Page 23

A flicker of alarm crosses Ragzuk’s features.

“His cousin. That would be Gaurbod. Ambitious orc, always jockeying for position.” He drums his bony fingers on the table.

“He’s never openly challenged Ghorzag, but if the clan truly believes the War God’s wrath is upon us, Gaurbod might see an opportunity to unseat him. ”

My chest constricts. “And it’s all pinned on me.” A wave of hopelessness swells. “If Ghorzag can’t protect me—if the clan storms my tent—they’ll kill me, Ragzuk. I won’t even have a chance to defend myself.”

He shakes his head, eyes grave. “Ghorzag is strong. He’ll stand against them. But the clan’s fear is a powerful weapon. Gaurbod’s cunning enough to exploit it.”

My heart twists at the memory of last night’s intimacy with Ghorzag, the sense that we’d forged a bond transcending orc-human boundaries. Now, that bond is being used as evidence of my manipulation. “So what do I do?” I whisper.

Ragzuk sighs. “You have few choices. You can try to flee, but that would confirm their suspicion that you’re guilty of something. Or you can trust Ghorzag to shield you while we keep searching for proof of sabotage—something that convinces the clan it’s not the War God’s wrath.”

I hesitate, tears burning the backs of my eyes. “What if the sabotage continues? They’ll only see more omens, more reason to blame me.”

A haunted look crosses his face. “Then we must hope we catch the saboteur soon, or the clan will inevitably turn on you.” His blunt words sting, but I appreciate his honesty.

I spend the next hour helping Ragzuk with minor tasks, though my mind is elsewhere.

The hum of the fortress beyond the workshop’s walls is a constant reminder of the rising hostility.

My trust in Ghorzag—once so resolute—is wobbling.

Not because he’s abandoned me, but because the forces arrayed against him are so formidable.

Can he truly protect me from his own cousin, from a good chunk of the clan? The question gnaws at my insides. Part of me flares with a stubborn faith in him. Another part whispers that I might be condemning both of us to ruin if I stay.

Eventually, I can’t stand the workshop’s walls any longer. The cloying scent of herbs makes me dizzy. Bidding Ragzuk a subdued farewell, I leave, hoping to gather my courage and find Ghorzag to discuss what I’ve overheard. He needs to know about Gaurbod’s plotting.

I find him in the main hall, standing near a cluster of warriors who pore over maps of the fortress’s water supply.

They speak in low tones, expressions grim.

My pulse quickens at the sight of him—tall, muscular, tattoos swirling across his green skin.

Memories of last night’s heated embrace flicker, but I shove them aside in the face of urgent danger.

He glimpses me at the edge of the meeting and holds up a hand to pause the conversation. The warriors exchange glances, some scowling as I approach. I force myself not to shrink under their gaze.

“Lirienne,” Ghorzag says, voice calm but tinged with concern. “Is something wrong?”

My throat feels tight. “I need to speak with you.” My eyes flick to the watching warriors. “Privately.”

A faint tension ripples across his jaw. He nods, dismissing them with a curt gesture. They retreat, though not without suspicious glances at me. Ghorzag leads me to a quieter alcove near the hall’s corner, where a flickering torch casts warm light on the stone walls.

“What is it?” he asks, crossing his arms. Though he tries to appear stoic, I sense the underlying worry in his eyes.

I swallow. “Your cousin—Gaurbod. He’s plotting with some warriors, stirring them against me. They’re saying I’ve bewitched you. That every calamity is the War God’s punishment for your decision to keep me.”

His expression darkens, tusks gleaming under the torchlight. “Gaurbod,” he growls, voice laced with disdain. “I suspected he might try to use the clan’s fear for his own gain. But to openly threaten you…?”

“They want me exiled,” I whisper, recalling the orc’s vicious grin. “At best. At worst, they’re discussing more violent solutions. I overheard them say you’re being ‘too soft’ and that I’ve enthralled you with human magic.”

A muscle in Ghorzag’s jaw flexes. His hands ball into fists. “They dare?”

I exhale sharply. “I’m telling you because I need to know—can you truly protect me from them? If Gaurbod gathers enough support, will you stand alone against your own clan?”

His eyes bore into mine, an unspoken challenge. “You doubt me?”

I flinch, shame coiling in my gut. “I don’t want to. But the clan’s hostility grows daily. And I saw how big that group was. They called for my exile. Some demanded blood. If it comes to an open revolt…”

His nostrils flare in a harsh exhale. “I’ll fight them if I must.”

A swirl of emotions—relief, fear, gratitude—wars inside me. “You can’t do this alone,” I say softly. “And I can’t keep living in fear of every shadow. Maybe… maybe I should leave, to keep the clan from falling into civil war.”

The thought of leaving him, after the bond we’ve forged in adversity—and in the throes of raw passion—feels like a blade slicing through my chest. Tears prick my eyes. I don’t want to be the cause of strife between him and his people, but I also fear becoming a scapegoat for all their woes.

“No,” he snaps, voice harsh. “Don’t speak of leaving. It would only confirm their suspicions. Besides…” He hesitates, gaze flicking away. “Besides, I won’t lose you so easily.”

A trembling breath escapes me. Part of me soars at his protectiveness, the unspoken hint of something more in his words. Another part worries that by staying, I’ll push the clan closer to rebellion. “Then what do we do?”

He falls silent, brow furrowed. Torchlight reveals the tension etched into every line of his face.

He’s struggling with this. Possibly for the first time, Ghorzag faces a threat that can’t be solved with brute force alone.

The sabotage only fuels the clan’s paranoia, and Gaurbod stokes the flames from within.

At length, Ghorzag speaks. “I’ll gather loyal warriors—those who see reason. We’ll double patrols, watch for any sign of infiltration. We will catch this saboteur. Once we prove the misfortunes are man-made, not divine, the clan will have no grounds to blame you.”

“And Gaurbod?” I press.

His jaw hardens. “If he’s behind this, I’ll deal with him.” A subtle quiver in his voice betrays the personal pain of confronting a cousin. But he sets his shoulders. “He won’t move openly without more proof you’re a curse.”

I nod, though my mind still roils. “He’s cunning, Ghorzag.”

“I know,” he mutters. Then he reaches for my hand, a gesture that nearly brings tears to my eyes. His palm is rough, calloused from years of wielding weapons, yet his touch is warm. “Trust me, Lirienne. We’ll weather this.”

I want to trust him. But the lingering memory of orcs whispering my name in hate-filled tones refuses to vanish. My heart aches with uncertainty. “I’ll try,” I whisper, voice trembling. “But if it comes down to your clan or me… I know your duty lies with your people first.”

He tenses. “Don’t pit me against them.”

“I’m not,” I say softly, sorrow lacing my tone. “But Gaurbod is, and so are the others calling for my blood. If they force a confrontation…” I trail off, leaving the grim possibility hanging in the torchlit space.

His hand tightens on mine. “No one touches you while I breathe.”

For a moment, we cling to that vow, precarious as it is. The fortress’s hum of activity seeps back in: distant footfalls, the grind of stone on stone, the muffled ring of a blacksmith’s hammer. The orcs in the main hall, wary of me, might be just a few steps away.

When we finally separate, Ghorzag returns to the group of warriors with a resolute expression, telling them to intensify the watch and watch out for conspirators.

I hover nearby, observing the way orcs stiffen or avert their gazes whenever my presence registers.

Rumors about me must have reached every corner of the fortress by now: the “human witch,” controlling the chieftain with spells or potions.

In the hall’s echoing expanse, I turn away to avoid another wave of suspicious stares.

My heart feels heavy, thoughts circling the possibility that all my efforts—cooking, healing, forging connections—are unraveling under the weight of superstition.

The clan is on the brink, sabotage continuing unchecked, and Gaurbod’s manipulative plot threatens to spark outright rebellion.

A dull ache settles in my chest. Perhaps the greatest wound comes from the wedge these whispers drive between me and Ghorzag.

While I believe his intentions, the question haunts me: Could he truly uphold his vow against a tide of orcish hostility?

If the clan demands blood, tradition might compel him to yield—or risk losing the chieftain’s seat.

And if he lost the seat, the next leader would surely cast me out anyway.

Catching me in my spiral of dark thoughts, Nagra approaches, concern etched on her face. “Lirienne,” she murmurs. “I heard some orcs calling for your exile. Are you all right?”

I force a brittle smile. “I’ll survive. I just… I’m not sure how much longer the clan will let me stay.”

Her expression grows pained. “I’m sorry. So many of them cling to fear. They’d rather blame you than admit a traitor walks among us sabotaging us.”

I swallow, forcing down the lump in my throat. “Thank you for caring, Nagra. I appreciate having at least a few orcs who don’t see me as a monster.”

Her hand squeezes mine. “If Ghorzag stands with you, maybe that’ll be enough.”

Her words try to soothe me, but the seeds of doubt have already taken root. Even the chieftain’s power has limits. If Gaurbod rallies enough orcs to his cause, might Ghorzag have to choose between his clan’s demands and me?

By late evening, the fortress’s tension reaches a fever pitch.

Word of the “fouled water” has spread like wildfire, and rumors of “human witchcraft” along with it.

Everywhere I go, I hear hushed arguments, see warriors exchanging guarded looks, and sense the roiling undercurrent of potential violence.

The knowledge of Gaurbod’s involvement weighs heavily on me. I toy with telling Karzug or another trusted warrior, but Ghorzag has said he’ll handle it. Yet do I trust that’s enough? The question gnaws at my insides.

In the courtyard, I catch sight of Gaurbod himself, flanked by two warriors, walking with a swaggering confidence.

His eyes slide over me without pause, betraying no fear—only a cool, calculating satisfaction.

My stomach lurches. He knows I overheard something , I suspect.

Or he doesn’t care who overhears. His posture radiates the arrogance of one who believes he’ll soon seize power.

I turn on my heel, retreating before he can confront me. My hands tremble. He’s so certain he can topple Ghorzag. If that’s true, then no vow from the chieftain can save me. I bite my lip, a swirl of panic threatening to overwhelm rational thought.

No. Calm , I tell myself. You have to be strong, or the clan will devour you.

I avoid the communal gathering spaces, ducking away from the suspicious glares.

My feet lead me, almost unconsciously, to a secluded passage behind the storage rooms—one of the few quiet corners I’ve found in this fortress.

A small torch sputters in its bracket, casting dancing shadows on the walls as night comes.

I sink against the cold stone, letting out a shaky breath. My eyes close, memories of home flooding in—the farmland, the day I volunteered to come here, how naive I’d been about forging peace.

“Running from ghosts?” a voice rasps, startling me.

My eyes snap open to see an orc figure looming at the corridor’s far end, half-hidden in shadow. My heart leaps to my throat, terror spiking. Has Gaurbod sent someone to corner me?

But as he steps forward, the faint torchlight reveals an older orc with a ragged scar across his mouth, wearing the clan’s warrior leathers. “Didn’t mean to scare you, human,” he says, though no warmth laces his tone.

I straighten, fists clenched at my sides. “I—I’m not running,” I lie.

He gives a short, mirthless laugh. “Could’ve fooled me. Rumor is you’ll be gone soon enough—one way or another.”

Cold dread slides through my veins. “Is that what they’re saying?” I ask, voice trembling despite my resolve.

A slow nod. “Warriors gather in secret, forging alliances. Gaurbod might make a formal challenge if Ghorzag won’t cast you out.” His eyes flick over me with something akin to pity. “The clan’s in turmoil. You’re at the heart of it, whether you want to be or not.”

I swallow, throat dry. “What do you believe?”

He shrugs. “I think the War God’s wrath is real enough. But sabotage could be part of it too. Doesn’t matter. The clan’s fracturing. If you stay, more blood might spill.”

My chest tightens, tears threatening. “I came to prevent bloodshed,” I whisper, more to myself than him.

He offers no comfort, only a grim shrug. Then, with a final hollow look, he turns and vanishes down the corridor. I stand there, breathing ragged, the weight of the clan’s hostility crashing down around me like a collapsing wall.

I can’t keep living like this, the words echo in my mind, an anguished refrain.

I think of Ghorzag, of how he insists he will protect me.

But more and more orcs are calling for action—some for exile, some for outright violence.

Gaurbod’s cunning manipulations threaten to spark a mutiny.

Even if Ghorzag wins a direct confrontation, the bloodshed might be immense.

A sob chokes my throat. I slap a hand over my mouth, refusing to break down fully. No. I’ll talk to him again, one last time, and then… I’ll decide. If leaving spares him a civil war, maybe that’s the path I must take. But how about my village? What should I do?

Yet as I force myself away from the shadows, heading toward my tent, the specter of distrust looms large. Could Ghorzag truly stand against the tide of fear rising in his clan? Or am I clinging to a sliver of hope that might drown us both?