Page 125 of The Orc Outcast's Mate

The word “bliss” struck something hard at the base of Govek’s spine. It reverberated into his mind and cast clear the stark differences between his life now, and the one he had lived a single season ago.

The blissful world his father had created in this clan had been nothing but a nightmare for him. He had not even realized how bleak his existence was until Miranda came with her light and warmth.

Truly, now, he lived in bliss, and he would not go back. He could not go back. Not to blindly follow his father’s orders or Karthoc’s.

“No.”

“No?” Ergoth said quietly. “No what, Govek?”

“No, I cannot take command of this clan.”

Ergoth froze in his place and Govek found himself working to keep from retreating. Did he truly need to ask his father for permission to go to the trade? Perhaps he should just leave now.

“You must be jesting,” Ergoth said. “Be logical. You cannot possibly want to be the reason our perfect clan is disbanded after centuries of prosperity?”

Govek’s gut twisted. This was a truth he grappled with almost constantly. Usually, Miranda was there to soothe the ache and distract him from the worst of his burning guilt, but there was no reprieve for him now.

“And what of all the thousands of orcs that will die without the tinctures and healing magic we provide? You want their deaths to bloody your hands?”

Govek took a breath. “The conjurers can continue their work from Karthoc’s forge.”

“That isn’t known for certain, Govek,” Ergoth spat. “None of our conjurers have ever worked outside the canopy of the Great Rove Tree. Most have not even stepped foot outside of the Rove Woods.”

Govek had already considered this. But he’d managed to conjure up hot water in the outer woods. If he, an orc with almost no magical training, could manage it, the mighty workers of this clan could too.

“And even if we can,” Ergoth continued. “The few weeks of travel will put a massive strain on our already dwindling supplies. We cannot create tinctures while hiking through harsh winter conditions. And what of the time settling in at the forge? We may not ever recover, and thousands will die because of it.”

His father’s words were smooth, rehearsed. Chief Ergoth had clearly used them on Karthoc, and considering it had not swayed the warlord, Govek could only conclude that meant Karthoc had thought of a solution already.

“And think further, my son, of these new conjurers who need to be taught our ways.”

Govek went rigid.

“These poor males with magic who have never experienced the joy of living within the Rove Woods, of conjuring under the canopy of the Great Rove Tree,” Ergoth continued. “How will they ever hope to be properly trained without my guidance? Who would teach them the ways of communing with the Fades without the blessings of our Great Rove Tree?”

Govek’s mouth was dry. “You would train them?”

“Of course, I would, Govek,” Chief Ergoth said, leveling him with a hard look. “You, of all, should understand how dangerous it is to have magic without the discipline to use it properly.”

Govek went very still. He did know that. He knew it better than any.

But after Miranda’s conversations with him, Govek wondered... was it truly his fault he had not properly learned how to wield his magic? Was it really his own lack of discipline and control that had caused him to be banned?

He swallowed hard. “Father, if that is true, why was I never trained?—”

“Are you questioning my past decisions as chief, Govek?” Ergoth’s tone was laced with venom so potent Govek could feel it prickling his skin. “You know what you have done. What you still could do. I did what was necessary to protect this clan. What’s done is done. I see no reason for you to speak on matters of the past now.”

Govek’s tongue felt as dry as sand on a hot summer day and he bit it hard enough to taste metal.

He’d grown so accustomed to Miranda listening to everything he had to say, to her attentive eyes taking in every word, to conversing openly without judgment.

He’d nearly forgotten that the orcs of this clan, his father included, did not want to hear his wretched excuses or words of defense.

“They aren’t excuses, they’re reasons.”

His fists balled and his blood simmered, and the oddest thought crossed his mind.

Was it really their right to silence him? Were his words truly worth less than theirs?

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