Page 41 of The Savage Vow
What if she did?
What if Orlena stayed exactly where she was, five solars ticking away while the world passed her by?
Or Bula got tired of waiting for her.
By the time dusk settled over Soza, her hands ached and her nerves were frayed.
She closed the shop at last and barred the door. She retrieved the broom and swept the floor with deliberate slowness as her mind raced.
With the shop quiet, she stood alone and glanced around. It was lit by the lanterns placed along the walls. Her gaze went to Yambul’s office.
A voice whispered for her to go home. To pretend that this new thought that popped into her head didn’t exist. To ignore Yambul and his claim of her being his property. She could endure five more solars.
Could she?
Something stirred in her gut. A fierce spark of defiance appeared. She stalked across the shop, storing the broom and dustpan where they belonged. She continued on and stopped in the doorway of Yambul’s office. His desk sat in the middle. It was cluttered with ledgers and rolled parchments. Her hands shook as she moved across the darkened space and lit a candle. The flame flickered bright, illuminating the room softly.
“Just a peek,” she whispered. She knelt by the desk and exhaled slowly. “Just see. There’s no harm in looking.”
Of course there was. She was sure if he found out she was snooping in his desk he’d punish her by adding more time to her contract.
She opened the drawers one by one. Her heart slammed so hard she was sure someone out in the street could hear it.
Tools. Ink. Seals. An assortment of papers all written in Orcish that resembled invoices and order forms.
She opened the final drawer and froze. More parchment papers, but this time one caught her attention. At the top her name stared back at her in a thick, angular Orcish script.
Orlena Blackwell.
Her breath left her in a rush.
She lifted the document with shaking hands. She fingered her name as if to confirm it truly was hers. She couldn’t read the words, but she didn’t need to. She knew what it was. She’d seen it once, solars ago, when Yambul was on one of his tangents and flaunted this same paper in front of her face.
This paper was what bound her here. It said that she belonged to Yambul.
Her chest grew tight.
Five solars more, Yambul had said.
What if he had lied?
What if there were clauses that she’d never been told about? Penalties? Extensions? Tears blurred her vision as she thought of the invisible chains that kept her bound to Soza.
She swallowed hard and glanced toward the door. Every instinct screamed at her to put it back. Instead, she folded the parchment carefully and kept it in her hand. She closed the drawers and ensured the desk was how Yambul had left it.
What am I doing?
Her hands shook so badly. What if Yambul discovered it was missing? She quickly extinguished the candle and raced over toher workroom. She snatched her satchel up and slid the paper into her bag. She was having a hard time catching her breath.
Goddess above. Have I lost my mind?
She locked up the shop and stepped out into the cool night air. Her heart hammered, fear and hope filling her. She put one foot in front of the other and began making the trek home. For the first time since she was eight solars old, Orlena Blackwell had taken something back.
And there was no turning away from it now.
Orlena did not walk home—she ran.
The narrow streets of the human quarters were a blur. Her boots struck the packed earth. Her lungs burned from straining to bring in air. Every sound felt too loud. Each shadow made her jump. Her satchel bumped against her hip with each stride, and it felt like dead weight.
