Page 19 of Bound to the Orc Warlord

“So you do magic?” I ask Dravarr. Maybe he can help me.

“Orcs, like most of the Wild Fae, have an affinity for the natural magics. Mine is metal working.”

“So no flying.” Disappointment eats at me. Guess he’s not my grumpy mentor.

“No. Not even our cousins the elves could fly.”

“Are there any around we can ask?” I say, looking for any hope. “Just to make sure?”

“We used to live in the same realm of Faerie as the elves, but orcs were brought to Alarria over three-hundred years ago.”

Damn. I’m sure batting zero here.

As soon as Dravarr’s feet thump onto the ground, the unicorn’s beside us. “Thank the goddess. How’d you catch her?”

“I didn’t,” Dravarr growled. “The tree did.”

It should probably be surprising that the unicorn talks, but I already discovered the dragon does. It’s all pretty amazing.

Gripping Dravarr’s sides with my knees, I rise up to peek over his shoulder at the unicorn. “Hi! I’m Ashley.”

Speaking with a woman’s alto, the unicorn says, “Midnight.”

“Midnight,” I say. “That’s a lot easier than that other word. This translation thing is handy.”

Midnight laughs and flips her mane. “True! Especially since you butchered the orc version of my name.”

“Orc version?”

“What Dravarr told you this morning.” She taps his shoulder with her horn. “He doesn’t speak unicorn.”

“Orc is a perfectly good language.” Dravarr pulls me from his back and has me grab hold of Midnight’s saddle.

“None of you speak dragon!” The dragon lands on a mound of moss and folds his wings onto his back. “I’m Drakonisrevener, Third of His Line and Son of Sheevora the Magnificent.” Hepreens, raising his crest, and pins me with a keen amber eye, the vertical pupil opening to an oval. “What’s your full name?”

“I’m Ashley Jenkins.” That doesn’t sound grand enough, so I hurry to add, “Daughter of Yana Jenkins.”

He bobs his head. “Yana is an old and revered witch’s name.”

“Witch?”

“Dragons regularly befriended witches centuries ago, before the Faerie realms were cut off from your human world.”

Witch. The word feels right. All the power that filled me on the standing stone, the ability to fly—what else could I be? I spent my whole life feeling like I didn’t quite belong. Children always liked me, and I had friends at the orphanage growing up. But no matter how friendly or big my smile, I made adults uneasy.

I even heard the orphanage administrator puzzle over it, saying healthy babies were almost always adopted, yet no one ever wanted me. It made me a little obsessed about researching my family, which seemed to be a long line of women with little mention of husbands or marriage. I always imagined they’d been like me—someone who didn’t quite fit in.

Now I know they’d been witches living in a world without magic, or at least not magic like here. My crystal glows through the weave of the shirt I wear, a warm spot on my chest. I pull it free to squeeze it tight, feeling the electric tingle of magic zip through me.

Dravarr gets out the braided leather rope, ready to attach it to my ankle.

“Wait.” I drop my pendant to plant my hand on his firm shoulder, excitement making my heart thump. “I’m a witch from a long line of witches. I need to figure out my powers. I want to learn how to fly.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Dravarr

“No.” The word emerges as a snarl that makes my bride flinch away from me, her smile faltering, which only deepens my scowl. By the goddess, how to explain? When she disappeared into the sky, I could think of nothing but that I’d lost her. I’d failed in my duty to protect her.

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