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Chapter 10

Wodred

Present Day

To have Melelea sitting in front of me on my warbeast is the most delicious of tortures. Her scent curls up to me from under the orikiri leaf tea that she imbibes to mask her emotions and pheromones. Normally, she is too far away for me to scent her emotions, but now I can smell her determination, the touch of sadness she feels for leaving her family, and something else. Something very like embarrassment, but that cannot be right. What would she have to feel embarrassed about? Underneath it all though, is the scent that is driving me mad, the scent that is hers and hers alone. She smells like lemon and ginger, bright and spicy and delicious. I can only imagine that she tastes as good as she smells, and wonder how her pleasure might enhance her mouthwatering scent.

But those are dangerous thoughts. Foolish thoughts. Melelea has never been mine and her pleasure is none of my business. Still, it is hard not to think of such things with her sitting so close to me, trust apparent in her posture. I would never break that trust. Not in a million years. Not even if the Father God himself commanded it of me. Melelea’s trust is so hard-won and has been bruised so deeply in the past. I will never be the one to wound her again.

The thought of Melelea’s past hurt is painful enough to me that it dismisses any amorous inclinations her scent might have conjured in me. It is a reminder that I left her with a monster of an orc for over twenty years, left her to be hurt and humiliated because I was too stupid to see the signs of what was going on. I avoided the court at Ilustan to keep from seeing her and Guruk happy together, never imagining that it was the opposite occurring. I knew about the mistresses, of course, but thought they had an understanding in their relationship. I never knew until that day that Guruk declared her dead in front of all that I found out what had actually been happening. What I could have stopped. I have never been able to look at myself the same since that time. Melelea miraculously surviving through her own cleverness and the gods’ own grace doesn’t expunge me of my sins. I do not deserve her regard now or ever. But I will protect her with my life so the rest of hers may be peaceful and joyous.

I realize I am ruminating too long in my thoughts when Melelea gently touches my hand on the reins and looks up. “Wodred? Is everything all right?”

That touch causes shivers to go up my spine, which I mask by shaking my head.

“Pardon, my lady,” I rumble out. “I was merely thinking about our mission. It will be dangerous the further north we get.” There have been no more reports of demon attacks, but I know it is just a matter of time.

Melelea accepts my prevarication without question. “I seem to remember that you are from the north, Wodred. Are you not?”

Her memory of my origins warms me. “That is correct, my lady.”

Melelea laughs lightly, the husky sound sending skitters of joy over my skin. I would do anything to have her make that sound often. “Wodred, you needn’t stand on protocol when it is just the two of us. We are old friends, are we not?”

I hesitate at her words. Keeping the veneer of royal protocol between us is a verbal reminder to myself to keep myself in check. That we have a separation between us that cannot be bridged.

But my silence seems to make Melelea sad. “ . . . unless, you do not feel that way. I suppose we only ever spoke a few times in passing. But I always felt that you were someone I could trust . . . still, I can see how you would not feel that same closeness with me.”

I could stab myself with a blade and not feel more pain than I do at this moment. Her sad, unsure words spear me through, as sharp as any sword. “It is not that, my lady,” I begin. “My hesitation is not because I do not consider us friends. It is merely that I never want you to feel that you are receiving less respect than you are due. You deserve all the esteem in the world.”

And for too long it was denied you. My unspoken words are felt between us. Melelea is quiet for a moment, then sighs. “I have received much esteem as Adalind’s lady-in-waiting and even more now that I am recognized as Queen Mother. But I find that what I lack most is friends. For many years, with Guruk, I was not allowed the freedom to have such a confidant and living among the humans of Adrik I was more of an object of curiosity than someone whom anyone would wish to befriend. Though some did venture to be kind to me, like Adalind and Dame Zera. So, Wodred, I ask that, at least when we are alone together, that we be friends. I have so few that I can name.”

When she puts it like that, it is impossible to refuse. Indeed, I have no desire to refuse her anything that would make her happy. Her happiness is the most important thing to me, a fact that she can never know.

I nod slowly. “I would be honored to call you friend . . . Melelea.”

Saying her name aloud without a title feels like an intimate, forbidden thing. But it feels right, like her name always belongs on my lips, the music of it vibrating against my tongue.

“Good,” Melelea says, sounding pleased. “Now, tell me, will we be reaching your clan lands today? Perhaps seeing your family? I seem to recall that you have sisters.”

The change in topic makes it easier to speak. “Not today. They are very far north. Perhaps by the end of the week, if the weather holds fair.”

“So long?” Melelea says, sounding surprised. “I know that the journey from High Citadel to Ilustan took a long time, but we were in wagons then. I thought on warbeasts at full speed we would reach Adrik soon.”

“Orik is large, my . . . Melelea,” I correct myself before I can say her title. “Even on warbeast it will take a week to reach the Adrikian border.”

“I, more than most, know how large Orik is,” Melelea comments wryly. “Not many have crossed its breadth on foot, you know.”

Chills run down my spine at her words. How could I have been so careless? Everyone now knows the tale of how Melelea fled from Guruk the night after he gave her a Mating Bite. Of his fury and cruelty. How she evaded the hunters and eventually tricked them with a false corpse to think she’d committed suicide. This is what I believe happened for many years. I executed the Guruk’s hunters myself after Rognar became king in impotent retribution. Salthu’s face passes briefly before me in my mind’s eye, but I banish it. Old sins, old regrets, have no place in the present.

But Melelea was more clever than anyone had given her credit for. She had survived and made her way to Adrik to find asylum, where she was taken in by Queen Adalind first as a governess and then as a lady-in-waiting. All this she did on foot.

“Forgive me,” I rumble out. “I did not mean to make light of your knowledge nor your experience.”

“Forgiven,” Melelea replies lightly. “But tell me of your sisters. Did they join the Horde like they wanted or did they join the Healer’s Cohort like you hoped?”

I smile a little thinking of my sisters. “Sawa became a healer. Her gift blossomed with use and she studied in Arisil with the elven healers. She mated with an elf and returned to our clan lands. She has four orclings and another on the way. Hali, on the other hand, joined the Northern Horde and is a captain of her own cohort. She mated with an orcress when Rognar became king and does not wish for children. She is a good auntie to Sawa’s brood, though.”

“And you?” Melelea asks, her voice light and amused. “Are you a good uncle?”