Page 16 of Her Orc Blacksmiths

That brings us back to the question I asked earlier, and I think Torren knows it. He sighs and steps back, straightening his shoulders.

“As for what would happen,” he says, his voice low, “if you didn’t choose me, I cannot say that I really know. I don’t want to put this kind of pressure on you, but at the same time, you didn’t grow up around orcs, so you don’t know the things we know about mates.”

I stare at him. “What do you mean?”

His expression is hard, more closed off than I’ve seen it—but I think it must be a mask to hide the emotions that flit through his dark eyes.

“I haven’t heard of a mate refusing another,” he tells me. “But once the mate bond snaps into place and later one of the couple dies, the other often finds a way to follow them.”

“What—?” I cover my mouth with my hand. “You mean they die, too? That’s horrible!”

“Not always,” he hurries to say, then groans. “Gods, I’m botching this up. There are widows in the Hill, and widowers as well. But they…they don’t want to be there, is all.”

I turn away from him, walking farther down the path, even though I don’t know where we’re going. But anxious energy courses through me, and I need to move.

Torren catches up with me in several great strides. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” I say quickly, though that’s a lie. “Is there anything else I ought to know about fated mates?”

He falls into step with me again, jaws clenched. By his expression, I know there’s more, but he’s not sharing.

I stop and face him. “What is it?”

He’s silent for a moment, then grumbles, “I don’t want to upset you more.”

I put my hands on my hips and snap, “Keeping things from me will upset me more. How can I make a good decision if I don’t know all the facts, Torren?”

With a great sigh, he motions for me to continue down the path. “Come, we’re nearly there. I will tell you more over breakfast, I promise.”

I follow him, walking beside him but not holding on. I don’t think I can touch him again in this state, because my mind is pulled in opposite directions—I want to hug him and hold on tight and also yell at him for being an impossible orc who might or might not die if I refuse him. That’s not to mention Morg, who has essentially put me in the same position, pinning his hopes on me.

The only thing that keeps me from exploding in rage over the unfairness of this situation is the fact that neither of them did this willingly. Yes, they both seemed to have wanted a mate, in the general sense of the word, but I doubt they wanted me to have to make this choice.

The footpath dwindles to nothing, melding into the pine-needle-strewn forest floor, but Torren doesn’t seem to need it at all. With measured steps, he leads the way between the trees until I hear a trickle of water somewhere nearby. Then we come up to the creek, a clear, bubbling stream of water that is surely too cold to bathe in this high up in the mountains. Still, I crouch on the sand beside the water and splash my hot cheeks. I need a calm mind for whatever Torren still has to tell me, yet my thoughts are as turbulent as they’ve ever been.

The orc wordlessly offers me his hand when we have to climb over moss-covered rocks, and he doesn’t let go after. It’s as if he craves the contact between us. I don’t pull away from him, because I need it, too. He’s solid and warm in the world where everything has been upended, from the sedate vision of my life I lost with my called-off wedding to meeting two males who claim they are fated to be mine.

The sound of the rushing water intensifies, and soon, we emerge from the trees at the side of the creek to find a rock wall rising in front of us. Water cascades over it in a beautiful, narrow stream, a waterfall right in the middle of the forest.

“It’s so wonderful,” I breathe.

I tug Torren’s hand so he follows me right up to the deep-green pool at the bottom of the wall, so clear I can see the rocks at the bottom. I look up, and the light spray from the waterfall mists my face. I relish the sensation. This would be a wonderful place to swim in the summer, but right now, it’s a serene, remote spot, perfect for a late breakfast.

I turn to the orc standing behind me, slightly mollified by the beauty of this place. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Torren nods, though the set of his shoulders tells me he’s still in a poor mood. “Come.” He nudges me backward gently. “We have to move a little way off or we’ll be damp all over.”

I follow him to a dry patch of grass and wait as he spreads out a woolen blanket and sets the basket on top of it. He motions at me to sit, then takes bread, cheese, and some plums from the basket. He produces a flask of tea and two tin plates, then slices up a cooked sausage for us with quick flicks of his hunting knife.

He waits for me to start eating, watching me closely as if this is important to him. So I take a bite of the crusty dark bread and pop a cube of cheese in my mouth, chewing appreciatively.

Only then does he settle beside me on the blanket, taking some breakfast for himself.

“Orcs only get one mate,” he says suddenly as if the break in our conversation never happened.

I quirk my eyebrow at him. “But I got two.”

He shakes his head from side to side. “There are exceptions. I searched the library last night when I couldn’t sleep. And even with Marut’s help, I could only find four other instances in all the known orc history where this happened.”

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