She’d more than heard tales, of course, though until this moment, she’d paid them very little heed— and that might have been a nod from the orc, despite the careless shrug of his shoulder. “Ach,” he replied. “Some.”
Gwyn drew in more breath, let it out through her teeth. “Then would it help,” she said, “if I were to visit them, and offer my services? If you were to introduce me as a midwife, rather than as Lord Anton’s daughter?”
There was an odd, inscrutable stillness from the orc ahead of her, even as his strides stayed steady, and Gwyn grimaced at his back. “Or maybe they’ll all know who I am anyway,” she said, her voice dropping. “I mean, how many of you orcs were actually involved with this little destroy-my-life plan? There must have been a few of you, at least, if you’ve been planning this over the course of months?”
The orc’s shrug seemed even more casual this time, his steps still unnaturally steady. “A few,” he said. “No many.”
Gwyn’s glower at his back deepened, and she clambered over a large rock blocking the path. “So would that help, then?” she demanded. “Or would you rather I just walk in and announce that I’m Lord Anton’s daughter, here to unleash my devious revenge upon your unsuspecting mountain, by means of insinuating myself into your garden?”
The orc actually glanced over his shoulder this time, reflexive and quick — and to Gwyn’s genuine surprise, that might have been a hint of a smile, pulling at his mouth. “Ach, no,” he said, turning away again. “If you should… help our women, I should be… grateful.”
Something hot swarmed low in Gwyn’s belly, and she somehow found herself half-smiling at his back, too. “Youshouldbe grateful, asshole,” she said. “Not used to not getting your way, are you?”
That was definitely a quirk on the orc’s lips this time, his eyes again angling toward her. “No,” he said. “Noused towitch women with such deft mouth, also.”
Gwyn’s face instantly flushed — he was trying to discomfit her, the bastard — and she made a rude gesture at his stupidly muscular back. “I am a midwife,nota witch, you wily prick,” she said. “And when do we talk aboutyourmouth? It was pretty damned deft, too.”
But if she’d hoped to discomfit him in return, she’d utterly failed, because he actually laughed, the low sound carrying through the trees around them. “Ach, I ken,” he replied over his shoulder. “You liked. Wish for more.”
Gwyn didnotwish for more, wouldneverwish for more from him,ever— but even as she shook her head, she still couldn’t stop smiling at his back. “Like hell I do, asshole,” she countered. “I don’t know you. I don’t trust you. I don’tlikeyou. Gods, I don’t even know your damnedname.”
And it was that, strangely enough, that finally slowed the orc’s steady steps. That made him first hesitate, his shoulders rising and falling, before turning around to face her. His eyes dark, inscrutable, oddly piercing on hers.
“I am… Joarr,” he said. “Of Clan… Bautul.”
11
Joarr, of Clan… Bautul.
There was something in the way he said it, in the heaviness of his voice. In how his clawed hand reflexively lifted to stroke that tooth, still hanging around his neck.
Gwyn’s head had tilted, studying it, studying him, while various words from various women flashed through her thoughts.His clan was like his family, his pack. They did everything together. Everything…
“Is there something wrong with that?” Gwyn asked, again without at all meaning to. “I thought you orcs were supposed to like your clans?”
The orc’s wince was unmistakable, and he briefly shook his head, as if to thrust something out of it. “Ach,” he said, though his voice sounded odd, almost uncertain. “My clan has my…like.”
It wasn’t even slightly convincing, and Gwyn put her hands to her hips, and raised her eyebrows at him. “So what’s the issue, then?” she demanded. “Did you just discover your clan’s secret dark side? Or did you have a massive fight? Or maybe they threw you out for being such a smug, snarky asshole?”
And gods, she had no idea why she was harping on this — or did she, because the orc still hadn’t turned away, his hand repeatedly stroking at that tooth. “Clan can nothrow out,” he countered. “It is nochoice. It is birth that marks this, always.”
That fact bothered him too, that much was clear. And while Gwyn surely didn’t care about this orc’s family problems, she still couldn’t seem to stop searching his eyes, either. Seeing the strange hesitancy there, the unease, the unhappiness. So at odds with the rest of his cool, careless confidence, and with those brief moments of pointed, focused intensity, too. No, this felt almost… wrong, somehow, like it didn’t fit properly on his face.
“So what happened, then?” Gwyn asked, quieter than before. “Something with your birth? What, did they lie to you?”
The orc’s eyes snapped to sudden, visceral stillness, almost as if she’d struck him — and in a jerky, impossibly swift movement, he spun around, and began walking again. Even faster than before, leaving Gwyn to scramble to catch up, her eyes fixed to his back.
“They no lie,” he finally said over his shoulder, his voice clipped. “They noknew. I no knew.”
Oh. Gwyn grimaced toward his back, toward that stiff set of his shoulders. While her brain twisted and twirled, and something caught in her belly that might have almost been… sympathy.
“You know, that actually happened to my third-eldest half-brother,” she heard herself say, again before she could stop her mouth. “Robert. He grew up thinking his mother was my father’s first wife — she died when he was little — but it turned out, his mother was actually one of Father’s mistresses, who didn’t want to keep him, so Father took him in as a baby. Quite a shock for Robert, to discover himself not even in the line of succession anymore.”
The orc — Joarr — didn’t make any acknowledgement of this, but for some reason Gwyn kept talking, her eyes still held to his back. “Of course, Robert’s never forgiven Father, and things were never the same between them. Though to be fair” — she couldn’t help a dry-sounding chuckle — “I don’t even think Father remembered. It certainly isn’t the kind of thing he would spend time thinking about. And Robert’s a complete blighter anyway, so I must say, I didn’t feel too badly for him at the time.”
The orc still didn’t reply, but if Gwyn wasn’t mistaken, some of the tightness had perhaps slipped from his shoulders. And his long strides had slowed, too, almost as if giving her time to catch up again.
“So what’s this Bautul clan like, then?” she asked. “Different than your old one, no doubt?”
