And as Kesst kept blinking up at the healer’s face, it vaguely occurred to his stuttering brain that it really wasn’t as hideous as he’d first supposed. He’d perhaps made that fundamental miscalculation, the one that was all too easy to do with their kind, confusing scars and wounds with ugliness. Because beneath all those scars, the healer’s face was still strong. Symmetrical. His jaw square, his grey skin smooth, his pointed ears long and well-shaped, his mouth wry and expressive. And those were surely even smile-lines, gathered at the corners of his dark, frowning eyes.
And perhaps it was those lines, suggesting that this orc had, at least at some point in his life, known happiness. Or perhaps it was the way the magic was still working, still twining so deep and powerful inside Kesst’s wounded chest. Or perhaps the way the pain and shock still felt impossibly, unthinkably distant, his thoughts now swirling with an odd light giddiness that didn’t feel natural at all…
But whatever it was, Kesst’s cursed mouth had opened, asking the inexplicably crucial question that had somehow overtaken all the rest. “If you’re this good,” his slurred voice said, “why’d you never fix your face?”
The healer’s big body stiffened, his magic inside Kesst briefly stuttering — and gods, how half-wittedwasKesst, truly, to be insulting the orc who was currently carrying him, easing his pain, and saving his life? The orc who could so easily toss him aside, forever, and keep on walking?
But the healer didn’t toss him. Didn’t even condemn him. And instead, Kesst could feel his impossible magic refocusing, still healing him, helping him, despite his cursed mouth. Despite everything Kesst had said and done the night before.Teach him some true orc ways, or cull him…
“I’ve always had more important things to deal with,” the healer finally replied. “My face isn’t a priority.”
Kesst’s mouth somehow scoffed before he could stop it, twitching a distant flare of pain through his chest. “Looking good,” his thin voice informed the healer, “isalwaysa priority.”
The healer’s magic didn’t falter this time, just kept on working — now touching at where that pain had flared — though that was surely more tightness on his already-tight mouth. “No, it isn’t,” he replied. “I don’t care what other people think of me.”
It took Kesst a moment to digest that, to recover from the almost breathtaking ease — and the sheer appalling recklessness — in those words. The healer didn’t care what other people thought of him. He didn’tcare?! Gods, what was that like? How would that feel? And had he not heard what Kaugir and Skald had said about him the night before? How they wanted to teach him?Cullhim?
“You should care,” Kesst croaked, with a bitter, guilty-feeling grimace. “There are… eyes on you.Watchingyou.”
And gods, the more his swirling brain thought about it, the more that guilt just kept growing, crunching in his belly, flaring more pain up into his chest. Yes, the healer had been a stuffy judgemental arse, but he surely hadn’t deserved Kesst sending Skald and Kaugir after him for that. And despite having been there, having witnessed Kesst’s retaliation firsthand, the healer wasstilltreating him like this? Still showing him such astonishing kindness, like it didn’t even matter?
“And how my face looks is going to help that?” the healer replied now, his bottom lip slightly jutting out. “It changes nothing. Has no use to me.”
His magic had again soothed Kesst’s stomach as he’d spoken, leaving behind more guilt, and envy, and wheeling disbelief. “Of course your looks have use to you,” Kesst’s slurred voice countered, as he frowned up at the healer’s stubborn face. “If nothing else,humanscare about looks more than anything. And you want a woman, don’t you? A mate, and a son? Like every other orc alive?”
He couldn’t quite hide the rising bitterness in his scent at that, because in all the ways he could match human women, or even surpass them, the sons were always the ultimate kick in the bollocks, weren’t they? And sometimes Kesst truly felt like the only orc in the realm who didn’t give a toss about finding a woman, and pumping out those sons. Who shuddered at even thethoughtof being permanently attached to a helpless, squalling little creature, who needed constant feeding and fussing and fretting over.
But to Kesst’s genuine surprise, the healer shook his head, his mouth still set and grim. “No, I don’t,” he replied. “I don’t care about any of that.”
Huh. The healer didn’t want a woman, or a son? At all?Ever?
It seemed utterly unthinkable — especially given the healer’s equally unthinkable magic, which was so often passed down by blood — but there hadn’t been the faintest twitch in that magic as he’d spoken, or on his frowning face. He truly meant that. Or thought he did.
“But your magic,” Kesst said, his thin voice rising, and gods, why did he care, why was he even pushing this now, of all damned times? “Your gift. If you don’t have a son, it could die with you, forever.”
But the healer’s magic still didn’t change, his face just as stubborn as before. “And?” he said, his voice lower. “I do all I can to honour my gift, and share it with those in need. I don’t owe the world another whole livingbeing, who’ll then be obligated to givehisentire life to this, too.”
To this. To moments like this, pouring his beautiful gift into a bloody babbling fool, who’d insulted his magic, and called him ugly, and carelessly thrown him straight into Kaugir and Skald’s vicious, vengeful sights.
What good is he. Teach him a lesson. Cull him.
And suddenly Kesst just felt so cold, and so exhausted, and so empty. This damned healer, with his damned certainty, his damned infuriating nobility. His scent, his safety, his magic,I don’t care. I don’t owe the world…
“I’m sorry,” Kesst whispered, his voice cracking, and he couldn’t bear to look at the healer now, to see more of that pity in his eyes. “You shouldn’t keep doing this for me. You could just toss me, you know. Into that thicket, maybe.”
He was holding his prickling eyes very intently upon it, a particularly thorny patch of green slowly floating by, and he was truly, distantly astonished by the sound of the healer’s chuckle. Low, warm, almost even… tolerant.
“I’m not tossing you into a thicket, Ash-Kai,” he replied, with genuine-sounding amusement. “I’m healing you, and taking you home.”
Oh. Oh. And gods, this healer, why was he doing this to him, what was happening to him? And why couldn’t Kesst stop his nose from sniffing, or the water from escaping his eyes, streaking down his cheeks…
“You promise?” he whispered, humiliating, weak,pathetic— but he couldn’t take it back, he was clinging to it, blinking desperately at the healer’s eyes. “Please?”
And whatever it was, flickering like that in the healer’s magic, on his face, Kesst couldn’t have said. But that nod — that nod was a yes. Yes.
“Yes,” the healer whispered back, and somehow, Kesst knew he meant it. “I promise.”
5
