I heave a sigh, but nod. Nothing in that is unreasonable, and it is a bit silly for me to hide in here just because I resent the high likelihood that my bloodbonded mate is not among our newest visitors. Maybe he is right. It may be best if I just enjoy the festival. It doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that.
A tightness in my chest lightens, and I breathe deep, the tension in my body easing even as an eagerness to enjoy the festivities lights up.
At my silent agreement, he slaps my back and squints down at the humans milling about the square. The vendors set up early that morning, and business has been steady as orcs and neighboring fae thread through the market. It is so large this year that it overflows the square, and I find myself suddenly very interested in exploring the riot of colors from the chaos pressed in everywhere my eyes land. That chaos only seems to heighten with the arrival of our Ov’Ge tourists, as merchants vie to attract customers.
“Kavar have any problems with the humans?”
I shake my head. “He seemed to get them moving pretty quickly this time. I suspect he will be back at the keep at any moment.”
Orgath grunts. “It didn’t take them long to venture out into the market. Good. The quicker we can get them to their cottages, the sooner they are spending coin in the village. With them here for such a short span, it’s better not to lose a day.”
I nod in agreement. Our first attempt last harvest was a nightmare. The humans were difficult to get moving and had endless questions. By the time everyone was settled, it was late in the day and the humans were more interested in settling down for the evening and eating than enjoying the fair and festivities. This definitely seems like a positive step forward. I am curious how Kavar managed to pull it off, however. From my position, no one had seemed especially eager to move away from the portal. And then the next minute they were following after him.
“Is your mate still planning on going around this evening to each of the cottages to officially welcome our visitors?” I ask, curious.
Orgath snorts and cuts me an impatient look. “What do you think?”
I shake my head. “Why not just have the humans all meet in the audience chamber here at the keep and get it all done at once?”
“Not personal enough,” he grumbles, his scowl deepening.
It’s clear that this is an argument he has had with our Lady more than once. It still baffles me as to why she would even want to spend her evening stretching out short visits between no less than twenty filled cottages. Sure, they are close to one another due to diligent planning before construction when our chieftain and lady first started to entertain ideas of entertaining humans among us a few times a year, but even with ten to fifteen minutes per cottage, it is hours of needless—not to mention thankless—work.
My confusion must be apparent because my cousin grimaces, his nose wrinkling.
“She enjoys it,” he says, his expression pained. “She likes meeting the humans coming in and seeing what brings them here. And she believes that it starts their experiences here on a positive foot by having her there as a reassuring presence.”
I grin at my cousin. “It sounds like you’ve memorized a lecture from your mate.”
Orgath’s mouth tightens as his expression darkens. “Don’t make me forget our shared blood or else I may follow through with my urge to strangle you,” he growls.
My grin widens with amusement. Orgath has threatened to harm me one way or another since we were orclings sparring. Anyone else might see it as a threat, but for his kin, it’s his love language in response to our teasing.
He cranes his neck, looking at the window behind me and grunts again before turning abruptly to stalk toward the door. “Kaval has returned. We will meet him in the briefing chambers. I wish to hear his observations regarding our human guests.”
My eyebrows rise, but I trail after him, holding back a grin. “As pertaining to security in a manner that befits a highly suspicious orc, or in regards to improving our tourism?” I tease.
In the back of my mind, I’m still trying and failing to reconcile our natural tendencies with Sammi’s plans. Although we are hospitable to guests, orcs typically aren’t terribly trusting of outsiders nor are we what most species consider “friendly.” This tourism plan hinges entirely on our hospitality and a hope that the humans aren’t put off by our gruff manner. The success of that last year was doubtful at best, but it must not have been too bad if we have visitors coming again this year.
I am not entirely surprised then that Orgath smirks at me over his shoulder and shrugs. “Both,” he replies.
By the time we arrive on the floor level, Kaval steps inside. His expression is relaxed as he gives Orgath a deferential nod and clasps my arm in greeting before the three of us head into the briefing room accessed through a rear door just behind the large audience chamber. I settle comfortably in a chair and lean forward, resting my elbows on the large table between us as I regard the guard. At my side, Orgath reclines gracefully in his own seat, his gaze boring into the male.
“Report.”
Kaval tips his head in a short nod. “Of course, Chieftain. The humans arrived without incident. I couldn’t see any that warrant any special attention. The lot of them were pretty harmless. In fact, most of their curiosity seemed to be about the festival itself rather than us or our village.”
The last is said with a reluctant, exasperated amusement that I can well understand. Every now and then, we get a handful who are genuinely interested in orc culture, and at times it has warranted caution on our part when it has seemed excessively curious. For the most part, our tourists seem to come for the opportunity to experience Ov’Gorg in general since few species are willing to open their borders to human visitors. The trolls have been considering allowing humans to visit during the midsummer, but they have yet to do so. The result is that, for now, the humans don’t have many options for visits.
Orgath scratches a claw in his beard and nods approvingly. “No one gave you any problems?”
“No,” Kaval replies with a satisfied smile. He chuckles. “I had a moment there where I was worried that it was going to be a repeat of last year, but thankfully one of the females interceded and we were able to get moving. It was unfortunate that her cottage was one of the first. I wouldn’t have minded enjoying her company a little longer.”
The admiration in his voice sparks my curiosity, but Orgath doesn’t care about the details of a single human who is not identified as a possible risk to the clan. Before long, the conversation turns to matters of security and keeping our human guests both safe and entertained during their stay and I think nothing more of it. It is only after we get plans settled for tomorrow that I haul myself down to the stables and saddle my delfass Haith, eager to return home.
His rumbling purr greets me, his tail whipping at me as he patiently waits for me to ready him. Though I’m tired, there is a new excitement stirring within me as I give Haith full freedom to run and enjoy the ride to my cottage, my mind returning to the humans and the joys of the festival ahead of me.
Chapter 4
Lynn
I wake with a shiver. The morning air is brisk, chilling my nose peeking over the edge of my quilt. Groaning, I kick back the blanket and roll out of bed. As much as I would like to wallow in my blanket cocoon as I normally would on vacation, I have to remind myself that this first morning will be to scope out the area to determine the best place to set up and then go about securing appropriate permission to test my coffees.
No problem. It’s not as if this is the most intimidating thing I’ve ever done.
I’m lying to myself, of course. Schmoozing with clients is something I have plenty of experience with, but finagling a new business plan, especially with beings who aren’t even human, is something else entirely. Getting here and all the planning it took was fun, but now that the day has arrived, I almost feel sick.
Coffee. I need coffee.
Rolling up so that I’m sitting up on th
e side of the bed, I shove my feet into my slippers and make my way down from the loft. Downstairs, I can hear Kassie stirring. She’d been reluctant to take the larger room, but I had insisted. Hearing her groan with the effort to get out of bed, I’m glad I did. She certainly doesn’t need to be climbing up and down these stairs on top of dealing with all the other discomforts that come with being pregnant.
I’m annoyed all over again that her husband blew her off. This should have been a romantic trip for them, snuggling up in a cozy cottage and enjoying the pleasures that could be found in the village later in the day. I’m not entirely surprised, since my relationship with Andrew has had the unfortunate side-effect of souring me on men and relationships in general. Still, I do feel bad that she’s humoring me by turning this into a business trip in a desperate bid to get me to come along. Because of that, she’s sacrificing lazy mornings in bed to go to the market with me.
Yawning, I strike up the oven and in no time have it hot enough to set the coffee pot on, glad that I spent a little time trying to make a decent cup of coffee without the usual equipment in the café back home. Before long, the intense aroma of dark roast coffee fills the cottage just as Kassie makes an appearance.
She’s disgustingly bright-eyed for this hour and is even dressed and her hair brushed while I grimly pour a cup in my pajama pants as I try to blink the grit from my eyes. In comparison, I look shabby. I’m wearing a loose Hello Kitty T-shirt and an old, worn pair of pink bunny slippers that I’ve had since my dorm days in college despite the loathing Andrew had for them.
Of course, his hate-on for them is probably why they became a regular part of my wardrobe in recent years. Now, they represent freedom and that part of myself that I had lost, now reclaimed. It has also inspired my newest criteria before I ever allow myself to get all starry eyed over a man again. If he can’t love me for my bunny slippers, then he’s not the one for me.
Kassie takes a long look at me, her smile widening as I meet her gaze over the rim of my cup.
“I have to say, this look kinda takes me by surprise.” She chuckles.
My lips curve as I take a sip. “It should be more of a flashback since I believe I wore this sort of thing regularly when we shared a dorm room,” I tease. “I practically lived in my pajamas if I didn’t have to attend class. In fact, the old floppers here are survivors from that period,” I point out, lifting up a foot to wiggle the floppy ears of my slipper at her.
Kassie’s hand cups over her mouth, stifling a giggle, her eyes crinkling with merriment. “I can’t believe I forgot that. You did!” She drops her hand, her grin wide. “Well, I have to say that it’s good to see.” Her eyes skim over me and she shakes her head, her smile widening further. “You look so poised and untouchable during the day, so much so that I’m sometimes afraid to hug you less I risk rumpling you. I like this you,” she admits.
I look at her thoughtfully, my eyebrows very slightly arched. I hadn’t given it much thought. Not even when I was packing. It was almost mechanical as I went through the suits and jewelry in my wardrobe. I can’t even remember picking any of it out, or even when it was bought, since Andrew had hired someone to select and purchase the most flattering and stylish fashions.
Had I become so divorced from my preferences that I project that cultivated image of what my husband wanted me to be rather than just being myself and wearing the things I enjoyed? The thought is a depressing one, and it follows me back up to the loft a short time later as I look over the clothes hanging in the old-fashioned bureau standing across from the bed. Everything is some shade of muted browns. Hues ranging from chocolate to fawn, champagne alongside ivory and cream-colored blouses. Classic, and classy as Andrew was fond of saying.
In a word, boring.
How did this even happen? Not only is my wardrobe full of brown, but there’s no trace of my favorite colors. There is no pink at all, unless one could count the pearl barely pink blouse tucked in among the others, and the only bit of blue that I can see is a formal-looking navy pant and jacket set hanging at one of the far ends.
Sighing, I pull out one of the blouses and a champagne sweater, as well as one of the several pairs of khaki slacks, and lay them on the bed. As I strip off my bedclothes and put the ensemble on, I make a mental note to do some actual clothes shopping for myself. With my business preparing to fail, shopping has been the furthest thing from my mind, but perhaps that was a mistake. I haven’t given myself an opportunity to really reclaim myself and my power over my life, and clothing is the most basic self-expression that exists. It’s beyond time to remedy that.
Tucking my feet into a pair of dark brown loafers, I hurry back down the stairs. To my surprise, Kassie is already ready to go, her rust-colored wool coat barely buttoned up over her belly, showing off hints of the cheerful cranberry red sweater she’s wearing beneath it. I pull on my light sheepskin coat and frown. My clothes are expensive, but I feel dowdy and plain next to her. It makes me feel even more out of place in my own skin.
She promptly hands me an insulated travel mug, and I accept it with a grateful smile.
“Bless you.”
“I figured you would need it,” she giggles, walking over to the door.
I nod and tuck it close to my body, relishing the heat coming off the cup. “How do you feel about doing some shopping after we get the information we need?” I ask casually.
Her eyes widen slightly, but the smile that stretches over her face sweeps me up in her enthusiasm.
“I say, heck to the yeah! After traumatizing ourselves to get the permission you require, I think some retail therapy will be exactly what we need.”
A snort of laughter escapes me as I open the door, glancing over at her fondly. “Traumatizing?”
She gives me a curt nod as we step outside, but her lips curve in amusement. “Well, you’ll be the one traumatized, not me. I’m just here for emotional support. But yeah… having to actually talk to someone in charge… maybe even the chieftain…” She trails off with a shudder.
Standing just outside of our cottage, the wind tugging at our hair, I’m sure it is perfectly idyllic, but I don’t notice. I’m too busy gaping at her to pay any attention to our scenic surroundings.
“Kassie, don’t say shit like that! I’m already nervous enough as it is. Start talking about having to meet with an orc chieftain and I’m going to entirely lose my nerve.”
I rub the back of my neck, wondering if just perhaps this was a bad idea. Would a chieftain even have any interest in granting a human trading privileges in his village? I’ve been leaning more on the hope that it would be someone directly in charge of the market itself with an eye on the profit margins alone. Someone safe and of the sort that I can at least somewhat predict their motivations. Having to convince a chieftain to allow it feels incredibly daunting.
“Is there anything in particular you’re interested in shopping for?” Kassie asks, interrupting my inner panic-fest as she loops her arm through mine and tugs me off the front stoop and onto the cobbled road.
Glancing over at her, I give her a wan smile and gesture to myself. “I’m thinking something less Mrs. Andrew Bickner.”
Kassie’s eyes crinkle with amusement, and she squeezes my arm. “It’s about time. Mrs. Andrew Bickner needs a huge funeral pyre so we can welcome Lynn Taylor back to the living.”
I lean into her, chuckling. “Sounds like a damn good idea to me.”
The guest cottages are mercifully close to the market, so it doesn’t take us long to make our way out to the market entrance. The market, which had been empty on our arrival yesterday evening, was transformed. Everywhere I look, there’s a riot of tents set up, many of them a patchwork of colors as if scraps of different fabric were sewn together, each containing their own series of booths tended to by not only orcs but also other species.
There’s even a centaur who has his back turned to us in a nearby stall as he grinds a blade on a sharpening wheel. A blacksmith! It’s like the Ren Faire
s of my childhood but a hundred times better, as numerous species swarm about. The numerous voices mingle with the many different scents of produce, skewered roasting meat, and spices, perfumes, music, the bleat of livestock, and the vibrant color everywhere I look in a thrilling cacophony for the senses. I can pick out the human tourists easily enough, but this is all so incredible that I can’t help but get caught up in the atmosphere.
“Wow,” Kassie whispers at my side.
I nod wordlessly. There isn’t a single word that could accurately convey the awe I’m feeling as we join the crowd. At the edges of the square, I can see the regular shops opening up. There aren’t many. I can spot a clothier, and a stationery shop which I make a mental note of. An herbalist shop where one can speak to the healer is on the nearest corner. The tavern is the largest of those lining the square, but its doors are still firmly closed and likely won’t open until sometime around noon if I’m not missing my guess. No breakfast places or cafés are anywhere in sight. I feel positively giddy at that realization. Even more so when I slide back the closure on the mouth of my mug, letting a whiff of richly perfumed steam escape as I prepare to take a drink, and notice several heads turn my way.
A man close by murmurs excitedly to his wife. “Is that coffee? Where do you suppose she got it?”
“I don’t know, but if we find the place, I would kill for a cup,” she whispers back.
I press my lips together to keep myself from smiling at that reaction. That is exactly what I was hoping for. Even more exciting, it’s the non-humans with their more sensitive sense of smell whom I seem to have attracted from where I’m standing. Comprised largely of orcs, I find myself at the epicenter of several curious looks as they draw in the scent and rumble with a sound that seems distinctly like approval.
Yes!
Kassie squeezes my hand, drawing my attention to her. She’s beaming and on the verge of squealing with delight.
How to Claim a Human Mate (Monstery Yours #6) Page 3