And worse, why the hell was Gwyn fixating on this, given everything else he’d just admitted? He’d been on anothermissionwith this. He’d had a victory to gain, a pawn to manipulate. A target to work toward. A patsy.
And gods, Gwyn was so stupid. So, so damned stupid. And her eyes were prickling again, something dangerously lurking in her throat, her breaths dragging in painful gulps…
“I need,” she choked, “a latrine. Please.”
Joarr didn’t answer, but silently turned on his heel, and strode toward the far wall. Where there was a small opening tucked into the stone, and Gwyn wordlessly grasped the lamp from his hand, and ducked inside.
It was another little room, surprisingly well-outfitted with a covered bench, and even a spout of fresh-looking water trickling down the wall — but Gwyn scarcely noticed through the silent screaming in her thoughts, the shallow panic of her breaths. She was trapped here, gods knew where under the earth, and Joarr hadn’t even truly wanted her, she was only a tool in his ridiculous feud, and she couldn’t start sobbing, she would not weep here, not where he would mock her, he would know —
Her desperate bleary eyes had been searching, searching,please— and there, the lamp handle, held in place by its two sharp ends. And when Gwyn’s shaking hand yanked at it, thank the gods it came off, its pointy metal tip glinting in the flickering light, settling against her wrist.
And then she dragged it deep and relentless down her forearm, drawing a beautiful line of thick red blood behind it. And finally,finally, the pain screamed to life, and devoured her whole in its wake.
16
For a sickening, silent moment, there was only the pain. Shuddering and shrieking from Gwyn’s already-bleeding arm, escaping in a clutched gasp from her throat.
But at least it wasn’t weeping, it wasn’t the regret, it wasn’t the gods-damnedgrief. It was just pain, and Gwyn could face this, could understand this, could even wipe away the wetness streaking down her cheek —
Until in a breath, Joarr jerked into place before her. Looming tall and deadly, bobbing on his feet, like he’d flashed there out ofnothing.
“What,” he growled, his gaze snapping down to her arm, “isthis?!”
Gwyn yelped and stumbled backwards, dropping the lamp handle onto the stone floor with a clatter, and clamping her hand over the betraying cut on her arm. Wincing at the renewed flare of pain, while frantically shaking her head, fighting to ignore the pulsing stickiness under her fingers, the pungent scent of blood filling the air —
“No,” Joarr hissed, as his hand closed on hers, yanking it away. “You no do this.”
Gwyn’s breaths were shuddering again, perhaps even worse than before. Because he’d ruined it, the bastard, the misery was rearing up again, theloneliness, jostling, choking, dragging her beneath —
“You,” she gulped back, “donotget to tell me what to do, asshole! And if you think I’m going tolistento you, or care what you think, now that you’ve made yourselfveryclear to me, you — you —”
And oh gods, she was losing it, she was going to break down bawling right here in front of him, and she wrenched out of his grip, and reeled over toward the covered bench. Crumpling down onto it, burying her face in her sticky hands, desperately choking back the ever-rising sobs in her throat.
“Stupid,” she gasped into her hands, wildly shaking her head. “Stupid.Stupid!”
But it wasn’t helping, wasn’t working, the bitter misery still swelling, fighting to explode from her quivering mouth. And what happened now, what was left, she was trapped under Orc Mountain, she was going to lose her garden, loseeverything, and this stupid,stupidhope she’d somehow been clinging to was scattered todust—
“No,” said a voice, low and fervent, far too close — and when Gwyn flinched to look, it was Joarr again. Now crouching low before her, his body still slightly bobbing, his eyes glinting dark and oddly fierce on her face.
“No,” he said again. “You are nostupid, woman.No.”
And curse him, but it was something to cling to,anything, and Gwyn barked a laugh, hoarse and shrill. “Aren’t I?” she demanded at him. “Let’s see. I didn’t shoot you. I copulated with you in atree. I covered for you. I madeexcusesfor you. I trusted you to bring me here, and treat me fairly, and show me a garden, and — andfun. Like youpromised.”
Her wet eyes were fixed to his face, glaring at him, accusing him — and of course he didn’t even reply, damn him, his mouth gone thin, his swallow audible in his throat.
“And instead,this,” Gwyn continued, her voice cracking, her hand flapping at the stone latrine around them. “You used me to make a point. You — you turned my weaknesses against me. You didn’t even bother to tell me what to expect, even after you decided I’d probably go along with it anyway. And then you tell me you’d have liked it better if it washim?!”
The tension seemed to spiral even tighter between them with every word, but Joarrstilldidn’t speak — and Gwyn gasped another laugh, or perhaps a sob. “I don’t understand,” she breathed, “why. What I’vedoneto you.”
The tightness somehow shuddered, choked — and then escaped in a bitter, broken laugh. Not her laugh, this time, but Joarr’s. His mouth twitching both up and down, his eyes unnervingly bright in his strangely pale face.
“Mayhap,” he began, his voice halting, “youbewitchme, woman. Ach? Cast spell.Entrapme.”
What? Gwyn glared at him through hazy eyes, the room skittering around her — and Joarr laughed again, darker this time. “You ken how I —spyon you,” he said bitterly. “You ken this is also my…work. How in this, I serve my kin, and my mountain. Ach?”
Gwyn couldn’t find a reply, but yes, she supposed she had known that. And Joarr jerked a nod, his mouth twisting, as if she’d spoken her agreement aloud.
“No only this,” he said, even flatter. “But I am no just any spy, ach? I am” — his shoulders rose and fell — “this mountain’s Chief Scout. Chief spy. For all five clans. Ach?”
