Chieftains are warriors first, leaders second. They don't carry the magic touch that marks shamans and healers. Having both would make me something else, something other, and orcs don't trust what they can't categorize.
A knock interrupts my spiral into darker thoughts.
"It's open," I call, already knowing who it is by the pattern. Three quick raps, pause, two more. Kaelen's knock.
The door swings inward and my best friend fills the frame, ducking slightly to clear the threshold even though he doesn't need to. Old habit from the growth spurt that hit him at fourteen and never really stopped. He's cleaned up since this morning's training session—hair freshly braided, wearing a tunic that actually looks washed instead of the practice leathers he practically lives in.
Lola's influence, probably.
"You look like shit," he observes, shutting the door behind him with one massive hand.
"Rough patrol."
"Liar." Kaelen crosses to the table and drops onto a cushion with the kind of casual comfort that comes from years of friendship. "Thorne got to you about the mating thing again."
Not a question. He knows. Has probably been fielding similar conversations since he and Lola completed their ceremony.
"Wants me to meet some Iron Fang females." I slump onto the cushion across from him, suddenly exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with lack of sleep. "Start building political alliances through strategic pairings."
"That's Chieftain talk for 'arranged marriage.'"
"Exactly."
Kaelen studies me with those amber eyes that miss nothing, reading all the things I'm not saying in the set of my shoulders and the tension in my jaw. We've known each other since we were younglings barely tall enough to hold training weapons. He probably understands me better than I understand myself.
"You could just tell him no."
"I did tell him no." The words come out rougher than intended. "He's giving me until after winter preparations to 'think about my future.'"
"Translation: he's giving you until after winter to change your mind or he'll change it for you."
"Basically."
Silence settles between us, comfortable in the way it can only be with someone who's seen you at your worst and stuck around anyway. Kaelen leans back against the wall, long legs stretched out in front of him, looking more relaxed than I've seen him in months.
Mating agrees with him. The constant tension that used to live in his shoulders has eased, and there's a contentment in his expression that wasn't there before Lola. Not that I begrudgehim the happiness. I'd have to be a pretty shit friend to resent someone for finding something good.
Doesn't stop the hollow feeling that opens up in my chest when I look at what he has and compare it to what I don't.
"Lola's making that stew tonight," Kaelen says, apropos of nothing. "The one with the dripir and somana that you like. You should come over, eat something that isn't dried meat and disappointment."
Despite everything, my mouth quirks. "Dried meat and disappointment. That's poetic."
"I've been working on it." He grins, tusks catching the lamplight. "Seriously though. Come over. She specifically asked me to invite you."
And there it is—the well-meaning inclusion that somehow makes the isolation worse. I know Lola means well. She's good people, treats me like family instead of Kaelen's annoying friend who shows up too often. But spending an evening watching them exist in each other's orbit, all soft touches and shared glances and inside jokes I'm not part of...
The thought makes my skin itch.
"Maybe." I hedge, not wanting to outright refuse but also not ready to commit to an evening of feeling like the third wheel on a wagon. "I need to check in with Zurkar first. He wanted to go over some... herbal preparations before the cold season hits."
Not entirely a lie. Zurkar does want to see me. Just not about herbs.
Kaelen's expression shifts into something knowing, but he doesn't push. He knows about the magic—one of maybe three people in the entire clan who does—and he understands why I keep it hidden. Doesn't mean he likes it, but he understands.
"After, then." He pushes to his feet with that easy grace that shouldn't be possible for someone his size. "Door's always open, brother. You know that."
"I know."
