Page 31 of The War God's Woman

“Stay,” she says, voice trembling. “Just… for a moment.”

I yearn to. But a chieftain’s duty won’t allow it. “I must reassure the clan before chaos takes root.” My tone is gentler than usual, though. “But I promise you—I’ll come back.”

She searches my eyes, then nods. “All right. And Ghorzag… please be careful.”

A grim smile forms on my face. “Always.”

Stepping out into the courtyard, I find the night sky cloaked in stars—a serene contrast to the storm in my heart. The fortress stands in shadowed vigil, torches flickering along the walls. Every watchful gaze seems to burn into me, as though the sentries sense the shift that just occurred.

I clench my fists. Focus. There is no place for guilt or second-guessing, not when the clan needs leadership. I move to the main hall, where I expect to find Karzug and other warriors finalizing plans to cleanse or seal the cistern. As I pass a group of orcs huddled by a brazier, their conversation stills, eyes tracking me with an intensity that prickles my skin.

One orc, a woman named Raagha, frowns openly. “Chieftain,” she greets, yet her tone is loaded with unasked questions.

“Trouble?” I demand, stopping short.

She hesitates, exchanging looks with her companions. “They’re saying the War God grows more wrathful each day. First the orchard floods, then the livestock deaths, and now the water.” She shrugs, voice dropping to a hushed note. “Some think your decision to… keep the human is provoking his anger.”

My temper flares. I force it down, giving a tight nod. “We have an enemy among us, not the War God’s anger. Spread the word. Anyone found stirring panic will answer to me.”

Her eyes flick away, uncertain. “As you command.”

I leave them behind, aware that no matter how firmly I deny the War God’s displeasure, many orcs want to believe in a curse.It’s easier to blame the unknown than to accept that one of our own might be a traitor.

I reach the main hall to find Karzug pacing before a large wooden table spread with maps of the fortress. A group of warriors hovers, faces drawn with fatigue and worry. At my entrance, Karzug glances up. “Chieftain,” he says in relief, stepping aside so I can see the maps.

“Any progress?” I ask, scanning the rough sketches of tunnels and cistern networks.

He shakes his head. “We’ve blocked off the eastern cistern. A few orcs will begin draining and scrubbing it at first light. But rumors are already churning. Some claim the War God himself spat into our water.”

My teeth grind. “Let me guess: they blame Lirienne?”

A tense silence answers. At last, one older warrior clears his throat. “They do. Even some who were neutral before. The idea of curses runs deep among our people.”

I pin him with a glare. “She’s not the cause. We suspect foul play. Keep searching for footprints, hidden passages—anything that might reveal how someone accessed the cistern.”

The warrior nods reluctantly. “Yes, Chieftain.”

Karzug’s gaze flicks over me, faint suspicion in his eyes, as though he senses a shift in my demeanor. “You were… absent earlier,” he says, measured. “We could’ve used you to calm the initial panic.”

I stiffen. “I was checking on something,” I answer curtly. The memory of Lirienne’s tent, her body pressed against mine, flares hot in my mind. I force my expression neutral. “Now I’m here.”

An awkward pause. Then Karzug turns back to the maps. “All right. We’ll keep searching.”

The others quietly disperse, leaving me and Karzug alone in the vast hall. Torches sputter on the stone walls, their lightdancing across the tapestries that depict orcish victories of old. Karzug studies me for a long moment.

“Ghorzag,” he says at last, voice low enough not to echo. “Be cautious. The clan is on edge, and anything you do—anything that appears soft toward the human—will magnify distrust.”

My jaw tightens. “I know.”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “Is there… something else going on with her? You seem more unsettled than usual.”

A spark of protectiveness flares. I force a scoff. “I’m unsettled because of sabotage, Karzug. That’s all. Stick to your duties.”

He exhales, clearly wanting to press but refraining. “Understood.” Then he turns, leaving me alone with the flickering torches and the weight of my own secrets.

I prowl the fortress corridors, checking on guard posts, quietly listening for rumors. Everywhere I go, I find the same undercurrent of unease: whispered speculations about what might be driving these “omens.” Some orcs voice open hostility toward Lirienne, saying the clan should cast her out and appease the War God. Others pin their hopes on me to uncover a mortal saboteur.

Uncertainty gnaws at my insides, fueled by the memory of the frantic, consuming desire I just shared with Lirienne. A single night’s passion doesn’t magically solve anything; if anything, it raises the stakes—for me personally, and for her. Now, I can’t separate my duty to protect the clan from my protective instinct toward her. If the clan discovers the intensity of our connection, those who doubt me might take matters into their own hands.

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