Geva shoved down the overwhelming urge to start hurling obscenities into Mrs. Fitzwald’s face, and stiffly extracted herself from Cecily, giving one last reassuring squeeze to her shoulder. And then she dragged herself back up the stairs, toward where she could already hear a cacophony of loud, high-pitched voices, emanating from the direction of the schoolroom.
“Miss Gee!” wailed nine-year-old Leticia, catching sight of Geva at the door, and rushing over toward her. “Miss Gee, Cordelia won’t stop shouting at me, and she threw Dolly out the window!”
“Because you dumped ice cream on my best dress, onpurpose!” shouted fifteen-year-old Cordelia. “I was supposed to wear that to a ball next week, and Sebastian’s already ruined my new sash!”
“It was a joke!” protested thirteen-year-old Sebastian, recklessly whirling a shining rapier through the air. “Becauseyouwouldn’t stop whining about how hideous it was!”
Geva’s head was already painfully pounding, but she pulled herself to her full height, and threw herself into sorting out the trials at hand. First confiscating Sebastian’s rapier, and then sending Leticia after her doll, and escorting Cordelia and her ruined clothes to the laundry. And then turning her attentions to packing the children’s belongings, all amidst an ongoing onslaught of questions, complaints, and quarrelling. No, Cordelia couldn’t take her entire wardrobe. No, Leticia didn’t deserve a new doll because Dolly had gotten dusty outside. And no, Sebastian couldn’t leave behind all his dinner coats in favour of his toy army, or his cricket clubs, or his weapons collection.
But finally, what felt like several full days later, the children’s trunks were packed and ready, and the children themselves had all been herded out to the waiting carriages. And after a round of goodbyes — including an extra-tight hug for a still-sniffling Cecily, during which Mrs. Fitzwald bitterly glared — the carriages were clattering down the lane, taking all the Fitzwalds away with them.
Geva vigorously waved goodbye along with the other staff, her smile firmly fixed to her face, until the carriages had fully vanished from view. And then, she turned and trudged back up to the empty, echoing schoolroom, which now looked as though a cataclysm had crashed through, and was in dire need of a days-long, top-to-bottom cleaning.
But instead of getting started, doing what needed to be done, Geva only stood there in the middle of the room, gazing blankly around at the mess. And after a long, empty moment, she sank into the nearest chair, and buried her face in her hands.
Gods, this job. This house. And even if she’d been granted a few weeks’ reprieve — a few weeks’ blessed silence — all too soon the chaos would return, surely even worse than before. There was no way four weeks trapped together in a townhouse would benefit any of the Fitzwald children, let alone Cecily, and Geva would spend the rest of the year pleading, placating, trying and failing to be heard. Fighting desperately to hold on to a life she loathed with all her being. And then the next year, and the next, until —
Until what? What? Yet another family, another set of miserable children? Until she became too ill, or too elderly, to bear it anymore? And without a steady salary, without any substantial savings, what would happen to her then? Would she die alone and begging on the streets?
And at least her own parents would never, ever know what had become of her. Because what would they think, after all her education, after raising her with the very best they could afford? After they’d given her so many priceless gifts of story and language and song,thiswas what she’d made of her life?
Geva’s stomach was bitterly churning, her head hammering, and she lurched for the schoolroom’s largest window, thrusting it wide open, gulping down deep breaths of cool air. And then she spun and staggered back to her chair, and again buried her wet face in her hands.
Four weeks. She should be dancing and rejoicing, not sitting here sobbing over all her wasted dreams. She had a job. She had a safe place to live, and food in her belly. She’dsurvived. So many women in her circumstances had fared far worse, and she should be looking forward, she should be grateful, she should be…
“Weeping, already,” supplied a low, husky, accented male voice, curling deep into her chest. “Ach, and you have not evenmetme yet.”
Geva flinched and flailed upwards, leaping back out of her chair. And oh, good gods above, it was —
It was… anorc.
2
There was an orc. Here. In the Fitzwalds’schoolroom.
Geva’s mouth fell open, her heartbeat roaring in her ears — and she frantically scrabbled backwards, toward the wall behind her. While waves of hot and cold flashed through her trembling body, and her wide eyes swept up and down the orc standing before her.
He was…massive. A hulking, broad-shouldered, grey-skinned beast, with long, loose black hair, tall pointed ears, and gleaming black eyes. And his huge body was unnervingly, impeccably dressed, sporting shiny, tightly laced black boots, a spotless white tunic, and a silvery grey fur over a long black cloak, sweeping down wide from his powerful shoulders.
But most terrifying of all was the sword, strapped at his side. Not the slim, decorative rapiers gentlemen often wore, but a deadly, glinting steel broadsword, the kind wielded by armed knights on warhorses. And the orc’s big hand — complete with long, curving blacktalons— was hungrily flexing against the sword’s hilt, as if fighting the temptation to draw it, and cut Geva to pieces where she stood.
The instinct to shout, to run, was fraying white and wild through Geva’s trembling body — but she somehow, impossibly, managed to hold herself still and silent against the wall behind her, while her thoughts choked and churned. There was no chance in hell of fighting him — of the few orcs she’d seen in her life, he was undoubtedly the largest — and no chance of escaping, either, not with him looming between her and the door like this. And yes, she could try screaming, drawing out the other servants, but what then? Would he retaliate? Attack? Chop them down one by one as they rushed through the door?
“Ach, but no screeching and howling, then?” the orc said, with an approving little nod, as that clawed hand gave his sword-hilt one more slow, reverent-looking caress. “Good. This shows much mettle, my sweet, and bodes well for our day’s work.”
Their day’s work? Hissweet?! Geva couldn’t stop staring at the appalling creature before her, while her heart kept raging and ricocheting against her ribs. And with it, unhelpfully, were all Mrs. Fitzwald’s smug, horrible words from earlier that day.
Have you not heard the rumours about the orcs? Roaming about the village, hunting down unprotected females to attack, seeking out priceless jewels to pilfer…
“What,” Geva somehow gulped, “do youwanthere, orc.”
The orc flashed her a quick, conspiratorial smile, showing off a mouthful of sharp white teeth, not unlike those of a wolf’s. And suddenly there were many more voices — all the tales Geva had previously dismissed as fear-mongering rubbish — shouting and clamouring through her skull.
Those orcs are cruel, vulgar monsters. They never birth orc daughters, so they’ll do anything to steal away human women instead. And once they trap a woman in their vile mountain, they’ll swive with her again and again, feast upon her fresh blood, and whelp their killer sons upon her, until…
The orc had arched a thick black brow toward Geva, and he came a slow step closer, his booted feet alarmingly silent on the schoolroom floor. “Ach, you ken I am here foryou, poppet?” he murmured, his low, husky voice hitching oddly in Geva’s chest. “You ken I am here to charm and cajole you, and lure you onto my powerful prick? To spew my good seed deep into your womb, and spawn my fierce little brats upon you?”
Geva’s cheeks felt painfully hot, her shocked gaze fixed to the orc’s grey face, to that strange, shimmering glint in his black eyes. To the way those eyes had deliberately dropped all the way down her tall body, holding first on the ample curves of her hips and belly, and then up to her full, heavy breasts. Which, despite being respectably squashed beneath her plain, modest day-dress, now felt far too exposed, bared for his cool, casual perusal. His…judgement.
