Page 16 of Bound By Blood (Orc Warrior Romances #1)

They know. Somehow, despite the privacy of the grotto and the absence of witnesses, knowledge of our connection has reached the clan leadership. Either Drokhan reported it himself, or Orc society possesses methods of monitoring spiritual events that I don't understand.

"I provided medical treatment for an infected wound," I say carefully. "Using techniques that combined human herbal knowledge with local practices."

"Local practices." The second elder, a massive male whose battle scars speak of decades of warfare, leans forward with interest. "Specify these practices."

No point in attempting deception. They clearly possess enough information to evaluate the accuracy of my response.

"I spoke blessing words over the healing waters. Words I learned from my mother's research into your ancestral traditions. And I..." The admission sticks in my throat. "I attempted to synchronize my healing efforts with the elemental magic flowing through the mountain springs."

"Did you succeed?"

The question comes from the third elder, whose piercing gaze suggests she's accustomed to detecting lies. I stare directly, drawing on the same composure that helped me survive in House Thorne's political environment.

"Yes."

"And during this process, did you experience any unusual sensations? Connections beyond normal healer-patient interaction?"

Here it comes. The question that determines whether I'm seen as a dangerous sorceress or something else entirely.

"We made contact. Brief physical contact during the healing process. And for a moment, I sensed..." I search for words that convey the experience without overstating its significance. "I sensed his emotional state more clearly than simple observation would allow."

"She tasted my thoughts," Drokhan says, speaking for the first time since the formal questioning began. "And I felt her healing intention as clearly as physical touch."

The three elders exchange glances that carry entire conversations in the space of heartbeats. Whatever they're deciding involves more than simple curiosity about human magical abilities.

"Chief Drokhan," the eldest speaks again, "you understand the implications of what you're describing?"

"I do."

"Then you also understand why this matter requires formal consideration by the clan council?"

"I do."

What implications? What requires formal consideration? Their cryptic exchange suggests knowledge I lack, traditions that govern situations like what occurred between us this afternoon.

"Lady Eirian," the scarred elder addresses me directly, "among our people, the connection you experienced carries specific cultural significance. Healers who achieve such rapport with clan leaders become bound to our community in ways that transcend simple political arrangements."

Bound to their community. Not quite marriage, but not simple friendship either. Something that creates permanent obligations on both sides.

"What kind of binding?" I ask, though part of me already suspects the answer.

"Spirit-bond," the female elder explains. "A connection that makes you family to our clan, with all the protections and responsibilities such relationship entails. Once established, it cannot be severed by political changes or conflicts."

The magnitude of what she's describing crashes over me like an avalanche. Not just personal alliance with Drokhan, but formal adoption into Orc society. Protection from those who would harm me, but also obligation to serve clan interests above human loyalty.

"And if I refuse this binding?"

"The connection already exists," Drokhan says quietly. "We're not asking you to create something new. We're asking you to acknowledge what has already formed and decide how to proceed."

What has already formed? The heat that flowed between us, the way his emotional state became accessible to my senses, the undeniable sense that something fundamental shifted during those moments of contact.

"I need time to consider this," I say finally. "This is not a decision I can make without understanding all its consequences."

"Of course." The eldest elder nods approvingly.

"Such choices require careful thought. But understand that delay carries its own risks.

Word of today's events will spread throughout the stronghold.

Some of our people will interpret your connection with our chief as evidence of treachery.

Others will see it as proof that healing traditions can bridge political divisions. "

Rumors will spread. In a closed community like this mountain stronghold, unusual events become common knowledge within hours. And unusual events involving the clan chief and a human captive will inevitably become the subject of wild speculation.

"How long do I have?"

"Three days," the scarred elder answers. "Time enough for reflection, but not so long that uncertainty destabilizes clan unity."

Three days to decide whether I become permanently bound to people I was raised to fear and distrust. Three days to determine if the connection I felt was a genuine spiritual alliance or simply the result of exhaustion and stress.

"Thank you for your consideration," I say, rising from the stone chair. "I will give this matter the serious thought it deserves."

"Lady Eirian." Drokhan's voice stops me as I reach the chamber entrance. "Whatever you decide, know that today's healing saved my life. That debt exists regardless of any formal binding."

Debt, honor obligations that create their own form of connection, independent of mystical considerations. Even if I reject the spirit-bond, I've created a relationship that will influence how this clan treats captured humans in the future.

Gorth escorts me back to my quarters through passages that seem longer than before, providing time to process what I've learned. Spirit-bonds. Formal adoption into Orc society. Permanent allegiance that supersedes birth culture and political loyalty.

Those who taught me about these people emphasized their primitive nature and their inability to comprehend complex emotional or spiritual concepts. But tonight's formal council session revealed a sophisticated understanding of relationships that transcend simple political categories.

What else was I taught incorrectly?

Back in my chamber, I light the single oil lamp they've provided and retrieve my mother's journal from its hiding place beneath the cot's thin mattress.

Page after page of careful observations about Orc healing practices, many based on information gathered from human prisoners who observed their captors' medical techniques.

But reading with new understanding, I notice details I previously dismissed as primitive superstition.

References to healers who achieved a mystical connection with tribal leaders.

Descriptions of binding ceremonies that created permanent alliances between peoples of different bloodlines.

Accounts of spiritual practices that generated healing effects beyond conventional medicine's capabilities.

She knew. My mother understood far more about Orc culture than her published writings revealed. These private journals contain knowledge she considered too dangerous for general circulation, too politically sensitive to include in official medical texts.

Knowledge that might have prepared me for what happened beside that steaming pool.

I close the journal and extinguish the lamp, settling back onto the cot with my mind churning through possibilities and consequences.

Three days to decide whether I accept formal binding to people who were my enemies a week ago.

Three days to determine whether the connection I felt represents genuine spiritual alliance or simply the result of unusual circumstances.

Three days to choose between the life I was born to live and one I never imagined possible.

Outside my chamber, the mountain stronghold settles into deep-night quiet. But I remain wakeful, staring into darkness while questions multiply like sparks from a forge fire.

What would spirit-bonding actually entail? How would my family react to news that their daughter had formally joined an Orc clan? What obligations would I inherit, and what freedoms would I surrender?

And what would it mean for the man whose life I saved today?

That question burns brightest of all, because beneath the political and cultural considerations lies a simpler truth: the heat that flowed between us felt more real than anything I've experienced in thirty years of careful, controlled existence.

Three days to decide if I'm brave enough to find out where that heat might lead.