With that, he tossed the rest of the bun into his mouth, and stalked back toward the ring. While Sigarr stared morosely after him, his hand rubbing at his set, flushed-looking face.
“Ach, sister,” he said abruptly, without looking at her. “Have you ever wished to learn to fight?”
What? Geva stared at him in genuine horror, her mouth fallen open. “Oh, gods no,” she said. “I’m agoverness. And I’m too big, and ungainly on my feet. Just ask Rathgarr” — she attempted a smile — “I can’t even stand next to abathwithout falling in.”
But Sigarr’s glance at her was odd, and perhaps a little too knowing, too. “Then all the better reason to try this,” he said firmly. “The less skill you bear at first, the more room you have to improve, ach?”
Geva’s horror at this hadn’t decreased in the slightest, but Sigarr gently elbowed her, and gave her a plaintive little smile. “You should honour me by trying this with me,” he said, quieter. “Please, sister?”
And damn him, damn the way he was looking at her, for all the world as thoughhewere the lost, lonely pup in need of tending. And finally Geva groaned, and threw up her hands, and waved him toward the ring.
It was large enough to accommodate all of them, though both Rathgarr and Abjorn were already warily eyeing them, even as Abjorn delivered a vicious-looking kick to Rathgarr’s gut. But Sigarr’s attention seemed fully focused on Geva, his mouth drawing up into a patient, encouraging smile.
“First, there are many ways to do this,” he told her. “And it is always best if you seek your own way. You have no doubt seen how Rathgarr uses his weight and his fists, ach? Whilst Abjorn” — Sigarr nodded toward where he was again kicking furiously at Rathgarr’s belly — “is lighter and faster, so he uses this to his gain. Now you” — his head tilted, his brow furrowing — “shall have your own strength. Mayhap… how about thisdancing, Rathgarr spoke of?”
Dancing? They had heard of her dancing? FromRathgarr? But when Geva glanced over at him, he was again fully focused on Abjorn, as though he hadn’t at all heard. And she felt herself shaking her head, giving Sigarr a pained, regretful smile. “Dancing is not at all the same as fighting,” she said. “There’s a beat to keep you going, and…”
But Sigarr was already stomping his foot, raising his brows in a silent challenge, and beckoning Geva toward him. “Then use this beat,” he said, as he kept stomping. “Attack me. Seek to strike me with your fists, mayhap, and use your full form to drive them. As if you are Rathgarr, but much lovelier.”
Beside them, there was a rather sharp-sounding growl from Rathgarr, but when Geva glanced sideways, he was glaring at Abjorn, his fists hovering at his chin. Pretending, perhaps, as though he hadn’t noticed. As if he didn’t care, as if nothing else today had even happened. Three weeks.
So Geva sighed, and gritted her teeth, and assumed the same stance. And then let herself sink into Sigarr’s beat, which was surprisingly steady and even, despite his shifting body, and his careful, encouraging smile.
Her first punch went far too wide, missing his face by a truly humiliating degree, but Sigarr’s smile only broadened, his head nodding, his foot just keeping up that steady beat. So she tried again, and again, and again, and found herself sinking into it, into the rhythm and the flow of it, into Sigarr’s approving nods, into his head now ducking out of her way.
“Good, sister,” he said, again and again. “Good. Ach, this is it. Close!Verygood.”
That time, Geva had actually grazed his cheek, the impact horribly stinging her knuckles — but she was grinning back at him, and trying again. Catching him almost in the nose this time, close enough that he had to dance backwards, losing the beat with his foot. And even as Geva winced away too, expecting some kind of retaliation or displeasure, Sigarr only seemed delighted, flashing her another broad, toothy grin.
“Ach, very good, sister,” he told her. “And not ungainly at all, you ken? Next time Rathgarr tells you this, you may safely ignore him, and punch him in the nose.”
Geva actually laughed at that, the mirth rising far too easily amidst the strange, sweaty exhilaration — and she was surprised to discover that Rathgarr was standing close behind her, and glaring fiercely toward Sigarr. “I have never called youungainly, poppet,” he snapped. “Only skittish, ach? And only in need of soothing, now and then.”
With that, he swiftly slipped his arm around Geva’s waist, and drew her against his front. And then — she froze all over — he bent his head, and gentlynibbledat herneck.
And this was not soothing, it wasnot, as Geva should have firmly pointed out — but instead, she was shivering, and leaning back into his strength. Into his solid, powerful touch. Into that slick teasing warmth at her neck, into his play-acting, surely. Into where it felt so close, so real, he’d fucked her, he’d wanted her, he…
“Ah, here you are!” cut in a voice, a new voice, behind them — and when Geva guiltily whirled around, it was Jule. Jule, with Tengil once again on her hip, both of them wearing a very similar, eager expression on their faces.
“We just wanted to let you know,” Jule said, “that for the rest of the day, we’ll be hosting a proper Ash-Kai party. And as a token of our gratitude, and our welcome” — she gave a fluid little bow toward Rathgarr and Geva — “we invite you to join us, as our esteemed guests of honour. Will you come?”
30
Ashort time later, Geva found herself ensconced in her bedroom with Rathgarr, readying herself for the party.
It turned out that a proper Ash-Kai party was an important event, especially when one was the guest of honour. And — according to a muffled-sounding Rathgarr, as he dug inside the wardrobe — apparently these parties often led to deaths, or mutinies, or both.
“You really don’t mean to participate in a mutiny, Rathgarr,” Geva said, as lightly as she could. “Do you?”
Rathgarr was pulling on a silk tunic so fine it might as well have been transparent, and he frowned at her as he yanked it down over his chest. “You were in this meeting this morn,” he said flatly. “Did you not hear all they did to me? ToKesst?!”
The fury was again rising in his eyes, and Geva reflexively strode toward him, batted his clawed hands away, and smoothed out the silk tunic over his stiff chest and shoulders. Taking a vague satisfaction in the way his muscles relaxed again, his breath exhaling through his nose.
“Yes, I heard it all, love,” she told him, wincing at the last bit, and dropping her attention to tying up the laces at his neck. “And yes, it was vile, and they ought to be falling all over themselves to attempt some kind of amends for you both. But it also seemed quite clear” — she risked a brief glance back up at his face — “that none of them were actually involved in doing it to you. Right?”
Rathgarr huffed a low growl, and jerked up his shoulder. “None of themdidthis, mayhap,” he replied. “But I cannot believe Grimarr knew naught of it. He knewnaughtof a plan that was fully meant to ensurehisgain, and his gain only? And for the Skai to also play-act as though they are now all blameless, blinking babes, caught in the cruel schemes of their dead fathers? This is beyond all fathoming, poppet, and I shall not be swayed by their tricks andlies!”
Geva winced again, and focused on tucking the tunic into Rathgarr’s tight, too-revealing trousers. “I’m not arguing that you don’t have plenty of cause for suspicion,” she said, as her thoughts darted back to that moment at breakfast with Drafli, that suggestion that he knew more than he’d wanted to admit. “But… if they’re lying to you, or trying to trick you somehow, why would Grimarr have welcomed you here in the first place, let alone swearing your safety? I can’t see how that would benefit him, especially when he truly seems to care for Kesst? And when Kesst seems to trust Grimarr completely, and credits him with —”
