Gwyn felt her teeth grinding together, her hands again pulling at her hair. “Help fromyou?!” she demanded. “And what, exactly, do you think you can offer me, orc? And why thehellwould I accept it, after how you’ve treated me?!”
Her voice had gone shrill again, echoing through the air between them, but the orc seemed entirely unaffected, his eyes steady and cool on hers. “You are no fool enough to spurn help when you need this,” he said smoothly. “I have long followed the ways of the earth. I help you move whole garden to safety, or I grow you new garden as surety, from your seeds and seedlings, and any plants you may spare. Ach?”
Gwyn’s words had entirely vanished again, her eyes staring at the orc’s impassive face. Surely he couldn’t possibly have the knowledge tomoveher garden? Let alone grow her anewone?
But the vision of that carefully wrapped chasteberry plant had flashed through her thoughts, and she felt her breath exhaling, her fists clenching at her sides. While a slow, smug smile curled across the orc’s mouth, his black brows rising. Waiting for her to argue, clearly — but curse her, the argument still wouldn’t come. And instead, her traitorous brain was swarming with implications and possibilities, and even, gods forbid, withhope.
“Where would you do this?” she heard herself ask, before she could stop it. “Do you have a safe place in mind? With plenty of extra space, and adequate sun, and wind protection?”
The orc’s nod was just as smug as his smile, and if Gwyn wasn’t mistaken, his shoulders might have slightly relaxed, too. “Ach,” he said. “Now safe against any man, also.”
Wait. There was something about the way he’d said that, and Gwyn felt her eyes narrowing, and reflexively glancing toward the south. TowardOrc Mountain, still towering abominably close beyond the hedge, streaming its black plumes of smoke to the sky…
“You aresurelynot suggesting,” she replied, her voice rising with every word, “that you move my precious, priceless plants — and my whole garden — toOrc Mountain?!”
But the orc’s face remained implacable, his eyes steady. “Ach, why should I not?” he asked. “It is safe, and well guarded. My kin are there, and shall tend it when I am away. And, it is only a half-day’s walk from this house, upon an easy path.”
Gwyn sputtered some kind of incomprehensible reply, and she had to gulp for air, thrust it deep into her lungs. “I will not,” she countered, “trust you with my entirelivelihood, orc! And I will certainly not move it into some deadly, likely poisonous place atOrc Mountain!”
Something shifted in the orc’s eyes, and he gave an overly casual shrug, his gaze fixing slightly beyond her. “It is no deadly, orpoison,” he said. “Your garden shall flourish there. It shall besafe.”
“Safe?!” Gwyn echoed, her voice painfully shrill. “AtOrc Mountain?! With the likes ofyou?!”
And suddenly, it was as though that mask had slid back over the orc’s face, hiding him away. And the smile curling at his mouth was practiced and cool, his shoulder rolling in a casual, dismissive shrug.
“Ach, as you wish,” he said, his voice very even. “Then I have naught else to offer you, woman. I wish you” — his eyes shifted, changed — “all luck against this man. Farewell.”
And with that, he turned around, and strode toward the garden’s exit. Just leaving, walking away, just like that — and Gwyn felt herself leap into motion after him, her hand scrabbling at his arm.
“So what, now you’re just going toleave?!” she demanded at his back. “What the hell happened to making amends to me?”
The orc had slowly turned around to look down at her, his expression still unreadable, his eyes carefully distant. “I offer all I am able,” he replied curtly. “What more do you wish from me? You no ken I shall seek tostopthis man, when he come here to burn your house?”
Gwyn stared at him an instant too long, her hands again dragging through her hair. “Well, why not?” she demanded. “Surely you would bemorethan a match for Roy?”
And wait, she wasn’t truly expecting this orc tofightRoy, was she? Wasn’t envisioning his lean, agile body darting and twisting, defending her house and her safety with smooth, capable ease, and then…
“Ach,” the orc replied, voice clipped. “I should easily break this man’s tiny neck, woman. But in this, I only call down yet more war for my kin, you ken? We have yet much to face from your curst father, and his fool Council’s cruel laws. And I” — his eyes flicked away — “I have yet risked enough this day, ach? I shall no throw this man’s death into the fray. No even for your garden, or my guilt.”
Oh. Gwyn’s mouth spasmed, and she somehow felt her head nodding, her shoulders sagging. Of course she didn’t want this orc tokillRoy, and she didn’t want to give her father any more justification for his horrible laws, either. But what did that leave now, what would come next, how in the gods’ names would she ever get out of this mess —
But there was nothing,nothing, and she dragged her shaky hands harder against her hair, pulling, twisting, fighting to think. Until she suddenly felt something snap, the pain flashing white behind her eyes, while a hoarse, broken gasp choked from her already-trembling mouth.
The orc had actually been turning away again, clearly finished with this for good — but at the sound of Gwyn’s gasp, his disapproving gaze darted back over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing. And with a sharp, fluid flare of movement, he was once again standing close before her, both his hands clamping tight and warm around her wrists.
“Ach, woman,” he hissed at her, as he dragged her hands upwards, away from her hair. “You are healer, no? You ken it is no always easy to grow hair back, ach?”
He sounded genuinely exasperated, and in another swift shuffle of movement, he’d snatched both her wrists into one hand, and yanked something out of Gwyn’s still-clutched fingers. A clump of her long black hair, now dangling before her eyes in his sharp claws.
“No,” he ordered her, waving it in front of her face. “You no do this. You are wiser than this.”
Gwyn’s mouth opened to protest, again — andin another too-swift movement, his hand tossed the hair aside, and dropped to cover her mouth. And that hand was huge, and warm, and with it was that smell again. Heated, husky, whispering of earth and green…
“No,” he insisted, his voice slightly deepening. “Now kneel, and I shall tend to this, before I go.”
He wouldwhat? Gwyn attempted some kind of enraged response, the words muffled against the orc’s hand — but he entirely ignored it, jabbing his clawed finger downward. “Kneel,” he repeated. “You havemore important things to address, beyond needless wounds. You no take my offer of help, you at least grant me this. Ach?”
And gods, Gwyn should have kept arguing. And surely she would have, if at that very moment, she hadn’t wiped her sweaty, still-shaky hands on her dressing-gown. And thereby discovered, to her genuine astonishment, that her hands… didn’t hurt. Didn’t sting, or smart, or however they ought to have felt, after stupidly attacking a patch of field thistle without wearing any proper gloves.
