Chapter 1

Seris

The gates of Azhgar rise before me like the ribcage of some ancient beast. Steel spikes jut from crumbling concrete, and bone totems hang from rusted chains that clatter in the bitter wind. Smoke billows from forges built into the hollowed remains of what might once have been office buildings, and the acrid smell of molten metal mingles with the sweet stench of roasting meat.

I press one hand against my belly, feeling the child shift restlessly beneath my ribs. The weight of him—or her—pulls at my spine, and my back screams in protest after days of walking through frozen wasteland. My boots squelch in the muddy slush that pools before the massive iron gates, and I can feel the guards watching me from their perches atop the ramparts.

The wind cuts through my threadbare cloak like a blade, and I pull it tighter around my shoulders. Every breath forms a white puff in the frigid air, and my fingers have gone numb despite the worn gloves I wear.

"You there!" 

The voice booms down from above, harsh and guttural in the way of all orc speech. I crane my neck to see two guards leaning over the wall, their tusks gleaming in the weak afternoon light. One spits, and the glob lands uncomfortably close to my feet.

"Move along, human. This is no place for your kind."

I shake my head, the simple movement making my vision swim with exhaustion. "I can't."

The guards exchange glances, and one barks out a laugh that echoes off the stone. "Can't? What's that supposed to mean? You got legs, don't you?"

"I'm with child." I cradle my belly with both hands now, feeling the baby kick as if responding to the tension in my voice. "I need shelter."

Their laughter doubles, cruel and mocking. The second guard slaps his companion on the shoulder, nearly sending him toppling from his post.

"Not our problem, soft-skin! Find yourself a human settlement if you want to birth your spawn."

Heat flares in my chest despite the cold, and I straighten my spine as much as my condition allows. "I'm carrying the child of Vargath."

The laughter dies as if I've slapped them both across their scarred faces. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the distant clang of hammers on anvils and the low murmur of voices from within the settlement. One guard's hand drifts to the hilt of his weapon, while the other leans forward, squinting down at me with newfound interest.

"What did you say?"

My heart hammers against my ribs, but I force my voice to remain steady. "Vargath of Azhgar. This child is his."

The guards lean forward, their expressions shifting from mockery to something darker. Recognition flickers across their scarred faces, and one nudges the other with his elbow.

"That's the translator. The one who worked the summer negotiations."

"Aye, I remember her now." The second guard's voice drops to a growl. "Thought she looked familiar."

Relief floods through me, warming my frozen limbs. They know me. They remember my service to their clan, the long hours I spent bridging the gap between their tongue and mine during the territorial disputes.

"Then you know I speak truth. Vargath and I—"

"We know what you are." The first guard spits again, this time hitting the ground directly at my feet. "A human who spread her legs for our warleader."

The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. My hands tighten protectively around my belly, and the baby responds with a sharp kick that makes me wince.

"That's not—"

"Save your lies for someone stupid enough to believe them." The second guard hefts his spear, the iron tip catching what little light filters through the grey clouds. "Vargath's to be mated to Korrath's daughter come spring. Think we'd let some human bastard-bearer ruin that alliance?"

"But the child—"

"Means nothing." The first guard's tusks gleam as he bares them in a snarl. "Could be any human's spawn. Could be a dozen different fathers for all we know."

Rage burns through the exhaustion that weighs down my limbs. I take a step closer to the gate, ignoring the way my swollen ankles protest.

"You ignorant fools! I was there when your precious negotiations nearly collapsed because neither side could understand the other's demands about water rights. I was the one who—"

"Who opened her legs like the desperate little soft-skin she is." The second guard laughs, the sound harsh as grinding stone. "Think we don't know how humans operate? Batting your eyelashes and spreading your thighs to get what you want."

"I earned my place at those negotiations!"

"You earned a quick tumble in Vargath's furs, nothing more." The first guard points his spear at me, the tip wavering dangerously close to my throat. "Now move along before we decide to save everyone the trouble and gut you where you stand."

The threat hangs in the air between us, cold and sharp as the winter wind. I stare up at them, these warriors I once sat beside during evening meals, who praised my quick tongue and quicker mind when translations grew complex. Now they look at me like I'm something that crawled out of a sewer.

"I have nowhere else to go."

"Not our problem."

The finality in those three words breaks something inside me. Tears blur my vision, hot against my frozen cheeks, and I stumble backward from the gate. My legs shake with more than cold now, and each step sends shooting pains up my spine.

"Fine." The word comes out as barely a whisper. "Fine."

I turn away from the gates, from the warmth and safety I'd imagined waiting beyond them. The wind cuts through my cloak like it's made of cobwebs, and I wrap my arms around my belly as another contraction ripples through me. Not labor pains—not yet—but the warning aches that tell me my body grows tired of carrying this burden.

The wall stretches endlessly in both directions, broken concrete and rusted rebar creating small alcoves where the wind might not reach. I stumble toward the nearest one, my vision swimming with exhaustion and unshed tears. The baby kicks frantically, as if sensing my distress, and I press my hand against the spot where tiny feet drum against my ribs.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to my unborn child. "I'm so sorry."

The alcove provides little shelter, but it's better than standing exposed in the open. I sink down against the cold stone, my legs finally giving out completely. The ground beneath me is frozen solid, and within moments the chill seeps through my thin cloak and into my bones.

I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the wall.

"If there's anyone out there who might be listening," I murmur, my breath forming white clouds in the frigid air. "Please. I don't ask for much. Just... don't let my child die because of my mistakes."

The cold wraps around me like a shroud, and darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision. My last coherent thought before unconsciousness takes me is a prayer that someone—anyone—might find mercy for a fool who believed love could conquer the weight of tradition.

In the fevered space between waking and sleep, I hear his voice again. Deep and rough like gravel, but gentle when he spoke my name.

"Seris."

His hands had been so large against my skin, calloused from years of weapon-work but careful as they traced the curve of my spine. In the darkness behind my eyelids, I can see those dark eyes again—not the cold black of most orcs, but warm brown like river stones in sunlight.

"I found you."