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“I don’t want any more bloodshed,” I whisper, forcing down the lump in my throat. “That was the whole point of my coming here.”

Ragzuk rises slowly, bones creaking. “Then hold fast to that reason. Let it strengthen you when orcs snarl in your face or call for your head. The War God tests not just orcs, but all who stand in his domain.”

He shuffles toward the tent flap. “I must return to my duties, but if you need me, ask Nagra. She’ll find me.”

I nod, trying to hold onto a flicker of gratitude. At least I’m not wholly alone amid a sea of hostility. “Thank you, Ragzuk. I appreciate your candor.”

A quiet snort of acknowledgment, then he steps outside, letting the flap drop behind him. The tent rustles in the resulting draft, edges flapping faintly.

Alone again,I stare at the brazier’s dying embers, mind churning. My sense of entrapment deepens.Run?The question refuses to stay silent, echoing in my mind. But I quell it once more. Running isn’t feasible, not without dooming my village—and possibly myself in the process.

I think of Ghorzag, the way he faced his people and refused to cast me aside. He must have known the scale of the backlash that would follow. And yet he did it anyway. Why?

Despite the dread, a faint warmth stirs in my chest, recalling how he commanded the Great Hall’s attention, how his deep voice resonated with unyielding resolve. It was a fierce, protective aura, born from genuine belief in saving his clan. Part of me wonders if he extends that protection to me as well—or if I’m just a means to an end.

I sink onto the bed again, pulling the new wool blanket over my legs.Get it together, Lirienne.If I’m to endure this, I need more than naive optimism. I need a plan.

Thoughts trickle in, maybe I can speak to Ghorzag directly, glean some insight into how he plans to handle the clan’s suspicions. A quiet prickle of worry tugs at me—would I even be allowed an audience with him? With the entire fortress labeling me cursed, it might be dangerous for him to be seen granting me favor.

Still, that might be my only chance. I can’t remain silent, hoping the clan loses interest in me. I need to show I’m not the worthless burden they assume.Herbal knowledge, a small voice reminds me. I grew up gathering plants in the forests around myvillage. Orc shamans rely on spiritual healing, but maybe I can prove useful in treating mundane ailments.

That idea gives me a slender thread of hope to cling to. If I can demonstrate practical value, some orcs might see me as more than a scapegoat. Better than doing nothing, I reason.

A sudden clamor outside the tent startles me—shouts, the clang of metal. My pulse jumps, and I lurch upright, bracing for the worst. But then the noise fades, replaced by gruff laughter. Likely a sparring match or some warriors blowing off steam.

The aftershock leaves me trembling, adrenaline spiking through my veins. It’s too easy to imagine them clashing over me, deciding my fate with a slash of a blade. For all the fortress’s grandeur, life here feels precarious, as if the entire clan balances on a knife’s edge of suspicion and faith in their War God.

I swallow, looking up at the tent’s low ceiling. Maybe I was a fool to think I could survive in this environment. But I remember Mara’s face when I said goodbye, the desperation in her eyes as she clutched my hands and asked if I’d ever come home. I swore I’d try. If forging peace with these orcs can spare Mara, or any of the innocent farmers in my village, from feeling that same terror, I have to stay.

Duty. Resolve. Fear. They all churn together, forming the storm inside my chest. I’m no warrior, no cunning strategist. I’m just… Lirienne Marshfield, a girl who read too many bedtime stories about bridging differences and healing wounds. But I can’t let cynicism choke out that spark of faith. If Ghorzag is willing to stand against his entire clan’s outrage, then I can endure the hateful glares for my people’s sake.

I draw in a shaky breath, forcing calm into my limbs. “This arrangement is worth the risk,” I murmur to the empty tent, voice trembling with the weight of my decision. “Because if I don’t try, who will?”

The words settle into my bones with surprising steadiness. I press a hand over my heart, letting the beat remind me I’m still alive, still capable of choice. Maybe Ghorzag’s unorthodox leadership can pave a new path. Maybe I can find allies who believe in peace, like Nagra and Ragzuk—even if they’re too frightened to speak openly.

I exhale slowly, pushing away the frantic fear that gnaws at the edges of my mind. The only way forward is to gather my courage, make myself indispensable, and prove I’m not a curse.

No sooner have I resolved this than the tent flap rustles again. Three visits in one morning—am I that popular? My pulse kicks up, but it’s only Nagra, as promised, balancing a wooden bowl of stew and a few strips of cured meat.

“Still alive, I see,” she teases, though her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She hands me the bowl, the aroma of spiced broth fills my senses, making my stomach rumble. I realize I haven’t eaten a real meal since arriving.

“Thank you,” I murmur, accepting the warm bowl. “I’m grateful.”

She squats on her haunches across from me, studying my face with a directness that makes me squirm. “You look less afraid than you did this morning.”

I shrug, swirling the spoon in the stew. “I’m still afraid. But I’m trying not to let it rule me.”

A flicker of respect crosses her features. “Wise. Orcs respect those who show courage, whether they’re orc-blooded or not.” She pauses, fiddling with a small bead woven into one of her braids. “I heard more talk. The High Priest might push to schedule the initial rite tonight. A quick reading of the bones, or a lesser sacrifice of livestock to glean the War God’s mood.”

Tonight? My breath catches. That leaves me almost no time to prove anything or gather support. “And if the reading goes… poorly?”

Nagra’s lips thin. “It depends on how the signs are interpreted. Druzh has significant sway. If the signs are inconclusive, Ghorzag can stall. But if the bones show ill omens…” She doesn’t finish, the implication hanging between us.

I force the spoon to my lips, sipping the stew to hide the tremor in my hands. The liquid scalds my tongue, but I welcome the distraction.So soon.My heart hammers, fear clawing at my composure.

“I’ll have to speak to Ghorzag.” The words tumble out before I can second-guess them. “I need to?—”

“Speak to him?” Nagra’s eyes widen, as though I’ve just announced I’ll climb the fortress walls in a single bound. “You can’t just waltz into his quarters and demand an audience. He’s the chieftain.”