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Chapter Twenty-Nine

Varen

Taking the razorfang kittens with them was not the smartest course of action. Still, Varen couldn’t bring himself to argue with Korik about it. He had not wanted to kill the mother cat, knowing how rare the creatures were; but it had been her or them, so the choice was clear. But they didn’t have enough food as it was, much less enough for two more mouths. Even if they were small and fluffy.

He wasn’t sure what they would do when they finally arrived in Solitude. But that would require them to arrive there alive first, so he tried not to think about it. Their food reserves were depleted; food was scarce whether hunted or foraged, though they found enough to just be hungry, rather than starving. Trees with edible bark were the easiest to find, but he hoped he would never again have to look at the pale strips of fiber.

It was a good thing the kittens were cute. Their long fangs were already poking out from their fluffy jowls. One kit was much more rambunctious, batting and swatting at them in mock play as it followed them through the snow. The other was timid, following Korik closely; he would often bundle it into his shirt, its little head peeking out at the base of his throat as it napped. After they were fed the first time, they both warmed up to him and Korik considerably, which was promising. Varen only hoped they were decently well-behaved by the time they got to Solitude, or if not, that they developed enough to survive on their own.

They were warm, too, which was another benefit. They cuddled up between Varen and Korik at night, which was rather endearing—it did mean an interruption to their other nighttime activities, though, which was less so.

That was it, he supposed. They were only a few days away from the outpost now; it would be the end of their little adventure, and their tryst along with it. They’d agreed it would just be something casual. Korik hadn’t asked for more, and Varen didn’t think the orc wanted more from him, if he were being honest with himself. Sometimes, it maybe seemed like there was more—a lingering gaze, an unnecessary touch—but nothing came of them.

Occasionally, he regretted ever pitching their situation to Korik as temporary and casual; but he’d been so sure then that Korik wouldn’t agree to even that. If he had pushed his luck, maybe he would have had nothing happen between them at all. If this was all they would have, he supposed that would have to be enough.

What was it the bards sang? Better to let someone lovely go, than never hold them in your arms at all? Maybe there was some truth to that.

“I think I saw it in the distance,” Korik said softly, when he came back to himself in the morning. “So it probably won’t be today, but tomorrow. I hope.”

“You think you saw it?” Varen asked, frowning.

“I don’t know what to look for,” Korik said, shaking his head. “But I saw what looked like a small village in the distance. I was already getting ready to turn back when I spotted it. So I think that was it.”

“That sounds right,” Varen agreed. “There was a village there once. Now it’s just the outpost. I don’t think there’s anything else around here, so if that wasn’t it, I don’t know what else it could be.”

Korik nodded, still looking pensive. But then Varen’s stomach growled, and Korik let out a small huff of a laugh. They had little to eat: a single rabbit that Varen had snagged the evening before and a handful of berries. Varen prepared the rabbit—the head and innards went to the kits, and the rest was split down the middle for him and Korik to share. He’d set it over the fire when Korik had been scouting ahead with his magic, eating his portion of the berries while he waited. The half of the rabbit wouldn’t fully stave off his hunger, but it would have to be enough for now.

Once they’d both eaten, they buried the remnants of their campfire and set out. The razorfang kittens trailed behind them; the shy one never more than a few feet away from Korik, while the other followed from a distance, stopping to explore and smell things before dashing to catch up.

“I noticed you haven’t named them,” he remarked to Korik as they walked, glancing back at the kit at Korik’s feet. The orc looked down at the kit and sighed.

“Not yet,” he said. “I’m hesitant to... feel too attached. In case we have to let them go.”

Varen winced. It was probably for the best; but some part of him felt something of a loss, remembering how Korik had named the horse they’d given him when they’d first set out, but not the others. It felt like a lifetime ago now.

“I see,” he replied, nodding. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, then, hm?”

Korik nodded, looking distracted, so Varen fell silent. For a while, they trudged through the snow in silence, stopping only when Varen spotted a pheasant in the distance. He was running low on arrows, but with any luck, he’d be able to replenish them soon at the outpost. The bird was far, but his aim was true. He pushed the arrow along with a bit of his magic to make sure it closed the distance.

The bolder of the two kits chased after him as he split off to go fetch his kill. He laughed as it dashed ahead to sniff at the pheasant.

“You’ll get your share, don’t worry,” he said, as he pulled his arrow from the bird. The arrowhead was still decent, and the rest of the bolt was undamaged, so luckily he could use it again. The kit sniffed at the red stain left behind on the snow, licking it up and shaking its head when the cold proved too much. It was cute, even knowing the deadly creature it would become.

When he caught back up with Korik, the orc had paused to inspect a snow-covered bush, finding a handful of berries hiding deep within. It was looking like they might still have a decent dinner after all.

“What is the outpost like?” Korik asked as they walked on.

Varen shrugged. “There’s nothing really interesting about it, other than it being the northernmost assignment. A lot of rangers and scouts train there because of the remote location, which is why I was there for a while. It’s old. The village is still technically inhabited, but it’s really just family members of the soldiers assigned to the outpost. So everything is a little bit... weathered.”

“Have there often been border disputes this far north?” Korik asked, sounding worried. Varen considered it.

“Not really. There’s not much here, as we’ve found,” he said, gesturing to their surroundings. “The southern borders are where most disputes happened; the ones in more fertile land, or closer to trade routes into Autreth. The only orc clans around here are the mountain clans, and they typically keep to themselves. I was stationed there for a year or two, and I think we only ever interacted with a clan once in that time.”

“I see,” Korik sighed. Varen glanced back at him; he thought the orc looked a little less tense, but it was hard to tell.

“What are you so worried about?” he asked. He knew the question was pressing, but the time went by faster when they were talking.

“That they won’t let me in,” Korik replied plainly.

“Of course they’ll let you in. First, you’re with me. Second, if they recognize you as Prince Taegan and Princess Nahara’s physician, they’ll be bending over backwards to treat you kindly in hopes of a good word with the prince. Third… It's been two years since the peace treaty. Aefraya is officially allied with King Zorvut. If any elves still have some prejudice against orcs, they know better than to show it by now,” Varen retorted. To his surprise, Korik somehow looked more pained when he was done.

“That’s true,” he sighed. “I’d rather know upfront if someone is going to be... unkind, though.”

“I suppose there is some merit to that,” Varen chuckled. “It is nice to know right away if someone is an asshole.”

Korik smirked at that, which was a small relief. Still, he seemed lost in thought as they continued walking. Behind them, the energetic kit pounced on the shy one, which hissed in response before darting ahead of Korik, its fur all puffed out. Varen laughed, but Korik only picked up the kit with a sigh, bundling it into the front of his shirt to keep them separated.

“And what about...” Korik started suddenly, then trailed off, color rising in his face. At first, Varen thought he was going to ask about the kittens, which he had no say in; but then the orc continued in a rush, “What about this? Us?”

“Us?” Varen repeated, stopping to look at Korik. The orc was looking down at his feet, even as he half-heartedly gestured between them. Varen’s pulse quickened.

“You know,” Korik said, still stammering. “Our... arrangement.”

Arrangement . It sounded so clinical—he supposed a physician could make anything sound clinical. Devoid of any emotion. Just sex. If that was all there was between them, what was there to discuss?

Varen heard himself laugh. “Well, I don’t see why we would need to keep warm together once we’re nice and cozy at the outpost. I’m sure they’ll give us separate rooms.”

He had meant to say it in jest, but couldn’t hide the cold edge to his voice. Varen cringed, hating how he sounded. Korik frowned, finally lifting his gaze to look Varen in the eye, but said nothing. An uncomfortable second passed in silence, then another. Varen felt like he might burn alive at the lack of response.

“Besides, if you’re that worried about it,” he blurted out, “we don’t ever have to see each other again once we get back to Drol Kuggradh.”

Korik recoiled, eyes widening—Varen may as well have slapped him with how shocked his expression became. In his mind, Varen could practically hear Enriel screaming at him.

“I—I’m sorry,” Varen stammered, humiliation burning in his throat. Why did he say that? Why did he always have to ruin things when they had been going so well? “I didn’t—I mean…”

“I see,” Korik said faintly, turning away.

“Korik,” Varen said, reaching for him; but the orc hurried forward with his head downturned. Even in the snow, his stride was so much longer than Varen’s that he knew he would never catch up if Korik didn’t want him to.

For a moment he stood there, cursing himself and his stupid mouth. He hadn’t meant to sound so cruel. But he was hungry, and tired, and so terrified of Korik’s rejection that instinct had taken over. He didn’t know why his first impulse was to lash out and go to extremes.

The kit who had been trailing behind them paused beside Varen, looking up at him with its big gray-blue eyes. When he looked at it, it meowed loudly and scampered on. He choked down a bitter laugh, then trudged along behind it. At least he’d have some time to think about what to say to try to salvage things.

The rest of the day passed in maddening silence. Rather than walking side-by-side as they had, Korik kept the distance between them, always several paces ahead of Varen. They were close enough to be in sight of each other, but too far to feasibly have a conversation. So Varen was left alone with his thoughts, which were bitter with regret.

When they finally stopped for the evening, their surroundings were becoming more familiar. Varen hadn’t seen anything he outright recognized, but it felt distantly familiar, like he had maybe been here once long ago. As Korik had said, he expected they would reach the outpost the following day, which didn’t leave him much time to make amends.

“Korik,” he said softly, when they were both sitting in front of the fire, waiting for the pheasant he’d shot earlier in the day to finish roasting. Korik sat across from him, instead of next to him, and the two razorfang kits huddled beside him. The orc didn’t respond, so he continued uncertainly, “Listen, I... I’m sorry about what I said earlier. That was unkind of me. I don’t know why I said it.”

For a long moment, Korik remained silent, his golden eyes glowing as he stared down at the flickering firelight. When he finally responded, his voice was flat, and he still didn’t look at Varen. “It’s fine. You made your opinion very clear from the beginning.”

Varen sighed, looking glumly down at the fire. He supposed that was true. He wished he hadn’t framed it as something casual and meaningless; but it seemed Korik had only warmed up to him enough to bed him, and that was where the line was drawn. It was fun while it lasted.

“Still. I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice small. Korik didn’t reply.

When they had eaten, Varen started setting up his bedroll—and stopped short, seeing that Korik was setting up his own on the opposite side of the fire, instead of side-by-side.

It seemed like such a small, silly thing to be upset about, but a cold feeling of despair settled over him at the sight. Staying warm sounded a poor excuse now; while the weather would only grow colder, it hadn’t snowed again since the storm. More than that, it meant that Korik really was done with him. He wanted to protest—to ask Korik to lie next to him, if they truly would never have the chance again—but the words stuck in his throat, too humiliating to get out. Instead, he forced himself to turn away and finish setting up his bedroll.

Both the kits cuddled up in Korik’s bedroll, which only added salt to the wound. Even the rambunctious one, which he had been getting along with, preferred the company of Korik when it came down to it.

As he curled up in his blanket, much colder than he was used to, Varen considered that this was really his own fault. If he could have just kept his mouth shut, or even said anything other than the bitter words that had been the first to come to mind, things would be different. He could be warmly enjoying the final night that they would have together, instead of sulking over memories of the last week. But he’d let his instinct take over, succumbing to the urge to cover himself with the cruel and arrogant mask that had protected him in his long years dealing with bureaucracy—useless to him anywhere else.

Not that it mattered anymore. Varen sighed, pulling his blankets closer, and squeezed his eyes shut. If he laid still and tried not to think about anything, sleep would take him eventually.

In the morning, Varen’s joints were stiff with cold. He groaned as he rolled over, then used his magic to warm his blankets and clothes until some of the ache faded away. When he finally sat up, blinking blearily in the early morning light, Korik was already up. He must have stoked the fire back to life. He sat with his hands pressed to the earth, head tilted up, eyes closed. His hair was undone, taken out of the braid that Varen had done for him the day before, which stung more than Varen thought it could.

Still, Varen stared at him for a long moment. This might be the last time he ever saw Korik using his magic. But then the energetic kit clambered into his lap, and he chuckled, forcing himself to get up and start preparing to leave. He packed up his bedroll and prepared the very last of their rations: barely more than a handful of berries Korik had picked the day before, plus a few scraps of the pheasant, half of which went to the kits. They would only get a few mouthfuls with all they had found, but it would be enough to get them to Solitude.

As he prepared the food, Korik stirred. When he looked over at Varen, he had the same cool, distant expression that he’d worn when they first began traveling together, much to Varen’s dismay.

“I saw the outpost,” he said simply, his voice flat. “We should get there in a few hours. A little after midday.”

Varen nodded, forcing himself to smile. “We’re almost there.”

Korik nodded, then turned away, busying himself with the kittens. Then they ate, finished packing, and set out with the razorfang kits trailing behind them. Korik didn’t address him again.

In the past, Varen’s instinct would have been to fill the quiet between them—to talk to Korik even if the orc wouldn’t respond. But why bother now? They had walked in silence often enough now that it had become comfortable. This was not comfortable, but what was the point of saying anything anymore?

The only sound between them was their snowshoes crunching on the icy snow beneath them, and occasionally a cry or hiss from the razorfang kits as they played. Otherwise, he was left alone with his thoughts.

By the time the sun was at its peak, Varen knew exactly where they were. It had been a long time since he’d been to Solitude, but he found a path he recognized that wound through the woods they traversed. The sight set his heart racing with equal parts relief and despair.

When the trees gave way to a clearing, he could see it in the distance: the small shapes of the old village circled around the tree-temple, and the tall tower of the military outpost further beyond.

“We made it,” he said faintly, slowing to a stop as he looked out at it. They still had another mile or so to walk, but it felt like nothing compared to how far they’d come. Korik stood silently beside him, yet there was a greater distance between them than had ever been before.

When they were close enough to spot a scout atop the village gates, Varen raised his hands to his mouth and made the short, lilting call of the Aefrayan bluejay, the sign of an allied ranger approaching. He could see the scout on the wall turn and descend, disappearing from view. A moment later, the gates opened, and two more soldiers came striding out to meet them.

He could feel Korik tense behind him, but all he felt at seeing them now was relief.

As they approached, one of the elves called out in a bewildered tone, “You aren’t Commander Petkas, are you?”

Varen grinned. “The very same. And this is Healer Korik, of Drol Kuggradh. You’ve been expecting us, then?”

The two looked at each other, then the one who had spoken shook his head, laughing nervously. “Not at all. Our supply runner from two days ago told us Commander Petkas had gone missing along with an orc, but—just as a rumor. Not that we should be looking for you. How in all the hells did you get here?”

“It’s a long story,” he sighed. “Can we speak with the officer in command here?”

“Of course. Sir,” the soldier replied, gesturing for them to follow.

Varen hesitated, then added, “We found these razorfang cubs along the way. I know it’s a big ask, but can they come in with us? They were orphaned.”

To his surprise, the expression of both soldiers brightened as they peered past him. The two kits were hiding behind Korik, looking uncertain.

“Yes, bring them along,” said the one who had been speaking; he looked to be a bit older, and the other seemed nervous, as if he were still in training. “Ranger Myrla would love to see them. She’s our Master of Hounds.”

Varen raised an eyebrow, taken aback; but the two were already leading them back to the gate, so he followed. When he glanced back, Korik was following with the same blank expression, not quite meeting his gaze. The two kits pursued him, the shy one nearly tripping at his feet with how close it hovered.

They had finally made it. He should have been overjoyed, giddy with relief that they had survived when he had been so afraid that they would not. But now he was just tired and sad. The prospect of things going back to the way they were before had lost all of its appeal, especially considering all the reports he would have to make after their ordeal. He hated paperwork.

Maybe it was time to start thinking about retirement. Maybe with enough free time, he could eventually win Korik over again.