SWNOVELS Her Orc Warrior: Chapter 20
Silence stretches between us, charged and uncomfortable. I glance from Vark to Ozork and back, trying to guess whether they’re joking or not.
“Wren is human,” I say. “She’s not fae.”
The words are harsh, and I spit out the last word, more from fear than any real revulsion. The fae lands supposedly exist in the east, far from the borders of the human realm of Styria, but I’d never heard of a fae coming anywhere close to any of our towns. They’re a secretive folk, much more so than the orcs, and I’d never seen one in my life. I’ve heard folk tales about their powers, of course, but that’s all they were—entertaining stories to tell by the fire to scare the children.
Then I stare at the two males sitting in front of me, watching me silently. Their green skin, pointed ears, and massive shoulders are a harsh reminder of the fact that sometimes, the stories are true. Not the orcs’ brutality or maliciousness, but the fact that they exist, living in a kingdom more prosperous than ours.
I try to swallow past the lump in my throat, but my voice still comes out weak as I ask, “Why would you say that?”
Vark glances over at Ozork, who motions for him to continue.
“She speaks to the horses,” Vark says.
I scoff at that immediately. “She’s a little girl. Of course she speaks to horses.”
But he shakes his head. “No, she communicates with them. She told me the second day out of Ultrup that Comet had a stone in his hoof and that it hurt him.” He scrubs a hand over his hair, then drops it back in his lap. “I thought nothing of it at first because the horse wasn’t even limping, but she insisted. I checked, and the stone was there, lodged under the edge of the iron shoe. And she wouldn’t touch the iron. Said it itched her skin.”
In all the stories, fae were vulnerable to iron, that much was true. I’d never noticed Wren disliked touching it, but then she was four years old. She didn’t have a reason to be using any heavy tools.
I straighten my shoulders. “That doesn’t mean she speaks to the horses. She could have—” I try to find a logical explanation. “She could have seen the stone when the horse lifted its foot.”
Vark raises his eyebrow at me, and I flush, knowing full well that my theory is unlikely. Still, that’s not proof enough for me to believe that my daughter is anything other than human.
“She left no trace today when she escaped from camp,” Ozork says. “On damp ground, anyone would have left a trail of footprints, unless they were highly trained in obscuring them. She didn’t leave us a single clue as to where she went. That was why we were so worried. We had no way of tracking her. Even her scent was obscured.”
Korr walks over, his steps measured, and crouches beside me. “And I didn’t hear her at all in the forest. If she was a human child, or even a small orc, I would have heard her crashing behind us. I only caught the faintest whiff of a scent, and if I didn’t know her from before, I would have missed it completely.”
“She didn’t want to be found,” Ozork concludes, “so she hid herself from us.”
My hands tremble, so I tuck them between my thighs. Then I remember what Wren told me on the riverbank, and my heart sinks.
“What is it?” Vark asks immediately.
I stare at him in dismay. “She-she said she had a little light to guide her through the woods. It told her it would lead her back to camp.” I glance at Ozork, imploring. “She said you told her a fairy story, so I thought that was all it was, her imagination running wild.”
His mouth pulls to the side. “I did tell her that story. But if she said the light guided her…”
“The old ones would never show themselves to a human,” Vark says. “They barely even show themselves to us.”
My head rings with this new knowledge. “You’ve seen them? The fae?”
“Not up close.” Vark leans back on his hands, gazing at the star-studded sky. “But sometimes in the woods, you see movement from the corner of your eye. And feel like something is watching you, hiding until you pass.”
I’ve never had that sensation, but then I’ve spent most of my life in the city, far from any wilderness such as this one.
“You wouldn’t have seen any,” Ozork adds. “They dislike humans.”
“But they must have sensed Wren was one of their kind,” Vark muses. “If one spoke to her.”
I stare at Wren’s sleeping form on the other side of the fire. She’d been alone in the forest with a fae creature, unprotected. Bile rises in my throat at the thought of it, and I swallow it, then ask, “Are they dangerous?”
The orcs are quiet for a moment, and dread rises in me.
“Would they hurt her?” I demand.
If they confirm, I won’t let Wren out of my sight.
“I cannot claim they’re always benign,” Ozork says hesitantly. “But I am certain they wouldn’t hurt one of their own—especially a child.”
It’s not the complete assurance that I want, but it does soothe some of my fear.
“What does that mean going forward?” I ask weakly.
Vark shrugs. “Nothing much. We’ll see what her abilities are as she grows up. You won’t love her any less, will you?”
I scowl at him. “Of course not.”
I can’t imagine not loving my daughter just because she’s not exactly like me.
Ozork gives me a small smile. “Wren is lucky to have you for a mother.”
I look over at Wren again, my heart heavy. “I’ll tell her tomorrow.”
“About her father?” Vark asks. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I say. “It’s not right to keep it a secret like that from her.”