Page 2 of Her Orc Blacksmiths

Don’t worry. Your mother is already planning who you will marry instead. You only need to stay put and do as they say, and you’ll be taken care of and safe.

That insidious voice whispers in my thoughts, but I can’t stand to listen to it anymore.

Kicking off the thick down-filled blanket, the best money could buy in our little village, I sit up. I reach for the candle on my nightstand and crouch by the banked fireplace, blowing on the coals. A small flame bursts to life. I hold the wick of my candle to it, and it catches quickly, illuminating the room in a soft orange glow.

I know what I must do. That little flickering flame reflects something waking up inside me, a new hope I must act on, or it’ll be forever squashed by reasonable, safe assurances of my known life. I kneel in front of the wooden chest that holds most of my possessions and flick it open.

It’ll be cold in the mountains.

Chapter

Two

In the gray pre-dawn light, I stop my mare at the crossroads not far from the village. It’s where the main road leading to our small hamlet joins the much larger one that runs the length of the duchy, north to south. If I head south here, I’ll be able to ride all the way to Ultrup, the capital, and try my luck at finding a husband there. I’ve never been afflicted with false modesty—my mother saw to that every day of my childhood when she brushed out my long, pale-yellow hair and repeated to me that I was beautiful enough to catch a prince if I wanted to.

And yet my parents never traveled to the south with me to find me a nobleman to marry—not after my brother was born and their attention turned to raising him. I hadn’t been forgotten, and they never neglected me, but they stopped talking about their big dreams for me and instead taught me to settle for what was good enough.

I tighten my grip on the reins. Then I nudge the mare north, in the direction of the border with the orc kingdom. I take one glance back toward the village and hope they won’t be able to know which way I went. The road is dry enough after the good autumn weather we’ve had, and everyone in their right mind would assume I’d left for Ultrup, not the orc lands.

I might not be in my right mind, then, because I dig my heels gently in the mare’s flanks and leave the village behind. She doesn’t doubt my decision, which is good. At least one of us should be convinced that this is a good idea. I know I might come to regret this because one should never trust decisions made in the dead of the night, and yet the flame in my chest burns brighter at the thought of finding myself an orc husband.

The road leads me into the forest soon after the crossroads, the maple trees preening with their gorgeous fall colors. My breaths steam in the early morning air, and though it’s not quite cold enough yet for the first frost, I know it’s coming soon. The fresh mountain air isn’t much different from what I’m used to from the village—with the notable exception of the whiff of pigs that our neighbor, Sal, breeds right where everyone can smell them—and yet my lungs expand easier here.

Is it the knowledge that I’m finally free? Or the hope of a better future?

In any case, I’m happy enough I could sing, and I even hum a little tune to myself as the road starts to climb. I don’t know exactly how far it is to the main orc settlement, or if I’ll come upon smaller orc villages before I reach this Hill where the king lives with his court. Because that’s where I’m heading—to the fabled underground palace where all the orc warriors live.

That is, until I realize the forest has gone eerily quiet around me. I stop humming and slow the mare’s pace so the crunching of gravel beneath her hooves doesn’t interfere with my hearing.

It’s quiet. Too quiet for comfort, as if even the wind is holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

I thought I’d be safe in these woods. I don’t know why, because all the stories I’d heard in my childhood had painted the orcs as dangerous, brutish warriors eager to spill blood and steal maidens from their beds. But my friends wrote to me about how kind their king was, how loving their mates were, and I believed every word of it.

A shadow moves in the very corner of my eye, and I whip my head to the right, trying to see what it was. There’s nothing there—just the silent tree trunks and the pine-needle-strewn forest floor. Another bit of movement on my other side, but it’s only a leaf gently floating to earth.

Frightened, I nudge the mare into a faster trot. Hadn’t Ivy said something about wolves? She’d disappeared from the village one day, and though there had been some commotion about it, my father never told me the whole story. Flat-out refused. But when I wrote to her, she responded, and we’ve been keeping up our correspondence for several months now.

I’d heard the wolves howling in the winter sometimes, and yet it hadn’t even occurred to me that I might encounter them here. The farther I ride, the more foolish I feel. I hadn’t had a very good idea of how things would go, but I’d thought that orcs might have patrols on their lands. I’d expected a garrison along the road, perhaps, or a village where I could rest for the night. It’s not even midday yet, but I’m already worried about where I’ll sleep tonight if the road to the Hill takes more than a day’s ride.

I should have written to Ivy or Rose before I grabbed all my possessions, stuffed them into a pair of saddlebags, and stole away before dawn like a thief. Now that I have the time to think about it, I should have done a lot differently. The elation at being alone that I felt this morning wanes with every passing moment, and I dearly wish I had someone with me—to guard me, yes, and also to keep me company.

I continue at the faster pace until my poor mare’s sides heave from having to carry me uphill. At the next stream we pass, I slow her down and bring her to a stop in front of a neatly constructed wooden bridge that spans the bed. The mare drinks the clear water greedily. Afterward, I lead her to a patch of grass not far from the road and let her graze for a bit while I sit on a fallen log beside her and crunch down on an apple.

My legs hurt from being in the saddle all day, and I’ll be sore tomorrow. I’m used to riding only short distances, as is the horse, really, so we’re both tired and more than a little winded.

“What have I gotten myself into?” I mutter between bites of apple.

“That’s a fantastic question,” a voice says from behind my back.

I jump from the log and spin around so fast my feet get tangled in my riding skirts. My half-eaten apple falls from my hand, rolling on the ground. I stumble to the side, bump into a tall tree trunk, and finally find my balance by clutching the rough bark with both hands.

Two orc women are staring at me from a distance of about twenty feet, their stances identical, with arms crossed over their chests. They’re tall, both topping six feet, and dressed in a combination of fitted leather pants, linen tunics, and fur-lined jackets. The one on the left has a hunting bow strapped to her back, and her hair is tied in a beautiful, long braid, while the other has a short sword at her hip, her black hair braided in a crown around her head.

They’re not the first orcs I’ve seen, but definitely the first women. Their skin is just as green as their male counterparts’, though, and they’re attractive despite the small white tusks sticking up from their bottom lips.

“I told you she wasn’t dangerous,” the one with the crown braid says to the other.

The second one sheathes the long hunting knife she’d been holding. “You’ve met Hazel. She also looks small and weak, but she’s a better warrior than many of our clan.”

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