And while she recognized some of it — much of it — from the Fitzwalds’, there was still so much more. Piles of coin. Clusters of glinting gold and jewels. Small shiny carvings and baubles. And tools, and weapons, and flasks, and goblets… and even those two shining silver dinner-plates, now standing proudly on a shelf, with four more to match.
Geva couldn’t seem to stop gaping at it, at all this shocking wealth just scattered around this little room — and suddenly she felt dizzy, enough that she had to put her hand to the stone wall beside her. Gods, no wonder Rathgarr hadn’t cared about throwing her all those ten-piece coins. No wonder he hadn’t balked at paying for her passage across the sea. Compared to all this, she was… cheap. A… bargain.
“This is… all yours?” she made herself say, though it came out sounding faint. “And this your… dressing-room, or something?”
“Ach, this is all mine,” Rathgarr replied, without looking up. “And this is a proper Ash-Kai trove-room. Kept safe just beyond where the Ash-Kai sleeps, and serving to flaunt his wealth, and his strength, and his standing among his clan.”
Oh. Of course. So it was another part of the show, then. And yes, Rathgarr had even mentioned the flaunting, and Geva had known very well he was carrying excessive quantities of plunder in that gigantic pack of his. But even so, seeing it all out like this, seeing just how much there was, was clutching with surprising misery at her belly.
“Right,” she said weakly. “Well. Perhaps I’ll — dress, then?”
“Ach, should you wish,” Rathgarr said absently, as he combed through a messy pile of jewelry with his claws. “The red dress today, mayhap.”
Oh. The red dress. Because he’d clearly unpacked her clothes too, and therefore knew which ones were the finest. And wait, he’d done this yesterday, too, hadn’t he? Choosing her clothes for her, as if she were another trinket. Another thing… toenvy.
But this was Geva’s job, damn it, and she jerked a nod he couldn’t see, and went back into the bedroom to dress, and wrangle with her hair. Which turned out to be just as painfully tedious as she’d expected, but finally she was groomed and ready, clad in the close-fitting red dress, and waiting.
But Rathgarr still hadn’t emerged from his trove-room, and when Geva went to look again, he was still bent over the jewelry. Plucking out piece after piece with his claws, turning each one over, bringing it to his nose — and then shaking his head as he put it away again.
“Rathgarr?” Geva asked, and when he didn’t respond, she stepped closer, her eyes caught on his stiff shoulders, the hard set of his jaw. “What are you doing?”
He still didn’t look at her, but she could see his throat bobbing as he yanked out a long gold earring, sniffed it, and tossed it away again. “Seeking a new gift for Kesst,” he replied, without inflection. “You were right. He wore jewels, not weapons.”
Oh. Geva winced, and her hand reached for him, gently gripping against his arm. “But Rathgarr,” she said, quiet, “Kesst said he didn’t want any gifts. Remember?”
Rathgarr didn’t seem to have heard her, yanking out a big gold bangle, and Geva sighed as she watched him sniff it, turn it over, sniff it again. “Kesst said he wanted an apology,” she continued. “Or an explanation. Perhaps you could try starting there?”
Rathgarr’s shoulders hunched higher, and he hurled the bangle away, hard enough that it bounced on the stone floor, and rolled away under a shelf. “Kesst does not wish to hear from me,” he said, his voice hard. “He said he isfinishedwith me. Forever.”
Geva winced again, her hand squeezing tighter against his arm. “Yes, but sometimes people say things they don’t mean,” she replied carefully. “Especially when they’re hurt, or surprised, or distressed.”
She could feel Rathgarr’s muscles flexing beneath her touch, and suddenly he laughed, the sound echoing harsh against the stone walls. “Ach, but he too called me auseless arsehole, and agreat greedy prick,” he said, in a perfect imitation of Kesst’s accent. “You cannot ken he did not mean this? Not whenyouhave oft called me much the same, poppet?”
Gods damn it, and Geva made a face, drew in a deep breath. “Well, you knowIdon’t actually mean any of it, either,” she replied, without quite looking at him. “Don’t you?”
There was an instant’s dangling silence, the feel of Rathgarr’s intent eyes on her face. Because whatdidshe mean, if she didn’t mean all that? Surely it didn’t mean… she liked him?Wantedhim?
“And besides,” she added, too quickly, glancing briefly at his unreadable eyes, “how areyouone to judge other people for not meaning what they say? Let’s see, since the first moment we met, I’ve been” — she pulled away to begin counting on her fingers — “yourpoppet, yoursweetling, yourangel, yourkitten, yourpet, yourprickly little schoolmarm… am I missing any?”
She raised her brows imperiously toward him, and was deeply gratified by a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Ach, you ken I do not mean all this, poppet?”
“Of course you don’t, you sleazy cheat!” Geva retorted, but she was half-smiling, too. “You do it so you don’t need to remember any names, or worry about calling any of your lovers the wrong one by mistake!”
And though her stomach twisted at the thought —hundreds, Kesst had said — it had still been worth it, because Rathgarr’s mouth curved higher, that familiar wickedness glinting in his eyes. “Ach, you ken I could forget you,Geva Okoro?” he purred at her, again pronouncing her name with deliberate care. “Or how sweetly you screechmyname, when I empty my bollocks deep into your tight little rump?”
Oh, hell, because Geva’s face instantly flooded hot again, her throat swallowing hard enough that she could hear it. And in return Rathgarr laughed, his big hand swatting her rear, even giving it a firm little squeeze. “Ach, we both know this pleased you, my hungry little pet,” he drawled. “Now, today, mayhap you shall…”
Geva’s breath caught, her eyes damnably eager on his — but he’d suddenly gone still, the words fading to silence in his throat. And something had passed over his face, turning it cold and empty, almost — Geva shivered — just the way he’d looked the night before.
And then, a sound. A rap, perhaps, near the door. And Rathgarr wasn’t moving again, still wasn’t even blinking — and rather than argue it this time, Geva just drew away, and went out to the door. Yanking the curtain aside, and finding — two orcs. Two new orcs, one of them bulky and green-skinned and genial-looking, and the other tall and sharp, with his arms crossed over his bare chest, and murder in his flashing black eyes.
“Greetings, new Ash-Kai woman,” said the greenish orc, with a swift little bow. “The Captain of Orc Mountain seeks the presence of you and your mate at his table. At once.”
23
The Captain of Orc Mountain. At once.
It took far too much effort for Geva to smile, to keep her eyes warm on the genial orc’s face. “Of course, we’d be happy to oblige,” she replied, as smoothly as she could. “If you could just grant us a moment to ready ourselves?”
