Nemia watched her mother sleep. She truly was a beautiful orc. Her tusks were thick and came to a fine point. Her long black hair swept over her shoulder into a neat braid. Her skin bore the emerald coloring of those born into royalty, so unlike the odd, washed-out blue of Tace’s skin.
Tace.
Just thinking about her made Nemia’s blood boil. If Tace had only accepted her and not thrown her away once she was done with her, things might be different today. But all Tace did was remind Nemia how she didn’t fit in. How she would never be the true princess of Agitar. How she was a deformed, useless piece of trash.
Nemia’s heart ached. All she had ever wanted was to be loved. But her parents couldn’t bring themselves to do it, and if they couldn’t, why would anyone else?
Azlinar smiled at Nemia from across the room, his dark, gnarled teeth barely visible in the dim light. He was the only orc who had ever treated her kindly—and despite everything, he was still there with her.
“How long has it been?” she asked, impatient to move on her plan.
“Only two days,” he responded.
“How long should it take?”
“I suspect we will see a change in Vron any moment. If not, then the faun’s disease wasn’t strong enough to turn him. But based on her symptoms, I suspect it will work. You have nothing to fear, my queen.”
Nemia burned with pride every time he called her that. Though her mother was still alive, it was Nemia’s turn to rule. She would be queen. As soon as her mother declared the truth to all of Agitar—and as soon as the orcs met her army of infected—nothing could stand in her way. Particularly not when her army was led by two of their most trusted: Vron and Alyna. She would convince the orc encampment’s leader, Dalgron, that she was the rightful queen. Her mother would back up her claims. And she, Nemia, would unite all the orcs under her rule, restoring Agitar to its former glory. After all, she was the only one with the cure to the infection.
Her plan was foolproof. The disease couldn’t have emerged at a better time. She had already sent three of her newly infected orcs aboveground to infiltrate the encampment, setting her devious plan in motion. Without Azlinar’s herbs, those in the camp should already be feeling the devastating effects of the illness.
“Nemia…” Her mother’s voice was weak. “Where are we?”
Nemia went to her mother’s side. “We’re in the mines, remember? This is the place you banished me to as a small child. I’ve lived here many years.”
“Where is your father?” As if her husband was more important than her daughter. It infuriated Nemia.
“He is gone. Dead. I told you that. When are you going to remember? Now stop asking!”
Pain spread across her mother’s face.
It went this way every time. To keep Nemia’s mother compliant, Azlinar used his herbs on her. Unfortunately, it affected her memory, and every time she woke, Nemia had to go through this same difficult conversation.
“I’m sorry. Of course. I knew that.” A single tear slipped out of her mother’s eye. It was clear she still missed him, even though it was he who had convinced her to replace their deformed daughter with another orc. That was unforgivable. How could her mother have gone along with it?
“We’ll return to the surface soon,” Nemia said. “We’ll rebuild the castle, and your old chambers will be spruced up.” She didn’t have the heart to tell her mother how the xarlug had broken through the floor of her bedchamber, demolishing everything in sight.
Not that it mattered. After her mother convinced the other orcs of Nemia’s legitimacy, the former queen wouldn’t live long enough to enjoy her chambers. Nemia couldn’t have a traitor like her mother in her midst, could she? Nor could she take the risk of sending her away. What if she raised a rebellion? No. Her mother would have to die tragically from the disease.
And when Nemia took the throne, she would send someone to find the dark human mage that Azlinar had shown her after the battle with the xarlug. His powers could be of use to her, and she would have much to offer in return.
Nemia twirled around, her cape fluttering behind her. “I’m tired of waiting. I want to see Vron for myself.”
“My queen…” Azlinar started.
“Exactly. I am your queen. You obey me. Now take me to Vron and Alyna.” Nemia stamped a boot on the floor.
Azlinar bent his head. “As you wish. I will call the bodyguards. We cannot be too careful.”
Azlinar departed, then returned with two brawny orcs, hardened from their years spent toiling in the mines. Both were deaf, and Azlinar communicated with them with hand signals.
With Azlinar and the guards behind her, Nemia swept out of the room, glad to be away from her mother. She loved her, as any child does, but she could no longer stand the woman’s presence. The herbs had made her simple and quite intolerable. She would be better off dead than alive. Nemia would be doing her a favor.
Traversing the mines was second nature to Nemia. She’d lived in them for years. Even when the tunnels were completely dark, she could make her way through them. She knew exactly where to go.
Vron’s cell was part of one of the old residences in an ancient part of the mines. They were simple apartments, not meant for permanent living—workers used to spend three nights in them before returning home to their cells closer to the surface. They were perfect for holding all of the infected orcs she was keeping alive under Azlinar’s tender care.
Azlinar could perform miracles with herbs. That was how he had kept her, and of course himself, safe from the infection. Nemia was lucky he was on her side. She would have to reward him greatly once she finally sat on the throne of Agitar.
She stopped outside of the door to Vron’s cell. One of the bodyguards opened the door, and the other entered, sheltering Nemia from a potential attack. But there was no need. Vron sat on the floor, his face to the wall. Alyna lay on the cot, her lips slack, a slight dribble of drool dripping off her cheek.
“Vron?” Nemia said in her sweetest voice.
He didn’t flinch.
“Would you like to go to the surface, Vron? I’ve decided to set you free.” Nemia wanted to see how he would react.
He still didn’t move.
“Slam his head into the wall,” she ordered her deaf bodyguard.
Azlinar translated with his hands.
The bodyguard stalked over to Vron, grabbed his head with his massive hands, and slammed Vron’s face into the wall. Blood poured from Vron’s broken nose.
But still, he didn’t react.
“Good,” said Nemia. “I’m satisfied he has finally succumbed to the illness. We will emerge from underground tomorrow with our army. We will finally restore sanity to the orcs of Agitar. With Azlinar’s herbs, we can protect those who are well. We will rebuild the city to its former glory. And if they oppose us, we have the power to turn all of their infected orcs to our side.”
“All hail the queen,” Azlinar said, smiling.
Excitement spread through her as she traversed the tunnels back to her personal residence in the castle. Soon she would show everyone how worthy she was of their worship. She would be their greatest savior. She might even someday be remembered as the deity who had brought the orcs of Agitar back from the brink of extinction.