Geva gave a numb-feeling nod, and attempted a wretched smile toward him. “Yes, I’m afraid so,” she replied, as smoothly as she could. “I think it’s — for the best. It’s been so good meeting you though, and I’m very grateful for your kindness.”
Efterar kept frowning at her, but then he exhaled heavily, and reached up his hand, hovering it in the vicinity of her waist. “Well, that’s your pregnancy prevention gone, all right?” he said, already turning back to Kesst again. “So make sure you use alternate protections, as needed. And” — he shot her another brief glance over his shoulder — “it really has been a pleasure, Geva. I won’t forget all your generosity toward us. Thanks.”
Right. Geva gave a shaky nod he couldn’t see, and then swallowed hard, and clasped her hands together. So this was it, then. Leaving. Leaving, forever, because Rathgarr had accepted her terms. And suddenly she couldn’t bear to look at him, and instead she jerked around toward Killik. Toward where he and Ulfarr were still watching, both with darkly disapproving expressions on their faces.
“So am I to understand,” Geva choked out, “that you two are still… on thisjob, then?”
Killik nodded, arching his brow, so Geva drew in more breath, and grasped desperately for focus. Leaving. Permanently. Today.
“Might you be so kind, then,” she said, “to escort me back to the Fitzwalds’? I would be happy to pay you for your time.”
And to her astonishment, Killik actually… grinned. A swift, sharp-toothed grin, with no smugness or malice in it, only sheer, glittering glee.
“Ach, Ash-Kai,” he said. “No payment needed. Ready your goods, and we shall go.”
46
It didn’t take long for Geva to pack her belongings, and ready herself to go.
She found her old satchel tucked into the bottom of the wardrobe, and even before she’d begun packing it, Jule showed up at the door. Holding Tengil in one arm, and a large, sturdy-looking leather pack in the other.
“Are you sure?” Geva asked her, with a grimace. “I won’t be able to return it.”
But Jule waved it away and set Tengil down on the bed, so she could start helping to fold the stacks of Geva’s clothes. “Consider it part of your teaching salary,” she said firmly. “Also” — she reached into the pack, and held out a small, clinking bag — “here’s the rest of it, too.”
Geva only seemed able to stare at it, swallowing hard over the ever-present lump in her throat. And she should have said something, some kind of thanks, but there were truly no words to say, amidst the guilt, and the regret. Because Jule had been one of the people to rush into that hidden room with Efterar, along with Grimarr, and Drafli, and Simon, and Ella’s mate Nattfarr. And Geva had been appalled to discover that they’d all known, too. Not about the hoard, no — but about her. About how she’d pretended to be Rathgarr’s mate, for coin.
But now they did know about the hoard, too, and Geva would never forget the way they’d all looked around at the room packed full of treasure. Grimarr with a dark, glinting fury, surely knowing Rathgarr had tricked him, while Drafli had looked coldly contemptuous, Simon stiff and stern. And Nattfarr had walked over to a shelf with strange, stilted steps, and picked up a heavy gold cuff, studded with deep green emeralds.
“My father’s,” he’d said, with an odd harshness in his voice. “I had thought it stolen by humans, upon his death.”
But amidst it all, Jule had only looked pale, and then sad, her eyes on Geva, and then on Kesst. And she’d spoken kindly to Geva as they’d crept out that horrible tunnel again, and now she was here helping her, working in swift silence until both the pack and the satchel were full, with all Geva’s possessions inside. Including not only her book of tales, and all the clothing she’d come here with, but also the children’s and servants’ plunder from the Fitzwalds’. Which, after some searching in the trove-room, Geva had found stuffed together into the bottom of a shelf, well apart from the rest of Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwald’s gaudy loot. Almost as if Rathgarr hadn’t wanted to think about how he’d stolen from children and servants, either.
“Is that all, then?” Jule said, surveying Geva’s stuffed satchel and pack, while Tengil looked on with unhappy eyes. “Is there anything else that’s yours? Anything from the schoolroom, maybe?”
But Geva couldn’t bear the idea of seeing the schoolroom again, let alone taking anything from it, and she shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “But thank you. You have been… so generous. Especially since you knew, all that time, about my… my…”
And gods, she couldn’t even say it, through the misery and the regret surging up into her throat, and suddenly Jule caught her into her arms, squeezing her tight, swaying back and forth. “Oh, sister,” Jule said, into her shoulder. “Maybe I should have said something. I thought — I hoped — that you two really did care for each other, and that you’d end up staying, after all. These orcs have a way of growing on you, and Kesst just wanted Rathgarr here so much. So we tried not to interfere, and instead did everything we could to make you feel comfortable and welcome. Hoping you’d decide to stay.”
Oh. So maybe Jule had been part of the Ash-Kai plotting web too, then. And while Geva should probably have been offended by that, she suddenly just felt a strange, surreal commiseration, or perhaps even appreciation.
“Well, you almost succeeded,” Geva said as she drew away, giving Jule a sad, watery smile. “I really loved being here. And the orclings” — she gulped back a sob — “I’ll miss them so much. I so desperately want to say goodbye, but I promised Rathgarr I wouldn’t linger or dawdle, or say tearful goodbyes in the corridors, so —”
“So we’ll make it quick, then,” Jule said firmly, with a watery smile of her own. “And I don’t think you’ll need to go far.”
Geva blinked, mystified, until Jule ushered her out the door — to where a large cluster of people were waiting, milling around in the corridor. Not only Killik and Ulfarr, but also Sune and Timo and Trygve, and Ella and Rakfi, and Maria and Bjorn, and Hagen and Hauk. And even, poking out from behind them, were all the younger Grisk and Ka-esh orclings, all of them looking at Geva with wide, glimmering eyes.
“You are not leaving, Miss Gee?” asked Bram, his little mouth quivering. “But what about our school? And our swords?”
Geva’s answer was half-laugh, half-sob, and she knelt down before him, and tried for a smile. “Rathgarr is going to keep teaching you,” she replied, as steadily as she could. “And Killik and Ulfarr too, and Varinn and Kalfr and Baldr and Alma, and so many of our other friends. I know you’ll have such a wonderful time with them.”
But Bram didn’t look at all convinced, and now it was Isak slipping forward to frown fiercely up at Geva’s face. “You ought to be there also,” he said flatly, with a jab of his little clawed finger toward her. “You are good teacher.Ourteacher.”
It felt almost impossible to keep smiling, but Geva made another fervent attempt. “Thank you, Isak,” she whispered. “It’s been such an honour, getting to teach you. All of you.”
Isak didn’t look convinced either, his bottom lip jutting out, his eyes far too bright. And Geva blinked helplessly down toward him, utterly lost, until she felt a sudden, familiar prickle, quivering up her spine.
And even before she blinked up, she knew who she’d find. Rathgarr. Standing stiffly at the end of the corridor, his arms folded tightly over his chest, his eyes flashing with something much like disapproval, or rage.
