Page 34 of Agor the Merciless
“We need to remove your wet clothes,” Agor said. “You’ll become sick otherwise.”
She nodded but her fingers had gone numb, so she didn’t move. Agor helped with the clothes and wrapped her in the warmest furs. His hands never lingered. He bundled the wet items by the entrance, then sat down next to her, not knowing what to do with his hands, with himself. He didn’t even know how to look at her, or if he could look at her at all. The light coming from all the candles scattered around flickered on the smooth surface of the iron bolt above the bed.
“Sleep,” he eventually said. He stood up and moved away to give her space.
Zoe opened her mouth to say something, to thank him for bringing her home and helping her, but no sound came out. She was exhausted, and she couldn’t think straight anyway, so she turned her back to him and closed her eyes. But rest was out of reach…
She tossed in the furs for hours, between sleep and the need that wanted to keep her awake. Dreams mixed with memories – her father telling her to stay out of the way, her brother laughing while she lifted an engine part. Then came the crash of the lift, oil smell, and the sound of her bone breaking while they talked about repair costs.
She woke up from the dream, her chest tight. The craving bothered her less now, pushed aside by what the dream had brought back. Her family said she was difficult, stubborn, too strong for her own good. Those traits had helped her survive before. They would help her now. She hadn’t given up when her father and brother ignored her bleeding on the garage floor. Shewouldn’t give up because of some magic in a jar. She sat up and looked around, trying to see where her orc mate had gone.
Across the chamber, Agor sat on a pelt with daggers laid out in front of him. Stone scraped against metal as he sharpened each blade. He looked up when she moved.
“I’ll fight this,” Zoe said, wrapping the furs tighter around her. Her throat felt dry.
Agor put down his dagger but kept the whetstone in his hand.
“But I can’t just sit here in this cave.” She moved her legs over the edge of the bed, her toes touching the stone floor. “If I stay here with nothing to do except think about the craving, I’ll lose my mind.”
She walked the distance between the bed and where Agor sat, focusing on each step to stay upright. The floor chilled her feet as she moved.
“Let me work in the garage with Grol and Tarn.” She sat next to him, careful about the daggers.
Agor raised his eyebrows but said nothing as he picked up another blade.
“I need to keep my hands busy. My brain needs problems to fix.” She put her hand on his arm. “When I work on cars, I don’t think about anything else. I’ve always been strong.” She met his eyes in the candlelight and tried to give him the tiniest, softest smile. “I just forgot for a while.”
The orc captain grunted and turned the whetstone in his hand while he thought about what she asked. She wanted to return to the garage he had forbidden. She wanted to do the work he had stopped her from doing. He almost said no right away. No to the garage, no to the tools, no to anything outside his watch, anything he didn’t approve of. Then he remembered how his need to control her had made things worse. He’d tried to keep her safe by keeping her close, and instead he’d helped the curse take hold of her.
The silence between them grew as he studied her face. Her jaw stayed firm despite the tremors in her body. Her eyes held the same look they had when he first chose her – not fear or submission, but quiet strength. This strength had drawn him to her. The ability to face his demands without breaking, the power to endure what would destroy most humans. And now she used that strength to ask for the one thing he didn’t want to give. Trusting others was hard for Agor. It meant someone else might know better than him about what they needed, even when it went against what he thought was right. He was used to always making choices for everyone. The captain decided for the horde, and he decided for his bride. It was the way of his world, his culture.
But Zoe wasn’t like them, and Agor had to admit he really didn’t know much about humans. She didn’t need him to choose for her, she needed him to let her find her own way to fight.
“The tools will be too heavy for you,” he said.
“I’ve been lifting tools since I was ten. Let me try.”
This wasn’t just about working in the garage, it was about stepping back when he wanted to protect her from everything. He looked at her hand on his arm, at the grip that still had some strength. This was the woman he chose. Not because she obeyed, but because she didn’t give up.
Agor nodded. “Alright.”
Chapter Twenty
The main cavern glowed from the fire pit as smoke rose through a crack in the high ceiling. Agor the Merciless and his inner circle stood around a table where a map lay open, held flat by knives pushed into the wood. Lyra the Mage wore her usual satchels at her belt, Durnak the Morose stood without speaking, true to his name, as always, Hestra kept her bow on her back, and Roric still had dark marks from the forge on his arms.
Zoe stood next to Agor with her face pale but her posture firm. The shaking in her hands had stopped, but she looked tired. She wore clean clothes borrowed from Pira – leather pants and a tunic that looked too big after weeks of not eating much.
The mage put her finger on the map, pointing to a section with mountain marks.
“Grak the Bitter lives here, in the high areas where hunters rarely go. He has placed traps all around his home, both regular ones and magic ones.”
“What kinds?” Agor studied the area.
“Holes hidden by branches, spikes with poison, ropes that catch legs.” Lyra moved her finger around the marked spot. “And worse – spells that make warriors fight each other, magic that takes strength from anyone who crosses into his land.”
Durnak bent over the map and checked the paths through the mountains. He traced possible routes with his finger.
“The ground makes it hard to walk. Narrow paths, rocks that fall, steep drops.” He looked at his captain. “We cannot move fast.”
