Page 29 of Daghel

“I did not think that there would be human children in the villages,” I murmur after passing the adorable little family.

“There are quite a few. Many of the females who arrive in our villages have been abandoned by males or widowed young. No male worth his salt would separate her from her pups. Indeed, most are pleased to have a mate and younglings to care for and bring some happiness to his home.”

“That is truly a wonder,” I admit, my heart clenching a little with emotion that I don’t entirely want to acknowledge.

From the start, I have viewed the concept of mating with an orc through a lens of practicality. Orcs have always been portrayed in Zyerk media as beasts incapable of feelings of deep love and tenderness, providing only staunch protection and provision as one could expect of a beast. A male like that was painted as one that any sensible woman would flee.

How strange to suddenly find myself in a position where I must admit that the way humans have painted the orcs is very contrary to reality—though Vorn and his rule within the upper village is certainly trying to live up to the stereotypes.

“This is not the way it is among your people.”

It is a statement, not a question, and I am sure that he has witnessed enough during his raids to see truthfully how little many men value women—like Chelsea—but I’m shaking my head and answering as if it were one. I don’t want to think too hard about that woman lest it stir some sympathy for her, whereas I would rather have none.

“There are always exceptions, but it is often harder for an older female, especially one with children, to find a man who genuinely loves and wants to build a life with her. We make easytargets for those who would prey on us to fulfill their own needs or to gain something that they desire.”

His head cocks in puzzlement as he peers down at me. It has started snowing again, and the small flakes cling to his white hair and the tops of his frosted lashes. “We?”

I chuckle despite myself. He is so incredibly clueless about just how poorly he has chosen. It is not only flattering, but endearingly sweet.

“As much as I hate to tell on myself, outside of what I have told you about my past, there are many reasons men would not consider me a good mate. Besides being paid for my skills at bringing pleasure and pain to my clients, I am no longer a young girl.”

He squints at me curiously. “You are no elderly female.”

I laugh at that because he’s not wrong, but also with pleasure at just how easily he overlooks the additional details about my past profession—but I suppose that I shouldn’t be surprised when comfort maidens not only exist but aren’t considered a pariah. I wonder if there even exists such rigid idealization of young women as there is in Zyerk.

“I am not elderly,” I agree around my laughter. “But, having seen thirty-seven years, I am considered being outside the ideal for men who wish to have a wife young enough that they might enjoy a great many years of her fertility.”

His shoulders shake in a sudden spasm, and I reach for him, suddenly concerned. Did I shock him that much with my age? Oh, gods, what if he wishes to return me and I end up one of those comfort maidens? No, no, no—and then I blink when a deep rumble shakes him that grows into a thunderous booming sound as his mouth parts with genuine laughter. I am so shocked that I stare at him, my mouth agape as he wipes tears of mirth from his eyes.

“You… you… Why the fuck are you laughing?” I demand, but despite myself, my lips twitch and a giggle escapes me. “It’s not funny.”

His other arm wraps around me to drag me against him, his entire body quaking with his deep laughter. “Ah, my wyva, you do bring such joys into my heart.” He draws a deep breath as he regains his control and grins down at me. “That is considered a lusty age for females among orcs. A female is not treated as a beloved elder until her hair is completely white and her face is as wrinkled as a winter apple.”

“An apple, huh?” I say with a roll of my eyes, but I hug him back as I breathe in his spicy scent.

“Now come, my lusty one,” he teases as he draws me back beneath his arm as we proceed once more down the street. “There is still much to do before the sun begins to set. And much that you may enjoy seeing, I suspect.”

I smile happily as I take another hot pastry from the bespelled basket that the baker gifted me and reminded me to bring with me to be refilled when I return. The nice little enchantment woven into it keeps them piping hot and fresh so that I nearly moan as I bite into a danish and its warm, sweet filling coats my tongue. It is the perfect accompaniment for a stroll through the village, and although Daghel frequently stops to check on something or speak quietly with some orcs we come across, it is the sort of holiday wonderland that I wistfully dreamed of in my youth while huddled beneath thin blankets to stave off the chill.

And while there don’t appear to be any Yulen trees brightly decorated for the holidays, there are numerous straw figures that can be spied through windows of orc males and females adorned with bright ribbons, many of which also wear more of the evergreen and berries fashioned into garlands and crowns. There is even a far larger couple in the village square at its heartthat, with the snow and ice covering them, pronounced crowns and garlands of evergreen, and the fur cloaks wrapped around them, gives them an even more regal ethereal appearance. I suspect that these represent Durethikal and his awaited bride. Certainly, the female of the couple stands out with a colorful apron of fabric bound around her and numerous necklaces adorning her neck made of nuts and wooden toggles.

They stand on a tall platform at the northernmost point of the square. The remaining perimeter is marked with several tall wooden pillars, each heavily decorated with motifs of winter. I recognize different types of greenery and berries, and various nuts that are readily harvested to be eaten throughout the season. The square itself hums with activity as large firepits roar and sizzle with spitted meat turned over them, while nearby tables are laden with all matter of food and drink as the orcs and humans laugh, eat, drink, and socialize. There is even a small circle of orcs wielding unfamiliar and familiar instruments playing strange but exciting songs that have groups stomping and spinning to their music.

Daghel leads me to join them, and though I turn down dancing to the unfamiliar steps when he offers with a faint tip of his head, I enjoy the energetic pulse and merriment and happiness that surround me. There are no beggars or street children being chased away as would be done in Zyl so that their presence does not bring down the festivities. There are none who seem impoverished at all. Some have more finery than others, but everyone is warm and happy as the whole village partakes in the celebration. It is far too easy to drink every cup of mulled wine and spiced ale that Daghel hands to me and eat far heartier than I would have ever dared to indulge in previously out of fear for my waistline.

“You are going to make me fat,” I tease as I accept a bowl that appears to be filled with a sort of spiced custard and frozen cream.

“There is no harm in a plump female,” he replies as his warm gaze settles on me. “Any size that you are is perfect in my eyes, though I dare say Drisk would be very enamored with such plumpness.”

A pleased blush warms my cheeks, and I take a bite, moaning softly at the taste. This must be a traditional orc dessert. It is not overly sweet but has a delicious aroma and flavor that I find incredibly satisfying, far beyond the traditional desserts enjoyed at Yulen in Zyerk.

“A most happy Gehl to us all,” a female bellows as she raises her tankard, her gray cheeks well flushed with a violet hue from all her merry making.

“Happy Gehl! Blessed be we on this first night,” the village replies, and I shout it out as well at Daghel’s side as we all raise our cups in cheer.

I glance up at Daghel as I sip from my cup. His gaze is fixed on me with a look of such affection that I swallow wrong and immediately sputter and lower my cup to cough violently. Gods, how embarrassing! His hand, however, is warm on my back as he gently rubs in a soothing circular pattern that relaxes the tension that had quickly gathered within me in response to choking. My coughs quickly ease, and I smile up at him gratefully when a young girl with deep dimples at either side of her maturing tusks arrives at our side with a delighted smile.

“A gift for your mate, drehl?” she asks, and she lifts a string of blue stones that rival any sapphire I’ve ever seen. Those in Zyl were far smaller and fetched high prices. “I made these by my own hands and know onsightthose whom they are meant for.”

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