Page 21

Chapter

Twenty

ANYA

I am still coming down from the bit of excitement with Daghel, my cheeks so scorching hot despite the cold that I fan them as we return to the street. Of course, I can’t help but enviously notice that he looks as cool and composed as ever, as if nothing had happened; his eyes scanning the street restlessly. He appears to deem everything to be as expected because he merely grunts and the small amount of the tension that he’s carrying eases as he draws me beneath his arms once again.

Although my previous gentlemen usually escorted me with my hand just delicately perched on their arms in the most minimal and polite amount of contact when out in public, and the younger Anya would have disdained being pinned so helplessly to someone’s side, I must admit that this is quite nice. It’s cozy, in fact, and my heart softens as I allow myself to lean into him and am immediately cocooned within Daghel’s heat. I’m not sure if it is just my imagination, but it gives our surroundings a warm glow. My earlier dismay when faced by the harsh reality of the village is slowly melting away as my eyes fall upon the holiday splendor lining every door and orc children squeal with laughter and run in small playful packs amid the building, several of them with pockets bulging with what appear to be sweets.

“You have confectioneries?”

Daghel grunts in agreement, his mouth twitching slightly with his amusement. “The confectioner brought it to the mountains. She is unmated still despite the efforts of many of our warriors, gathols, and the village hunters and protectors both, but she has refused them all since arriving here some years ago. Many doubted that she would be such a successful addition to the village, but her sweet creations have become something that all upon our mountains have grown to enjoy so her freedom goes unchallenged.”

“Even you,” I tease, as over the last few days with him, I haven’t seen the male eat anything remotely sweet.

He grimaces slightly with disgust despite his best attempt to hold it back, and I burst out laughing, drawing a bit more of a smile from him.

“It is too sweet for me. Human indulgence in sweet things seems to be beyond my enjoyment,” he admits.

I smile at his confession as I continue to look around and blink in surprise when I see a pair of human children stumble from a house with a shout of laughter as a brutish male follows them outside. His barrel-like torso and thick muscles gives him an intimidating appearance that would make me wonder as to the children’s safety if not for the fond smile on his lips and the swaying of a ridiculous garland of evergreen and berries around his neck as he stomps after them, only to be followed by a tiny blonde woman in a festively red skirt and fur-trimmed coat laughing as she follows after them.

“Hagthor, do try not to get them so riled up,” she calls as she shuts the door and hurries to catch up with the big male, who stops with a broad grin to wait for her.

“I did not think that there would be human children in the villages,” I murmur after passing the adorable little family.

“There are quite a few. Many of the females who arrive in our villages have been abandoned by males or widowed young. No male worth his salt would separate her from her pups. Indeed, most are pleased to have a mate and younglings to care for and bring some happiness to his home.”

“That is truly a wonder,” I admit, my heart clenching a little with emotion that I don’t entirely want to acknowledge.

From the start, I have viewed the concept of mating with an orc through a lens of practicality. Orcs have always been portrayed in Zyerk media as beasts incapable of feelings of deep love and tenderness, providing only staunch protection and provision as one could expect of a beast. A male like that was painted as one that any sensible woman would flee.

How strange to suddenly find myself in a position where I must admit that the way humans have painted the orcs is very contrary to reality—though Vorn and his rule within the upper village is certainly trying to live up to the stereotypes.

“This is not the way it is among your people.”

It is a statement, not a question, and I am sure that he has witnessed enough during his raids to see truthfully how little many men value women—like Chelsea—but I’m shaking my head and answering as if it were one. I don’t want to think too hard about that woman lest it stir some sympathy for her, whereas I would rather have none.

“There are always exceptions, but it is often harder for an older female, especially one with children, to find a man who genuinely loves and wants to build a life with her. We make easy targets for those who would prey on us to fulfill their own needs or to gain something that they desire.”

His head cocks in puzzlement as he peers down at me. It has started snowing again, and the small flakes cling to his white hair and the tops of his frosted lashes. “We?”

I chuckle despite myself. He is so incredibly clueless about just how poorly he has chosen. It is not only flattering, but endearingly sweet.

“As much as I hate to tell on myself, outside of what I have told you about my past, there are many reasons men would not consider me a good mate. Besides being paid for my skills at bringing pleasure and pain to my clients, I am no longer a young girl.”

He squints at me curiously. “You are no elderly female.”

I laugh at that because he’s not wrong, but also with pleasure at just how easily he overlooks the additional details about my past profession—but I suppose that I shouldn’t be surprised when comfort maidens not only exist but aren’t considered a pariah. I wonder if there even exists such rigid idealization of young women as there is in Zyerk.

“I am not elderly,” I agree around my laughter. “But, having seen thirty-seven years, I am considered being outside the ideal for men who wish to have a wife young enough that they might enjoy a great many years of her fertility.”

His shoulders shake in a sudden spasm, and I reach for him, suddenly concerned. Did I shock him that much with my age? Oh, gods, what if he wishes to return me and I end up one of those comfort maidens? No, no, no—and then I blink when a deep rumble shakes him that grows into a thunderous booming sound as his mouth parts with genuine laughter. I am so shocked that I stare at him, my mouth agape as he wipes tears of mirth from his eyes.

“You… you… Why the fuck are you laughing?” I demand, but despite myself, my lips twitch and a giggle escapes me. “It’s not funny.”

His other arm wraps around me to drag me against him, his entire body quaking with his deep laughter. “Ah, my wyva, you do bring such joys into my heart.” He draws a deep breath as he regains his control and grins down at me. “That is considered a lusty age for females among orcs. A female is not treated as a beloved elder until her hair is completely white and her face is as wrinkled as a winter apple.”

“An apple, huh?” I say with a roll of my eyes, but I hug him back as I breathe in his spicy scent.

“Now come, my lusty one,” he teases as he draws me back beneath his arm as we proceed once more down the street. “There is still much to do before the sun begins to set. And much that you may enjoy seeing, I suspect.”

I smile happily as I take another hot pastry from the bespelled basket that the baker gifted me and reminded me to bring with me to be refilled when I return. The nice little enchantment woven into it keeps them piping hot and fresh so that I nearly moan as I bite into a danish and its warm, sweet filling coats my tongue. It is the perfect accompaniment for a stroll through the village, and although Daghel frequently stops to check on something or speak quietly with some orcs we come across, it is the sort of holiday wonderland that I wistfully dreamed of in my youth while huddled beneath thin blankets to stave off the chill.

And while there don’t appear to be any Yulen trees brightly decorated for the holidays, there are numerous straw figures that can be spied through windows of orc males and females adorned with bright ribbons, many of which also wear more of the evergreen and berries fashioned into garlands and crowns. There is even a far larger couple in the village square at its heart that, with the snow and ice covering them, pronounced crowns and garlands of evergreen, and the fur cloaks wrapped around them, gives them an even more regal ethereal appearance. I suspect that these represent Durethikal and his awaited bride. Certainly, the female of the couple stands out with a colorful apron of fabric bound around her and numerous necklaces adorning her neck made of nuts and wooden toggles.

They stand on a tall platform at the northernmost point of the square. The remaining perimeter is marked with several tall wooden pillars, each heavily decorated with motifs of winter. I recognize different types of greenery and berries, and various nuts that are readily harvested to be eaten throughout the season. The square itself hums with activity as large firepits roar and sizzle with spitted meat turned over them, while nearby tables are laden with all matter of food and drink as the orcs and humans laugh, eat, drink, and socialize. There is even a small circle of orcs wielding unfamiliar and familiar instruments playing strange but exciting songs that have groups stomping and spinning to their music.

Daghel leads me to join them, and though I turn down dancing to the unfamiliar steps when he offers with a faint tip of his head, I enjoy the energetic pulse and merriment and happiness that surround me. There are no beggars or street children being chased away as would be done in Zyl so that their presence does not bring down the festivities. There are none who seem impoverished at all. Some have more finery than others, but everyone is warm and happy as the whole village partakes in the celebration. It is far too easy to drink every cup of mulled wine and spiced ale that Daghel hands to me and eat far heartier than I would have ever dared to indulge in previously out of fear for my waistline.

“You are going to make me fat,” I tease as I accept a bowl that appears to be filled with a sort of spiced custard and frozen cream.

“There is no harm in a plump female,” he replies as his warm gaze settles on me. “Any size that you are is perfect in my eyes, though I dare say Drisk would be very enamored with such plumpness.”

A pleased blush warms my cheeks, and I take a bite, moaning softly at the taste. This must be a traditional orc dessert. It is not overly sweet but has a delicious aroma and flavor that I find incredibly satisfying, far beyond the traditional desserts enjoyed at Yulen in Zyerk.

“A most happy Gehl to us all,” a female bellows as she raises her tankard, her gray cheeks well flushed with a violet hue from all her merry making.

“Happy Gehl! Blessed be we on this first night,” the village replies, and I shout it out as well at Daghel’s side as we all raise our cups in cheer.

I glance up at Daghel as I sip from my cup. His gaze is fixed on me with a look of such affection that I swallow wrong and immediately sputter and lower my cup to cough violently. Gods, how embarrassing! His hand, however, is warm on my back as he gently rubs in a soothing circular pattern that relaxes the tension that had quickly gathered within me in response to choking. My coughs quickly ease, and I smile up at him gratefully when a young girl with deep dimples at either side of her maturing tusks arrives at our side with a delighted smile.

“A gift for your mate, drehl?” she asks, and she lifts a string of blue stones that rival any sapphire I’ve ever seen. Those in Zyl were far smaller and fetched high prices. “I made these by my own hands and know on sight those whom they are meant for.”

The emphasis on the word sight is strange, but I must admire her entrepreneur’s spirit. What’s more, despite her eye for business, although she is likely no younger than sixteen, her voice is sweet and light with such innocence that it nearly breaks my jaded heart. And even more so when her eyes light up with delight when Daghel smiles and inspects her offering before digging out a gold coin and handing it to her.

Her clawed fingers curl around the coin happily, and she nods in thanks before taking off once more into the crowd with her basket of wares.

“This necklace is worth hundreds of gold coins in Zyl—it’s really too much for someone like me,” I protest when Daghel turns to me to slip the rope of gemstones around my neck, his hands warm against my skin as he fastens the little latch at my nape.

It is a weak protest, however. I was always fond of the eternal beauty of jewels, but as much as past lovers tossed inferior specimens at me over the years only for me to be eventually parted with them, nothing truly felt like a gift for my pleasure. Not like this. This is not merely being adorned. Every bit of Daghel’s body language is that of a male sweetly cherishing his female. Of giving me something because he saw that I desired it even if I never would have asked for it, for no other reason than to make me happy.

Daghel’s eyes glow with such pleasure as his claws brush my throat as he adjusts the gemstones against my neck. “In my eyes, only you are worthy of them,” he murmurs in a deep rasp that slides over my senses, making me shiver. “And apparently, that female agrees. Those who speak to the stones within the clans have a knowing of where they belong. You are worth every treasure, Anya, even if just taking into account what happiness that you have brought into the life of your gathol.”

My eyes prickle with tears, but I quickly blink them away as I clutch a hand over my chest in an attempt to collect myself against the sentimentality puddling within me. Is this truly what it is to be cherished? Daghel is no gentle male and rarely speaks in gentle words, but in this moment, I feel as if I were a queen among women for no other reason than being showered with what feels very much like what I imagine love to feel like.

“Thank you,” I manage around a lump of emotion. “This is?—”

A shrill sound of frustration interrupts me, but when I glance over at its source, my eyebrows rise in surprise. Chelsea, no longer clad in simple yellow and crimson as it has been replaced with a warm burgundy dress and coat, is just a short distance away, her beautiful face pinched with displeasure as she squares off with the male at her side. Although she is tucked lovingly beneath his arm, I can see the war brewing on her face of a spoiled child, and I bite back a sigh. I have witnessed far too many such outbursts from this girl over the years in nearly every social setting I’ve come across her.

“Why can’t you make that girl come back and buy a necklace for me?” she demands. “There was one in that basket with a ruby the size of my thumb. I want it.”

“It does not work that way,” he rumbles far more patiently than I would have imagined coming from such a brawny male possessing a face that’s a mess of scars. His appearance suggests the rough appearance of a fighter, and yet his expression and tone are gentle as he strokes a hand along her arm to soothe her. “It is a special knowing. She cannot give them to those to whom they do not belong.”

“Are you saying I’m unworthy?” she shrieks, and I wince at the obnoxiously piercing tone.

“Of course not,” the male replies, his tone as mellow and patient as ever.

Truly, I applaud him because I already want to slap her.

“Seems that another male is trying their luck in mating your friend,” Daghel observes dryly.

“Oh, she’s not my friend,” I reply as I turn from her and sip on my warm drink. “Truthfully, she has done her best to make my life miserable on more occasions than one.”

“Is that so?” Daghel’s eyes narrow as he peers over at her, but I nudge him gently with my elbow, bringing his attention back down to me where it belongs.

“Let’s not allow her to spoil things,” I suggest in a low voice as I lean into him and rest my head against his chest. The top of my head barely reaches the lower edge of his pectorals, but it counts. The contact is what is most important, and a happy sigh escapes me when his big arm wraps around my back. “This has really been a wonderful day.”

“It has,” he agrees, a hint of surprise coloring his voice.

I smile, happy to just wallow in the moment. Unfortunately, Chelsea once again proves her distinct talent at ruining everything when her voice rises sharply with anger.

“Then why is that whore wearing one of those necklaces if they are so precious?”

I feel Daghel’s muscles tense as my back goes rigid. There is no need to guess whom she means as the heads of orcs and humans alike turn toward me with curiosity. Tension coils deeply within Daghel as his arm drops away. It is like hugging a spring that is coiled up and preparing to be released. And Chelsea definitely does not want him to be released upon her. I wrap my arms around his waist tightly, disregarding the fact that I’m spilling my drink all over the place.

“Don’t kill her just yet,” I whisper in a quiet plea.

“Enough!” The male’s brutal growl drowns out my words, and I look over curiously when I hear Chelsea respond with a squeak of surprise. Although his scarred face is stern with displeasure, he holds her gently by the back of the neck as he frowns down at her. “Enough,” he repeats in a calmer voice. “It seems that this is not a good day to enjoy Gehl. If you can learn to curb your tongue and speak respectfully about your sisters, we can try again tomorrow.”

“Sister?” she barks in outrage. “How dare you compare me to—” She squeals again as he lifts her up into his arms.

Holding her firmly against his chest, he turns toward us with a respectful dip of his head before heading out with a very angry and loudly cursing Chelsea in his arms. I watch them go, a niggle of concern working its way through me despite the absolute delight I feel at how efficiently he dealt with her cruelty.

“Is she going to be okay?” I whisper.

Daghel watches them leave, a small smile playing on his lips before his eyes drop to me, their depths filled with warm reassurances. “Of course. Although a male is to help his mate become accustomed to the traditions of the Fang Peaks, this small public correction is to spare her from being corrected far more unkindly by another female in the future. He does not appear to be willing to give up on her easily, so he will not return her. He will merely take her home and comfort the sting of his rebuke and shower her with adoration.”

“Ah, that seems a little more than what she deserves,” I grumble, but it is halfhearted.

As much as Chelsea has been a thorn in my side, I do not wish her any true harm or unhappiness. Unwilling to waste another moment of thought on the wretched girl, I wrap my arms around Daghel and hug him tight as the merriment resumes all around us. Despite the unpleasantness, this is turning out to be a most enjoyable Yulen—or Gehl—after all.