And even if Rathgarr was still keeping secrets from her, still being his devious, vengeful Ash-Kai self, somehow… somehow, this felt like enough. For now.
So Geva drew in another breath, and met his waiting, shimmering eyes. “Very well, then,” she said, with a smile. “Let’s go.”
31
The Ash-Kai party was… astonishing.
Geva truly hadn’t known what to expect, especially given all the tension from the meeting that morning — but it certainly wasn’t for Rathgarr to be swept along in a sudden sea of enthusiastic embraces and back-thumping. With apparently every orc in the loud, bustling room coming over to offer welcomes, praises, and congratulations.
And even more surprising was how Grimarr soon strode over too, with Jule and Tengil at his side, and loudly called the room to silence. And then, amidst a low thrum of steady drumbeats, he drew Rathgarr close and embraced him, before the room of watching orcs.
“Today, we welcome back our long-lost Ash-Kai brother Rathgarr!” Grimarr called out, his voice loud and carrying, his arm still around Rathgarr’s shoulders. “For no fault of his own, he was betrayed and cast out by our fathers, and his birthright stolen from him and his kin. Together, we grieve these wrongs, and restore our brother to his rightful place among us!”
Rathgarr’s initial expression of shock had smoothed into an easy smile, a grateful incline of his head toward Grimarr — at least, until Grimarr held out something toward him. Something that looked like… a bag of coins?
“A token,” Grimarr’s deep voice announced. “For all you have borne, brother.”
A token. The word bizarrely blurring in Geva’s thoughts, with her memory of Rathgarr back in the inn, saying these very same words to her, handing her that book of tales. And for an instant, Rathgarr again looked just as stunned as she felt — but then he smiled again, almost genuine this time, as he… shook his head?
“I — thank you, Captain,” he said, with only the slightest hitch in his voice. “But if he shall accept it, I should rather this token be granted” — his eyes angled sideways — “to my beloved blood-brother Kesst, who has been failed most by these great wrongs.”
And yes, he was looking at Kesst, who was standing with Efterar against a nearby wall, his gaze unreadable on Rathgarr’s face. On where Rathgarr was giving him a careful little smile, before turning back to Grimarr again. “And should you truly wish to make amends to us, Captain,” he continued, his voice deeper, steadier, “you shall also do as my faithful Ash-Kai mate has asked you, earlier this day. You shall swear that our birthright shall be granted back to us, if ever it is found. For our amends, and mayhap someday, for our sons.”
Oh. He was making Geva’s request… for theirsons. And making a very public challenge of it, here, before all these watching orcs. And Grimarr clearly saw the challenge for what it was, his eyes shifting with surprise, and consideration — and then, perhaps, a rueful, resigned amusement, as he tucked the bag of coins back into his pocket again.
“We hear your call, brother,” he said firmly. “Should your father’s wealth ever come to light, it shall be yours. Welcome home!”
This was promptly met by more loud, raucous cheers, echoing through the room. And soon the drums were thudding loud and merry, and the room had surged back to life again, swelling with noise and laughter and dancing. With even more orcs coming over to greet Rathgarr, and congratulate him on his return home.
And to Geva’s ongoing surprise, Rathgarr kept her close the entire time, his big warm arm slung around her waist as he spoke and smiled and laughed. As he introduced her to multiple unfamiliar orcs, calling her his sweet mate, his pretty poppet, his quick, clever schoolmarm.
It was all coiling strangely in Geva’s chest, and even more so when Bjorn came over, tugging at her arm, and demanding why she wasn’t dancing yet. And after a quick kiss to Rathgarr’s cheek, Geva accompanied Bjorn toward the drums, where she joined a smiling Maria and Simon, and a growing group of young orcs, all of them dancing and clapping together. And it felt so easy, so natural, so…right, to talk and laugh and dance with all her new friends, to mimic their movements, to sweep up Tengil when he toddled over, and dance about with him, too.
“Gods, these orclings already all adore you, sister,” Jule said, once she’d come over to grin at Tengil, tickling at his little belly as he happily wriggled in Geva’s arms. “I don’t suppose you’ve given any more thought to our job offer, then?”
Right. That. Geva’s eyes reflexively glanced back toward Rathgarr, who was still surrounded by well-wishers, and talking and laughing with animated ease. Looking almost… relaxed. At peace. As if all of this — that proclamation of Grimarr’s, the restoration of his birthright, and this party in his honour — had perhaps meant something to him, after all. Even in the face of that conversation earlier, with its looming threat of secrets, of vengeance, of death.
And somehow, it seemed to settle something in Geva’s thoughts, in her chest, and she gave a firm, purposeful little nod. “I will… accept your offer,” she said to Jule, on a heavy exhale. “But only on a term basis. And” — her thoughts flicked back to the Fitzwalds, to Cecily — “I’ll need support from you. Real, substantial support.”
Jule was already nodding, her eyes alight, and Geva drew in another breath, felt the strength of the drums beneath her feet, the warmth of Tengil’s watchful little body in her arms. “Not just for planning schedules and curriculum,” she continued, “but for implementing those plans, too. Making sure we give these orclings the most relevant, most well-rounded education we can offer them. And making sure it’s sustainable, and that it will continue long-term, no matter who’s in charge.”
She was trying not to think of that nagging three-week deadline, the very real possibility that she’d be establishing all this just to turn around and leave again — but thankfully Jule was still nodding, still with that eager glint in her eyes. “Absolutely,” she said. “Excellent, sister. I’ll start pulling together a cross-clan committee to support you at once. Did you have anyone in mind you’d particularly like to work with?”
Geva considered that for a moment, her eyes glancing around the crowded room — and then catching on the sight of Varinn, who was cheerfully chatting to an animated Timo, while a rather unsteady-looking Thrain clung to his shoulder. “Varinn might be a good choice, if he’s interested?” she replied slowly. “And you said the Bautul have already established a nursery, so we really ought to coordinate there as well. Would Kalfr be able to help, perhaps?”
Jule fervently nodded, looking even more delighted than before. “Perfect, sister,” she said. “Leave it with me, and I’ll set up a meeting to work out the details together. First thing in the morning, perhaps?”
Geva nodded too, her mouth twitching into a bemused-feeling smile — to which Jule gave a gleeful cackle, and spun off across the room toward Grimarr. Leaving both Geva and Tengil blinking after her, Tengil’s head tilted, his little lips pursed.
“Poo,” he said, with utter seriousness, as he transferred his frowning gaze back to Geva. “Poo.”
Geva chuckled, even as an unpleasant comprehension slowly began dawning, together with a telltale wafting scent in the air — when thankfully, someone strode up beside her, and plucked Tengil out of her arms. Someone who was — Kesst?
“Not again, you stinky little menace,” he said flatly, poking Tengil in the chest with his finger. “That’s what, your tenth diaper today?”
Tengil’s serious gaze had flicked to Kesst’s face, his head giving a grave little nod. “Poo.”
Kesst laughed at that, the sound surprisingly genuine — and then his eyes angled toward Geva, his smile gone a little fixed. “Well, I’m off to change him in the scullery, then,” he said offhandedly. “Unless… you’d like to come?”
