Page 9 of Bound By Blood (Orc Warrior Romances #1)

"You pledge by earth and flame to cause no harm to clan members while you remain among us. You swear by water and wind to share knowledge honestly, without deception or omission." Helka's voice takes on a ritual cadence. "Do you accept these terms?"

The choice hangs before me like a bridge spanning an abyss.

Accept, and I become something unprecedented as a human healer working alongside Orcs, blurring boundaries my people consider sacred.

Refuse, and return to captivity, valuable only as long as my usefulness outweighs the resources required to maintain me.

What would Mother do?

Again, the answer comes without hesitation. She'd choose to heal over hatred, knowledge over ignorance, possibility over fear.

"I accept."

The words ring in the vast chamber, echoing until they fade into whispered promises. Helka nods solemnly and produces a small knife from her robes, not threatening, but ritualistic, its blade etched with symbols that glow faintly in the moss-light.

"By earth," she intones, pricking my thumb and letting a drop of blood fall onto the stone floor. "You are bound to do no harm."

"By earth," I repeat, watching my blood disappear into microscopic cracks in the ancient stone. "I am bound to do no harm."

"By flame." She holds the knife over a small brazier that wasn't there moments before. Nasha must have brought it while I wasn't paying attention. The metal glows cherry-red in seconds. "You are bound to burn away deception."

"By flame. I am bound to burn away deception."

"By water." Cool liquid appears in a silver bowl, surface so still it reflects the moss-light like a mirror. I wash the small wound clean, feeling the sting of purification. "You are bound to flow where healing calls."

"By water. I am bound to flow where healing calls."

"By wind." Helka blows across the bowl's surface, creating ripples that fracture the reflection into dancing fragments. "You are bound to carry knowledge freely, without reservation or restraint."

"By wind. I am bound to carry knowledge freely, without reservation or restraint."

The ritual concludes with a moment of profound silence. I feel different somehow. Not just free of physical chains, but bound by something deeper and more meaningful. These aren't hollow oaths of political alliance, but sacred promises that resonate in my bones.

"Welcome to the Grove, Lady Eirian Thorne," Helka says formally. Then, with unexpected warmth: "Welcome to the family."

The words hit harder than I expected. Family. When did I last feel part of something larger than duty and obligation? When did I last belong somewhere based on shared purpose rather than an accident of birth?

Around us, the other healers continue their work, but I catch them glancing in my direction with what might be cautious acceptance. Not friendship yet, that will take time to earn, but recognition that I've crossed a threshold that can't be uncrossed.

"Come," Helka says, gathering her ritual implements. "Time to see your new quarters. And tomorrow, your proper education begins."

My new quarters occupy a natural alcove carved into the living rock, with shelves hollowed from stone and a sleeping platform covered in thick furs that smell of mountain air and cedar smoke.

The space feels ancient, worn smooth by countless inhabitants, yet somehow welcoming in its simplicity.

No gilded mirrors or silk tapestries, just functional beauty shaped by time and purpose.

The first thing I do is unwrap my healer's sash, cream-colored linen embroidered with House Thorne's silver willow tree.

Beneath it, pressed against my ribs where the fabric provided extra padding, lies the small enameled crest that marks me as nobility.

A foolish thing to keep, perhaps, but it belonged to my mother, and I can't bring myself to discard it entirely.

I fold the sash carefully and tuck the crest into its hidden pocket, then wrap the cloth around my middle again. From the outside, it looks like any healer's working garment. The silver thread catches the moss-light differently than Orc textiles, but not enough to draw unwanted attention.

Let them see me as a healer first. The rest can remain buried.

Dawn arrives earlier than expected in the mountain stronghold, announced not by roosters but by the subtle brightening of bioluminescent walls. My internal clock, accustomed to the rhythms of House Thorne's valley, struggles to adapt to this new cadence of light and shadow.

Nasha appears at my threshold as I'm braiding my hair into something resembling respectability. She carries a leather satchel and what looks like breakfast wrapped in leaves.

"Ready for your first lesson?"

"I thought I'd already had it. Surgery by moss-light seemed fairly comprehensive."

"That was an introduction. Today we begin proper education." She hands me the wrapped food, some kind of flatbread filled with herbs and what might be goat cheese. It tastes better than it has any right to, considering my circumstances. "Eat quickly. The morning gathering starts soon."

The morning gathering takes place in a circular chamber next to the main healing grotto. Fifteen healers of various ages and specializations sit cross-legged on woven mats, sharing observations and discussing cases with the focused intensity I remember from my mother's medical councils.

"Today we have a new colleague," Helka announces as we enter. "Lady Eirian will be observing our methods while sharing her own traditions. Integration benefits everyone."

The healers regard me with expressions ranging from curiosity to skepticism. I recognize the look. It's the same one I've given battlefield medics who claimed unconventional techniques worked better than established practices.

"Tell us about this lung-drainage procedure," says an elderly male healer whose ritual scars form spirals around his temples. "The tools you used, the precise incision points, the reasoning behind your approach."

For the next hour, I explain human surgical techniques to an audience that asks penetrating questions about anatomy, sterile procedures, and post-operative care. Their knowledge of the body's systems proves remarkably sophisticated, though their terminology differs from my training.

"Interesting," Nasha murmurs when I finish describing proper suture patterns. "We achieve similar results using different methods. Our bone-needles encourage natural healing responses that your silk threads might actually inhibit."

"How so?"

"The body recognizes foreign materials as intrusions.

Natural sinew triggers regenerative processes that synthetic materials suppress.

" She produces a needle carved from what looks like bird bone, its surface polished to surgical smoothness.

"This carries healing properties from the creature it came from.

Eagle bone for lung injuries, bear bone for muscle trauma, fish bone for circulatory damage. "

"That sounds like superstition."

"Does it?" Helka's voice carries gentle challenge. "Your people use willow bark for pain relief, don't they? Foxglove for heart conditions? Moldy bread for infected wounds? Where's the line between medicine and magic?"

The question haunts me as we move to practical demonstrations. I watch Nasha treat a minor fracture using techniques that should be impossible according to my training, yet the results speak for themselves. The patient walks away with full mobility and no apparent discomfort.

"How?"

"Bone speaks to bone. Blood calls to blood.

We listen to what the body needs rather than imposing what we think it should accept.

" She shows me her collection of specialized tools, each carved from different materials for specific purposes.

"Your methods focus on intervention. Ours emphasize cooperation. "

The morning passes quickly as I observe their approach under various conditions. They use combinations of herbs I've never seen, apply heat and cold that follows no logical system, yet achieve consistent results that would impress any physician in the Seven Kingdoms.

"Try this," says a younger healer, offering me a small clay pot filled with green paste. "For muscle strain and joint inflammation."

I dab a small amount on my wrist, expecting the familiar burn of most medicinal salves. Instead, I feel a warmth that penetrates deep into the joint, followed by a loosening sensation I haven't experienced in weeks.

"What's in it?"

"Mountain mint, hot springs clay, powdered elk antler, and three drops of cave-bloom nectar." She lists the ingredients matter-of-factly, as if everyone should know such things. "The proportions change based on the patient's constitution and the phase of the moon."

"The moon affects medicinal properties?"

"Everything affects everything else. Isolation is an illusion your people maintain to feel more in control.

" Helka approaches with an armful of dried herbs, roots, and preserved organs.

"This afternoon, you'll help prepare medicines.

Time to learn what your hands can do when they're guided by wisdom instead of mere technique. "

The afternoon proves even more challenging than the morning. I'm accustomed to precise measurements and standardized preparations, but Orc herbalism operates on principles of intuition and adaptation. Each medicine is crafted for specific individuals based on factors I barely understand.

"Feel the energy," Nasha instructs as I attempt to grind a mixture of roots into powder. "Don't force the motion. Let the mortar guide your rhythm."

"How can I feel energy in dead plant matter?"

"Because it's not dead. Dormant, perhaps.

Waiting for the right touch to awaken its potential.

" She shows with her own mortar, movements flowing like a dance.

Under her hands, the roots release fragrances that shifts and develop complexity.

"Life force doesn't simply disappear when breathing stops. It transforms."