I steeled myself for the first bite, and it wasn't bad, a little earthy, like dried mushrooms and roasted chestnuts pressed together. I pushed more into my mouth, moving too fast, wolfing it down. Who knew when I'd have the chance to eat again?
"For a special occasion, you're being?—"
"Vrathgar. Drop it."
The orc shut his mouth.
Khal switched to the orc tongue, quieter, like water gurgling over rocks, or stones grinding. The orc glanced at me and answered him. For once I was glad not to understand them. Foreknowledge would not aid survival here.
The older orc with the bag piped up, in the common tongue, "Oh, and you think she's more comfortable here, surrounded by us brutes? Are these young idiots making the night better, Drazha's-son?"
The room fell quiet. Khal looked at me. He seemed to hesitate. "Are you tired?"
One of the orcs burst out laughing. He glared at them.
I felt like I'd run out of thoughts, like I could not follow this test or avoid the consequences. "I am your wife."
He stared at me. The room, unexpectedly, was silent. He stood. "We're turning in."
One of them hooted, and a kick from another silenced them. Khal pulled open the bedroom door, looked at me, waiting.
I wouldn't look weak now, wouldn't let them see that my legs were jelly. I followed him, picking my way around where the orcs sat. There were thirteen of them. Too many to escape easily. He waited in the doorway. I steeled myself not to let my face react, walked through the opening left by his body, still trying, against my logic, to avoid brushing against him.
The room was well appointed, windows too small to crawl out of, a hooked rug on the floor.
A large bed.
He closed the door, stood a moment before turning the lock, surveying the room. "This is good," he said. "This looks good."
I shuddered, involuntary, almost convulsive. I'd heard enough descriptions on the streets of the warren, before I'd been identified as the baron's blood. Orcs had been mixing with our forces as mercenaries for years now, and many of the girls who'd been camp followers had stories. No, there was no time for this weakness, this…this sentimentality. I could cry for myself later; right now I had to think about practicalities, about escape.
If I took off the dress, he would have no reason to tear it. If I took off the dress right now, I wouldn't be wearing only tatters leaving the castle tomorrow, and when I made my escape. I reached behind me to the ties of Thea's too-tight dress, and pulled them loose so the overdress could shrug off onto the floor.
Khal was as yet by the door he'd locked, standing unnaturally still. His eyes were fixed on me, but his face held no expression I could read. Maybe this was the kind of stillness predator animals had before they leapt onto their dying meals. Before I could think about it and lose my nerve I took a breath and shucked off the shift. The room wasn't that cold, but every hair stood up on my legs and arms. I couldn't resist the urge tocross my arms in front of myself, what little it might do. He was still standing there.
Khal drew a breath. "Your people move fast."
Had this been a mistake? Had he wanted me to cower? Beg? "Did you want…something different?"
"No." He was still looking at me. "No, you're fine." His Adam's apple bobbed. "Right. We're married." He strode into the room. I flinched back on instinct, cursing myself in my mind, but he walked past me to the bed, sat down to take his boots off. His back was to me.
Did he maybe not like me? Had he expected something different, someone more like Thea?
If I didn't please him, would that mean more safety? Or more cruelty in that frustration?
"I don't know your name," he said, his back still to me.
"Rowena."
"Rowena," he repeated. "We both have our reasons for this marriage. And I believe we can make this work, even if those reasons have little to do with each other. This was a choice of duty for me, but duty is something my clan takes seriously. And I have a duty to you now." He had his boots off, moved to the fur capelet, swinging it off his shoulders. There were shiny bits on his skin, lines and shapes in pink, and it took me a moment to realize they were scars. Most peppered his shoulders or the small of his back. I couldn't make sense of the pattern. It wasn't a whip or normal battlefield wounds, though those silvery-pink flecks on his forearm were probably from teeth. I swallowed. Count on me to stand here undressed, counting the scars on an orc. The answers to this lock were not on his skin, or in how his muscles moved as he pulled off his armor. He wasn't the bulkiest in his party, but he was stronger than most of the men I had had the misfortune to meet, I could tell. That pit of dread twisted in my stomach with the cricket meal.
He stopped moving, straightened. He was stripped to thewaist, and the marks on his shoulders gleamed in the day's dying light. Maybe the sun would go down soon. Maybe it would be dark for this.
"My people need this alliance," he said. "The Val Drak press closer in the east, and if it comes to war, we'll need to know our flank is safe. The race of men breaks treaties with orcs, but they value their children as we do. I have to believe that." He looked back over his shoulder, his eyes rising from, I realized, my wrists to my face. "'Fools break what is precious to them, and ghosts seek their own hearths.' You are your father's blood, and with you, our people are safe. My brothers here, my cousins, my parents." Those golden eyes stared at me. "Your peril is the cost of their safety. Whatever your reasons for choosing this, I do not take that lightly." His eyes traced back down to my wrists, but he didn't comment, looked away. "Would you like to lay down?"
I wanted to run. But where? Back into that room of his kin? Back to my so-called father's soldiers? At least if my body was the price of my freedom, it seemed like he wasn't inclined to share. I made it to the bed, resisted the overwhelming urge to hide under the blankets. I perched on the side farthest from him. I was wretchedly grateful that he still had his breeches, that we still had one piece of clothing between us.
"I don't know your custom." He was speaking again. "Is it just ritual, or do your people actually?—"
