But Ella couldn’t, never, and he saw it, he knew. And his kiss on her lips was so soft, so sweet, it made her very soul ache.
“I shall never forget you,” he whispered, hoarse, as the wetness dripped from his eyes, onto her face. “I shall never forget my sweet, laughing, blooming lass, who so bravely kept her pledge toward me. You shall always be my Ella, of Clan Grisk.”
And Ella was smiling again, and weeping, and nodding, all at once. “Ach, my Nattfarr,” she whispered. “Farewell.”
33
Ella somehow slept the entire night through, curled close into Natt’s arms. Held in the warm whispering safety of him, while she dreamed dreams of full mountains, full bellies, her form and her sons carved forever into stone, with her mate standing tall and strong and dangerous by her side.
But when Ella finally blinked awake, into the light of a guttering candle, she was alone, and cold, despite the heavy fur covering her naked body. And the wall where their likenesses should have been was still flat and empty, her belly still flat and empty, the room flat and empty. Alone.
But someone had put something new on the end of the bed, and when Ella sat up to peer down at it, there was the dull recognition that it was — clothes. Proper women’s clothes, lady’s clothes. A new shift, a high-necked day-dress, even her old boots.
It almost hurt to look at them, to think about what they said, lying there so innocuously — but this was where she was. This was what had to be done, to prevent awar.
So Ella numbly, methodically pulled off the gold cuffs, and then the chains at her waist, before she grasped for the clothes, and yanked them on. Fighting to ignore the odd close fit of them, the unnecessary swathes of heavy fabric, covering her nearly from chin to foot. Even the heavy-feeling boots were still the garb of a lady, hiding Ella’s true self away, covering everything.
But then again — Ella blinked, and brought a shaky hand to her chest — she’d forgotten to take off the rest of Natt’s jewelry. It had begun to feel so — right, somehow, those chains tucked beneath her breasts, the mismatched earrings in her ears, and even — Ella swallowed, and then carefully hovered her hand over it — her new nipple-ring, its jutting gold only barely visible beneath the layers of thick fabric hiding it.
But the truth of that, suddenly, was an odd, inexplicable comfort, hiding in her very skin. True Grisk gold, hidden from other eyes, perhaps, but still known to her. I see you. I know you. Ella Riddell, of Clan Grisk.
Ella’s gaze had flicked, inexplicably, to Akva’s carved likeness upon the wall, still scarred, still smiling. And at this angle, the long thin scar on her belly looked almost astonishingly deep, almost as though one could slide a knifepoint into it, and the knife would then stay there, sunk deep into her stone womb.
It was a horrible image, a hint of terrible past wrongs, of the awful suffering these orcs and their mates had faced — and of the suffering they still faced. Fourteen women dead, just last year, bearing orc sons. The look on Timo’s face, in the corridor. One hundred Grisk, killed by their own Captain’s betrayal. The cruelties Natt had had to accept, and conquer. His father’s death, the abuse he’d endured, the way he’d been hunted.
The way he’d been forced to betray someone he truly loved, to gain the leverage he needed to finally bring real change.
And even if Ella’s part in this tale was finished, there was suddenly a quiet, shuddering stillness, deep inside. She was Ella, of Clan Grisk. She hadn’t added to the suffering. She’d treated her hosts with kindness, and acceptance, and thankfulness. She’d faced her deepest fears, conquered her deepest shame, and conducted herself bravely, honourably, with truth. I see you.
She felt her booted feet walk over to Natt’s messy shelf, her gaze settling on Alfred’s glittering diamond ring, still sitting so innocently upon it. A real lord’s ring, meant to make her a real lady.
Ella slowly reached for the ring, and tilted it to the candlelight. It was a beautiful ring, and she had so naively accepted it, and then proudly worn it, even here, into Natt’s own home. She’d been foolish, false, unthinking — but she’d learned to do better, to think. She would. Shewas.
She closed the ring into her fingers, and walked back to Akva and her scars, her smiling, seeing eyes. And then, Ella carefully turned the ring, and slipped its gold band into the deep line of Akva’s scar.
It fit perfectly, leaving only a glittering diamond on Akva’s belly, where the scar had been. A gift, a Grisk jewel, given in gratitude from her own Grisk daughter.
“Thank you,” Ella whispered, trailing her fingers against the stone. “I see you too, Mother of Five Clans.”
The stillness seemed to settle again, spreading wide, and Ella drew in breath, courage, truth. She could do this. She was.
So she abruptly turned, and strode for the door. Out before the waiting eyes of five orcs, all dressed and fully armed, and rising at once to look at her. And at the centre of them was Natt, his bleak dark eyes sheer misery to look upon, as they swept up and down her fully covered form, again and again and again.
“I should have asked,” Ella heard her voice say, distant, oddly formal. “Do you wish me to return all your jewels to you?”
Because at least some of them had belonged to Natt’s mother, and to the other Grisk women on that wall, Ella knew that now — but Natt shook his head, hard enough that his thick black braid, plaited new and perfect, swept out behind him.
“No,” he said, in a voice that wasn’t his. “I gave them to you. They are yours now.”
Ella nodded, twisting her hands together, her eyes dropping to the floor. It was time. She couldn’t trust him. She had to do this. She was.
“Thank you for such generous gifts, Natt,” she said, quiet. “I am ready, then.”
There was an instant’s aching stillness, in which no one moved or spoke — but finally Natt gave a jerky nod, and grasped for his lamp. And then reached his slightly trembly hand toward her, waiting.
Ella blinked at it, for long enough that Natt’s bleak eyes dropped, and he began to draw his hand away — but then she belatedly grasped for it, gripping tight. Closing her eyes at the familiar warm safety of it, those claws brushing against her skin.
Natt led her into the dark corridor without speaking, his four brothers following close behind, their scimitars slightly clanking. And as they walked, Ella felt herself reach out her other hand, tentative, to trail against the cool stone wall. She could do this. She was.
