And gods, he was touching her, holding her,lingering. And Gwyn wanted so desperately to curl into him, to gulp up deep swallows of his strength. To hear him say whatever empty words he could, to tell her she mattered, to make it all go away —
But when she found his eyes, there was only her own desolation reflected in them, shimmering black and bitter. And she had to look away before she started weeping again, before she betrayed the agony, the anguish, thegrief.
His hands on her waist briefly clenched, his claws nudging into her skin — and then one hand gave her a brief, purposeful pat before moving away again. Saying, surely,Stay here, and Gwyn nodded even as she hated it, berated it, braced against the black battering despair.
She didn’t look up again to see what Joarr was doing, but she could feel him moving nearby, could almost sense the strength of his presence. And when the smell of cooking meat wafted through the air, making her stomach rumble, she numbly strode toward it, and accepted the fully laden skewer that he silently held out toward her.
It was delicious, of course — some kind of roasted fowl, seasoned perhaps with nettles this time — but Gwyn could scarcely seem to taste it, couldn’t raise her eyes as she ate. Couldn’t even manage a thank-you once she’d finished, not even when Joarr plucked away her empty skewer, or stamped out the fire, or then —threwsomething at her.
Gwyn twitched to catch it, her tingling hands desperately fumbling, needing it — at least, until her fingers finally clutched it safe, her eyes blankly fixing upon it. It was — apinecone.
The misery and rage seemed to snap alive at once, streaming through Gwyn’s gasping thoughts, surging to the darkening sky. A pinecone, like they were playing agame, like this was supposed to befun. Like he wanted her to forgive him, even as she walked straight to herdoom?!
She hurled it back toward him, as forcefully as she could — and the audacious, infuriating bastard just caught it, with a sharp flick of his claws. And then carefully closed his fingers around it, as if to hide it, to keep it, totreasureit.
Gwyn’s eyes had jerked to his, her mouth snapping open to curse him, to rail and scream at him — but then the words choked away, because Joarr was…
Weeping. Yes, this audacious, infuriating orc was just standing there andweeping, his shoulders slumped, his heavy-lashed eyes brimming with wetness, streaking it down his harsh cheeks. And he wasn’t even looking at her, he was looking at the pinecone in his hand, and the sudden sound from his throat wasn’t like anything Gwyn had ever heard before, like a strangled, guttering death-cry.
“I ken,” he choked, without looking up, “you no wish me to speak. But I wish you to know, I — I am —”
He gave another of those awful-sounding barks, his head shaking, his free hand rubbing at his face. “I am sorry,” he whispered. “I shall never forget you. Shall never stop grieving what I have brought upon you. What I havestolenfrom you.”
Gwyn couldn’t move, couldn’t even shout or curse, trapped in his regret, his grief, his desolation. In the stark, staggering certainty that he… meant this. He… mourned this.
And surely it didn’t matter, surely Gwyn should have raged at him anyway — but she still couldn’t even muster a breath. Not through all the sudden, swarming memories, the gardens, the trees, the mushrooms. All the people she’d helped, the true friends she’d made. And all the times Joarr had grinned at her, made her laugh, given her his tongue, his teasing, histaking. Cooked for her. Stayed with her. Held her against his heart, helped her sleep, heard her,understoodher.
You need more friends, I ken. You find other way. Kind witch. Kindred witch. We try. It is — hope.
And finally, there was just sadness. Loss. Loneliness. The truth that Gwyn had had this, she’dknownthis — and now it was leaving her. Slipping away from her, now, forever.
And without at all meaning to, she clutched for it, one last time. Clutched for Joarr, dragging him close — and feeling his warm, familiar body instantly catching her in return. Folding her into the tight circle of his arms, cradling her against the thundering drum of his heart.
“You ken,” he choked above her, into her hair, “I wished you for my own since that first night. Should have made this truth long past, were the goddess no so cruel. Ach?”
And Gwyn was nodding, gulping for air too, her eyes streaking their wetness against his skin. Because yes, somewhere deep down, she had known that, all that time. And perhaps that was the knowledge she’d clung to, amidst all the rest of her weakness. Her stupidity.
“And you were nostupidin this, ach?” he continued, the unnerving awareness of those words shuddering deep. “You were kind. You werewise. And in this, you” — he drew back from her, gripping her face in his hands, blinking at her with molten eyes — “you have yet gained this safety for your garden. I shall always keep this and tend this for you, until you pass from this earth. Iswearthis.”
And within the swath of devastation, it was… something. It was one thing, not lost. One thing kept safe. The one damned reason Gwyn had gone to Orc Mountain in the first place.
And maybe it was foolishness again, believing him like this. Maybe it was more of her sheer stupidity. But maybe she could choose to trust it, to trust him, one last time.
So she nodded as she squeezed him tight, drew up breath, strength, courage. And kept nodding as she finally, reluctantly stepped back, wiping at her eyes. “Thank you, Joarr,” she whispered, the words stilted, thick. “I wish you all the best with your clan, and your gardens. And with —”
Her hand had somehow found her waist, gripping close against it, and oh goddess, what had she been about to say? With your next mate? With your next…son?
And it was the last, worst blow, the final terrifying reality that Gwyn couldn’t bear to face. No. No. No.
And it was pure denial that made her square her shoulders, and attempt a wavering, pathetic smile before she turned, and walked away. Toward Stella. Toward Roy. Toward her future. Her doom.
“It was fun while it lasted,” she whispered, confessed,truth, into the darkening night. “Goodbye.”
32
Gwyn walked the rest of the way to her house in silence, her shoulders straight, her eyes fixed ahead. Knowing, maybe, that Joarr was still somewhere behind her, but he didn’t approach her again, didn’t try to speak.
It was for the best, surely, because the misery was still clawing inside her skin, along with the yawning, looming loneliness. Feeling far more real than it ever had before, and Gwyn had to choke it down, keep moving, keep walking. She needed to find Stella. Needed to face this.
