Chief spy? Gwyn’s brain seemed to sputter again, and Joarr barked another low, brittle laugh. “I hold this place for many, many summers,” he said, “and watch many, many humans. Most of all these fool lords, and their hollow, greedy spawn. I work against them again and again, and Inevercatch care for them. Never catchguilt.”
Gwyn still couldn’t think through the chaos, the constant clutch in her chest, and Joarr’s gaze dropped, to where his hand was flexing on his knee. “Ineverbreak plan. Never seek to make amends for my work. Never wish to stay close, to watch, to know. Tohelp.”
Oh. Gwyn felt herself swallowing, perhaps loosening the tightness in her throat — but no, no, this made no difference, this wasn’t even an apology, whatever the hell it was. Was it?
“Never find another so quick to learn,” Joarr continued, and suddenly he sounded angry, his eyes frowning at his knees. “So easy to follow, to catch, to see. You watch me, youknowme, ach? As if I speak to you, when only Ilook.”
Gwyn still wasn’t justifying this, wasn’t — and Joarr barked yet another laugh, thick in his throat. “As if,” he said, “I am no more alone. No more without a true clan. As if you shall fight beside me, even when I no ask you, or warn you. You shall spurn Silfast, and throw his fool goddess in his face, and smile all this while. You shall follow all this, and face all this” — his throat convulsed, his voice dropping — “withme.”
Oh. So maybe — maybe it hadn’t been about Joarr using her, mocking her, to gain his ends. Maybe it had been about him wanting —help. Someone by his side. At his back. Someone who… understood.
And even as that stab of comprehension flashed through Gwyn’s chest, she still felt her head shaking, her eyes glowering toward him. “Even if you expect me to believe that,” she said, her voice hollow, “that you just wanted help, someone to trust — then why the hell does it only benefit you? You don’t think I wouldn’t like to be able to trust someone, too?”
The silence seemed to again echo between them, taut and grating, and Gwyn made herself continue, fighting to ignore the rising throbbing pain in her arm. “I went above and beyond for you back there. Gave you a hell of a lot more than you deserved,again. And in return, you couldn’t even look at me? Or maybe even explain what it was all about, instead of telling me that youreallyjust want to have your way with that smug hideous bastard?”
Her voice had badly wavered at the end, hinting at something abominably like jealousy — and Joarr’s eyes finally flicked back to hers, his mouth twisting. “You no ken I…hungerfor Silfast?” he said, incredulous. “After you scream for my hard ploughing on this altar, and milk me dry before all my kin? After you take me in tree, and rain my seed upon my enemies? After you even noshootme, on account of this bloody mess I leave behind?”
Oh. It was a confession, maybe, though surely not one he’d wanted to make — and his eyes were glittering on hers now, his brow furrowed. “Yet, you are lord’s daughter,” he hissed at her. “You wish to soon go away from here, and take all this with you, and never come back. So why ought I grant you yetmorepower to cast your spells upon me?”
He sounded angry again, and maybe despairing, too. And Gwyn couldn’t seem to find a reply, her hand again clutching at her still-stinging arm — a foolish, ill-thought action that drove a harsh gasp of pain from her mouth.
“Ach,” Joarr said, with a wince, his head whipping back and forth — and in a swift, fluid movement, he’d grasped for both her hands, and yanked them apart. His gaze dropping to the cut on her arm, which was still slightly bleeding, dripping red onto the floor.
“Ach,” he said again, more displeased this time, his eyes glaring brief toward hers. “This scent, of your blood and suffering, it —”
He shook his head again, tugging her hand toward him — and before Gwyn could speak, or even think, he ducked his head, and…lickedher. His long black tongue lapping against her arm, deft, gentle, purposeful. Just like in the garden, as if this were something he needed to do, twisting her pain into a surprising, disconcerting warmth…
“What,” Gwyn somehow managed, “are youdoing.”
But he didn’t hesitate, didn’t even look at her, and for some bizarre reason, she didn’t pull away, either. Just sat there and watched this incomprehensible, infuriating orc, now crouching low before her, his hands cradling her arm. While that warm, sinuous tongue kept stroked and tasted, lapped and licked, as though she were something prized, something precious.
And once he’d finally finished, he still didn’t look at her — but instead, grasped for her other hand, which still felt sticky from where she’d touched her arm. And then, just as intently, he began licking it, too, his strokes firmer this time, curling and caressing hot against her fingers.
Gwyn had to bite back her gasp, clamping her lips together, and perhaps her thighs, as well. Finally earning a dark, knowing glance from Joarr’s eyes — and for an instant, there was the irrational, impossibly absurd temptation to spread her legs again, to perhaps guide that slithering tongue to where it surely most mattered —
But no, no,godsno. He’d admitted to lying to her, to notwantingto trust her — and Gwyn belatedly jerked her hand away, and clutched it to a tight fist. Not missing the way those eyes followed it, before angling up brief toward her face, and away again.
“You no again draw your blood thus,” he said, in a tone she couldn’t quite read. “No if you wish me toevertend you thus again. Tease you with pain thus. Ach?”
Wait, what thehell? Now he was calling her out onthat? And essentiallyblackmailingher with it?! Gods, as if she even cared, as if she would fall for his latest gods-damned audacity. For this cursed orc once again twisting the situation to suit himself, to gain what he wanted…
But before Gwyn could answer, or spout any of the crucially important retorts swarming her thoughts, Joarr’s warm, infuriating hand again clapped over her mouth. His body rising to his knees, his face on a level with hers, his gaze dark and serious.
“No, woman,” he said again, harder this time. “You find other way, in this. Seek other relief. Staysafe. I never again wish to scent your blood, lest it ismewho draws it. Ach?”
Himwho drew it. Gwyn felt herself inhale sharply, her eyes pinned to his — but then she squeezed them shut, shook her head against his hand. Damn him, this was so absurd, especially when he’d been the whole reason she’d been craving relief like that in the first place. He’d lied to her, he’d flaunted her to his entire clan, and he hadn’t evenwarnedher —
“Listen, asshole,” Gwyn mumbled into his palm, stupidly — and then shoved his hand away, fighting to ignore how easily it went. “I amnotyours to order around, most of all when you’re the one who made me so miserable in the first place! Why the hell would I listen toanythingyou have to say? Especially when” — she hauled in breath — “youstillhaven’t actually apologized? And, you still haven’t told mecruciallyimportant information about all this?!”
Joarr’s eyes blinked, once, and Gwyn didn’t miss the brief, reflexive grimace, contorting his mouth. Or the tension snapped all through his taut body, holding him unmoving before her. And for a breath, she was sure he was about to refuse, keep arguing, leap up and walk away…
Until he… didn’t. His shoulders sagging, his clawed hand dragging through his hair, his eyes fixed unseeing to the wall behind her.
“Ach,” he said, slow, on a sigh. “Ach. I ought to ask your — your mercy, for how I threw this upon you. I was” — his shoulders rose, fell — “selfish. Unjust. I… grieve this pain I have wrought upon you.”
Oh. It felt genuine, looked genuine, like it almost hurt him to speak it. Like each word was a tentative, uncertain offering, from an orc entirely unaccustomed to ever being in the wrong, or facing his own regret.
But surely it still didn’t compensate for what he’d done back there, did it? And surely Gwyn couldn’t just forget this and carry on… could she?
