Page 10 of Keeping the Human's Heart

“It’s a threat,” he answers, and I snort.

But as I head out to the field to get some afternoon work done, I wonder what’s really gotten under Drazak’s skin.

Esme

I’m having a surprisingly pleasant dream, lying in the yellow grasses that surround the farm, staring up into the sun. There’s a light breeze tickling my face, keeping me from getting too warm. For once, things are peaceful. I feel happy, carefree. There is no master, no one shouting get over here, you cow. Two tall shadows dwarf me, but I’m not afraid. I close my eyes and they sweep me away.

I wake up to a hand shaking me. It’s Han’zir, and his bright orange-red eyes startle me. He’s tugging on my arm, saying something in Trollkin I can’t understand. He waves for me to come along, so I drag myself out of the nest I’ve made in the hay and follow him. My arm hurts significantly less now than it did last night, which is a pleasant surprise. I’ll have to figure out a way to thank Drazak.

Even before we reach the house I can smell the food cooking. A big fire is roaring in the pit, with two whole chickens roasting over it. Drazak turns them, then sits back down on a log to drink something out of a skin. When he pulls it away, his lips are dark. Some kind of wine, then.

I sit by the fire, keeping to myself so I don’t irritate Drazak. He and Han’zir fall into a conversation, quickly forgetting about my presence. I take the moment to watch them while trying to make it look as if I’m actually staring into the fire. They sit on one log together side-by-side, and occasionally Han’zir’s hand brushes over Drazak’s thigh. It’s clear from their body language that they’re together.

That answers one question.

When the chickens are done cooking, Drazak carves them and hands out choice pieces of meat. I wait my turn, but then Han’zir gives me a big hunk of his thigh. Drazak chastises him, and for a moment they argue. I wave my hands in the air.

“Don’t worry about me!” I say, not wanting to cause a disturbance. But Han’zir shakes the food at me again, and reluctant to offend him, I take it. The roast chicken is perfectly juicy and crisp on the outside, and it tastes amazing going down my throat. Han’zir, pleased with himself, hands me another piece and I take it eagerly. Drazak huffs something under his breath, but doesn’t interfere as the troll continues feeding me.

“Keva grak craggen,” Han’zir says, nodding in my direction. Right. Keva. That’s me. The orc mutters something in return, and I wish more than anything I knew what they were saying. Han’zir laughs, and it’s a loud, boisterous noise that makes me jump a little the first time I hear it. It brings a wisp of a smile to Drazak’s lips.

It takes me a moment to realize that I’m envious. They clearly care about one another, and live a nice, simple life here. Frankly, it seems like bliss. I sigh and stare into the fire, remembering the life I had before the conscription. I spent every day of my waking life looking after the needs of the master and his wife and children, existing in their lives as barely more than a piece of furniture. But these two, for some bizarre reason, have chosen to take care of me. Now they’ve cooked for me, twice, and I don’t like how it feels as if I owe them something.

The master considered the scraps I got from dinner and my dark room in the attic of the house wage enough for my work. No, the real payment I paid for my keep was when he called my name—come here, bitch—and used me to vent his anger and frustration. My bruises were how he collected on my debt.

Tomorrow, I decide, I’ll make myself useful, as useful as possible. No, I will become invaluable, and perhaps they’ll let me stay forever.

After dinner and plenty of the dark liquid that’s in the water skin, Drazak and Han’zir are touching more and more of each other. I can take a hint. I get up and wipe off my dress, then head back to the barn.

“Keva!” I pause as Han’zir jogs up behind me. He tilts his head and says some words that mean nothing to me.

“Sorry,” I say. “I don’t understand you.”

He frowns pensively, then seems to give up on whatever he was trying to get across. He gives me a pat on the head and ushers me off to bed.

In my hay loft, I can hear Han’zir’s cries all the way from the house. I can’t help picturing them together, doing whatever it is that would make him scream out that way. A puddle of energy starts in my chest and worms its way down to my hips, where it settles neatly between my legs. I squeeze my thighs together and try to turn my mind away from it, humiliated by the sensation. No, I won’t encourage any of that by touching myself the way I want. It’s sick and wrong to think of two trollkin with this kind of wishful hunger.

But as the cries echo, and I make out the sound of Drazak grunting in pleasure, I wriggle with how warm and wet I feel between the legs. I can’t help pulling up my dress and sliding my hand under it, finding that sensitive bud hidden between my lower lips. I stroke it a few times as I listen, imagining them in their room, Drazak’s big, powerful body thrusting into Han’zir’s taller, lankier one. When it gets to be too much, I dive lower, to where my pussy is weeping with my need. I slide one finger in, grinding the heel of my palm into my clit as I pump it inside myself. My head falls back as my bliss takes over, my body rising and falling to the music of their voices off in the house.

I wonder what it would look like—feel like—if I were there with them. I’m about to reach the end of the tunnel, light crawling in at the edges of my vision, when I hear a final powerful shout. I moan as my pleasure boils over, and my channel shudders around my hand.

I lie there panting in the silence, feeling like I’ve done something terrible.

Drazak

The next morning, the peculiar little human is already outside and waiting when I step into the pre-dawn. She holds up the basket she’s made with the front of her dress, revealing all of her thigh, and happily shows me the chicken eggs she’s already gathered up.

Well, there’s one less chore to do, and I got a rather pleasant eyeful in the process.

In the house, though, the puppy doesn’t surrender them. She arranges the eggs neatly on the table, then takes a pan and sets it over the fire I’ve built in the pit on the rack. Once it’s hot and full of melting butter, she cracks an egg in, then a few more, not once breaking a yolk. I can’t help but watch in fascination as she cooks them just long enough that they stop sticking, and then she flicks the whole pan, sending the eggs flying.

I curse out loud, expecting them to all land on the floor. But she catches them in the pan and each one is perfectly flipped onto the other side. She gives me a wide-eyed look because I’m hovering, so I return to my chair.

Han’zir’s pleased to find breakfast waiting when he comes down the stairs. “Aw, thanks,” he says to me when I hand him a few eggs.

“Don’t thank me.” I slip one into my mouth, and it’s perfectly cooked. “Thank your new puppy.”

He turns to her, impressed, and gestures at the food.

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