Page 8 of The War God's Woman

I inhale, letting the musty scent settle in my lungs until my racing heart finds a steadier rhythm.At least it’s not a prison cell, I try to reassure myself.And it could be worse. They haven’t harmed me, yet.

Placing my satchel on the ground, I kneel to inspect the fur bedding. It’s coarse, but not filthy. Possibly the orcs think this arrangement more “traditional” than a fortress chamber. Or maybe the fortress’s rumor mill is so rife with speculationthat Ghorzag decided I need to be out of sight. My mind races, piecing together possibilities.

“Lirienne.” The unexpected voice nearly makes me jump out of my skin.

I spin around, heart pounding. An orc woman peers at me from behind the flap, her dark eyes luminous in the tent’s gloom. She looks younger than the female warrior who led me here, with a slender build and a small pouch slung across her chest. She lifts the flap higher to let in more light.

I try to steady my breathing. “You… startled me.”

She inclines her head in apology. “I am Nagra, apprentice to the clan’s shaman. I saw them bring you here.” She steps inside cautiously, her gaze darting around as if ensuring no one else lurks in the shadows.

My pulse still skitters from the sudden surprise. “Is there something you need?”

Nagra wets her lips, as though choosing her words carefully. “I wanted to check on you.” She pauses, then adds with a trace of wry humor, “And to ensure you’re not about to run screaming into the hills.”

I manage a dry laugh. “I appreciate the concern. But if I tried to run, I doubt I’d make it ten steps beyond these gates.”

The orc apprentice nods, eyes flicking to my left wrist. “They haven’t chained you or forced a guard to hover over your shoulder, but the clan is… watchful. Many blame you for the War God’s disfavor.”

I tighten my grip on the edge of the makeshift bed. “I heard. They think I’m a curse.”

She sighs, stepping closer so we can speak in softer tones. “The clan is scared. We’ve been experiencing these bad signs for weeks—flooded fields, rotting crops, livestock succumbing to strange illnesses. Our High Priest, Druzh, claims it’s the War God’s anger. And now you arrive, forging a taboo union withour chieftain.” Nagra’s shoulders slump. “It’s the perfect storm. Everything that’s gone wrong is pinned on you.”

My face flushes hot. “That’s hardly fair. I’ve been here less than a day.”

“Fairness doesn’t matter when people are desperate.” She exhales. “I’m only an apprentice. My mentor is the official shaman, but he’s grown old and sleeps through half the day. He tries to glean the War God’s will from the bones and runes, but… the clan wants a scapegoat, something to blame for their troubles.”

I run my fingers through my hair, pulling it aside to let the cooler air reach my neck. “So, because I’m a human—an outsider—I’m the easiest target for their rage.”

Nagra offers a half-smile, half-grimace. “That’s how it often goes. Orcs don’t like external meddling, especially from a people we once fought on sight.” She hesitates, searching my face with keen curiosity. “Why did you come, then? Knowing you’d be stepping into a den of hostility.”

The question churns in my chest, dredging up guilt and pride and fear all at once. My father’s gentle voice slips into my thoughts, reminding me of the farmland I left behind. “My village was threatened with a devastating raid,” I explain, voice tight with emotion. “They needed a volunteer to appease the orcs. I… I couldn’t let them force some unwilling girl into this.”

Nagra’s eyes soften. “So you sacrificed yourself.”

“In a way, yes.” I force a shaky breath. “But part of me also believed, or hoped, that this alliance might do some good—spare lives on both sides. Perhaps bring a chance for peace.”

Her expression shifts, as though my words strike a chord. “You’re either very brave or very foolish.”

I huff a small laugh. “Probably both.”

She places a hand against the wooden pole supporting the tent’s roof. “Bravery and foolishness often wear the same face,as the War God’s legends say. In any case, you’ll find few allies here. Orcs are a proud people, and Ghorzag’s decision to… marry you, for lack of a better term, has ruffled many tusks.”

My heart flutters at the memory of Ghorzag’s imposing figure in the Great Hall—the quiet authority he wore like a second skin. “He said it was for the clan’s future. Does he truly believe that?”

Nagra nods. “Yes. Ghorzag isn’t reckless. He’s never been. He’s more open-minded than most, but that’s also what troubles the elders. They think he’s letting the clan slip from the War God’s favor by entertaining alliances with humans.”

She pauses, then drops her voice to a whisper. “There are rumors that a pilgrimage or a rite will be performed soon, to determine whether you are truly cursed in the War God’s eyes.”

A chill skitters down my spine. “A rite?”

“An invocation, perhaps. Druzh and the priests will demand signs—something from the War God to confirm or deny your presence here. If they deem you a curse, the clan might insist on your removal—” Nagra’s eyes dart downward, as though reluctant to speak the darker possibility.

I swallow. Removal. Exile. Or worse.

Silence stretches. I clench the folds of my dress in my fists, frustration building behind my ribcage. I can almost hear my younger sister’s voice calling me a dreamer, the one who always believed in gentleness. Now, I wonder if I’ve strolled into a lion’s den blindly.

“Thank you for warning me,” I manage, voice wavering. “I’m not sure there’s much I can do, though.”

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