Geva blinked, and then shot a swift glance over toward Rathgarr, who was still laughing in the midst of a knot of orcs, Sigarr and Abjorn among them. And perhaps she should consult with him first, but this was crucially important, damn it — so she belatedly nodded toward Kesst, and gave him her best smile. “Of course,” she said. “I’d love to.”
But Kesst didn’t smile back, his attention now focused on signalling at Grimarr and Jule across the room, clearly conveying his diaper-changing plans. And then he turned and strode out of the room, while Geva hurried along behind him, the party’s bustle and drums and voices trailing away down the corridor.
Kesst didn’t speak again as they walked, and when Geva glanced toward him, his handsome face was held straight ahead, his shoulders stiff, his mouth tightly set. Looking eerily reminiscent of Rathgarr, suddenly, when he was anxious, or tense, or upset.
“So you and Tengil must be quite close, then, are you?” Geva made herself ask, into the stilted silence. “He seems very comfortable with you.”
Kesst betrayed a noticeable twitch, but then he shrugged, and huffed a short laugh. “I suppose we are close, aren’t we, Bitty-Grim?” he said, rustling at Tengil’s hair. “Never thought I’d end up being the nurturing type, but life is full of alarming surprises, isn’t it?”
There was a thin, unmistakable bitterness in his voice, and as Geva searched his hard profile, she felt her determination settling again, circling tight in her chest. Whatever rubbish Rathgarr was plotting, Kesst was still his greatest priority here. And she was Rathgarr’s helpmate, and Kesst’s… sister, even if just for now. Three weeks.
“This all must have been so horrible for you,” she told him, her voice low. “I can’t imagine how you must be feeling, after learning all that earlier today. About how you didn’t just lose Rathgarr, but your inheritance, too.”
Kesst gave a hard sigh, another jerky shrug of his shoulder. “Well, I suppose it could be worse,” he said thinly. “At least now I know why Rath left. Even if he didn’t do squat afterwards forsixteen years.”
Geva couldn’t seem to find a reply for that, and Kesst sighed again. “And as for the gold,” he said, his voice hitching. “I barely even remembered it, let alone realizing it should have been his.Mine.”
Geva swallowed, her own eyes fixed on the corridor ahead. “I hate to say this, but maybe it’s better that you didn’t know,” she said. “My family was quite comfortably situated, before — well. And it wasn’t easy, having that life, and then losing it, you know?”
Kesst made a face, and absently hoisted a watching Tengil closer to his chest. “And then, you got to babysit spoiled brats for a living,” he replied, with an obvious attempt at lightness. “Including Rath. My condolences, sister.”
Geva laughed, gave a wry shake of her head. “Like you say, it could always be worse,” she said. “Luckily, I really do love children and teaching, and Rathgarr has been —”
Her voice unexpectedly caught at the end, enough that Kesst angled her a sharp, too-aware look as he turned and strode into the kitchen. “Rath’s been what?” he said, his voice careful, as he waved a halfhearted greeting toward Olga and Gegnir, and led Geva back into the scullery. “Selfish? Arrogant? Secretive? Greedy?”
Geva couldn’t hide her wince, but Kesst had already turned away, smoothing out a large cloth onto the scullery’s stone counter, and setting Tengil on top. And then proceeding to change him with a deft, matter-of-fact ease, suggesting this was a routine they’d done many times before.
But Geva could feel Kesst’s attention still on her, waiting, wanting to hear her answer. And suddenly, she couldn’t bear to lie, or even to make an attempt. Kesst had borne enough, hadn’t he? He deserved the truth, from both Rathgarr, and from her.
“I won’t say it’s always been perfect, between us,” she said carefully. “But Rathgarr has been very… generous. And he can be very fun, sometimes, and we joke and tease quite a lot. He likes to hear my tales. And he always makes sure I’m fed, and clothed, and looked after. He makes me feel… safe.”
Kesst had turned on a stream of water above a large nearby sink, and was intently washing out the cloths, and then scrubbing his hands. “That… sounds like Rath,” he said, his voice nearly inaudible. “He did your braids, too, didn’t he? I’m… happy for you.”
But even once he’d turned off the water, he didn’t turn around again, his clawed hands gripping the sink’s edge, his shoulders rising and falling. And Geva was almost sure she could hear a short sniff, and then a slow, shaky exhale. Again sounding far too much like Rathgarr did, when they were alone in the dark, and he was lost in the memories, the grief.
“Look, I know it probably doesn’t help,” she continued toward Kesst’s back, through her own thickening throat. “But I know Rathgarr will never forgive himself for any of this. He’s missed you so much, and he hates how deeply he’s hurt you.”
There was another sniff from Kesst, a visible clench of his hands against the sink. “Then why didn’t hetry,” he said, his voice plaintive. “It was sixteenyears. Why didn’t he try one damnedmessage. He just took it, and sat there, and let them ruin our lives for all that time? Just like that? Gods, you know Rath, he’s such a stubborn relentlessarse, why the hell did he justgive up?!”
Geva’s throat convulsed, and she gave a shaky shrug Kesst couldn’t see. “I don’t know why he made the choices he did,” she whispered back. “But if you asked him, I think he would tell you. Iknowhe would.”
Kesst huffed another unsteady exhale, and then plucked up Tengil, who had been watching from the counter with solemn, patient eyes. “Fine, then,” Kesst said, as he stalked toward the door, angling a wet-eyed glance over his shoulder toward Geva. “Let’s go ask him.”
Geva froze in place — Kesst was going to ask Rathgarr,now? — but then nodded, and rushed after him out into the corridor. Trying to keep her breaths even, her thoughts steady, as she walked in silence beside him. Surely she hadn’t been wrong. Surely Rathgarr would welcome this, and be honest. Surely…
Even so, she nearly stumbled at the sight of Rathgarr’s big, familiar body stalking around a corner up ahead. Briefly hesitating at the sight of them, his head tilting, but then he strode straight toward them, with something much like relief shimmering in his eyes.
“There you are,” he said, his sweeping hand encompassing Kesst and Geva both, as a tentative, wary smile pulled at his mouth. “I wondered where you had gone. Is aught amiss?”
Geva found herself drifting toward him without quite meaning to, sinking into the feel of his warm arm slipping around her waist. “We just went to change Tengil,” she told him, sliding her own hand against his back. “Perhaps I ought to take him back to Jule, while you two catch up?”
But neither Rathgarr nor Kesst gave any response to this, Rathgarr’s hand only clenching tighter against Geva’s waist, Kesst clutching Tengil a little closer. And both of them now just looking at one another, Rathgarr’s face still wary, Kesst’s suddenly hard, cold, defiant.
“So, Rath,” Kesst said, clipped. “I can understand, now, why you left. Why you didn’t say goodbye. But” — his mouth thinned — “I can’t understand why you didn’t come back sooner. Why you didn’t eventry. And what the hell you even did, all that time, that was so much more fuckingimportantto you!”
Beside Geva, Rathgarr’s body had snapped to that telltale taut stiffness, his hand gripping almost painfully to her waist, as his mouth opened, and closed, and opened again. While before them, Kesst’s eyes were already flashing with impatience, and then with a fierce, rapidly rising anger.
“You know what, never mind,” he hissed at Rathgarr. “I am so damnedsickof giving you chances, you great —”
