Honor Among Orcs (Orc Saga) (12 page)

Bolthorn fed the fire and watched the sun sink slowly behind the trees. He’d have to wake her soon, carry her if he had to, but they had to keep moving. Tonight they must travel as far from the castle as they could, better if they made it beyond the next village. Within the trees, thicker ahead, they might travel by daylight as well as darkness, but he could not hope the forest would follow their path.

He laid his palm against her forehead. She was damp with sweat in spite of her shivering, but her skin did not feel so warm as it had before. He slid his hand to her cheek and her eyelids fluttered.

“Bolthorn?” Her voice cracked, and he poured her a cup of wine well-mixed with water.

“Drink this,” he murmured, helping her to sit up.

She leaned heavily against his side, her eyes closing again as she sipped from the cup. “Thank you.”

“How are you feeling?” The cup slipped from her fingers, and he caught it, steadying her hand.

“I hurt,” she rasped. “My back, my front, my side. Every breath is a torture.”

He urged the cup back to her lips and she drank again. “Tell me what happened.”

“You fell,” she rested her head against his shoulder. “You fell, and you wouldn’t wake up.”

“I remember falling,” he said grimly. “After that.”

She took a shuddering breath. “I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t move you—you’re so heavy. So I thought, maybe, if I found the right words…”

“What words?” She was shivering again, so he tucked the cloak more closely around her body. “It’s important that you tell me, Arianna, that I do not harm you any further.”

“I—I bound us together.”

“Yes,” he said. “But I must know the rest. The exact words.”

Her lips moved for a moment without sound, her forehead creasing. “Let your life be bound to mine—no. That wasn’t… Let my life be bound to yours, and what strength I have steady you. Let our hearts beat together, even as our thoughts laugh, and my health serve yours, as yours must serve mine. Let us move forward together, or not at all.”

He closed his eyes and prayed for patience even as his heart twisted. She had no idea. No idea at all what she had done.

“Were those the right words?” she asked softly.

Binding her life to his, giving him her strength, even her health. He scrubbed his face. If anything happened—if he were ever injured again, it would strike straight through to her, and she would not even understand…

“I didn’t know what else to do, Bolthorn. I just knew you had to wake. We had to keep moving.”

He sighed and tucked her head beneath his chin. Through all the dirt, her hair still smelled of roses. “I am unworthy of such a vow, Princess.”

Unworthy even of her.

In spite of her protests, Bolthorn insisted on carrying her, wrapped snuggly in her cloak as well as his. He would not even let her hold the basket, telling her to sleep, if she could. She rested her head against his shoulder, cradled against his chest, and closed her eyes, but it didn’t help.

“You’ll tire yourself into a fever again,” she said.

He snorted. “Unlikely.”

“You would make better time without me to slow you,” she went on. “And even with my father dead, you said yourself that Lord Alviss’s men knew of you. His lands are in the foothills. They could be marching for the passage even now.”

“Together or not at all, Princess.” He held her tighter. “We’ve both sworn as much. I will not leave you behind.”

“You risk your people.”

“And you have risked your life. Traded it for mine in every way possible. No,” he said, his eyes glowing. “We go on as we have begun. There is no other way, and if there were, I would still spend my strength carrying you forward.” He fell silent for a moment and when he spoke again, his voice was low and rough, his eyes dark with pain. “It is yours, Arianna. Your strength, your health. How else should I spend such a gift, but in your protection?”

She pressed her face into the curve of his neck and said nothing. If only there could be something other than honor and blood between them. Something more than debts and repayments. She had not meant for this, when she made that vow. She had only wanted him to wake, to live, to go on.

Her heart ached, a different pain altogether than the one in her side, and the too-tightly-stretched skin of her back and chest.

It only made it harder, she decided, now that he owed her everything.

They did not stop at dawn, still hidden by the trees, though Bolthorn slowed, picking his way more carefully through the brush, which had thickened considerably as they traveled. She was beyond anything familiar now, for even when she had gone riding, she had not been allowed out of sight of the castle itself.

Three times they paused at some sound only Bolthorn heard, crouching behind fallen trees or blackberry and whiteberry bushes and waiting for other travelers to pass them by. Hunters searching for game, for the most part, and children playing in the woods. Thank the Ancestors the trees weren’t bare, and the bushes still had their leaves, though she could have wished they were still green, instead of shades of rust and sunsets—the better to hide Bolthorn’s green skin.

“We must be nearing the village.”

Bolthorn grunted, setting her on her feet. “Stay here.”

She frowned and he ignored it, slipping off into the woods. When she wasn’t in his arms, he moved like a ghost, silent and invisible. He’d startled her more than once, coming back, his eyes crinkling with unspilled laughter, even when she didn’t make a sound.

“I can hear your heart leap,” he had admitted at last. “And the hitch of your breath.”

He returned before she had time to worry this time, drops of water sparkling in his hair. He caught her hand in his and led her back the way he had gone. Even the few steps they walked left her panting, clutching her side, and he swung her back up into his arms.

“Better?” he asked, his breath tickling her face.

She sighed, doing her best to ignore the pressure of his arm against her still-stinging back. “I can breathe, at least.”

“We’ll rest soon,” he promised. “Just beyond this slope.”

“You, too?”

He smiled, baring his tusks. “Me, too.” They crested the slope and he nodded. A waterfall had turned the valley to white mist and green moss, brighter than his skin. Even the trees were coated with it, blinding the eyes of the birch trunks. “Just there. Damp, but safe at least. And no bears to ward off.”

“How did you know?” she asked.

“I’ve been listening to it for some time, a dull roar in my ears.” He started down the slope. “I thought it was your blood at first, but you were dead asleep.”

She could only just hear the rush of water as they moved toward it. The air stuck to her skin, heavy and wet. She shivered. “No fire.”

“We’re too near the village to risk one, waterfall or no, but at least there will be water to wash with.”

Arianna let her head fall to his shoulder and pressed her fingers to the warm, bare skin of his chest. His lips brushed against her forehead, by accident or design, she did not know, and her face flushed with heat.

“I’ll keep you warm enough, Princess,” he murmured. “You have my word.”

CHAPTER NINE

There it was. Not quite like the waterfall after all, but the roar of her blood as her heart picked up speed made him smile all the same. She was easy to fluster outside of her castle, and the more distance they put between them and that tower, the lighter he felt. Perhaps that was the difference then, not her, but his own responses.

Inside the mirror, he had not dared to dream, but now? She had already bound her life, her entire being, to him. She might not have understood fully the meaning, but he did. He could not send her away to the elves now, or leave her in the foothills with her people. She had seen to that with her vow, chosen him. A gift he was determined to deserve, in friendship or…

Or.

He was still orc, twisted and tortured in form. Unfit. All the more so, if she was part elf.

Her hand touched his cheek, tracing the clan-marks where they licked toward his nose, then brushing across his forehead. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, Princess,” he said, forcing his thoughts aside. “Only that you must be tired.”

“You don’t let me get tired.” Her forehead creased. “But you must be. Your side isn’t hurting is it? I still have the herbs to wrap it with.”

“If it were, you would know it before me. But it was the poison on the blade that undid me, not the wound itself.” The mist had thickened so much it dampened her hair, drops of water clinging to the strands. The less time they spent in it the better. Her cloak was already beading with the moisture. It was one thing to wash themselves, but quite another to soak her clothes, clean through. She’d never get dry again. “Hold on tightly, Princess.”

Her good arm wrapped around his neck and she pressed her face into his shoulder, her eyes shut against the water now spraying them from the falls. He picked his way carefully over the slick, green rocks, grateful for his bare feet. Her leather slippers would never have managed the slime of moss and algae, though had she been well, it would have made it much easier to carry her on his back. Her shoulder could not have supported her weight, now, though she would hardly have admitted it.

He leaped from the last boulder into the water-carved cave beyond, and Arianna squeaked, her heart beating wildly, loud even over the roar of the falls. He chuckled and set her to her feet inside, dropping the basket beside her. “Safe and sound, Princess. And better than swimming beneath it, yes?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” She leaned against the curve of damp stone, her hand over her heart. “You can’t really think you can find your way out again in the dark?”

“As long as there is starlight, I will manage.”

“You’ll drown us both!”

He snorted. “Can you not swim?”

“Not in this gown, I can’t.”

“Arianna.” He stepped forward, framing her face in his hands and dropping his forehead to hers. “I will not let you drown. I will not let any harm come to you, I swear it. Is it not proof enough that I will not even let you tire yourself walking? You are safe here, and I will carry you safely back out again when night comes.”

“I hate this, Bolthorn.” Her fingers wrapped around his and her eyes closed again. “I hate being so helpless. I hate that you have to carry me.”

“It’s the poison that tires you so—tires us both. It should not last.” He kissed her forehead and drew back, before the softness of her skin made him forget what he was. “Come. It is not so damp deeper in.”

Not so damp, but colder, and dark enough to limit even his sight. After he’d seen her fed, Bolthorn had made a bed for her, one cloak beneath to keep the chill of the stone from her body, and the other tucked tightly around her on top. Still she shivered, and when he touched her skin, it burned, the mild fever she had fought all day blossoming into something much worse.

“Here, Princess.” He drew her into his lap, leaning back against the stone himself, and wrapped the bottom cloak over them both. “Better, now?”

She shivered again, hiding her face in the curve of his neck. He stroked her hair, her back, and she sighed relief as the tremors eased. “You’re so much warmer than the rock.”

And growing warmer still, the way she burrowed into his body. He closed his eyes, breathing her in. He should have made her lie this way to start with, but having her so near, her softness within his arms… She was temptation and torture, and bound or not, he dared not press her. Would not risk frightening her when so much had already been decided by her vow.

“Go to sleep, Arianna,” he murmured, tucking her head beneath his chin.

He wished he could do the same.

Bolthorn’s movement woke her some time later, and she lifted her head. He touched her cheek, following the line of her jaw, the column of her neck. She shivered when his fingertips brushed her collarbone.

“Cold?” he asked, his voice low.

She swallowed and shook her head, wishing it were not so dark. She would have liked to see his eyes, amber and warm. He brushed his knuckles against her skin and her heart hammered in her ears.

“So fast,” he murmured.

“You’re tickling me,” she lied, bringing her hand to his face.

Her fingers found his mouth, curving in a smile against her skin. “As you say, Princess.”

She traced his lips, not nearly so tattered now that he’d had time to heal. He caught her by the wrist when she reached his tusks.

“Don’t,” he said.

Stung, she pulled her hand away, grateful he could not see the flush in her cheeks, and untangled herself from the cloak, that she might rise. She had not meant to impose herself—to presume. No matter how cold she had been, she never should have let him hold her this way. Nothing but heartbreak could come from it.

He stopped her, his arm around her waist, and she stiffened. She did not want to hope, but even her heart seemed to hesitate.

His voice came low and rough. “In the darkness, I do not have to be orc.”

“Oh,” she breathed. This time when she brought her hand to his mouth, he did not stop her. She touched the tusks on either side, then the place she knew his tattoos swirled in patterns she didn’t understand. How could he not have known, all this time? “But it’s because you are orc.”

“Arianna…” He cupped her cheek, his fingers curling into her hair.

When he kissed her, his lips were soft and warm, and so gentle. She forgot to breathe. She forgot everything but him. The clutch of his hand in the fabric at her waist. The way his whole body cupped hers, drawing her closer. She needed to be closer, needed more. His lips parted, his mouth like spiced wine, more potent than the strongest drink. Beneath her hand, his heart thundered as quickly as her own.
Let our hearts beat together…

He groaned and turned his face away, tusks brushing against her lips as he broke the kiss. His breathing was as ragged as hers. She dropped her forehead to his shoulder, waiting for her heart to slow. It did not seem as though it ever would.

Bolthorn shifted her gently to the ground beside him and rose, leaving her suddenly cold and more—her head was spinning.

“We should go,” he said, his back to her. “Before—before we lose more moonlight.”

Before.
Before.

And how much of that kiss had been her own desire, beating through his heart? Just like her strength and her health. Was that why he had stopped her, rejected her, pushed her away?

“Of course,” she said softly. Of course.

He flinched at the words, but what more could he say? Before he rolled her beneath him and parted her thighs? Before he claimed her body as well as her blood? No. He had taken enough from her already without adding that binding. Not before she understood what it would mean. To him, to her future. And the risks.

Orcs did not take pleasure without love. They were not made for it. They were not made for pleasure at all, but for the thrill of the hunt. It was the elves who had reminded them of other ways, other joys that did not end in death. It came so easily to them, elves and humans, even the dragons, but for orcs it was something else, something harder to find. And without love, those passions were violent, even cruel. Twisted by the torture from which they had been born.

Among his own kind, it would matter less. Orcs were strong, and male and female both knew the risks. But with a human, frail and so easily broken, he must be certain. They must both be certain.

“There is a little bread still, and smoked venison if your stomach can hold it,” he told her. “I’ll refill the empty skins with water, and then we should both take the time to wash.”

He did not trust himself to look back.

He had offended her. He had not been sure when he had helped her to bandage the worst of the marks upon her back, thinking it only embarrassment or modesty that left her so stiff and silent, but he could not fail to realize her feelings now. She kept her arms crossed over her chest while he carried her, though until this night, she had always leaned close, her head upon his shoulder. Now, she kept her face turned away, not even meeting his gaze when he spoke to her.

Was it the kiss or his breaking of it that had upset her so? Perhaps he had misread her, seeing only what he wished for in her response.

“Let me down,” she said suddenly.

He hesitated, but when she moved as if she might jump, he set her to her feet, lest she twist her ankle in addition to her other discomforts. Not that walking in the dark did not risk the same, for the trees had grown denser still, fura pine now, more than oak, and thick with vines and roots knotting beneath the deadfall. It made for uneven ground, and less light than he might have liked for her weaker eyes.

She smoothed her skirts and set off northward. Bolthorn followed, cautious of the rigid line of her back. She stumbled over a tree root almost at once, and he caught her by the waist, but she only glared at him in response. He let her go, ignoring the ache in his heart as he had been ignoring the ache in his side since she had stolen the worst of his pain. Did his touch offend her now, too? Perhaps it was the guard. The keeper of her secrets. But if she had desired her Rodric, why had she insisted on leaving? Why had she not let the boy smuggle her out of the castle and run away with him, instead?