Page 102 of Halfling
“Don’t.”
They stood there in silence, not close enough to touch. The sharp angle of her shoulders told him not to come closer, but Orek couldn’t bring himself to leave. His throat worked to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.
“It’s really you?” Orla murmured.
“Yes, mother.”
Sorcha hissed a curse beside him.
The sound drew his mother’s gaze, and she took in Sorcha at his side. Her look became brittle, an icy rage glittering in her eyes as she looked between him and Sorcha with growing disgust.
“What’re you doing with her?” she demanded.
“He’s taking me home,” Sorcha said quickly. Then, shocked, “You’re—” She took two steps forward, bridging the gap between Orek and his mother. In a voice pitched low so only they could hear, she asked, “You’re his mother?”
Orla’s gaze flickered back to Orek, though her eyes wouldn’t rise above his chin. She acknowledged it with a single, jerky nod.
Sorcha’s mouth opened and closed twice as she looked between the two of them, as if she expected they would jump into one another’s arms with sobs of relief and joy. Her expression grew troubled, almost desperate as Orek and his mother continued to stand in stiff silence, and he could feel Sorcha willing him to go to Orla.
But he stayed where he was, knowing he was closer than his mother ever wanted him to be.
The silence stretched so long that he’d almost convinced his feet to move, but then Orla’s lips twisted, and she stole quick glances at his face before looking away again.
“You’re grown,” she said, her brows pinched. “You look likethem.”
A stone of disgust and despair weighed down Orek’s stomach, and his gaze dropped away to the cobblestones. To any orc, he looked entirely too human to be full kin—but to humans, with his green skin and pointed ears, he passed for full orc-kin.
He’d never, never pass for human. It was why Sorcha had him in a hood and gloves.
Don’t be seen with an orc.
“No.” Sorcha’s voice was a blade, cutting through the thick mire between him and Orla. “He looks like you. I see it.” She pressed herself into his side, clutching his hand in both of hers. “Your son saved me from the clan. From slavers, too. He’s the best male I’ve ever met.”
His heart thumped loudly in his chest, but it wasn’t enough to crack the thickening ice gathering around it.
The creak of a door did draw his attention, and he watched as a lean human man with a shaved head but bushy auburn beard peered out. Seeing him and Sorcha there, the man quickly stepped outside to stand with Orla, his arm going around her shoulders.
His mother barely moved, but he saw how she leaned into the comfort, her body swaying just a little toward the man’s.
“Orla, you all right? Who’s this?” the man said, brown eyes bouncing between the three of them.
His mother’s mouth thinned, refusing to say the words. Sorcha’s fell open with a huff of indignation.
Before she could say anything, Orek squeezed her hand.
“He treats you well?” Orek asked, nodding at the man.
His mother’s hardness cracked just a little, the lines around her mouth smoothing ever so slightly. She almost looked soft when she gazed up at the man at her side.
“Hugh is a healer. He found me. Took care of me.”
Though the frown lingered, Orla’s expression went pensive when she looked at Orek again. Perhaps it even softened toward him, too, but he didn’t wait to see.
An incoherent, impotent rage brewed inside him, needing out,awayfrom all the eyes. He felt like a vulnerable youngling again, desperate for his mother, terrified of everything that moved, and hehated it.
With a brusque nod, he said, “Goodbye, mother,” and turned away.
He heard Sorcha lingering to tell Orla something, about her home village and where to find them, perhaps, but he didn’t listen. His vision narrowed to straight ahead, his breathing coming shallow and fast as he ate up the distance between him and the forest. When he heard Sorcha following him, he lengthened his stride, needing out of this fucking town full of humans and smells and animal shit.
