Page 10 of Her Orc Blacksmiths

“No, no,” Sarrai hurries to say, “they aren’t—it’s just each other that they can’t stand.”

“That’s true,” Ritta jumps in. “No one else has had an issue with either of them. I know Ozork, who is one of the best males in the clan, is great friends with Torren, and he wouldn’t be if Torren was bad.”

Sarrai wrings out the water from her hair. “And I’ve fought Morg in the ring often enough to know that he’s an honorable male.” She grins and adds, “Even if his footwork could use some improvement.”

I glance from one to the other, considering. “You two seem very keen on having me trust them.”

Ritta lets out a long breath. “The truth is, a mating bond is a special occasion. It’s something most orcs hope for in the course of their lives. As angry as they are with each other, they won’t do anything to hurt you, I can tell you that.”

Rose has been listening to our conversation in silence but now floats forward. From how deep the pool is, I can imagine her feet are barely skimming the floor. She looks me in the eyes, her expression serious, and says, “For all that, you do still have a choice here, Jasmine. If you wish to leave, no one will keep you here. You do not need to mate with either of them if you don’t want to.”

Sarrai and Ritta tense somewhat at her words. And I understand why—from what I’ve heard, the orcs don’t have much of a choice. If I leave, would Torren and Morg ever get a chance to find another mate?

That’s a horrible reason to stay, though. Feeling obligated is a bad foundation for a relationship, that much I know.

Yet the thought of leaving has my stomach churning. When I imagine taking all my things, saddling my horse, and riding away from the underground palace, a vague sort of panic descends over me. And I don’t think it has much to do with the fact that I would then have to return to the human lands.

“Do humans feel the mate bond as well?” I rub my sternum under the water.

Rose’s face lights up. “You feel it, too?”

“I didn’t know this.” Ritta floats closer. “How does it feel?”

“I don’t know that this is it,” I admit. “I just don’t want to leave yet. I-I want to at least talk to them, I think.”

Rose is nodding along with this. “I get very unpleasant when Uram has to go away for a scouting trip,” she says, grinning. “And let me tell you, the fucking is?—”

“Aah!” I smack my palms over my ears. “I love you, Rose, but I’m not sure I want to hear about your, ah, private life.”

The three women laugh at this, their voices echoing faintly around the chamber.

“Oh, you’ll get used to that as well,” Rose promises me, even though her cheeks are pink. “Orcs aren’t taught to feel so much shame about intimacy as we are in the human lands.”

“Which is a good thing because intimacy is amazing,” Sarrai says. She climbs from the pool and stands on the edge, water sluicing down her toned, curvy body. “And why would you be ashamed of something that feels so good?”

“Hear, hear,” Ritta says. Then she motions at me. “Come on, you must be tired. Let’s get you settled in for the night.”

We all clamber from the pool—the orcs much more gracefully than Rose and me—and dry off using the soft bathing sheets. I dig a fresh undershirt and simple everyday gown from my saddlebags and draw them over my head without putting on my stays. It’s evening, after all, and I can’t wait to go to bed.

Rose promises to meet me first thing tomorrow morning, and she and Sarrai depart down different corridors than Ritta and me. I’ve now gotten all turned around and even though I see the wooden signposts, I don’t know exactly whether we’re heading into the heart of the Hill or away from it. Still, I follow Ritta without objection, knowing I’ll have enough time to get comfortable here if I do decide to stay.

Ritta’s room is situated in a corridor with several more similar rounded wooden doors. She pushes the door open and steps inside. I try to follow—but the room is pitch-black, with only the soft light from a lantern farther down the hall illuminating the threshold.

“Give me a moment, and I’ll light the candle,” she says.

True enough, a small flame flickers to life soon after, and the room comes into view.

“It’s not much, but it’s home.”

Ritta motions for me to enter, and I do, but I stop again two steps later and stare.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathe.

She has decorated the space to suit her, and even though I don’t know her well at all, I can see that she’s comfortable here. There are pillows everywhere, in deep green and brown colors, and little lanterns that would make the place feel very cozy if she lit them all. It’s nighttime, so she doesn’t, but I can imagine how the space would look if she did. There’s a small orange pumpkin on one of the shelves hanging on the walls, and a thin garland of dried rowan berries strung around the room.

Ritta is flushed faintly, though her expression is pleased. “I’m glad you think so,” she says. “I thought you could sleep on the day bed if we add enough pillows and blankets.”

I squint at the heap of pillows on the opposite side from the bed. In the low light, I didn’t even see that there was a piece of furniture under all that softness.

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