She wasn’t sure if Tengil would have followed that — he looked to be a little more than a year old, at least by human baby standards — but his eyes narrowed at her, before glancing toward the now-empty wall. A blatant hint if Geva ever saw one, so she twisted sideways, and raised her hands up into the firelight. Not doing the dog, like Grimarr had done, but rather the horned, fire-breathing dragon her mother had taught her.
“I am the great and hungry spirit-dragon Amhalia,” she said in her best dragon voice, making the huge shadowy figure dance and sway upon the wall. “And I love to eat… mosquitoes! Yum yum!”
Her dragon had snapped at a little spark, munching away with gusto, and to Geva’s distant relief, Tengil gave a brief but delighted-sounding gurgle. So she kept on going, making Amhalia messily eat mosquito after mosquito, until Tengil was giggling uncontrollably, his wriggling little body collapsed into his father’s arms. Looking so adorably gleeful that both his parents were smiling, Baldr was laughing aloud, and even Drafli looked slightly less murderous than before. And — perhaps the greatest victory of all — next to Geva, Rathgarr was looking almost like himself again, his eyes focused on the wall, a small smile quirking at his mouth.
“So full!” Geva made Amhalia groan, writhing back and forth. “So — many — mosquitoes! Must go poo — and sleep! Bye-bye!”
With that, Amhalia flailed away, leaving Tengil still wildly shrieking with laughter, interspersed with something that sounded suspiciously like “poo”. And Geva was grinning too, even as she gave an apologetic wince across the table. “The poo jokes, I tell you,” she said. “Every single time.”
But Jule was laughing too, and exchanging a knowing glance with Grimarr beside her. “You’ve spent a lot of time with children, I see,” she said wryly. “We actually heard that you’re a trained governess?”
Geva blinked for an instant, but right, that had come up the day before, hadn’t it? “Yes, for quite a few years now,” she replied, “and before that, while I was studying, I often worked as a tutor as well. I’ve always loved children and teaching, although” — she half-grimaced, half-smiled — “I could do with less poo, I’ll admit.”
Jule laughed again, and then asked Geva where she’d worked, and how many children she’d taught. And soon they were deep in conversation on the subject, and Geva had once again told the entire tale of her awful employers, and of Rathgarr’s highly heroic rescue.
“But you cannot have known one another long?” Baldr interjected at this point, his head tilted. “Your scents upon one another, they are just” — he gave an apologetic smile — “quite recent.”
Damn it. There was an instant’s hitching silence, in which Geva couldn’t help a sideways glance at Rathgarr, who was suddenly looking rather pale around the mouth.Some orcs can sense falsehood, he’d told her.The more truth we can speak, the more they shall accept this.
“No, that part of it — is fairly new, for us,” she replied carefully. “But we’ve known each other for some time now, and I just wanted to wait until” — she waved her hand at them, showing her ruby ring — “we had a proper commitment, and a serious plan for our future. I’ve had some — difficulties, in the past, and I’m still quite nervous of childbirth, besides.”
The words carried at least some ring of truth, enough that Baldr thankfully appeared mollified — and luckily, Geva was spared any further questioning by the arrival of several more people into the room, all of them carrying heaping plates of food. Two were older-looking orcs, but the last was a young, pretty blonde woman, clad in an astonishingly revealing ensemble that proudly displayed her pale, rounded belly.
“Hi!” she said under her breath to Geva, as she set down a plate in front of her. “I’m Alma, and we’re so happy to have you! I’m looking forward to —”
But before she could finish, a clawed grey hand had clamped around her wrist, and yanked her sideways. And though Alma yelped with surprise, she was also smiling, and willingly following the hand’s pull. Landing straight in… Drafli’s lap?
“My lord,” she murmured, her face prettily flushing, her eyes downcast. And to Geva’s rapidly increasing shock, Drafli’s murderous expression had entirely faded into something soft, or maybe even affectionate. As his hand caressed wide and protective against Alma’s belly, his other hand casually flicking the hair off her neck…
And then, without warning, he swiftly bent his head into her neck, and…bitdown. His sharp jaw flexing as his teeth clamped into her slim neck, and his throat beganswallowing.
Alma shuddered and gasped in response, but there was no visible pain or discomfort on her face. And blinking toward her, Geva realized that there were multiple other faded bite-marks on her neck, too. And — she shot a furtive glance around at the room’s other occupants — on Baldr’s neck, also, and even on Jule’s?
And yet more disconcerting, no one else at the table seemed even slightly alarmed by this behaviour. Jule only spared Drafli and Alma a fondly amused glance before tucking into her food, while Grimarr was ignoring them altogether, in favour of carefully tearing up strips of meat, and placing them into Tengil’s little waiting fingers. While Baldr, in a rather stark contrast, was blatantly watching Drafli and Alma, his black tongue brushing against his lips, and Rathgarr — an odd chill wrenched up Geva’s back — was watching, too. His gaze heavy and half-lidded, and unmistakably… hungry.
Geva’s eyes dropped, while her swirling thoughts made multiple rapid, equally unpleasant points. The…bitinghad been one of those tales about orcs, and clearly it hadn’t been wrong after all, had it? And also, clearly Rathgarr again hadn’t seen fit to inform her about this, or prepare her, although a certain memory from the wardrobe was now looming far more vividly than before. And — worst of all — of course Rathgarr liked watching this. Liked seeing just the kind of soft, sweet, eager woman he preferred, pliant and willing and minimally dressed, and freely gasping in her lover’s arms. The kind of woman an orc would want to havesonswith.
There shall be no true mating between us. I shall have no surprise son from this. Neither should I ever choose to mate you…
Geva couldn’t help a relieved exhale once Drafli finally pulled away from Alma, prodding her to her feet with a gentle slap to her arse, before returning his full attention to his plate. But wait, nowBaldrwas reaching for her instead — and drawing her down for a slow, sensual kiss. One hand spreading against her rounded waist, just where Drafli’s had been, while the other sank deep into her hair.
Oh. So they both —oh. And suddenly Baldr’s comment about the son was making far more sense than before, especially once Drafli’s hand snaked sideways again, grasping at Baldr’s groin beneath the table. Making Baldr gasp and moan helplessly into Alma’s mouth, while Drafli kept eating his meal with his other hand, his expression now one of smug, self-composed satisfaction.
It took almost all Geva’s willpower to draw her attention back to her own plate, and the admittedly delicious meal upon it. And she couldn’t even seem to say a thank-you as Alma finally waved goodbye and walked out again, her face flushed, her pretty blue eyes sparkling with pleasure.
“So how are you two finding your room?” Jule asked now, speaking rather quickly, perhaps as if she’d caught more of that than Geva might have hoped. “Will it be adequate for your needs?”
Rathgarr had apparently reverted to stony silence again, his eyes darting a narrow glance toward Geva’s face, so she drew in a breath, attempted another smile. “Oh, yes, very comfortable indeed, thank you,” she told Jule. “Near such a well-appointed latrine, too. And the trove-room was a very nice touch.”
It seemed like an utterly innocuous statement, but suddenly the room snapped to a taut, ringing silence. In which Baldr grimaced, Drafli’s expression went murderous again, and Grimarr’s eyes bore into Rathgarr’s, something heavy and dangerous behind them.
“Forgive my ignorance,” Jule said into the silence, her voice deceptively light, “but what’s a trove-room?”
Oh, damn, Geva had somehow botched this, and she couldn’t hide her wince, or her apologetic squeeze to Rathgarr’s knee. But he was busy staring straight back across the table toward Grimarr, his brows low, his jaw tight and set.
“A trove-room is where a strong, worthy Ash-Kai guards his goods,” Rathgarr replied, his voice unnaturally steady. “It is how he shows he can keep and care for his kin. Grimarr well knows this, for his father” — Rathgarr’s mouth curved into something not at all like a smile — “once held the greatest hoard in mayhap all the realm. I well recall how oft you boasted of its wealth and strength, ach?”
Geva’s hand squeezed even tighter on Rathgarr’s knee, because Jule was looking both surprised and confused, and Grimarr’s gaze had gone nearly as murderous as Drafli’s. “Ach, this was a long time past,” he replied flatly. “Much has altered, since then.”
