Page 6

Chapter 5

“ T ighten your grip,” Vorgath instructed, his deep voice cutting through the haze of my concentration as the iron rod buckled slightly under my hammer. Five days into this, those words had become a mantra, echoing in my ears long after leaving the forge.

Tighten your grip. Widen your stance. Higher. Harder. Faster. Better.

Five days sweating in Vorgath's forge. Five nights staying up well past midnight mending just enough garments to keep food in the pantry. Five mornings rolling out of bed with sore muscles and swollen eyes just to do it all again.

If I'd learned anything, it was that Vorgath didn't expect perfection, but he did expect progress, and I was as eager to show it to him as I was to prove Thorne wrong.

“You're overthinking again,” Vorgath said, his voice breaking through my thoughts as I prepared to strike.

I paused mid-swing, turning to look at him. His massive frame was silhouetted against the forge's glow, the play of light and shadow accentuating the strong lines of his face. The heat of the forge bore down on me, sweat dripping from my forehead. I wiped the back of my hand across my brow, smearing soot onto my already dirty sleeve.

“How can you tell?” I asked.

“You are a woman,” he rumbled. “That is what you do.”

I blinked, prepared to be offended, when I caught the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. My jaw dropped slightly. “Did you just... tease me?” I asked, trying to cover my shock with a bit of sass. “I didn't know orcs had a sense of humor.”

Vorgath raised his eyebrows at me, the corner of his mouth lifting behind his beard. “There is much you don't know about orcs, like I said before.” He paused, his eyes holding mine for a moment longer than necessary. “But you are a fast learner.”

A flush crept up my neck, and this time, I couldn't blame it on the forge's heat. Was this flirtation? I wasn't sure, but I found myself enjoying the uncertainty, the subtle tension that had been building between us over the past few days. I couldn’t remember when I’d last felt this kind of distraction, this flutter of attraction. Part of me wanted to push it away, to focus solely on my goal of reopening the forge.

But another part, a part I'd thought long dormant, reveled in the feeling.

“Well,” I said, hefting the hammer again and flashing him a smile, “I have a good teacher.”

Vorgath grunted, but I could've sworn I saw his cheeks darken slightly beneath his beard. He shifted his stance, folding those thick, muscled arms across his chest. I imagined what it would feel like to be held by those arms, the roughness of his hands steadying me.

My heart fluttered at the thought, and I quickly turned back to the anvil, biting my lip to keep from smiling. What was happening to me?

“Less talking, more hammering,” he grumbled.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, bringing the hammer down with renewed focus, though I imagined I could feel the orc's dark gaze on my ample backside. The ample backside that I thought might fit just right in his big, green hands...

The sudden bang of the forge door startled me, causing the hammer to slip in my grasp. I turned quickly to see a stout figure silhouetted in the doorway.

“Vorgath! You great green lump, where are you hiding?” a gruff voice called out.

As my eyes adjusted to the light, I recognized the newcomer—Grimble Ironfoot, a dwarf I hadn't seen since before the war, when he and Kald worked together. His wild, fiery red beard was as untamed as ever, barely contained by the intricate silver clasps that clinked with each step of his stout, barrel-chested frame.

Vorgath stepped toward the visitor. “I'm right here, *ghruln*. No need to shout.”

But Grimble wasn't looking at the orc. “Well, Mrs. Ashford!” He raised his bushy eyebrows as he spotted me. “What in the name of Fizzlebrit's beard are you doing here, lass?”

I lowered the hammer, wiping my sweaty palms on my apron. “Hello, Grimble. I'm learning the trade.”

The dwarf's eyes darted between Vorgath and me, surprise and curiosity etched on his weathered face. “Learning the trade? From this overgrown troll?” He jerked a thumb at Vorgath, who merely grunted in response.

“I am,” I said. “Vorgath's been kind enough to take me on as an apprentice.”

Grimble stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Well, I'll be...” Turning to Vorgath, he said, “Vorgath, did you ever see young Kald's setup? Now that was a fine place for a fine craftsman.”

Vorgath shook his head. “No, never.”

“Ah, you missed out,” Grimble said. “If not for the war, I'd have bet my money on Kald taking over the blacksmith's guild.”

I smiled at Grimble. “Remember how he used to talk about revolutionizing the apprenticeship program?”

“Aye, the lad had grand plans, he did. Always going on about making the craft accessible to all.” He turned to Vorgath, gesturing at me. “Looks like his widow's carrying on that torch, eh?”

Vorgath met my gaze, something flickering in his dark eyes—admiration, perhaps? “She is... determined,” he said.

Heat crept up my cheeks at the unexpected compliment. “Thank you,” I said softly.

Grimble cleared his throat. “Right, well, as lovely as this reunion is, I've got business to discuss.” He turned to Vorgath, pulling a rolled parchment from his belt. “I need a set of ceremonial axes for the upcoming Tinkerer's Faire. Think you can handle it, greenskin?”

Vorgath's expression remained impassive, though annoyance briefly darkened his eyes at the nickname. “I can handle anything you throw at me, Ironfoot,” he said.

As Grimble laid out the details of his order, my thoughts slipped back to the moments just before the dwarf’s arrival. Vorgath’s words, his subtle teasing, the way his eyes lingered on mine longer than necessary. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be noticed by someone.

It wasn’t just his gaze or the way he loomed over me with that quiet intensity; it was the way he paid attention, the way he pushed me to be better. I’d spent so long focused on survival that I hadn’t allowed myself to think about anything else. Love, attraction—those were luxuries, weren’t they? Reserved for people with room to dream. Not for widows with tired hands and a son to raise.

And yet, I couldn’t deny that I’d started to look forward to our time together. There was comfort in his presence, a silent strength that made me feel… safe.

But it wasn’t just safety I craved anymore.

I glanced at Vorgath as he nodded at something Grimble said. His broad shoulders were relaxed, but his expression was serious and focused...

Was it foolish to feel this way? To hope for something deeper between us? Did he even feel the same way, or was I only seeing what I wanted?

Part of me scolded myself for even entertaining the thought. I’d built walls around my heart for good reason, convinced myself that love was impractical, something I’d already had—and lost. What was left for me now was the grind of hard work, of making a life for Elias and protecting what little we had.

Still, I couldn’t ignore the voice in the back of my mind, whispering it was okay to open up again. For the first time, I let myself imagine it. Maybe it was time I did something for myself. Something reckless. Something bold.

Grimble’s voice broke through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present. “Think you and your new apprentice can have those axes ready by next fortnight?” he asked.

Vorgath nodded. “We’ll have them ready.”

“Good, good,” Grimble replied, rolling up his parchment and tucking it back into his belt. “And Soraya, if you ever want to talk shop, you know where to find me. I’ve got a new steam-powered bellows idea that could change the whole game.”

I smiled at the dwarf, appreciating his enthusiasm. “Thank you, Grimble. I’ll keep that in mind.”

With a final nod to both of us, Grimble turned to leave, his heavy boots clanking against the stone floor as he made his way to the door. As it swung shut behind him, I found myself alone with Vorgath once more.

He turned to me, his expression unreadable. “Grimble is a good customer. Reliable.”

“Yes, he is,” I agreed. “He was one of Kald's regulars, actually.”

Vorgath grunted thoughtfully. “Your husband's forge must have been impressive, from what Grimble said.”

“It was, but that was a long time ago.” I paused. “Would you... be interested in seeing it?”

Vorgath's eyebrows rose slightly. “Your old forge?”

“Yes,” I said, ignoring the flutter of nerves twisting my stomach. “I've been thinking about how to get it up and running again, and I'd love your input.”

Vorgath was silent for a moment, his dark eyes studying me. Then, to my surprise, he nodded. “I would like that,” he rumbled.

Remembering my earlier thoughts—something bold, something reckless—I blurted out, “Great! Why don't you come by this evening? I could show you around, and maybe you could stay for dinner?”

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, and immediately, heat rushed to my cheeks. What was I thinking, inviting him to dinner?

But as I watched Vorgath’s expression soften—just slightly, in the curve of his lips and the almost imperceptible shift of his shoulders—I couldn’t bring myself to regret it.

“Dinner?” he repeated, sounding almost uncertain for the first time since I met him.

I nodded, trying to sound casual. “Yes, just a simple meal. Nothing fancy. It would be nice to get to know you better.” Something bold, something reckless—I kept repeating the words in my head, determined to drown out the surge of self-doubt.

Vorgath was quiet for a long moment, and I feared I’d overstepped, misread the growing connection between us. My hands fidgeted with the edge of my apron as my mind raced for a way to take it all back.

But then, his lips twitched into a faint smile. “I’d like that.”

“Wonderful,” I said, unable to keep the grin off my face. “I'll expect you at seventh bell, then?”

“I'll be there.”

For a moment, something electric passed between us, humming just beneath the surface. But instead of lingering on it, I reached for my hammer, hoping to steady the flutter in my chest.

“So,” I said, focusing on the task at hand, “about those ceremonial axes...”