“You can’t shoot him, Father,” Gwyn said firmly, giving his quavering shoulders a harsh, forceful shake. “He won’t harm us. He’s my — mymate. And” — her gaze flicked back to Joarr, whose eyes had sobered, holding on hers — “he’s the father of my child. My son. To be born in the spring.”
That, of course, set her father sputtering and shouting again, but Gwyn mostly ignored it this time, and kept her eyes on Joarr. Lifting her chin a little, as if even challenging him. Saying, perhaps,Are you sure, you really still want that…
But Joarr nodded, once, again. And his throat was convulsing, his eyes steady and watchful, liquid, deep enough to get lost in…
Yes, it meant.Yes. Mine.
Something fluttered in Gwyn’s belly, something warm and light andhome— and she felt herself smiling up at him, slow, genuine, relieved. And he was smiling back, all sparkling eyes and sharp white teeth, and she wanted to hurl herself toward him, curl up against his heart —
“Gwynnie!” her father was hollering between them, wildly waving his arms. “You can’t be serious. You can’t besane! What in all the gods’ holy names have youdone? Do you not realize what thismeans?!”
But Gwyn was rolling with this now, with hermate, with the warmth and the courage now pooling strong and deep in her belly. “Yes, I do realize what this means, Father,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm. “It means I’ll now be subject to that horrid new law of yours. And that I will happily come to Dunburg with you, and testify about it beforeeveryoneyou know.”
Her father flinched all over, his eyes frozen wide on her face — but Gwyn wasn’t done, not even close. “Your law wanted to hurt women like me,” she continued, harder now. “You wanted to humiliate us, and destroy our lives. So if you don’t find a way to stop that law, I will walk straight into this. I willrunwith this. I will take my destruction — and yours — all over the damnedrealm. Toanyonewho will listen.”
Her father’s face had gone very pale, and his big body suddenly staggered, tripping sideways. But before he could collapse onto the table, Joarr had swiftly grasped his arms, and half-guided, half-dragged him back to his chair. And to Gwyn’s vague surprise, her father didn’t even try to fight him, and just sank down into the chair, and buried his face in his twitching hands.
“But anorc, Gwynnie!” he moaned. “Good gods. You can’t. Youcan’t. And look,Ican’t. I even tried with the other lords, all right? After I saw how upset you were, before you left. But” — his shoulders shook as he hauled in air — “they’ve already pushed ahead with it, Culthen and Warmisham most of all. They have a lot to settle with these orcs, but they also think they have the right of all this. They think they’rehelpingthose women, with that law.”
Of course they did, the rich complacent bastards. And wait, this couldn’t mean Gwyn was still trapped, still stuck with this, still lost… could it? Not now, not after everything she’d done, please, goddess, please…
She’d somehow clutched desperately at the table, squeezing her eyes shut, dragging in deep breaths. Needed to roll with this, needed to find a new way,please…
A new way. Newhope.
“Then — then youchangethe law,” Gwyn heard herself gasp, breathless, her eyes snapping back up to her father’s bowed head. “Youfixit, Father. You stop hunting these women. You drop the public testifying part. And if and when those women come to you, you send themonlyto midwives who will actually support them. You send them tome.”
And yes.Yes. This could work. Thishadto work. And when Lord Anton’s head slightly lifted, his brow furrowed, Gwyn kept talking, following it, thinking it through. “If you can do that, Father,” she said, “you could trulyhelpthose women, instead of hurting them. You’d give them the care they need, and the choice.Please.”
Her father blinked at her for one uncertain, halting instant — maybe,maybe? — but then he moaned again, and buried his face back in his hands. “This is just too much, Gwynnie,” he said, high-pitched and plaintive. “Orcs? Changinglaws? Especially right now? Because ever since Roy sent me that damned urgent message — three days ago! — I haven’t had a moment’s proper rest. Let alone a good stiff drink, or a half-decentmeal!”
Gwyn’s heart was fiercely pattering, her eyes held to her father, her thoughts twisting, tangling, twirling. He had honestly tried to change the law. He’d tried to protect her. And he was thinking about this, he was considering it, hewas…
“Joarr,” Gwyn heard herself say, not quite steady. “Do you think — could you please make my father some supper?”
And goddess bless him, because Joarr was already nodding, his eyes warm and appreciative on her face. “Ach, I shall,” he said lightly. “But first, mayhap, this help?”
With that, he’d reached into his trouser pocket, and plucked something out. Something small, brown, familiar. A…mushroom?
But yes, yes, it was a mushroom, of precisely the same rare, valuable variety he’d given Gwyn in his mushroom-room. And Lord Anton’s wary, mulish, frowning eyes had flicked up toward it — and then snapped wide, while an audible gasp choked from his mouth.
“Is that —” he began, and his hand reached out with astonishing eagerness, and snatched the mushroom out of Joarr’s hand. “It is! Where did you find this?!”
He shot Joarr a dark, accusing look — goddess, as if Joarr hadstolenit — and Gwyn loudly cleared her throat, crossing her arms over her chest. “Joarrgrowsthem, Father,” she said flatly. “He’s an accomplished mushroom specialist. Now” — she squared her shoulders — “have you had any adverse effects with these before? Any unmanageable hallucinations or terrors? Any mental difficulties over the next days, or weeks?”
Lord Anton was already shaking his head, eyeing the little brown mushroom with a hushed, blinking reverence. And before Gwyn could speak another word, he popped it into his mouth, and swallowed it whole. And then closed his eyes, his face smoothing, his body sagging back into his chair.
Oh. Well. Gwyn stared blankly toward him, entirely nonplussed — and an uncertain glance toward Joarr showed him looking highly amused again, his mouth twitching up, his eyes dancing on hers.
“Grouse for supper?” he asked. “Mayhap you make fire, witch? And” — his gaze darted around at the few plant-pots still remaining in her kitchen — “harvest herbs for us? Rosemary, mayhap?”
Gwyn nodded back, her face unaccountably heating — and after a surreptitious pat of his hand to her arse, Joarr spun toward the window behind them, and yanked the sash open. And after a little leap, a fluid slither sideways, he was gone out the window, leaving Gwyn standing stock-still behind him, and foolishly half-smiling at where he’d gone.
“I cannotbelieveyou, Gwynnie,” cut in her father’s voice, and when she turned back around, he was eyeing her darkly, his mouth curling. “Youlikethat fellow. Thatorc. Enough to” — he shuddered all over — “reproducewith him?!”
But Gwyn was rolling with this now, running with this, and she somehow even nodded, and pulled over her pot of rosemary and her shears. “Yes, Father,” she said, as she began clipping. “Joarr and I have a lot in common. We have a lot of fun together. He’s very supportive of me. He” — she swallowed, took a breath — “he takes care of me. In a way no one has done since Mother died.”
Lord Anton at least had the grace to wince, though his eyes were looking distinctly unfocused now, his body sagging heavier into his chair. “But he’s an orc, Gwynnie!” he protested. “I don’t want to lose you to an orc! And their spawn aredeadly, and this could very wellkillyou! And, hasn’t it occurred to you” — his gaze sharpened on Gwyn’s face — “that he’s playing sweet on you because ofme? Because of thiswar?”
