Kesst could see the healer’s big body stiffening even more, and behind him Skald loudly scoffed. “So the bewitcher does not fight, and he does not fuck,” he said. “What good is he to us, then?”
It was the perfect opening, the perfect opportunity for Kesst to point out that this bewitcher was indeed no good whatsoever, based on his own abysmal experience the day before — but suddenly, he couldn’t seem to make himself speak. And instead, it took considerable effort to even muster a laugh, to keep the smile painfully pasted on his face, while the healer just kept staring at him with those wide, wounded eyes.
And gods, it was ridiculous, because Kesst should be truly enjoying this moment, shouldn’t he? He was just giving that smug bastard exactly what he’d asked for, what he damn well deserved. So why did it keep feeling so wrong, why was there something so much like bile, rising up in his throat?
“Ach, you shall thus keep your eye on that bewitcher, Skald,” Kaugir was saying now, as he spat out a bone into the fire. “If he does not soon learn to make himself useful, mayhap you shall teach him some true orc ways. That ought to be a joy to witness, ach?”
And when Skald laughed, laughed like it was the most amusing thing he’d ever heard in his life, Kesst somehow laughed again, too. Grinding his victory harder, deeper, colder, watching it catch and wrench in the healer’s too-expressive eyes. Until the healer finally turned and lurched away, his eyes squeezing shut, his hand clamped over his mouth. Almost as though he felt sick, too.
“Or cull him,” Kaugir continued, with gut-churning casualness. “We are at war. We have no spare food and coin to waste on idlers, ach?”
Kesst’s body betrayed an unmistakable flinch, but he was fine, fine, better than ever. Of course he was. And when the healer disappeared into the darkness, hopefully never to be seen again, Kesst most certainly didn’t notice, or care. And instead, he tossed his head, arched his back, and howled his victory to the sky.
3
Predictably, the next morning found Kesst trudging bow-legged through the forest, and awkwardly rolling a huge, heavy barrel before him.
“Are you well, brother?” asked a familiar deep voice, and Kesst rolled his eyes as he glanced sideways toward his Ash-Kai brother Grimarr. Who currently had a barrel perched on one big shoulder, and a gigantic sack slung over the other — and who, despite all this, hadn’t even appeared to break a sweat, the infuriating lout.
“Perfectly fine,” Kesst replied, his voice thin, his gaze darting back toward the rest of the distant band ahead. “Ilovetravelling.Sucha delight, as always.”
Grimarr loudly snorted, and shifted the barrel on his shoulder. “I could likely handle this,” he said, nodding at Kesst’s barrel, “if you could help me tie this sack on my back.”
Now it was Kesst’s turn to snort, his head shaking. “I appreciate your gallantry, Grim,” he replied, “but you know how your father and Skald like to see me earning my keep.”
The words came out sharper than Kesst meant, his eyes again angling up toward where he could just make out Kaugir and Skald, at the front of the band ahead. Surrounded by their ever-present entourage of elite Skai and Ash-Kai hangers-on, all of them carrying nothing, as usual — while behind them, every other orc in the party was loaded down with sacks and barrels. Even the wounded ones, and even — Kesst frowned at the sight — that damned healer, trailing along at the rear of the band, carrying a heavy-looking pack on his broad shoulders. Making himself somewhat useful, at least, and Kesst felt his stomach twist as he watched, while Kaugir’s words from the night before echoed through his skull.
Keep your eye on that one, Skald. Teach him some true orc ways. Or cull him.
Beside Kesst, Grimarr had given a low, disapproving growl, in an unnerving echo of Kesst’s own deepest thoughts — and when he glanced sideways, Grimarr was frowning up at the band, too. His eyes gone dark and angry on Kaugir’s distant form, his teeth visibly bared. Showing his very clear disapproval, in a way that no other orc would have ever dared to do.
And while Kesst would never risk speaking it aloud, he was desperately, absurdly grateful for that constant simmering antagonism between Grimarr and his ghastly father. After Ofnir’s death, Kesst had fully expected Grimarr to finally step up, and take his proper place as Kaugir’s obvious successor and protege — but instead, Grimarr had only seemed to ease further away. Always bringing up the rear of the bands like this, and going off on his own mysterious missions, and dragging back random new orcs like the healer. And lately, Grimarr had even taken two orcs — Baldr, a new arrival from the Grisk clan, and Drafli, yet another horrid Skai like Ofnir — and had rather begun treating them as though they were his own two Hands. Almost the way Kaugir had done with Skald and Ofnir.
“Plotting something, brother?” Kesst asked pleasantly, with his blandest smile. “I couldn’t help but notice that your two obedient shadows have disappeared, again?”
Grimarr shot Kesst his familiar reproachful look, his jaw tightening in his scarred cheek. “Baldr and Drafli are only scouting ahead,” he said flatly. “The scents of armed men are strong upon this route, ach?”
Right. That was something Kesst had heard Grimarr quietly raising with his father, before they’d broken camp that morning — but as usual, Kaugir had scoffed at his son’s concerns, and blithely continued on, just as he’d planned. Just like the short-sighted, self-absorbed bastard he’d always been.
“Are you sure you will not let me take that?” Grimarr asked now, again nodding toward Kesst’s barrel, and slowing his long strides. “Or mayhap” — his too-aware eyes flicked down to Kesst’s ridiculous gait — “call Efterar back here to heal you?”
The growl burned from Kesst’s throat before he could catch it, his head whipping back and forth. “I donotneed healing, most of all from that smug bastard,” he retorted. “He issucha stuffy stodgy arse, you must know. Where did you even find him, anyway?”
Grimarr’s glance at Kesst was surprised, his thick brows raised. “Ach, is aught amiss with him?” he asked. “Have you not yet seen his work? He shall be a great, great gift to us all, I ken.”
Kesst couldn’t help noticing that Grimarr hadn’t actually answered the part about where the healer had come from — and also, that there was now suspicion darkening his too-perceptive eyes. “Efterar has not already run afoul of my father, has he?” he added, quieter. “Have you heard aught, upon this?”
Kesst’s cursed throat reflexively swallowed, and Grimarr abruptly stopped walking, shifting enough of his sack that he could reach and grip at Kesst’s arm. “Kesst,” he hissed, even lower. “This healer may alterallfor us. If my father turns his eye toward him, or makesanymove against him, you will speak to me of this. Youmust.”
“Yes, yes, fine,” Kesst said, too quickly, his eyes angling away, his face heating. His stomach again horribly twisting, the temptation to blurt out the whole stupid story rising in his throat — but he forcibly shoved it back, and bit at his lip. Kaugir hadn’t truly made amovetoward the healer, had he? At least, not yet… right? And the healer had fully deserved it… hadn’t he?
“I thank you, brother,” Grimarr said, his scent swarming with almost painful intensity now, as his hand gave Kesst’s arm a firm little shake. “You have a sharp eye and a quick tongue, and your help in this means much to me.”
And gods, Kesst’s traitorous eyes were actually prickling, and he held them purposefully away, on the thick forest beyond Grimarr’s shoulder. Damn Grimarr and his damned earnestness, his ceaseless plotting, his constant quiet implication that Kesst was on his side, party to the cause. That Kesst wasn’t just a pretty plaything, but a valued asset, a collaborator, an informant. A spy. Which was truly, patently ludicrous, because passing on a few bits of news and gossip here and there surely amounted to nothing in the larger scheme of things, right?
“Such untoward flattery, brother,” Kesst heard himself replying, his lashes fluttering, his body leaning a little into Grimarr’s touch. “If this is a backhanded attempt to get into my trousers, you know you only ever need to ask.”
He’d meant it to sound light, but damn him if it didn’t come out almost pleading, and surely pathetic, too. Because he’d been there with Grimarr, years before, and not only had the devious lout been a considerate lover, but an unfairly enthralling one, too. Warm, commanding, affectionate, with a big powerful body, a smooth, steady scent, and a highly impressive prick. As if it had all been perfectly calibrated to poke and peel at Kesst’s cold, shrivelled heart.
