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Gwyn snapped awake to a twitch, a curse, a choke of inhaled breath beneath her.
She blinked her bleary eyes open, and found herself still sprawled on the fur-covered altar, still entirely unclothed. While Joarr — who must have still been lying down with her — was sitting up, cursing under his breath, and rubbing at his face.
Gwyn’s heart was suddenly hammering, and she swiftly sat up too, reached a hand to touch Joarr’s back — but he actually flinched away from her, his shoulders hunching. Firing a sharp, shivering ache deep into her belly, and she felt herself gulp for breath, her arms curling around her cold-feeling body.
“What is it?” she whispered at his back. “What’s happened?”
Joarr’s shoulders rose and fell, his clawed hands dragging through his hair. “It is —” he began, and then inhaled again, exhaled. “Stella. She is gone.Run.”
What?Stella? Was… gone? Run?!
And no, no, that was ridiculous, this was ridiculous. First of all that Joarr was even saying this, that he seemed genuinely upset about this, when he surely had no way of even knowing such a thing. Not with them ensconced down here alone all night, and, and…
And Gwyn swallowed hard as she stared at Joarr’s back, her heart now thundering against her ribs. As all those hidden thoughts, those hints and suspicions, churned ever closer, higher, stronger…
“Where?” she asked, her voice a croak. “Is Stella safe?”
Joarr flinched again, and he abruptly leapt off the altar, his movements jerky, uncontrolled. “I no ken,” he said, as he yanked up his trousers, his back still turned toward her. “Must go learn more, first. Mayhap then” — he again dragged his hands through his hair — “see more.”
See more. Because down here, deep in this isolated darkness, he had…seenthis. He’dknown.
“You…sawthat Stella ran away,” Gwyn whispered, wincing at the sound of her own voice, because she didn’t want to know, she couldn’t bear to, she had to. “From down…here?”
Joarr still wasn’t looking at her, his body so unnaturally stiff — and then he twitched a single nod, quick and curt. Saying… yes.
Yes. He had.The Seer, the Bautul had called him,Silfasthad called him, with that mingled awe and envy and fear.The Seer.
And even as something seemed to clutch and crumple in Gwyn’s chest, her thoughts screaming white agony through her skull — there was still, somehow, a dull, deadened awareness, thundering deep beneath it all.
She had… suspected. Guessed. Known.
Or, rather, she would have. If she’d ever allowed herself to think of it. To face the little, nagging questions, all the things Joarr had somehow known, without ever being told. Inga’s delivery. Gwyn’s fight with Silfast. Even the chasteberry gift, the men hunting him in the forest, the Bautul women come to meet with Gwyn. Gods, even the way hefought, like he knew his opponents’ actions long before they did. Not to mention all that talk ofseeing, not only from him, but from the captain, from Jule, Stella, Ivar, Simon…
Joarr had finally, slowly turned toward Gwyn, holding out her limp dress — and there was nothing on his face now, nothing but the mask, hiding everything.Betrayingeverything.
How he’d known. How he’d…lied. Because…
And suddenly Gwyn couldn’t bear to take that thought further, couldn’t bear to even look at him, to feel him look at her like that — and she trembled as she stumbled off the altar, and reached to snatch her dress from his hand. He’d lied about this, because…
“You wish,” he said finally, his voice so hoarse, “to go to Efterar now?”
To Efterar. To that damned healer orc — with his gods-damned deadlymagic— who Gwyn had never actually met. Because she hadn’t wanted to meet him, came another dull realization, thudding into her belly. She hadn’t wanted to even think of it. Of this. Ofmagic. Of what Joarr was saying, because…
“No, you utter prick,” she choked at him, as she somehow yanked on her dress, and then pressed her palms to her hot, prickling eyes. “No. We need to” — she had to haul in air, dig harder into her eyes — “find Stella. Make sure she’s safe.”
And with that, without warning, came another shock of agony, sharp and sickening. Stella had run, perhaps alone. The woods were crawling with men, hunting women just like her. And Joarr had spoken, many days ago now, of Stella being at risk. Of, maybe, what he hadseen.
She is no better off when she is dead.
Gods, Gwyn wanted to weep, to scream, to tear her hair out until it bled — but before her, Joarr had nodded. And then waved his shaky-looking hand beyond them, clearly saying,Come, let’s go.
Gwyn felt herself nod too, and staggered forward so fast she would have stumbled, if not for Joarr’s strong grip, clamping on her arm. But she couldn’t bear to feel him touch her, couldn’t even bear to see his face, and she kept her head ducked low as she bolted away, toward the stairs that led up, back into that beautiful glowing room.
But it had been just one more secret, one more thing he’d hidden from her, and Gwyn rushed through it as quickly as she could, keeping her eyes on the floor. Forcefully shoving back the memories of yesterday — yesterday! — when she’d explored and marvelled and laughed here with him. When he’d spoken as though he’d cared, as though this had been something he’d truly wanted to share with her.
Gwyn wiped a betraying tear from her cheek as she darted out into the corridor, away, away — and then snapped to a halt, squeezing her eyes shut. Because it was pitch-dark, of course, and she therefore needed this bastard to guide her, to touch her, take her wherever they needed to go. Whatever he’d…seen.
