Free [Queen of Orcs 03] - Royal Destiny by Morgan Howell Page A

that she would not eat alone.
     
    Murdant Kol had forgotten when he had eaten last or whether it was day or night. Racked by fever, he was delirious. His entire body ached and burned, but the festering wound below his shoulder hurt the worst. It felt as though a hot poker were pushing into his flesh. He no longer knew where he was. Instead of a dingy room in a shabby inn, he thought he was astride Thunder, whirling his whip as he galloped toward Dar.
    He relived the moment again and again, each time thinking it would end differently. He saw the orc queen by Dar’s side, too feeble to flee. He watched Sevren fighting the soldiers, outnumbered and preoccupied. Everything happened at a slowed pace. Dar turned, looking panicked. She groped for the dagger slung at her waist. Where did she get a weapon? Dar turned the dagger in her hand, grasping it by the blade. Then she threw it. The dagger moved through the air so slowly that Kol could watch it gracefully flip so its point was forward. His horse traveled just as slowly. I need only move and it’ll miss me. It didn’t, and Kol was just as shocked—and enraged—as he was the first time. The events that followed were a haze to the murdant’s fever-stricken brain. Something about orcs. There were muddled impressions of an escape and a growing pain. Then Kol was astride Thunder again, galloping toward Dar.
    Two men sat on the room’s other bed, strangers as disreputable as their surroundings. They watched Kol, waiting for him to die. “Can’t be long, now,” said one. “He’s out of his head.”
    “His stink’s more tellin’,” said the other. “Like rotten meat.”
    “Maybe we could hurry him along.”
    His companion eyed a recent bloodstain on the dirty wooden floor. “And get what that other fella got? That’s a hard one there, dyin’ or not. Let’s bide our time.”
    “Hope it’s worth the wait.”
    “Well, he sold that horse.”
    The other man laughed. “To a cheatin’ bastard.”
    “Aye, the innkeep’s a sharp one, and this fella was half-dead when he came.”
    “From where, do you suppose?”
    “Taiben, most like. It’s all stirred up.”
    Kol was rolling on his sweat-soaked mattress, trying to dodge Dar’s blade, when the door opened. The innkeeper, a rat-faced man, entered and spoke. “Clear out, the both of ye. This room’s been let.”
    “To us!” said one of the men watching Kol.
    “It’s been let again. Ye can move to the stables, or best this man’s offer.”
    The men regarded the gray-eyed stranger who had joined the innkeeper. He had an intimidating look, despite his youthful face. Moreover, his clothes marked him as someone with means. Rather than protest further, the men followed the innkeeper out of the room. As they entered the hallway, they noticed a Wise Woman standing there, clutching her bag of healing herbs. The stranger who had usurped their room spoke to her. “Come. This is the one.” The Wise Woman entered the room and the door closed.
    One of the men turned to the innkeeper. “Who was that fella?”
    “Don’t know. Don’t care.”
    “Well, we had interests in that dyin’ bloke. Interests ye pissed away.”
    His larger companion pushed the innkeeper against the wall. “Aye, pissed away. So, we’ll have our money back.”
    The innkeeper attempted a nervous smile. “Why not take it back as drink and sleep in the stable for free?”
    The two men grinned at each other. “We’ll do that,” said one.
    “Seems our luck has changed,” said his comrade. He glanced toward the closed door. “And not just ours.”

 
    Eleven

    Nir-yat renewed the discussion of Dar’s wardrobe first thing next morning, picking up where she had left off the previous evening. By then, Dar had learned there were many other garments besides nevas, kefs, and cloaks. All of them had names, and all their parts had names also. Dar even remembered a few of them. She surveyed the carefully arranged piles of fabrics that covered the