But he didn’t speak this time, not even to offer any coins. And he just kept going, cleaning her in strange, stilted silence, until he’d finally finished, tugging her skirts back down over her bare, still-sticky thighs, and nudging her toward the door.
It clearly meant he didn’t want to talk about it, or acknowledge it, or ascribe to it any kind of meaning whatsoever. And gods, why would he, why did she care, a job, nothing more…
“So what now?” Geva heard her scratchy voice say, once they were again walking side by side down the corridor. “Any plans for the rest of the day?”
Rathgarr cleared his throat, his arm shifting against hers, guiding her hand back into its usual position against his bicep. “Ought to find some food, and take this to the laundry,” he said offhandedly, raising the now-wet rag still in his other hand. “And as I was gaining this, Abjorn found me, and asked if I might wish to come sparring, for a spell.”
Oh. Of course. So now Rathgarr would go off sparring with Abjorn, and leave Geva alone, again. And damn it, she didnotcare, her eyes were not prickling, just a job, three weeks…
“But only should you wish,” Rathgarr added, more quickly now. “I ken this is likely not pleasing for you, to be trapped in a small room, watching sweaty orcs pummel one another.”
Wait. Did he mean… he meant he was asking? He wanted her to comewithhim?
Geva risked a glance up at his face, searching for reluctance, mockery, something — but it was just a waiting, wary watchfulness. As if he really was asking. Inviting her.
So Geva managed a furtive little nod, and accompanied him to the kitchen, where he dropped off the rag at the adjoining scullery, and wheedled a quick lunch from a shrewd-looking Olga. And then they made their way up to the Ash-Kai sparring-room, which was distinctly smaller than the Skai and Bautul ones, but still had the same style of an open ring, surrounded by rising benches cut straight from the stone.
“You came!” Abjorn exclaimed, as he rushed over to meet Geva and Rathgarr at the door, and broadly grinned back and forth between them. “Ach, I am so glad. I should not have blamed you if you wished to hide all the rest of the day, after —”
His eyes abruptly widened, his mouth snapping shut, and behind him, Sigarr had strode over too, his hand clamping to Abjorn’s shoulder. “It shall be good to spar against you again, brother,” he said to Rathgarr, in his deep, measured voice. “Do you wish to face me first, or Abjorn?”
Abjorn was all but bouncing in his eagerness, and Rathgarr smiled back toward him with warm, indulgent affection. “Ach, Abjorn, I ken,” he said. “Though it is all his fault if I am too winded to face you after this, Sig.”
Abjorn returned this with a delighted smile, and soon he was dragging Rathgarr off toward the ring, leaving Geva and Sigarr behind. And once again, Geva found herself fighting that odd hitch in her chest, and the highly unwelcome prickle behind her eyes.
“Shall we sit, sister?” Sigarr asked beside her, and when Geva darted a look toward him, he was settling his big body onto one of the nearby stone benches. “I am sure Rathgarr shall wish to show off for you.”
The words might have been teasing, but his voice and eyes were almost concerned, and Geva couldn’t hide her wince as she nodded, and sat. Staring out blankly toward where Rathgarr was stripping off his tunic, the sight of his broad bare chest again catching, stinging behind her eyes.
“This may not be my place to speak, sister,” Sigarr began beside her, his voice deliberate, “but after all this today, I ken you ought to know. Even if Kesst does not well recall this” — he exhaled, heavy and slow — “RathgarrwasKesst’s father, in all but blood and name. It was only he who cared if Kesst ate, or washed, or slept. It was he who dressed Kesst, and guarded him, and tracked where he went, and with whom he had gone. It was he who did not rest for three days when Kesst once was lost in the old Ka-esh tunnels, and could not be found.”
Oh. Geva found that she could easily believe that, and she nodded and attempted a smile, despite her still-stinging eyes — but now Sigarr was waving his big hand toward where Rathgarr and Abjorn were now circling each other in the ring. “And it was not only Kesst,” he continued, his voice deepening. “Rathgarr was oft this for Abjorn also, ach?”
Wait. Really? Geva’s head tilted, considering that, even as her eyes searched Sigarr, the soft ruefulness in his smile. “Abjorn never well fit with his own clan, or his own father,” he said. “He followed us about like a lost, loud, lonely little pup. But Rathgarr never pushed him away, or called him small or weak, or told him he would never be Ash-Kai, ach? He praised him, and watched over him, and taught him to fight. And thus” — Sigarr’s smile had gone almost sad, now — “Abjorn shall now worship him for life, ach? Even after all these years apart.”
There was unmistakable wistfulness in Sigarr’s voice, in his eyes back on Abjorn again, and Geva felt her breath exhaling, the tension loosening just slightly in her chest. So it was like that, then, between them. And suddenly she could see it, in the way Abjorn was excitedly laughing, dancing around Rathgarr and throwing wild, playful punches, while Rathgarr indulgently grinned back, and praised Abjorn’s aim and his form, and then — Geva’s mouth twitched — even made a show of stumbling back onto the floor after one of Abjorn’s punches, his limbs sprawling wide.
“Victory!” Abjorn called toward them, his face flushed and shiny with sweat, his arms thrown triumphantly into the air. And when Sigarr grinned and gave a purposeful jerk of his head — clearly saying,come here— Abjorn obligingly trotted over, and willingly accepted the waterskin that Sigarr had somehow produced, and thrust into his hand.
“That was fun,” Abjorn said brightly, once he’d taken a long, gulping drink. “I forgot about those fists of Rath’s. Slow, but deadly.”
Rathgarr’s hand raised in a rude gesture from where he was still lying on the floor, and Abjorn glanced over and laughed, and took another drink. “He is yet not truly seeking to defeat me, though,” he said, with a sigh, and a disgruntled smile toward Geva. “These Ash-Kai, they all ken they do you a favour when they pull their punches and play-act for you, ach? Who wants this?”
Geva’s heart skipped at that telltale termplay-act— Abjorn couldn’tknow, could he? — even as she felt her mouth curving into a sincere-feeling smile. “Indeed,” she said lightly, with a glance over toward where Rathgarr had pushed up on his elbow to frown at them. “Especially when you call them out on their rubbish, and then they behave as though it’s allyourfault.”
“Yes!” Abjorn crowed, raising the waterskin toward her. “Just so, sister. See, Sig,sheunderstands. You Ash-Kai are all the same.”
Sigarr was now the one looking disgruntled, even as his big hand rubbed up and down Abjorn’s sweaty back. “Ach, we are not,” he countered stubbornly. “I do not do this. Do I?”
Abjorn rolled his eyes, his genial smile fading. “Ach, you do, Sig,” he said archly. “You yet coddle me as though I am your lost, lonely little pup, in constant need of tending.”
Geva’s mouth was twitching again, especially since Sigarr’s hand — which had reached to rummage in a pack beside him — had now re-emerged holding a fresh-looking bun. And now both he and Abjorn were looking down toward it, Sigarr betraying an unmistakable wince, while Abjorn sighed, rolled his eyes again, and snatched the bun from Sigarr’s hand. And then gingerly settled down onto one of Sigarr’s spread knees, where he began munching away at the bun with all apparent gusto.
Sigarr shot Geva a helpless-looking glance, and at her answering wry smile, he seemed to rally a little, squaring his bulky shoulders. “Ach, but you do not mind this,kærasti,” he told Abjorn, his brow heavily furrowed. “It oft pleases you, to be cared for thus.”
Abjorn shrugged and sighed, his eyes once again on Geva’s. “Sometimes,” he said, with a shrug, between bites of his bun. “And sometimes, you only wish to have your chain yanked, and your rump pounded until you can no longer sit fully upon it.”
Sigarr’s eyes narrowed, glancing purposefully down toward where Abjorn was still carefully perched on his thigh. While Abjorn gave a smug, bitter little smile, and tore another large bite from his bun. “Without,” he drawled, his voice hardening, “being reminded of how this is not safe, or seemly. Or of how larger orcs should never harm sweet small Ka-esh. Or how it ismyfailing for wishing for this.”
