Oh gods, oh gods, the fear was screeching, scraping, scoring deep inside. Because John was waiting for an answer, he was going to make Rosa answer, and then —
“You donottruly wish for this,” he growled, with a jerky wave down at his body, himself. “You do not wish for an orc who is not all patience and pleasure. You do not wish for an orc who longs to frighten you, and conquer you, andpunishyou. You do not wish for an orc who was raised to doubt, to mix hunger and fear, to know that power shall always win over reason, and humans shall always lie, and cheat, and scheme for yet morewar. No matter how much an orc strives to give them!”
He was shouting at the end, his voice ringing through this dark and terrifying room, his fingers digging into Rosa’s neck. While the fear screamed and ricocheted, crushing all else beneath its force, he could kill her,Johncould trulykill her—
Suddenly he stumbled backwards, staggering, as though he’d been shoved — but Rosa hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken. Only stared at him, at John,herJohn, who’d somehow becomebroken, his bloody hand rubbing at his mouth, his eyes glittering with pain.
“Since it seems you shall never speak of this, littlepet,” he said, so smooth, so biting, so dead inside, “then mayhap I shall. You shall meet with Lord Kaspar tomorrow. You shall tell him” — his chest heaved again — “that you have excelled at the task he has given you. You shall tell him you have unearthed some new scandal of Orc Mountain, mayhap of dark magic, or orcs mating together, or chains and beatings. You shall then help him spread the word of this, so he may spark yet more fear and hate toward my kin.”
Rosa stared, stunned, horrified. Words crashing, colliding, jamming chaotic and visceral into her skull. John —knew?! About the assignment, the spying, theatrocities?!
No. No.No. John couldn’t know. He couldn’t have known. Itwasn’t possible, he couldnever know—
“W-why,” Rosa stammered, so far away, “do you say such things. Did Lord Kaspar t-tell you that. Helies, John.”
Something unfamiliar flashed across John’s eyes, and for an instant, there was the thought, brief, distant, wildly hopeful, that maybe there was still an escape. Maybe Rosa could still blame everything on Lord Kaspar. Hedidlie, that was true, everything was his fault, please, please, she could still salvage this, there was still a way out…
“Foolish woman,” John replied, finally, his voice a bitter, furious croak. “Do not play-act with me. I have known this truth from the start. From the first day wemet. You are here to spy upon me, and spark awar.”
29
Johnknew. He’d known from — thestart?!
Rosa’s whole self had spasmed into numbness, poured too full of shock and terror even to breathe. Only able to stare at John’s furious face, while her heartbeat pummelled an odd, flashing white behind her eyes.
He’d known. The entire time. About Rosa’s mission. That she’d come here to spy on him, and his brothers, and hishome. To help start awar.
And John saw her shock, perhaps even tasted it, because he laughed again, the sound an ugly, chilly rasp in Rosa’s ears. “You thought yourself so clever, foolish woman,” he gritted out. “With your stack of books and treatises. With how you offered yourself to me that day. As if I should not see past your foolish play-acting with a singlesniffof you.”
Rosa’s mouth had fallen open, the disbelief thudding, dazed, dragging. He’d known, all this time. It was impossible. Impossible…
“And then, thisletter,” John spat at her, ruthless, relentless. “This letter from this man, coming in the night, urging you to do this, in trade for hisrewards. This letter with his seal, which you then open, and thrust into a book, with your scent heavy upon it — and next you leave me alone with this, whilst you fritter about your library. As if I could not smell? Orread?!”
Oh. Oh, gods. Rosa couldn’t think, couldn’t understand, what was happening, why, why,why…
“Why,” she somehow gulped at him, barely audible, “did you do it, then. Why did you” — she choked for air — “agree. To touch me.”
John barked another laugh, thin, hateful. “As always,pet, with the pointed questions, ach?” he sneered. “Mayhap I wished to frighten you. Mayhap I wished to teach you your place. Mayhap I longed to see Lord Kaspar’s foolish, smug,favouritelittle wench stuck and screeching andbeggingupon an orc-prick!”
Dear gods, this couldn’t be true, John couldn’t be saying this, this couldn’t be happening,why. And he couldn’t mean — hecouldn’t—
“You didn’t,” Rosa whispered, her heart racing, her breaths short and shallow. “Come to the library, just to get at Lord Kaspar. Just to seduce me. To take me away from him, and ruin my future. Did you?”
Something flashed across those eyes, something like disbelief, or maybe even pain. But he didn’t answer, didn’t move, and why did Rosa feel so desperately and precariously on the verge of weeping, her eyes hot and wet and wildly blinking —
“But you,” she panted, over the lurking sobs in her throat. “You brought me here. You werekindto me. You made me your pet. Your — your —”
She couldn’t say it, suddenly, couldn’t bear to hear him say it hadn’t been true, and John whirled away from her, his hands pressed against his face.
“Ach,” he said, and it almost sounded like a sob, too. “AndIwas the fool, in this. Iknewnot to trust you, Iknewto keep you apart, to hide our truths from you, until this foolish,foolishmistake of our son could be dealt with. But —”
But. Rosa was waiting, choking on her lurching breaths, staring helpless, shivering, at his back. “Butwhat, John.”
“But you are cleverer than you seemed,” he said, in a voice she’d never heard before. “You made me believe you had changed. You went to such lengths to sway me to this. You took me with such eagerness, you were so warm and sweet, you laughed and spoke and played with me. You did good work in my library and wrote out this world-altering book for me. You gave me full leave to rule over you. You showed me no judgement for what I was. You showed me you were ascholar.”
Rosa’s arms had tightly wrapped against her waist, her body rocking back and forth, and when John slowly turned around again, his eyes were there too. On her waist. On — on —
“I knew you spoke false when I asked you of this man, and this war,” John said, so quiet, his gaze unseeing, unblinking. “But then you said you wished to risk all to bear my son. I” — his throat convulsed — “I longed for this with such foolish ardour, that I chose to look beyond your falsehood. I chose to believe you truly grieved your past deeds, and now wished for this. For me. Forhim.”
