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She hesitates, then lets me gently clasp her fingers. They are cold, trembling faintly. “You’re ready?” I ask, voice subdued.

Her lips part in a shaky breath. “As ready as I can be. The clan is… restless outside.”

I nod. I can practically feel the fortress’s pulse of anxiety through the stone. “I know. We need to face them.”

She swallows hard, stepping closer until I can see the faint shadows under her eyes, the pallor of exhaustion. For a split second, I want to draw her into an embrace, reassure her. But the corridor is no place for open displays of tenderness—any passing orc might see it as “witchcraft.” I suppress the urge and let go of her hand.

The courtyard is packed with orcs, the earliest sunlight illuminating a sea of tense faces. A hush falls as Lirienne and I emerge from the fortress interior. Ahead of us stand the War God’s priests in their crimson robes, bone charms clattering attheir wrists. Ragzuk lingers behind them, expression pinched with worry.

One priest—a tall, wiry orc with silver-streaked hair—steps forward, raising a carved staff. “Chieftain Ghorzag Stormborn,” he intones, voice resonating off the walls, “you embark on a sacred pilgrimage to petition the War God for clarity. The clan demands to see if this human bride stands cursed or blessed.”

A low rumble of agreement courses through the gathered orcs. Gaurbod lurks near the back, arms folded, eyes gleaming with cold satisfaction. My gaze sweeps over the throng, noting the fear in many faces, the simmering hatred in others. Lirienne hovers at my side, her composure brittle as glass.

The priest’s staff thumps the ground. “Before you depart, the War God’s servants require a cleansing rite to ensure no ill omens travel with us.”

I stiffen. Here it is. They want Lirienne to prostrate herself, beg the War God for mercy. My spine tightens at the thought of humiliating her. But the clan’s stares feel like blades pressed to our throats.

One of the priests gestures for Lirienne to step forward. She casts me a glance, fear flickering in her eyes. I dip my head in permission, silently mouthingit’s all right.She moves to stand before the priests, chin lifted in defiance even though her hands tremble.

The older priest glares down his hooked nose at her. “Kneel, human,” he commands. “Pledge yourself to the War God’s judgment.”

Lirienne wavers, a flush creeping across her cheeks. For a moment, I fear she might refuse out of sheer pride, which would incite the mob instantly. My heart pounds. Then she exhales and sinks to her knees. Her voice, when it comes, is strained but steady: “I—pledge to accept the War God’s judgment.”

A tense hush settles, broken only by the torch crackle and heavy breathing. Some orcs seem mollified by her display of subservience. Others wear sneers. Gaurbod watches with narrowed eyes.

The priest extends a shallow bowl of water, swirling with pungent herbs. He drips a few droplets onto Lirienne’s head, muttering an orcish chant. The crowd shifts, uneasy. Then the priest lifts his gaze to me. “Chieftain, you, too, must partake in the cleansing—an acknowledgment that you shoulder the clan’s fate as well.”

I nod stiffly, stepping beside Lirienne and kneeling to match her level. The priest repeats the chant, sprinkling herb-laced water over my hair and tusks. The sensation is cold, biting. My tusks twitch in annoyance. At least they’re not demanding a full humiliation. From my peripheral vision, I see Lirienne’s shoulders trembling as she kneels. Anger sparks in my gut that we must degrade ourselves. But if it keeps the clan from an immediate mutiny, I’ll swallow my pride.

When the ritual ends, we rise in unison, water dripping down our faces. The priest turns to the assembled orcs. “The War God’s path opens. May he guide our chieftain—and judge the human as he sees fit.”

A rumble of uneasy agreement spreads. I eye Gaurbod, who wears an impassive mask. This won’t satisfy him, but for now, he remains silent.

Karzug leads the small band of warriors, each carrying supplies. The priests form their own cluster, handling ceremonial items and chanting softly. Lirienne stands near me, face pale but resolute.

Without a word, I start forward. The gates groan open, revealing the rough-hewn road snaking into the distance. Beyond lie the mountain passes leading the temple—a journey of nearly a week. A hush falls as we pass the gates, orcs watchingfrom the walls, some with grim hope, others glowering in suspicion.

I feel every step like a hammer on my heart.This is it, I think, a swirl of trepidation and fierce resolve igniting my blood. The clan wants answers. The War God might—or might not—provide them. Meanwhile, the saboteur lurks somewhere, possibly even among us. Lirienne’s presence is as precarious as a single candle in a raging storm.

My father’s voice echoes in memory—Protect the clan, Ghorzag, at all costs.But I’ve found someone else to protect too, a human woman who stole my heart when I least expected it. I won’t forsake either. Even if it means risking the same downfall my father endured, I’ll face it on my own terms.

As the fortress recedes behind us, the morning sun climbs higher, bathing the winding road in stark clarity. Our band walks in cautious silence. Priests chant under their breath, Karzug and two warriors scout ahead, and Lirienne matches my stride with determined grace, refusing to lag despite the tension coiling in her every muscle.

Gaurbod is nowhere to be seen in our party—he remained behind, presumably rallying supporters in our absence. That leaves an uneasy question: Who among us might be his agent, ready to sabotage the pilgrimage from within?

My eyes sweeps over the orcs around me, but none show obvious signs of treachery. All I can do is remain vigilant.

We travel most of that day, the winding road leading us through rocky hills and sparse forests. Conversation remains minimal, tension thrumming like an unstrung bow. By late afternoon, we make camp near a shallow river, its waters glinting in the waning light.

Once tents are pitched, the priests busy themselves with evening prayers, and my warriors set a rotation for night watch. Lirienne takes a moment by the river’s edge, and I follow at adistance, letting her have a sliver of peace. We’re bound in this ordeal together, yet the clan’s hostility rests on her shoulders more than mine.

A quiet voice jolts me from my thoughts. “Chieftain, you should rest,” Karzug says, appearing at my side. “We’ll keep guard.”

I shake my head. “I can’t rest. Not until we unravel this treachery.” My gaze slides to Lirienne as she kneels to rinse her hands in the river. She looks haunted, as though each breath reminds her she’s one misstep from the clan’s wrath.

Karzug follows my line of sight. “You truly care for her.”

A beat of silence, then a short nod. “It’s beyond caring, Karzug. The clan sees a demon; I see… something else.” My chest tightens, the admission heavier out loud. “I won’t abandon her.”