Page 55 of Orc's Desire

I kneel before the lock on the door but it’s a simple mechanism. There is a small latch that slides to one side, then another that lifts and that will free the lock. I work the mechanism and it gives a satisfying click.

The door isn’t well set on its hinges and scrapes loudly as I pull it open. It sticks part way and I have to jerk to get it to open the rest of the way. Muda is at my side with the torch, but the pool of light barely penetrates past the door frame. The darkness seems to resist the torches efforts to illuminate.

“Hello?” the female voice, so familiar that it tugs at my memory. I know this voice, but I cannot place from where. “Who are you?”

Her feet step into the flickering pool of light. Unshod I can see that they are delicate, definitively female.

“My name is Dilacs,” I say. “I am looking for someone. Perhaps you can help?”

“You’re looking for Gweneth, the Star Person,” she says, stepping fully into the light.

My heart stops. Khiara gasps and Muda drops the torch. The three of us stare in stunned silence.

It’s her. It can’t be… but here? How?

I try to speak but only manage to splutter. Too many words crashing on the way to pass over my tongue. I blink several times, then Muda drops to his knees, bowing his head until it’s resting on the ground. Numb with confusion I lower myself to one knee and bow my head while Khiara mirrors me.

“No, please, rise,” she says. “Dilacs, stand. You must be Khiara. Gweneth spoke of both of you. I am sorry, young one, I do not know your name.”

She knows my name? She knows Gwen? How is any of this possible?

“My Queen,” I manage to say without my voice cracking, and I am not ashamed to take some pride in that fact.

“Dilacs, Khiara, please,” she says, her voice soft and now I know why it is so familiar. It feels like a lifetime ago when I last heard her address her people. She’d reassure us that we would survive, that life was not bleak, nothing like it has become since she disappeared. “Gweneth was taken not long ago. I know the way to her. Help me to help her. Please.”

“Help… her?” Khiara says and I understand his struggle.

This is our Queen. She was supposed to be sick, indisposed, and supposedly she had given control to the Shaman. Yet she is here, not only in the tower, but clearly a prisoner. Her hair, once luxurious and beautiful, is limp and dank. Her eyes and cheeks are sunken. The clothes she wears are little more than a sackcloth, a far cry from the beautiful gowns I have only ever seen her wearing.

But through all the confusion the meaning of her words slices as sharp as any blade. Gweneth has been taken and she knows where she is. That pushes aside everything else. I leap to my feet so fast my head spins. Realizing my lack of deference to my Queen I bow my head to her.

“Please?” I ask, motioning with one arm.

“Of course,” she says, follow me.

I glance at Khiara and he blinks, shaking his head. I shrug, because what else can I do or say, then follow in the wake of our Queen.

32

GWENETH

The seat is hard. My ass is numb. My spine aches both from sitting here and from my inability to relax. The Maulavi have not hurt me, yet. They haven’t even strapped me down. The table, which I am positive is layered with things I don’t want to see or know about, remains thankfully covered.

“You said you and the other four slipped past the lizards guard, how was that?” the Maulavi asks.

It’s the same question, varied a dozen times or more, coming over and over all in an attempt to slip me up. Through it all I have stuck to the script. Rosalind was smart. She drilled us on our story, over and over. Then I was resentful, but now I am more thankful than I could ever put into words. We repeated this story so many times that it simply flows out of my mouth. All the fear, the doubts, the concerns, none of that can override the story.

“I’ve answered this,” I say. “Many times.”

“Yes, but you see,” the Maulavi says, stopping in front of me but he’s staring at the other Maulavi who is leaning against the wall in a nonchalant way. I think he’s trying to feign disinterest but there is no doubt in my mind he is paying close attention. “Something doesn’t make sense, does it now?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say.

He growls as he whirls and rushes towards me. Fear grips me tight, and I lean back into the chair, straining to be clear of the incoming attack. His face is an inch from mine. His spittle sprays in my face as he yells.

“Liar!”

I’m trembling in terror. I’ve pushed this as far as I can. The only thing I haven’t told them is the truth, that I am here to stop a war, not start it. Even if I do, they won’t believe me. They’ll only take it as a certainty that I am here to undermine them. To destroy, because that is what they would do.

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