with him so far, only to another human settlement where she might lose herself among people who would not know her for what she was.
The thought left a strange hollowness in his chest as he watched her slip back out of the tower, empty basket held tight against her hip. She had left him all her bread and even a bit of honey, reaching through the glass to place it in his hand, wrapped neatly in a cloth bundle. She closed his fingers around it with her own, the warmth of her hand reminding him of the chill. And then she had risen to her toes and pressed a kiss against his cheek before turning to go.
He had not felt the cold at all after that.
Bolthorn paced his cage in her absence, unable to keep himself from concern. Because he had sworn she would not be harmed, he told himself. His honor was the only reason he worried. She was strong and intelligent, almost orc in her quick understanding. Her mother must have been a fine woman, for he could not see how she had come by her wit otherwise. A shame, then, that she was dead. A queen of that caliber might have kept Gunnar from such foolish abuses. A queen of that caliber might have protected Arianna without asking her to aid in the murder of her father.
But it was left to him, and he had given her his word. Having done so, he saw no other way to keep it without betraying his people. And it had been Arianna who had reminded him of that duty, too, when all he could think of was wrapping his fingers around the soft throat of the man who would abuse her. Among the Hrimthursar, an assault of that kind would result in exile and life as an outlaw for the offender. These people believed him a beast, a monster, and perhaps it was true, but even orcs treated each other with honor and respect, male or female.
Let us be only stories to frighten their children with at night , he thought. At least with the death of the king, the knowledge of his people might fade back into myth and legend. Safer for everyone, that way. And he was within his rights to act, to save his people from Gunnar’s madness. He would not allow his people to be turned into an army under the command of men. He would not allow orc blood to be spilled for Gunnar’s dreams of conquest and destruction. The humans were weak, but his people did not have the resources to defend themselves against an army after so long left alone in the mountains, safe and protected.
Oh, there was ore enough to arm themselves, but no wood for war machines or stockades. Carving stone into blocks to build walls would take too much time and Gunnar would not wait, if he lived, to strike against them. Orcs did not run when faced with an enemy. They did not believe in retreat. Instead of fading into the heart and veins of the mountains, they would fight. Those who did not die would be taken prisoner, shackled and made into slaves to march at the front of Gunnar’s army when he waged war against the other kings.
All of it could be averted, if Bolthorn escaped. If Arianna had the strength and courage to take her father’s life. He prayed to his Ancestors that she might forgive him, one day, for staining her soul in such a way. For her, there was no honor in it. She was not orc, and she would be leaving her people to confusion at best, if not war. After helping to murder her father, she would have no place among them, even if they never learned the truth. Blood of that kind never washed clean, no matter how virtuous the reasons for spilling it.
He must be sure she knew what she faced. Perhaps he might yet convince her to stay behind, for alone, he could move much more quickly, disappearing into the night and threading through the earth to the safety of the mountains with all that he had learned. It would be enough to save his people from the worst of it, though the knowledge of their existence would spread.
But would it be enough to save her? Not knowing would haunt him for the rest of his days.
He wasn’t certain it was something he could