1
One of these days, Gwyn Garrett was going to poison her lord father.
“I’m not changing my mind, Father,” she told him, as she snapped apart the stalks of dried lavender with excessive force. “I’m moving. Next week.”
Lord Anton of Dunburg had never been a small fellow, but his corpulent, sprawled-out body seemed to take up half Gwyn’s kitchen, his bloodshot eyes reproachful on her face. “But that’sfoolishness, Gwynnie,” he replied, in the petulant, exasperated tone of a man who hadn’t yet had his morning drink. “You have a perfectly comfortable home right here, where it’ssafe. Where you can play at your little” — he waved a dismissive hand at her lavender — “hobbyhowever you please.”
Her littlehobby. Gwyn audibly ground her teeth, and snatched for another handful of lavender. “It’s not a hobby, Father, as I’ve repeatedly told you,” she countered. “It’s a profession that I’ve spent many, many years studying. A profession I’mgoodat.”
Lord Anton cast a brief, skeptical look around at Gwyn’s cramped apartment, and as she followed his eyes, she felt her shoulders sagging, her fingers slackening on the lavender. It was indeed a tiny apartment — she’d taken it more for the large windows than anything else — and every available space was crammed full of pots and jars and overflowing greenery, to the point where even walking through the room these days presented a significant challenge.
“And as you can see, I clearly need a bigger space,” Gwyn continued, squaring her shoulders again. “With room for a proper garden. And Great-Aunt Agnes’ place has those things, and now she’s left it to me. And I am twenty-six years old, and I’m earning enough income with myhobbyto live without your support. There isno reasonfor me not to move there.”
Her father’s frown deepened, his arms crossing over his stout chest. “There is every reason,” he replied, “because that damned house is in Varrahan. In the damned shadow of bloodyOrc Mountain!”
Gwyn drew in a deep breath through her nose, let it out. “Yes, I’m aware, Father,” she snapped. “However, I’m sure you recall that you and your lord cronies also ratified an extensivepeace-treatywith the orcs, well over a year ago. And since then, there hasn’t been a single reliable account of a woman being forced or kidnapped by an orc. Notone.”
She raised her eyebrows toward her lord father, silently daring him to dispute that claim — because of course she’d already done her due diligence on this. And while the prospect of being stolen away by a vicious, hideous orc certainly still loomed large in her thoughts, her findings on that front had been far more reassuring than she’d expected. The orcs truly had seemed to take their new peace-treaty to heart, and as far as she’d been able to discern, there indeed hadn’t been a single verifiable kidnapping case in almost two full years.
“Look, even if those ugly green bastards aren’t still running around carting women off,” Lord Anton shot back, “there’splentyelse they’d like to do to a lone woman parked at the edge of their mountain. Lords, Gwynnie, you’re a clever girl, can’t you guess why those beasts have held so firm to the terms of that damned treaty? What theyreallywant out of all this?”
Gwyn couldn’t hide her wince, because curse him, her father wasn’t wrong. Orcswerestill orcs, after all — brutal, deadly, and deeply dangerous — and what was more, she’d seen firsthand the increase in certain…situationsover the past year or two. Situations which had always existed, if her midwife mentors were to be believed — but which had certainly been exacerbated by the new freedoms the orcs had gained. Situations where women furtively whispered of huge powerful bodies, of deep voices and long slick tongues, of musky scents in the dark. Of choices foolishly made and then regretted, amidst panic and confusion and overpowering shame.
But Gwyn had long ago ceased judging other women for their mistakes — gods knew, she had no grounds to stand upon there — and she’d somehow even earned a reputation as someone to seek out, after landing in such a predicament. And while there was nothing even the strongest of Gwyn’s herbs could do against an orc’s impossibly powerful spawn, she still knew which midwives could offer other kinds of help, and which herbs could best prevent such outcomes in future.
And thus, not only had Great-Aunt Agnes gifted Gwyn a house — but the house was also in just the place where Gwyn was likely to be most needed. To be helpful. To be something,anything, other than the ruling lord’s dotty, unfashionable, deeply disappointing daughter, who was best avoided unless one was ill, or knocked up by orcs.
“Yes, Father, I know what the orcs want,” Gwyn said testily. “However, I have no intention whatsoever of being seduced or kidnapped. And evenshouldthe worst happen, I also know better than most how to prevent pregnancy, don’t I? And in the meantime, you can happily launch into another war to rescue me, or make up some awful new laws, or whatever it is you’re cooking up against the orcs these days.”
Lord Anton had been scowling up at her, his mouth opening to reply — but then, oddly enough, he shut it again. His bloodshot eyes darting down to Gwyn’s table full of herbs, his hand idly reaching to pick up a sprig of hyssop, as if he were actually interested.
And gods, Gwyn knew that look. It was the same look he’d given her fifteen years ago, when he’d told her that her mother wasn’t likely to survive her lung infection. The same look he’d worn when he’d refused to pay for Gwyn’s midwifery training, claiming it was no place for a lord’s daughter. The same look as when he’d cut her monthly allowance, citing increased expenses from her four spendthrift half-brothers — and then had immediately turned around and begun begging her for a lead on a new opium supplier. And the same look as when, just three weeks past, he’d asked her to visit two of his mistresses, both suffering from “womanly complaints” — which, surprise surprise, had turned out to be the same insidious infection, transmitted by guess who.
“Father,” Gwyn hissed, her patience already strained far too thin. “What is it now. What are you doing with the orcs.”
And while she didn’t particularly care what happened to the orcs — at least, beyond how it affected the women who came to her for help — again, that was surely something important in her father’s shifty eyes. Something Gwyn was sure to thoroughly dislike, whatever the hell it was.
“Out with it, Father,” she said, clipped. “If it’s that bad, I’m sure to hear about it soon anyway, aren’t I? What is it, some ghastly new law? You’re trying to prevent women from travelling alone in public again?”
That horrid little plan had actually been raised by her father’s awful Council last year, as a so-called attempt to offer women protection against the newly liberated orcs. It had thankfully prompted a vehement public outcry, and the realm’s lords had shelved it for the time being — but Gwyn held no delusions about her lord father’s capabilities for spectacular short-sightedness, or breathtaking cruelty, depending on what suited him best in that moment.
“Oh, it’s nothing major, Gwynnie,” he said now, with a nonchalance that suggested it was major indeed. “We’ve just decided to start gathering information from women, that’s all.”
Gathering information, from women. “Aboutwhat,” Gwyn replied, through clenched teeth. “About orcs?”
The look on her father’s face confirmed as much, his thick fingers twisting the hyssop stem between them. But he didn’t elaborate, and Gwyn stared at him over the table as her thoughts frantically choked and churned.
“You’re planning to gather information from women about orcs,” she repeated, her voice faint. “About their… encounters with orcs? Their…intimate encounterswith orcs, you mean?”
Her father kept picking awkwardly at the hyssop, again suggesting that Gwyn surely had the right of it. And she felt her feet actually staggering as the implications of that slammed against her, burrowing deep and sickening into her belly.
“And how, exactly,” she managed, “are you evenfindingthese women, Father? How do you plan to collect this information from them? And” — she dragged in breath, her eyes searching his gradually reddening face — “are you establishingconsequencesaround this, Father? For those poor desperate women, who are very likely to bepregnant?!”
Lord Anton gave an unmistakable grimace, a wary glance up at Gwyn’s eyes. “Notconsequences,” he said quickly. “Of course we don’t want to punish those orc-addled wenches for their honesty. But we’ll offer…solutions, for those who willingly testify.”
Good gods. Solutions… for those whotestified?!
Gwyn gaped at her lord father for a long, horrible moment, her hands crushing the forgotten lavender in her fists. “Do you mean to tell me,” she breathed, “that you’re putting these women onpublic trial, Father? And that you’ll offer to help them… butonlyif they agree to testify? And let me guess, the only help you’ll be offering them isterminations?”
