He was sulking and waving at Kesst, who looked in full agreement with this, his eyes flashing, his arms folded tightly over his chest. And blinking back and forth between them, Geva felt her mouth curving into a bemused, affectionate smile, her hands spreading wider against her belly.
“But — at least our little healer would havetwobrilliant uncles to help guide him,” she said. “One to teach him how to use his skills, and the other to help him set proper boundaries around them. And as he grows, maybe he could help support Efterar, too. Maybe it would be a blessing, after all.”
Kesst and Rathgarr kept frowning at each other, though perhaps slightly less ferociously than before, and Geva again smiled between them, and then back down at her belly. “And should the gods allow, we would both like to have another son after this, wouldn’t we, love?” she murmured, twisting up to press a light kiss to Rathgarr’s cheek. “So if you really want another silver-tongued galdr-spinner that badly, perhaps you ought to start praying, hmmm?”
Rathgarr loudly harrumphed, but his expression had kept softening, his body sagging beneath Geva’s — and then he twitched, and reached for his pocket. “Ach, before I forget,” he said, holding out his hand toward Kesst, “this came into the Grisk hoard today, and I thought it should suit you.”
It was a glittering, beautifully cut black stone, very similar to the ones Kesst so often wore, and he snatched it from Rathgarr’s palm with undeniable eagerness, before inspecting it with a carefully distant coolness. “Hmmm, good catch, Rath,” he said. “It would make a nice earring.”
“Ach, I thought so,” Rathgarr said, with satisfaction, and then a gentle slap at Geva’s arse. “Now, what else must we do to ready ourselves for this Exhibition? Mayhap you shall rest here and watch, poppet, whilst we work?”
But Geva was not being thwarted that easily — luckily, her pregnancy had so far been a very straightforward one, especially with Efterar and Gwyn’s regular support — and soon the three of them were bustling about, and putting the finishing touches on the room for the Exhibition. In addition to the table displays to show the orclings’ work, they’d also planned a sparring demonstration, a shadow-show, a variety of tales and music, and of course, refreshments, with fresh treats from the garden — and Alma had even promised to bake the orclings’ favourite cakes, too.
Geva had just finished preparing the snack table when Alma indeed strode in together with Baldr, Olga, Gegnir, Varinn, and Thrain, all of them carrying overloaded trays of cakes. At least, until Thrain stumbled sideways, and it was only Geva’s quick reflexes that saved his tray of cakes, catching it just as it began to fly across the room.
“Och, sorry,” Thrain said, with a false-sounding brightness, as he lurched over to help Geva re-stack the cakes on the tray. “I’m just a touch tired this morning, I suppose.”
But beside them, Varinn had set down his tray, too, and he whirled around to face Thrain, his usually genial face hard and set. “You are not weary, Thrain, you arefoxed,” he snapped. “I ken you seek to hide it, but your scentreeksof rotten ale. And if you were wise — or ach, if youeverlistened to me — you would not evenbehere in this schoolroom today, stinking and staggering about, where all these orclings — and their fathers — shall witness this!”
Thrain was visibly wincing, rubbing at his eyes, and then giving Geva and Rathgarr a wide, apologetic smile. “I’m only helping,” he said defensively. “I’m not harming anyone. Most of all orclings, I love orclings, Varinn, you know that. Most important thing, ach?”
But Varinn had hissed a low, angry growl, and jerked a hard shake of his head. “If you truly felt thus,” he snapped back, “you would not drown yourself in ale as you do! You are lucky they are kind enough to yet allow you here” — he waved furiously at Geva and Rathgarr — “for when I gain a mate and son, you shall not step foot near them thus. Or nearme!”
Thrain’s eyes had gone wide and wounded, his head shaking, his mouth twitching into an uncertain half-smile. “Och, you — you don’ mean that, Varinn,” he replied thickly. “I’ll be your son’s uncle, ach? His favourite fun uncle, with all the games and treats and sparring-matches. Ach?”
He sounded almost pleading, but Varinn growled again, shaking his head with furious purpose. “No,” he hissed, “you shall not. For I shall not allow my son to spend his days with a drunkard, let alone to learn that this is the best way to havefun! And ach, today you only spill cakes, but mayhap next year it is a bottle, or aweapon!”
Thrain didn’t reply to that, his mouth opening and closing, his face splotched with red, and Varinn shook his head again, his eyes flashing. “I am finished with this, Thrain,” he growled. “I am finished withyou!”
With that, he spun around and stalked out, leaving the rest of them glancing uneasily toward one another. Until Alma surreptitiously pulled Baldr after her toward the door, waving a quick, apologetic goodbye, while Olga and Gegnir hurried along behind, Gegnir’s hand clasping with proprietary ease against Olga’s arse.
It left Thrain standing there blinking at Geva, Kesst, and Rathgarr, his eyes very bright — until Rathgarr cleared his throat, and reached over to give him a reassuring clap on the shoulder. “Ach, I ken the struggle of this, brother,” he said, with more gentleness than Geva might have expected. “I also spent years lost amidst my cups, ach? But it is not a kind mistress, and you shall be well served to face what is driving you to it, and learn to seek another way.”
But Thrain’s head was shaking, furtive and quick, his eyes darting between Geva and Rathgarr. “But — it’s not actuallyanything,” he said, or perhaps pleaded. “Not at all. I can stop anytime I please. And you — you don’t mind me being here, do you? You know I’m good with orclings, Iam.”
Geva couldn’t hide her helpless glance toward Rathgarr, because in truth, they had discussed this multiple times — and Rathgarr clasped Thrain’s shoulder again, gave it a bracing little shake. “Ach, you are good with orclings, brother,” he said firmly. “But if I were you, I should never wish them to see me foxed in their schoolroom. And I ken mayhap you ought to feel the same, ach?”
But it clearly wasn’t helping, and the look on Thrain’s face was undoubtedly hurt, or even betrayed — and he abruptly shoved off Rathgarr’s hand, and unsteadily strode out. Leaving Rathgarr frowning after him with genuine-looking regret, while beside him Kesst shrugged, and popped a cake in his mouth.
“He had to hear it sometime,” he said, once he’d finished chewing. “I mean,I’mnot going to let him stumble around our brilliant healer son while he’s drunk off his arse and wallowing in denial, are you?”
At that, Rathgarr had blinked — perhaps at theour sonpart, or thebrilliant healerpart, or both — but then he tilted his head and shrugged, clearly conceding Kesst’s point. “No, I ken not,” he said, with a sigh, as he tossed a cake in his mouth, too — and then visibly brightened as he chewed. “Ach, this is good, is it not? Do you have this recipe?”
It turned out that Kesst did, but he’d already chosen the menu for their planned supper that evening, and flatly refused to change it. Leading to more good-natured bickering as they finished setting up the room together — just in time, it turned out, because the orclings had finally begun to filter back in, many of them with their parents and caretakers now in tow.
“Look, Papa!” Bram exclaimed, brandishing a sheet of his wobbly little letters at his bulky, bemused-looking father. “I can write in common-tongue,andAelakesh! And do you like my stick-orc battle?”
He was proudly poking his little claw at the bottom of the page, where he’d drawn an elaborate array of stick figures with pointy ears and swords, some of them gushing copious amounts of blood. And while Geva was already wincing, Bram’s father was holding the paper up closer, peering at the page. “Ach, it is me!” he said, with a toothy grin. “But wait. Is this an Ash-Kai? Why is he sending me off the page?”
Geva blanched and swiftly sidled away, over to where Erik was holding up the little gold bracelet he’d forged, and setting it into his father’s waiting hand. “It is good Ka-esh forging, ach, Papa?” he said shyly. “You like?”
His father — Benjamin, Geva now knew — was blinking with genuine awe down at the little bracelet, and then pulling Erik close. “Ach, it is perfect, my son,” he whispered, hoarse. “Just like you.”
Erik broadly beamed at that, snuggling into his father’s chest, while Geva wiped hastily at her eyes — until she caught sight of little Isak, pulling his slim Ka-esh father over toward a smiling Abjorn. “Papa!” he shouted. “This is the Ka-esh warrior who is teaching us to fight. He iswonderful, ach?”
Geva blanched again, but luckily Abjorn was still well versed in Ka-esh manners, and — thanks to an ever-careful Sigarr — no longer sported any visible wounds or black eyes that could frighten off the orclings or their caretakers. And instead, he now wore a thick, gleaming gold cuff around his neck, which Geva now knew to be a distinctly Ka-esh custom, binding them to their mates. And at the sight of it, Isak’s father had visibly relaxed, touching at his own cuff, too — and soon they were speaking fondly of their stubborn partners together, while an already-bored Isak raced around the room.
Once all the students had all had a chance to show off their work, Rathgarr called the room to order, and loudly welcomed his beloved heart-son Kesst to the front of the room to start the show. A strategic decision on all fronts, because Kesst’s cheerful tale of dancing minnows — one he’d acquired from Geva — settled the orclings at once, while also setting the mood for the rest of the morning’s entertainment.
