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- 08/28/2026
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Broken Hate, Broken Heart - 9. Chapter 9
As they passed through the heavy gates granting entry beneath the mountain in this region, Thokk felt deep within himself the nervous unease that was evident in Henry. The time for long conversations and gentle touches before falling asleep was over—for now. The group quarters available to travelers inside the mountain offered no privacy whatsoever.
But even more than that, Thokk was worried about the court. He had left it, barely organized, for weeks. Korgar had no idea how to lead and didn’t want to either; his best friend Larran, whom he had brought in as an advisor, was, in Thokk’s eyes, a sharp mind, but incredibly lazy. He truly hoped he wouldn’t find total chaos.
Henry, of course, was oblivious to all this. He marveled at his new surroundings, cautiously sampled the unfamiliar food, and constantly fiddled with the little red pendant Thokk had given him “as a sign to everyone that you belong to a court.”
And then they finally reached the entourage’s quarters.
“Welcome home,” greeted one of the guards, whose face Thokk recognized but whose name he had already forgotten.
“Thank you very much. This is our guest, the blacksmith Henry. Is our lord present?”
The guard scrutinized Henry closely, but with a friendly smile. “No, sir; he and Larran are expected back for dinner.”
“Thank you. Come on, take a look around.” Thokk beckoned Henry to follow him into the stone halls, which were officially his home but didn’t feel like one. For a brief moment, he wondered how he was supposed to credibly welcome Henry in his current state of mind, but he ignored the thought. As he walked and explained, he asked a bowing servant if the lady of the house was there—he’d forgotten that, too, at first—and then ordered a light snack, adding, “Take your time; I need a thorough bath first.”
Henry seemed completely overwhelmed and stared at his own little room as if it were a prison cell.
“Don’t you like it? I mean, it’s different from back home…” Thokk fiddled with the hem of his tunic, torn between caring for this human and the urgent need for a warm bath.
“It’s different,” Henry said, giving him a wry smile. “And… I’ve never had a room of my own, never slept alone. I’ll get used to it.” The last part came out with an almost defiant edge, and then they made room as the servant from their traveling party—hired hands who knew their way around out there—brought in Henry’s luggage.
“You will,” Thokk agreed, “but now let’s go to the bathhouse.”
The bathhouse for the court was, of course, much smaller than those in the districts, but Thokk liked its intimate coziness. Amused, he watched Henry, who stepped into the warm water in wonder and ran his hand over the stone algae, which immersed the pool in a magnificent turquoise glow.
“Now I understand why you love bathing. This is wonderful!” With wide eyes and a broad smile, he dove under, and Thokk, who was reaching for the soap, chuckled.
“Believe me,” he said as Henry resurfaced and wiped the water from his eyes, “after a hard day, you’re sure to find relaxation here. You can let your body and mind drift. Wash off the dust and sweat.”
Henry nodded slowly and took a second bar of soap, which was, of course, much better quality than what they’d had available on their journey. He sniffed it before letting it glide over his arm. “Where does the warm water actually come from?”
“No idea—I’m a shaman, not an engineer.” Thokk shrugged and massaged his scalp.
At first Henry stared, puzzled, then let out a little chuckle. “That’s… fascinating. And eerie. How am I supposed to understand your world if you don’t even understand it yourself?” He wasn’t entirely serious, as the twinkle in his eyes and the unconcerned scratch at his chin betrayed.
“Do you understand your own world, human-smith?” Thokk teased back.
Before Henry could answer, a voice rang out: “The towels.” A servant bowed slightly. “Shall I fetch clean clothes from your chambers, sir?”
That was something Thokk had completely forgotten; his mind wasn’t quite on the task at hand yet. “No, that’s not necessary. Unless our lady thinks a shaman clad only in a towel loses too much respect.”
The servant grinned. “Korgar said she was shameless enough to make him blush, so I doubt it.”
“Good grief.” Thokk raised his eyebrows. “Somehow, that doesn’t bode well.”
A shrug; the grin faded.
“Oh, but a mirror for Henry would be nice—for shaving.”
“A mirror?” The servant blinked in confusion, and Thokk sighed.
“You know what a mirror is?”
“Yes, but—”
“Good. Human men have to shave, and it would be nice if our guest didn’t accidentally slit his own throat while doing so. So please make sure he gets a mirror here.”
“Of course, sir.” The servant bowed—deeper than when he’d greeted them—and hurried off.
Thokk sighed again and rubbed the soap against the fur on the back of his neck. He really hoped he wouldn’t end up being the only truly intelligent orc in this court.
“Was that necessary?” Henry asked quietly and with a distinctly critical tone, which surprised Thokk.
“What?”
“The question about whether he knows a mirror.”
“Was his stupid question necessary?” Thokk asked back, raising an eyebrow.
Henry opened his mouth but said nothing, so Thokk continued washing himself.
~
The shamans’ soft robes felt completely different from the simple travel clothes he’d worn over the past few weeks. Unlike the student robe, which was more like a long tunic, this one reached down to his ankles, and Thokk still hadn’t gotten used to the feeling of the fabric fluttering around his legs. At least the pants kept him from feeling as if he’d been stuffed into a dress.
“Looks impressive,” Henry remarked quietly as Thokk entered the dining hall. Henry stood there a little off to the side while a few orcs—whom Thokk couldn’t immediately place—ate at the table. The aroma of the food made his stomach growl; he was clean, and he’d be sated very soon.
“Do you think so?”
Henry nodded and grinned crookedly.
“Why aren’t you eating?” Thokk gestured toward the table and started moving again; he wasn’t even sure what Henry had actually been referring to.
“I’ve—”
“Thokk! Good to have you back.” Korgar’s loud voice bounced off the walls, and his cheerful grin stretched from ear to ear.
“Ruby Lord Korgar.” Thokk bowed his head respectfully; Henry bowed deeply.
“My lord.”
“Oh, come on, just Korgar is fine.”
“This is our guest—”
“Henry, right? Nice to meet you, really nice.”
Thokk might have quickly realized that Korgar didn’t insist on formalities, but the completely casual way he grinned and grabbed Henry by the wrist in greeting still surprised him.
“It’s an honor—“
“You can fight, right?” How had Korgar picked up on that so quickly? But he pointed to the scar on Henry’s arm, which was visible thanks to the short sleeves of his shirt.
“Um, just a little, mylord.” Henry managed not to let his discomfort show, but Thokk, who by now was quite familiar with the human’s scent, sensed it. “Nothing compared to your warriors.”
“Orc blood, I tell you!” Korgar boomed. “Almost an orcling, as you can see. Honestly, I know seasoned warriors with less muscle than you.”
Thokk would have loved to interrupt or steer the conversation somehow, but Korgar was unstoppable; now he said in an almost solemn tone:
“That was a long dagger, I hear, and I want you to make one for me.”
“Of course, mylord.” Henry nodded hastily, but his eyes weren’t wide with joy; his faint smile looked pained.
The hands at Thokk’s sides twitched. And then he really flinched when Korgar gave Henry a friendly pat on the shoulder. Henry might have been strong for a human, but he was no match for a warrior like Korgar, and with a stifled groan, he nearly buckled at the knees.
“Larran has taken care of everything regarding the smithy and one of our masters,” Korgar then said, turning to Thokk.
“That’s good,” Thokk replied with a nod, trying to maintain his composure—after all, there were onlookers. “How is your lady?"
“A stunning woman!” Korgar beamed. “She’s already looking forward to having a human face in the court. But really, stunning, I tell you.” He then slapped Thokk on the shoulder, and Thokk barely managed to stay on his feet and not grunt. “But I’m supposed to be somewhere right now…”
“With your consort!” bellowed one of the guards with his mouth full.
“Here eating with us!” boomed another.
“Ha! No! But I’m invited to dinner!” Humming cheerfully, Korgar marched off.
Thokk took a deep breath in and out, then turned to Henry, who was staring after Korgar with an almost horrified expression. “Come on, let’s eat.”
Rubbing his shoulder, Henry nodded silently.
~
Over the next few days, Thokk was swamped with work. Apparently, it was an open secret that he was supposed to take care of things when Korgar wasn’t around—and Korgar was never really around. His attempt to talk to Larran ended with, “I’m an advisor, not an administrator,” and in a way, he was right.
But Thokk still felt lousy. He had an agreement with Korgar—fine—he’d been naive about the workload—not so fine—but that blatant “Thokk will handle it” attitude really got on his nerves. He was a shaman, not an administrator, and that was highly official.
After being handed yet another bill, he gave up. He tossed the document aside, closed the inkwell, and put the quill back in its place. His knuckles cracked as he stretched his hands, and ink was smeared on the sleeve of his robe. Great.
With a huff, he stood up, took off his robe, and unceremoniously tossed it through the door into the other room—it slid off the bed onto the floor, but he didn’t care at that moment; it needed to be washed anyway.
The hallway smelled of cleaning supplies; one of the kitchen servants—a bastard so young he was still considered a child—bowed so deeply that he nearly dropped the contents of his basket. The laughter of Lady Sabina drifted from the reception room; somewhere, someone was arguing in painstakingly subdued voices.
In the bathhouse, however, all was quiet. The subtle scents of soap, clear water, and damp moss soothed Thokk’s nerves. He took off his clothes, grabbed some towels, and entered the main bathing area. To his pleasant surprise, he spotted Henry dozing on a bench in the water—he had barely seen the human at all over the past few days. “Henry…”
With a stifled gasp, Henry slid off the bench and went under, before resurfacing with a snort. “Thokk! You scared me!”
“You look tired,” Thokk observed, setting the towels aside and stepping into the warm water. Only then did Henry react with a gesture that seemed to mean everything and nothing at the same time.
“Everything hurts.”
“Why’s that?” Equally puzzled and concerned, Thokk paused and tilted his head.
With a weary smile, Henry shrugged. “Do you orcs even realize how strong you are? I can barely even lift the hammer meant for the apprentices.”
“You’re exaggerating…”
“I wish that were true.” A soft groan of pain followed, and Thokk frowned, gliding through the water and swiftly plucking Henry’s hand from his shoulder before he began rubbing it with gentle pressure.
“Is the master any good? Towards you, I mean?” he then asked. He was dealing with so many new people—most of whom he didn’t even get to see—that his mental list of names was overflowing and in disarray.
“Yeah—agh! Damn it!” Henry cursed and shot Thokk a glance over his aching shoulder. “I actually came here to learn, not to ruin my shoulder permanently."
Thokk gave him an apologetic smile but didn’t have a real answer ready. Instead, he offered, “Should I have someone call a masseur?”
“A what?”
“A masseur, a… um, let’s say a kind of healer. They knead the muscles like bakers knead their dough.”
“Oh, by all my ancestors, if that looks anything like what my mother does with her bread dough, I’ll pass, thank you very much.”
The horror in Henry’s voice was so genuine that Thokk chuckled. He felt the urge to hug Henry and tell him that he certainly wouldn’t be mistreated here, but naked and in the bathhouse, he didn’t think that was a good idea. Before he could say anything else, however, Henry continued:
“Besides, I don’t want any special treatment.”
“Oh, nonsense, Korgar wouldn’t say no to a masseur."
“No one here would say no to a masseur,” one of the guards suddenly interjected from the entrance. The orc sounded just as tired as Henry, and his colleague grunted in agreement.
“Korgar makes us train as if we were applying to be Night Sentries. We’re guarding his consort. In a completely peaceful district.”
Thokk, who had by now put a decent distance between himself and Henry, eyed the two of them; both were sporting dark, swollen bruises. Expecting a little ambition shouldn’t be too much to ask, but on the other hand, they were absolutely right. “I’ll bring up the subject of a masseur,” he promised. He reached for the soap, and although he probably wasn’t supposed to hear it, he still caught the quiet murmur:
“My brother’s right—a non-warrior among the decision-makers brings enough brains to the table to make life more pleasant.”
“Eh, as if Korgar has any brains at all—he’s got nothing but a prick and an axe arm. And Larran doesn’t have any stones.”
~
Excitement was in the air as Thokk left the dining hall a few days later. The oily texture of the pickled vegetables clung unpleasantly to his mouth, but the taste had been good; he should thank Lady Sabina for her recommendation.
The thought had barely crossed his mind—his tongue still busy with a few fibers stuck between his teeth—when he nearly ran into the healer at a corner. He barely managed to give him a polite nod before the man had already hurried on.
“Sir, our Ruby Lord and Larran wish to speak with you.” The young man who served as Korgar’s personal attendant approached Thokk and bowed slightly.
“And where can I find them?”
“In the study.”
“Thank you.” Thokk nodded and set off; without a name being mentioned, it could only mean Korgar’s study—and the fact that it was being used at all came close to a miracle. Something had happened.
However, he didn’t find the two of them in the study, but in Korgar’s adjoining bedroom, where Larran seemed to be scribbling a note while leaning against the nightstand, and Korgar was standing in front of what looked like a random collection of shirts and pants spread out on his bed.
Confused, he took in the scene. “Korgar?”
“Thokk, there’s wonderful news!” Korgar spun around, a radiant smile lighting up his face.
Thokk, who had already been bracing himself for the worst after the healer’s visit, breathed a little easier. “Namely?”
“We’re expecting a child!”
The smile breaking out on Thokk’s face was absolutely genuine, and a sigh of relief escaped him. “Congratulations. That really is good news. I was just thinking, seeing—”
“And I’m going to follow my calling. Larran, are you done?”
“What?” Thokk blinked, puzzled.
“Yes, here.” Larran pressed the note into Korgar’s hand, and Korgar, grinning like a child up to no good, hurried off.
“Korgar, wait—what do you mean?” Thokk rushed after him, for that grin undid the relief he’d just felt a thousandfold. “Korgar!” He nearly tripped over his own feet when Larran grabbed him by the arm.
“He’s planning an expedition.”
“What? Where? Now?” Thokk stared at Larran in bewilderment and wrenched his arm free. He didn’t like it one bit how Larran—who was significantly slimmer than Korgar but actually even taller—was looking down at him.
“An expedition to the edge of the desert, to be precise,” Larran clarified, then thankfully took a step back on his own. “You saw it in the smoke, how he lets the sand trickle through his fingers as if testing it, before he surveys the horizon triumphantly. He doesn’t want to give the doubters any room to argue and plans to set out as soon as possible.”
Thokk’s mouth fell open; the words didn’t come until two heartbeats later. “Now? Is he out of his mind? Summer is approaching, and he wants to go into the desert? To the other end of—his consort is pregnant!”
Larran gave him a knowing look; a certain resignation played around his mouth. “And that’s exactly why I’m going to accompany him.” Thokk understood the unspoken reasoning behind it perfectly, and yet:
“You can’t just go with him, Larran. Who’s going to take care of the court?”
“You, my dear Thokk.” Larran forced a joyless smile. “I may be repeating myself, but I’m not an administrator, I’m an advisor, and where would I be best suited than at my lord’s side?”
Before Thokk could recite his own version of the little saying, Korgar reappeared. “Larran, come on, we’ve got a lot to do.”
“Korgar, wait.” Once again, Thokk hurried after him. “You can’t just leave the court for that long—what about your consort, and the child?”
“As far as I know, I’ve done my part.” Korgar winked. “And you’ve got everything under control here.”
“I’m a shaman, not an administrator!” In the background, Larran grimaced slightly, which gave Thokk a certain sense of satisfaction, but the feeling vanished immediately at Korgar’s sudden coldness. When Korgar leaned down toward him, Thokk instinctively recoiled.
“Don’t worry, Thokk, there will be an official announcement. But I’ll remind you anyway that we have a deal. You give me what I want, I give you what you want. You’ve also given me a purpose, and I’m grateful for that, but now just shut up and go play with your little human, okay?”
Thokk stared after him in disbelief, his fists trembling at his sides. He didn’t know what bothered him most about this situation, those words, but he knew even less how he should react now.
A shuffling sound made him glance to the side, where Henry was suddenly standing. The timing was unfortunate, his expression unsettling. “Henry…”
The corners of Henry’s mouth turned downwards. “I was under the impression that Korgar was as dumb as a bale of straw, but actually, the whole thing seems well thought out. He fulfills his only real duty and passes the rest off to others so he can have fun.”
Thokk licked his dry lips. “That’s what they call the cunning of fools.” Or Larran had pulled some strings, but considering his laziness, that seemed rather unlikely in light of the planned expedition.
“And you’re probably not as smart as you think you are.”
“I… excuse me?” The tension had just eased in Thokk’s hands when it crept up to his forehead.
“And above all,” Henry’s voice trembled, “you’re not the man I thought you were.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I have ears, Thokk; I hear the whispers.” Bitterness twisted Henry’s features, and now it was his hands that clenched into fists. “The shaman’s plaything. With less subtlety, people whisper that you’re the one pulling the strings here. And it doesn’t bother anyone, because that’s what you all wanted. I mean, Korgar is far too stupid, young, and inexperienced for a court, for a bride. So you cooked up a few things for him in the smoke. That way, he can fuck his bride without having to worry about a thing, while you get the power you would never have had as a shaman otherwise.”
“Henry, that’s not—” Henry had become uncomfortably loud, but that bothered Thokk less than his own inability to respond.
“I want to go home.”
Thokk blinked. He swallowed—no, choked down—the tiny bit of saliva that was too little to moisten his mouth but enough to choke him. “You… owe… him a long dagger,” he managed to say.
“I know. But by the time it’s finished, Korgar will be gone.”
“Courtesy—the law of hospitality—dictates that you wait until he returns.”
Henry nodded curtly. “Then I will do so. With your permission, sir.”
The address struck Thokk in the chest like a blow, and gasping for air, he watched as Henry took a stiff bow and withdrew.
Thokk wasn’t sure how he’d made it to his chambers. He’d snapped at someone along the way, that much he knew, but the growing pressure in his chest was making it hard to breathe. The robe and the thin undershirt beneath it felt constricting, even though that was nonsense. He was too young to have a heart attack, right?
Staggering, he reached his bed and sank down onto it. With great effort, he adjusted himself into a comfortable position, pressing his upper body against his thighs, trying to breathe, trying not to drown.
He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. Not even for help, but out of anger. Out of frustration. Out of… because of… everything. His dream hadn’t even lasted a week. It had burst like a soap bubble in the bathhouse.
He pressed a trembling hand to his chest and couldn’t believe that his heart was beating normally. Wasn’t that what had just happened? That his heart had burst?
A sound he was ashamed to call a sob escaped his throat. He drew in a breath as deeply as he could, endured the pain—and then it was over.
Squinting at the gray floor, he realized he’d been squeezing his eyes shut. He felt nothing more than a slight dizziness, so he straightened up. The robe was still getting in his way, though, so he yanked it off his body, flung it aside, and stomped into his study; the movement felt good.
Henry was nothing but a rosy larva. A larva that differed from the others just enough to make it interesting. Enough to make him forget what he actually had in front of him.
His hands were still trembling, but he had to do something, so he poured himself a mug from the pitcher sitting on his desk and downed the contents without even realizing what he was drinking.
Henry might have orc blood running through his veins, but he was still human, full of useless emotions and sentimentality and devoid of any gratitude. But he was right about one thing: Thokk was pulling the strings here—Korgar and Larran had just confirmed as much.
Thokk might not be the one to bed Sabina—may the Old Mother have mercy, he didn’t even want to—but he had ensured this ruby court existed. He had secured a future for those who were part of it. Essentially, it was his court.
He took a deep breath, running his fingers over the beautifully ornate quill Gash had gifted him.
It was his court. And he would lead it.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.