Fortunately, the orc nodded, so Geva thanked him, dropped the curtain, and went back to Rathgarr again. He was still standing there in the trove-room, still in the exact same place she’d left him, still with that same empty look in his eyes. And after an instant’s studying him, she put her hands to his shoulders, and began smoothing out his tunic with easy, gentle strokes.
“We’ve been invited for a meal, love,” she said, because those two damned orcs were still waiting, and no doubt listening, just beyond that door. “Would you like to wear your cloak, or your sword? And perhaps I can comb your hair?”
Rathgarr slightly twitched beneath her touch, his eyes shifting, his head jerking what might have been a nod. So Geva finished smoothing out his tunic, tucking it more tightly into his trousers, before guiding him back out into the bedroom again. And after a moment’s quick searching — his cloak was in the wardrobe, his sword propped in the corner, his comb on the nightstand — she was back before him again. Fussing first with his cloak, and then huffing a laugh at the damned heaviness of his sword, and how she could scarcely lift it, let alone put it into his belt.
But thank the gods, Rathgarr’s awareness had seemed to keep returning throughout all this, and his hand jerked to hers, helping her lift the sword, and sheath it into place. And then Geva moved around to his hair, combing it out slow and careful, until she could feel his head tilting back, his breath shuddering out, his shoulders gradually sagging beneath his cloak.
“Almost done,” she murmured, letting her hands slip back to his shoulders, squeezing them, easing out the tension even more. “What do you think, love?”
At that, Rathgarr exhaled again, and jerked a curt little nod. So after another brief moment’s rubbing his shoulders, Geva took his hand, and drew him out into the corridor. To where the two orcs were still waiting, the friendly one still smiling, the angry one still looking murderous.
“Thank you so much for waiting,” Geva told them, with the biggest smile she could muster. “Proper grooming issoimportant, you know. I’m Geva, and this is my mate Rathgarr, of Clan Ash-Kai. It’s so lovely to meet you… er…?”
The greenish orc’s smile had gone rather bemused, but he nodded, and gave a brief little bow. “I am Baldr, of Clan Grisk, Left Hand to our captain,” he replied. “And this is Drafli of Clan Skai, my mate, and our Right Hand.”
Oh. That surely sounded important — though wait, Clan Skai was the same as Killik and Ulfarr, right? The clan Rathgarr had called the captain’sattack dogs?
But Geva kept the smile fixed to her mouth, and aimed it toward this alarming, lethal-looking Drafli. “It’s such an honour to meet you,” she said brightly. “I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting several of your Skai clan-mates. Killik, and Ulfarr? Killik is a very impressive fighter.”
There was no forthcoming reply, only more of the murderous glare, and Geva’s helpless glance toward Baldr found him clearing his throat, his smile sheepish this time. “Drafli does not oft speak aloud, the way we do,” he said. “But he is one of our mountain’s best scouts and warriors. And he is also” — his chest puffed out — “the father of our son, to be born this summer.”
Geva blinked at that, glancing uncertainly down at Baldr’s very flat bare waist — but then firmly congratulated him on his forthcoming son. And then, after another sidelong glance at Rathgarr’s immobile form, she loudly proclaimed how hungry she was, and how lovely it was to be invited to dinner, or perhaps this was rather breakfast?
Luckily, Baldr took the hint, and soon he and Drafli were leading Geva and Rathgarr through the broad, lamplit corridor. Which was now twisting and turning more than before, and tilting even further upwards. And as they walked, Geva felt her trepidation steadily rising too, her hands again clinging to their usual place on Rathgarr’s arm.
They’d been summoned by the captain of Orc Mountain. The orc Rathgarr hated most, the orc he most wished to deceive. The orc who’d possibly turned Kesst against him.
A foul usurper, Rathgarr had called him.A hard, ruthless, single-minded orc, who bears no dissent, and no rivals for his place.
And glancing again at Rathgarr’s set face beside her, Geva realized that she had no conception of how he wanted to play this. He wanted to show himself settled and harmless, but what did that mean? How did he want her to behave? What were his goals for this damned meeting, and how could she possibly follow his lead, when he could scarcely seem to speak?
But there were no answers forthcoming, not even a single sideways look. And as Baldr and Drafli halted outside one of the corridor’s doors, Baldr again smiling as he waved them toward it, Geva drew in breath, and squared her shoulders. Bracing herself, for…
A cozy, firelit room, with a large low table in the middle, and two people seated behind it. One was a tall, capable-looking woman with fair skin and dark hair, dressed in what appeared to be… men’s clothing? While beside her, there sat quite possibly the most alarming orc Geva had seen yet. He was perhaps even bigger than Rathgarr, his bare chest huge and strapped with muscle, his heavy-browed face harsh and brutally scarred.
But in the orc’s massive arms, he was holding — a child. A small, grey-skinned, pointy-eared orc child, who was waving his chubby little arms, and giggling.
And that — Geva’s eyes followed the little orc’s delighted gaze — was because the big orc was using his clawed hand to cast a shadow on the opposite wall in the firelight. Making it look like an excitable little dog, perhaps, bouncing around and wildly snapping at the shifting, flickering sparks.
It was something Geva had often done back at the Fitzwalds’, especially with Cecily — and a strange, stilted lump rose in her throat as she watched. Enough that it took a full moment to digest that this was the cruel, ruthless orc captain Rathgarr hated? The foul usurper?Him?!
“Ach, enough for now, my son,” the usurper was currently telling the little orc, in a deep, steady voice. “Let us greet our new guests, and welcome them to our home.”
At this, both he and the little orc looked up at Rathgarr and Geva, with near-identical considering expressions on their faces. And Geva couldn’t help an impulsive, genuine grin, and a curtsey toward first the orc and his son, and then the woman. Who was already standing and striding over to meet them, her hand outstretched, a warm smile on her face.
“Welcome to our mountain,” she said, with a firm shake of Geva’s hand, and then a nod toward Rathgarr’s still-stiff bulk beside her. “I’m Jule, of Clan Ash-Kai, and this is my mate Grimarr, Captain of Five Clans. And this” — her smile softened as she glanced toward him — “is our son, Tengil. And I presume you’ve already met Baldr and Drafli?”
Baldr and Drafli were indeed still here, striding around to sit at the table together, on the side nearest Grimarr. “Yes, thank you,” Geva replied, smiling between them both, and then back toward this Jule. “And I’m Geva Okoro, and this is my mate Rathgarr. We’re so grateful to you for welcoming us here, and inviting us to your home and table.”
Jule flashed her another warm grin in return, and then angled a brief, curious glance toward Rathgarr. “It’s our pleasure, of course,” she said. “Kesst is a dear friend of ours, and I’ve been so eager to meet his brother, after so long.”
It was clearly an opening for Rathgarr, a conversational offering, and Geva could have groaned at the sight of his still-blank face, the very faint curl of his lip. “Yes, it’s certainly been a while,” she interjected, with a brief, purposeful clench of her fingernails into Rathgarr’s arm. “But I know you’re very eager to catch up again too, love, aren’t you?”
To her great relief, Rathgarr finally twitched beneath her, and inclined his head toward Jule. “Ach,” he said stiffly. “Greetings, Ash-Kai woman. And” — his eyes slid toward Grimarr, his head bowing — “Grimarr. My regards upon all your great gains, these past years.”
Grimarr bowed his head in return, but his eyes remained decidedly wary, even as he waved for them to sit down across from him at the table. A silent order that Rathgarr seemed entirely disinclined to obey, so Geva surreptitiously drew him forward, and tugged him down beside her. And then — after desperately searching for some distraction — she found one in the little orc, who was still eyeing her suspiciously from his father’s arms.
“Hi, Tengil,” she said, with a cheery little wave. “I’m Geva. I like funny shadows, too.”
