No one answered, not even Tristan, and finally Simon grunted from where he was walking behind Rosa with surprisingly silent steps. “Caught in bond,” he said, voice flat. “Like all women. There is nocare.”
Rosa’s trembly body flinched, and she whirled around to face him, the misery catching, choking, weeping. “I did care,” she shot back. “Idid. John is an obnoxious lyingasshole, but he’s also determined, and thoughtful, andbrilliant. And he’s had to put up with way too much shit, from all of you, from the men, from” — she dragged in air — “fromme. And I told him I would stay, Iagreedto be his mate, Iagreedto have his son, even if it might stillkillme, because Iknowhow much it fuckingmeansto him!”
The words rang through the corridor with painful shrillness, with astonishing fervency. With all three orcs hesitating to turn and gape at her, Simon with disbelief in his eyes, Salvi with confusion, and Tristan with — withapproval. With a small, careful smile.
“Ach, I told you,” he said, soft, glancing up at Salvi. “She wishes for their son, also.”
She did? But oh, good gods, maybe shedid, and beside Tristan Salvi was frowning at Rosa, his head tilting, as though she were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. While Simon only snorted again, the sound harsh, bitter, angry.
“Womanlie,” he growled. “Sheleave. Next she kill son. Ka-eshway.”
Rosa’s still-wet eyes snapped to glare at him again, her hands clutching against her waist, the answer erupting all on its own. She wanted this. She wanted this?
“Idowant my son,” she gulped at him. “Ido. And I will do everything within mypowerto see him born. John willnotbe the last of the Ka, even if I never speak to the assholeagain.”
Simon didn’t move, just stared at her for a long, twisting moment. As Rosa’s fingers spread a little wider on her waist, confirming it was true, it was real. John was a monster, and yet she wanted to bear a monster’s son, anorc, and what did that mean, what the hell waswrongwith her —
But here, swarming her thoughts, was the memory, vivid, acutely painful, of lying in John’s bed, in John’s warm arms.
I ought not to feel shame for the deeds of others, he’d said. My deeds, and my wishes, are my own.
It hadn’t felt like a lie, it hadn’t, and at the time Rosa had been sure —sure— that he’d meant it about her, too. About her shame, and her choices. Telling her, maybe, that her choices were valid. Worthy. Just because they were hers.
Rosa fought to stamp the thought down, away, deep inside where it belonged — but it wouldn’t seem to budge. Speaking so strong, so relentless, that she swallowed hard, wiped at her face, lifted her chin —
“I want my son,” her voice said again, firm, clear, into the stillness. “I want him. I want John to have him.”
It made no sense, none of it made sense anymore — but this was true, this was her own, and Rosa was clinging to it with all her strength. And Simon’s eyes on her were glinting, accusing, unnerving, almost… uneasy.
“I scout above,” he said abruptly, spinning on his heel, and leaping up onto a little ledge in the rock Rosa hadn’t noticed before. “Mayhap past men now.”
His big body shoved up again, moving with surprising ease through what seemed to be a tiny crack in the rough-hewn rock above. Leaving Rosa standing there blinking after him, her breaths heaving, her fingers still spread wide on her waist.
John had lied. He’d shouted at her, and frightened her, and used her, and hurt her. And now she was foolish enough, pathetic enough, to try to please him again? To impress him again? To bind him to her, maybe forever, with this child?
But her head was shaking, suddenly, her hands fluttering up to press against her still-wet eyes. My deeds, and my wishes, are my own.
Her own.
She wanted this. With John, or without John. Just the same way she wanted to read. The way she needed to learn. The way, even, she wanted to be taken care of. To be —mastered.
That unsettling thought was broken by a loud, bloodcurdling howl. Deep and vicious and harrowing, hurling chills up Rosa’s back, snapping her stunted, blinking gaze to the hole in the ceiling. That had beenSimon’sshout, Simon had gone up to scout for men, and wait, wait —
The howl sounded again, rippling with rage and pain. And beside Rosa Salvi leapt up, swiping for a nearby flat rock to hold above his head, while hauling his huge pack higher onto his shoulders. “Stay,sæti,” he breathed at Tristan. “Ég elska þig.”
With that, he hurled his lean form up toward the hole above, ignoring the choked sound from Tristan that might have very well been a sob. “Wait, Salvi,” Tristan said, his voice hoarse. “Elskan!”
But there was no answer, just a faint thumping noise from above — and then a chorus of distant, risingshouts. It was men, Simon and Salvi were being attacked bymen, and Rosa’s sudden scraping fear was crushed by the sheer, hunted terror in Tristan’s wide eyes.
“Helvíti,” he breathed, shouted. “Salvi!”
He threw himself up toward the hole, and Rosa’s unthinking hands clutched for him, yanked back at his arm. “No, Tristan,” she gasped. “You need to stay. It’s notsafe!”
Rage flashed across Tristan’s eyes, and for an instant Rosa thought he might scream at her, or hurl her away — but instead he reeled backwards, his body visibly trembling, while a keening sound tore from his throat. His grief and fear seeming to strike into Rosa’s very soul, and she felt her stomach heave, her hands clutching tight against it.
“You can’t, Tristan,” she gulped at him. “Youcan’t. You have to stay safe. You can’t get hurt or die,ever, this war can’t touch you, this war is unjust, and cruel, andwrong!”
Her voice echoed through the corridor, pinging off the walls — and once again she was struck still by her own words, by the force with which she meant them. This war is unjust, and cruel, andwrong.
