Page 105 of The Savage Vow
Their presence filled Nargol with quiet satisfaction. Her mate would be happy that they’d attended.
The world was changing.
Tonight was proof.
A low drum sounded.
The murmuring of the crowd gradually quieted. Nargol’s gaze landed on her parents who sat on one side facing the fire with the other esteemed guests and distant family members who’d arrived to witness the ceremony.
Nargol straightened. The drum was her cue. She wore her finest dress uniform—black ceremonial armor polished to a mirror sheen. Silver etching of the Nidani clan sigil traced the edges of the plates. A deep-crimson cloak hung from her shoulders, the crest of her clan embroidered across the back. At her hip rested a ceremonial dagger identical to the one she would soon give away.
She touched its hilt briefly then lifted her gaze. Across the courtyard, the elder priestess stepped forward.
Shagar looked every bit the ancient authority she was. Her robes flowed in layered black and bronze fabric embroidered with the sacred runes of old orc traditions. Silver rings adorned her tusks, and long white braids fell across her shoulders.
She had presided over the bonding ceremony of Magoza and Amuleta six months earlier.
Now she would witness another.
Shagar raised one weathered hand. Silence settled over the courtyard. Her voice carried easily through the crowd.
“We gather beneath the sky and before the fire to witness a bond. Not of possession, but of fate.” The fire crackled beside her. Her gaze moved slowly across the crowd. “Not of weakness, but of strength between two.”
A low murmur of approval rippled through the clans. Then the drums sounded again. Nargol’s pulse quickened. She stepped forward first in the Walk of Choice.
The stone beneath her boots felt strangely distant as she approached the fire circle. Warriors parted respectfully when she passed. Nods and fists slamming against their chests in a show of fealty and respect.
She took her place beside the fire.
Moments later, another drumbeat echoed.
Nargol turned, and the breath was ripped right out of her lungs.
Orlena stepped into the courtyard. For a moment, everything stood still.
Orlena’s gown shimmered in the firelight. It had been crafted by the finest designers in Udenia. A fusion of human elegance and orc tradition. The dress flowed in soft ivory fabric embroidered with crimson thread along the sleeves and hem. Orcish knot patterns wound across the bodice like living vines. A silver chain rested at her waist.
Her dark hair flowed loosely down her back. It was adorned with small iron clasps shaped like leaves. She looked radiant.
At her side walked her brother, Tashard. A swell of gratitude filled Nargol, and she gazed upon the man who shared similar features to her mate. Their reunion months ago had been emotional beyond words. Tashard had searched for his sister for years—even traveled to Soza where Yambul had told him Orlena had escaped and headed west.
Hence how he’d ended up on the western coast.
He’d given up and settled in Begoz after finding work.
Yet now the siblings walked side by side again. Tashard escorted Orlena forward with quiet pride. Four orc warriors followed behind them as ceremonial guards.
When they reached the fire circle, Tashard placed his sister’s hand gently into Nargol’s. He stared at Nargol for a brief moment.
“Thank you for returning Orlena to my life. I can never repay you,” he said.
Nargol met his gaze and nodded.
“You don’t ever have to thank me for making my mate happy,” she said.
He stepped back. Shagar watched them both carefully as she and Orlena turned to face her.
“Do you come here freely?” Shagar asked.
