She felt herself glancing up, searching their eyes, pleading for them to see it, to agree, to understand. But Efterar was still looking appalled, and Kesst was furiously blinking again, and Rathgarr — Rathgarr hadn’t yet moved, his eyes still those empty, unseeing hollows in his stark, still face.
“Um,” Kesst finally said, into the awful, ringing silence. “Right, sister. One step at a time. You’ve obviously — really — overcome this. Very well.”
Geva couldn’t help another wild, grateful look toward him, a frantic, fervent nod. “Right,” she said. “Just looking forward. Working as hard as I can. It has to work out, in the end. I mean, I’m still here. Still surviving. Right?”
There was again a horrible, empty silence, as though she’d said something completely wrong, as though she’d completely misread this — and yes, surely she had, based on that look on Kesst’s face, on Efterar’s, on Rathgarr’s.
She felt herself painfully blanching, her hand flapping at her face, her body leaping up to her feet. “I’m — very sorry,” she gulped. “I didn’t mean to — interfere. I’ll just — go, and you three can —”
She’d already spun away, dodging toward the mountain behind them — but oh, oh, gods, she’d tripped over the damned stool. And now she was soaring sideways, her hands flying out, and finding —
Oh. Rathgarr. His big solid body catching her, enclosing her tightly against his strong, familiar chest. His arms wrapping around her, his head bent close over hers, his breaths heavy in her braids.
“No, my skittish poppet,” he whispered, his voice wavering. “No. Stay. You ought to eat. And mayhap” — she could feel his head shifting, looking up — “mayhap Kesst shall tell us a tale?”
His voice hitched again, gone almost pleading, and behind her, Geva could hear Kesst clearing his throat, and then the sound of a slow, heavy exhale. “Yes, of course,” he said, his voice carefully light. “What kind do you think, Rath? Princesses? Angels? Proud, powerful warriors who fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, only to awake the next morning with all their demons defeated, and their kin safe and whole?”
That one must have been something Rathgarr recognized, his body shuddering against Geva’s, his hands clamping even tighter around her back. “She likes — funny ones,” he said, his voice still strangely choked. “Oft — with animals. There is this one with a porcupine, who lost his shell. Or the wisecracking fox. Or the — roaming rat, and his troublesome tongue.”
There was another moment’s strange silence, another shaky exhale of Rathgarr’s body around Geva’s. And then a huff of laughter from Kesst, and the sound of movement, the clank of the pan over the fire.
“I have clearly been missing out, sister,” came his voice, from a little further away. “I’m afraid my animal repertoire is shamefully slim. But I do have one about a lovely maiden and a skunk?”
Despite everything, Geva felt herself twitch with interest, her head tilting toward his voice, and against her Rathgarr laughed, the sound unmistakably relieved. “This sounds most apt, brother,” he said, his voice soft. “We should be honoured to hear it.”
There was a satisfied-sounding huff from Kesst’s direction, and another clank of the pan. And then a gentle, purposeful movement from Rathgarr, drawing Geva downwards toward the stool, curling her into his lap. His hands so warm, so gentle, tilting her toward the crackling fire, and toward Kesst’s smooth, easy voice, as he launched into the tale.
And it was… wonderful. It told of a sad, lonely maiden, who was trapped in a cruel twisted labyrinth, with no hope of escape. It told how she wandered, frantic and forgotten, until she caught the rank, rotten scent of a skunk, and mindlessly followed it, deeper and deeper and deeper. Becoming ever more ill, alarmed, and alone, until she finally caught up to it, and discovered —
That it wasn’t a skunk at all, but a friend, who’d known she needed help, and who’d gained her attention the only way he knew how. A friend who then took her hand, and guided her out of the labyrinth, into the light again. Into hope, and peace, and joy.
The tale seemed to hang there long after Kesst had finished, resonating in raw, stunning stillness. In Geva caught rapt, unblinking, in Rathgarr’s arms, while the tale kept circling, sweeping, soaring behind her eyes. Into hope. Peace, and joy. Joy.
When the world seemed to stop again, settling quiet and still, Geva found that her face was wet, her breaths still coming in short little sniffs. While behind her, Rathgarr’s breath was heaving harder than she’d ever heard it, his body shivering all over, his eyes rapt, reverent, on Kesst’s wryly smiling face.
“This was —” he began, his mouth crumpling, his head shaking. “Even better than I remembered, brother. More — beautiful. You have become — a master. A true Ash-Kai galdr-spinner.”
Kesst’s smile twitched a little higher, his expression rueful, almost shy. “Well, it still wasn’t a porcupine, though,” he said lightly, as he fumbled with his pan, and shook some of it out into a bowl. “Here, Rath. She should eat.”
Rathgarr rapidly nodded, swiping the bowl from Kesst’s hand, and thrusting it into Geva’s chest. “Here, poppet,” he said firmly. “You ken it shall be perfect, if my brother made it.”
Geva couldn’t seem to argue, and obligingly took a few careful bites. And Rathgarr was right, because it was mouthwateringly delicious — soft, flavourful venison, with sweetly seasoned fried greens. And as she ate, she finally found the wherewithal to smile up at Kesst, in a desperate attempt to convey her awe, and appreciation.
“That really was spectacular,” she managed, between bites. “And so is this. Thank you, brother.”
Something she couldn’t read passed across Kesst’s eyes, but then he was smiling again, though it almost looked sad this time. “Anytime, sister,” he said. “It’s the least I can do.”
The rest of the meal felt a little stilted after that, as if no one could think of anything else to say. And when Efterar carefully suggested that Geva and Rathgarr could retire early, and leave the cleanup to him and Kesst, Rathgarr instantly thanked them, and all but swept Geva up to her feet, and back into the mountain.
He didn’t speak again until they were back in their bedroom, with the curtain firmly closed. And suddenly he was hovering close before her, his body edgy and restless, his eyes flashing strange and sharp on her face.
“Was this — truth?” he hissed at her, low and demanding. “About your parents?”
Geva blinked blankly at him, her throat painfully convulsing. “What — what do you mean?”
He towered even closer before her, his hands grasping her shoulders, squeezing a little too tight. “Was this truth!” he repeated, his voice even harder. “What you said, about the fire, and your birthright. Or was this only another plot, to push Kesst and I together? Another way to please me, and win my favour, or my coin?”
Geva’s shock surged sudden and painful, sharp enough to sway her on her feet. “What?” she croaked. “No. No. Of course not. You don’t” — she hauled in a breath — “you don’t really think I wouldlieabout something like that? Forcoin?!”
