Page 52 of The Orc's Wife

“You look dashing,” Oriana said, giving him a wink. Another woman would sniffle or let her eyes brim with tears, but not his grandmother. “I just hope the Imp can see you before he breathes his last. I can just hear it, you know.But you were dead,” she said, imitating the Imp’s dying croak. Urgan gave her a grin and immediately winced.

So much of him was still hurting. The old lady whose medicine had rescued him, Savinia, had said it would take months if not years for him to recover, and even then, not all of him would heal. But she had cleaned and patched up his wounds. She had helped him as much as she could.

“And Una can’t wait to see you,” Oriana said softly. “You know, I didn’t like her at first. But she’s proven herself. You chose well.” She hesitated, watching him intently. “I didn’t tell you before but… Una killed Urzulah.”

“What? How?”

Oriana told him about the circumstances of Urzulah’s death, and he shook his head, guilt squeezing his insides like a vise.

“I should have been by her side,” he said. “I should have protected her.”

Oriana scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“You can’t put her in a cage and growl at everyone who comes near, you know,” she said. “That girl is like me, only young and inexperienced. She’ll learn. But the point is, I know her. Do you know why she wants you?”

“I’m a handsome bastard,” Urgan said, but the joke fell flat due to the tension in his voice. He was in pain.

“She wants you for the same reason why I wanted your grandfather. Because you reek of danger and power, and she wants adventure. She needs the thrill, the taste of violence. So protect her when she’s vulnerable, but let her fight her own battles. Be there and help her grow, but don’t smother her. You ugly brutes tend to do that.”

Urgan looked at her seriously.

“Why does it sound like a goodbye speech?”

Oriana bared her teeth in a grin, patting him on the forearm.

“Because even though I’m old, I still hunger for the thrill. Just like your wife. And one day, that reckless streak will bite me in the ass. I don’t mind. You shouldn’t, either.”

She poured the essence of Spider’s Tear all over him, disguising his smell. He would be hiding close to the feast, ready to step in as soon as the poison started working. With his smell hidden and a fur-trimmed cloak thrown over him, his face in the shadow of the hood, he slowly made his way to his spot, limping. In the chaos of festival preparations, no one paid him any mind. He could be just another courtier or a war veteran.

He sat down on one of the mead barrels hidden in the shade of a tree. No one was using them now, and he could sit here, undisturbed.

He scanned the crowd of servants, trying to settle as comfortably as he could. It took him only a moment to find her. She was carrying a large basket of apples, her face drawn in discomfort. When she passed a roasting pit, and the smoke blew at her face, she grimaced and dove into the nearest bush, retching violently.

Urgan didn’t even notice when he stood up, ready to go and save her. Was she ill? Had Urzulah hurt her, done something to her?

But then, Una straightened, wiping her mouth with her sleeve, and put her hands on her lower belly, closing her eyes and smiling.

He knew then. She was carrying his cub.

All of his pain faded away, and he wanted nothing more than to rush to her, pick her up, and dance around the courtyard. But she had already picked up her basket and sauntered away, that secret smile still on her lips, and Urgan sank back on top of his barrel, his knee screaming in protest.

They could dance later.

Dusk fell, and fires were lighted. He didn’t have to hide anymore – the darkness hid him well enough – yet he kept to his spot. Better not to move needlessly. He needed to save his strength.

He could just see the Imperator’s table, and he sat up straighter when the Imp arrived with his entourage of frilly males and females. The ruler frowned once at the empty seat at his right hand, where Urgan knew Urzulah should be sitting.

His left-hand seat was occupied by Ragan. Urgan narrowed his eyes at the traitor. He would die, just like everyone else sitting at that table. It was a small comfort, though. Ragan deserved far worse than death.

Servants poured the mead.

The Imperator raised his cup, as did the others at his table. Orcs of less importance, who were seated at other tables, stood up. Urgan squinted in the dusk. There was Grikh. And by his side, Druzan, a faithful warrior who had once tried to grope Una, and whom she had hit with a jug for his trouble. Then, Krivog, Varga… his army had arrived.

They looked solemn, some of them sending calculating or outright hostile looks at the main table. They must have believed he was dead. As Urgan was watching, Grikh leaned to Druzan and whispered in his ear. Druzan listened, patted his belt to make sure his weapons were there, and leaned to Varga.

Ah. So they would be ready to attack the guards. Everything was in place.

At another table, Durug was sitting, his eyes flashing to Urgan briefly. So Durug had noticed him. He was here to aid the coup.

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