Page 25 of Orc's Pride
“Tell me why you’re here, then. I want to believe you, Dana. You know I do. Why did you suddenly appear last night after we captured those dark elves? You need to give me something to work with.”
Slowly, she turns her head to look at me. Her eyes are still slightly unfocused, but they manage to catch my attention.
“I’m…”
She trails off again, her body wracking with another shudder.
Whatever is afflicting her, it isn’t good. Could it be the sight of blood that’s got her so worked up?
“M-My f… family…” she mumbles.
Her family?
12
Dana
I’m sitting on a chair in his kitchen. My hands are against the soft-grained wood, and I can hear the kindling popping gently in his hearth. Someone nearby must be baking bread, because I smell its sweet aroma in the air.
I’m safe here.
Blood spills from my hands, seeping from my neck. Stars dance on the edges of my vision. My hands finally slip uselessly to the blood-soaked ground as an orc shaman rolls me to my side and shouts for bandages.
My mother is dead.
My father is dead.
My sister is dead.
My—
“Dana.”
“You should really put a finish on your table if you don’t want it to get scratched. I think there’s some sap you can use—”
“Dana. Please.”
Pitha’s voice is more careful than I’ve yet to hear it, and he gently tugs my hands off my tightly knotted scarf and into my lap, holding them as they shake there.
I had no idea they were even trembling.
I blink.
Right. He asked me why I’m acting like this.
At first, the urge to lie is overwhelming. There’s a reason I’ve taken to spying for Old Malik, and it’s not just because it’s the only way to avenge my family. Lies are safe. When I’m lying, I’m not a girl whose family was destroyed. I’m not a girl with a scar on my neck in the shape of a smile, taunting me every time I see my own naked reflection.
When I lie, I can be anyone. What a beautiful escape it is. And yet…
“If I tell you, will you believe me?”
As much as I can’t bear the truth, I think it might hurt even more if he thinks I’m lying about this. If I reach inside myself and spread my own ribs, exposing my heart, and he scoffs. I need him to trust me. I tell myself it’s manipulative. Just a way to lessen his suspicion of me and build his trust.
In that way, even as I tell the painful truth, I surround myself in soft lies. If I can’t lie to Pitha, at least I can lie to myself.
Pitha nods. He’s still standing, as though he might need to fight whatever’s tearing me apart inside, but now he sits next to me at the table and waits.
They call him Pitha the Immovable around the base, and staring at him, I can see why. It isn’t his size, I don’t think, although he’s undeniably strong. I’ve seen him spar—he’s like a mountain, implacable and impervious until he viciously strikes.