Page 21 of Her Orc Blacksmiths

I hadn’t known until then that I wasn’t going to be a part of that equation, despite having worked at the inn for years at that point.

“I have four sisters,” Morg says softly. “You met the younger ones, and the elder ones are already mated and have families of their own. But none of us ever felt like we were any less worthy of our parents’ time.”

A lump forms in my throat, and I blink fast, pushing back the hurt. “That sounds nice,” I manage.

He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer to his side. “Don’t you worry, Jasmine. You’ll have so much attention from my family from now on that you’ll wish you never met them.”

I laugh, like he intended, and I don’t move away from him, even though I could. It feels good to be tucked against him, his warmth leaching through our clothes.

“Does Torren also have a large family?” I ask. “He took me to the waterfall this morning, so I haven’t met any of them.”

If I wasn’t looking at Morg, I would have missed his wince.

“He doesn’t have any family,” he tells me. “I will not tell you what happened, for that is his story to tell.”

“Of course.” I don’t ask him any questions, though I want so badly to learn more. “I saw him sitting with another orc today at lunch.”

Morg nods. “Aye, that’s Ozork. I believe they’ve been friends for decades, and Torren spends a lot of his time with Ozork’s family.” Then he scratches the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “I tried to invite Torren to join my family for this past harvest festival.”

I peer up at him. “You did? I thought the two of you were always fighting.”

He lets out a long sigh. “We were, but I tried to mend things between us.” He pauses and adds, “It’s not exactly fun, you know, always being at odds with the male you spend so much time with. We’re usually in the forge for hours on end, and it would be nice if we could help each other sometimes.”

“What happened, then?” I ask. “Did he refuse?”

We enter a tunnel that’s completely unfamiliar to me. The air feels different here, and I suspect we might be close to the outer wall of the Hill. There are no signposts, so I don’t think the human inhabitants of the underground palace come here very often.

“He accepted,” Morg says after a while. “Then we had another big fight the day before the festival, and he didn’t show up.”

“Oh.” I give him a little squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. “I was at fault that time, so I don’t blame him.”

The farther we walk down this corridor, the more I scent woodsmoke and iron, as if we are…

“Are you taking me to the forge?” I ask, excitement rising inside me.

He grins down at me, his melancholy mood temporarily forgotten. “Aye. I thought you might like to see it.”

I stride more quickly now, eager to see where both orcs work. Morg chuckles and matches my pace, leading me down the corridor until we reach a large wooden door with two thick oakwood panes. Morg removes a heavy iron key from his weapons belt and unlocks the black iron bolt, sliding it aside with ease.

“We lock it more for everyone’s safety than any concern for theft,” he explains. “If a child wandered here and wanted to play inside, they could get seriously hurt.”

With that, he pulls the doors open, revealing a shadowy room inside. I wait at the threshold, thinking he will light a lantern like Ritta did last night, but Morg strides toward the other side of the room, fiddles with something on the wall—and suddenly, bright daylight spills into the room, cool fresh air blowing past me.

I step forward eagerly as he unlatches another window and secures the shutters on the outside.

“Of course,” I say, looking around the space, noting the massive clay furnace and the banked coals smoldering inside. “You can’t have a forge underground.”

Morg comes to stand by my side. “Aye, this solution was very inspired. The forge has enough air flow to allow us to work safely, and at the same time, the heat from the furnace helps keep the animals warm.” He points to the wall behind the furnace and adds, “The clan stables are just through there, because they need the fresh air, too.”

I turn in a circle, surveying the various benches and tools in the large space. “So, which table is yours?”

Morg nudges me toward the left side of the room, closer to the furnace. “Here. I’m working on an order for Vark, a warrior who’s also mated to a human. His mate, Hazel, will celebrate her name day soon, and he wants to give her a set of throwing knives that are sized for her.” He shows me five identical blades, still dull gray but already beautifully crafted. “She’s been using his old set, but he says they’re a bit too big for her. These will be balanced perfectly for her.”

I eye the weapons. “She’s a warrior, too? A human woman?”

The thought that orc women like Sarrai and Ritta are warriors was intimidating enough. But now he tells me that human women are also fighting for the clan? Will everyone expect me to take up a sword as well? Rose didn’t mention anything of the sort, nor did Ivy, and I don’t think either of them had any fighting experience from before they arrived here.

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