There was palpable bitterness in his voice, and not for the first time during this journey, Geva felt the stark, sudden urge to beg to turn around again. To go back to Orc Mountain, to her little school, to the work she’d loved doing. To a world where she and Rathgarr could travel to meet Svein and his mother, and offer support and reassurance, and do everything within their power to reunite Kalfr and his son again.
But she couldn’t, she couldn’t. She’d promised Rathgarr she would leave. These were the terms they’d agreed to. And despite what Killik had said, there’d still been no sign whatsoever of Rathgarr. It was over. Permanently.
It felt more difficult to smile and laugh the next day, despite her very best efforts to focus on the orclings, and their interests and needs. And while she was deeply grateful for Abjorn and Varinn and Thrain, and their obvious attempts to engage her in cheerful conversation, she knew she was an increasingly gloomy, morose, and uninspiring travel-mate. And by the fifth day of travelling, she found herself needing to frequently make excuses, so that she could go off into the woods alone, and weep into her trembling hands. She needed to do this. She’d sworn to do this, she wanted to do this. To return to the Fitzwalds’, return the children and servants’ coin, leave the letters. And then…
“We shall reach the house early this eve,” Killik told her, once she’d returned to the rest of the party again, her face dry but surely swollen. “I have sent Ulfarr and Varinn to scout ahead, to watch for humans, and learn how best to gain entry.”
Geva nodded, and attempted a thank-you — but then it was swallowed by more sharp, staggering misery. “Should I be saying — my goodbyes, then?” she gulped at him. “For good, this time?”
But Killik waved it away, his eyes shifting away, too. “Ach, not yet,” he said, with that telltale casualness on his voice. “Later.”
And it was something to cling to, something to keep her going, even as they drew closer, closer. As Ulfarr and Varinn returned early that evening, and reported that the Fitzwalds were indeed still away on their trip — though they were due to return soon — and luckily, it appeared to be the servants’ day off, as well. Meaning that gaining entry to the house would be a simple, straightforward task, without even a need to rush.
“This is a sign from Skai-kesh, you ken,” Killik told them with extreme satisfaction, his eyes lingering a little too long on Ulfarr’s face. “He sees our aims this night, and grants us his blessing.”
Well. Again, it was something, and finally, with her satchel in her hand, and her heartbeat thundering in her throat, Geva walked with Ulfarr up to the Fitzwalds’ side door, and followed him inside. And once he’d shoved a lit lantern into her hand, she quietly crept up the stairs, back to the servants’ quarters. To where she hadn’t ever, ever imagined returning.
It was even more dismal than she remembered, the rooms tiny and cramped, smelling of dampness and mould. But Geva moved through them as quickly as she could, putting back the servants’ stolen plunder as best she could. Cook had hidden hers under the floor. The first vile footman had kept his in his sock-drawer. The butler under the bed.
And once that was finished, next were the children’s rooms, and the letters. Geva had already written out the letters to all four children, using paper and charcoal that Killik had managed to acquire along the way. And in each letter, she’d mentioned a few of her favourite memories, and shared her regrets at the sudden farewell, and her best wishes. She’d even offered a means of exchanging letters in the future, if they wished, thanks to some clever connections the Ka-esh had set up within the human-run postal service.
Cecily’s was the last letter to deliver, and Geva lingered for too long in the little room, blinking around at Cecily’s few prized possessions. The frilly pink dress that didn’t fit anymore, the doll with the missing eye, the collection of mismatched rocks. Until she shook her head and forced herself out the door, closing it tightly behind her. Her mission here was finished. Complete.
It meant she should have left, hurrying away for the side door where she knew Ulfarr was waiting. But instead, she took a strange, shaky breath, and crept back up the stairs. Back toward the schoolroom.
It clearly hadn’t been touched since the day she’d left, the children’s belongings still strewn all around, Dolly still lying forgotten on the floor. And for a long moment, Geva only stood there in the middle of the room, gazing blankly around at the mess. While the wetness that had been gathering in her eyes finally spilled over, streaking down her face.
Gods, this room. This life. She’d been so, so miserable here, so trapped and lonely and helpless. And then Rathgarr had come, and threatened her, and deceived her, and ruined her life, and perhaps —
Saved her. Rescued her. Showed her a glimpse of a new life. A new calling. A new home.
And gods, what now? What next? How could she keep looking forward, doing the next thing, when she’d found what she’d so desperately wanted? When now it was gone, forever?
What did that leave? What would she do next? How could she possibly say goodbye?
“There you are,” cut in a harsh, husky, familiar male voice, curling deep into her belly. “You did not truly think you could escape me?”
Geva leapt and whirled around, her mouth fallen open, her hand clutched to her wildly hammering heart. Because it was — it was —
Him.
48
Rathgarr was here. In the Fitzwalds’ schoolroom.Again.
Geva’s heart was still reeling in her chest, her eyes frantically sweeping up and down. Drinking in the impossible sight of him, just standing here before her.
And he looked… tired. Rumpled. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, new lines around his mouth, heavy stubble shadowing his cheeks. And his silver fur had twigs stuck in it, his cloak was visibly torn at the bottom, his boots stained with mud and ash.
But he was — here.Here. And he was looking at Geva with an odd, shifting meaning in his eyes, as his tongue swept swift and sudden against his chapped-looking lips.
“What the hell,” Geva finally gulped, “are youdoinghere, Rathgarr?!”
The words seemed to flash something else across his eyes, stark and almost feverish — and he lurched a step closer, his clawed hand clutched to his sword-hilt, so tightly his knuckles were white.
“I am here,” he replied, his voice dark and menacing, “to claim my mate.You.”
What? To claimher? His…mate?! Geva’s heartbeat flared even faster, her head whipping back and forth. “You — you didn’t want me!” she stammered back. “You wanted — the gold. Remember?”
