain. It was probably some herb. "It’ll heal faster."
She spread the paste over the cuts, massaging around the wounds. Against my will, my tense muscles relaxed under her rough palms.
"Thank you," I said softly.
"Not 'thank you.' Maka’ri," she corrected me. "Thank the Ruk’hai. He said you couldn’t die."
“Why?” I asked, turning to face her. Uruha watched me with a smile brimming with scorn.
"Why do you think?" she retorted. "You’re a weak orc from Oguk. If Malek lets you die, he fails as Ruk’hai."
"I’m not wea—," I answered through gritted teeth.
"Of course you are. You’re an orc who ran from a nuk’hir instead of fighting."
I opened my mouth to fire back with an equally sharp retort, but she slapped my arm and said, “You may go,” dismissing me with an impatient wave of her hand.
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