Nemia kept her lips pressed together as she and Azlinar made their way back to her home in the mines. The decrepit old orc shuffled behind her, his gnarled wooden cane tapping the ground.
As a baby, Nemia had been kept from sick people. Her parents had brought in powerful shamans to cast spells of protection over her. They wanted to be sure she would survive. After all, as their only child, she was the future of Agitar.
At least, that's how it should have been. But when her birthmark continued to grow, instead of fading or shrinking, her life had taken a much different turn. Her parents had chosen Sabniss, a child of miners, to stand in for her as the princess. After that, the shamans began to visit Sabniss instead. The new princess. The false princess. The one Nemia was eventually forced to kill.
Now all three of them were gone. Sabniss was dead thanks to Nemia's uncontrollable magic. Azlinar had promised he would help her learn to control her rage and the magic that spilled forth from it, but so far nothing worked. Then Nemia's father had abdicated and gone missing, and her mother had been… handled.
Nemia was now the rightful ruler of Agitar. But few orcs alive knew—and the rest would never believe it. There was no proof.
Which meant she would have to take the crown by force. And she had the perfect weapon hidden in these mines.
Nemia crossed the threshold into her home, an expansive cavern that had been dug out long ago by their orc ancestors even before the miners had moved underground. It had gone on to become the main gathering area for the miners, a place where they ate and relaxed. But now the mining had stopped, and the miners themselves were decimated.
First there was the xarlug, emerging from underground, disturbing their tunnels. After its arrival, the miners were too scared to venture deeper into the warren of tunnels they'd excavated. They feared collapse—and whatever else might be waiting down there for them.
Then the infection took hold. Miners began dropping like canaries. Within days, hundreds were dead, and hundreds more sick. Nemia took them in, cared for them, did as much as she could to help.
And finally, the orcs aboveground began to close the mine entrances. It was only then that Nemia felt her anger overtake her.
Once again, she was being abandoned. First by her parents. Then by Tace and Ademar. Now, by all the orcs aboveground. No one wanted her. No one needed her.
She would show them the error of their ways.
With Azlinar's help, Nemia had created a weapon—a cure to the infection. It wouldn't be long before they would bargain with her for the throne. What orc wouldn’t, knowing she could save all of them with the cure? They would give her the throne, and anything else she asked for.
She sank into a chair and rested her head on the plush back.
"Are you pleased with what our orcs have brought us?" Azlinar asked, walking around the room, an arm outstretched.
Nemia surveyed the most recent haul. She was sitting on her mother's throne, but that wasn't all they'd brought from the castle. Mountains of gold were piled in every corner, along with diamond-crusted plates, bowls, and cutlery. Tapestries that used to hang in hallowed halls now adorned her underground kingdom.
The orcs above thought they knew every way into the mines. They knew nothing. More than any other orc, Nemia knew the secret ways from the mines into the royal chambers. She had told her minions exactly where to go and what to steal. Soon they learned what was valuable and brought items to her without being asked. They now freely roamed the castle, abandoned by the aboveground orcs after the arrival of the xarlug. The interior of the castle was unreachable from the outside, having been covered in fallen stone during the xarlug's rampage. But Nemia knew ways to get in. Better ways. Darker ways. She would reclaim what was hers.
Azlinar pulled some herbs from his cloak's pocket and lit them on the nearby pyre. Nemia took deep breaths from the herbs' smoke, letting their protective powers deep into her lungs. So far, Azlinar had kept his promise to keep her safe.
He was the only orc who had never lied to her. He had protected her from the disease. He had shown her a way to reclaim the crown. And one day, soon, she would rule as she'd been born to do.
"Tell me about the dark mage you foresaw on the day of the xarlug's destruction," Nemia said when the herbs had burnt out. "Is he coming?"
Azlinar nodded. "I have foreseen it. His presence gets closer with each passing day. He is drawn to you and your power. Once he arrives in Agitar, we will speak with him."
"How will you keep him safe from the infection?"
Azlinar gazed into Nemia's eyes. The black depths of his irises mesmerized her, and a strange, floating feeling washed over her. She felt calm, relaxed. It was something she so rarely experienced. Her entire life had been filled with one stressor after another.
"Nemia," a weak voice called from the far end of the room.
Nemia sat forward in her chair. She turned lazily toward the back of the room, where her mother was restrained by manacles connected by chains to the wall.
"Yes, Mother?" Nemia said, still dazed.
"Please let me go. Please. Your father… where is he?"
"Don't mention him," Nemia snapped. "He hated me. He treated you like chattel. We won't speak of him again. Azlinar, take some herbs to her. Help her to relax."
Azlinar stood on wobbly legs. As he made his way to her mother's side, he pulled another wad of herbs from his cloak.
"No," Nemia's mother begged. "Not again. I can't lose control of my thoughts. Nemia, don't you know what he's doing to you? Nemia!" Her cries grew softer as the scent of the herbs filled the room again.
"I know exactly what Azlinar is doing to me," Nemia said to herself in a singsong voice. "He's caring for me, like you never did. And soon, everything that was promised to me at birth will be mine again."