Бесплатный фрагмент - The Orc’s Fake Wife

Chapter 1. A Stranger

“That child isn’t mine.”

I heard his voice, but I no longer recognized it. It was as though the man standing before me in a gray cloak powdered with road dust wasn’t Daryan at all, but a cold stranger with eyes the color of a winter sky. I had once lost myself in those eyes. Now they regarded me with icy composure.

“What?” I breathed, my voice faltering.

“You heard me, Nina. I’m not the father of the child you’re carrying.”

He said it so casually, so evenly, as though he were explaining that winter would follow autumn. I pressed my hands to my belly. Our child had been growing there for four months. Every night, I whispered Daryan’s name as I waited for him to come home.

“Daryan.” I took a step toward him, but he made no move to meet me. “How can you say that? I loved you. I waited for you. I stayed faithful to you the entire time you were away with the prince’s company!”

“Loved me?” Something like a sneer crept into his voice, and it hurt more than any blow. “Nina, we spent one night together. That was all. And you couldn’t have conceived that night.”

The world seemed to ripple around me. I was standing beside the old stable, with the smell of hay and rotting leaves in the air, while an entire universe collapsed inside me.

“I couldn’t?” I repeated, my fingers clutching the fabric of my dress. “How could you possibly know whether I could get pregnant?”

“Because I’ve been gone for four months, Nina. Four.” He raised a hand and counted them off on his fingers. “And that time…” He fell silent, and suddenly his face hardened. “That time, I took precautions. I didn’t want to leave you waiting for me with a burden.”

The ground fell away beneath my feet. I knew he was lying. I remembered everything that had happened between us. I opened my mouth, but no words came. Memories came flooding back, painfully vivid.

Chapter 2. That Evening

It was the middle of March. The weather had been warm that month, but it brought me no joy. I sat on the low earthen bank beside our house and cried. News that the prince was mustering a company and Daryan was being called to serve had broken my heart before he had a chance to say a word. We were only neighbors, only acquaintances, two people stealing glances at each other. But deep down, I had hoped that one day he would look at me with the same adoration I felt for him.

“Nina?” His voice startled me. He had come around the corner with an armful of firewood for the bathhouse, but stopped when he saw my tears. “What’s wrong?”

I wiped my cheeks with my sleeve, but what good did that do? The tears kept coming.

“I heard they’re taking you,” I whispered. “To serve in the prince’s company.”

For a moment he said nothing. Then he dropped his armful of wood, climbed over the fence into our yard, and came to me. He sat beside me, so close I could smell pine needles on his shirt.

“Nina,” he said softly. “What are you crying for? I’ll come back.”

“What if you don’t?” I sobbed. “What if they kill you in your very first battle? What if… what if…”

He took my hand. His palm was rough and callused, but so warm. I looked at him through my tears and saw his expression grow serious.

“Look at me,” he told me, and I obeyed. “I’ll come back. Do you hear? I give you my word. And when I do, I’ll ask your father for your hand. I’ve been meaning to for a long time. I just…” He gave a little smile. “I could never work up the courage to say it.”

My heart turned a somersault. I had loved him for so long, in secret, afraid to admit it even to myself. Could he really feel the same?

“Truly?” I whispered.

“Truly,” he said with a smile, and I began to melt. “Wait for me, Nina.”

Then he kissed me. The world spun around me, and even the breeze felt hot against my skin. Between kisses, I promised to wait for him forever if I had to. By the end of that evening, we were in the bathhouse together. I gave myself to him completely, holding nothing back, because I believed he would return. And he had said he would marry me.

I believed we would have a wonderful life together.

Now he had returned, but there was no fairy-tale ending.

“Daryan.” My voice trembled as I tried to pull myself together. “You swore to me. You promised. You said you loved me.”

“I was wrong,” he snapped. Those words hurt more than I thought possible. “Nina, I don’t know who got you pregnant, but it wasn’t me. I did everything right that night. It’s impossible.”

“But there was only you!” I cried. Several villagers working at the stable turned to look at us. “I swear by all the gods, Daryan, I’ve never been with anyone else! How can you? How can you deny your own child?”

He said nothing. He stood over me, a stranger now, carrying himself like the soldier he had become. And suddenly I understood. He had been gone for four months. I was four months pregnant. He was counting again. He still didn’t believe me. He thought I was deliberately deceiving him.

“That time…” he began, but I cut him off.

“We were together the night before you left. I remember every minute of that evening. Do you really think I could have been with someone else the very next day after you went away?”

“I don’t know, Nina.” He shrugged, and that indifferent gesture broke what was left of me. “People change. I’ve changed since then.”

I could see that.

He left. He simply turned and walked away, his new boots crunching over the twigs on the path. I watched him go, sick to my stomach. Whether it was the pregnancy or the shock of his betrayal, I couldn’t tell.

And I hadn’t even told my parents yet.

Three times that week, my mother had remarked that I had “filled out.” At first she had teased me. “What’s this, Nina? You’re getting as plump as a merchant’s daughter.” Then she had frowned when I refused to wear my corset. And yesterday she had come into my room while I was changing and stopped short, staring at my rounded belly.

“Nina,” she had asked, her voice strained. “What’s the matter with you?”

I had lied. I told her I had simply eaten too many pies. She hadn’t believed me; I could see it in her eyes. But she had said nothing. I had believed Daryan would come back and my life would fall into place. We would be together. We would be a family.

Now Daryan denied everything. Carrying his child, I knew I would have to tell my parents the truth that very day. Tomorrow might be too late. I could no longer hide my belly, and my mother was no fool.

But what could I tell them? That the father of my child — the man I loved more than life itself — had called me a liar?

I ran a hand over my belly. My baby. Our baby.

“He’ll come back,” I whispered, but I didn’t believe my own words. “He’ll change his mind.”

A gate banged in the distance. I looked up and saw my mother. She stood in our doorway, arms folded across her chest, looking straight at my belly.

“Nina,” she called. There was no question in her voice, only a demand for the truth. “Come inside. We need to talk.”

And I went, because there was no point in hiding anymore. My life was over. Unless a miracle happened.

⁂

Do you think it will?

Chapter 3. Disgrace

My mother was waiting in the main room. The candles had not yet been lit, and the gray evening light made her face look like a mask. There was neither anger nor pity in it, only a stony calm that frightened me more than any shouting could have.

“Sit down,” she ordered, nodding toward the bench.

I sat. I folded my hands over my belly, covering it as though that could change anything. My mother stood before me with her arms crossed, staring so intently that I wished the floor would swallow me.

“I was waiting for you to tell me yourself,” she began quietly. “I thought you’d have that much decency. You’re my daughter, Nina. I carried you, I nursed you, I taught you right from wrong. And this is what comes of it?”

“Mama…”

“Don’t interrupt!” Her voice rose to a shout, and I flinched. “How many months? Answer me.”

“Four,” I whispered.

“Four!” She threw up her hands. “You’ve been carrying a child for four months, and your parents know nothing about it! Do you understand the shame you’ll bring on us? What will people say? That you’ve been running around with the gods know who?”

“It wasn’t some stranger!” I cried, springing to my feet. “It was Daryan! We loved each other. He promised to marry me!”

“Daryan? He promised?” My mother gave a bitter laugh. “And where is this bridegroom of yours, Nina? Where’s the ring on your finger? Has he even come to ask for your hand? I saw him turn his back and walk away from you. All day, people have been talking about Daryan’s return. Yet he hasn’t come to ask for your hand. Instead, you’re running after him like a woman out of her mind. And he didn’t look particularly pleased by the news you’ve been taking such pains to hide from us.”

“He was just frightened,” I forced out, although I no longer believed it myself. “He’ll come to his senses.”

“Come to his senses?” My mother stepped close to me. Her eyes shone, whether with anger or tears I couldn’t tell. “My foolish girl. Men who disown their children don’t come to their senses. They’re cowards. And now you’ll have to bear the consequences of your foolishness alone.”

I lowered my head. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I couldn’t stop them.

“I thought he loved me,” I whispered. “He said… he swore…”

“People say all sorts of things!” My mother sighed, and suddenly her voice was weary, almost lifeless. “What’s done can’t be undone. Now we have to think about what comes next. Your father will be home soon. You know his temper.”

I did. My father was stern, but fair. At least, I had always thought so.

“I’ll explain everything to him,” I said, wiping away my tears. “He’ll understand.”

My mother looked at me with such pity that my heart faltered.

“Oh, I hope so,” she said with a heavy sigh.

The evening dragged on forever. I helped my mother with the chores, but I did everything mechanically, as though I weren’t really there, in my own body. We didn’t speak. A heavy, clinging silence hung between us.

Several times my mother went to the window to look down the road. My father was late. He usually returned from the forge before dark, but perhaps there had been a great deal of work that day. Or one of the neighbors had stopped him for a chat.

That was what frightened me. I was afraid my father would hear everything from someone else before I could tell him. Then he would see it as a betrayal. A stab in the back.

“Go to bed,” my mother said. “Best to keep out of his sight.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I have to tell him myself.”

My mother said nothing. She merely shook her head and went to her room.

I was left alone in the main room. The candle was burning low, throwing dancing shadows over the walls. I sat on the bench with my hands pressed to my belly and whispered:

“Forgive me, little one. Forgive me for your father’s cowardice. But I’ll manage. I’ll do whatever it takes for you.”

A dog barked outside. Then I heard my father’s heavy footsteps.

The door swung open with a long creak and struck the wall with a bang. I flinched. My father stood on the threshold, broad-shouldered, his hands blackened from work, his face grim. He was flushed, as though with fury. I had seen him like that only once before: when someone had robbed him.

“Papa…” I began, rising.

“Quiet!” he roared. “I know everything. Everything! The men at the stables were openly gossiping about you. The whole village knows my daughter’s a whore!”

“I’m not a whore!” I shouted back. “I loved Daryan, and he promised…”

“And where is he now?” My father stepped toward me, and I shrank back against the wall. “Where’s your beloved, eh? I’ll go after him tomorrow. I’ll wring his neck! But that won’t wipe the shame from this house! You’ve disgraced me, Nina. You’ve disgraced our whole family!”

“Papa, please…” I fell to my knees. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to. I truly believed…”

“Believed!” He burst out laughing, but his laughter was more frightening than his shouting. “You’re no daughter of mine. You’re a fool. You trusted that good-for-nothing, spread your legs, and now you’re walking around with a belly, shaming your father!”

I broke into sobs.

“I loved him! We grew up together. I’ve known him all my life. He’s a good man! I waited for him. I hoped…”

“You should have stayed at home!” My father seized my shoulder and hauled me to my feet. “You should have listened to your mother! But since you’ve decided you know best, get out of my house.”

My heart stopped.

“What?” I whispered.

“Out, I said!” He pointed at the door. “Get out. I can’t stand the sight of you. I’m afraid I’ll kill you, and I won’t have that sin on my soul.”

“But Papa, where can I go?” I looked at him, hoping for even a trace of pity. There was nothing but rage in his eyes. “It’s nighttime. I have nowhere to go.”

“How should I know where you can go?” He turned and struck the doorjamb with his fist so hard the wood cracked. “Go to that bridegroom of yours.”

My mother emerged from her room. She looked at my father, then at me. Her face was white as linen.

“Come to your senses. She’s our daughter. Where can she go in the middle of the night?” she said quietly.

“I don’t give a damn!” my father bellowed. “And you keep quiet! You raised her. You’re responsible for her. If you hadn’t been so soft, she’d have stayed a virgin until her wedding instead of ending up pregnant before marriage!”

My mother fell silent. She lowered her eyes. And I understood that she would not stand up for me. My father was the head of the household, and no one was allowed to defy him.

“I’ll go,” I said quietly. “Please don’t quarrel.”

I went into the entryway and pulled on my mother’s old cloak, warm despite its holes. I hastily put on my shoes and took a heel from the loaf my mother had baked that morning.

My father waited, his eyes burning with anger. My mother stood in the doorway of the main room and cried, but said nothing.

I stepped out into the yard. The night was warm. That was one small mercy. The stars shone brightly, but it seemed to me that they were laughing at me.

The shed was the only place I could take shelter. I pushed open its creaking door and stepped into darkness that smelled of dried grass. Finding some hay in a corner, I gathered it into a heap and sat down.

I put the bread beside me. I didn’t feel like eating yet. Everything inside me had tightened into a knot.

“It’s all right, little one,” I whispered, stroking my belly. “We’ll manage. It’s only for now. Father will calm down and ask us back. He’s not a monster. He just has a temper.”

But deep down, I didn’t believe my own words. My father was proud. Once he had said “Get out,” he would not call me back anytime soon. Perhaps he never would.

I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. But sleep would not come. I lay in the shed, looking at the stars glimmering through the gaps in the roof, and thought about the beautiful life I had imagined for myself — Daryan, a wedding, a home, children — and how it had fallen apart in a single moment.

All that remained was me and my child. And the hope that my father would see reason.

Chapter 4. The Stranger in the Wagon

A week passed. Seven days, each as long as an eternity.

I learned to wake before dawn, while the sky was still slate gray. The shed was cold in the mornings, even in midsummer, even when the air later grew thick and heavy with heat. I pulled on my mother’s tattered cloak, hid my belly beneath it, and slipped out into the yard, trying not to make the door creak.

If my father caught me in the shed, he would drive me out of there too. I had no doubt of that.

I spent my days in the village. But not as I once had, with friends and songs and daisy chains. Now I was a stranger to everyone. A leper. A disgrace.

I went from yard to yard, knocking at gates and offering to do any work: scrub floors, wash clothes, weed gardens, muck out the stalls. I didn’t need wages, only food. A piece of bread. A bowl of soup. My mother slipped me things to eat, but I worried that my father would notice and the food would abruptly stop. So I looked for a way to provide for myself. In the mornings I went to the woods; in the afternoons I tried to find work in the village. For now, I could still hide in the shed, but if my father discovered me, I would lose even that roof over my head.

People turned me away.

“We don’t want your sort,” they flung in my face before slamming the door.

“You’ve only yourself to blame. You should have thought about your father’s reputation before getting yourself pregnant.”

“Go to your Daryan, or whoever fathered that child. Let him feed you.”

Daryan… I tried not to think about him. But rumors slithered through the village like snakes. He was seen in the tavern every evening. He drank with his former comrades, tossed copper coins around, laughed loudly, and put his arms around girls who had never spared him a glance before. Now they flocked to him. He had money to throw around, and his stories about serving in the prince’s company earned him respect. He didn’t care that somewhere in a shed, a girl carrying his child was bedding down for the night.

“We saw that bridegroom of yours!” Kuzma, the tanner’s son, called one day as I walked along the street. He was sitting on a fence with his friends. “He’s all over Varya behind the bar now. Quite the pair!”

I lowered my head and walked faster. Children threw small stones at me. Perhaps they thought it was funny. But one struck my back, and I cried out.

“Quit whining, big belly!” one child jeered, bursting into laughter.

The children ran after me, chanting:

“Nina’s a whore, can’t go home anymore! Nina’s baby won’t have a pa!”

I clamped my hands over my ears, but their shrieks pierced through my fingers.

When the older women met me at the well, they fell silent and turned away. Only Melanya, the old healer, once pressed a heel of bread into my hand and whispered, “Hold on, my dear. Fate can still be merciful.” The others had already made up their minds about me.

I looked for work, but no one would take me. Not even the prince’s steward at the threshing barn, where they usually hired anyone strong enough for the work. But the steward glanced at my small belly and waved me away.

“You’d be more trouble than you’re worth. Off with you.”

Toward the end of the seventh day, I sat beneath an old willow at the edge of the village, looking out across the fields. In my hands was my last piece of bread. I pinched off crumbs and ate them very, very slowly, trying to fool my hunger.

The sun was sinking. Soon it would be night. The shed again, the cold, the hay, and the fear that my father would wake early and catch me there. I was afraid of losing even that shed. Where else could I go? I had spent the whole week trying to find another place to sleep, without success. The woods? There were wolves. The fields? The dew would soak me to the bone.

It was midsummer. Still warm. But I thought of winter with dread. When the frosts came, when snow buried everything, where would I go with my baby? The shed? We would freeze to death. No one would let us in. No one would take pity on us.

Perhaps I should go to another village, somewhere no one knew me. Say I was a widow, that my husband had been killed in the prince’s service. Perhaps they would pity me. Hire me as a servant. Give me shelter and a crust of bread for my child.

I gripped my hem and rocked back and forth. I was afraid. Alone, pregnant, in a strange place. What if it was even worse there? What if no one would take me in? What if they beat me?

But staying here meant dying slowly.

I looked up at the road into the village and froze. Something was approaching. I strained to make it out.

A column of dust. The rumble of wheels. The clank of chains.

A caravan.

I had never seen one before, only heard travelers speak of them. Great wagons. Huge horses with shaggy fetlocks, like the ones northerners rode. And guards. They weren’t human. They were green.

I tensed. Orcs were rare in our part of the world. People said they traveled with merchant caravans, hiring themselves out for gold. Towering, broad-shouldered creatures with tusks and yellow eyes. People used them to frighten children. “Misbehave, and an orc will come and carry you off.”

I watched the procession. Heavy wagons, creaking wood, drivers shouting. Four orcs rode shaggy horses; even in their saddles, they looked like giants. I could see green skin and broad jaws.

One wagon drew level with me. A cloth covered its window, but the wind lifted one edge, and I glimpsed a figure inside. Another enormous figure. Someone sat in the half-light, looking out.

At me.

I couldn’t look away. Neither did he. Yellow eyes burned like embers even in the dusk. His face was broad, his tusks prominent. But there was none of the brutish stupidity the women whispered about. There was intelligence in his gaze. Weariness. And something like curiosity.

The wagon rolled past. The caravan moved toward the village, leaving dust and a low rumble in its wake.

I remained beneath the willow, my heart pounding wildly.

An orc.

He had seen me. And I had seen him.

For some reason, I was no longer afraid. Only a shiver ran down my spine, born of a strange, uncertain feeling. As though something had clicked into place in the air. As though the world I knew had cracked.

I pressed a hand to my belly. Life was changing so quickly. But perhaps not every change would be for the worse.

Chapter 5. The Strangers’ Fair

The caravan stayed.

The next morning, I peered out of the shed and saw their wagons in the meadow beyond the village. They had arranged the wagons in a circle near the village, far enough away not to seem threatening. Shaggy-legged horses grazed on their tethers. The air smelled of campfire smoke and unfamiliar spices.

Orcs bustled back and forth. I counted ten, though I could have been mistaken. I tried not to watch for too long, lest someone notice my interest.

For the first two days, I hid. I didn’t go into the woods; I was afraid of running into the orcs. What if they were hunting there? What if it was people they were after? Ever since childhood, I had heard terrifying stories about green savages who ate babies and drank maidens’ blood. Now, watching them, I began to understand that frightening stories were just that: stories. They behaved quite ordinarily. They wore simple clothes, laughed, cared for their horses. Just like humans.

But I didn’t trust my own feelings, so I kept my distance, just in case. They were strangers, after all.

Since I had stopped going into the woods for mushrooms and berries, food had grown very scarce. Sometimes my mother slipped me a heel of bread or a boiled egg when my father wasn’t nearby. But she was afraid. I could see it in her eyes. She was torn between pity for me and fear of her husband. I didn’t blame her. In our house, my father’s word was law.

Unfortunately, time was not softening him. He was growing harder. The last time we had crossed paths in the village, he had been walking with a friend. When the man noticed me, my father spat at my feet, making his feelings about my pregnancy perfectly clear.

That was when I understood that forgiveness would not come. All the hope I had placed in my parents faded. To my surprise, I didn’t sink into despair. Instead, I began to think about what I should do next.

On the third day, two orcs went to see the village headman. They were unarmed and quiet, and even bowed on his doorstep. I was sitting behind the wattle fence at the back of our plot, watching them through a gap. One was an old orc with wise yellow eyes. The other was shorter and kept moving as though he could hardly stand still, though he tried to restrain himself. His restless energy escaped in tiny movements.

They stayed with the headman for about an hour. Then they left, and I didn’t see them again that day.

On the fourth day, the orcs visited the headman again. And on the fifth. I wondered why they had come. Perhaps they wanted to sell their goods. Or hire people. Or perhaps they were looking for something in our part of the world.

Rumors spread through the village. Women whispered at the well; men cast dark looks toward the camp. No one knew the truth, but everyone was afraid.

“They say they’re bandits,” Melanya whispered when I happened to meet her near the edge of the village. She thrust a flatbread into my hands. “Be careful, child.”

“And they also say,” she added, glancing around, “that they’ve been making some kind of offer to the headman. Supposedly, they want to trade. But they’re orcs, aren’t they? Everyone knows orcs get their gold by robbing people. So be careful.”

I shrugged. I had other things on my mind. I was wondering how to survive until winter.

A couple of days later, everything became clear.

I was walking along the edge of the village, keeping away from busy places, when I suddenly heard a clatter. Hammers striking. Low, guttural voices, but not angry ones.

I peered cautiously around the bushes.

The orcs were setting up a fair.

Roughly built stalls had appeared in the clearing where the cows used to graze. On them lay fabrics unlike anything I had ever seen: silk threaded with gold, thick patterned wool, furs — fox, squirrel, even Arctic fox. There were humbler goods too: clay pots, knives with carved handles.

Orc women were laying out the merchandise. They were shorter than the men, but just as broad-shouldered, with strong arms. Their faces seemed almost beautiful to me.

The villagers were reluctant to approach. I saw Kuzma and his father stop at the edge of the clearing, eyeing the stalls suspiciously. Several women whispered to one another and left. Only two or three brave souls approached the counters, then quickly retreated when yellow eyes turned on them.

I had no business at the fair, but I understood that this was my chance.

If the orcs were trading, they weren’t killing people. If they had goods on their stalls, they hadn’t come to steal. They could simply take people’s money by force if they wanted to. And if they had work to offer…

I mastered my fear and stepped out from behind the bushes.

The first person to notice me was stout Avdotya, a vicious gossip. She stood by her wattle fence, watching the fair warily, but the moment she saw me, she hissed:

“Idiot! Off she goes! Showing that belly of hers, too. Shameless hussy.”

I pretended not to hear. One step, another, a third, and I was at the edge of the clearing. The smell of roast lamb and herbs washed over me. At one of the stalls, an orc woman in an apron was cutting meat with an enormous knife. When she saw me, she bared her teeth in what seemed to be a friendly smile.

“Hello,” she said. “What are you looking for?”

I faltered and glanced back at the village. People were already watching me. Neighbors whispered. Someone pointed.

“I’m just looking,” I managed. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Go ahead.” The orc woman nodded. “Don’t be afraid. We don’t bite.”

Her voice was deep, but warm. Suddenly I felt my fear begin to ebb. Or perhaps desperation had simply overwhelmed everything else.

I moved closer. Warm shawls lay on the counter, soft and fluffy. I stroked one. Noticing my gaze, the orc woman said:

“Take it if you need it. You can pay later, when you have the money. We’ll be here a week, perhaps two. We stayed a whole month in the last village. It took people a while to get used to us.”

She chuckled. I swallowed. At last, someone could tell me what I needed to know.

Tentatively at first, I began to ask about the neighboring villages. The orc woman talked freely, and I almost relaxed. It had been so long since anyone had spoken to me normally, let alone kindly. I asked her about work, how to get to those places, what the people were like.

Her answers weren’t very encouraging.

“It’s hard for me to say,” she told me. “Even if the people are decent, orcs aren’t welcome anywhere, so we always get a rather…” She seemed about to say “bad reception,” or something like it, but glanced at me and softened her words. “…mixed reception.”

I nodded. She was right. It was hard for orcs to judge what people were like in different places. Orcs and humans kept their distance from each other. It had never occurred to me that humans and orcs might trade with one another at all.

I moved away from the stall so I wouldn’t impose on my new acquaintance. A warmth was growing inside me. They were different. Wary of humans, but trying to be open.

I went around several more stalls. Everyone noticed me. No wonder: I was the only human there just then. I strolled along, looking at the goods. Perhaps I could make something similar and offer it to them. Perhaps I could earn some money.

But those hopeful thoughts gave way to sadder ones. Even if I managed to get some gold, what could I do with it in our village? Would anyone take me in, even for money? Lost in thought, I found myself beside a wagon.

My gaze slid over it, then caught on a board fixed in place with a nail. In large, awkward letters, it read:

WIFE WANTED. WILL PROVIDE SHELTER, FOOD, AND SAFETY.

I stopped dead, unable to believe what I was seeing.

I read it once, then again. Shelter. Food. Safety. Everything I had dreamed of these past weeks. More than I had dared hope for.

I looked up at the wagon. Could it be true? Could someone really just be “looking” for a wife?

I didn’t know the answer. I knew only that this was the one door left for me to knock on.

And I knocked.

Chapter 6. Talking to an Orc

I knocked. Silence. Only the sound of orcs talking somewhere behind me, and village men chatting. My heart was pounding so hard I thought the whole fair must hear it. No one answered, and I couldn’t wait any longer. I was afraid I would lose my nerve and run.

So I gave the door a sharp pull. It was heavier than I had expected, but it opened.

I climbed the little steps and peered inside.

The wagon’s interior was small but cleverly laid out. A bed stood against one wall, covered with a dark blue blanket. Beside it was a small table holding a lamp and a mug. Against the opposite wall stood a heavy chest bound with iron bands. Nothing unnecessary. Everything plain, but well made.

And on the bed, with his legs tucked beneath him, sat an orc.

The same one. The yellow eyes that had watched me that evening when the caravan first arrived in the village. I recognized him at once, which only left me more flustered.

He wore a simple linen shirt with wide sleeves. In his hands was an open book, a slim volume with worn pages. He was reading. An orc was reading a book.

I froze. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Not a single useful thought entered my head. I didn’t know which surprised me more: that he was the one looking for a wife, or the book in his hands.

The orc went still too. His yellow eyes widened, only a fraction, but I noticed. He looked at me as if I were a ghost. Clearly, he had never expected anyone to come in.

Then I realized something strange: he was frightened. Not of me, exactly. He seemed startled that anyone had answered his notice at all. He clearly hadn’t expected anyone to come and now had no idea what to do.

That thought gave me courage.

“I…” My voice failed. I coughed and tried again. “I came about the notice. Are you the one looking for a wife?”

The orc blinked slowly, as though taking in what he had heard.

“I thought only someone truly desperate would answer the notice,” he said at last, sounding surprised.

“I need help,” I blurted out.

The words escaped before I could think them through. But there was no turning back.

The orc put down his book and straightened. Only then did I realize how enormous he was. Beneath the wagon’s low ceiling, he seemed a giant. I involuntarily took a step back, bumping against the door.

“But you’re young,” he said, studying me. “And beautiful. And you look healthy.”

Beautiful? I lowered my eyes. I was wearing an old, faded cloak and worn-out shoes, and my face was probably gaunt from hunger. What beauty could he possibly see?

But when I looked up, I noticed something odd: a faint flush had crept beneath the greenish skin of his cheeks. The orc was embarrassed. An orc who could crush me with one hand was embarrassed by his own words.

“I… it’s just…” I faltered. I meant to invent some story so this stranger wouldn’t think badly of me, but I couldn’t lie to him. In the end, I forced myself to tell the truth. “In the village, they consider me a fallen woman. I can’t find work. No one will take me on, even just for food. And I live…” My voice shook, but I clenched my fists. “I live in a shed. My father’s shed. They threw me out of the house. But I’ll die there in winter.”

The orc was silent. His yellow eyes never left my face.

“And there’s something else,” I added, almost in a whisper, because I couldn’t put it off any longer. “I’m expecting a child.”

The orc slowly lowered his gaze to my belly. I had left my cloak open because it was stifling, and beneath my thin shirt the curve was already visible. Small, but noticeable if you knew where to look.

He stared for a long time. I held my breath.

A thought flashed through my mind: He’s going to say no. He’ll send me away. And I’ll be alone. Then winter will come, and my baby and I will die.

But he said nothing. And the longer his silence lasted, the more clearly I understood that I wanted to stay. I wanted him to agree. Not because he was an orc. Not because I knew him or loved him. But because this warm, clean wagon, smelling of wood and herbs, had become my only beacon in the dark.

I couldn’t bear any more. Not the stones the children threw, the way the men spat at me, or the women’s contempt. Not the shed and the thought of my child freezing in winter.

Please, I wanted to cry. Please don’t send me away.

But I stayed silent.

The orc raised his eyes. There was no pity in them. No disgust. Only a grave, quiet resolve.

“All right,” he said. “But there are conditions.”

For the third time that day, my heart stopped. Somehow, I hadn’t thought of that. Hope had blinded me. Of course he had a reason for wanting a wife. What would he ask of me? Could I bear it? And would it be worse than what I was living through now?

Chapter 7. The Conditions

“We need humans for our trade,” he said.

“You trade in humans?” I stared at him.

He waved his hands frantically.

“No, no. I mean, to trade with humans.”

He added it so hastily and looked so endearingly flustered that I didn’t have time to picture the worst things that might await me if my first guess had been right. He began to rise, and I instinctively stepped back to give him room.

Panic flickered over his face, and again he waved his hands.

“I won’t hurt you. Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” I blurted out, and it was the simple truth.

Strangely enough, he seemed afraid of me, even though he was the orc. His eyebrows shot up. At last he got off the bed, and I saw that I had been right: he barely fitted. He stood with his head bowed, occupying almost all the space between the bed and the chest.

He gave a slight nod toward the door, and I slipped outside. At once, it was easier to breathe. Apparently he felt the same, because as soon as he stepped down onto the ground, he straightened to his full height. I couldn’t look away. Tall and strong, he would certainly be able to protect my child, if we could come to an agreement.

“So what are the conditions?” I asked quickly, bringing us back to the matter at hand.

“Yes.” He nodded. “Of course. The conditions.” He turned his gaze from me to the fair. “As you may have noticed, we don’t have many customers.”

I looked at the bored traders behind their stalls.

“People are afraid of you,” I agreed.

“They are,” he replied seriously. “Humans are used to orc raids, not to seeing orcs live peacefully. But the orcs here have had enough of that. We want to trade, though so far we haven’t had much success.”

I didn’t understand what this had to do with his search for a wife. He must have read my confusion, because he explained:

“If humans lived among us, they could speak to other humans and bring their own people to our fairs. Little by little, we could build decent relations between our peoples. We need someone the villagers won’t find threatening. A human woman, for example. But I have no intention of compromising anyone’s honor, which is why I’m looking for a wife. So she can travel safely with our caravan without risking her reputation. What I’m offering is a marriage in name only. You help us trade, and I promise you a home and someone you can rely on, if that suits you.”

“Oh,” I said slowly. That changed things. It was even better. I had thought this orc wanted warmth and love, but what he needed was someone who knew how to talk to people. “I agree!”

My delighted cry came out far too loudly. Every orc turned to stare at us. My prospective husband really was shy. His cheeks flushed again, but his voice remained calm.

“Perhaps you should take at least a day to think about it?”

I shook my head and caught hold of his sleeve.

“Will my child be safe with you? Will we have enough to eat?”

He nodded.

“Then I agree,” I blurted out again, flushing too now that I realized everyone was watching.

For two people who had merely struck a bargain, we probably looked rather too pleased. I shook his hand and asked:

“When can I move in with you?”

He smiled, seemingly unsure what to do as I shook his hand.

“Whenever you like. My name is Gron. And yours?”

“Nina.” I tried to contain my foolish grin, but it kept breaking through. My child would have food, a roof overhead, and an orc to guard us. I was afraid to trust my happiness, but looking at Gron, I couldn’t think ill of him. He looked kind, despite his size, his tusks, his green skin, and his muscles.

Then I remembered how I had trusted Daryan, and my joy vanished. I ought to be more careful. Surely it couldn’t be this simple. I should think about it; Gron was right. But the choice was between a night in a warm wagon and a night in the shed, between a danger I knew and one I didn’t.

And I had made my choice.

All that remained was to tell the others.

“It’s good to meet you, Nina,” he said with a broad smile.

⁂

What do you think of the orc?

Chapter 8. An Important Conversation

I spent the night in the shed. The day before, I hadn’t found the courage to speak to my parents.

Now I wasn’t sure I would manage it today either. I lay on the hay, staring at the roof. I hadn’t slept a wink. My thoughts went round and round: Gron, his conditions, a marriage in name only, the wagon, food, safety. And then: Daryan, his betrayal, my foolishness, the trust he had trampled into the dirt.

What if Gron is the same? What if he uses me and then throws me away? But what would I lose? I’m already at rock bottom. What if orcs are even worse than humans? What if I can’t even imagine the troubles he might put me through? I never expected Daryan to hurt me either.

I turned from side to side, the hay rustling beneath me, mice scratching in the corner. Moonlight slipped through the gaps in the shed walls.

“You can’t trust anyone,” I whispered into the darkness. “You can’t. You’ve already made that mistake once.”

But another part of me, the part intent on survival, kept saying: Do you have a choice? The shed? Winter? Starving to death with a baby in your arms?

I squeezed my eyes shut and stroked my belly. I couldn’t even remember when I had first begun talking to the baby.

“I know, little one. I know. Mama will think of something.”

Gray morning followed the restless night. Then I heard voices.

“…those orcs,” my father was saying, his voice muffled but angry. “The headman says they won’t leave until the fair is over. And who goes to them? Who brings shame on the village?”

“Keep your voice down,” my mother pleaded. “You’ll wake all the neighbors.”

“I don’t give a damn!” My father spat. “It all started with one girl. First my daughter disgraces us, and now these green-faced brutes. Nina must have brought misfortune down on the village with what she did. If she’d been quiet and modest, perhaps the orcs would never have come.”

I went still. Hurt stung in my chest, and a lump rose in my throat.

“Don’t say that.” My mother sighed. “She’s being punished enough as it is.”

“Not enough!” my father snapped. “Let her learn what comes of shaming her father. And those orcs are her problem too. She’s already been sniffing around them, the whore.”

“How can you speak that way about your own daughter?” my mother protested. “She wouldn’t go there.”

“She already has,” my father said. “People saw her.”

I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a sob. Tears ran down my cheeks. I wiped them with my sleeve, but they wouldn’t stop. My father was calling me a whore. Blaming me for the orcs’ arrival, as though I could conjure a caravan out of thin air. Even my visit to the fair had become another sign of my moral ruin.

And even if it was, what else was I supposed to do when everyone had turned their backs on me?

“Right, I’m off,” my father grumbled. “Mind you don’t go gossiping yourself. People are talking enough already.”

His footsteps receded. My mother lingered a little longer, then left too.

I didn’t emerge from the shed until midday. My stomach was growling. My mother hadn’t brought me anything that morning. Every day, it seemed, my mother thought of me a little less.

Better go to the woods, I thought. At least there are berries there. And no one will spit at me as I pass.

I pulled on my cloak and trudged toward the trees. The sun was high, but the woods were cool and smelled fresh. I made my way deeper into the thicket, to where the bilberries and lingonberries grew.

There weren’t many berries, but I ate them as I picked. Sour and tart, they took the edge off my hunger.

I was about to turn back when I heard branches snapping. Someone was coming straight toward me with a heavy, unsteady tread.

“Well, look at that!” A familiar voice, drunken and insolent. “Our little whore’s out picking berries!”

Daryan emerged from the bushes. His clothes were rumpled, his shirt unfastened, and I could smell stale drink on him from three paces away. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair disheveled.

“What are you staring at?” He leered. “Weren’t expecting me?”

“I have nothing to say to you,” I said quietly.

“Oh, listen to you!” He laughed and stepped closer. “Remember how you moaned in the bathhouse? You weren’t so proud then.”

I backed away.

“You’re drunk. Leave before I call for help.”

“Who are you going to call?” He spread his hands. “The villagers think you’re a whore. No one will stand up for you.”

My hands clenched into fists.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Whose business is it, then?” Daryan stepped closer again, until my back met a tree. “Maybe you’d like a little fun? You haven’t got a reputation left to lose. At least you might enjoy yourself.”

“No,” I snapped.

Daryan frowned, his lower lip jutting out in a childish pout.

“Don’t you like me anymore? You promised to wait!”

“I did wait. I just didn’t know what kind of man you were!” I blurted out, close to hysteria.

He frightened me. He was about to force himself on me. Once, I had trusted him with my body. This time, he wasn’t going to give me a choice. He gave a vicious laugh.

“You should be grateful to me. Who else would have you with that belly?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the worst. Instead, I heard a low, rumbling voice. Calm, yet it sent a chill across my skin.

“I would.”

I opened my eyes.

Gron stepped out from behind a pine. Huge and broad-shouldered in his plain shirt, he seemed as solid as a rock. His yellow eyes rested on Daryan, cold and unyielding.

Daryan choked on his laughter and backed away. His face went slack, his drunken bravado vanishing in an instant.

“Who are you?” he managed.

“The one who’ll have her,” Gron said. “With a belly. Without one. With a child. It’s none of your business. Now leave, before I change my mind.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He spoke quietly. But that voice made Daryan’s knees shake. He backed away, tripped over a root, fell, scrambled up, and fled, crashing through the bushes.

I stood pressed against the tree, looking at Gron. He turned his gaze to me, and his face softened.

“Did he touch you?”

“He didn’t have time,” I whispered.

Gron nodded. I was no longer afraid, but now I felt ashamed. Yesterday I had given him my word, then never come.

“What are you doing in the woods?” was all I could manage.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said hesitantly. “Then I saw you head into the woods, and after that I heard someone else’s footsteps. Yesterday you said your reputation in the village wasn’t very good, so I didn’t want anyone to see us alone together. I decided to wait until whoever was behind me had passed. But it turned out he was following you. You know the rest.”

I nodded. I was lucky Gron had been nearby. If he hadn’t, I was afraid even to imagine what Daryan might have done. That made me feel all the guiltier toward Gron.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” I told him. His eyebrows rose in surprise, so I explained. “I was just frightened.”

“I understand. I’m an orc…”

“No,” I interrupted. “Not of you. Of my parents.”

His yellow eyes widened in surprise. I stepped away from the tree and drew a deep breath.

“They won’t approve.”

“From what I’ve heard, they already don’t.”

We exchanged a glance, then quickly looked away.

“But we have to tell them. Otherwise they’ll think the orcs have stolen me,” I said, giving voice to my fear.

“We could have a proper wedding.”

I stared at him. He hurried to add:

“So no one gets the wrong idea. Let them know you’re leaving with your husband. I told you, that’s why I was looking for a wife. So no one would think badly of the woman.”

“Why do you care what happens to some woman you don’t even know?” I asked hoarsely. Resentment toward everyone else was rising inside me. No one had tried to help except an orc who was a stranger to me.

“We’ll be traveling together. I don’t want anyone under my roof to be unhappy,” he said simply.

I was so touched that a tear slipped down my cheek. There was such kindness in his words. It was a while before we left the woods, because he had to calm me down. But we no longer tried to hide. I had no doubt Daryan had already told the whole village who had stood up for me.

⁂

Will there be consequences?

Chapter 9. Farewell

We came out of the woods as the sun was beginning to sink. Gron walked beside me, shielding me from the wind.

An empty street and locked gates greeted us.

“I’ll come with you,” he said as we reached the edge of the village.

“No.” I shook my head. “I’ll go alone.”

“But if he…”

“I can manage,” I interrupted, then added more quietly, almost to myself, “I have to.”

Gron wanted to object, but I had already stepped forward. He stayed where he was. I didn’t look back. I was afraid that if I saw his yellow eyes, I would burst into tears and run. Whenever I was with him, I wanted to cry. Perhaps because I couldn’t let myself cry in front of anyone else.

My father was at the forge. I heard the ring of his hammer long before I reached it. Once, that sound had comforted me. Now it rang like an alarm bell.

I crossed the threshold. Heat, the smell of coal and metal. My father stood with his back to me, bent over the anvil. His shirt was soaked with sweat between his shoulders.

“Papa,” I called, and flinched at the word myself.

The hammer stopped. My father didn’t turn, but I saw his shoulders tense. He said nothing, so I had to speak.

“I came to tell you that someone has asked me to marry him.”

He slowly straightened and turned. For the first time since that evening, he looked me directly in the eyes. There was neither pain nor pity in his gaze, only a cold hope.

“Who?”

I swallowed. I knew I would disappoint him again. The words caught in my throat, but I forced them out.

“An orc.”

Silence. Only the coals crackled in the hearth. Then my father barked:

“Are you mocking me? Have you come to finish me off?”

“No,” I said. “It’s the truth. His name is Gron. He’s with the caravan. He’ll give me shelter and food. And my child won’t go hungry.”

“Your child!” My father stepped toward me, and I instinctively backed away. “You still dare to talk about that child? Why, you…”

He clenched his fist, but stopped short of striking me. Instead, he flung a hand toward the door.

“Get out before I kill you. Do you hear? I don’t want you anywhere near here. Don’t ever let me see your face again!”

“All right,” I said quietly. “I won’t.”

And I left. The hammer flew after me, striking the doorjamb with a crash and knocking out a splinter. I didn’t turn around.

I found my mother in the vegetable garden. She was bent low over the beds, weeding, and didn’t even lift her head when I approached.

“Mama,” I called. “I’m getting married. To an orc.”

She went still for a moment. Then she straightened, wiped her hands on her apron, and gave me a long, heavy look.

“You think he’ll be any better?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “But it can’t be worse than here.”

She nodded. No tears, no embrace. When she finally spoke, her voice was flat:

“May luck be with you.”

Then she bent over the beds again. I stood there for another minute, but my mother never turned around.

I hurried toward the camp, almost running, my hands pressed to my belly. My pulse raced. The wagons looked dark and hulking. But in one of them, someone was waiting for me.

I climbed onto the small platform outside the wagon, caught my breath, and knocked. Gron opened the door. For a long time, we stood looking at each other in silence. More than anything in the world, I was afraid he would change his mind, that I would have to go back to the village. I couldn’t have borne it. But he stepped aside to let me in.

And I gladly accepted, though I knew there were many difficulties ahead: the journey, my pregnancy, sharing a home out of necessity, and my part of the bargain. Everything could go wrong at any moment, and then I would be out on the road — not merely homeless, but homeless in a strange, unfamiliar place.

But I couldn’t survive here. So I stepped into the unknown, for the sake of a future.

⁂

Did Nina make the right choice? What other options did she have?

Chapter 10. Leaving

The caravan set off at dawn. I woke to the steady creak of wheels and the snorting of shaggy-legged horses. It was warm inside the wagon, and the air smelled of wood and dried herbs. I lay in the wide bed beneath the dark blue blanket, and for a moment I didn’t know where I was.

Then I remembered everything.

Gron sat on the floor with his back against the chest. His long legs stretched along the wall, and the same battered book rested in his hands. He looked up when I stirred.

“Awake?” he asked softly.

“Yes.” I sat up and straightened my dress. “Are we already moving?”

“I decided not to wait.”

I peered through the little window. Beyond the grimy glass, familiar birches, bushes, and a field drifted past. Our field. I knew the trees by where they stood and the shape of their branches. The village lay somewhere behind us.

“Did you all leave early because of me?” I asked without turning.

There was a moment of silence behind me. Then Gron answered:

“I don’t want you staying in that place. The way they treat you is wrong.”

I turned around. He was looking at me calmly, without a trace of embarrassment. Simply telling the truth.

“I could have put up with it a little longer,” I said, though I wasn’t sure why. Perhaps I didn’t want to seem weak. I didn’t want him to think me a burden.

“Why?” he asked.

The question caught me off guard. I opened my mouth, then closed it. Why, indeed? I had endured enough. The shed, the hunger, the stones, the spitting. What else was there to wait for?

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

Gron nodded and returned to his book. I turned back to the window. The silence felt comforting, almost like being at home. I was already beginning to grow used to his presence, to having someone enormous and calm in the wagon, someone who wouldn’t hurt me.

Then voices shattered the quiet. Distant at first, then closer. Shouts. Footsteps. The clang of metal.

“Stop! Stop, I said!”

I looked out of the window. The caravan had halted. Up ahead, a crowd blocked the road, armed with torches, pitchforks, and sickles. Villagers. They must have seen the orcs dismantling the fair the night before and laid an ambush on the road. But why?

And at their head, swaying and brandishing a burning piece of wood, stood Daryan.

“You’re not going anywhere!” he shouted. “They’ve stolen my bride! The orcs have stolen my bride!”

I didn’t know which infuriated me more: that he had called me his bride, or that he had dared to stand in our way at all.

Gron put down his book and rose. The wagon immediately felt cramped.

“Stay here,” he told me. “I’ll deal with this.”

“No.” I caught his sleeve. “I’m coming with you.”

“Nina…”

“I’m the one he called his bride. I’m the one he wants back. I have a right to speak for myself.”

Gron looked at me for a long moment. Then he nodded and stepped out of the wagon first.

I climbed down after him. My legs trembled, but I held myself straight. My belly was already showing clearly, and I no longer tried to hide it.

Daryan saw me and went still. His face, red from drink and shouting, fell.

“Nina!” he bellowed. “Come here! I’ll save you from these…”

“From whom?” I interrupted loudly. “From my husband?”

A murmur ran through the crowd. The men exchanged glances; the women began to whisper. Someone called out:

“Husband? Has she married an orc?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m married. And I’m leaving with my husband.”

Deliberately, I took Gron’s hand. His palm was enormous and rough, but warm. I squeezed it to keep myself from shaking.

Daryan’s face darkened with rage.

“You’re lying!” he roared. “You’re carrying my child! You can’t leave!”

In the silence that followed, I could hear the torches crackling. I looked at Daryan and no longer recognized him. Once, I had loved this man. Now all I saw was a drunken coward who wanted to destroy me.

“So you admit the child is yours?” I asked loudly enough for everyone to hear.

Daryan opened his mouth, then closed it. His eyes darted about. He realized he had let the truth slip.

“I… I didn’t…”

“You just said ‘my child.’” I stepped forward, and Gron moved with me. “Everyone heard you. You disowned me in front of everyone, called me a whore, and now you’re shouting that I’m your bride? You’re no man, Daryan. You’re spineless.”

The crowd began whispering. I saw the men lower their pitchforks. Someone coughed; someone else looked away. Their fighting spirit had gone.

“I’m leaving,” I said to them all. “I’m leaving with my husband. And no one can stop me.”

I tugged Gron’s hand. He followed readily, though I had scarcely pulled at all. We walked back toward the wagon. Behind us came Daryan’s hoarse shout:

“You’ll regret this!”

But I didn’t turn around.

Leaving him behind was one decision I would never regret.

We climbed into the wagon. Gron shut the door. The caravan slowly began to move. The wagon rolled forward, slowly at first, then gathering speed. I hoped I could find the strength to keep moving forward too.

I pressed close to the window. Familiar faces drifted past. Kuzma with his mouth hanging open; Avdotya with her jaw trembling. Melanya, the old healer, smiled and nodded.

Then I saw my father. He stood a little apart at the side of the road, pale, his fists clenched. There was no anger in his eyes. Only emptiness. As though he were looking at a stranger instead of his daughter.

And my mother. She was hiding behind him. Her face was wet with tears. When our eyes met, she barely raised her hand and waved.

It was only the smallest wave, but I saw it.

Tears spilled down my face. I bit my lip to keep from sobbing and waved back.

The wheels creaked. The village receded. Soon a bend in the road hid the people, the houses, and the familiar willow. Only the road remained, the woods, and the swaying wagon.

I turned from the window and buried my face in my hands. My shoulders shook.

A moment later, I felt an enormous hand settle gently on my shoulder.

“It will be all right,” Gron said. “You’re not alone.”

I raised my head. He was sitting beside me on the floor, looking at me with those yellow eyes. There was no pity in them. Only a quiet certainty.

“Not alone,” I repeated in a whisper, laying a hand on my belly.

The baby stirred, as though in agreement.

A new life lay ahead. But for now, here in this wagon that smelled of wood and the open road, I wasn’t afraid.

Chapter 11. The Campfire

The first week on the road slipped past like one long, gently rocking day. I hardly left the wagon, except to relieve myself, and even then only when the caravan had stopped for some other reason. I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone with my needs.

Gron brought me food, silently set the bowl on the little table, and sat on the floor with his book. We barely spoke. I was afraid anything I said might be unwelcome, and he simply seemed not to know what to talk about.

But the silence wasn’t oppressive. It was cautious, more than anything. Like two strangers unsure how to approach each other.

We stopped often, but briefly: to fetch water, rest the horses, and make camp for the night. Orcs called to one another in guttural voices. I heard their laughter and the clanging of cooking pots, but seldom showed myself. I felt I didn’t belong. Gron didn’t press me.

“You’ll get used to it,” he said once, noticing me draw back the curtain only to close it again.

I didn’t answer. But deep down I knew that sooner or later, I would have to go out.

On the eighth day, that moment finally arrived.

The caravan turned off the main road into a broad clearing surrounded by pines. Gron announced that this would be a longer stop: we needed to replenish our supplies, inspect the wagons, and give everyone a rest from the constant jolting.

“You too,” he added, looking at my belly. “It’ll be good for the baby.”

I wanted to object, but he was already leaving, calling over his shoulder:

“There’ll be a fire tonight. Come and join us.”

Not a plea. Not an order. Just an invitation. And I knew I wouldn’t refuse.

Until evening, I made myself as presentable as I could. I washed with water from a traveling flask and combed my hair with the wooden comb Gron had found for me after I complained that I had nothing to comb it with.

My dress was old and faded from washing, but at least I gave it a good shake. I decided not to wear my cloak. There was no one to hide from here.

When the sun went down and the first tongues of flame flickered between the pines, I stepped outside.

The fire burned in the middle of the clearing. Orcs sat around it on logs and on the ground. In the firelight, their faces looked even stranger than by day: deep shadows beneath their cheekbones, gleaming tusks, yellow eyes reflecting the flames. I stopped at the edge of the circle, not daring to go closer.

Gron noticed me first. He sat on a thick log with an empty place beside him. Silently, he nodded toward it.

I took one step, then another. The orcs fell silent and stared at me. My cheeks burned, but I made myself reach the log and sit down. Gron had little room to move aside, so I ended up sitting almost against his shoulder. He was too broad for there to be much space between us, and the log wasn’t all that long.

“This is Nina,” Gron said into the silence. “My wife.”

No one laughed or exchanged knowing smirks. They already knew. They had heard it when I agreed to our marriage in name only, and again when I spoke to Daryan. But tonight was different. Gron was introducing me, and that made it feel official.

Several orcs nodded; one raised his mug. Then the silence dissolved into ordinary conversation, as though I had spent countless evenings here already.

An elderly orc sat opposite me. His skin was darker than the others’, and deep wrinkles crossed his face. I had seen him visiting the headman. He regarded me calmly, with a kind of melancholy curiosity.

“Gron had a good idea,” he said quietly, but loud enough for me to hear. “A human wife will be useful to us.”

“Thank you,” I replied, not knowing what else to say.

“I’m Targ,” he introduced himself. “Leader of this band. A former mercenary, like most of us here.” He smiled wryly, showing his tusks. “Only I’m too old for fighting now. The young ones are still finding their way.”

I wanted to ask what he meant by that, but just then a woman’s voice came from the other side of the fire.

“The girl who nearly got us burned alive on our way out of the village?”

I turned. The speaker was a tall, slender orc woman with smooth green skin and long black hair in a braid. Her face was beautiful. There was no question of it. But her eyes were cold, and her words unpleasant.

“Mara,” Gron murmured, quietly enough that only I could hear. “She looks after our weapons.”

“I see,” I replied just as quietly, then said aloud to her, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Mara didn’t answer. She merely turned away and began stirring the coals with a stick. I took no offense. Who was I to demand warmth from strangers?

“Pay no attention,” a creaky voice said on my right. “She growls at everyone at first. Then she gets used to them.”

I turned. Beside me, on a low block of wood, sat an old orc woman. Fine wrinkles covered her face like weathered bark, and her yellow eyes were sharp and piercing. She held a steaming clay mug.

“Varga,” she said. “Healer. And if you think I’ll pity you because you’re pregnant and abandoned, you’re wrong.” She snorted. “I have equally little pity for everyone.”

I couldn’t help smiling.

“Then I won’t ask for any.”

“Sensible girl,” Varga said approvingly. “Gron, mind you don’t lose this one.”

Gron said nothing. I struggled with my embarrassment. They were treating us like a real husband and wife.

Varga narrowed her eyes at someone.

I followed her gaze. A young orc sat on the ground, tossing pebbles into the air and catching them. He was short, scarcely taller than me, but stocky.

“Burk,” Gron introduced him. “Be careful with him. He never knows when to stop talking.”

“Hey, I can hear you!” Burk sprang up and deftly tossed the pebbles from one hand to the other. “And as it happens, I’m very witty. Yesterday I told Targ, ‘You’re so old you remember when the world was flat.’ And what did he do? Didn’t even laugh. The old man has no sense of humor.”

Targ shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

“And you have far too much,” Varga remarked. “What are we to do with it all?”

“What are we to do with all your tinctures?” Burk countered. “No one drinks them anyway. They’re afraid of being poisoned.”

Varga narrowed her eyes.

“We could test them on you before we sell them.”

Burk’s expression instantly turned solemn.

“I was joking. Great healer, your skill knows no bounds.”

I covered my mouth to keep from laughing. The orcs exchanged glances; someone chuckled. There was something warm and welcoming about the gathering, as though I were sitting at a large family table instead of among former mercenaries.

“All right,” Targ said when the laughter died away. “Enough fooling about. Let’s get down to business.”

The conversation turned to supplies and the road ahead, to which town would be best for selling wool and where they might try their luck with furs. I listened and warmed my hands by the fire.

Then someone asked:

“Remember how the prince’s mercenaries cornered us last year?”

“I remember,” Targ replied. “You jumped out of the bushes yelling ‘Look out!’, Burk, then hid behind a tree.”

“I was scouting!” Burk protested. “That was a tactical retreat!”

“A retreat into the bushes,” Mara snorted.

The orcs laughed without malice. I watched them and thought how wrong humans were. They saw tusks, green skin, yellow eyes, and immediately cried “Savages!” and “Murderers!” Yet here were people who simply wanted to live. To trade. To laugh. To sit around a fire and remember the past.

“Were all of you mercenaries?” I asked tentatively.

Targ turned to me, his expression growing serious.

“Nearly all. Some for longer than others. Mercenary work is easy money for an orc. We have strength and stamina, and humans are happy to pay those who know how to fight.”

“But now we want something else,” Varga added. “Enough blood. Enough taking orders from others. We’ve done our share of fighting.”

“And how’s that going?” I asked. “Trying to make a living another way?”

Varga smiled bitterly.

“You can see for yourself. Business is poor. Humans are afraid of us. Even when we bring goods, they see orcs and think we’re about to rob them.”

“That’s why Gron was looking for a wife,” Targ said. “He thinks people will trust us more if there’s a human woman among us. Though, to tell the truth, we didn’t believe anyone would agree to it.”

He shook his head, but without disapproval.

Gron remained silent. I stole a glance at him. He was gazing into the fire, its reflections dancing in his yellow eyes.

“Doesn’t your…” I hesitated, then asked anyway. “Do you ever feel drawn back to your old ways? To cruelty?”

Suddenly, the silence grew thick as tar. I was afraid I had said the wrong thing, but Targ nodded slowly.

“Sometimes,” he said. “Especially when we’re angry or hurt. Blood calls for blood. But we aren’t beasts, Nina. We can choose.”

“Not always,” Mara muttered.

“Not always,” Targ agreed. “But we try.”

He raised his mug.

“To choosing our own path.”

“To choosing our own path,” the others echoed.

I raised my own mug, filled with the warm herbal tea Varga had pressed into my hands at some point. I clinked it against Gron’s. He gave a small smile, his first that evening.

The fire burned low. Voices grew quieter. Some went to bed; others stayed to finish their meat. I sat with my shoulder resting against Gron’s. Whether by accident or on purpose, I could no longer have said. He didn’t move away.

“It’ll be all right,” he said quietly once everyone had gone. “They’ll get used to you. And you’ll get used to them.”

“I already am,” I answered.

⁂

How long will Nina’s peace last?

Chapter 12. The First Test

The village appeared unexpectedly around a bend. First I saw a tall palisade made of thick logs with sharpened tops. Then the roofs came into view. Smoke trailed from chimneys, dogs barked somewhere, and even at this distance I could hear the clamor of voices.

I shrank back involuntarily.

“It’s big,” I said, though Gron could see that for himself.

“An ordinary village,” he replied, looking away from the window. “We could sell more here than in the smaller ones.”

“More people, too,” I added bleakly.

“More people,” he agreed. “So listen carefully.”

He turned toward me. The wagon was cramped, but that didn’t concern me now. I was waiting for instructions.

“Three of us will go in: you, me, and Burk. You’ll say we’re a trading caravan and we’d like permission to hold a fair. Don’t mention our mercenary past. Tell them we’re merchants now.”

“What if they ask who I am to you?”

“My wife,” Gron said without hesitation. “You’re my wife, and we travel together. That’s perfectly natural.”

I nodded. Natural. No doubt a pregnant human woman married to an orc was the most natural sight anyone in these parts had ever seen. But sarcasm did nothing to soothe my nerves.

“If the headman starts having doubts,” Gron went on, “talk about our goods. What you’ve seen with your own eyes. Humans trust other humans more than they trust us. And there’s something about you that makes people want to believe you.”

“What if he asks why I’m with you instead of with humans?”

“Say you fell in love with an orc.” Gron blushed faintly as he said it. That always made things difficult for me, because I grew embarrassed too.

I nodded again. My pulse raced, but I made myself breathe evenly.

“Got all that?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, then immediately feared I had forgotten everything.

We stepped out of the wagon. Burk was already waiting by the road, fidgeting and shifting from foot to foot, but when he saw me, his face split into a grin.

“Nina! I was worried you wouldn’t come out. Gron said you’d be in charge. Imagine that! You, not us!” He chuckled. “Maybe this time the headman won’t throw us out in disgrace the moment we arrive.”

“Burk,” Gron said quietly. “Don’t frighten her.”

“I’m not! I’m simply stating facts. Here’s another fact: I desperately need to piss, but I’m holding it in because we mustn’t show weakness in front of humans.”

“Shut up,” Gron said wearily.

Burk shut up. For a moment, at least.

We walked into the village together. We found the headman’s house after I asked a passing woman for directions. She was so frightened she said nothing, simply staring blankly at the orcs behind me. Fortunately, she didn’t run away and managed to point to a particular house.

I walked a little ahead, as we had agreed. Gron and Burk stayed behind me, but close enough that I could feel their presence. The villagers eyed us askance. Women drew their children away; men frowned; someone spat to one side. I heard whispers.

“Orcs…”

“What have they come for?”

“And a woman with them? A human?”

“Pregnant, too. Look.”

“Has she lost her mind?”

I clenched my fists and stared straight ahead. In my own village, they had persecuted me without any orcs being involved. The whispers hurt, but by now I could bear them.

The headman’s house was a sturdy log building with carved window frames and a high porch.

Gron went up first and was about to knock when Burk suddenly hissed:

“Wait!”

I froze on the steps. Gron stopped at the door.

“What?” I whispered.

“What’s she here for, then?” Burk nodded toward me. “If you knock, what’s the point? Let her do her part. We’re frightening orcs, and she’s a harmless pregnant woman. Who’s the headman more likely to open his door to?”

Gron gave him a long look. Then he reluctantly stepped back and nodded to me.

“Go ahead.”

I approached and knocked, softly but firmly.

The door didn’t open at once. First I heard footsteps, then a cough, then creaking floorboards. A short, thickset man with a beard and small, watchful eyes appeared on the threshold.

He looked at me, then past me to Gron and Burk. His face fell.

“Oh,” he said. “What’s all this…”

“Good day,” I interrupted, knowing that if he finished, there would be no stopping him. “We’re with a trading caravan. My husband and his friend. We’re looking for somewhere to hold a fair. Only for a few days. We won’t cause any harm.”

My words were jumbled and far too quick, but they spilled out of their own accord. The headman frowned, but didn’t close the door. That was something.

“A trading caravan,” he repeated doubtfully. “With orcs?”

“Orcs are good hunters. They have the finest furs,” I said, surprising myself. “They have all sorts of goods. Fabrics, pottery, knives.”

The headman scratched his beard. Behind me, Gron and Burk remained silent. Burk had barely dared to breathe.

“Right. Tell me again. What is it you want?” he asked at last.

Now Gron spoke, stepping forward far enough for the headman to see him without frightening him too badly.

“We’d like to set up stalls for a week. People can look at the goods and buy if they wish. We won’t force anything on them.”

“And that’s all?” The headman narrowed his eyes. “What about payment?”

“One-tenth of our takings for your treasury,” Gron said. “And two bales of wool for the village, if the fair passes without any fighting.”

The headman considered it. I could see him wavering. Suddenly I blurted out:

“I’ve been to their fair!” He stared at me. I went on, unable to stop. “The goods are wonderful. Fabrics you won’t find anywhere else. Soft furs, sharp knives. And they trade honestly. No cheating. Their men…” I stumbled, then forced myself to continue. “The men behave decently. Even if you don’t buy anything, you’ll enjoy looking around.”

I hadn’t seen much merriment at that fair, but I had to say something. Lying was wrong, yet it seemed the entire caravan’s future depended on whether the headman believed me.

For a long time, he said nothing. Then he sighed.

“All right,” he said. “On one condition. You’ll set up outside the village, by the old mill. Not in the square. I don’t want the women and children jumping out of their skins every time they step outside.”

“We agree,” Gron said at once.

The headman nodded, looked us over once more, and shut the door.

I let out a breath. My legs were shaking.

Only when we had moved away from the porch did Burk exclaim in delight:

“It worked!”

“Quiet,” Gron cautioned, though there was relief in his voice too.

“It worked?” I repeated, bewildered. “He said by the mill! Not in the square. That’s off to one side, just like where you set up in my village. I haven’t helped you at all.”

Burk stared at me, then exchanged a glance with Gron, and they both began to laugh. Quietly, so no one would hear, but I could see their shoulders shaking.

“Nina,” Gron said when he had recovered. “Usually we have to threaten headmen before they’ll let us set up even at the edge of the woods. This one offered us a place himself. The mill is practically in the village. This is a success.”

“Really?” I could hardly believe my ears.

“A great success,” Burk confirmed. “If you knew how many times we’ve had to turn around and leave because they drove us away before we even got close. And now we managed it ourselves, at the first attempt, without shouting, fighting, or threats!”

I looked at their pleased green faces, unsure whether to laugh or cry. For them, this was a triumph. For me, it was only the beginning. I remembered my stumbling words, my lies about the “lively fair,” and felt uneasy.

“What happens next?” I asked.

Chapter 13. Bringing in the Crowd

The next morning, Gron woke me.

“Are you ready?” he asked. In his yellow eyes I saw something that might have been hope or worry.

I nodded, though I was trembling inside. Yesterday’s conversation with the headman had only been the beginning. Today came the real task: bringing people to the fair.

“I’ll go alone,” I said, tying a kerchief over my hair.

“Alone?” Gron frowned. “Are you sure?”

“If there’s an orc with me, no one will come near,” I interrupted. “You know that.”

He was silent for a moment, then nodded reluctantly.

“I’ll be nearby. If anything happens, shout.”

I smiled.

“What should I shout? ‘Help! My orc husband, save me!’?”

Gron didn’t appreciate the joke. His expression remained serious.

“Just shout. I’ll hear you.”

I had no intention of asking him for any more help. He was already doing everything he could to make me comfortable. He slept on the floor, though I was living in his wagon. Sleeping in his bed.

I stepped outside, waved to the orcs who were already awake, and headed toward the village. The morning was cool, the grass shining with dew.

At the edge of the village, I stopped, straightened my dress, and took a deep breath.

You can do this, I told myself. You survived disgrace and hunger, and you left with an orc. What are a few strangers compared to that?

Then I stepped into the village.

The first half hour was a disaster.

I approached people and opened my mouth, and they recoiled as though I carried the plague. Women gathered up their children and left; men frowned and turned away. I heard whispers behind me.

“The orc’s wife…”

“A human herself, and she’s taken up with them.”

I clenched my fists and kept walking. I couldn’t stop.

Near the well, I noticed a young woman with a bucket. She was no older than I was, with a freckled face and curious eyes. She didn’t run when I approached. She merely went still, wary.

“Good morning,” I said, trying to sound gentle. “I’m with the trading caravan. We’ve set up a fair by the old mill.”

“I know,” the woman replied. “I saw it yesterday. Orcs.”

“Yes.” I nodded. “But they don’t bite, and they have excellent goods. Fabrics, furs, knives.”

“What are you to them?” she asked, curiosity lighting her eyes.

“I’m married to one of them,” I said simply.

The woman looked astonished.

“You’re married to an orc?”

I smiled.

“Come and see how we live. Even if you don’t buy anything at the fair, you can look at the unusual things we have. The children will enjoy it.”

She hesitated, then nodded.

“All right. I’ll tell my husband. Perhaps we’ll come.”

It was my first victory. Small, but it warmed me.

I went on. Now I knew what to say. “Have a look,” not “Buy.” “Caravan,” not “Orcs.” “Interesting,” not “Cheap.”

People were like woodland animals. Charge straight at them, and they would run. But stop, hold out your hand, and wait patiently, and perhaps they would come closer.

I approached everyone I met. Old women on benches, men repairing fences, children playing in the dust. A blacksmith at his forge, a woman coming out of the woods with a basket.

“Good morning. I’m with the caravan by the mill. Come and see our goods. Wonderful fabrics, unlike anything you’ve seen in your village. Soft furs, sharp knives, sturdy pots. Reasonable prices. Just come and look; you needn’t buy anything. Bring the children. They’ll be curious.”

Once I began, the words came easily. I smiled, met people’s eyes, and didn’t hide my belly. And they softened.

Some shook their heads and walked away. Some promised to stop by. Others asked questions.

“Isn’t it dangerous?” a stout woman carrying a basket asked me.

“I live with them,” I replied. “Would I stay if it were dangerous?”

“Is it true orcs steal children?”

“What’s true is that they have tusks,” I said with a smile. “And that they trade honestly and don’t cheat with their scales. More than you can say for plenty of humans.”

The woman gave a snort.

“You’ve a sharp tongue, girl.”

“Life taught me,” I replied.

By noon, my legs throbbed and my back ached, but I didn’t stop. I only drank some water from the well and carried on.

The hardest conversation was with the local merchant. He sat in his shop, with dull fabrics and crude pots laid out on the counter. When I entered, he folded his arms and stared at me with open hostility.

“Are you the one going around the village singing the orcs’ praises?” he asked.

“I’m only inviting people to have a look at the fair,” I replied peaceably.

“Have a look!” he snorted. “They’ll steal my customers. Their goods are better.”

“Their goods really are good,” I said, surprised by my own boldness. “You could buy from them at a discount, if you bought a large quantity. It would be worth your while and good for them too. You’re a merchant. Why not strike a bargain?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, then unexpectedly laughed.

“You’re a lively one, girl. All right, I’ll come and look at your orcs. But if they cheat me, you’ll answer for it.”

“They won’t,” I said firmly.

By evening, I returned to camp. Tired, my legs aching, but happy. I found Gron beside the fire near our wagon.

“I’ve spoken to everyone I could. I think people will come tomorrow,” I reported.

He looked at me strangely. With admiration.

“Well done,” he said simply.

His words warmed me. No one had ever praised me before. At least, no one had ever made me feel I’d done anything worth praising.

“Sit down.” He nodded to the place beside him. “Supper will be ready soon.”

I sank onto the log, and only then realized how exhausted I was. But the food smelled so good that everything else faded into the background.

Gron handled the pots and kettles deftly. His enormous hands, which could have broken a bear’s spine, carefully chopped vegetables, stirred the soup, and turned flatbreads on a hot stone beside the fire.

I couldn’t take my eyes off him. There was something extraordinary about it: an orc making supper. An orc taking pains to feed me. An orc who had protected me from Daryan and given me a roof over my head.

“Why are you staring at me?” he asked without turning.

I hesitated. I hadn’t thought he would notice.

“You’re nothing like the orcs in the frightening stories.”

“Humans make up those stories,” he replied. “And humans fear what they don’t know.”

He handed me a bowl of steaming soup, thick and rich with meat and vegetables. He set a freshly cooked flatbread beside the bowl.

“Eat,” he told me.

I ate quickly, greedily, burning my mouth but unable to stop. It was delicious. So delicious I wanted to cry. Warm, filling food. Food I didn’t have to beg for.

Gron sat beside me, watching me eat. He hadn’t touched his own food.

“What about you?” I asked, looking up.

“Later,” he said. “You first. You’re eating for two.”

I lowered my eyes. Shame and gratitude struggled inside me. I wasn’t used to being cared for. Ever since I had been thrown out of my home, I had been on my own. Now this enormous, unfamiliar orc fed me, protected me, and treated me with respect.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

“You’re welcome,” he replied.

We ate in silence. On the whole, he seemed rather reserved, despite his kindness toward me. There was still a wall between us. Perhaps because he was an orc and I was human.

When I finished, Gron took away my bowl. Then he sat beside me, carefully, so as not to bump me. For a long time he said nothing, watching the fire.

“Nina,” he said at last. “There’s something I wanted to ask.”

“Yes?” My heart skipped a beat.

“Have you thought about what you’ll name the baby?”