And yes, he’d specifically includedhungerin that. And that meant — Gwyn sighed, felt her eyes briefly close — Joarr surelyhadknown about this ridiculous ritual. He’d known what would be expected of them, in this. And good gods, perhaps he’d even hinted at it, earlier, hadn’t he?
You wish to learn my clan’s ways? Wish to face these with me?
And now, this craven, manipulative coward had cornered her. Trapped her. As if this were truly some kind of vicious trial by fire, a catapult’s worth of pinecones hurled straight into her face. And her choices were either to walk out, to condemn the bastard as the useless spineless swindler he was, an utter ignorant failure of a Bautul, a lying piece ofrubbish, or…
Or, to throw his rubbish back toward him. To be the bigger person here, by virtue of being debauched on an altar, before an entire clan of equally debauched orcs.
And it should have been an easy choice. It should have been the only choice. It should have been Gwyn putting her foot down, stalking away from here, and getting the hell out of this gods-damned encroaching mountain, forever.
But at that very instant, Joarr finally looked at her. And it was as though his mask had briefly slipped, betraying him — and his eyes were suddenly brimming with frustration, and withrage. With helplessness, because he felt trapped by this too, whatever absurdity it was, that had eaten him alive, and longed to chew him up and spit him away like so much bile.
And curse her wasted life to hell and back, because Gwyn felt her shoulders sagging, her breath exhaling. Her eyes holding to Joarr’s, and glaring daggers into their depths.
“Well, if that is what’s required of us,” she said, her voice echoing in the silence, “then surely, we’ll oblige.”
15
Surely, we’ll oblige.
And as Gwyn stood there, glaring at Joarr in this foreign fraught room, the words didn’t feel like a concession, or an offering. No, they were a challenge. An attack.
And Joarr’s tall, still body surely knew that, the mask snapped back in its place, hiding away his eyes. And all that was left on his face was the smile, curling up slow, empty, deadly.
“You ken, woman?” he asked, his voice brittle, as his hand once again slipped up to touch that tooth around his neck. “You shall bend to this, to honour mycaptain?”
The last word was pure poison, and Gwyn made herself smile back at it, even as she shot a poisonous glance of her own toward the odious Silfast, who was watching them with unreadable eyes. “I do nothing forhim,” she replied, her voice just as thin. “I do it to keep my word toyou. And” — she couldn’t help a quick, dark look at the room full of watching orcs — “to honour the Goddess of Bautul, upon her sacred hearth, as she asks.”
Something stilled in Joarr’s eyes, freezing his already-empty face. And for a breathless, airless instant, she could almost feel his surprise. His…guilt.
“You are… sure, of this,” he said finally, low. “Allof this.”
His gaze had glanced down, brief but telling, toward Gwyn’s dress, and she felt herself sigh again, her throat swallowing. Because of course it was too much to hope for that she could at least remain clothed — or half-clothed — in this. When proving points to the shameless, surely one would be expected to abandon shame.
“Yes,” she said, through her clenched-tight teeth. “I’m sure.”
There was another instant’s stillness, but then Joarr slowly inclined his head, offering his agreement. And when his eyes rose again, the mask had again fully returned, the cool smile still curving at his mouth.
“Then come,” he said, his voice so smooth, as his already-familiar hand spread on her back, and guided her around toward the middle of the room. Toward where — Gwyn’s feet faltered — many more strange orcs had somehow appeared, all standing curious and watchful around the room, waiting in bated silence.
But Joarr’s eyes didn’t look, and his steps didn’t hesitate. Only kept driving Gwyn closer, closer, until they’d reached that large, fur-covered stone, directly before the crackling fire.
The stone stood higher than a table, reaching past Gwyn’s waist, and in an easy shift of movement, Joarr plucked her up to sit on the edge of it. Bringing her face almost perfectly in line with his, still giving that practiced, empty smile.
And in another quick, fluid flare of movement, he leaned in, andkissedher. His lips warm and succulent on hers, his breath sweet, his rich scent unfurling between them…
But for a single horrible instant, Gwyn couldn’t seem to follow. Couldn’t sink into it, or evenfeelit, through the awareness of all these strange orcs watching, their eyes prickling into her skin. Waiting, because next…
Joarr drew back again, his brows furrowed, his head tilting. While Gwyn only stared at him, her eyes wide, her heart suddenly knocking fierce and powerful against her ribs. She had to do this, shewoulddo this, how thefuckwas she supposed to do this…
There was an almost imperceptible movement on Joarr’s mouth, perhaps a grimace — but just as swiftly, it vanished. And in its place, once again, was his smile, though this time it was teasing and rueful, warming his empty eyes.
“You faced this intree,” he murmured at her, his brows lifting. “Under open sky, in cold air, on rough narrowtrunk. Now you balk at soft stone, before warm fire?”
It was enough to drag up Gwyn’s disbelief, and even a wavering snort. “That isnotthe problem at hand,” she hissed back, “and you damn well know it, orc.”
Joarr’s smile twitched up more, quick and conspiratorial. “Ah, I no know this,” he purred. “I ken mayhap my witch findlikein this. Findfun.”
Gwyn made a face at him, but his eyes were all challenge now, his body leaning closer, his mouth warm and wicked. “I show you fun in this, ach?” he whispered, lips almost to her ear. “If you think only of me. Look only upon me.”
